Like, VERY HAPPY.

They make me think of friends, laughter, pizza during late nights in hotels, and the kind of fun you can only have with people who make you smile until you ache.

Dude, they’re only 1″x4″!

That’s pretty high expectations.

Sorry for the blurry photo, you can thank my phone and only having my left arm to work with.

We’ve tried it all, plus some, or have plans to try it soon.

I am willing to try and work so hard.  I want it and I wonder where I’ll draw the line. There IS a line.

There’s a point of no return, where I’ve gone too far.

Will I know it if I get that far?  Will I be willing to stop?

God, I want to walk.

I won’t lie.

There’s not much I would let get in my way of that goal.

What if I needed to make something else a priority?  SomeONE else.  Would I do it?

Sometimes I wonder.

The way a new parent of a second child will ask themselves WHAT IF. What if they could only get one child out in time?  What if you were forced to make Sophie’s Choice?

And that’s the way my mind works.

Voodoo.  Scientology.  Peanut Milkshakes. Witchcraft.  Whale Sperm.

What if the secret cure were somewhere in these?  At what point do they quit sounding crazy?

(except for the whale sperm, that may ALWAYS be crazy)

If you’re like me, you’re used to having most of your time spent in front of a desk.

Granted, a lot of the time is computer-bound, but I was used to all the other time spent with paperwork and other work.

In recent days we’ve moved our girls’ upstairs to a bedroom together, and moved an office downstairs.

Dude.

I haven’t seen my desk in eight months.  I used to do my most important things there.

I have it back!!

My desk.  An office.  The many files and folders.

It’s as though another notch slipped home.

No, it’s not in the same place. And it’s not set up the same.

But my husband told me that he would move my office downstairs months ago.  I told him there wasn’t a need yet. There wasn’t then.

But having it now makes me feel more whole.  Now it can make me more organized.

Having an office, a place, is having a little of myself again.

There has been a feeling of being offered things JUST because I’m the flavor of the month. I’m this month’s handicap.  I think that people would like to see what has happened to me.

How much I’ve changed.

Ok, that is crazy-ego-centric.

I realize that.

And maybe no one cares about the changes in my physicality.

But after the crazy media hoopla that went on around me while I was in the hospital, it’s hard to pretend that people in this internet world aren’t aware.  Tens of thousands of people were checking to see how I was doing, if I was still alive or if I had finally kicked the bucket.

That bucket never got kicked.

Then in the days afterwards there was a hum of waiting and wondering.

I sure as heck don’t blame anyone.  Everyone was told to expect the worst.

Little by little, you guys have been there as I fought to come back. First, it was cards.  Then, it was encouragement by messages on the posts that my husband would write. Now it’s the little bits of miracle you chose to leave here in the form of comments and emails.

For every person who is true and honest in your push and your encouragement, there is one who wants something FROM me.  Something I no longer have to give.  Something I can’t identify.

But they want it.