bald truths and tough cookies

ringing the bell in the chemo ward

Tragedies are revealing.

When things are truly tragic, things change in ways that don’t turn back.

When my wife was in chemo, the tragedy wasn’t her illness so much.

Her cancer was improbable. She was and continues to be a statistical anomaly. I would likely extend this into all other aspects of her life. I’m not certain whether after they made her, they broke the mold, or if the mold was broken before they poured her in.

I’m not saying that she’s disfigured.

It’s not like she’s got arms coming out where her legs should be.

She’s just a bit weird, that’s all.

Before you judge me too harshly, remember:

She married me.

Right?

If she’s reincarnated, she hopes to come back to less vile existence as a factory farmed chicken.

Luckily, we’re all a little off.

This foolsletter has also gone a little off as well.

With that in mind, let’s cheerily read our way back to the cancer.

One of the bigger losses during her illness was a loss of friends.

There were some who just could not hang with us. We were in a…