Y'all. It's been four months since the U.S.A. admitted there was a problem, since I got sent home with my laptop and my oversized monitor.

I feel like I should record this for posterity, but what to say?

I have never in my lifetime donned a mask, homemade or otherwise, for any reason other than sanding drywall. Now, a mask is slung around my gear shift of my car, and I have an entire kitchen drawer dedicated to PPE.

I'm making choices about whether to allow the little angel to work (masked) and attend school (masked) versus struggle with online schooling not up to par with her level of learning.

I'm trying -- really hard -- to also remember what it feels like to be sixteen.

She has very few of the freedoms I had at that age.

I also want to observe, in this moment, what feels good:

• Sweating out a 90-degree run on my front steps
• Jumping into a pool on a hot summer day
• Letting the breeze hit the soles of your feet
• A deer making eye contact as they graze in the gloaming
• The nose flare of a horse who is thirsty seconds before you lift the water bucket to its lips
• The satisfaction of a barn cat who seldom is granted human touch
• Snapping a cover on a pontoon after a beautiful summer afternoon
• Saving a powerpoint that's been months in the making
• Reflecting on a book that hasn't yet been written 
• Asking yourself what is left on your list even if this pandemic shrinks your timeframe

I spend a lot of time hoping me and mine don't perish in this pandemic. I hope you and yours don't, either. I guess none of us know. 

I realized recently that I graduated high school the same year a coworker was born.

Let's sit with that.

But then I reminded myself this brilliance was recorded when I was in first grade: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=kqdJ6CsXt4Y

So it's okay, to be old. Because every generation contributes something awesome.

{Editor's Note: In the midst of Harvey, talking about anything else seems weird, but I'll forget if I don't write now, so please forgive.}

There are three days of radiation left. Today was my last radiation oncology appointment until follow-ups. I apparently missed a medical oncologist appointment scheduled for today. I didn't realize they scheduled it. I was hoping to hit my out-of-pocket max before seeing her again. It will be here soon, and then the Festival of Specialists and Scans will begin, because hey, I can pretend to be Canadian for four months! Fully covered healthcare!

The therapists and nurse and doctor clucked over my skin, which is fuchsia bordering on purple in places and covered in dark brown dots, as though my pores tanned darker than I ever have. I'd take a picture, but some people get queasy with such things and anyway, it's less a bid for sympathy than a seriouslyIdidn'tknowskincouldlooklikethis sort of a situation. It burns and itches on the inside and the outside, but that should fade soon. (If you really want to know, this is not me but you can see the weird red-with-brown-dots here: http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-families/health-news/breast-cancer-isn-t-sexy-woman-shares-post-radiation-images-to-show-reality-of-disease-a6709516.html?amp)

The doctor looked at my chart and noted how the time has flown since my diagnosis in April and I thought, well, hell, MAYBE FOR YOU BUT THIS HAS BEEN THE LONGEST SUMMER OF MY NATURAL BORN LIFE but I nodded and smiled because my husband was there and he hates drama. I like that he came with me both so I wouldn't forget what people said but also I'd avoid thoroughly embarrassing myself by going Britney all over the office with three treatments left. But oh, the tantrums I threw in my mind's eye! Then my husband pointed out oncology folks have to be up all the time because can you imagine a cynical and disengaged cancer doctor who hates his job? Okay, fine. Point taken. G is always so damn rational.

It's nearly over, though the doc said I'd continue to crackle for another few weeks as the radiation sterilized me from the inside out. He did mention recurrence is indeed lower when radiation is combined with lumpectomy, leading him to believe no matter the margins some errant cells can be left behind and the radiation is the final sweep before you close the door and lock it behind you, hoping to never open it again. I'll accept that explanation and the symptoms that are the cover charge.

ONWARD.

Two weeks down, three to go of radiation. My skin is starting to stay red all the time, like a sunburn, and I'm getting the zaps. It feels occasionally like when my inner stitches popped after my lumpectomy: minor pain like sparks just randomly in the core of my breast.

Mostly, though, I've found my lifestyle isn't conducive to fatigue.

Last week we had two riding lessons, a birthday dinner and the blonde fairy. Friday night I tried to use a massage gift card only to be told not until I'm done with radiation. I was tired by then, so in a weird way I was relieved to be excused from relaxation so I could go home to collapse on the couch.

Today I forgot the keys to the tack box (40 minute round trip) and the swim bag (10 minute round trip). It's like when the little angel didn't sleep and I'd find my keys in the fridge. I really can't be trusted to remember things right now. Please send a butler and a driver.

I decided to take a radiation vacation on my last three days of treatment just to know if the fatigue continues to build, I at least won't have to perform at work for a few days. I'm looking forward to the opportunity to collapse into the couch cushions for a few days and focus on putting this latest health bullshit behind me.

That is three weeks away. Three weeks hasn't seemed this long since high school.

ONWARD.

This week I met with two oncologists: the medical one and the radiology one. The medical one is Russian-American and a petite woman. The radiologist one is American- American and super-tall-big guy who barely seemed to fit in the room and flipped pages and said "nowadays" a lot, like a farmer would.

I don't really understand my hormone receptor results yet, but it seems like hormone-receptor drugs probably won't work for me.

It seems like I'll have higher-dose radiation for 3-4 weeks instead of the 6 I was anticipating.

I'll start radiation after the vacation we planned when I got my job and we thought 2016 was all we had to put behind us.

By August, I should be over this obstacle.

Sometimes I feel like God is plotting my life to make sure it's worth reading, because obstacles make for better books. Or that's my chosen interpretation.

Otherwise, it might seem like a tough row to hoe.

Better to see it as a solid plot.

Next Friday is my lumpectomy. I admit I'm slightly worried about imbalance, because my rack is not all that large. Subtracting a tablespoon could make a difference. But would I really say don't take it out and get clean margins? No.

I feel like a medical specimen and not a woman, I admit. My breast has become a medical ham hock, and I am just attached to it. It was not impressive to begin with, and now it is diseased.

Not really looking forward to any of this but having it over. My friend Ann once gave a speech about her breast cancer being perfectly ordinary, and I get it now. Except for the bizarre and realistic ladder dreams, breast cancer feels like middle school gym class. Smelly and inconvenient and useless to my big picture.

Just get through it.

Onward.

I woke up this morning feeling bad about splatting my negative feelings all over, so now I'm going to end 2016 with the good stuff.

I made a full recovery after breaking my leg and went on to get a personal best time in a 10k this fall. So far, no arthritis, no pain at the surgery site.

The little black cat made a full recovery after the freak blockage that was not supposed to be possible after his surgery and has been doing really well on all prescription wet food. He is still alive, and he's nearly died so many times every day that feels like a blessing.

We spent much of this summer in the lake, much more than we have in the past. I have memories of a lot of Sunday afternoons floating on rafts and in life jackets just making up stories about the ducks swimming around us.

After my car got totaled, my parents graciously gave us their old CRV. With new tires it has been very reliable so far and I didn't have to make a big car purchase right before a lay-off, which has been a huge relief.

The barn where my girl takes riding lessons let us go down to half-time so she was able to continue to ride for several months before we took the winter off. We look forward to going back to full time once things resolve themselves.

We paid off the credit cards right as things got tough, so we don't have any credit card debt hanging over our heads right now. That has made cutting back that much easier.

My family is all in relatively good health.

The weather this year has been quite lovely. I've had a lot more time to be out in it, so I know this for a fact.

All four of our birdhouses have little bird families in them.

My husband hasn't had to travel for work much this year. He ramps back up next week, but he's been here when I was going through the toughest parts initially.

I had time to redo my daughter's room. She turns thirteen in 2017, and it was time for a teenager paint job. My parents bought her a mattress to go with the grown-up bedframe we've been keeping in the basement for this time in her life.

This Christmas brought a lot of gifts of time and effort in my family. We're all going to band together to clean up my grandparents' old garage for my dad to use. My grandfather used it as a shop for his metal art when we were kids and it's fallen into disrepair, which makes all of us sad. We gave that promise to my dad. My sister lives in my grandparents' old house and the wallpaper bugs her. I promised to scrape it off this summer. I am actually quite adept at home destruction. Making people's lives easier is a good gift.

I have been forced to find things about myself to identify with that don't involve work accomplishments for maybe the first time in my adult life. That was eye-opening and harder than expected.

I have had the most sleep of my life. And I.Love.Sleeping.

I read 72 books.

I'm nearly done with another draft of THE BIRTHRIGHT OF PARKER CLEAVES and I have a new beta reader who found me through my newsletter.

So yes, there was a lot to hate about 2016, but there was also a lot to be thankful for. I am very hopeful 2017 will bring a lot to be excited about into my life, and yours. Happy New Year.

My phone is telling me Typepad needs to update its currently unavailable app. So apt.

A friend asked me recently if I was participating in something all the bloggers do, and I recoiled in surprise because it's been almost a decade since I really identified as a blogger. I'm talking to myself at this point.

I started 2016 by getting a plate and six screws put surgically in my leg. By March, I could run again. In July, my cat almost died for the fifth time. In August, my convertible got T-boned and I got laid off from what was once my dream job. I finished paying for the cat's emergency vet about the same time unemployment kicked in. It maxes out at $288/week after taxes and lasts about 20 weeks, if you've ever wondered. I'll run mine out in 8 more weeks.

Then, Trump.

Friends, 2016 has been the biggest test of my life.

I'm scared.
I'm frustrated.
I'm so pissed off.

This is what you realize after you survive double maternal cancer, an eating disorder, being valedictorian, bungee jumping, graduating early Phi Beta Kappa, moving to Chicago, flying to Australia, moving to your parents' basement, long months of loneliness in Kansas City, falling in love with your husband, grad school writer's workshop fever dream, Internet bubble, bubble bursting, husband lay-off #1, marriage, downstairs neighbor found dead, house purchase, pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum depression, start up #2 falling apart, vacations, vasectomy, move before housing collapse, husband lay-off #2, massive credit card debt, cats, trips, I'm an author!, dream job, another acquisition, lay-off, five months of low-level terror.

And I am pissed.
And I am scared.
And I am still here.

Please, 2017, be better.

I went to see my doctors last Thursday. I was five weeksish post-surgery.

The resident is more conservative. He came in and said to keep all weight off until six weeks post-surgery, then take 2-3 weeks to transition to full weight-bearing with the boot. He left. I cried. I am so tired of crutches.

Then the surgeon came in. He said the X-ray looked fine, transition to full weight-bearing within a week, lose the boot after that, get some PT, come back in five weeks.

In other words, he left it up to me. I love you, Dr. Surgeon.

My husband is back to traveling for work 75%, so leaving it up to me gets very real very fast. Walking (or crutching) out of the doctor's office last week, I felt something I haven't felt since December: agency.

I'm ready to make my own decisions.

This broken leg has made me into a teenager again in all the worst ways. I can't choose when I leave the house. I have to ask someone to drive me somewhere. I can't go for a run or walk.

I've found myself retreating to headphones and NIN.

To have my current state of recovery in my own hands feels surreal. I decide when to stop using the crutches. When to transition to shoes. When to start physical therapy. These are important decisions if I want to run again, but to not feel infantilized is huge.

Today I put about 50-70% weight on my right foot while using one crutch and cleaning my house. My ankle is sore but fine.

My psyche is better than ever.

I feel like an adult again.

I can't stress enough how important that feels.

Tomorrow I'll be 42. With a broken leg. Although I suspect it's not really broken anymore, just faking it so I'll slide up and down the stairs three times a day on my butt just so Fate can laugh her ass off.

When I first reported my injury, my friend Stacy exclaimed, "Think of the books you'll read!" She was right. I have read great books. I've come back to the revision process on PARKER CLEAVES after hitting the surgery wall. I've learned to stand up from the ground on one leg. I've learned why people get addicted to Oxycontin because it's an amazing drug.

And I'm so ready for this to be over.

Yes, broken leg, you've taught me patience the hard way and that I can carry almost anything in a backpack. I get it. I learned my lesson.

I look on 42 as the year I learn to walk and run again. Please?