Memorial Day

Because we have nothing better to spend our money on, the house decided to spring a leak. Thinking the boys were getting ready to wash the car (for the first time since 2013), I was surprised to hear Dan stomping down the basement stairs. Upon further investigation, Judah informed me that when they went to go use the hose, water began to spray out into the garage, like a sprinkler from the ceiling. Hmm. Thanks a lot, Ice Storm 2014. The gift that keeps on giving.

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

All that being said, my life looks a lot like it did in early 2010. We are still trying to have another kid. Same house, healthy food, and thank goodness (tfoo, tfoo) the 3 of us are still truckin'. I lost my hair, but it grew back (I finally don't have bangs anymore).

waiting for gelati - May 2010

This time of year, I can't help but think back to 4 years ago, and the memories I have of small moments just before the mayhem ensued. A trip to Rita's after dinner when Judah was small enough to carry while we stood in line. My hacking cough. A night at the Phillies game - it hurt to swallow the cheesesteak my brother walked to the other side of the stadium to find. Laying on my left side so I could breathe. Using a hairbrush on my back/stomach/legs/arms/feet to try and quiet the unscratchable itch. The bright sunshine as I waited on the curb for Dan and my dad to come and pick me up after getting some shocking news at the doctor's office.

our view from the hall of fame club

Those are all memories. Today is 2014 and I do not have cancer. In fact, I'm told there is a higher chance of me being struck by lightning than to have a recurrence of Primary Mediastinal Large B Cell Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

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.

May 2014