"Are you still sick?"

That's what my sweet Hannah asked as she crawled up in my lap yesterday.  She's only six but she's been so compassionate and sweet this past year while I've struggled with all the effects of cancer treatment.  When I lost my hair she didn't bat an eye -- she completely accepted and loved the pale, weak version of her Mammadee.  She understood that I couldn't pick her up and, after surgery, that she had to be very careful how she hugged me.  She's never questioned my appearance or how dramatically different our times together have been the past year.

But yesterday, she posed the question, "Are you still sick?"  I told her that I was getting better every day.  I said, "Haven't you noticed how my hair has grown?"  She smiled and ran her fingers through my curls, then she hugged me tight and said, "I love you!"

Ahhh, Hannah.  If you only knew what good medicine that is. 

My dearly loved home care nurses all say that I probably have at least two more weeks with "Hoover" the wound vac.  If so, that will be nine weeks instead of the initially prescribed five.  I see my surgeon on Wednesday, so we'll find out then.  I'm grateful for the healing intervention of the vacuum but so ready to be free of "Hoover's" presence.  

I'll see my radiologist in December and my oncologist in February.  The doctor appointments are winding down.  I am, apparently, cancer free but my stamina and strength are far from where they were even a year ago.  Intellectually, I know full recovery will take time.  More time.  More patience.  But I guess if a six year old can handle the snail's pace of my recovery ... I should be able to deal with it as well!