It's been 5 years since my breast cancer diagnosis.
The treatment (surgery, chemotherapy, radiation) nearly killed me. Life is fragile, and fleeting, and precious.
Five years ago, the dog and I went for a walk at Rice Creek Field Station with my son. This is the place where biology students do their research. We often walk the trails here, it is beautiful and peaceful. I had an appointment later to get the results from the biopsy and wasn't at all worried or worked up.
Joe took a picture of me with the dog.
That was the last picture taken of me with all my body parts, just 7 days later I was in surgery. And 3 weeks after that, the torture of treatment started.
I can't find that photo. I was wearing a denim skirt, a pink long sleeve t shirt, and birkenstocks. We tried to re-create it, except for the clothes (I now HATE pink, camo is my new pink).
But the dog didn't want to cooperate; he peed and pooped.
Live all your days in truth and transparency-I strive for that, anyway. And regrets? Nope. The dog pooping as we tried to commemorate this anniversary is a metaphor for not carrying regrets.
That's what I'm thinking about today.