It’s been a while.

A few days after my last post, I went in for major surgery, during which the surgeons treated my insides as if they were a Spirit Halloween store and it were November 1st. Everything must go; everything at least 50% off.

And I do mean everything.

Recovery has been in no small part about facing up to the challenge of eating. I had to learn to measure my diet–to calculate my drinks in mililitres and weigh my food. I also have to make careful choices about the foods I eat and the liquids I drink. Sugars in particular can present quite a challenge to my system, so alcohol, while something I used to enjoy, isn’t something I was willing to risk for some time.

But there are also reasons to take risks. Love is one of them.

On November 1st, Mr. Fuz and I celebrated the 25th anniversary of our meeting. Even now, when our legal anniversary is on a different date, we still celebrate November 1st as our anniversary. And, well, that calls for a small toast, doesn’t it? Because our being together–and remaining together–has involved any number of small risks, of bets made daily that we would see things through. If this year has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t take those constant, small bets–and the accrual from them–for granted.

To risks, and to their rewards.

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