Buy the Boots

Many of you in my life know that a close friend, colleague and mentor of mine lost her courageous battle with cancer this past week. It has taken me some time to reflect and process an outcome I knew was inevitable but never fully prepared for. As Sharon would say “our monster” workloads, sometimes prevent us from taking the time that we really need for self-care. We balance between “taking care of ourselves” to burying under work and tedius tasks to push the pain aside. My intentional word of 2021 is balance. And I continue to strive to find it. Grieving loss involves allowing oneself to feel all the emotions, sadness, anger, while at the same time honouring and celebrating how one person impacted so many. I teeter between the two worlds on a daily basis

I am so appreciative of the outpouring of support through our professional world and my close connections. A fellow cancer survivor who is also a work colleague wrote me and said “when you have had the time you need, I would love to sit down with you and listen to what Sharon has taught you through your friendship and her journey with fighting cancer. I felt ready today to begin to reflect on what I take from her moving forward. I have titled this blog post, “Buy the Boots”

“Humble” - I am humbled by Sharon’s far-reaching impact in education. I remember in the summer she forwarded me an email that she received from a former student. She was blown away by the influence that this young lady took forward in her life from being in Sharon’s class for one year. In taking over Sharon’s two schools in our special education consultant role, I became part of the teams that she so capably guided for many years. Someone asked me, “ are you the new Sharon?” - I laughed, how could I ever possibly compare? I told Sharon, I will have to warn them, I am not as funny. Her response “ LOL Different strengths. They will love you, and your expertise. You are one of my besties and they will know you are a gift”

“Tap Out” - Sharon had a great line that she often used. It is one that I have repeated to myself this past year, as I learned to navigate this consultant role without her daily advice. As we would hash out, vent and problem solve issues, she would raise an eyebrow and look at me and say “time to tap out Low?” - “Tap out” can mean, stop saying yes when we are overwhelmed by workload, “Tap out” can mean let others take a lead, to step back and give others an opportunity to lead. “Tap out” can mean asking for a change. “Tapping someone” means giving someone an opportunity, recognizing a strength. Sharon was a master at both. She so skillfully elevates others strengths, and when she saw talent she made sure they were recognized and given credit. But she would let others lead, support their role, and do the work with you.

#What Would Sharon Say -  Sharon was a master with vocabulary. Sharon used terms of endearment, one-liners and truth in order to let people know they were special to her, but at the same time, she was a straight-shooter, and you never guessed where she stood on an issue, a person or a decision. It didn’t take long being in her life for her to establish little names that only she could use professionally and still deliver respect. “Chica, Michi, Super Dave, Parking, Benedetti, “The closer”, “Big Daddy”, #shadupandrea, Nonna” - One liners, “release it to Jesus”, “bite me”, “that’s how we roll”, a select other few. I think what I learned the most, is making sure you have built that relationship, that a colleague or parent knows they matter to you, then you will be able to tackle the harder stuff. Sharon could ask the really hard questions (and use really big words)  that no one else wanted to ask. She would pause, wait for the right moment (maybe insert one liner) and Bam! I think many of us continue that mantra #wwss as we remember her 

“Balls Out” - Strength comes in many forms. It looks different to each of us. There was nothing frail about SLawton. Her physical strength from years of conditioning allowed her to enjoy her love of the outdoors up until her final days. I joked with her that after 3 full days of chemo, she could still outwalk me. But she was strong in so many other ways. Facing setbacks, frustrations, debilitating side effects from treatment. Her comment to me after another hospital visit was “I just need to keep rolling.” She wanted to live and keep living.  I told Sharon early on in her diagnosis that I thought she was amazing, her response “I don’t know if I’m amazing but I am pretty balls out right now” Balls Out. Enough said. The perfect one liner to Sharon’s strength.

“Let it Simmer” - From Sharon, I have learned the power of reflection, of taking one’s time before sending an email, responding to a call, not to sweat the small stuff, to not be in a rush, to stop apologizing for being late or forgetting a job, to put something on low heat.. We all need to give ourselves grace. Sharon lived life “just in time”, she able to put it on simmer and this type A, intense, wound up girl needed a little just in time living, 

“Buy the Boots” - A few summers ago, Sharon and I were at a conference. Truth be told, in theory we were at a conference, the reality was “marina patios, corona margaritas, sangria, world up soccer, long walks, sizzling summer heat, lavender field roadtrips and exploring the shopping downtown Peterborough has to offer. We walked into this little shoe store, and saw these tall, flowered, doc marrtin boots. Of course they were a size 7. SLawton you have to buy those boots. She had to send her work husband a pic to get his approval. Ricky would shake his head, but secretly love her spirit.  She even then bartered a deal and we walked out with those boots. That’s how Sharon rolled. Treat yourself, no regrets, live large, make a statement, life your life in color, seize the moment, do something kind for someone else, life can change so quickly make the most of the situation. And in the end, “Buy the damn boots” 

Love you dollface, I am so blessed to have walked this life with you.  Xo Michi

HopeSpring and a Cure - Pay It Forward

There are moments in our lives that we want to capture, take a screenshot, to remember everything. Marriages, having our children, first kisses, first job, moments of happiness, moments of accomplishment, moments of pride. Where you sit back and take it all in.

I stood at Descendant's Brewery and looked out over 80+ of my closest friends and family. The music was playing our favourite songs, there was laughter, everywhere people who crossed into my life were hugging, so many hugs between people who I brought together, who were friends, who were acquaintances. All of these amazing people in one room, to celebrate ME.
 It was one of the most humbling experiences.

On Saturday, February 8, 2020. We hosted a fundraiser to raise money for the HopeSpring Cancer Support Centre. It was to recognize that I celebrated five-years in remission for Hodgkins Lymphoma. I am pleased to share that we raised $2500 and counting. Our closest friends and family came together and I can't express the gratitude for this evening. It is surreal, to look out and see all of "your people" in one room. The love for my family, my kids saw all of this village who helped raise them all in one room. Pretty incredible.

I was fortunate enough to have two close friends speak on my behalf. Dave Ryan one of my closest friends from childhood opened the evening. We have been friends for over 35 years. I can't thank him enough, he captured exactly the message that we wanted, Pay It Forward.

Carole Schwartz closed the speeches, her humour and love and how she recognized our family touched my heart. I would have never been able to get through those hard days without her. Really the past 30 years without her. They say everything happens for a reason and I truly believe that. Carole and my husband were both off work during my treatment and I can't thank God enough for placing them there for me. Carole also booked and donated the cost of the music for the venue and they were amazing, it was perfect. The Mark Smith Experience were exactly what our crowd needed. I can't thank Carole enough for her friendship.

I want to post the words that I said that evening as  I feel like they capture my spirit and the message that I wanted to give. I wish that someone would have videotaped it as I was so proud of my strength, poise and how I controlled my emotions. I really just wanted to convey my gratitude to everyone in the room. So here it is.

As many of you know, I write a blog titled “REALLY? My Journey with Hodgkins Lymphoma. When I found myself sitting at the Grand River Cancer Centre, you find yourself asking, like Really? Is this really happening to me? And right now I am asking myself something similar, like who has the opportunity to have all their people together in one room??? REALLY? How blessed and grateful am I for this?

To me this journey has been a gift. An opportunity handed to our family to truly realize the impact that the support of family, colleagues and friends can make. What it means to be grateful, to be humble, to accept help and to have a chance to keep paying it forward. 

My children were witness to the rally of the troops, the meals, drives to hockey and gymnastics, the anonymous cards in the mail. Work colleagues who shuttled our daughter to her gymnastics training, and coaches who covered fees for our kids. They would ask, who made this meal Mom? Who sent those flowers? Who is taking me to my game? They always wanted to know the person or family it came from, the PEOPLE mattered to them. Cam and Jordan saw tears and hugs, milestone celebrations, family who took them for playdates and sleepovers, MOTYS who stepped forward to be second moms to my kids,  they saw how much their Dad took care of me, and they saw that every tradition continued, nothing changed, we celebrated with our friends from yurting, foo fahs, birthdays, christmas eve, weddings, and as much of normal life carried on, and a piece of advice that I remembered We showed up even when it was hard.

Each and every one of you in this room has played a role in supporting myself, my husband, my kids, our families. There are many important friends and colleagues in my life who met me after cancer, and your support in allowing me to be honest, to admit that it isn’t easy, that I had anxiety, post-trauma stress, these people shared in celebrations every six months that I was clear, your support is equally impactful. There are no words to express our gratitude to all of you.

All of you have done these acts of kindness that I have described to you, because you have all been touched by struggles or you have had other angels supporting you  - not only because of cancer but the daily realities of life. In supporting our family, you are all paying it forward, you are exemplifying unconditional kindness and many it is without recognition. This was our family’s turn to benefit from you. And now it is my turn to continue giving. I made a promise to myself that I would pay it forward every chance I had, when I became a survivor. 

It is not only the people in our lives who provided us shelter and love, there are organizations in our community, all in existence through donations and volunteers, others who are giving back.

Hopespring Cancer Support Centre is the first place I walked into as an official cancer patient. I remember thinking when I registered there, I had never even heard of this place. I received a brochure at the hospital along with the mountain of other paperwork  and heard they had a wig boutique. Before I started treatment, looking back, losing my hair was originally such a huge thing but in reality, it became a sign that the treatment was working to me and I embraced it.

Carole and I walked into that wig boutique and after the initial tears and a feeling that  I can’t believe we are actually here, looking for wigs. I am at a place called HopeSpring? Wig shopping, something I kind of dreaded, became a positive experience, thanks to a wonderful volunteer Angie. I walked out of there feeling ready, I was going to lose my hair and this wig was so amazing that no one would even know,. Angie, ended up continuing to call me and check-in and see how I was doing, months into my treatment. 

As I went through chemotherapy treatment, I’m not going to lie, there were some pretty dark days. It was hard. Maintaining a positive attitude was something I tried to do. But there were days where the only people who truly knew what you were going through were others going through cancer treatment or recovering. And if  I wanted to be mad, or anxious, or cry or feel terrible with them. I felt that was ok.

There are a few special people who became my unofficial cancer support group. It is through these individuals, that I was encouraged to join a Gentle Yoga and Yoga Thrive Group at Hopespring. Once a week for months we came together to stretch our bodies, learn what yoga can do for our stress and to slowly gain our strength back. To be together. To share our stories. To me, it was once again “showing up even when it was hard” as I soon learned, being a survivor was much harder than being a patient in many ways. It gave me a  place to go, to be out of the house instead of hiding at home, at a time when there was a lot of waiting between appointments and anxiety over learning if I had beat this disease. One other way that Hopespring not only helped me, to be introduced to navigating the world with cancer but also recovering from it as well. The beginning and the end. And there are so many things they offer to those in-between

At one point, several years ago, Hopespring almost closed for lack of donations, due to many factors, a lack of awareness and rising costs of renting space. Programs were cut and they lost their location. They are now located at the Inn of Waterloo - formally the Waterloo Motor Inn. They offer such a wide range of opportunities, yoga for all stages of treatment and recovery, water yoga, reiki, massage therapy, support groups for teens, spouses, children, those diagnosed. They offer counselling for those living with loss.  There are brochures available with their programs and if you have not already made a donation, there is a box, or forms or an online link that you can use. I felt that this was the perfect opportunity to recognize a local organization who made such a difference in my life, and eventually the lives of others close to me. Future cancer patients, my friends.

I want to close by sharing a story about the orchid flower. You may have noticed that it was on the invite.  The orchid has been a symbol for me as it is a flower that blooms in adversity and then lies dormant, rebuilding strength and recovering only to flower once again. The conditions need to be just right for orchids to thrive. In my case, the conditions were right with my treatment and my outcome is the best one that we could have hoped for. We have had several orchids given to us by our friends and they thrived in our home, bloomed and re-bloomed many times over, with the right amount of care. My daughter Jordan and I got matching orchid tattoos for my birthday this year. She posted the following on Facebook and when I read what she wrote, I said to Jason, well that’s all I really need to say when we are at Descendants in February. 

Jordan - I went on an exciting journey today with my Mom as we decided to get matching tattoos. This small orchid may seem just like a flower to some, but to us, it symbolizes courage, power and finding the strength to bloom again after continuously getting knocked down, no matter what life throws at us, this is a little reminder to us every day that we have people in our lives who love us, care for us and support us and would do anything in their power to make sure that we were okay. It is a bucket list item checked off and an experience that we will never forget and something we will always have with us. This is cancer recovery for my Mom.” 

I would not have been able to summarize it any better. You are those people. All of you.

I love you Jordan, I love you Cam and most of all, my greatest fan, my loudest cheerleader, my husband Jason,  the person who unconditionally took care of me, every appointment, the good news, the bad news, the middle of the night crying and intense pain. His love never-ending. As I said, cancer was a gift, I got to have months of time with my husband, who was off work my entire treatment, sitting on the deck, bird watching with our coffee, joking that this is a glimpse of our retired life, binge-watching Netflix, afternoon naps, walks down the street and long drives looking for our snowy owls. The care-giver is one who is often overlooked and I had one of the best, he never once let on that he was scared or worried, he was able to make me laugh, a joke maybe in the wrong place, but it was needed to take a worry down from a cliff. I honestly would never be able to pay it forward to him in the same way. Jason, I love you.

In closing, I would like to thank all those who came together to make tonight the special evening that it is. My MOTY group, this group of ladies are my rock. I would never get through the days, months and years without you, we have something very special. Hopespring Executive Director Jane Mitchell for taking the time to meet with me and hear my story, The Mark Smith Experience - awesome music, Forest of Flowers for the flowers, Descendants Brewery, for amazing food, drinks, location, our inner circle of friends, my built in family and planning committee, our parents Bob and Cathy, Ron and Diane, my brother, Jeff and his family for their love and support. Dave, one of my oldest, dearest friends, there is something about someone who has known where you have come from, And Carole, my best friend, my Christina to my Meredith. Your support has been unwavering.

Thank you all so much for making the time to come tonight to join us and support such a wonderful organization. 

Adjusting Our Sails for Cancer Again

Today I hate cancer. But I embrace being a survivor more than ever. 

5 years ago today, I learned that I was in remission, half way through 12 chemotherapy treatments. 3 months into my ordeal. I wasn’t in the clear yet but it was evident that the treatment was working. Today I was supposed to have my six month checkup at the cancer centre. Bloodwork, wait two hours, then appointment with the nurse practitioner that I am now assigned to. I have graduated from seeing Dr Stevens every visit. 

The anticipatory stress that comes with these appointments is hard to describe, while I know that I have had no symptoms, the oncologist’s remark many years ago that “bloodwork doesn’t lie” stays with me. What if? That combined with the milestone that today July 8, 2019 represents 5 years, made today a day that I was not dreading but waiting for. WISHING FOR.  I am not officially CURED until after my next appointment in December as they count that I have been in remission for five years from the PET scan that happens 6-8 weeks after my chemotherapy has finished. An indication that when I am not receiving treatment that the cancer did not return and I remain “no evidence of disease” - then I am CURED.

Unfortunately, the appointment today didn’t happen. It seems as though it was rescheduled, but in the communication practice of the Grand River Cancer Centre, they supposedly mail out changes in appointments, but I didn’t receive this change.

So I waited…. 30 minutes - just to register. The waiting area filled with patients and their loved ones, not an empty seat. I look around at so many sick people, so many. Five years ago I was one of them. I sat beside an elderly couple, with a large binder, color coded charts to keep track of all the medications this elderly lady had to endure, they were trying to figure out when she last had her anti-nausea meds. It brought me back to trying to remember the last pill I took of the 7-8 medications that i was on. They smiled at me and asked if I was there with someone. No.. I proudly stated, I am a survivor, I am a patient. I was one of the few who didn’t look exhausted and scared. But inside, I still am. All the time. And that is why I hate cancer.

I hate knowing that my childhood friend was nearby in the ER with his sweet mother, facing the battle of her life with a rare type of thyroid cancer, likely with no cure. How did I get so lucky to spin the cancer roulette wheel - to Hodgkins Lymphoma. The horrible treatment, often results in a cure for 90% of us.  Not everyone in that waiting room is so fortunate. 

So here I sit with a rescheduled appointment, in reality - this is small when I see the faces of everyone waiting, waiting to know if they will beat this disease, waiting for poisons or radiation to curse through their veins. My disappointment is small. My waiting insignificant. It is humbling to see the vast number of our community using the GRH Cancer Centre, my home away from home for so long. I am grateful for the care I received. I can wait a few more weeks for the confirmation that I remain in remission, others aren’t so fortunate as I am. 

I was able to enjoy a beautiful day in the sunshine, reading, gardening and taking care of others, paying it forward which I made a promise to myself that I would do after so many took care of us. 

I send my love and prayers to the Ryan family. I received a text  from D when I was sick and I send exactly the same message back to him. I kept that text and wouldn’t change a word.

“I wanted to reach out of you. First I am sorry that you are going through this but I know there is no one in the world more giving, caring and thoughtful than you. What does that mean… you will deal with and overcome whatever is in front of you. And you are not alone. All the people that you have impacted are standing with you and that is a powerful force. So if you want to talk about this or nothing about this - I am here. You are one of my oldest and truest friends and I am there to help in any way I can. I hope you know that.” (DR) Love, Michelle

Inching my way towards a cure.

Golden Buzzers

As the end of 2018 approaches, I am reflective and melancholy. It is now 4 years that I have been in remission. We are heading into 2019, the year that I have had circled in my head for the past 48 months, I remember I used to count the number of months that I was in remission. Then I was able to count years. . If I can make it to 5 years, then I am considered cured of Hodgkins Lymphoma and no longer a patient in remission from Hodgkins.

Being a cancer survivor changes your life. Every moment means something. Every decision you weigh carefully. Sometimes I take life too seriously and sometimes I am impulsive, without a care in the world. It is difficult tight rope to balance.

We are planning a celebration for the five year anniversary. A fundraiser, a way to give back. A way to recognize that I have beat this disease. I still feel like I am holding my breath, waiting for something bad to happen. I don’t want to hold the event too early, because what if. What if the cancer comes back. What if I have to face it again? The chances and percentages are stacked against me regardless of the number of months or years that go by.

I am grateful for so many new experiences. Opportunities that I feel like I have been able to take, that if my treatment had not been successful that we would not have been able to complete. Items checked off on the bucket list.

I love watching golden buzzer videos. Love seeing the looks on the performers faces when the golden tickets come raining down. It is pure happiness. That is exactly how I felt when learned that my twelve chemotherapy treatments were successful and I was in remission, That is how I feel most every day. So grateful, so relieved and so blessed to have the life that we do.

I wonder sometimes how it feels after the golden buzzers and shows are all over and people go back to living their old lives. How does it feel to go back to ordinary lives, with real life worries and stress. After that moment of being on stage and having that experience. It is hard going back. It hard to continue to seek those golden buzzer moments. Your loved ones treat you differently. Sometimes it’s like that after having cancer. You seek out many golden buzzer moments, you seek out those feelings of exhilaration and happiness. You live your life just a tiny bit differently, sometimes wanting and needing more. But worrying that if you achieve it, that it will come to an end.

Life becomes a series of bucket list moments because you are never really sure when you won’t be able to continue checking off those items. I continue to try and live my life with balance, without regret but with a new unwanted caution. The carefree attitude changes with cancer. I have said to many people, I hate that it has done that to me.

January 2, I have an appointment at the cancer centre, every 6 months for 10 years, I will have these appointments. They are anxiety provoking but after they are over, they are affirming and a relief. I know in my heart, that all is ok. And that I have 2019 to look forward to. The year of the cure.

Merry Christmas and Happy 2019.

Banana Pancakes

June 4 is National Cancer Survivor Day. I ask myself, what does it mean to me now - almost 3 years post-cancer treatment and continued remission to be a SURVIVOR? To finish treatment, to hear those two words "cancer free", no evidence of disesase. To be a cancer survivor has different meaning to me on different days. It changes all the time.

 On the day when I am singing at the top of my lungs at a Jack Johnson concert with the love of my life and our best friends, the sunset, open air concert on June 4, National Cancer Survivor day, being a survivor means, I am brought back to my when my kids were babies. Jack Johnson, Curious George CD, playing on a weekend morning, on an afternoon where I worked part-time and we slept for three hours everyday. I dream back of sleepovers at the Lago house, champagne breakfasts with Jack Johnson, staying another night and never wanting to come home and go back to work.  Banana pancakes. Wanting to sleep in and pretend that we didn't have any worries or anywhere to go or be. That song will always stay with me. That care-free feeling we had before cancer changed our lives.

On the day when the oncologist at the Juravinski Centre in Hamilton informed me that I was in remission and the PET scan showed no evidence of disease, being a survivor meant tremendous relief. The month of November that year was the most stressful few weeks that I have ever experienced in my life, waiting for those results.

On the day where I returned to work for the first time in 18 months, being a survivor meant feeling an enormous sense of accomplishment that I was returning to a career that I love and a new role as an Itinerant Developmental Support Teacher, being a survivor felt like a new beginning.

On the day where my daughter tells me she has a lump on her neck, which turned out to be mononucleosis, being a survivor meant having a wave of fear go through me that flashed me back to when I first felt the hard, round olive size lump on my neck. The lump that rolled around, was painful to touch and felt like a marble. Being a survivor that day, was the worry of something happening to one of my children.

On the day where I interviewed and was offered the position for my current role as Special Education Consultant, being a survivor meant realizing a dream and goal that I had been working for. It was a job that I had watched be posted while I was off on sick leave and was unable to apply for. A position that I often wondered when I was in the darkest days of treatment, will I ever return to work? What if I will never get that opportunity?

On the day when I come home from work after a long 12 hour day, emails to answer, my body tired, work stress overcoming me, being a survivor means, a realization that I need to find a better balance, a reminder that there is more to life than our work and careers. A reminder to put away the computer and phone and take care of myself and my family.

On the day where I am sitting on the dock at the cottage, watching our friends and kids jump off the dock at sunset, celebrating MOTY weekend with my best friends, a clink of a glass, a kayak ride, a feeling that "life is pretty damn good", being a survivor means a gratefulness that I am able to enjoy the sweet things in life once again.

"Banana Pancakes"

Can't you see that it's just raining?
Ain't no need to go outside...

But, baby, you hardly even notice
When I try to show you this
Song is meant to keep you
From doing what you're supposed to.
Waking up too early
Maybe we can sleep in
Make you banana pancakes
Pretend like it's the weekend now

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

But just maybe, like a ukulele
Momma made a baby
Really don't mind the practice
'cause you're my little lady
Lady, lady, love me
'cause I love to lay here lazy
We could close the curtains
Pretend like there's no world outside

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

My Fight Song

This is my fight song Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Yesterday I went to the Cancer Centre for my six month check-up with a nurse practitioner Marg. I have graduated from the care of Dr Stevens my primary oncologist. I continue to anticipate these appointments with mostly comfort in knowing that I will hear that I continue to be in remission mixed with a a tiny amount of guarded worry that I don't want to be caught off guard by bloodwork results that are unexpected. I am happy to report that I continue to be in remission and am nearing that two year mark where the chance of relapse begins to diminish. I came home happy and cheerful, looking forward to a celebratory steak dinner with my family. I also arrived home to an emotional video of a fellow cancer survivor singing "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. I really can't listen to that song without tearing up. Whenever it plays I envision myself needing to play that song over and over again should I be faced with a re-occurrence of Hodgkins Lymphoma. I continue to fight the battle of anxiety and worry, and move forward everyday. I have almost completed my first full year of work in three years. I can't wait for the summer to rejuvenate, relax and enjoy my friends and family. I am grateful for the opportunities that are before us and am confident that in three years time I will be celebrating a cure!

New Wishes

I remember a time where we measured milestones in terms of our kids walking, moving out cribs, first bike, first day of school, staying alone for the first time, losing a tooth, first goal, grade eight graduation, first boyfriend, first girlfriend, driver's license. Now the word milestone takes on such a new meaning to me. Every milestone I am grateful that I get to be here. Living and celebrating. I celebrate milestones in terms of months now. 6 months of chemotherapy, one year of recovery, 6 months of remission, the first two years with fear of relapse, and five years to a cure. Last January, we hosted an evening to celebrate 6 months in remission.
Fast forward one year and I am looking at 18 months since I was found to be in remission.

Another marker to a cure. It's amazing to me how quickly life has returned back to normal. I am loving work and we had a busy Christmas season, hosting our family here on Boxing Day. I invited some close friends to join me for an evening at SocialArt KW to paint a picture titled "New Wishes". I felt that the name was appropriate to symbolize my hopes for the next year to come. The ladies who joined me have all played a huge role in my life and recovery. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to celebrate with me. Your friendship
means the world to me. Two years ago this weekend, I was facing the scariest test I would face. The waiting between appointments knowing that I had growing lumps in my neck of an unknown origin, was one of the most difficult things I have ever faced. Jason, knowing that I needed to fill the empty space of the weekend, so that I wouldn't be researching the internet to find every worse case scenario suggested that we go for a drive to find the elusive snowy owl. After a short drive outside the city, we were rewarded with two snowy owls in a snow-covered field. This past weekend on Family Day, Jason and I again ventured out and again were treated to a sighting of a snowy owl perched high on a post. My friends have said that they feel that us finding the snowy owls two years ago was a sign that everything was going to be ok. I fully believe that again, our snowy owl is assuring us that I will continue to enjoy remission and will look forward to the next milestone. Two years in remission in July. A symbol and a great milestone to reach. Love you all.