When situations like these occur, we are all faced with a psychological challenge. I could have become really embarrassed and closed off and decided never to go out in public to prevent my leg or wig from falling off or to prevent hearing the words "she has no hands." But wouldn't that be avoiding life?
Lucky is more than a dog; he is a symbol. For some, he is a symbol of resilience and perseverance, a canine "It Gets Better" story. For others, he is an affirmation of life and hope. To me, he is the best of what it means to be a dog: remaining positive, living in the moment, providing unconditional love.
We hear so much about respecting boundaries that we tend to forget there's a world of difference between violating them and simply testing them. Every breakthrough -- whether in science, in art or in a one-on-one relationship -- involves crossing a boundary. And not all boundaries are as hard to cross as they seem.
My nightstand served as a holding tank for the turquoise kidney shaped throw-up trays I'd need over five years of chemo. It converted to a trashcan for all of the Kleenex used to wipe the vomit off my face. It displayed fish tanks, terrariums and cool lamps. It housed the first love letter I ever received. When I moved away from home, my nightstand naturally came with me.