“Mushrooms?” Cal asked. “It snowed this morning! I thought we’d never make it to the clinic on time with our cautious Typist behind the wheel.” “She is rather squeamish about changing lanes to go around dawdlers, isn’t she?” Thalia twisted her head from side to side and a delicious pop relieved tightness in her neck.
Back in 1998 we received devastating news that our 18 yr old daughter had a huge navel orange sized brain tumor. The doctors did not think she would make it to surgery. After the surgery they didn't think she would survive the treatment. Her tumor was at stage 3/4. They said she had a less than 30 % chance. Most people with her type of cancer only live another 5-10 years after treatment. She endured 7 weeks of daily radiation and another 3 years to get 5 out of 6 chemo treatments. She never got the last chemo because her blood counts were so low. She is still with me more than 20 years later. So what I want to say is never give up. God has a plan for you. There will be rough days and good days. Do what you can on the good days and rest on the bad ones. But of course you probably already do that. Just never give up.
Don’t judge a gift by its cover. You packed a powerful punch into a paltry parcel of words. (Working on alliteration but not doing well...)
I can easily imagine, not too far down the road, you will post just a photo. One might be the view of a face, fingertips resting on face’s temples. Implying that is how readers will import your thoughts and lessons. Quantum wow!
And what good news on your progress with treatment. Splendid.
I would like to acknowledge Margaret’s story before I begin my sentence of the day. The journey with your daughter must have been a very scary one, and I’m pleased to read that you’re both around to talk about it more than 20 years later.
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While looking up at mycelium, a loose piece of plaster fell on my fascia!😬
Celebrate in style, Gail!! Is that it for now? Is treatment done? Here's the best I can do today, and I know I'm cheating: My fascia is seemingly full of fungi, which is no fun.
Back in 1998 we received devastating news that our 18 yr old daughter had a huge navel orange sized brain tumor. The doctors did not think she would make it to surgery. After the surgery they didn't think she would survive the treatment. Her tumor was at stage 3/4. They said she had a less than 30 % chance. Most people with her type of cancer only live another 5-10 years after treatment. She endured 7 weeks of daily radiation and another 3 years to get 5 out of 6 chemo treatments. She never got the last chemo because her blood counts were so low. She is still with me more than 20 years later. So what I want to say is never give up. God has a plan for you. There will be rough days and good days. Do what you can on the good days and rest on the bad ones. But of course you probably already do that. Just never give up.
Don’t judge a gift by its cover. You packed a powerful punch into a paltry parcel of words. (Working on alliteration but not doing well...)
I can easily imagine, not too far down the road, you will post just a photo. One might be the view of a face, fingertips resting on face’s temples. Implying that is how readers will import your thoughts and lessons. Quantum wow!
And what good news on your progress with treatment. Splendid.
CURE!
“I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY BUTT! I would say my heart, but my butt is bigger.” 😁
Mycelium at the top of myroom is painted yellow to go with mycolorscheme. 🤪
I would like to acknowledge Margaret’s story before I begin my sentence of the day. The journey with your daughter must have been a very scary one, and I’m pleased to read that you’re both around to talk about it more than 20 years later.
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While looking up at mycelium, a loose piece of plaster fell on my fascia!😬
Celebrate in style, Gail!! Is that it for now? Is treatment done? Here's the best I can do today, and I know I'm cheating: My fascia is seemingly full of fungi, which is no fun.