I've started typing this post about a half dozen times and I keep erasing it.
How to begin eludes me. I don't know where to start or if I WANT to start it or if I should just keep mum.
But I'm sad. And sometimes writing it out helps.
So that is your clue that is isn't a funny post.
I hate being a Debbie Downer.
A dear friend has been battling a particularly aggressive and invasive breast cancer for the past 2+ years, and by battling I mean she hasn't caught a break.
She hasn't been given the luxury of remission, it's just been a steady assault on her body.
She's 42 years old and facing the rest of her days in a wheelchair because the breast cancer that is now bone cancer has moved through her entire body.
It's encroached upon her skull and has now leached it's poison into a few areas of brain tissue. A mere month off chemo and new cancer growth pops up where the old cancer began. Relentless.
She can hardly move because she's in so much pain.
Pain that the most gnarly of medications can't fully control.
And so, there will be decisions she has to face. Prolonging her life or enhancing the quality? There wasn't an "and", just an "or".
This sort of shit is never fair.
But it does seem particularly cruel.
We are at the mercy of our bodies. She didn't mistreat hers, she took care of it, but in this case it didn't matter.
I still hold out hope that she can beat this.