Going Places
Wearing Camden's shoes, carrying my bag, telling us goodbye and see ya later 100 times before she leaves the room is Rory's new favorite game.
Not Okay
In the past 48 hours I've received 9 emails asking how I'm doing. I've been debating writing this post for more than 48 hours, and I may regret it later, but I'm tired of pretending that I'm fine so I'll just answer you all here. While I don't feel well physically, emotionally I feel completely battered. I knew this was going to be hard, but I clearly underestimated how hard it would be to face the reality that chemo is now my way of life. That I'm never going to get to quit. That there is no hope of a cure. That I am probably not going to see my children grow up or grow old with my husband. That physically, this is as good as it gets. I know I should look at chemo as a gift. It's supposed to kill cancer. But chemo hasn't proven to kill my cancer; it just makes me sick. I'm tired of being an "inspiration." Tired of choosing joy, choosing gratitude. Tired of not knowing where we'll live or work. Tired of waiting on God...
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