A year since I handed Peyton her last dose of chemotherapy medicine and she downed it like a champ.

A year since the clock started ticking….the one that counts off the days to five years.

She’s finally gotten to the age where she’s got more days off-chemo than on-chemo in her lifetime.  It was a bitter imbalance there for a while.

For four years and 364 days we say Peyton’s “off-treatment”.

Then with a flurry of fairy dust and magical unicorns, she wakes up on that five year mark and she’s “cured”.

THEN we can SAY she’s cured.  Of cancer.

But today when I got those numbers in my hand and saw how good they are, I couldn’t stop myself from dancing in my heart that for another two months she’s cured in my mind.

Year one down, baby girl.

Just four more to go.

I had the pukes.

They rescheduled it for Wednesday.

I still didn’t feel like I was safe to be around the immune-compromised kids, so I canceled that one too.

Now, we wait until next week to see her doctor and get her bloodwork.

And I’m sort of relieved. It’s been a year off treatment for Peyton and they’re going to change our schedule to only having checkup ever other month…waiting a full sixty days between visits.

This is a good thing…it’s the natural progression of a healthy off-treatment life.

We are being weaned.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to let go of the security blanket.  I like having those numbers in my hand every month…the numbers are concrete…they are our PROOF that she’s ok.

So, I’m relieved that we’re not going in until next week.  Because I’d rather wait an extra week between clinic visits than have them tell me to wait longer between clinic visits.

I know. Savor the irony.

Ya’ll better pray for my kids because their mother is obviously losing her mind.

And to take the focus off my insanity, HALLOWEEN CUTENESS!