"You have no power over me..."

That key phrase from the movie Labyrinth has always stuck with me. 

There are so many things in our lives that we cannot control - so many things that happen without rhyme or reason, and oftentimes you're left gasping for breath as you try to make sense of things.

You -can- control how you react to them; what you choose to do with the set of circumstances you've been given.

When I was diagnosed it felt like all control over my life had been taken away; everything was in limbo as I had to close my business, as we struggled to figure out what sort of long term impact there would be to my health and to my family, my husband and son.

It has been six and a half years now, and I am still NED. It feels, tentatively, like the proverbial sword of Damocles has finally been lifted from over my head.  Now - I know that fear and that threat will never entirely go away; recurrence is always possible, but  it hasn't happened yet, so I am no longer living in the shadow of it.

Yesterday I met with my oncologist to discuss my MRI and a chest Xray they had me do just in case, and both were ( thankfully!) clear. After some discussion I am now moving to scans every two years, and after ten years have passed from my surgery if I am still NED they may discontinue them. Of course, should there be any sort of symptoms I am to call them right away.

This year has been hard on a number of fronts, but also immensely rewarding personally and professionally. For the first time since diagnosis I am getting back the person that I was before cancer made its unwelcome entrance into our lives.  My husband and son are thriving, finding their own joys and adventures, sharing others with me. I am in the middle of writing my third novel, after finishing the sequel to my first book earlier this year.

We're getting to enjoy remembering what a team the three of us are, having made it through that fire and many others that came our way. That despite everything we are strong, capable and will always be there for one another. What a joy it was this past short while to head off to Costa Rica for a very informal vow renewal, just the three of us! Twenty years together, eighteen married -- and our son, our mature, kindhearted, wonderful son.

We are pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones to try new foods, new experiences and not feel health issues limiting me anymore.

We went ziplining, learned to surf; we saw amazing creatures ... sloths, iguanas, birds everywhere... we are making amazing memories and recharging our batteries for whatever comes our way next.

Counting our blessings, living our lives. Thriving.

Happy holidays, everyone. May they be healthy and happy, and looking forward to a wonderful 2019.

Six Years

Six years.
Today marks six years since the day they wheeled me into my cytoreductive surgery in Calgary. There was always a risk that I wouldn't wake up, always a risk that they couldn't do anything. Always a risk.
I held my husband's hand tight and thought about our son. When we'd met with my doctor I'd asked him for five years. Just five. A. was 7, and so little. If I could have five more years I could  help him through  some rough waters ahead. We could have adventures and experiences together, the three of us. We could grow together and make memories to wrap around like warm blankets in the night.

My surgery went amazingly well. Miraculously they got it all, and chemo followed up ( just in case). I asked him if I'd have those 5 years, and he said there was no reason why I couldn't have ten, or twenty. That life sometimes gives you that best possible outcome - I am so thankful for it.

Six years ago I didn't dare dream about the future. I mourned the things that I would miss, the milestones with my son. I struggled to think ahead of how I could prepare him and my husband for a life without me.  When I woke up after surgery ( I use the term loosely, as I have practically no memory of the first few days thanks to anesthesia) all my thoughts went back to the two of them. Once I was in a room I was able to have my family put up pictures of my son... his drawings, his sweet smiling face. That was what I looked at every day, what made me get up and walk around the ward, what made me push myself to hope and heal.

These past six years I had the opportunity to really focus on our son. Still a work in progress, as no family escape unscathed from a cancer battle. It affects us all.  A. is thriving; resilient, determined and overall kind, our son surprises me every day. I give thanks every day for the privilege of spending time with him and Chris, for all the adventures we have shared. Fall of 2016 I even got to go with him to film a movie overseas for 2 months -- and despite all my worries my health was fine.
In a year or so he'll be graduating high school ( early for his age) and he has grown into an amazing young man.

We're looking forward to the future. To the plans and adventures, to the hopes and dreams. Hope never left us, but now it feels like we are free to dream again. <3