One year ago, I sat deer-in-the-headlights before a firing squad and endured a barrage of bullets that would leave my life riddled with holes: "mold" "infection" "fatal" "rare" "intravenous" "immediately" "neutropenic" "prognosis" "options" "anyone we could call?" "transfusions" "leak gut" "death" .....
I sat in that conference room with a team of doctors, in a daze, their hot words hitting my frozen, emaciated body and melting into a puddle beneath my chair- that I later slipped on as they helped me down the hall to the treatment room for more ivs.
It would take another week before I uttered a word to anyone. Another two weeks before I could stop eating the forbidden foods. Another month before I started this blog. Six months before I accepted any of it. A whole year before I really let myself feel emotions about it.
I started this blog because some things I couldn't say, but I could type. Because answering the same question over and over and over and over again was tiresome, overwhelming, scary and time consuming- whereas offering a link seemed better.
It's been hard: really, really hard. I've tried to be comical and upbeat about it; and I've fostered a lot of denial; and I didn't talk about a lot of things, but doing this blog has helped me find my voice.
It's been one hell of a year but I'm so glad to be here and for all I've learned about food and cooking and life! Thanks for being a part of that journey.