As stress and panic imprison my weakened body, I know that I have to write. What may come of it is a mystery, but I expect each word to release some knots, allowing more air to replenish my chambers. It's cancer all day, now days. There is no escaping it. Inevitably, I often ponder how it will end. I want it to be elegant and pleasant, as pleasant as a death can be. I want my physical departure from my daughter's life to be as gentle and as peaceful as the warmth of our Alaskan sun, inflicting as little damage as can be. I want to hang on to hopes and comforts, but my pragmatism prevents me from doing so. After four years, I know how devastating this disease can be. It ravages one's physical self and corrodes one's faith. Finding the strength to stop the damage on both fronts is challenging, and avoiding a colossal disaster is impossible. The end result is the only constant in this formula, and whether I put up with the torturous treatment, the humiliating deterioration, or the humbling dependency, I will die. I will DIE as cancer devours me from within.


Meanwhile, I have to be happy and grateful for what I have. And I AM! Believe me, overall I've had a wonderful life. I have been enveloped with love, kindness, care, and warmth more than words can articulate. But does that mean that at age 37, I should accept that there will be not much more? How can I come to term with having to leave my young daughter without a mother? What medicine can cure or at least alleviate the sense of helplessness a mother feels when she knows the pain will come like a crushing mountain, and not only she's the cause, but she is also unable to do a thing about it?! How can I come to terms with leaving Mia motherless, with missing her Bat- Mitzvah, her prom, sending her to college, watching her father walking her down the isle? How can I let go of the pain of not being able to be there to hug, to comfort, to love and to give advice?