Actually, I'll say a little prayer for YOU.

I worked all of last week. It was my first week of baldness, and also my first week off from chemo.

Despite the fact that I'm doing as well as can be expected, and that I'm generally in fine humor, I can't say anything positive about this chemo experience. It would just rankle. So, yes, while having a week off from chemo is better than NOT having a week off from chemo, I can't exactly say that I'm turning back flips about it.

Graham and Leah are here, and it's good to see them.

I'm drinking coffee and checking email. Eric is drinking coffee and reading the paper. I suppose that the world continues to spin on its axis.

Several folks at work have come to me with their cancer tales. They come with intensity and tears or with billows of puffy pink hope, sweet as cotton candy and spun by their mothers, cousins, neighbors, who refused to die and are still alive 112 years later.

There's the woman who cried and cried as she described her mother's valiant fight against The Beast. She told me to never give up... never give in....

There's the fella whose 19 year old son is dying from an inoperable brain tumor. He cried and showed me the picture. His shoulders shook and he gulped for air. He said his son's life is nearly over, and his family is devastated and broken.

There's the nurse who told me story after story of the friends, family, and patients she's known who've died from cancer. They suffered greatly. She-told-me-and-I-quote: Martha, I know that you're praying for a quick death.

I am bald and I am dying and I am trying to live until I die (which is the trick and the toughest part, only made easier by my darling and most wonderful husband).

My circumstances have changed, but I haven't changed. I listen to their stories and I offer tissues. I think about how I wouldn't trade with them. Not ever. Not even now. They're all nice folks. Just... wow.