Well, yesterday was like a dream but today I was snapped back into reality. The alarm on my phone reminded me of my appointment with my surgeon. It is just a follow-up, but still a jolt to my system. When I look back over these last few days, I feel like I have come full circle. Yesterday I had the amazing experience of celebrating being cancer-free with my wonderful friends and family. And today I’m back at the surgeon’s, where this journey began. While I was sitting in the reception area waiting to be called back to see the doctor, a woman walked in and she was bald. I waited for her to sit down, then said, “How are you today?” She responded, “Okay.” I asked if she was getting chemo and who her oncologist was. Just as we started to chat the nurse called my name. As I was walking away the warrior asked, “How long did it take for your hair to come back?”  “This is three months’ worth,” I said, rubbing my fuzzy head. Once I was in the room waiting for the doctor, I realized that this was the exact same question I asked a women at Cancer Care when I was bald. She had more hair than I do now and wore it in a very cute style. She told me it had taken six months to get that much hair. It is funny how this experience has changed me. Once I was the one with all the questions. Now I’m the one with some of the answers. This is the room I was in with Lorene and Dad when I first went to see the surgeon, when I made the decision to have a lumpectomy instead of a mastectomy. I look at the art on the wall in the room – it still brings as much comfort now as it did then, but now I have lived it. The art is by The Cap Man, a local Athens folk artist. It is a painting of a flower accompanied by the words: “And when you come to the edge of all the light you know and are about to step out into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen. You will have something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.” This journey has taken me to the edge of the unknown; in some ways I am still on the edge. But then, I guess, we are all really at the edge of the unknown. For me, this journey has been about finding my faith. In this blog I have talked a lot about faith as I have tried to find my way. This experience has truly taught me that to fly, to be bold, to be authentic,  to be me – all of this takes faith. This experience has changed me; I am stronger, more courageous, and more willing to take a chance than ever before. As far as I know, we only live once in our present body. So it is vital for me to make the most of this beautiful gift I have been given.

Today I am back at radiation oncology for my follow-up with Dr. Terry. While I am waiting I take out my phone and start writing. I feel like my friends and some of you who read the blog may think, Okay, she’s done with treatment–she should be back to normal. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I spend most of my time just trying to get through each day. By the end of the week, I am completely exhausted and my body just needs rest. I have been dealing with this sort of tiredness and exhaustion for several months. I am trying to be patient with myself, but it is hard.

The physical exhaustion is not new; it is the mental and emotional problems that are becoming difficult for me. I thought “chemo brain” would go away once I stopped the treatment, but it seems worse now than ever. It is very scary for me. Sometimes I feel that I might be going insane.

At work, I will head down the hall to speak with someone and before I get to my destination I forget who I was going to see. I stand in the hallway trying to remember, but it doesn’t come back. I do this several times every day. Maybe this is caused my complete exhaustion or by the side effects of the meds I am taking. I’m not sure, but I don’t like it at all.

My brain feels fuzzy most of the time and my emotions are totally out of control. I reached out to my friend from radiation, Beth, because I needed some support. I sent her emails and we talked on the phone. I told her that I thought I was losing my mind. She assured me that I wasn’t, because if that was true, we both were. It was comforting to hear that she was feeling some of the same things.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to explain how special it is to have her to talk to and compare our journeys. I feel so blessed to have her in my life and so thankful for our beautiful friendship.

After seeing Dr. Terry and getting the thumbs up, I decided to take a walk in the park. It was a wonderful sunny day but a bit on the chilly side. The leaves were changing into those beautiful orange, gold, and yellow colors. I took some photos and before leaving the park, I headed over to that huge oak tree. I just wanted to put my hands on it one more time. I whispered to it that I would be back to visit, and thanked it and the park for taking such good care of me.

I needed to stop at WalMart on the way home, and once again I was overwhelmed to discover, just by being present in the moment, what amazing experiences I can have. I was in the grocery section at the end of an aisle. As I turned the corner, I looked up and saw an older couple facing me. I mainly noticed the gentleman and I said hello and asked how they were doing. He said, “Blessed.” I responded by saying I thought that was wonderful.

I met them again on the next aisle and that’s when I noticed the woman. Her hair was just a little longer than mine and our eyes met. I began, “I don’t mean to be rude, but did you . . . ?” Before I even finished my sentence she said yes, and I pointed to my head and said, “Me too.”

I stopped and we talked for several minutes. We exchanged stories and talked about our lives since treatment. She has had lots of memory problems as well as some physical side effects. These two people did not stop smiling the whole time we were talking. Before I walked away, I hugged both of them. It was an awesome experience and I was so glad I took the time to share it with them.

My life continues to amaze me. This year has been like no other. The relationship issues that happened in the first part of this year seem so insignificant now. One person treated me horribly, but throughout this year I have seen over and over again the innate goodness of people. I am so glad I did not let that experience harden me – if I had, I would have missed so much kindness this year.

I have to tell you about an amazing thing that happened to me this week. I shop at Publix on the east side of town and I usually hit the store once or twice a week. The staff seems to have a very low turnover rate and most of the same friendly people have been there since it opened several years ago. Since Athens isn’t a huge town, I guess the employees recognize some of the regular shoppers. And of course, you know me – I always have to smile and speak to each one of them I see while shopping and checking out.

When I felt up to it during chemo and radiation, I kept to my usual routines. So I still stopped at the store on the way home from work or a doctor’s appointment – but now sporting a bald head. One day I went to Publix wearing a baseball cap; strangely, I felt more self-conscious wearing the hat than just going in there with my baldness. I don’t know – maybe the baldness gave me more courage. I know it definitely made the cancer more real to me.

So this Monday I made my Publix run on the way home from work. My hair is coming back in at a rather surprising rate, so I am wearing it spiked up like a flat-top. I like it and most of my friends seem to like it. I finished my shopping and made it to the checkout. I recognized the clerk and we exchanged greetings. While she was ringing up my groceries, she looked at me and said, “Your hair is coming back in fast.”

I was a little surprised that someone I don’t really know would even notice. She asked how I was feeling and if I was finished with treatment. She also wanted to know if I had worn a bandana over my head when I was shopping; I told her, “No, I just sported the bald head.” She responded, “I thought that was you.” She told me how brave and courageous she thought I was. Her mother died of breast cancer and the loss of her hair was a very traumatic experience for her mother. The clerk told me she’d had a double mastectomy because she feared the breast cancer that killed her mother might be genetic.

After she rang up my last item she said, “I have to give you a hug.” We hugged and as I turned to walk away she said, “You might not realize it, but every time you were in here you had a smile on your face.” You will never know how that exchange made me feel. A complete stranger noticing me, supporting me, and encouraging me.

We never know from moment to moment how our behavior affects the people we come into contact with every day. Just smiling and speaking to people as I shop for groceries makes a difference. I try to really look at everyone I meet – to look them in the eye, acknowledge their humanity, and say hello. We are all the same: rich, poor, black, white, brown, republican, democrat, conservative, liberal, straight, gay, bi or trans. We are the same. We long to be connected in this crazy world that forces us to be different by giving us labels. I long to drop these labels and just see others as my human family, each one of us struggling with our demons and striving to make our way.

We all have our stories to tell. I am learning that by being willing to tell mine, others are willing to share their stories with me. That is a true treasure – a cherished treasure. Thank you, my friends.

I don’t hate many things but I do hate cancer. I am back at Cancer Care for an appointment with my survivorship counselor. It is crazy, but this last year still seems like a dream, almost like this has happened to someone else. And maybe it has, because I am definitely not the person who started this journey.

As soon as I turned into the parking lot at the clinic my stomach dropped. Not really for myself, but it hit me so hard because I am at the end of the treatment part of this journey and so many people are just starting their journey. I am amazed every time I go there – the place is always packed. I walked down the chemo hallway and saw everyone hooked up and getting the poison that will hopefully kill the cancer. And my heart hurt for each one of them.

I asked my counselor when someone is considered a survivor. Her response was, as soon as you are diagnosed.  She said, “Today you are cancer free and at 10 years you are considered to be cured.” So cancer free – YES – it makes me smile just to say it. I will have follow-up appointments over the next 10 years at Cancer Care; I will have mammograms every six months and my other annual exams. So I am just taking each step as it comes and continuing to walk down this new path.

Several people have commented to me over the last few days about this blog and my writing. I have been encouraged to keep writing and also to keep everyone updated through my writing. I will continue to update this blog occasionally. I also hope to start another blog soon – if my good friend, Diane, is still willing to help me. [Editor’s note: I am more than willing!]

I also want to update you on the little dog I found when I was walking in the park. The owner is letting me keep him. I have fallen hard for my little Freddie the Freeloader. His hair is coming back in and he looks so much better. I think he feels safe and comfortable here and that makes me happy.

I don’t think any of you know how important this blog has been to me. It was a way to survive when my world seemed so bleak. But it has been your kindness, encouragement, and support that have truly helped me make it to this point. I have tears in my eyes but a glow in my heart as I write these words. I have opened myself up to you and you have loved and accepted me, and for that I will be forever grateful. The warrior has returned – ready to face whatever lies ahead.

I thought after I finished treatment this blog would come to an end, but for me that is not the case. I do have good news to report: My first post-surgery mammogram was clear. This mammogram was only of my left breast; I will go back in six months for a bilateral mammogram. Of course, in between I will have follow-up appointments with my surgeon, medical oncologist, and radiation oncologist. So this is still very much a part of my life. I have had excellent care since the beginning of this process and it feels good to know the team is there to keep a check on me.

I want to make it clear to everyone that I am overjoyed to have completed treatment and to have had such wonderful news. I feel truly blessed and I am extremely grateful. But since this is a blog about the journey following my breast cancer diagnosis, I want to continue the blog as I continue this part of the journey. As I work through so many feelings, I just want to assure you that I am okay, and just trying to find my way.

So what am I feeling now? It feels like I just don’t fit in my skin anymore. Like a lizard or a snake, I feel the need to shed this skin. I really can’t put these feelings into words; it’s just an unsettledness. I have spent all of this year trying to get to this point – finished with chemo and treatment. Now what??? I know – Live. It is just figuring this part out that is causing me some difficulty.

This may sound dramatic, but today I thought, If you were in a plane crash and by some miracle you survived, would you be the same? Or would that experience affect you for the rest of your life? In my case, I have survived, but this experience has changed me in so many ways. Has it made me more fearful? I don’t think so. Has it proved to me that I am a fighter? Yes. Has it proved to me that I am loved? You better believe it.

It has also shown me that life is short and helped me begin trying to define how I want to live the rest of my life. It would be so easy to slip back into that person – that skin – I was before. Unaware, self-consumed, and living just to get by. I fear it, actually. Change is hard, but change I must.

I want to share a quote I found today because it speaks volumes to me at this point in my life:

“Choice”

“Chance”

“Change”

You Must Make A “Choice”

To Take A “Chance”

Or

Your Life Will Never “Change.”

I was talking to my dear friend Beth on the phone last week, and she mentioned how my journey has been a yearlong process that has followed almost a seasonal path. It is fall; the leaves are changing colors and the trees will soon drop their leaves. That is the point I am at also: a turning over, a renewal. Soon it will be a new calendar year and a new year for me–a year that will start me on my new path, although I have no idea what that path will be. Life is a mystery, and I just have to show up. My goal is to show up with the willingness and openness and faith to pursue this mystery.

I hope you will bear with me while I try to come to grips with all my feelings. I think this is just part of the process. I still feel a little shaky, the way you feel the first time you put on a pair of roller skates. Scared to stand up and roll into the rink, still wanting to hold onto the handrail for a while. Eventually, courage comes; you let go and walk for a few steps, then fall, but before long you’re skating forward, backward, crossing over on the curves. You still fall every now and then, but now you know you can skate, so you just jump up and off you go again.

I learned to skate by watching others and getting the courage to let go and skate. So that is what I’m doing now: watching and learning how I want to live my life. At some point, I hope others may be able to look at me and find the courage they need to take those first steps and skate.

Thanks to all of you for giving me the courage I will need for the next part of my recovery. Love you all.

So that’s it. I am done. Surgery, chemo, and radiation behind me now. I noticed the lump in my breast in late January, was diagnosed on March 15, had surgery in April, and four chemo treatments and 36 radiation treatments later, how do I feel???  Empty. Sad. Tired. Alone.

As my friend Sandy has said, I was on the cancer treatment conveyor belt and now I have been dumped off at the end of the line. It really is hard to know how I truly feel. All this time I’ve been surrounded by doctors, nurses, technicians, family, and friends, all working toward one goal: to rid my body of cancer. Hopefully, it has worked – time will tell.

My friend Lorene met me at radiation this morning. It was hard saying goodbye to the wonderful women who have helped me through my treatments. They have been so supportive and kind. Once I finished my treatment, I had Lorene take a photo of me with these women. I will cherish this photo because this experience has been so meaningful to me. I have seen these same women five days a week for a total of 36 treatments; you cannot help but form a bond.

After radiation, guess what I did? You guessed it – I went for a walk in the park. It was beautiful as always and again I could not help myself; I had to take some photos. Lorene took a photo of me kissing that big beautiful oak tree. I will miss my walks in that park but I will visit it again when I need to find some peace.

After the park we went to Ike and Jane’s. This is the little coffee shop where Beth and I went a couple of times after radiation. This is what I had planned to do on my last day: walk in the park because of the connection I have there, then go to the coffee shop because of the good memories and conversations Beth and I shared there. When I opened my card this morning, Beth had included a gift card to Ike and Jane’s. Isn’t that great???  I could not believe it, but I guess heart friends know each other well.

I have my sixth-month follow-up mammogram on Monday. I am scared, but I cannot image that any cancer cell could have survived this barrage of toxic chemicals and x-ray beams. I will be glad to get this first follow-up out of the way; then I will have mammograms every six months for the next two years. I have always felt a little nervous before my annual mammogram so I guess I should expect to have anxiety for these follow-up mammograms. I think I will always have this little fear in my head that it might come back. I don’t think that fear will go away, but I can and will live with it.

The first nine-and-a-half months of this year have really forced me to take a good long look at myself and my life. I am still trying to get my feet under me and to walk into each day with this new outlook on life. Even though I feel scared, sad, tired, and alone, I know those feelings will begin to fade over the next few weeks. I will be able to look forward to the new adventures that lie ahead.

I want to thank each one of you for reading this blog. Thanks for all the wonderful comments and support you have given me. You held me up when I was weak. You gave me courage when I was afraid. You showed me love when I felt unlovable. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Okay, I think it is about time for a little humor, so I have three stories I want to tell you. I hope you will find a little humor in all of them. I have spent time laughing at them with a few people, and each time I tell these stories I am told, “You have to put that in the blog.” So here goes . . .

The first is an update on the sweet little cutie pie I found on my walk in the park. After three baths, I think we finally have the flea problem under control. He grows sweeter with each passing day. I told you that when I found him he was wearing a collar with a tag that had the name Lucy on it. But when I talked to the owner she said his name was Sammy. Well, I had already named him Freddie, for Freddie the Freeloader. Some of you younger folks might not be familiar with Freddie the Freeloader, but he was a character that Red Skelton played. If you just want to laugh at some good clean humor, google Freddie the Freeloader. I am sure it will bring a smile to your face.

The second story begins with my trip to WalMart yesterday. I needed some things from WalMart and since it has been a long time since I’ve been in there, I was like a tourist in New York: eyes wide open, looking at all the things I have missed. So of course the idea of just running in and grabbing bleach and baking soda was out the window. I wandered around the store, putting things in my basket that I really didn’t need. I found my way to the art section; they have some art canvases and since I have started painting, I put some in the basket.

While I was on this aisle, a mother and a little boy came around the corner and were facing me. The little boy looked at me and started to say something. His mother turned to him and said, “You better not.” I looked at him; he was probably 5 or 6. He had the best smile and a sparkle in his eye, and I could just see the mischief oozing out of him. He had short black hair, shaved closer than a crew cut. He looked at his mom – her back was turned. Then he looked at me and said, “Your momma – Your daddy – Your bald-headed baby.”

He just laughed and so did I. His mother was mortified. “I am sorry – they have been saying that at school.” I looked at him and said, “I think I probably have more hair than you do.” He started laughing and we just smiled at each other. As they were walking off, again I said, “I really think I have more hair than you do.” To which his mother again apologized. I said, “No problem.” I have been laughing ever since at that little fellow. I called Kim on the way home from WalMart and told her the story, and we laughed until I had tears running down my cheeks.

Kids are great. They don’t have any restrictions; they are just honest and sometimes they tell it like it is. One day I noticed a little girl looking at me as I was walking out of Menchie’s, so I said hello to her. She looked at me and said, “Are you a girl?”  I said, “Yes, and my hair was longer than yours at one time.”  These things do not bother me; in fact they make me smile. And I think it is healthy to have one of those belly laughs every now and then.

Okay, so here is the third story. If you have been reading my blog, you know that I have three goats, who I bottle-fed since they were days old. They are more like dogs than goats. They follow me around the yard and I love them.

When I decided to get goats, I wanted male goats but not billy goats. So the woman I purchased them from used the Burdizzo method to neuter my boys. Not to get too involved, but this method uses a clamp to break the blood vessels that run to the testicles. However, unfortunately for me and the boys, it did not work. So at a year and a half, I have these goats and now they are starting to display the behavior of intact male goats. I don’t know if you have ever been around billy goats, but they smell horrible. That is why I wanted these guys neutered early.

So for the last few weeks, I wake up and go to sleep listening to two of the guys butting heads. Which isn’t so bad – but there are other behaviors that are not very charming. If you are not familiar with livestock, sometimes they do things that are pretty unattractive. Well, billy goats like to pee on their face and their beards. I guess female goats find this to be a turn-on, but I find it to be totally gross. There are other behaviors I could describe, but I don’t think they’re appropriate for the blog. In any case, I think Javier and Honey Badger are competing for Tupelo’s affection. Tupelo is not impressed and neither am I.

So it is time for a vet visit, which means loading up all three goats to take them to the vet. I had an appointment scheduled for this morning. I called and asked several friends if they could help me get them to the vet, but Kim was rescuing kittens, Lorene was keeping her grandkids, and Sylvia had to work. So it was up to me. Who needs any stinking help anyway?

I put an extra-large dog crate in the back of my Ford Focus station wagon. I decided to take the Focus instead of the Ford Ranger because I figured lifting them into the car would be easier. Well, the crate was not going to happen. I could not get them in the crate in the back of the car – so out came the crate. I pulled out the carpet from the back of the car, grabbed a little sweet feed, and put it in the car. All three goats gladly jumped into the back and I closed the hatch. Success! Except I forgot something in the house and had to run back inside. When I got back to the car, Javier was in the front seat. You have to understand, I don’t have dwarf goats; they are full sized. I had to push him back between the front two seats and into the back. Now success.

Can you imagine what you would think if you saw a bald-headed woman with three goats in the back of her car driving down the road?? Javier was his usual self, head stuck between the two seats, aggravating me as I tried to drive. The other two decided to lie down, but not Javier.

We finally made it to the vet’s office and I said to the staff there, “Okay, go ahead and laugh at the redneck woman who hauls goats in the back of her car.”  One of them responded, “We laugh at you anyway.” We got the boys out and started leading them into the clinic. At this point, Honey Badger decided he would do anything necessary to hold onto the last shred of his manhood. He would not walk. He planted his front feet firmly and simply would not take a step. I had to push him all the way down the hall into the kennel.

The goats spent most of the day at the vet; at the end of the day I picked them up and brought them home. On the ride back to the house, Javier stood up the whole trip again – but this time with his butt toward me. I guess that was his way of telling me what he thought of today’s adventure.

I hope you were able to find some humor in these stories. I have laughed and cried while writing this post. It is strange how closely laughter and tears are bound. If you are like me, I’m sure that you have been laughing at something and then, suddenly, the tears start flowing. That is exactly how my days have been for the last few weeks; my laughter has been tinged with the bitterness of reality. I love to laugh and I have been told that I have a great laugh. But it seems like such a long time since the laughter has totally filled my heart and soul.

Tomorrow is my last day of treatment. I thought I would be excited and happy about it, but I really don’t know how I feel. Scared?? Yes. Excited?? Yes. Looking forward to it? Yes and no. I have my follow-up mammogram next Monday, so there’s a big lump in my heart and throat. I am just trying to walk this path – with love in my heart, a twinkle in my eyes, and a smile on my face – because I have all of you.

So many things have happened over the last few days and I want to share them all with you. I cannot figure out how to put them all in one blog post, at least not one that would make any sense. So I think I will break them up so you will be able to follow along with my adventure.

I started off my day with radiation. Last Thursday my beautiful friend Beth gave me four cards, one for each of the days I had left of radiation. It was a very touching gesture and it brought tears to my eyes. You see, Beth’s friends had done the same thing for her. She had 36 cards, numbered 1-36 so each day she would read the card right before treatment. She told me how much the cards meant to her. So for her to do this for me was meaningful for her and for me, since she would not be there for my last four treatments.

So far I have read the first two, and I am amazed at how much this person understands about me. Today’s card was so wonderful that I want to share a little bit of it with you. Beth, I hope you do not mind. In the card, she included Mary Oliver’s Why I Wake Early, a beautiful poem that expresses all the thoughts and feelings I have about nature. In the card, she wrote, “You are brave, and wounded, and strong, and broken . . . forever changed, but okay. And if I had to guess, you are probably smiling with tears in your eyes!”

Funny – I can hardly type this because I am crying right now. Wow – she is so right. Brave, strong, yet wounded and broken. How can one person be all those things? It has been difficult for me to grasp this dichotomy within myself. But really, you cannot be one if you have not felt the other. How can you be brave if you have never been wounded? How can you be strong if you have never been broken?

Life is so hard sometimes, and I face it with armor engaged. But beneath that armor is a wounded child trying to make her way in this world. I think it has been this experience with cancer that has opened me up enough to see that I can be all those things, and that it is okay. It is part of being human. It is okay to really let people in and let them know the real me. Even with all the scars and broken pieces, I am worthy of love. I want to thank each one of you for sharing my journey with me and for loving me and supporting me.

Another lesson this cancer journey has brought home to me is the fact that no one gets out of this world alive. I am blessed; both of my parents are still living and I cannot image this world without them in it. I found out this weekend that a family friend had died. It is so hard for me to believe. I grew up playing with this man’s daughters; we grew up in the country and lived across the road from each other. We rode horses and bikes and played outside together all summer. Mr. JL would have reminded you of the Marlboro Man. He worked at the post office but also farmed. In the summer he would wear a blue cowboy shirt with the arms cut off, jeans, cowboy boots, and a straw cowboy hat. He always had a huge plug of tobacco in his cheek. Dark skin, dark hair, and a great smile. That is the way I want to remember him. It is so difficult watching people age. They are supposed to stay exactly as I remember them from my childhood. It is always a shock to my system to see how time changes my childhood heroes.

As I have said before, each day, each second is a moment I want to cherish. Time passes too quickly and in the blink of an eye it is over. Live every moment as if it were your last.

I have to tell you about my walk in the park on Friday. It was my first day at radiation without my friend Beth. I was feeling emotional and missing her, but I was also excited that I only have three treatments to go. I left radiation with those mixed emotions and headed for the park.

I started on the path and noticed how nice the air felt and smelled. It made me happy just to be outside, enjoying the sunshine on my face. I took out my iPhone so I could take some photos as I was walking. I love the way the sunlight looks striking the dew on the leaves and spider webs. I love the colors of the leaves as the light shines through them. I took several photos and was looking forward to continuing my walk when I heard the sprinklers come on.

I almost turned around and headed back to the car, but decided I could dodge the sprinklers and finish my walk. I was rounding a curve on the path when I looked up and saw a small white dog stumbling on the sidewalk near the park. He was right next to the road that runs beside the park. I watched for a few minutes to see if anyone was with him. He stumbled further along the sidewalk, then turned and headed toward the street.

I decided I should check on him. I ran a little to catch up with him and called out, but he just kept stumbling along. When I finally caught up to him, I reached down and picked him up. My first thought was, “Oh my God – you stink.” I almost wanted to put him down, but then I looked at him. He was blind, with dry crusted matter covering both eyes. He was covered in fleas and very dirty. His toenails were so long they were beginning to curl under. He had on a collar with the name Lucy. I checked – yes, I was right, an intact male – so “Lucy” was probably not his name. I had to clean the tag before I could even begin to see the name or numbers. I called the first number – no answer. Second number – disconnected.

What makes this story so ironic is that I had just been talking to my friend Kim on the way to radiation. We started talking about faith and God. Kim said she thinks we are all here to learn lessons. She said, “If we pass by an animal or a person in need and we don’t help, then that is a lesson we have to go through again.”

So I have all this on my mind and a seven-pound blind, deaf dog in my hands. What should I do? You got it: I call Kim. We decide he needs to go to the vet, so off I go. Now this little guy is pitiful. I take him to the vet, where he gets a bath and his nails trimmed. The vet also gives me something for his eyes. Kim arrives at the vet’s office, looks at the little guy, and gives him another bath. The fleas on him were unbelievable. I get him some flea medication and $70 later, we are out of there.

I continue to look for his owners and I finally reach one of them. He is 14 years old and they have had him all that time. They love him, but they do not have the money to really take good care of him. I ask if he can stay with me. At first the answer was no. Then the owner said they wanted to do what is best for the dog. I will keep the little guy for a week and then the owner will come and visit him here. Hopefully she will decide he can stay, but if not I will help her by taking him to the vet and to get groomed. I just have to do what is right for him.

He seems happy here. He is so ugly that he is cute. He makes my heart feel good. I pick him up and he just relaxes in my arms. I think he feels safe here; at least I hope so. I know this may seem crazy because I already have a house full of dogs. I love them all, and each one touches me in a different way. I have never been great with people but I have always had a way with animals. I am not talking about training them or teaching them tricks. I am talking about a real connection, almost an understanding. Maybe it is because it was animals that got me through my childhood. I needed them for comfort and support and they were always there. Anyway, what is one more seven-pound cutie going to do?

You may wonder what this has to do with my cancer story. I think it has to do with living in the moment, and being aware of what is happening around me. It is the battle with cancer that has made me see how important it is to live in the moment. How important it is to do what I can to help all of God’s creatures, and not to turn my back and think someone else will take care of it.

I hope I can help this little guy have a better life, for the short time he has left. At least I am going to try.