When I was pregnant with my babies, it was sort of like the entire world became those nine months.  I thought in terms of weeks and trimesters.  Even the time following their births were ticked by months and well baby visits.

Cancer is the same.  In my case, there was the biopsy/diagnosis, surgery, and chemotherapy, and then there will be radiation and hormonal therapy.  Although I had my last infusion Tuesday, I am far from done.  And that last dose was a doozy.  I feel worse than I’ve felt in weeks.  I think I had it in my head that I would magically feel better with that last Taxol, though my pragmatic side really knew better.  I’m on more pain meds than I have been on since starting chemo.  Ah well.  Nobody said cancer was easy.  Anyway back to my original thought. 

The other day a woman in my treatment group on the YSC board asked if we had life goals.  (Heh.  I actually just typed life goats.  I wonder if they need constant hugging? Um.  I blame the meds.)  I realized that once again, I’m living in short increments.  Five years from now, when I’m finished with Tamoxifen, I’ll be almost 40 years old.  I can’t conceive of that.  Both J and L will be in school.  I’ll probably be teaching again (provided music doesn’t get cut from the schools).  So what are my life goals?  I can’t seem to get out of the cancer shroud.  All I can think of is that I hope to God I’m still living and that it hasn’t come back.  It’s like I’m afraid to ask for more because that’s such a huge thing.  Huge.