[Context Commentary: In September of 2013, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Tonsil Cancer. I was pretty pissed. While I wrote this musing in anger, the only part I disagree with today is that I might live to braid my daughter’s hair. At three and a half, Ella still looks like a freshly-shorn Army recruit. I might miss out on that one.]

“I know you don’t believe in it, but I’ll be praying for you.”

I’m about to commit the ultimate taboo of telling someone else really shitty news. I’m going to tell you not to pray for me. Let me repeat that really slowly so that it sinks in completely: I DO NOT WANT ANYONE (this means you, your church, your grandma, and your scout troop) TO PRAY FOR ME. Though I put this request (command) in all caps, please don’t use an angry voice to read it. It’s more of an “Enough already, I really don’t want another brussel sprout on my plate” kind of tone. Rolling your eyes while saying it will get you closer to my intent. Telling folks you are very sick seems an opportune time for many to tell you all the good things about their god. Telling me that you are going to pray to your god for me is akin to “Oh, did you know I can do magic?”

I am a pragmatist, a realist, one of the most practical minded people you’ll ever meet. My husband not-so-jokingly calls me “dream killer” around the house as he and my children create elaborate schemes and compilations and I listen patiently before intoning “Yes, but…”. This isn’t sad and doesn’t mean that I lack vision, it’s just that this is the way I am hardwired. You are going to tell me your one step plan and I am going to break that plan down into 1,366,999 other steps that you didn’t even realize could possibly be there. Yes, it can be annoying. It can also be simply brilliant.

Where my pragmatic nature leads me is to understand and accept that prayer simply doesn’t work. If you absolutely must believe then please, prove me wrong.

Do it.

Right now.

Make it work.

Go ahead, I could use a win.

Prayer, in the sense that you ask for something and it’s given to you, is easily testable. Please pray for my cancer to go away, right now, before my body is racked by radiation and chemotherapy. Before my children have to see me as a walking skeleton who needs a feeding tube for sustenance. Before my husband has to manage work, house, children, and a sick wife for weeks on end by himself.

Yep. That’s what I thought. Tumor is still there. Shocking.

Now, I’m completely familiar with what we say when prayer doesn’t work. I grew up Catholic, spent many years in Catholic schools, including two colleges that required theology courses for graduation. That’s not how prayer works, I’ve been told over and over again. God is mysterious and he “has a plan.” He only gives us what we can handle and he helps those who help themselves. He will make sure that we have what we need rather than just handing over what we think we want.

Wait for it, I’m about to hit taboo #2….if any of the above is true, your god is an asshole. Bonafide. If you can justify your god allowing a mom of four small kids suffering from cancer while child rapists live to be 80 without issue, you are an asshole too.

While I currently have no more evidence that your god exists than I do fairies, Santa Claus, Zeus, Vishnu, or the Loch Ness Monster, I do accept that with proof, the burden of “belief” disappears. Worship of said entity, however, is something that I just can’t do. Given what he allows to happen, what that big boring black book gives him credit for, I have to tell you, I think he’s a real dick. I realize that in breaking these taboos I am offending you. I’m supposed to remember that: 1. your heart is in the right place, 2. you are only trying to help, 3. prayer certainly couldn’t hurt the situation.

Taboo #3: I find your prayers offensive. By saying you will pray for me, especially when you know that I don’t happen to believe in the power of prayer, you are telling me that you do not respect my beliefs. To know that you’ll make excuses if I don’t get better rather than admit that your prayers didn’t work makes me want to punch you. To think of people sitting around thinking, hoping, and wishing, instead of taking action irks the hell out of me. To consider that if I don’t get better you’ll attribute it to “god’s plan” and that will be ok with you, makes me more than a little nauseous. And prayer does hurt. It gives people a sense that they are helping and therefore gives them justification for doing absolutely not one other thing that actually does help. Prayer won’t mow our lawn tomorrow, or get me to radiation therapy every day for six weeks. Prayer won’t make sure that my kids get outside on cool fall days when I can’t get out of bed. Prayer won’t pay our medical bills.

I believe that my doctors will cure me of cancer. I believe that their task is 95% of the fight and that while I only need to fight the other 5%, it will be the harder fight. I believe in the power of my mother to get shit done to pick up the pieces I can’t pick up. I believe that by surviving cancer himself, my dad has paved the way for my own fight. I believe that my friends and family, no matter where they are, will come to our aid as we plug through the next few months.

I believe that my husband is an absolute bad ass.

I believe that I will live long enough to braid Ella’s hair.

These are the beliefs that I hold on to. If you are going to come in to my life at this time, please respect my beliefs and keep yours on the other side of the door. If you really want to know what you can do for me, let’s start with that.