It’s officially official. I HATE Thanksgiving. Hate it. Will never ever never enjoy it again.
Four years ago on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, G and I found out that we would have an incredibly difficult time getting pregnant.
I thought I hated Thanksgiving then, but now the deal’s been sealed.
My beloved husband won’t be having surgery on Monday to fix his damaged hip – the one that gives him so much pain sometimes he can’t sleep at night. Why won’t he be having this surgery? Because he has Skin Cancer. We found out today, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, that the lesion he had removed last week is Melanoma.
You know what? I’m not thankful. I’m not thankful that my young beautiful courageous generous adoring husband will have to face yet another physical battle. I’m not thankful at all.
I give thanks every single day that I’m lucky enough to spend my days with this man. Why should I have to separate out a special day to do that? Especially a day that gives me no thanks back.
Bitter? You bet. And I’m not going to apologize for it.
I’m closing the comments on this post because honestly I can’t deal with all the good wishes and stories about this person or that person who survived the mole they had removed above their ear. I want to feel badly and I want to cry and I want to go and hold my husband.
I’ll be back on Saturday to sell shit, because, well Daddy needs another new doctor.
I am thankful for one thing, though, and that’s you. Thank you for reading my blog.
