When progression is not progress.

I spoke with my oncologist regarding my most recent ct scans. There's progression -- more cancer in my sternum, more cancer in my axillary lymph nodes, new and major progression in my clavicle, which caused the bone to fracture.

My oncologist says that the problem is the pain. If it weren't for the pain, he says it's "not terrible".

Except that now he believes it's time to talk about chemotherapy. The problem with chemotherapy in this context, is that once you start it, you essentially stay on it until you're too sick to function, or it stops working. And when it stops working, you try another one. And when you run out of other ones, you die. And the truth is that in the end, chemotherapy extends peoples lives by months.

I wanted to be one of the "lucky" women, who has many years of good QOL (quality of life) with hormonal treatments. That's not the truth, though. It's just... not.

I eat arroz con pollo with Eric. I make plans for Camp Martha... think about mosaics tomorrow... check my auctions on Ebay. I wonder how many tickets to order for Carbaret.

I think about how, at twenty-three, I could not have imagined how rich my life would be. I think about how Eric made it so. I miss my life, already, and it hardly seems right. But it's just a moment, and I know that in the end that Eric and I will both bear a little more than we think we can bear.