The flow of wedding presents had barely even slowed, let alone stopped, when the medical drama began, so these days we don't know whether the pastel envelope in the mailbox contains a message of nuptial congratulations or one of palliative sympathy. We don't know whether it will wish us an impossibly joyous and long life together, or humbly wish us the strength and positivity to get through the next six months. We don't know what we're getting into when we open those cards, but we are warmed by the sentiments inside, without fail. They are simple reminders that we have good people in our lives, all over.

Same thing with the gifts. Congratulatory bottles of wine have materialized: stately, patient wines to be laid down until they are called to duty on an appropriate anniversary. Alongside these gift bottles, other wines have appeared: restorative, medicinal wines ready for action; young whippersnappers that won't be allowed to lounge in the cellar. They are medicine, after all, and demand to be consumed with gusto and alacrity. For health, you see.

We already own a Vitamix, so no juicer found its way onto our wedding registry. However, some of our friends are steadfast believers that juice can't hurt in a situation like ours, so BOOM- juicer on the porch. Healing chocolate has appeared, as has prescription pancake mix. Mirth, in the form of The Onion's Book of Known Knowledge, found its way in the mailbox, assuring us that there will, if chocolate and wine and juice and pancakes somehow fail, always be laughter.

So thank you to everyone, whether you have send a card or a text or an email or a case of wine- it is nice to know that you are thinking of us. We think of you whenever we think of how lucky we are- which lately, perhaps surprisingly, has been a lot.

Much love,

PH

P.S. If you want to see photos of my three incisions, you can click here and here. You don't have to, but you might be a little curious. It's maybe a 3.5 on a 10-point grossness scale. NSFW.