a little c

because I refuse to give it a big one

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Use your words

Posted by wendy on 2012/01/12

I wrote a pretty harsh Facebook status yesterday:

That cut and paste status that likes to insinuate that I don’t CARE ENOUGH about cancer to copy and paste someone’s lame attempt at being profound on MY status needs to DIE. Seriously.

I’ve touched on this subject before–as you know, I am no fan of cut and paste–but, I thought I’d elaborate on this a bit, and doing it here seems a better spot than writing another short status update.  My updates are for flippy remarks and what kind of sammich I had for dinner.  Long explanations and heartfelt thoughts go here.  (Well, for the most part–I do admit to being  flippy over here, too.  I can’t help myself, y’all.  I’m flippy.  It’s my nature.)

This is one of the many viral updates that get under my skin and make me cringe:

All of us have thousand wishes. To be thinner, to be bigger, have more money, have a cool car, a day off, a new phone, to date the person of your dreams. A cancer patient only has one wish, to kick cancer’s ass. I know that 97% of you won’t post this as your status, but my friends will be the 3% that do. In honor of someone who died, or is fighting cancer, or even had cancer, post this for at least one hour.

This is me around 8 months ago. I didn't have just ONE wish, you guys. I had just as many wishes then as I do now. Beating cancer isn't about wishing. Beating cancer is about DOING. None of us sit around and sigh and "wish" to get better. We fight and we plan and fight some more. Do not equate your 'wish' to lose 10 pounds with my fight to beat cancer. They are very different things.

First and foremost….if 97% of the people who see your Facebook status are not your friends, then may it’s time to delete Farmville and step away from your computer.  Go make some friends and stop being all passive aggressive with the ones you DO have.   It will do you some good.  ooo…I’m snarky.

Look, everyone.

Mira.  Mira.

Lean in.

I’m going to share and it’s kind of important.

You are not a parrot.  You are not a myna bird.  You’re not a toddler mimicking his parents until he learns how to speak correctly.  You can speak for yourself.  I realize that this takes more time than a right click.  I know you’re busy.  I am, too.  We’re all busy with our lives and our virtual farms and getting that high score on Farkle.   Okay, maybe that’s just me with the Farkle.  But, I digress.

As a cancer survivor, and as someone who has lost people that I love dearly to cancer, as someone who has friends who fought and survived, who are fighting as I type this, I want to make something very clear:  You are not honoring anyone with a thoughtless right click and a paste.  If you want to honor someone, then use your words.  If you’re thinking about someone who’s fighting cancer, then tell them.  Sending them an email or send them a card through the mail.  Give them a call.  Tell them you’re thinking about them and send them your best.  As someone who has been there, I can tell you that words mean more when they come directly from you.    Truly sharing how you feel about someone takes time and thought.  If you want to honor someone who lost their battle and wish to share, then…SHARE.  Talk about that person, tell us if they made you laugh, what they smelled like, how they made you feel.  Tell us you miss them.

Use your words.  

It really does not take much longer to write “I am thinking about you.” than it does to copy and paste someone else’s status.  I realize that people love to use Facebook as a soapbox and the internet dearly loves a good bandwagon, but I like to dream of a world in which the passive aggressive “shame on you” bandwagon is the empty one.

Use your words.   It won’t matter how bad your grammar is or how awkward your words sound–if they come from your heart, they will be appreciated.

Use your words.  Because, when we are sick, when we are suffering, it is YOU we want to hear from the most.

Use your words.

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Math Attacks

Posted by wendy on 2011/12/20

We anthropomorphize cancer around these parts alot–actually, I guess nearly everyone does, don’t they?  We write it angry letters and we say “kick its ass!”.  I think we have to humanize it a little, because when you stop and think about the fact that it’s just…cells gone wrong (Cell Gone Bad!) , division gone wild and malignant (When Math Attacks!)–it’s too depressing. Cancer is our own bodies turning against us, and who can blame anyone for turning it into some sort of entity that’s crept into our lives with evil intent?  It’s easier to visualize a fight if the thing you’re fighting is actually…you know…fighting YOU.  Otherwise, you’re just throwing punches at thin air.  Putting googly eyes on your IV bags just seems silly at that point.

I’ve been punching thin air for the last week.  I saw my oncologist for my 3 month check up and while I was driving home from the appointment, her office called because my liver enzymes were elevated and she wanted to schedule an ultrasound.  She said it could be the tamoxifen, but of course, we had to be certain.  I had the ultrasound yesterday morning and I got the results this afternoon (Normal!  Normal!).  I’ve been walking around on this thin edge of terror for the past week.  Trying to verbalize it was nearly impossible for me.  It wasn’t fair.  IT WASN’T FAIR.  I just finished my fight, you know?  The idea that I may have to step back into the ring was so overwhelmingly depressing that I felt like I could barely function.  It didn’t hit me til the call this afternoon how deeply upset I was.  I hadn’t cried or really had any sort of breakdown until the nurse called today and told me my liver was perfectly normal and they’d see me in March.  I went into the bathroom at work and immediately had a nice little ‘come-apart’, as we say here in the Deep South.  I texted M immediately, as he’s been sitting with me on those pins and needles (and how wonderful and lucky I feel to know that I have him to lean on when I need it) for the last week.  He called me back right away and we had a nice little giddy moment together.  Relief.  Relief and love.  We have plans, he and I.  We both have to be alive in order to carry them out, though.

Normal.  I’ve always said it was subjective.  My new normal more or less means that every little abnormality is going to raise a red flag and every single google search for that red  flag + breast cancer will lead me down roads that I want to avoid at all costs.

It’s not fair.  It’s not–but, I need to  remember to accept what happens to me.  Fair or not, I cannot always control what happens to me–but I can control my reactions.  I’m trying  for that grace…that acceptance I found early on with my first diagnosis.  I guess I am expecting too much out of myself.  I feel like I failed my first false alarm.  But, I also passed–cause HURRAH for normal test results!

Cancer may eventually be the thing that gets me in the end, but I’m going to make every effort to make sure that cancer does not HAVE me while I am in this world.  It’s harder some weeks than others, that is for certain.

This next week will be fully of Christmas things, and then the week after will be a Very Special Week that I will talk about later.  I’m lucky.  I am so lucky.

Happy Hanukkah, Happy Festivus, Merry Kwanzaa, Merry Christmas–Happy Holidays no matter what you’re celebrating this time of year.  I hope 2012 brings good things to all of us.

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Happy Cancerversary to me!

Posted by wendy on 2011/11/11

I STILL prefer wigs to my hair, which is curly like mad and drives me insane.

So, I feel like I should write something about today.  It’s pretty momentous.  It’s Veteran’s Day (Dear Veteran’s, Thank you for keeping me safe.  You guys are doing a bang-up job.).  It’s also 11/11/11 – the day of “ooooo”.  It’s also my cancerversary.  It’s also Day 3 of me being gainfully employed (ah, back to 2 jobs again–the way it’s intended).  Unfortunately I don’t particularly  FEEL like writing, so this is going to be more ‘update’ than ‘thoughtful blog post about my feelings’.

So, this time last year, I had cancer and was losing my job.  This year, I’m cancer-free and starting a new job (incidentally, my new job is literally in the same building as the old job–and, with many of the same people, as they hired a good many of us back).  My contract work is steady.  Those are good things.  I can see it’s going to take me a while to figure out how to balance all of it and still have a personal life–it feels like I’ve done nothing but work for the last 3 days.

I’m getting a da vinci in December.  I’m not particularly looking forward to more surgery, but I prefer a bit of pain now  to avoid a lot of pain later.  I’ve always been the girl who rips her band-aids off as quickly as possible.  Fast and painful trumps slow and painful every time.  ha.

I have been absent from this blog (badness!), I know–I’d like to say that I’m ‘concentrating on living!’, but really, I just spent most of October completely avoiding cancer-related stuff as much as I could.

I’d make a fine ostrich.

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I’m not much of a gambler

Posted by wendy on 2011/10/26

Baby needs a new pair of shoes! No, really--I could use a nice pair of comfortable flats.

I’m not sure I’ve discuss my BRAC Analysis results here–they administered the test at my first surgeon visit after my diagnosis–which, I don’t know…once you get cancer and they do a test to see how susceptible you ARE to cancer, it’s kind of a “wow, thanks for letting me know about my  BRCA2 positive mutation after telling me I have breast cancer!”.   It seems a bit pointless at that particular juncture–but, of course, (and it’s the thing I haven’t talked about here) I am not only at risk for breast cancer (which, I already had would be super pleased NOT to have again), but I have around a 20% chance of developing ovarian cancer at some point.  Now, that means I’ve got an 80% chance of NOT getting it, and if I were in Vegas, I’d certainly play those odds.  Of course, the fine folks at Caesar’s Palace aren’t asking me to put my life on the line.  20% seems much bigger when the stakes are this high.

So, this week, I had my first vaginal ultrasound and a pretty serious discussion  with my gynecologist about getting rid of a few more body parts–my ovaries and my uterus.  She gave me a few options—remove my ovaries and tubes, leave the uterus or, do a full hysterectomy.   The method she advises is called a da Vinci Hysterectomy (robotic hysterectomy).  It’s less invasive than an open hysterectomy and the downtime would only be a few days.  I could conceivably be back home the same day.

I have to say that at this point in my life, I am sugeried OUT.  Seriously.  The idea of more surgery brings on a case of The Tragics that no amount of Ben and Jerry’s can abate–but…am I willing to spend the rest of my days having a vaginal ultrasound and bloodwork every 6 months so we can try to ‘catch’ any abnormalities?   Not so much.  And, the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m not all that attached to them anyhow–I stopped menstruating back in 1989 after my son was born, so, essentially all my ovaries are good for is pumping out estrogen, which my (ER-postive) cancer loves to attach itself to–hence the 5 year tamoxifen (which also carries it’s own risk of uterine cancer) prescription.  (ooo…an added plus that my doctor said she would investigate:  Would I have to continue taking an estrogen blocker if my ovaries are removed?  There’s another plus.)

So, she’s given me plenty to think about–and plenty of time to think about it, as my next ultrasound is scheduled for April 23, 2012.   Really though–I’m not sure there’s much to think about.   I should really stock up on Ben and Jerry’s, though–cause there’s no ice cream in this house right now and that’s all kinds of wrong.

I wonder if my insurance would cover  New York Super Fudge Chunk as a therapeutic necessity?

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Hit it again

Posted by wendy on 2011/10/22

When I signed into my dashboard today this was in my top searches box:

what+do+you+do+when+you+have+fought+so+hard+for+something+but+you+keep+hitting+a+brick+wall?

Personally, my favorite link on that search result is the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie script.   There is a small part of me that thinks someone would probably benefit more from that link than if they hit my blog looking for answers.  Really, I have none.  Lately, it feels like all of the answers are out of my reach as well.

So many of my photoshoots end up with Pip The Therapy Dog crashing the party--no zombie bride pictures today, because Pippin wants to sit in my lap. 😉

I’m all over the internet this month, taking pictures  and playing  silly Facebook  games and pinning pithy sayings to my pinterest page…but, am I talking about cancer this month? Not so much.    As someone who made it through 8 rounds of chemotherapy without tossing her cookies once, how much of a right do I have to even complain about my experiences?  Sure, I felt like crap and I lost my hair, but it’s grown back and I had a full head of it less than 3 months after chemo ended.  The surgery was hard, but I recovered and I actually like my teeny little breasts more–clothes fit better, they don’t get in the way of daily activities, and they look fabulous in a tight sweater.  I had all the lymph nodes removed on my right side, but I regained full range of motion with my right arm and while the numbness is annoying, I’m used to it so it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.  I lift weights.  I do yoga.  I was a text-book case of breezing through surgery, chemo and radiation with minimal difficulty.  Did I have cancer-lite?  No.  It was aggressive.  I had multi-focal DCIS and a big freaking tumor on my right breast.  It had spread to 1 lymph node–but, again…I was lucky–we caught it before it spread further.  So many women had it–HAVE IT–so much worse than I did.  I feel guilty because I feel like I really did get the pretty end of the shitstick.  I mean, any way you look at it, it’s still a shitstick, but I got the end that cleans up faster.

Lately, I don’t even like to talk about how lucky I was–it’s like I’m afraid I’ll jinx it somehow.  And…as someone who has both been there, done that, and purchased the pink t-shirt, how much of a responsibility do I now carry to continue the fight to raise awareness?  As a survivor, do I offer hope or do I offer reality?   Can we have both?  I can see how women with metastatic breast cancer can feel left out of all of these pink rays of hope we’re shooting around the world this month–because, the happy hopeful survivor place?  That’s the place I’d much rather dwell, too–and that feels like such a cowardly thing for me to say, but if I’m going to be honest here, then…yeah.  I don’t want to think about this coming back and I don’t want to think about it spreading.  Maybe it’s too soon for me to face the ‘what ifs’.  Right now,  I want to focus on the fact that I WON this round.  But, I was lucky.  So many women are not.  What will I do if my luck runs out and I’m faced with that brick wall once more?

Aqua Teen Hunger Force says “hit it again”.   And, I will.  But, I’m not going to think about that today.  Maybe I will tomorrow.

 

Maybe.

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Relief and Gratitude and a House Guest

Posted by wendy on 2011/10/09

I have a mouse.  He is freaking adorable, but he is not allowed to live in my house so the game of Catch or Kill is on.  I prefer “catch”, but if I have to resort to “kill”, I’ll do it, because mice aren’t very good house guests at all.  They use your good towels on their muddy feet, don’t put the little wrappy thing back on the bread, and put empty cartons back in the fridge.  I’m pretty ruthless about empty milk cartons.

I’ve spent the last week in a kind of frenzy of gratitude and excitement and fear.  The fabulous people who particpated in the boobiethon netted me $2,555.  You know,  the ‘thon has taken its fair share of flack over the years, because Komen was the main recipient (and for the boobies)–but, in case anyone ever tries to criticize them because the women who need it don’t benefit–send them to ME.  Send them here:   I am a breast cancer survivor and the Boobie-thon has just paid for the next 4+ months of my COBRA.  I don’t have the proper words to say how much this has meant to me.   I’ve tried thanking everyone who donated to me (I think I thanked a few of you twice–haha) and it feels like it was just this litany of “thank you, I’m overwhelmed, and OH MY GOSH!”.  hahaha.  If I babbled to you, I apologize.  I really was completely overwhelmed.  Thank you Mel for doing such a fantastic job as the organizer, and thank you Statia, for nominating me.  I love you guys so much.   I’d be remiss not to mention that Pete’s image  went up to $350, and my very good friend Jason is also auctioning off a shot for me (it ends Tuesday).  I have such amazing friends.  I really do.

Don't freak out--I was stopped at a red light when I snapped this.

There is a sense of relief that this little bit of attention is kind of over for me now, though.  I have to admit–I felt like HIDING a lot last week.  I have no idea how I suddenly became The Shy Girl, but oh maaan—I just felt so completely undeserving of all of the kindness directed my way.  I couldn’t look at my stats, because I’m so used to the 20 or so people who read this and when there’s suddenly 700 views on your blog…it’s scary to feel so opened up and vulnerable.  I’m not used to it.  🙂  Overwhelmed.

Physically, I’m doing really well.  The hot flashes haven’t gone away completely–but, they have subsided.   I think I had one yesterday.  Hurrah for Effexor!   My hair–much to my chagrin–is very curly.   DO NOT WANT.   Seriously, I actually had a moment yesterday in which I missed my wigs desperately.  I feel terribly ungrateful for disliking my hair, because–helloooo, at least I have hair, right?   WHINGING!  I should stop that.  I’m just super lazy and hate fixing my hair every day.  Seriously I do not get how short hair is easier.  Ponytails are easy.  Massive amounts of hair gel are not.

What a difference a week can make!!!  For reals, people–my biggest complaint about my life right at this second is that I have to fix my hair.  I’m going to stop and just enjoy that for a minute or two.

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The Tale of the Phantom Port

Posted by wendy on 2011/10/06

I noticed yesterday in the shower that I was still very carefully washing my neck and upper chest, so as not to touch the (skeeevy) chemo port that is no longer there.  Old habits die hard, don’t they?

It’s still a shock to me when I look at pictures of myself now and there isn’t a hard little round disc sticking out of my chest and I still occasionally feel a bit of a phantom pull in my throat where the port met my jugular vein.  I expect this will all fade eventually–I mean, I finally learned where my breasts are located on my body–for the longest time after my first surgery, I found myself trying to wash under breasts that were no longer there.  (Seriously.  It was super annoying.)  It stands to reason I’ll figure out my neck is OKAY TO TOUCH AGAIN eventually.

Why yes, I did make myself a shirt. Iron-on transfers, ftw!

Right now, the only real obstacle I face in the shower is shaving my right armpit–because the underside of my arm is numb (and will remain so–this is something that won’t go away since they removed all my lymph nodes on that side) and I haven’t gotten around to getting an electric razor yet, so cutting myself without realizing it remains a possibility.  I never realized how much one shaves just by feel.  The pressure of the razor against your skin is how you tell you’re doing it right and I can’t feel that anymore.  Frustrating, but not end-of-the-world stuff, so I can deal.

I’ve been pretty lucky so far with my arm.  Working out doesn’t bother it (I’m being very careful not to overdo it, as I know it’s a bit risky–but, I think the benefits outweigh the risks.  It cannot do me anything but good to build up the muscle in my arms.) and I’m hopeless when it comes to remembering not to carry my purse on my right shoulder, but it hasn’t affected anything.   I haven’t had to deal with any swelling or other signs of Lymphedema yet.  I have full range of motion with the arm as well.   Dr. Awesome (my surgeon) was unsurprised at my progress.  “You’re young, you’re healthy, there’s no reason you shouldn’t do well.”.

I’m going to just take a moment and enjoy those  words.  Cause I really love it when my doctors talk about how ‘young’ I am.

Tomorrow is the very last day of the Boobie-thon, and I am just completely overwhelmed with gratitude over how generous people have been.  I’ve talked about ‘moments of grace‘ here before, and I want you all to know I’ve had more of those moments this week than I can count.  I feel like I keep repeating myself over and over, but it’s all I know to say or do.  Thank you.  Thank you.  ❤  One day, I’ll pay all of this forward.

This is the very last Boobie-thon ever, which is such a bittersweet thing to all of the women who’ve been involved over the years–but I think especially to Robyn, the founder, and Mel, who took over organizing the thon for Robyn a few years back, and I’m sure for my Hot Internet Wife, Statia, who was the reason the whole thing began.   These women have worked tirelessly for a cause they really believe in and I think they’re amazing.  There are a few really fun contests (win a Kindle Fire or a $30 Amazon card!)  running over there right now, and you still have time to enter, so head over if you like.  Now, shoo!

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Hey, those fancy movin’ pictures are nifty!

Posted by wendy on 2011/10/04

Seriously, I should have prepared something instead of trying to wing it.  It’s never pretty when I try to wing it.  🙂  But, hey, that’s me up there, being my usual awkward self, trying to thank people and rambling on about hats and hair instead.  I am blessed with the best friends in the world, the best family in the world–and hey–I am also bless with meeting the best total strangers in the world.  If you’re reading this now, just feel free to assume that YOU are awesome and move forward with your life secure in that knowledge.

It’s Day 4 of the Boobiethon and they’re going strong over there–there’s a tweeting contest happening right now that you should totally try to win, and of course, they need both boys and girls to donate pictures.  My dear friend Pete is auctioning off one of his gorgeous pictures for me, and I am beyond overwhelmed by all of this.  I feel like I keep repeating the same thing over and over–thank you, thank you.  But, it is sincere and it is from the bottom of my heart.  Thank you.  Thank you to everyone who’s donated, thank you to everyone who’s passed my site along.  I feel so completely undeserving of such amazing support, and I look forward to the day that I can pay it forward.

I am so lucky.  I am.  I can never say it enough.  Thank you.

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Change is inevitable. And scary. But good.

Posted by wendy on 2011/10/02

Our lives can spin out of control so quickly–and when you’re first diagnosed with cancer, the whirlwind you find yourself in does not seem to stop–ever.  I told a friend today it’s like busting through a series of brick walls.  You get through one, and there is another one standing directly in your path.  It’s the nature of it.  I’ve got this…idea of a quote I’ve read somewhere about tempering steel–and I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a blacksmith banging a sword against the wall in order to make it sharper, so maybe I’m mixing up analogies.  Hang on, while I hit google,  will you?  Go get something to drink–or, if you like, go on and hit the link to the Boobiethon and peruse around for a few minutes, and I’ll meet you back here in 2 minutes!  Okay, I’m back and I found it!

The fire of adversity will melt you like butter, or temper you like steel. The choice is yours.

YAY!  I really like that quote.  Of course, in the time that I ran around google to find that quote, I also found more really cool clown make-up ideas, a recap of last Thursday’s Project Runway, and a dreamy picture that my friend Emily posted on my wall of Dylan Moran and I kind of lost the thread of this  post.  I am easily distracted by shiny things.

Now and Then

THREADS!  Yes, I know where I was going with this.  I fought so hard against the idea that cancer would change me.  I liked me!  I didn’t want me to change, to be different–I didn’t want to lose my breasts, I didn’t want to lose my hair, I didn’t want to be anything other than the girl I saw in the mirror in November of 2010.  The thing is…we all change.  I mean, that’s what life IS.  Things happen to all of us, good and bad, and we hit the brick wall or get tossed into the fire and then we come out..different.  So, maybe the ‘change’ bit is out of our control–but we can control the outcome.  Having breast cancer changed me–I mean, literally–helloooo to the Now and Then next to this paragraph.

So..yeah.  I’m different.  And, I fought so hard against it, but once I decided to accept the reality of what had happened to me, suddenly….I was okay with the changes–physical and mental.  I’m stronger and wiser and there are days that I am steel and fire and seriously, brick walls need to STEP OFF.  um…lest I give the impression of being a Super Hero here , there are also days that getting out of bed and getting dressed to leave the house feels like an insurmountable task.  But, even the ‘bad’ days and moments are tinged with this sense of being grateful to be here to experience the highs and lows of being alive.

My Aunt Puppy told me I ‘have a glow’ about me now.   I told her it was the hot flashes.  😉

It’s Day 2 of the Boobiethon, and as I mentioned, I am the Bloggers Helping Bloggers recipient this year, and I am overwhelmed and completely out of ways to show how grateful I am to everyone who has donated this year.  I have alternated between fits of weeping and elation and introspection and I feel so humbled by the outpouring of help that’s been thrown my way.  I had $2.82 in my bank account on Friday–we were drowning and you guys have thrown us a lifeline.  So, thank you.  Thank you from me, thank you from my son, thank you from Pip and thank you from Emma.

Here I am again.  Grateful to be alive to experience something beyond any expectations that I had.

Thank you so much for that.

Thank you.

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grace and a lot of luck

Posted by wendy on 2011/10/01

It’s my birthday and seriously, as birthdays go?  This one has pretty much beaten them all in terms of getting off to a stellar start.    I’ve mentioned today to a few people that I’m running out of words and the ability to really articulate how overwhelmed and grateful I feel today and I’m starting to regret that I didn’t work on a birthday post over the last week so that I could at least write with a fairly clear head.  Instead, you’re going to get what may or may not amount to a great deal of disjointed rambling with about a million “thanks yous” thrown in for good measure.

The old ones tried to kill me. I hope these two will play nice.

The 10th Annual Boobiethon kicks off today, and they’ve chosen me to be the Bloggers Helping Bloggers charity recipient.  I’m…oy.  I mean, most of you guys know my history already, and I’m all weepy over this today.  If you’ve come here from the Boobiethon page, thank you.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.  And, here is the thing–whether you choose to donate to Komen or if you’ve chosen to toss a few bucks my way, just the fact that you’re here and you’re reading this makes me feel..see, here is where I run out of words.  Every time.  I am humbled and honored and so happy and grateful to have such an amazing support system.  My cup is just running over today.

I’ve said it before–my friends, my family, they are where I get my strength.  I have been so lucky this past year–okay, getting cancer and getting laid off were not exactly Kodak moments for me (ha!)…but, how can I feel bitter when so many good things have also come my way?  I’m alive.  I lived through it all and when I fell down, I had someone there to pick me up and I want to thank my friends and my family and my son and my amazing boyfriend and Pip the Therapy Dog and Emma the Spazzy German Shepherd and the people who’ve donated to my paypal account or friends who bought prints and friends who said they knew I needed help and wanted to give it, the women who knitted me beautiful hats to wear when I didn’t have any hair on my head, and the Flickr friends who chipped in and sent me an awesome digital frame full of dorky pictures just to make me laugh, and the Thursday People at the Cancer Clinic, for making chemo feel more like a Coffee Klatch than a treatment center, the survivors who’ve helped me realize that there is more to life than cancer and the fighters who’ve contacted me because something I wrote hit a nerve with them as well–and I definitely want to thank the doctors and surgeons who saw to both my emotional health as well as my physical health.  I lucked out, because the team I had behind me gave me every reason to believe that I’d sail through this.

Every single one of you have contributed to making me a better and stronger person.  Every one of you gives me something to look forward to when I wake up and I am so grateful for the moments of grace that you have given me.   Thank you.  Thank you.  I am having one of those moments of grace this morning and it is because of each one of you.

Thank you.

Now, on a VERY serious note–someone needs to get me some cake.  Because it’s nearly lunch and I have yet to see some chocolate around this house.  I would hate for lack of chocolate to ruin this state of grace I have going on.  :p

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