One Word: Pasta

Hey, there, A.

I'm so tired it's not normal. I know a lot of what I'm feeling is emotional stress and not true physical fatigue, since I've been gettting at least eight hours of sleep a night, but it feels just the same. Often on days like this I am tempted to go out after school to eat, drink and call it a day (like I did yesterday), but I wasn't in the mood for that today. This morning I decided I would go to the gym, run errands, and come home to make dinner from what I have on hand. My pasta dish of farfalle, peas and pancetta with some good Parmesan did just the trick, and my TJs Riesling is also hitting the spot. Now I'm ready for vacation.

This time last year I was thinking about what to pack for San Diego and reviewing my itinerary; this year that's not in the cards. Everything happens for a reason, though...I'll be around to take D to chemotherapy again and give my aunt and uncle a break. I'm glad I can do that for them. For her. I'm glad that there was not a single awkward moment this past Tuesday when I saw her vulnerable and compromised, yet strong and composed. After the initial hour and a half during which she was interviewed and poked and prodded and I met her oncologist and her case manager, we moved to Infusion. For six hours there she patiently sat in a recliner while liquids—some poison—dripped into her body through a port in her chest. Not once did she complain. Aside from the tubes and the medical personnel and the other women all around us, many in ill-fitting wigs, we could just as well have been at my place—or hers—watching HGTV, reading trashy magazines, chatting about fashion, laughing with L while she was there for a few hours with us. I got her home safely, had a glass of wine with my aunt and uncle, and told them I’d see them soon. Next Tuesday.

I do have some other things planned for vacation as well—happy hour with M, lunch with C, and a visit with W. He’s coming down Thursday and staying until Saturday. I’ll take him back Saturday and we’ll go to the market together and then I’ll still have Sunday for re-entry.

All of this means I’m good. I’m happy and blessed, and I know it will be a long time before I complain about a bad hair day again.

Hope all is well with you, and M's re-entry...

Love you,
Barb