The sadness is suffocating. It didn’t start that way. I think it’s been creeping in like an approaching fog bank that was once off in the distance but now envelops my very being. It’s been eight weeks since I completed my year and a half treatment protocol for breast cancer. On last week’s calendar: blood work (tumor markers), cat scans and oncologist visit. Bracing for the worst and hoping for the best is my motto. At least that’s what I tell myself. But, if I’m honest, what

If all goes well during this next series of visits which includes a CT scan and I’m still No Evidence of Disease, I have four more infusions. I’m torn. While I’m so grateful that I’m receiving a drug that is keeping the cancer at bay, I also feel like I’m dragging a ball and chain around my ankle. I can’t wait to cut loose from this constant reminder that my last year wasn’t a dream but actually a nightmare come true. So, does my attempt to live my life crammed with reminders