Don't like my worn out shoes, but at least I have some.

Perspective. It's a kind of magic, really.

I was sitting in my adirondack chair in the back yard trying to understand how it had gone so wrong. The week, now behind me, ended far from how I'd hoped.

Having worked hard for days to get the right results, I found out suddenly and unpleasantly I had gone in the wrong direction. My expectations for a happy conclusion turned into a crushing disappointment. It had been a long time since I had been so deflated in my work.

This is where perspective comes into play.

Laura and I had just gone through the same thing, but with much more significant consequences. Going into her surgery, our expectation was that negative results on the sentinel lymph nodes would mean that the ordeal was all but over.

When the doctor appeared in the waiting room after the surgery to let my sister and me know the nodes were negative, I felt like dancing, and I know Laura felt the same way when she found out.

Then we got the initial results from the pathology.

Finding invasive cancer, I'm sure, is never good news, even in small quantities. But imagine when you think you're at the finish line only to find the race may have just begun.

I looked out across the yard, and my work week settled into its proper place.