...Lace Up Your Gloves...

Hunh. I wonder how it got to be September. Strangely enough it snuck up on me and was disguised in the unseasonably hot weather. Yet, it's September. September means that I'm coming up on my sixth week of treatment. September means that someday in the hopefully not so distant future there is cooler weather on the horizon. September means that somewhere in New England the leaves are going to start to change. September also means that once the month comes to a close, I'll have four more treatments under my belt. Or under my skin, into my veins, into the cells that need to be stopped. Really, nowhere near my belt at all.

It's been a nice, relaxing Labor weekend so far. Yes, I realize the gaffe - it's in honor of Alice who is "Having Labor" today (read: having the Labor Day party/cookout). The best part is that there are still the better part of two beautiful days left. The heat isn't oppressive today, the pool will be welcome, and I get to wear one of my new Victoria's Secret bathing suits today. Funny, I think back to when this was all discovered and we were convinced it was ovarian cancer. A secondary cancer scared the hell out of me, and I can't remember reading anything about ovarian Stage IV that didn't seem like gloom and doom. I remember being so sad, because the new bathing suits that I finally broke down and bought hadn't even arrived in the mail yet, and I was potentially faced with largely invasive surgery that was certain to leave me scarred and feeling not all that comfortable in a bikini at all. We researched all the wrong things, tried to prepare ourselves for what seemed like the inevitable, and then heard that we were all wrong. I think Greg was right. I think the devil we know is definitely better than the devil we didn't. And the devil is losing. And I get to wear my new bikinis and even when I feel a little bloated, I remember how thankful I am that I am able to look down at my body and see a smooth, pretty flat stomach and barely visible scars elsewhere, unnoticeable to most, left over from the first battle with the beast.

My dosage was upped by 10 mg this week. At first, I think I felt a little different, but in hindsight, I'm not certain I really did feel different at all, other than the fact that I anticipated feeling differently. Even the wine tasted pretty good to me this week, even though I'm only good for one glass at a time these days. It's not the worst thing in the world though, and my taste buds have been surprisingly tolerant of everything I have been eating all along. Which reminds me that I probably have a hungry person in the other room that is most likely waiting for me to do something with this mop of hair that is still hanging in there...

You know, I have a such a hard time remembering a life before we were together. Call it chemo brain, call it love, call it finally finding my place in the world. Whatever it is, I know I'm alive.