Good News Round 2

I know, I know. We've been slacking. A lot has happened since our last post, but maybe the most important thing (other than Hadley rolling over) is that we just returned from my first 3-month checkup in Vancouver. I have been having some symptoms recently that include headaches and a strange tingling down the back of my legs. Needless to say, this caused some anxiety about my appointments, and in the days leading up to them, Meghan and I were feeling the strain. The good news is that two MRIs later (one of my head and one of my spine), I've once again been given a clean bill of health. Apparently the headaches and tingling are common side effects of radiation that can surface even 6 months after treatment. As my friend Dan said: "Headaches, eh? They did shoot a laser at your brain you know".
  It was a point well taken. It seems like in the days leading up to these checkups that every chapped lip and runny nose found some connection to cancer. But I don't have cancer anymore. We're happy that that's the case, and will wait another few months before anxiety skyrockets, and only doses of Hadley will suffice in quenching the fire of panic. But we will get by.
  If you're in Whitehorse reading this, keep in mind that we're having an Open House/BBQ on Friday, May 7th at our place at 67 Pelly Rd. in Riverdale. Anybody and everybody are welcome to show up anytime after 4:00 pm. Bring something to cook on the grill, your favorite bevvy, and we'll have some stuff to go along with that, including some extra drinks. Most importantly, bring yourselves and whoever you think might have fun. I wish everyone from across the country could come. The amount of support we've received (and continue to receive) makes me think the world can be an amazingly good place sometimes.
  I'm starting work on May 10th, and it feels like it will be a landmark day in my recovery. I hope to ease into it with some part-time hours, and, as usual, Environment Yukon has been incredibly accommodating. I'm doing some exercises to help rebuild my strength, and we're out walking every day. Meg is doing great. As usual, she's holding up her end of the deal and then some. Sometimes I wonder how she can be holding Hadley, making dinner, washing dishes, unpacking boxes and talking on the phone all at the same time, but she does it. I'm starting to hold up my end of things a little more too.

  Hadley is the happiness of our everyday. Antidote to sadness, anxiety, fear, she's a little gem who's smile is too contagious to resist. If you want to see a bit more of her, you can do so here.

 And this sums up our current 3 month cycle pretty well. (Click the "play" icon on the page to hear it).

All the best to all of you.
M&M

Home

 It's where I want to be. But I guess I'm already there.

  Being back in Whitehorse has seen a swirl of activity, emotion, and a well-needed feeling of normalcy. It feels like we're almost there in terms of picking up the pieces of our life and re-assembling them into something  that resembles what we've been striving towards. It looks different somehow than what we thought it once would be - things will always be different after this experience (which is ongoing, and will be forever) - but it's something that still has beauty and drives us forward.
  Looking at photos from September, I realize that things have changed. Some forever, and some just for a little while. Six months ago, I was still glowing with the vitality and life that a summer in the Yukon nourishes in anybody, and now, I'm a paler, skinnier version of that person, with a little less shine around the eyes and a little more on his mind (albeit less on his brain!). But these things can come back. A few push ups and lunges, a jog a few times a week, getting back to work, a few days out on a Yukon lake, a few minutes making Hadley laugh or Meg smile; all good medicine for getting back to life. Some things are changed forever, and no exercise or experience will revive them. They are gone. But such is life. What these things are is less easy to describe, but there's a hole somewhere in the both of us that will never be filled again.
  This became ardently clear yesterday when we sat in the same sort of sterile, cold office that we've grown used to over the past several months, and watched as a vet injected our sedated cat with an overdose of anaesthetic. Her heart stopped soon after, and she passed over the line of life and death, whatever that looks like. For the past week, she had been suffering from Feline Fatty Liver Disease, and despite the vet's and our efforts, she wasn't getting any better. As a hunter, I've shot and killed animals and watched them die before, and it's sad,  but our experience yesterday was something very different. It belonged in those holes that will never be filled again.  It sounds more dramatic than losing a pet cat. But that's what's changed.
   It's been a dramatic few months, with family weddings, a couple of moves, a new house  new jobs, new lives, losing loved ones, creating and gaining new loved ones, and all of the stresses, joy, grief, and other emotions that go along with all of those things. And yet somehow, we're back where we started almost five years ago. Home. It's where we want to be.

Kitty. She was a cat. A good one.

  

For grandparents, aunts, uncles, and other interested parties, Hadley's continued growth can be witnessed here.

For those of you that knew and loved Kitty (if you knew her, you loved her), you can go here.

And now, David Byrne and friends: