Skip to content


This is a post for the discipline of writing a post.

Sometimes, if you think you want to do something, you do it even if it is terrible. What’s unsaid is the fear of — not failure, but banality.

Maybe I’ll post tomorrow. This is enough for today.

Should I not have bothered?

Is it better to do something bad than to do nothing?

I’m not sure anyone is going to read this anyway.

I feel like a voice in the darkness.


Unknown-3Today, my son was going to go to his best friend’s birthday party. It was an awesome party — a trip to the lake, a campfire, and an overnight camp out.

We didn’t let him go.

There was a threat of bad thunderstorms, and we did not feel comfortable with sending him off to camp in bad weather, where a tree might fall on his tent, or the wind might blow it down around him. It was a small chance, but too much for us.

That’s not a normal reaction to bad weather. We should have let him go — but we just couldn’t handle the risk.

When you have lived through a worst case scenario, you lose the ability to pretend that a small chance is no chance.

This is the lingering scourge of cancer.

Round #2

We have a second meeting with Pool Genius Guy this week.

I’m too hopeful.

The Funny Look

The lie won't go away

The lie won’t go away


It’s what I want to say sometimes, when people give me a funny look after they find out that I got breast cancer in my 30s.

“Does it run in your family?”

“Nope, just me.”

Funny look.

Read more…


butterflyPieces of my crusty feet keep falling off. It’s disgusting.

I don’t think it’s disgusting. I think it’s beautiful.

It reminds me of the days my hair fell out, strand by strand, or by the handful in the shower. I remember the afternoon I lost my eyelashes, and the friends who held my hands while it was happening. I remember how my skin came off, the powdery residue that followed me for over a year. I remember my lips leaving an imprint of themselves on every glass and mug of tea.

This is different.

That was disintegration.

This is emergence.

Not a Metaphor

dragonFive days after my initial “Baby Feet” treatment, my feet have started to peel in earnest. It doesn’t hurt at all. It does look completely disgusting, or would if I hadn’t already been through so many even more disgusting things. All I can do is laugh.

I don’t want to say THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER because What Does That Say About My Life if shedding my scaly feet is the best thing that has ever happened to me, but right now, at this moment, that is what it feels like. My heels have been so horrid for such a long time.

I’m reminded of the chapter in Voyage of the Dawn Treader when Eustace gets un-dragoned by Aslan.

I’m also sleeping in our spare room because my feet are patently disgusting, and I know I’ll peel my socks off during the night — along with a lot of dead skin.

In our spare room are a wardrobe and some art  . . .  and come to think of it, that WOULD be the best thing to ever happen to me.

Except, of course, the part of the story where I did not die.

Scaling Back

We met with Genius Pool Guy today.

His proposal was perfect. It’s gorgeous. It’s a spa waterfalling into a giant pool with a 30 foot infinity edge waterfalling into another giant pool, deep enough to dive into. It’s unbelievable!

And it came in at 30% above our budget, more or less.

In theory, if our cars don’t break and we never ever go out to eat and nothing ever goes wrong with an investment property we own, we could buy the pool he designed, but we wouldn’t enjoy it because we would constantly fret about how much it cost. It would be a buzzkill pool, not an object of joy.

We could sell our investment property and just buy the damn pool, but that is not something we want to do, because then when our kids go to college, how will we pay for it? We might do that anyway.

We could save up and buy the glorious pool later on. That might happen. I might stick a paypal button on this blog to pay for the pool. I doubt I will do that.

We could go back to Genius Pool Guy and say, “please scale back your proposal” but how on earth do you tell that to someone who has given you the Pool Design From Heaven?

I might do that.

I have some other bids still outstanding (Santa) so I’m not going to rush into anything.

I think I will go sit in the bathtub and close my eyes and pretend I am in a pool. I need to soak my scaly feet anyway.

Some people go through this when they get a cancer diagnosis, especially when they don’t have adequate health insurance.

Some people go through this because their traditional insurance won’t pay for quack  cures.

Me? I just want a pool. Thank God I didn’t have to even think like this when I had cancer.