Alice in Wonderland

I'm feeling a bit like Alice these days. After I learned that I had cancer, I met the White Rabbit, or rather, a doctor in a white coat who looks like the Chinese-American version of the absent minded professor. He was explaining to me the direness of my situation and then he said something which made me laugh and from that moment I placed my life in his hands. When he told me he would do everything possible to make me well again, I followed him down his rabbit hole. What I discovered was no Wonderland in the traditional sense; rather this Wonderland is a world of endless tests, scans, needle poking, and chemotherapy. Every two weeks I spend several hours with the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, and the Dormouse, but we have saline solution instead of tea. The Caterpillar is a CAT scan technician, who clearly lives a rather interesting life judging by his numerous tattoos. The Duchess is a woman in the billing office I've only ever spoken to on the phone. But throughout my journey in Wonderland I've never met The Cheshire Cat. Never once has a person with an eerie yet beguiling smile told me the truth about Wonderland, that, "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad." It is madness to poison the body to make it well, and yet it works for some, so I keep coming back to this Wonderland, and will until the Queen, breast cancer, is dead or she takes off my head. What worries me is that I'll be stuck here for the rest of my days, that I'll become a permanent resident of Wonderland, ever searching for that illusive, disappearing cat with a half-moon smile.