What you ask for.

Pain was intense and primal -- it left me ragged, but it didn't isolate me from the world. At least, not once the narcotics kicked in. I was dozy and fogged, and still uncomfortable, but I loved my friends. I talked to people. Eric was with me, and I loved feeling him there and squeezing his hand.

If it hurt so bad that I screamed, I was still human... a person in pain.

I wanted to start the chemo. Amazingly, I was anxious for chemotherapy, wanted to get it going... knew that it would take the pain away.

And I started chemo, and I it took the pain away.

And then I thought: Oh. That's right. I remember.

I'm sick. Not in pain, but sick -- queasy, and icky, and isolated. More than pain, more than cancer, chemotherapy places me on the other side of the chasm. I have less to say, and and less desire to share it.

Even Eric is farther away. The saddest thing I can imagine, and through no fault of his or mine. I love him absolutely, completely, always, all ways... but not even my Eric can reach me here. It's so sad.

And now I wait for my fingers to blister (they're already peeling), and the mouth sores to appear (they are starting) and to find my eyelashes on my cheeks. So many wishes as I blow them away. One wish after another, and my wish is always the same. More... happiness for Eric and with Eric. More.

I don't know anymore... about much of anything.