Dale Santos's Page

I wear my scar proudly. I know a lot of people, my mother-in-law, for instance, would prefer that I hide it behind a high collar or a scarf, but I'm not ashamed of what I've been through. 

In the beginning, my family treated me like a fragile thing. I was cherished and pampered in all the right ways. But as my body started to heal on the outside, as I've been able to stay awake longer, walk longer distances, do more around the house, eat a bigger variety of food, work, drive,…

I've tried, so many times, to write my story, but I can't seem to get the words out. In the beginning, I was depressed so much, feeling like I'd lost so much of myself. Now, I float through days wondering if I'm doing enough. Of course, I've learned to make time for my kids and to spend a little bit of my day with something that makes me happy. But being only 47 years old and only able to work part time (the meds, oh boy!) has put quite a strain on the finances and now I'm wondering if I've…