Or, Yes, I Am the Orange Powerpuff Girl
The Goodwill Fangirl almost never came back after The Teen's bone marrow transplant. (We're doing third person today. It's just easier to keep a little distance right now.). The other side of transplant wasn't what anyone expected. No amount of pre-admission education could prepare her for the hurricane emotions of fear and joy, rage and sorrow, grief and awe that flew her high and flung her low since last August, when two units of cord blood from the generous mothers of two children she'll likely never meet were given to her youngest daughter, to replace the bone marrow that was doing its best to kill her.
Photo Credit: Dear Hubby
Toe-Curling: Stop that, honey, it makes you look nervous.
Clothes and Accessories: Vintage 60s floral pants turned into skinny jeans (thrifted a coupla years ago); Lace cami (@$2.99 at The Rugged Wearhouse many years ago); Talbot's cardi (gleefully removed from a clearance rack during one of the last trips she bought anything actually new); Loft flats ($11 final clearance a couple of years ago; maybe not everyone likes sequins on their feet?); Purell hanging from bag (every bone marrow transplant mommy has one of these)
She sure didn't care what she was wearing, but she knew whose child was so close to death that the parent could not change clothes for a week. She didn't want her own picture taken, and The Teen did not want any photographic evidence at all. The Teen knew she was a phoenix rising from the ashes, but she did not want to see the fire ever again.