Music, perceptions and Dennis Green famous quotes and their ties to cancer rehab

When you get cancer, you inevitably hear about how it "changes your perspective," and "shows who your friends really are," and things like that.
My take? Malarkey. Complete malarkey.
I'm the same person I was when I was diagnosed with a Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour in my T-2 vertebrae back in October. No better, no worse. No lights suddenly went on.
As for my family and friends, people have acted the way I expected them to act.
(Famous Dennis Green blow-up about the Bears being "who we thought there were," goes here.)

Carol-Ann has brave and graceful and a steadfast advocate for me. She's been everything she could be, and, considering who she is and how she was brought up, she's been everything I figured she would be.
The majority of the other people who I thought would be around all the time, who would call continually and email frequently, have done exactly that. The people who I figured would handle this at arm's length, due to fears of their own mortality or cancer in general or whatever else, have reacted that way.
Maybe one guy hasn't acted as expected, has been a little absent. No matter. His loss.
Carol-Ann and I have been blessed to receive the support we've received. We have amazing family and friends. And we're well aware that there's no way we'd get to this point without the assistance.
There have been things that have changed. This is going to sound goofy (that could be the subtitle for this blog...lets be honest) but I feel more of a connection to music than before. Certain songs at certain times have become rallying points for me.
(In interest of full disclosure -- which remains one of my favourite phrases -- my good buddy Arnie Sison maintains that I have the musical taste of a 12-year-old girl. I contend I have the musical taste of a really hip 12-year-old girl.)
Michael Buble's Home helped get me focussed during my last days at VGH and the early part of my third and final stint at GF Strong. I know it has nothing do with anything I've gone through, but the chorus, the idea of finally going home, played a role in me getting my head re-set when my thinking went awry.
(The line about feeling, "like I'm living someone else life," did connect for me, for what it's worth.)
Of late, it hasn't be a song as much as it's been a singer, Nicci Martinez, one of the contestants from The Voice. (In interest of full disclosure, I watch a lot of trendy trashy TV. I'd like to play like I'm high falutin, but I'm much more Dog The Bounty Hunter than PBS.)
Martinez, who covered The Dog Days Are Over last show, is this scrappy, little battler. She doesn't sing a song as much as she grabs around the scruff of the neck and takes it where she wants it to go.
I get that. I'm far from little, but I feel like a battler.
(I asked Carol-Ann today if she thought I was a battler and she agreed. I asked her if I was before cancer came around, and she said, "only when you were mad, and it didn't always make sense.")
I had the tunes blaring today when I went for my walk -- I did one kilometre for the first time, albeit with a walker.
Part of me is getting better. Part of me is staying the same.