Dear Friends and Family,
The morning sun is shimmering off Snug Harbor this week and the skies over Cape Cod are as bountiful as the blueberries our girls picked this morning. The clear days and fresh fields are a welcome relief from a long spell in New York marked by "May Gray," "June Gloom," and this year's Summer Solstice, the Cloudiest Day of the Year.
Last week I went to visit a friend I hadn't seen in a while. I sat in his chair in New York's trendy Meatpacking District surrounded by disco balls, leopard divans, and dolls with pink hair. Michael Angelo (yes, that's his real name) gave me a hug as we talked about the horrendous ordeal that has elapsed since we last met. Then he went to work. It was 5:30 PM on the 365th day of my Lost Year, and I was about to do something I had not done in that entire time.
I was getting my hair cut.
Twelve months have passed since I first learned I had an osteosarcoma in my left femur. During my recent quarterly check-ups, I received much good news. There are no signs of cancer in my bones or lungs. My prosthesis is growing nicely into my femur. As Dr. Healey said, "You are on your way to recovery. Truly."
He then added, "But we both know …"
On the sobering front, the chemotherapy has left me with neuropathy in the tips of several fingers. The fibular graft is not fusing to my femur in quite the way we hoped, and I may have to have more surgery to correct it this fall. And my leg is still a burden. We reach this one-year milestone with relief, if not champagne. My Lost Year is over, but my long road continues.
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