Yet still there is the dozing puppy that is my future with this disease. I see her over in the corner, one curious eye sleepily checking in to see what story is being told onstage. The fear I have for myself is that I won't make the right treatment decisions, that I will damage my body beyond repair in an effort to grant it a few more years. My children will not benefit if they have a mother who is alive but has lost the joy in moving her body, in creating stories and believing in them, and who is in too much pain to sleep or hold their hands. I've witnessed the horrific degradation of body, mind and spirit on those who pursue a cure at all costs. Already I believe I've wasted time with an oncologist who goes by the book and not by the patient, who doesn't listen and doesn't heal. This is my life. I'm "pre-recurrence" and I know that what I do, or don't do, now will affect my survival. Yet I've already given up more of my health to the potential cure than I was ever willing to sacrifice.
How do I find the balance that will save me? Tell me now before I forget I asked the question.