Terminal

Dear Readers:

To my word, this blog is about cancer, widowhood, and faith. Today (Friday), I met with my oncologist—a tiny-framed Asian. He walked in the exam room, hugged me, and said, “I’m so sorry.” This kind of reaction to a CAT Scan does not bode well for the patient. The gentleman was clearly upset. It took him about ten minutes to clearly define that I had inoperable liver cancer with a life expectancy of a few days up to one month.  Mom and I did our best to console him but he remained clearly upset by this outcome.

Since my first visit to my GP on Tuesday, the CAT Scan on Thursday, and today, I have not been surprised by any of this. I felt sick three weeks ago—having problems eating, losing stamina, and gain water weight up to a pound a day. My liver felt knotted. I checked the film on the scan—no knots. I have a liver that is polka-dotted with cancer spots. I will have a biopsy this coming Tuesday to confirm everything for insurance purposes. We are trying Anastrozole to slow down the process and give me a little extra time.

Mom’s birthday is April 30^th. She would like me to cut the cake. How can I refuse such a sweet request?

I believe that Paul, my husband, misses me and has asked God to call me home. We were meant to go together but the funeral parlor refused to let me crawl into the cremation vault with my dear man. So 21^st Century. I’m now forced down this path to get to heaven. I do believe in heaven.

When you get there, look for me I will be sitting under an oak tree discussing “Letters from Earth” with Mark Twain. I promised my friend Sue I would plant a few flowers to spruce up the place before she arrives.  Cindy B said it would be nice if I hugged Devon her Sainted first born. I am already getting a to-do list before lifting off. Exciting don’t you think?

I ask for prayers for my family and for comfort—to cut down the pain.

I will write as often and as long as I can because that’s what writers do. God bless you everyday.