And in other news ...

I want to share cute selfies, but they don't exist in my world. My lazy eyelid is getting lazier by the minute (I swear it tried to sneak a bon bon and watch soap operas the other day), and if this keeps up, I'm going to be a walking Picasso piece in about five years. However, ignore that, and I love the picture for several reasons, and those are worth sharing. One, that shirt. I love that shirt.

When the whole cancer thing came up, I had the best cadre of friends to lend support. Some of them were gentle and sincere and somber. These are the people who remind you not to say s**** it and go out in a blaze of tequila-infused glory, but to stay the steady course. God, in His infinite wisdom, gave me several of those. Good call, Lord. I am so thankful for them. Some of them listened. Some of them helped. Some of them sent me inappropriate memes and jokes (both because laughter is the best medicine, and because my tribe is mainly comprised of those who survive through macabre humor), and got me a theme song and a t-shirt! If you need a theme song and don't have one (and you aren't too concerned about having an appropriate theme song, or are, perhaps, just a sucker for Hugh Laurie doing accents), may I suggest this one, by the incomparable Fry and Laurie. Make someone a shirt. It's unique and wonderful and totally worth taking the time to do. The shirt says on the front, "I'm singin' the song, Orrin!" and on the back, it says, "Kickin' Ass". Pick the sayings or phrases that mean something to the person you're supporting. They'll appreciate it for ages. I can't wear this shirt and not smile. Or feel like a big, goofy badass. Truly. It's too big for me now (hallelujah!) but I'm keeping it.

Two, hair. My hair is growing back, and even though my diffuser suffered a mysterious and violent heat-related death a couple weeks ago (so I'm so frizzy most days) (also, it's not that mysterious - I suspect children), I am still thankful to have hair again. I loved having it short -- it gave me a sense of my own strength and reminded me that we're not our outward decorations -- both good lessons. But the regrowing process is also healing and cathartic.

Three, that is a body that is still cancer free. I'm on the books as two years clear, now (which I don't totally get, because it wasn't until my Spring '16 scan that everything was gone-gone, but whatever, I'll take it). The only labs that aren't gorgeous are the ones the Rituxan knocked askew, and Dr. M says those take YEARS (yes, you can hear him speak in all caps when he says it) to recover.

I've still got a monster kidney stone (unrelated, but it goes on the to do list), and I've still got to get the port removed. Probably ought to get on that last bit before I decide to just do it, myself. (I kid. Z, if you're reading this, I'm kidding! Honest!)

And so, that's a load off. There's always increasing static in your head as you near a scan date. It just ramps up, and up, until you think of running to Mexico, or Portugal, or India to see if you can get away from it. But you can't, and so you don't. The only way through the noise is through the process. But good heck, that waiting time is so tense. I'm glad it's over for a while, and anxious to put all that mental wiggle room back to wandering around in circles trying to remember what I was doing.

Be encouraged!

~ Dy