Though my mind’s floating on pharmaceuticals and my chest is strung tighter than a Stradivarius, most of me is up and running just fine.
Our homelife seems to have righted itself. Not too many chores piling up or calls from friends left unanswered. Cheryl’s stress is lessening a bit. The dogs scamper and play throughout the house and yard, then come to nest on my lap. Sometimes I sit on the kitchen floor with the kids and make Playdough sculptures or read Spongebob comics. Recovery means I can leisurely enjoy my family with the heightened longview of Jimmy Stewart in It’s A Wonderful Life. If there is a gift in this stupid disease, this is surely the greatest portion.
So enough with the navel-gazing for just now. It’s really not very effective anyway. Got some extra fireworks to light, actual social engagements to make and work projects I need my pre-chemo brain for. Unless something earth-shaking occurs, Ladiectomy is powering down until I meet with the oncologist on the 23rd.