I made the mistake, when I went to my appointment at the Cancer Center today, of sitting in direct line-of-vision to the treatment room. And then I made the mistake of not moving when I noticed that I could see where I used to sit in a blue vinyl recliner with an IV stand next to me and the icy colorless cocktail dripping into my chest.

Moment of panic--they're going to come get me and say, "Sorry! We were wrong! Your cancer is back. Let's hook you up, girl!"

The guy in scrubs came to fetch me and neither he nor Shirley the nurse practitioner said those words. I asked Shirley about calling the surgeon to get Penelope removed, and she said I could do it; their office doesn't make those calls.

So guess what I did when I got home? Yep. My appointment with the surgeon is Nov. 19.

It is now officially one year and 20 days since I began chemotherapy. It seems so foreign to me, so far away from my current reality. I still know that I went through it, but I am very happy to forego that experience this October. When I hear myself griping about something, I think, "But I'm here! Why am I complaining?"

Paradoxically, now that I have hair, I am irritated by it. One Saturday a few weeks ago, I couldn't take the pressure any more and I called every hair salon in Provo until I found one with an appointment immediately so I could get my hair cut. I assume that I will slowly grow used to it, and I always have hats to use on Bad Hair Days!

I am taking organ lessons, and emailed my teacher a couple of weeks ago to say that I had been sick and so could not have a lesson. I didn't explain that I had had a horrible cold, which I now think was actually Swine Flu, and that it had taken me nearly two weeks to feel better. She panicked, because her daughter died from the effects of cancer a year or so ago, and she and her husband had just returned from a memorial service held in her daughter's honor in Colorado [the daughter was a firefighter and had her name on the memorial stone for the year]. She pictured all of that happening to me, apparently. I am so happy that it hasn't!

Reuben is having his stuffed dogs snuggle on my shoulder. I am wearing my fuzzy purple robe and pink slippers, and I'm ignoring the chickens. After I'm done here I will go sew and ignore the dishes! More and more cousins keep appearing, as this is the Week Of Wedding [only three more days, James and Nicole!]

I love chaos and noise. I love ignoring housework. I love having my phone fixed because Otto came yesterday to analyze wires and accidentally broke a toy bin by attempting to stand on it. I love braiding Sariah's clean wet hair. I love hearing Jane's voice on the answering machine saying that Ian is in Reuben withdrawal and needs a fix. I love opening a gray velvet box from Frank and finding a Damascus steel pendant he made. I love impending dart gun wars. I love hearing Jazon gripe about reports for work. I love running into Marianne and Julia and Jared at concerts. I love reading my book in the car as Nathaniel and I wait for the bus to come. I love kissing my husband before he is late to work because he forgot he had a meeting at 7 a.m. and we snuggled in bed instead.