Six
This is what six years looks like. Blowing snow is obscuring all views of the mountains. Walking outside necessitates a warm jacket and hat. Gloves would be nice. Tomorrow they'll open the lift here at Squaw and for $20 I could be making turns. But we are here for work and anything fun comes before the sun has risen. Today, for making it six years I treated myself to yoga. I sent a quiet thank you out through the snowflakes in the dawn light, out toward the east coast and my doctors, nurses, friends, and family there. I wouldn't be here without them.
The past year was full of unexpected challenges, and I want to believe the coming one will be different; there will be no tough times, no tears shed, no frustration sapping my reserves. But I've learned to expect nothing, to make plans and hope for the best, and that my body will always continue to surprise me in ways both good and bad. It has been nothing short of an adventure. Cancer is a part of my journey, literally written in my DNA, and there's no life without it.
The past year was full of unexpected challenges, and I want to believe the coming one will be different; there will be no tough times, no tears shed, no frustration sapping my reserves. But I've learned to expect nothing, to make plans and hope for the best, and that my body will always continue to surprise me in ways both good and bad. It has been nothing short of an adventure. Cancer is a part of my journey, literally written in my DNA, and there's no life without it.
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