Waiting, waiting, waiting.  I just keep waiting to feel human again.  It has been 10-11 days since the last chemo and I’m still not feeling human.  I thought I had this chemo bit down: chemo on Tuesday and start feeling better on the following Sunday night. Even better on Monday, then human on Tuesday.

So that is what I expected this time, but no.  It has been one thing after another.  Chemo on Tuesday. Neulasta injection on Wednesday. Back to the doctor a week after chemo.  On the Tuesday after chemo my WBC count was low – Neupogen injection. Saw the doc again on Wednesday, and my WBC count was normal.

Thursday I broke out with the worst poison ivy ever, and also had an allergic reaction to hand sanitizers. My hands were itchy, hot, and swollen.  On Friday I started having severe pains under my right rib cage and now, at 12:32 am Saturday morning, I’m in the ER, waiting to find out what the hell is happening with me.  I have my two faithful friends Sylvia and Lorene here with me.  I know they are ready to kill me but they sit here patiently, giving me care and comfort.

I am not one to cry with physical pain, but this time I was in tears.  I am sure some of it was fear but a lot of it was just from the pain.  I finally decided around 10 p.m. Friday that I just could not take it anymore.  I had tried Tums, Rolaids, and Maalox.  Each time it would help for a bit but then the pain would come back worse than before.  When you have chemo you have no idea what those drugs might be doing to your body, so just to be safe, off to the emergency room the three of us went.

They dropped me off at the emergency room and went to park the cars. I walked in and thought, Well, we will be here all night. The place was packed. But since I was having chest pains they took me right back.  I was back and in a room before Sylvia and Lorene even made it back from parking.  I felt a little guilty for being taken back before the other people, but not really that guilty.

I had the usual EKG, which came back normal.  I really did not think it was my heart but I guess it is best to rule that out first.  Next came the blood work and urine sample followed by a chest x-ray.  Chest x-ray was good – no pneumonia.  Questions came up with the blood work.  The blood test indicated that the heart was okay but one test came back high so the doctor was concerned about a blood clot in the lungs.  He said that is one thing that concerns him when someone is on chemo.  He left and I looked at Lorene and Sylvia and said, “Did he just say blood clot?”  I could tell Sylvia was concerned but the voice of reason (which is Lorene) said, “It is not a blood clot; we know that it is your esophagus.”  Okay – so she settled us all down, but I know it is something all of us are concerned about now.

So between the fear and the pain, I finally decided to let them give me some morphine.  I have no idea why I kept resisting.  The doctor had ordered it but I like to pretend I am tough, so I resisted.  The nurse came in to give me the morphine and asked, “What is your pain level on a scale of 0-10?” Again trying to be tough, I said, “about 7.”  She gave me the injection, then asked again about my pain level. I said, “What pain?”

Sylvia asked me a question and all I could say was, “Your hair looks really pretty.” Even though I was out of it I could hear Sylvia and Lorene laughing because now I was smiling.  Damn straight I’m smiling – this is some good stuff.  And they are laughing again because I am mumbling something about taking some of it home.

So next I am off for a CAT scan to check for blood clots. Guess what? It was clear also. Okay, now we are narrowing it down.  Maybe the gall bladder – so an ultrasound is done and we rule out the gall bladder. So now it is 5 or 6 a.m. on Saturday morning.  The doctor says it is the esophagus or stomach, probably inflamed and irritated from all the chemo.  Drugs prescribed and another injection of morphine given, we are finally able to go home.

I am relieved to know it is something that can be controlled with medication and even more relieved not to be in pain.  A little embarrassed that I dragged Sylvia and Lorene to the ER with me, but very grateful for their kindness and support.

It is getting to be time now to prepare for the next battle.  The last battle with chemo is just a little over a week away.  I am writing the last of this post on July 21st.  My next chemo is on July 30th.  I know it seems like a long time, but it is not.  It will be the last and the hardest battle.  The fatigue from chemo is not the same after each treatment; it is cumulative.  But I will be ready.  Dressed in the armor that all of you have polished and shined for me.  I will be ready.  I have to be ready.

You see, this time I might be someone else’s chemo hero.  Just like the one I needed to see during my first chemo.  So on that day, I will walk in with my head held high, like I own the place.  My armor will be fitted perfectly and I will smile while facing this enemy on this battlefield for the last time.

As you know from yesterday’s post, this round of chemo has taken its toll.  I have not felt as good today as I was hoping to – the fatigue is still here and the nausea finally caught up with me.  I was able to eat some cheese toast a few minutes ago and I think I might be starting to feel better.

When I am in these physical downspins, my mind is at its best (I really should say “worst,” because it can truly be my worst enemy).  One time, I had a very special person say to me, “Melissa, your mind is like a bad neighborhood – you should never go in there alone.”  So that is what I mean – my mind basically has a mind of its own.  It can really brew some things up if I am not available to at least rein it in every now and then.

I know some of you get concerned when my writings begin to turn a little darker.  I understand your concern but I have to allow these issues to come out.  If I just stuff things away and never mention them, they are still there.  But it is extremely important for me to open these things up – expose them to the light and then watch them lose their power.  So with all that said, let me tell you what I have been feeling like today.

Nothing. That’s it – nothing.  I don’t feel alive but I know I am.  I am breathing, seeing, sensing, and talking with friends.  My house has been full of wonderful and supportive people today – Lorene, Sylvia, and Cheryl.  Kim, Steve, and Chris came over to update the goat shed. I got to spend some time talking to my friend Janet today and hearing her voice is good medicine also. It has been an amazing day and I am grateful for all the love and support, but inside I feel nothing. I so look forward to at least feeling something.

When I was falling asleep earlier today, I thought of my body as a cube.  If you took my head, shoulders and body to about my waist that is what it feels like: a cube.  A cube where you can snap off the legs and put the cube wherever you like.  Just sit it there – no feeling – no emotion – just there.  The world spins around it and life goes on, but the cube just sits there.

And that is really how my life feels right now.  Just waiting to get through with all of these damn treatments.  I think about doing something or going somewhere and then I remember – no, wait – finish chemo, then radiation.  This is not at all how I thought this year of my life would be – but it is what it is.  I will do what must be done. I will wait. I will put this all behind me, then take a big, deep breath of the cool fall air.

Unbelievable!  This treatment has really thrown me for a loop. The extra anti-nausea med that I was given on Tuesday really helped; I have not been sick and I have actually been able to eat. This is the first time Lorene and Sylvia have not had to force me to eat. So that part is good but the fatigue is much worse than before – I have slept almost continuously since Thursday.

Walking from one room to the next really becomes a chore. For someone like me who has always been fairly active, this feeling is very disconcerting. I have run a marathon, completed a half-ironman and participated in hundreds of other running and biking events, so to be out of breath after walking from one room to the next is a little unsettling. My legs get weak, I feel light headed, I have a hard time catching my breath, and all I really want to do is sit down. Just typing this is hard because my arms are so fatigued.  Needless to say, I am physically tired, but mentally I am also so tired of feeling this way. I know this is just the process, but it is getting harder each time.

To tell you the truth, I do not even know where my armor is today. I came home from chemo, threw it off, and have been raw and exposed ever since. It is probably laying crumpled in a corner somewhere and will need lots of tending to before the next battle. Armor is good for battle but sometimes it is good to be uncovered and exposed. It is during these times that I am reminded of how much love and support surrounds me. That is what gives me the strength for the next battle, the next time the armor must be worn to face this faceless enemy.

While I am going through this journey, I have met another warrior who has Stage IV breast cancer. It is scary to even write those words, much less think about what it must feel like to be facing that diagnosis. I am brought to tears almost every time I think about it. She is alone, without the support of family and friends. She is on an experimental drug – one last chance, and the thought scares me to death.

I feel truly blessed not only because I caught this cancer early, but also because I have all of you. It is a comfort and a blessing. I will fight on – I will not let you down. But as you are holding me up and sending good thoughts my way, please pray for everyone else who is facing this demon.

Love you all.

I had my third chemo treatment yesterday. The armor was severely damaged by the time the treatment was over. I got through the treatment because I shared the treatment room with two wonderful breast cancer warriors. I had met both of these beautiful women before and it was so calming and comforting to be there with them. We laughed and shared a lot. One I have mentioned to you before: the true warrior, the one with the children and grandchildren, who told me she has too much to live for. She was getting an additional injection to help with one of the side effects (osteoporosis) and the nurse asked her to read the possible side effects. She read some of them out loud to us and said, “This is why I never read these things. They scare you to death.” I totally agree with her. If you read those inserts, you will run away screaming and never look back. The true warrior said, “I think I would rather have osteoporosis than any of these side effects.”

It’s funny how the conversation changes when you are with other cancer warriors. You talk about triple negative or triple positive, lymph node involvement, radiation (how many treatments), and you never have to explain anything. We have all educated ourselves and it has changed us and changed our language. I really enjoy spending time with these women; it gives me strength to continue this battle. The true warrior is ahead of us in her treatment regimen. She has finished chemo and started radiation. She informed us that after chemo, radiation is a breeze. She has completed 12 of 36 radiation treatments – one-third of the way done. The other cancer warrior and I are on the same schedule. She and I have one more treatment, then the 36 radiation treatments. It will be an honor to walk through this part of the journey with her.

This third treatment has been the most difficult so far. The fatigue is almost overwhelming and the chemo brain is really bad. So bad that my wonderful friend Diane, who is editing these posts for me, will have her work cut out for her on this one (thanks, Diane). The chemo brain really drives me crazy – I cannot think. I know the words I want to say, but that is not what comes out of my mouth. Last night, my dog Finn was making a racket in his crate, so I called for him to stop. But instead of yelling “Finn!” I yelled “Cancer!” Lorene, who was taking care of me last night, looked at me and just started laughing. I also had a great visit with wonderful friends Diane and Laurel last night. They brought me my favorite comfort food, mashed potatoes. Yummy good.

The good visit with friends and the wonderful care I am receiving helps to restore my armor. The armor took a beating yesterday. When I checked out of the clinic yesterday, the wonderful woman who always helps me looked at me and asked, “How are you doing today?” I just looked at her and she said, “I am just going to be honest: You look tired today. You usually are so up that I can tell a difference.” I told her that she was correct.

It is true – I am very tired. The treatments are taking a toll. It is harder to keep the armor in good repair, but I am trying. But it is taking more and more out of me and I am so grateful for all the support I am receiving. I really think that it will be all of you that get the armor ready for me for the last treatment. I am weary, so I thank all of you for getting me prepared for this last chemo battle. The warrior will be ready, with the most loving armor ever.

Okay, so I have waited about as long as I can stand to without writing.  The weekends are always tough for me and this one is no different.  It is easy for me to hide from life and myself, but writing changes all of that; writing makes me be honest with myself.  Sometimes it is easier to hide, but for me it is not healthy. So I write.

It is on the weekends that my mind drifts to the last relationship I was in and I try to make sense of the whole mess.  I try to understand what happened and why, but it still makes no sense and I feel alone.  With chemo on Tuesday I know the week ahead will be rough, so I try to concentrate on getting ready for battle. But I feel the most vulnerable right now. The armor is off and the thought of putting it back on this week is difficult.  The armor is getting heavier and the battles seem to come too close together. But come Tuesday morning I will be ready.  Head held high – armor polished and in great repair – spirits will be good so I can fight another round.  I will be ready. Bring it!

The start of the weekend was pretty eventful.  It seems like it has been raining here for weeks.  I don’t mean a little drizzle every now and then – I mean RAIN!  Crazy rain!  I have a small pond in front of my house that I enjoy quite a bit.  I love sitting on the front porch watching the turtles, fish, and dragonflies and listening to the frogs.  But with all this rain, the pond is starting to overflow its banks. My driveway goes across the top of the dam and some of my friends are a little freaked out with so much water on the roadway.  I try to keep an eye on the drain to make sure it is clear and that water is flowing during times like these.

After work on Friday, I was driving across the dam and checked the drain.  I thought, “What the hell? . . . Is that a small alligator tail sticking out of the drain?”  I drove to the house and waited for the rain to slack up.  As soon as I could I walked down the drive and looked. It wasn’t an alligator but a snapping turtle, head down in the drain.  I could not believe it. I knew it was dead and that broke my heart, but I had to get the damn thing out of there. It was plugging up the hole.

I called my friend Kim and explained the situation. The same thing happened at their pond but she could not remember how they got it out. Kim wasn’t sure what to do so I called for backup, and soon Lorene was on her way with a long, hooked stick. I met her in the driveway with a pitchfork. I had no idea how to get the thing out of there but I knew I would need to get in the pond.

I look at Lorene and asked, “Do you think you should tie a rope around me?” She looked at me like I was crazy.  I don’t think she was willing to attach herself to this crazy baldheaded woman and risk being pulled into the pond right along with me.

So I grabbed my pitchfork and put it as close to the drain as possible. Okay, the water will not be over my head – that’s good.  I turn around and say, “I need to get into the pond. Do you think I should take off my boots and jeans?”  Again, Lorene looks at me like she cannot believe what she is hearing and says, “I don’t think that is such a good idea.  Just what your neighbors need: to see you with your bald head in your underwear carrying a dead turtle.”

Okay, boots and jeans stay on. I take the step and reach for the turtle. Then the girl in me comes out. “I don’t want to touch it,” I say.  But the biologist in me says, “Wow – what I great shell!” So I grab the damn snapping turtle and pull him out of the drain. He is heavier than I expected and I am off balance.  I step backwards to the bank and my foot slips.

Now I am on my ass sliding into the water, and the harder I try to get up, the more I keep slipping and sliding back into the pond. I am in the poison ivy and briars but I cannot let go of the turtle now because I want the shell. I am cussing, kicking and pulling myself up the bank. I’m not sure but I think I hear Lorene laughing. I’m just thankful she didn’t think to videotape the whole thing. I am finally back on my feet and on the driveway. And now I am just sick about this poor guy.

You might remember that I wrote a post about a nasty-ass snapping turtle. Lorene was involved in that crazy adventure also.  That one had a good ending: We saved the turtle and we still feel good about it.  This time we had a different outcome – a funny story but a sad ending.

I want to live my life so that it is filled with fun stories and great adventures, but I realize that along with all the good stuff comes the bad stuff also.  Sometimes there are happy endings, sometimes not.  But that is life, right?  We never know from one moment to the next what is going to happen.  I am glad I don’t know how my story ends – I like the adventure and unfolding of things.  This has been a rough year for me so far, but I have learned so much and I would not change one thing about it.  So I would like to thank all of you who are reading this and supporting me.  I love you. Life is a mystery.

Have you ever gotten in your car and turned on the radio and heard a song you’ve listened to a thousand times – but somehow that day it seems different? That happened to me yesterday on my way to work.  I heard Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down A Dream.”  I’ve heard it many times before, and even have it on a CD, but yesterday the words just spoke to me.  I guess it’s like the saying goes: The teacher will appear when the student is ready.  I finally heard the words, and it was a little gift on my way to work.

If you are not familiar with the song, the chorus is:

Yeah, runnin’ down a dream

That never would come to me

Workin’ on a mystery, goin’ wherever it leads

Runnin’ down a dream

When I heard those words, I thought, “Wow – that is exactly how I feel.”  Something has changed in me since I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  My world has changed.  I have never written anything before – never even thought about trying.  After my first chemo, sentences just started popping into my head.  I could not fall asleep because of the stories that started playing in my mind.  Finally, I thought, “Write some of this down.”  I did not think I would share it with anyone.  But then I did.  And I have been totally amazed at the response.

So this is what my life feels like now: that I am running down a dream.  I have no idea where the dream will lead . . . but I feel like I am on my path.

Another part of the song says:

I rolled on, the sky grew dark

I put the pedal down to make some time

There’s something good, waitin’ down this road

I’m picking up whatever is mine

So far this year, my sky has grown dark, but I just keep rolling down this road.  I do believe that there is something good waiting.  That is the faith that I have talked about. It takes faith to walk through the dark and believe that something good is waiting.  If I did not believe or have faith, I would never be able to keep walking, never be able to see the light shining at the end of this tunnel. I have been truly blessed, not in spite of having breast cancer but because of it. I have started down a new path. I have started running down my dream.

Maybe you think my last post was full of darkness and depression – but really it was not.  I have learned to live my life in the balance between the two worlds of depression and joy.  I have spent my whole life dealing with these issues.  I am comfortable with the two.  I have learned that my depressions offer me a true blessing.  I would never have learned the spiritual lessons that I have learned without the darkness.  That is a time of true faith – just believing that as long as I continue walking I will come out on the other side.  Those times are hard times but they also amplify the joy and happiness once I reach the other side.

I mentioned the word faith.  Faith – what is it?  I know the definition and I am sure you do too.  But faith to me is just putting one foot in front of the other.  I have no idea what will happen along this journey, but I do know that if I just keep walking the path, the way will open.  Faith is the reason I can put my armor on every 21 days and face the chemo and the sickness.  Just do what is in front of me and keep walking.

Faith also brings up the subject of God and religion.  I always say I am not religious but I am spiritual.  Religion is a strange thing to me.  So many people do things in the name of religion or God that I just do not understand.  The God or Spirit I believe in is loving, kind, accepting, understanding, and gentle.

I have two sisters, one older, one younger.  I am right in the middle, with about 6 ½ to 7 years separating me from both of my sisters.  We all grew up with the same parents, same house, same environment, and same religion.  My older sister has been very caring and supportive during my battle with cancer.  My younger sister has yet to call me or send me a card.  Her family is deeply religious and since I am gay they do not have anything to do with me.  It has been very hurtful, but if the situation were reversed, I would be there for her.  So I cannot believe in a God or a religion like that. I choose to believe, but in what I am not sure.  I do not have to have all the answers; I just need to have faith and believe.

As I was sitting on the front porch tonight, all these thoughts were flooding my brain.  I wondered what I would miss the most if I died.  And at that very moment, I was listening to the frogs and cicadas, watching the lightning bugs, feeling the wind on my face, looking at the goats and dogs, feeling at peace with myself and with nature – and I knew that is what I would miss.  My own little piece of heaven.  That, to me, is God.  I read a quote by Frank Lloyd Wright that pretty much sums it up for me: “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.”

I am beginning to renew my mind and spirit and polish my armor, for I have a battle starting next Tuesday.  The mind, body, and spirit must all be well rested and ready to walk in faith.

The weekends are the hardest for me.  Even though I have been overwhelmed with the outpouring of kindness shown toward me during this time, it is on the weekends when I am by myself that I miss being in a relationship.  It is hard to try and pull all this stuff together by myself.  It is during the early morning hours when I cannot sleep that my mind starts pulling me toward the darkness.  I have struggled with depression my whole life.  There are times when I fall so deep into the dark hole that it is hard to see even the smallest pinpoint of light.  I have had people tell me that it is the dark night of the soul.  It is never easy to walk through this time–but walk I must.  I cannot afford to get pulled under forever.

This week is a time to prepare my armor for battle.  I need to get all the people and all the material things together that I will need to face chemo on July 9th.  Damn, it seems like I just did this, but it is time again.  Gather all the things that must be gathered to make it through that week.  It is easy to say “live one day at a time,” but I already dread the chemo.  I dread it because of the sickness but I realize that with each treatment I am one step closer to being finished.  Now that will be a time to celebrate.

So why is it that during this time, I feel so alone? I have faced many battles on my own, and most of the time I am fine dealing with and making decisions during this battle with cancer.  But sometimes, in the stillness of my room, I feel tired, scared, unprepared, and unsure of myself.  I think the world sees a brave warrior walking each step of this battle, but behind the armor it is just me.  Just me.

It would be so nice to have someone here to hold and comfort me during these times.  Someone who I could borrow a little strength from every now and then.  Someone to help polish the armor and secure it around my body before battle.  But that is not what I have at this time in my life.  I have made lots of poor decisions as far as relationships go, and right now–today–this is where I find myself.  Fighting the battle of my life, surrounded by friends, family, and my loving animals.  It has to be enough. It is enough.

Last night was the first night I have spent alone since my chemo on June 18th.  It felt good to be alone in my little house but also a little unsettling.  It is during these few days that I seem to have the hardest time emotionally.  The chemo and the sickness behind me–another battle won–now it is time to relax and prepare for battle again.

The chemo treatments are 21 days apart.  It seems like a long time but by the time you get over being sick and fatigued there is only a week to go before the next treatment.  It seems odd, but this is the time when “it” seems real.  In the heat of the battle, there really isn’t time to think.  Now, the mind starts thinking: You have cancer. What does it mean? Will it come back? The armor is off and in need of repair.  This is a vulnerable time.

Seems odd, huh?  You would think that it would be during the chemo and sickness that I would feel that vulnerability.  But you see, that is when the armor is at its strongest.  The time that I am ready for the battle.   This is a battle of another kind.  A battle against myself.  A struggle between depression and joy, both of which I know well.

When my goats were attacked by the dogs, I cried to Kim, Lorene, and Sylvia that I had lost my joy.  Sitting on my porch watching those crazy goats brings me a lot of joy.  I am just a country girl; I like being outside and watching the world.  Not the world of traffic and people hurrying by but the world of nature–the birds, the bugs, the rabbits, the squirrels–just all the critters that surround me in my little world.  Sitting in the swing on the porch, being surrounded by the things I love and watching the goats that I bottle-fed from a day old: That brings me joy deep down in my soul.

The night they were attacked and we took them back to the barn I said, “I have lost my joy.”  But three of the four survived and they are back home with me now. They have changed and so have I.  All three have suffered injuries; Javier limps, Tupelo has a hole across the bridge of his nose, and Honey Badger still has wounds and does not have the use of one of his legs.

But this morning, I sat on the porch and watched the three of them in the yard.  As they hobbled about, I again felt that joy.  Not the same as before, because now we all have been changed forever. But still a joy.  We are here and we are alive and we are together. That brings me joy.

So my life has been changed forever.  Hearing the words “You have cancer” changed my life.  Took away a little of the joy.  But I am still here and I know that the joy will return.  Might not be the same, but it will return.  I do believe that it takes going through darkness to know what joy really is.  So I will work through this upcoming week and prepare not only my body armor but also my mind, heart, and soul for the next test.

Wow! What an amazing day! With all the wonderful things that happened today it almost feels like a dream. I had to go back to the cancer clinic for an appointment to meet my survivorship counselor, recheck my WBC count, and maybe get another WBC-stimulating shot. The thing about the Neupogen or Neulasta injection is that the side effects are not pleasant–a lot of bone and joint pain. Since I got the Neupogen yesterday I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night due to pain in my lower back and hips. I was really hoping that the WBC count would be up today and I would not need another injection.

My two wonder exes, Lorene and Sylvia, decided to go with me today. These two are incredible. They have been my greatest supporters and the most wonderful caretakers from the very beginning of this journey. They have seen me when the armor has been stripped completely away and have held me and comforted me through each of these vulnerable moments. The love I have for them is beyond words.

My appointment is at 9 this morning and we get there in the nick of time. Of course, as usual, the wait to be called back is about an hour. I have learned that that is the way it goes, so I use the time to write or talk to people, like the couple I met yesterday. Lorene, Sylvia, and I spend time laughing and catching up.

I am in the process of catching Sylvia up on the goats and other things when I see the couple from yesterday walk in. I could not wait to go over and see them. I walk up and they both smile. He is there getting prepped for his first chemo today. He says, “I was hoping I would see you today. I told everyone about you yesterday. I told them I met an angel.”

I looked at him and smiled and said, “You know what? I’ve met a lot of angels since being diagnosed.” He said, “Me, too.” I replied, “I think that our eyes have just been opened now and we are just aware.” His wife looked at me and nodded. He said, “I even told my ducks about you” and smiled.

We had to stop there because they were being called to the back. I looked at him, “Take care–good luck.” My heart hurts for them. The road is long and filled with ruts and holes; I sure hope it can be an easy journey for him. Just be open and see what the universe brings my way. This journey has not been easy but it has been worth it. I had no idea how much I could learn, how much I could care, and how much I love this sweet world until this journey began for me.

I get called for my appointment and Sylvia, Lorene, and I meet with the counselor. This is just what I need. Some help to put all the pieces together; some help to get me through the treatment process and into the next stage of being a survivor of breast cancer.

After the session, we head to the lab for blood to be taken so we will know the WBC count and if I need another injection. I am sitting in the lab, Sylvia and Lorene are in the hall behind me. I see the Supreme Court decision on Prop 8–I hand my iPhone to them–we are all smiles. Sylvia says, “Now we can get married.” Lorene says, “Not all three of us” and we all start laughing. It is a good day. Joy in my heart. I cannot believe it.

The tech comes over to draw blood and we wait. She returns, smiles. WBC normal–no injection. Wow, really? Such a relief. I knew that cheerleading skirt was good for something. We check out, everything still on schedule. Next chemo July 9th.

Not long after leaving the clinic we get the news about the Supreme Court’s decision on DOMA. I am overjoyed. I had fallen in love with Edie ever since watching Edie and Thea: A Very Long Engagement. A woman with such love, courage and strength–a true inspiration.

So today I feel like I am sitting on top of the world. It feels good but I know not to get comfortable. Life has to be lived one moment at the time. Every precious moment is worth living, the good and the bad, because there are angels everywhere. I just need to be aware every minute of my life.