This is likely going to be a boring post. But to be fair, my post-chemo week was pretty boring. I spent most of it sleeping. Last Wednesday through Friday are kind of a blur. I know resting was necessary but when you’re normally a do-er it’s hard to wrap your head around all that sleep. It made me feel lazy and restless and kinda like the world was passing me by. My mind said “You’re supposed to be experiencing everything, remember” yet my body said “This chemo really kicked my ass, let’s sleep”. And the body won out. It was the kind of tired where you’re too tired to even focus on a book or a tv show. The good news is that exhaustion is really the primary side effect. There’s some nausea but not much. And some joint pain and numbness in hands and feet – but they’re nothing compared to the exhaustion.

And I’m guessing depression is a side effect – but more likely it’s just a side effect of having cancer. By Saturday afternoon I had some energy and overall we had a great weekend doing things we love (going to Scarlet Oak, hiking with dogs, Rick cooking a great meal, seeing friends). But I felt kind of blue on Sunday. Maybe it’s silly but St Patrick’s Day has always been one of my favorite days of the year. I think it all started with the St. Patrick’s Day shows at St. Jerome’s School. I loved getting dressed in green and wearing eye shadow and lipstick and being on-stage singing traditional Irish songs (“…with a shillelagh under my arm and a twinkle in my eye I’ll be off to Tipperary in the morning”) and watching the Irish Step Dancers. Once I was old enough the day was obviously all about being in an Irish pub. But it’s not just being in a pub that I love – it’s being in a pub with friends – and strangers who are so happy and friendly they act like friends. And having a few pints and listening to an Irish band and singing along to Molly Malone and Rattlin’ Bog and just being happy and carefree. I wanted that feeling! But alas, it was day 7 post chemo and that’s when my immune system tanks to the lowest point. The last place I should have been in was a pub. It was just knowing that I couldn’t that made me want it more. All I’m saying is next year I’m not missing St. Patrick’s Day!

My spirits picked up (as my energy did – coincidence?) Monday and I’ve felt great the past couple of days. I no longer feel like this cancer is an imminent death sentence. It’s just this unfortunate thing that I have to get through but I truly believe it will all work out. I feel like myself. I used my elliptical machine yesterday and I cooked dinner tonight – things I did for the first time in 7 weeks (but who’s counting)! I can handle this whole cancer thing. I really can.

I was able to have my 2nd round of chemo yesterday! My white blood cell count went up to 2.2 (and really only needed to get from 1.2 on Fri to 1.5 yesterday). I have some theories as to why, that may be a little “out there” I admit. My brother and sister in law came down from Maine to visit on Saturday and she did Reiki on me. I’ve had Reiki a few times now and the main thing I’ve gotten out of it is feeling relaxed and calm. Post-surgery I did get some pain relief but since I’m not really in acute pain now it’s been more of a help for my emotional state. Anyway, while she was doing it I was laying there praying and visualizing my white blood cells increasing. I have always known what a powerful tool visualization is but haven’t used it in a long time. There are studies in medical journals that suggest a correlation among people who visualize their cancer cells being destroyed by the chemotherapy and higher success rates. So yesterday, I stole an idea that some people use where they imagine the chemo as pac man and visualize it chomping up the bad cancer cells. It sounds kind of crazy but it’s truly amazing what the mind can do. I’m sure God and all of the other prayers and positive energy I received from everyone also helped!

We also received some positive news about my CA-125 tumor marker test yesterday. My first test, pre-surgery was 63, which is considered “borderline” for cancer and frankly, pretty low for Stage III ovarian cancer. It had gone down to 43 just before I had my first chemo (which was 3.5 weeks after my surgery). Apparently inflammation can impact this number (which can make it unreliable and is one of the reasons they don’t use it as a screening test for all women) so sometimes it goes up after surgery even after the cancer is removed – mine didn’t. And, before chemo yesterday morning mine had gone down to 9! Under 35 technically means no cancer so this is very good news. It appears the chemo is working. But before anyone gets too excited (namely, me) they’ll want to see that number hover in this same range for about 3 sessions in a row. So we continue to hope and to pray. But it was a good day. A long day (we were at the hosp for 10 hours) but a successful days. Thank you to everyone who is cheering me on. Keep it up!

If you were to ask me if I was “religious” I’d probably respond by saying I’m “spiritual”. But that wasn’t always the case. I was raised catholic. Actually, I should elaborate: I was raised in a very catholic family. Never missed mass. Made all of my sacraments. Didn’t eat an hour before church. Didn’t eat meat on Fridays in Lent etc. I even went to Catholic school for most of my schooling. Church was a big part of my life. I was really involved in CYO and did lots of volunteer work and even became a Eucharistic Minister in High School.
Ironically, it wasn’t until Catholic college that I started to question some things. I never doubted my faith in God though. Rather, I doubted that my being catholic meant I was right and everyone who wasn’t was wrong. I wondered how someone like the Daili Llama who promotes peace and love could go to “the bad place” when he died just because he wasn’t a baptized Catholic. Or, how come a divorced person could no longer receive the gift of communion (I think they’ve changed that since but even that baffles me. If we’re supposed to be following what was said in the Bible how come this was allowed to be changed?). Many of the rules seemed arbitrary and I couldn’t find evidence of them in the Bible. A lot of it made no sense to me – but in practice I still found some comfort in the act of going to church. I remember talking to my now-deceased uncle (who was a catholic priest) about some of the things I didn’t understand about the Catholic Church and he said to me “It’s not a buffet where you get to pick and choose which parts you agree with. It’s all or nothing.”

I respectfully disagree. I’ve decided that I’m fully ok with picking and choosing what works for me. For many years (probably close to 20) I didn’t really attend church outside of the major holidays. But I still prayed. I feel like church is very family-centric so when I was no longer a child living at home and I had not yet created my own nuclear family there just didn’t seem to be a place for me at church.

When Juliette was newly born we decided we wanted to baptize her. Though I was no longer an active church goer I still wanted to provide her with a church based upbringing since it was so valuable to me. For various reasons, we chose an Episcopal church. What I like most is that it feels very much like the Catholic Church in terms of its structure and core beliefs. But there is also an amazing inclusivity that I fully embrace (for example, it’s LGBTQ friendly, priests can marry and women can be priests). These things fit with my “liberal” thinking. I have found my church. I’ve taught Sunday school there and volunteered in various other capacities. I don’t make it every Sunday but I don’t have guilt about it. When I go I feel welcome and I feel like part of a community.

I’m in a good place. I have a strong faith. I pray. I talk to God. I think he’s helping me. Often I pray in thanks. Even while having cancer I try to remember to pray for all the things I’m grateful for. But I also cry sometimes and pray for comfort. And I receive comfort. I really do. When I can’t sleep in the middle of the night I start to pray the rosary and inevitably I fall back to sleep. Its better than a sleeping pill. I pray for healing. I pray for other people. I pray for all sorts of things. I sometimes think He even talks back to me, through other people. I have found what works for me and I believe God is ok with it. And if that means going to an incredibly powerful healing service led by a Catholic Deacon one week and then seeing a Chinese healer a few weeks later, I’m good with that. Sprinkle in some major appreciation for nature and some Reiki and acupuncture and energy healing and I’m good with that too. All of these things bring me comfort and peace and make me feel grateful and they are good for my spirit. So, I’m willing to try them all. At my core I identify as a christian and that is really because I do try to live my life the way Jesus told us to. I choose to love God and to love my neighbor. It’s that simple.

So today I will pray for my white blood cell count. I had it tested this morning to make sure I’m ready for chemo #2 on Monday and it turns out I’m not…yet. It’s at 1.2 and needs to be at 1.5 but it could go up between now and Monday. I pray that it does. If not, my chemo will be delayed. That’s not the end of the world but I’m feeling good and I don’t want to lose momentum and I don’t want to get an infection. I just want to continue to fight and to get this over with as quickly as possible.

I feel like I’m the subject of some kind of fable or lesson.

Once upon a time there was this girl who always thought she’d be happier if her hair were thicker and shinier and if the number she saw when she stepped on the scale was lower. Well, the scale is 10 lbs down and her wig is made up of beautiful, shiny thick hair. But alas, she’s no happier because in order for those things to come true she had to get ovarian cancer. How quickly I’ve learned how little those things matter! If nothing else, this cancer has really caused me to ease up on being so judgemental of myself.

I got a sign from God (or the universe or fate or whatever higher power you may believe in) this morning. I was nervous and wondering if getting my head shaved before I lost any hair was a bad idea. Then wouldn’t you know, I brushed my hair and the brush filled up with loads of hair. It was time! It made me feel so much better about my decision.

I chose to go alone today because I was afraid I was going to cry. I knew I’d be ok with crying in front of the people there. I wouldn’t be the first and I knew I had a right to cry. I just didn’t want anyone there to try to comfort or console me. I just wanted to own my sadness and maybe wallow in it a bit. So, with my back to the mirror the nicest woman in the world shaved my head. And she quickly put the wig on before turning me around. But, then they had to take the wig to another room to adjust the part. So, as she was about to turn me away from the mirror again I said I wanted to see. So I looked. It was ok! I didn’t cry! I actually like the shape of my head. It feels a bit lumpy in the back but maybe that’s normal? I didn’t look like myself but it wasn’t awful. All I could think of was Sinead O’Connor’s head. The wig stylist said I should go have some fun at karaoke and sing Sinead. Ha.

I LOVE the color of my wig and I do like how it looks. But it feels weird and there’s so much hair and it’s heavy and the part is slightly off from where my part was. But I like it. I’m riding on the T right now and I feel like everyone is staring at me and thinking “that must be a wig”. But they’re not. No one gives a flying F about me and my wig. We’re all on our phones. Tonight I have an event at Juliette’s school and it will be my wig debut. And, I’m sitting here realizing I don’t actually care if people know it’s a wig. Anyone who knows me knows I’m going through this. And now, without further adieu…

My Dr said I’d start losing my hair on the 16th day after chemo. It’s so weird to me that they know the exact day. I know once my hair is gone a whole new level of reality is going to kick in. My hair, as I know it, may never be the same again. No one can say for sure how it will grow back. But, based on my informal polling it will probably start coming back about a month after my last treatment. It will look like peach fuzz at first and may be a mix of dark and gray and could even be curly for a while. But I’m getting ahead of myself – I haven’t even lost it yet.

I’ll be honest and admit that I’ve never really loved my hair. As I’ve aged I lost the natural golden blonde of my childhood. My natural color now is mousey brown with gray at the crown. Plus, it’s thin, I don’t have much of it and it costs me a fortune in highlighting and styling. But it’s MY hair. It’s part of my identity and it’s the only hair I’ve ever known. I don’t know what it will feel like to be bald and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. I’m terrified.

I explored my options. There’s an amazing woman named Tish Peterson who lives right in my town and runs a business called “Cold Cap New England” for people going through chemotherapy. Basically, your scalp is frozen during chemotherapy so that the hair follicle is preserved and your hair won’t fall out. Tish came over and gave me an overview (as well as some incredibly helpful chemo advice – she’s awesome) and I ultimately decided not to do it, for quite a few reasons. One being that I despise being cold. It may be one of my least favorite things ever. So, the thought of having my head frozen during my entire 6+ hour chemo treatment and then for an additional 5 hours after terrified me more than actually getting the chemo. Also, it’s not 100% guaranteed and many people still lose about 30% of their hair. If I had a lot of hair that wouldn’t be so bad but my hair is so thin that if I lost 30% of it I’d probably look cray-cray and need a wig anyway. And finally, at the time it was still not clear whether or not my chemo treatment would involve 24 hour sessions so cold capping wouldn’t have been a viable option anyway. (That question has since been answered. Turns out I’m not a candidate for the IP protocol which means intraperitoneal chemo (a port in my abdomen). Turns out it would be too hard on my solo kidney. It has a slightly higher success rate than what I’ll be doing, but more overall side effects. The higher success rate part is awesome but if it came with kidney failure, not so much).

Anyway, I’m getting a wig (and will probably wear scarves and hats and all sorts of accessories, especially when it gets hot). I bought a real-hair wig and I love it! The actual hair is way prettier than my hair. I’m getting it tomorrow. I’ll go to the salon and they’ll shave off my hair and fit and style my wig to my head and that will be it.

A friend offered to shave my head for me and have some fun with it. Even give me a Mohawk first. I considered it but I don’t really have a burning desire to see what I’d look like with a Mohawk.

I guess most people say it’s easier to shave your head before you start to lose your hair. Apparently waking up and seeing clumps of hair on your pillow is pretty traumatic. Go figure.

The strangest part for me is that it will be happening on Wednesday and day 16 is Saturday. So, I’m doing this like 2 days early. No big deal, right? But there’s this little voice inside my head that’s saying “But, what if you get your head shaved and your hair wouldn’t have fallen out anyway. Don’t be stupid!” But then another voice is saying “Do you really want to wait until it actually starts falling out? Won’t that be worse?”. Truth is, my Dr. said it so matter of factly that I know it will happen. So, tomorrow it is. Hair today, gone tomorrow.

PS – I’ll post a wig picture once I get it.

My chemo side effects were pretty much exactly what the Dr said they’d be. Days 3-5 were the worst. I was mostly just tired and achey. Tired as in, a flight of stairs made me feel winded. But to be fair, I was still only 3 weeks out from major surgery so even if I hadn’t had chemo that may have happened anyway. The hardest part for me was feeling helpless. Don’t get me wrong, in the right context I love to be waited on but in this case it wasn’t as easy. I had Rick (and other very much appreciated visitors and helpers). Auntie Donna even stayed with us for a few days, which was a Godsend. This week was school vacation and let’s just say, a needy egocentric Kindergartener and a mom straight outta chemotherapy aren’t exactly a great match. Juliette was so lucky to have friends and family take her everywhere: bowling, aquarium, children’s museum, Disney on ice etc. Auntie Donna even played with her in the snow for 4 hours! It was terrific for J but it also made her realize how little I was capable of doing. She shed some tears and had some outbursts but she was able to express her feelings and told me at bedtime one night that she just missed me. I was here, on the couch, but she missed me being “me”. Thankfully by Friday I was really starting to feel like myself. I even ventured out on a play date with J and it felt so “normal”.

I knew I wanted even more normalcy but I was nervous. The one side effect of chemo I hadn’t really prepared myself for was the risk of being immunocompromised. White blood cell counts drop to their lowest on day 7 so that’s when I’m most vulnerable for infection. I’ve become a hyper-vigilant germ freak which is new territory for me. I can see the slippery slope of how it could turn into a full on phobia. I was kind of making myself crazy and lost it one night and started bawling about how I’m afraid to hug my own child (after she was asleep of course) because well, frankly she’s gross. She picks her nose, wipes snot on her sleeve, touches everything and is then constantly putting her fingers in her mouth. Not grosser than you’re average kindergartener – just run of the mill gross. So anyway, I got it together and took my nurse’s advice which was “You don’t need to avoid going out. Just be careful”.

And thus followed, our family 24 hour escape to Boston. First stop, Salon 10 on Newbury St to try on wigs. It was an amazing experience. The person who helped me was so sensitive to what I’m going through it made the process feel fun instead of traumatic. She even gave us an amazing children’s book called “Nowhere Hair”. Rick and I both teared up reading it to J because it was so beautiful. We assured J it was a “happy cry”. I find myself having to clarify that a lot lately and I was never a happy crier before!

Afterwards we went to the Intercontinental Hotel where Rick and J swam in the pool and I sat alongside in a chaises lounge and handed out scores for the best jumps. Then we went to dinner next door at NEBO where I had my first glass of wine out in almost a month. They had Barolo by the glass – they must have known I was coming! The meal was amazing and the 3 of us had so much fun. This morning we got up and made it to the aquarium by 9am to avoid the crowds. I admit I was nervous about germs but they have sanitizer all over the place which helped – and no one coughed or sneezed in my face. J was just at the aquarium last week With our awesome friends so we didn’t really go for her. The aquarium was a special place for Rick and his mom and he hasn’t been back since she passed away. It was his idea to go. He said he was finally ready and we even renewed our membership.

This is the word that keeps coming up for me over and over. Not gratitude for having cancer, obviously. I’m pissed about that! But it’s amazing to me that my anger and fear aren’t winning right now. I’m not naive. I know there are days ahead where they may. But today, I’m at a place where I just feel overwhelming gratitude for how much everyone is doing for us! It makes me tear up every time I receive an encouraging message or card, or flowers, or food, or someone takes J for a play date, or takes the dogs for a hike (VW, a living angel). Or, when someone does something completely unexpected like our friend Ellen who sewed 3 matching super-hero capes in ovarian cancer “teal” that say Team Debi. They’re awesome! You should have seen Juliette running around with hers on.

Today is day 4 after chemo and the side effects aren’t too bad. Mostly just tired and achey. But my spirits are ok and I still have quite an appetite. I’ve been blaming it on the steroids (though they stopped yesterday until next cycle) and all the delicious food everyone is making us. This morning I had steel cut oats and fruit salad – all presented by Rick, beautifully on a tray as if I were staying at a B&B. He even made me bone broth and ginger tea from scratch to keep me hydrated. He spoils me.

Mostly I’m just feeling kinda restless. The snow is beautiful outside and I’d love to be out there. Even just a quick XC ski on the golf course. Oh well. Rick just started a fire and I’m watching the snow and we’re listening to a great playlist. I can kind of pretend we’re in a ski lodge.

wonder woman at rest

my rock

I’ve never blogged under the influence of anti-anxiety, anti-nausea and sleep meds. Could be fun, or could be a disaster. Today was the day. My first chemo treatment. I was a nervous wreck. So was Rick. I think we slept from 10:30pm – 1:30am and then just tossed turned and prayed (someday I want to talk more about my faith on here) until the alarm went off at 5.

Got to the hospital at 7 and had my port catheter process completed so I could get my meds that way. Basically it meant putting a needle into that port I got the other day. That hurt (A Lot) because it’s still raw from Wednesday but it will get better.

We met with Dr Del Carmen again and it was reassuring. She spoke again about curing me and having me live a long time. So we flat out asked her if she really believed that. And she assured us she did and that she’d never lie to me. It felt good to hear. We said, “thank you, that’s what we told our daughter”. She finished by saying “Good, I’ve been doing this a long time and its important that we ALL believe it for this to work!”

On a side note, she remembered from previous conversations that I am a wine connoisseur and she assured me a glass of wine here and there is A-ok in this process. Phew! Though I haven’t really felt like it yet.

We talked about my protocol, which today consisted of the drugs carbo-platin and taxol. Down the line there may be some additions and changes but that depends on a few factors. I’ve been tested for the BRACA gene (which you may know as the hereditary breast cancer gene but it also applies to ovarian and prostate cancers too). I should get results next week. I tend to think I don’t have it since we don’t have a family history of breast cancer, but we have had some instances of Prostate. Anyway, IF I have it there is a chemo drug that works really well on ovarian cancer patients. So that could be a blessing. However, the curse is that having it also puts me at a high risk for breast cancer. So do I want it or do I not?

Another factor is that pesky kidney I lost 17 years ago. Since chemo is toxic it gets flushed out of your kidneys and I have just one that works double time. They have to make sure they don’t overburden it. So, all these factors will be decided on in the coming weeks before my next treatment.

As for the treatment, it really wasn’t bad at all. As I first sat down I looked across from me and there was this beautiful, tall blonde woman, probably about age 60, sitting there. She had a full head of hair and was dressed impeccably. She had a treatment that only lasted 30 minutes. Now, I don’t know what kind of cancer she had, but if I had to guess I’d say it could have been ovarian and that she could have just been getting her avastin for maintenance. I heard her and her husband tell the nurse they were going skiing for the weekend. It was amazing. I was infatuated by her. I want to be her! She saw me staring and I just looked at her and admitted “I’m sorry for staring. You just look so pretty”.

She left shortly after my infusion started and earlier she had seen me cry a bit when it was about to happen. When she left she came over and squeezed my foot and she teared up and said in a beautiful, yet undefinable European accent, “I know it’s scary but you can do this. You have beautiful support with you (I’m sure Rick was flattered) and you are strong and you’ll be ok.” Who was she? Was she an angel?

After that, is was truly a breeze. They gave me IV Benadryl which made me super woozy (not at all the same as a pill!). And weirdly, it made my legs restless. I was exhausted and barely mobile from the waste up but couldn’t stop moving my legs. A known side effect of the Benadryl they said, relieved by Ativan. So in my woozy anti-anxious state I decided to try a video of guided meditation for chemotherapy. And I went out. Like a light. I woke up wondering why there was a strange man softly speaking in my ear. I barely spoke to Rick for a while because I was so looped but just knowing he was there was perfect. Luckily, we have a good friend Christina (who works at MGH) who came by on her lunch break to give Rick a brief reprieve. Lord knows what I said to her but it felt like a lovely visit.

I thought about reading the news after that but my own state of emergency felt more pressing to me than Trumps right now. So, I listened to another guided meditation and slept some more and then it was over!

I feel fine now. I got steroids and anti nausea meds so that’s helping. From what people are telling me I may still feel like this tomorrow too. But then days 3-5 may be tough. Not vomiting tough but achy and exhausted tough. I can handle that. It just feels good to know today was a strong day in this fight and I’m just glad It’s over.

Before all this if you asked me what a port was I’d have thought of shipping, or wine, or the side of a boat. I would not have imagined that it was a catheter inserted into my vein just below my clavicle. This is how I will get my chemo and apparently it will help protect my veins from too much IV abuse, so I’m on board.

So on board in fact that yesterday I had to prove to myself that I really am the badass I keep saying I am. Somehow, with this all happening so fast, someone forgot to tell me to fast before my port insertion. So, when I showed up and admitted that I had eaten a bowl of soup a few hours earlier, I learned that I couldn’t be sedated. I could reschedule or I could have it inserted with just local anesthetic. I almost lost my mind but I kept it together and said “I’m already here. Let’s just get it over with”. The worst part was the lidocaine they give you to numb the area. Picture a handful of consecutive bee stings in your upper chest, each lasting about a minute. Then, you’re numb. Once I was sufficiently numb they inserted the port and it wasn’t too bad. It’s a little sore today but it will heal. I felt I had to prove to myself that I could do it – and I did! (I may or may not have cried on the table during the insertion, but not because of the pain. Just because of how mad I was that I even had to be there in the first place). Anyway, I can check that off my list.

There’s one other thing I wanted to mention today. As I’ve said, I have chosen this blog as my outlet and a coping mechanism. Some may think it’s over-sharing. Maybe even my husband who is much more private than I am. But let’s just say, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to me and J. If you are one of the lucky folks who gets to see my kid regularly, she’ll probably talk about me being sick. She’ll tell you her mom has cancer. Tell you her mom’s hair is going to fall out. This past week she told a friend‘s mom while on a play date, and a friend’s nanny on another play date and her after school care provider. And who knows who else? Those are just the few people who told me. Her pediatrician, and friend of my husband, said this is totally fine. He says she’s trying to normalize it (maybe that’s what I’m trying to do too) and also trying gauge other people’s reactions to see if it really is ok. I’m both sad and glad that she’s doing this. She’s amazing.

Oh and happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s my tired guy today bringing the love.  

So, if we had to guess how this would all play out, we imagine something like this: I successfully complete my 6 rounds of chemo and I’m NED (no evidence of disease) for a period of time. Maybe a few years? Maybe 5? Maybe, Godwilling, more. It’s very likely I’ll have a recurrence at some point, but we figure I’ll beat that too. We’re hoping for at least 10 more years. I really want 15 (or more, but I don’t want to get greedy) because Juliette would be 21 then (and hopefully in college) and maybe it would be easier for her to lose me if she wasn’t living at home. We know with an O.C. diagnosis these are aggressive goals, but not impossible.

It’s odd to be faced with the reality of your mortality. Juliette asked me last night if we could go play in the snow. A few weeks ago I probably would have said “I have to make dinner” or “It will be dark soon, maybe tomorrow”. But not now. Now all I could think was “Get your damn boots on and find that girl’s sled. STAT. Who knows how many more chances you’ll have”! Then, while standing in the snowy yard and looking at the leafless Catalpa tree I remembered how beautiful the blooms were when we moved in last June and I thought “I really want to see it bloom again”. Silly stuff – snow, flowers. Stuff I’ve seen a million times before and appreciated. I never knew they’d be something I wanted so desperately to experience again.

So, that’s our plan. To experience everything we can while we can. To try to find joy in everything. It’s not always going to be easy. The demons and the dark days will come but we’re going to try to force them out with light. If my time here is going to be cut short I’m not going to waste it being sad.

We’re already talking about growing a kick-ass vegetable garden this summer. I can picture myself, wearing a scarf and a big old straw hat so I don’t burn my scalp (ha) digging in the dirt feeling sun on my shoulders. I can’t wait for it!

Before I got sick, we had talked about making 2019 vision boards with our goals for the year (even J, who has decided she wants to lose the safety of her life jacket and her training wheels this year). We’re still going to make them. Goals may have shifted slightly, but I refuse to call it a “bucket list” since I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. It can’t all happen in 2019 but: I want to go to Italy, I want to go on Safari in Africa, I want to memorize all the scents in my Le Nez Du Vin smell kit, I want to try the French Wine Scholar class again since I had to drop out of this one, I want to go back to St John, I want to go back to Harbour Island, I want annual Woodstock Inn trips again, I want annual Eastham trips again, I want a date night at Mac’s Shack in Wellfleet again. I want to make the most of my time with the people I love. What good is having so many family members and friends if I don’t spend time with them? Oh, and even though I registered before getting sick, I know I’m not going to be able to do the Cohasset Tri this June, but maybe next year? Ok, now maybe I’m getting a little crazy.

So anyway, that’s the plan.