Too bright

I had just finished opening all the blinds in the living room and kitchen when Sean got up.

“Hiss,” he said. “It’s too bright in here.”

“Hi!” I replied, glomping him. We hugged and he settled down in his gamer chair. “There’s food for you in the microwave.”

“It’s too bright in here,” he responded.

I started laughing, and bent down and wrapped my arms around him. “I love you and your silly ways.”

“…it’s too bright in here.”

I gave in. “Since that seems to be the only thing you can say, I’ll close this one,” I said, reaching up and twisting the cord on the blinds next to his table.

“That’s much better,” Sean sighed, relief flooding his I-just-woke-up voice.

Poor baby ;)

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Lunch with Wes

I needed to get away, and I'll have lunch with Wes whenever I get the
opportunity.

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Negative, of course

Today, it’s over a week since the day my period would have started, if I were on a normal cycle. I wouldn’t even know this, but it happened that I had two cycles recently, exactly 30 days apart. That hasn’t happened to me without the application of hormone therapy since before I had cancer.

It didn’t take much for me to begin to hope that my reproductive cycle had recovered somehow. So I waited to see if I would have period #3. And waited, and waited. If a week goes by, I told myself, I’ll take a pregnancy test.

This morning I took two. Just in case.

They both rather quickly came back with the “Not Pregnant” message.

As you might imagine, I had been hoping for more than a regular cycle. I hoped that the missed period not only meant I was normal again, but that I was fertile.

I seem unable to keep from hoping.

It is a good sign that I had two periods in a row. Maybe I will have another one at some point. Maybe if I can get back into my healthy habits and lose some more weight, I’ll be able to have them regularly again.

That won’t mean I’m fertile, though. After all, I did undergo hormone therapy. That should have helped me get pregnant, if it were possible. It didn’t happen, and that is likely my answer. Even if my ovaries do recover, it’s likely that none of my eggs are viable.

I’ve known all of this for years, though, and it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably keep on hoping until I’m 50.