Cancer Sucks.

Need I say more?

I think I’ve talked about this before, how when you’re diagnosed with cancer, you seem to realize how many people around you have or have had cancer. It’s a horrible, horrible number, which is why I will probably volunteer and raise funds for cancer organizations for the rest of my life. We seriously NEED a world without cancer, and if I can put even the tiniest dent in that goal, I will.

In recent months, I’ve had two friends diagnosed with cancer. In the past year, another one of my friends joined the ranks, and prior to my diagnosis, another friend had started his fight with cancer. These are people who are my age…mid to late 30s. There have been other people I’ve been acquainted with or told about over the last couple years who have been diagnosed, too, varying ages. It’s just crazy how widespread this disease is. It’s crazy and so damn frustrating.

It makes me mad that cancer doesn’t care that these people have friends and family who love them. That they are good people just trying to make it through life and do the best they can. Between the four people I mentioned, there are nine kids who have to watch their parent struggle in one way or another. Two of those friends are in the hospital, one is home recovering from surgery, and the other one is going for radiation this week. I’m sure every single one of them has shouted at the top of their lungs, “Give me a break!!!” I know I did at least once during my fight.

Sometimes when I hear of the struggles others with cancer are going through, I feel guilty. I feel like I got off easy, you know? Deep down, I know that’s not true. I know my body fought hard through chemo and recovery from my bazillion surgeries. I know my body was so weak and I had to rebuild my strength. I know it wasn’t easy when everything was happening, that I looked and felt like shit, but it’s so easy to look back and say, “What I went through wasn’t so bad,” when I see my friends being hospitalized because their bodies are being beaten down by their diseases. When I see them going through it longer than I went through it. My treatment was short. I was never hospitalized. My side effects were always pretty manageable with medications.

My fight is over and I feel great. And sometimes I feel guilty for that, and I think that’s an OK think to feel. I think that’s normal. Survivor’s guilt, in a sense?

Anyway…Barkley is absolutely fantastic and if you have Instagram, you should follow his shenanigans at @sirbarkleyelkins It’s mostly pictures of him sleeping because he’s a pup and that’s what he does, but he’s ADORABLE! And tomorrow he is 7 weeks!

Our family grew by four feet!

First, thanks to the friends who reached out on Friday. I was feeling pretty blue, and you all made me feel better. We all have those days when we feel terrible about everything, and that was me on Friday. Everything sucked. I napped, exercised, and had dinner at Cici’s Pizza. It was perfect.

But now, drumroll please…

This is Sir Barkley “the Trash Panda” Elkins. What’s with the name? Lemme break it down for you.

Sir Barkley is for Charles Barkley because this little guy is our rebound dog and Charles Barkley was a rebound dude. And Trash Panda is a Guardians of the Galaxy thing…Drax calls Rocket (raccoon) a trash panda. Our Barkley has a mask over his eyes, like a raccoon or a panda.

Barkley is a chihuahua blue heeler mix. He’s 5 weeks old. His mom stopped nursing, which is why he was released earlier than puppies usually are. He is a little ball of energy who goes bananas for 30 minutes to an hour, then crashes for 30 minutes to two hours.

We are feeding him powdered puppy milk and he was getting some watered down dry puppy food. He prefers the puppy milk, though. We’re going to keep trying the puppy food every now and then.

He’s playful and handsome and stealing the hearts of everyone he meets. He fits in the palm our hand. He’s also very smart. He loves his toys and hates his crate.

He’s a momma’s boy. When he hears my voice or sees me, he takes off after me. It’s the absolute sweetest thing, if I do say so myself. Daisy was a daddy’s girl, so it fits that this little man is a momma’s girl.

I’ve been calling him a Puppy McNugget since he’s so small. His mom was typical chihuahua size and his dad was about knee-high, so he’ll be somewhere between, which was about Daisy’s size, too, which is perfect.

We’re happy to have him, and we see things in him that make us think Daisy would approve. We fully intend on spoiling him rotten and capturing every moment. Brad joked that we should start an Instagram for him. I guess we’ll see. I have one I barely remember to use, so maybe we’ll just use that. He goes for his vaccinations in a week. Wish him luck!

As for me…I’m getting some teeth yanked on Friday, so wish me luck! We’re supposed to go to see Old Dominion, but I’ll have had IV anesthesia so we’ll see if I can join. Talk about crappy timing…