Semi-Wordless "You-Wanna-Put-That-WHERE?!" Wednesday

March is colorectal cancer screening month. 

Speak with your doctors about when colonoscopy is right for you.

It's not particularly pretty, and it's not exactly easy; 
but, all in all, it's really pretty easy.

Do it.

Because

Still Kind of A Big Deal Around Here

The following post is from one year ago today and was titled Kind of A Big Deal Around Here.

It still is.

Always will be.

And it's worth repeating.

Enjoy ... And LIVESTRONG.

©LAF

Today is LIVESTRONG Day.

Why today? It's a cancerversary. On October 2, 1996, Lance Armstrong was diagnosed with advanced testicular cancer, and before he knew whether he would survive, he started his foundation to fight cancer.

But the Lance Armstrong Foundation (LAF) does so much more than raise funds or awareness.
It helps people affected by cancer.

It inspires the will to fight — and the courage to keep going.

It keeps you fired up — and channeling your inner badass.

It makes you feel like you're part of something much bigger than yourself — and reminds you that you are never alone.

It reminds you to hang tough and keep believing that prayers will be answered.

It teaches you that "unity is strength, knowledge is power, and attitude is everything." 

It helps people affected by cancer. 

I know. 

And if you've been to Halfglassistan before, you know, too.

If you're new here, just click on those links above and see how a little yellow bracelet, a slogan, and everything they represent carried me and everyone I love through one hell of a year.

LIVESTRONG.

Of Exhalation and Exhilaration

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

Of all the advice I received over the course of the past week as to how to make it through yesterday, that is the only one I could remember.

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

I couldn't always remember how to do it. Which could have been a problem. But those words would pop into my head:

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

And I would.

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

Earnest meditations would form on my lips, only to fade into nonsense thoughts. Prayers I have recited with fervent faith — prayers with words that I know as well as I know my own name — were stumbling around inside of me, unfinished.

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

Yesterday was Mr. J's second post-chemo scan. Scan one was conducted about a month after treatment ended, in order to give his body time to begin to recover from the poisonous drip, and it was all-clear. Which was a relief. Because if any little cancer buggers had managed to grow while those hideous chemicals were killing off every other cell — well, that'd be more than scary.

So. Team Wedding made a promise. We would not live scan-to-scan. We would not live in constant fear about what rogue cells may have escaped Samuel L. Chemo. We would be grateful, hopeful — and keep looking forward.

That didn't mean we weren't — and aren't — wary. We'd be foolish not to be. Germs were not — and still are not — our friend. And to those of you who can't understand this, I have one word for you:


POISON. P-O-I-S-O-N. Poy-suhn.


When you have it pumped into your bloodstream for four months, and when you have to have a good bit of that bloodstream replaced with transfusions, or — when you have to stand aside and watch it all happen helplessly — then you can talk to me about being overprotective. We'll compare notes.

Vigilance aside, TW did a bang-up job on the positivity over the better part of the last four months. (QUICK NOTE: I have been thinking that Mr. J was six months post-chemo because this was the second "every-three-month" scan. That error — sadly — says much more about the sorry state of my math skills than it does about my state of mind.)

Until this past week. Knowing we were getting ready for the big one. Knowing that Samuel L. Chemo had pretty much left the building. Knowing that whatever little rogue buggers that were run off while Samuel L. was menacing through Mr. J's bloodstream might just come out of hiding.

And knowing that if they were to show up, the most likely time would be now.

To not worry about that? That's one big, honking, super-dee-duper dose of unwavering positivity. And to those of you who can harness that? I really do want to compare notes with you.

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

I did. We did. And we waited. And we heard those beautiful, beautiful words again: All. Clear.

"Breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

I tried. I really, really, really did try. But instead, I cried. I cried. And I cried some more. Then I laughed. And I yelled. And I danced. And I sat in the bright Carolina sunshine, looked to the sky and said — over and over and over and over again:

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Missing Ingredient Found

No-o-o-o-o-o. It's not white wine. But it was after a wee glass of Riesling, and a very short (that's all it took; he's that good) conversation with Mr. J, that I quickly was reminded of what's gotten us this far.

Faith. Gratitude. Love. 

And strength.

I've always wanted to be honest and authentic here in Halfglassistan, and just a few days ago, I was painfully true to that goal. What I lost sight of, however, was my greater goal of maintaining some measure (no matter how small it might seem sometimes) of positivity. It's easy to give in. It takes strength to keep faith.

I also lost sight of the founding tenet of life here in Halfglassistan: gratitude. I'm grateful for how far we've come. I'm grateful that throughout this whole journey,we've been able to say, "It could always (always) be worse." I'm grateful that every time we said that, it actually was true. I'm grateful that now, more than ever, it actually is still true. It's easy to see how much better things could be. It takes strength to see how good they actually are.


Perhaps worst of all, I lost sight of the fundamental core of Team Wedding. When Mr. J and I were first dating and low on funds, he turned to me and said, "That's OK. We'll live on love, baby." I think, at the time, it may have been said half (or wholly) in jest. The original intent doesn't matter. Twelve years later, and I've never forgotten the sound of his voice saying it.


That's my missing ingredient. It's not in the recipe, it's not on the shopping list, it's not in any freakin' store -- and it sure as hell isn't in Riesling. I couldn't find it anywhere I looked, because it wasn't hidden. It never has been. We eat it, we drink it, we breathe it.


We live on love, baby. We live on love.

Kind of A Big Deal Around Here

©2009 LAF

Today is LIVESTRONG Day.

Why today? It's a cancerversary. On October 2, 1996, Lance Armstrong was diagnosed with advanced testicular cancer, and before he knew whether he would survive, he started his foundation to fight cancer.

But the Lance Armstrong Foundation (LAF) does so much more than raise funds or awareness.

It helps people affected by cancer.

It inspires the will to fight — and the courage to keep going.

It keeps you fired up — and channeling your inner badass.

It makes you feel like you're part of something much bigger than yourself — and reminds you that you are never alone.

It reminds you to hang tough and keep believing that prayers will be answered.

It teaches you that "unity is strength, knowledge is power, and attitude is everything." 

It helps people affected by cancer. 

I know. 

And if you've been to Halfglassistan before, you know, too.

If you're new here, just click on those links above and see how a little yellow bracelet, a slogan, and everything they represent carried me and everyone I love through one hell of a year.

LIVESTRONG.

Amen and Thank You. Again.

Woo. To. The. Hoo! 

Mr. J's first post-chemo scan is clear.

Which means:

• He is officially not in treatment
  
• He is officially under observation
  
• Scans every three months this first year
  
• Re-evaluation after year one
  

I don't know what Samuel L. Chemo did or did not do with any little rogue cancer cells that may have shown up inside of Mr. J. 

I don't want to know the details, I just want to know the job's been done.

Which means?

I'll choose badass in a fight every freakin' time.

Wordless, Wistful, Wednesday