Buying Time
I should have died in January. Then in March my number was up...again. My oncologist had tears in her eyes and all my nurses kept walking into the infusion room looking at me like I was already dead. The pity. "Nothing is going to cure this" my doc said. It wasn't news to me. I've been tearing through drugs and treatments like tissues during the climax of Steel Magnolias or Beaches. Take your pick. Don't get me wrong. This isn't a miracle post. I got them mother fucking tumors all through my bones, dancing around in my liver and now waging a war in my lungs. But unlike most, I get to go out (mostly) on my own terms. I get to decide when I fold my hand and I get to decide where I die, who is there, hell I'm planning the soundtrack for the luncheon after the funeral. Everything from Edith Pilaf and Sinatra to Guns 'n Roses and Kenny Rogers. Oh and of course, my beloved Tay Tay, In March my liver hurt a lot and I spiked a really high fever. I was admitt