Cancer sucks like a picnic.

We are calling today Sean's official 2-year Remission-versary. He has been cancer-free for two years now, and you have no idea how good it feels just to type that.

A little over two years ago Sean and I were going through hell. There's just no other way to describe it. Loads of sickness, pain, anger, fear, indigestion, and hair loss. The fighting, the medical bills, the worry that the chemo treatments wouldn't work - it all added up to the worst four months ever. EVER.

Although it was hard, we're happy to have gone through it and learned many, many lessons about ourselves and life that we never would have learned otherwise. And we are grateful - OH so grateful - to be healthy and happy now.

Now you're probably wondering what the title of this blog post has to do with what I've just written. Well, my Aunt Holly - my wonderful, beautiful, fantastic Aunt Holly - wrote me a very hilarious email in the wee hours of the morning that I just have to share. Hope this is okay, Aunt Holly - it was just so chock full of comic gold that I couldn't resist sharing. So without further introduction, an excerpt from the funniest email ever:

"I was sorry (and I'm still sorry!) that you and Sean had to go through such a terrifying thing as cancer when you were so young! (or ever) And I know it's still something that affects you. I don't know that I could have been as strong as you were. (I know it was no picnic, but you DID handle it well--you made it through with your marriage intact and you managed to raise a wonderful little boy in the middle of it all).

You know, maybe it WAS a picnic. A picnic in a park where you lay your checkered picnic blanket on a fire ant bed and they start biting you and then you eat your sandwiches only to find out they are contaminated with a fast-acting strain of e-coli and you have INSTANT DIARRHEA! At the park! In front of everyone! (And you're wearing white pants, of course). And then a pack of wild dogs runs across your blanket and steals the rest of your food, and all your beverages too, so you're totally weak and dehydrated from the insta-diarrhea, and you no longer have food & water with which to regain your strength so you can barely manage to crawl to your car and it takes an hour (on account of the fire ants still crawling all over your flesh, and who can crawl quickly when they are both dehydrated AND being devoured by fire ants?). And so finally you get to the car only to discover you've left your keys at the picnic site but then you also discover that your didn't lock your car (whew), but when your husband (who went to West High so he knows how) manages to hot wire your car and get it started, a gang war breaks out in the parking lot and though you only receive a few flesh wounds from the stray bullets, your tires are toast. So you both (thank goodness you didn't bring the kid) lie huddled under your car and hope the vicious pack of dogs die from e-coli sandwiches before they get hungry again and track your foul stench back to your hiding place and eat you.

So yeah...that kind of picnic.

Dude! Cancer sucks like a picnic!"


Yes Aunt Holly, cancer sucks like a picnic. Glad that picnic is over.