I dare to hope

It's 8 am on Monday morning and Chloe has crawled into bed next to me. Her breathing is even, her face angelic, and her body curled into a peaceful cocoon. She is making good use of sleeping late on this teacher work day. Our plan is to have lunch in Tyler with Katie and Karlie and then shop. At this moment, all in the world seems right. Actually, these summer months have been overflowing with the good stuff: horseback rides, sunny days, picnics and nature walks, sand castles by the sea, celebrations, new beginnings, family, friends, and fun. Yet, the week ahead will hold remnant moments of what it is like to live fully in spite of advanced colon cancer; to grab each precious second in the shadow of stable tumors. It will be a reminder to be grateful for the research that has kept my tumors in check. Because, alas, scan time has made it's way to my calendar once again. Scanticipation will ensure that the next few days also carry wonder of another kind. Will my tumors have grown? Have they made their way to different organs? Are there more? Will they be larger? What will treatment entail? What's next?It's been hard at times not to think of what is happening sans treatment. At the same time it is liberating to feel good and to be active. The "regular ol' life" is a beautiful reminder of what life was like before chemo, procedures, labs, and cancer. I'm not ready for this amazing break to end in a screeching halt. Realistic thoughts aside, I'm going to dream for the treatment break to continue in a magical blur of stable tumors and good scans. For a few more days, I dare to hope...