what to say, what to say...
I'm not sure how I got here. One month ago I was worried about our five-year-old puppy and the suspected tumor he had on his neck. I thought all I had was stress--stress from the pandemic, stress from work, stress from life. Just like you, I suppose. And yet, here I am. Exactly one week out from a cancer diagnosis that hasn't just pulled the rug out from under me, no. It felt like the rug was pulled from beneath my feet, and while I fell forward, a big, angry bull charged into my stomach, flattening me to the ground and knocking the air from my lungs. Then the ground broke broke beneath me. It was like that.
So what is there to know: not too much. I'm thirty-seven. I'm healthy. I eat a fruit (and sometimes veggie) smoothie every morning and take probiotics every day. I snack on apples and bananas during the day and eat a balanced meal cooked by my husband every night. I run around and chase after my (almost) four-year-old on a daily basis, and so I am always in motion, except when he is in school and I am working full time. I'm coastal in Connecticut and thank God for spring days like this when the smell of the low tide wafts in through the open windows.
And I didn't expect to be here.