The End Zone

Some of you already know how this past year has treated me like a football. You know, kicking me around, throwing me curves, even carrying me when there was no other way. Now it's kicked me into the end zone.

I've had ovarian cancer for ten years, which in itself is amazing. Yes, there have been bad times, but not as many as you'd think. Wait, probably more than you think, but not as many as I could have had. Dr. Boice has been great, and though he remains totally professional, I've begun to feel a bit of friendship there. He's my doctor, and I have a terminal illness - he can't risk caring too much.

Everything must come to an end, and so must this. There is no chemo left that I've not yet taken. The cancer has grown unabated nonetheless for over six months. Two months ago we were gently and lovingly told that it's unlikely I'll live another year. And I've been fine with that. Enough is enough. Steve, Morgan and Sam were not so placid.

But wait, my doctors, who obviously rarely wear shoes and socks, have had their socks blown off yet one more time. A few days ago we were told that yet again, my body is reversing it's pattern and going into a possible remission. CA125 is dropping rapidly. That's a very good thing, yet it makes little sense right now. My two oncologists don't understand it but are pleased. We are stunned.

Nothing is certain. I will not live to be an old woman. (Shut up, I am not already old!) Or maybe I'll live longer than you. Who knows? What won't change is that I'll continue to wake up and live my days as if there are no tomorrows. I have no other option. I'm on a chemo alternative and will remain on it for some time. We'll see how it goes. For now, I'm regaining strength, working in my garden for the first time in ages, and painting some old furniture.

Imagine what you would do today if it was your last day on earth. Can you do that? Good. Now you know what today is like for me. Have a good day. I plan to.