September is only an evening away, approaching fast on the tails of the coveted triple months of summer. I notice the passing of time more now than ever before. Timelines for anyone with advanced cancer can be a bit confusing: it’s a mix of being happy to be here (read: STILL here) and the little voice nag about time ticking into the statistical survival figures at two and five years and dwindling significantly after that. Personally, I ignore the little voice. Some days, like today, as I wait for PET scan results when tumor markers have been rising, the voice seems louder.
For whatever reason I have spent the last two days either napping or suffering a digestive system intent on constant purging. Today it has eased up a bit, so I could eat. But I am exhausted. Not sure whether it’s something I picked up in the crowd Sunday at the art fair or just my body’s natural loathing for that which growls from within.
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