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A doozy!

Blogging is a little surreal.

I sit here at home (mostly) and write about what's going on in my life or what's on my mind. I don't always publish what I write, but do about half the time. 

And sometimes, the posts are humorous glimpses into my mind or life. And others, like my most recent post #Me Too, Too Many Times, the revelations are jaw-dropping and anything but humorous.

And then I go out in the world and encounter people who have taken time to read what I write (thank you!).

This is where it feels surreal. Because I haven't changed, just what you now know about me has changed. In the Me Too post, what I revealed happened many years ago and has been woven into the tapestry that is me. It was horrendous and horrible, but God has given me a resilience to move through those traumas wholly intact. I am also bolstered daily by my husband of nearly 30 years who holds me and listens to me and loves me. I thank God for John.

When you see me, remember that the person you see now is the same person you saw before you read the Me Too post. I am still that Pollyanna, 'the glass is half full' person. I still smile way more than I frown and I laugh way more than I cry. And the impossibility of my sunny disposition, in light of that past, I believe should inspire smiles not pity.

I apologize if the news of my past shocked you or was more than you needed to know. I did not share it lightly, only after prayer and reflection over many weeks. I felt compelled to share my story, in part, so you could put a face you knew (and loved?) to the #metoo movement.

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It's not a popularity contest, but ...

A Hole in My Heart Where Sandy Should Be

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I put my pride aside and got my ass off the grass and into the wheelchair. {I spent a couple minutes deciding whether to put an exclamation mark after that declaration or to put the period after that statement. I think the period better suits my mood about getting said ass into the wheelchair!} On July 4, Saugatuck has a wonderfully unique parade that includes quirky participants like the artsy-fartsy campers at OxBow art colony and the LGBT members of a local foundation along with the more traditional participants like Girl Scouts, fire trucks, and local politicians. It had been a couple years since I had been to the parade, this year, though, my Mom and sister were in town and I wanted to take them. So we loaded up in the van, including Kerri's wheelchair and my own. Once we parked, John asked if I wanted to use my chair and I initially balked but then remembered that it can be a long, hot parade and it might be better to have a place to sit. So, I acquiesced and took the cha...

Ch ... Ch ... Chemo

I was ready. I was prepared. The potential side-effect list was long and one I'd had some familiarity when John went through his treatment.  So I gathered my arsenal. I had my compazine, zofran and antivan. I had my ginger chewables and chicken noodle soup. I was armed and potentially dangerous. So, chemo day with the toxic chemo cocktail starting to do it's job, I envisioned it as either PacMan, eating away at the cancer cells or a Chia Pet, allowing my good cells to thrive. With these visions, (that aren't quite Christmas Eve sugar plums dancing) and tired from the chemo, I went to bed early. Friday, under the watchful eye of my caregiving hubby, I slept most of the day away. Not really hungry but not nauseous either. I spent the majority of the day horizontal on the couch listening to my book on Audible (despite the sleep timer, I probably missed 1/3 of what I 'read'), dozing, answering calls and texts, and snacking.  Perhaps the highlight of the ...