July 11, 1998 my husband and I got married. It was a hot ass day and the friend that did the ceremony was late. He's late for everything, including his own wedding. We didn't do anything fancy, hell my engagement ring was from a gumball machine at Toys R Us. We had the ceremony at home, with a small group of people. Only one of my family members were there and that's not because I hate my family, it's just that she wanted to come and join in the fun. The ceremony wasn't long. RelUnrelated and I put it together. A wiccan performed the ceremony. It wasn't a wiccan ceremony however. We went out to a restaurant to eat. We spent the night away from home in a suite our friends paid for as a gift. I don't think we spent more than a hundred bucks on the whole affair.
We weren't rich. We aren't now, especially not after getting the first bill for just the weeks stay in the hospital. I can't wait to see the rest of the bills that are going to be coming in with continued treatment. I haven't changed my feeling for him in the 12 years that have gone by since then. We've been together for 15 years now. It doesn't seem that long, but it has been. I'm a little older, even more cynical and just as smartassed as I was then, if not more so. We've been through quite a bit of shit and this new pile on with cancer isn't going to ruin us. We can get through it. If we couldn't get through things like that we wouldn't have stuck together this long. I wouldn't change a moment unless it was that we could have more time together, peacefully. So here I am, on my anniversary, working a 12 hour shift. We're texting each other back and forth and he's not feeling well. I'm hoping this day will go by quickly because I'm getting fed up of being here.
