|not our frozen porsche|
Me, I'm just getting ready for another May 26th. Tomorrow marks 4 years since I heard my doctor say, "Your bloodwork looks normal, but you have a mass in your chest." Hard to believe it's been 4 eventful, roller coaster, bald-n-hairy years. It simultaneously feels like a lifetime and like no time has passed. There's even a moment here and there where I can't believe it happened at all, almost like I'm still in shock.
In many ways, so much has changed since May 26, 2010. I work at a different job, Dan and I parent a 1st grader (instead of a pre-schooler), I blog, have 6 new scars + an autonomic nervous system disorder, we got to bring Judah to Hawaii, Israel, California, Florida, we finally got rid of the white car... I'm sure there's more, but it might require hypnosis to retrieve from the depths of my mind.
|little monkey at age 3|
|waiting for gelati - May 2010|
|our view from the hall of fame club|
The crisis at hand is no longer cancer, which turned out to be less a bump in the road, more a traumatizing detour. As time passed, there has been less and less panic about what a recurrence would mean and more fear about other uncertainties (racing heart, finding a job, growing our family).
Here we stand, 4 years later, dealing again/still with the frustration of secondary infertility: wanting to rewind, fast forward, and pause all at the same time. Despite the scars, the tears, and the fears, I am quite grateful to be here to tell the tale.