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I feel better, I am home. I hope its the combination of AntiPD1 treatment and the new blood. Maybe my anti-thyroid medication is kicking in. I admit that things have taken a serious turn with the tumor, being the in hospital, and the scary suffocating episode, but right now, today, I am great. It’s a little difficult to carry on and pretend I’m not a sick person, especially dragging around this tank and breathing through a tube. I like denial. It works better for me.

I’ve had a difficult time and had some scary conversations about “What If” something happens, the fact being that nothing can be done for me that isn’t already be done. Nothing. Forty-three years old with one big, nasty, stubborn melanoma tumor inside my heart. It’s really a miracle I’m still alive today. 1 year and 5 months with Roscoe, 14 mos after first brain tumor diagnosed, 6 months after two more brain tumors treated. I’m trying to focus on the blessings.

Birds outside my window.

Prayers, cards, emails, texts, blog posts, calls, visits. I am surrounded by love.

Nothing hurts today, my blood work is good, and my oncologist is encouraging.

Family dinners brought by friends.

Friends with sandwich delivery and visits to the ER and Cancer Center Infusion rooms.

Flowers.

Found my sense of humor – referred to my own medical status as “Either an impending miraculous turn around or a dirt nap”

Feeling better and able to get out of the house a little each day.

Privileged to meet an awesome fellow melanoma warrior at Vanderbilt 3 days after her surgery.

Wonderfully cool temperatures.

One week out from treatment and I feel better, not worse.

My spunky mother, bravely dashing forth into the Nashville wilderness to retrieve child after child, navigating sleepovers, dentist and pediatrician appointments, and summer school.

Hearing and seeing normally. I am still reveling in each day. I do not miss you, Zelboraf.

Summer camps and summer school.

Amazing and wonderful family and friends.

Driving.

The ability to look forward on the calendar.

The strength to wrestle with end of life decisions so that my amazing husband doesn’t have to wonder what I would’ve wanted. This has been a huge struggle for me – it felt like giving up at first. I’m just writing it all down and sealing it an envelope. The fact is, we are all going to leave this Earth sooner or later and I think of this as a gift to him. It’s the only way I can manage it without tequila.

Peace that comes from knowing God is infinitely good and it’s all going to be OK.

Strength that can come only from God – to carry on, to hope, and to NEVER EVER GIVE UP.

Each Day is Truly a Gift.

Peace – Amy

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