I hate fractions. I tell my adult students that there really is no reason to know how to add, subtract, multiply, or divide fractions if you know how to change those fractions into decimals. I still believe this. But what I have learned over the past few months is that thinking in fractions can be very natural, and more comforting, for some reason, than a decimal or a percent.
Back in October, twelve chemotherapy infusions were staring me in the face.
I wish I had had these balloons when I started, but I didn't actually get them until I was nearly half-way. They arrived from Denver in December. Of all the gifts I have received (all the food, all the cards, all the emails, all the books....), THIS has got to be the greatest one so far. Twelve balloons in a packet, complete with instructions. Instructions that took into account my children, and their need to be involved. The boys and I blew, numbered, and taped. Together. Then we popped.
Ever since October, I have been counting in fractions. One-twelfth done. Then one-sixth. One-fourth. One-third. Five-twelfths. One half. All this counting brings me to where I am now: seven-twelfths.
The bright colors make me happy. Bumping into them as I walk through the door reminds me that I CAN, indeed, do this thing. Finish it out.
Only now I may not have to. I'll let you know more after I see the doc tomorrow. But it seems that seven-twelfths may, indeed, be 100% for me.