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.

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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.  

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And I didn't expect to be here.