I never realized what a lonely disease cancer is. I mean, any terminal illness must give one a sense of being alone, but the more I hear my mother talk about what's going on with her I feel more and more that I can't do any more than be there to listen.

Last night I brought her with me to Michael's so I could pick up some beads for my special orders, and she discussed the medication/chemo schedule with me. Unfortunately, due to her (our) clotting disorder, she's going to have to take some chemo medications that are "unfriendly" to the cardiovascular system. Did I ever mention that she sees a cardiologist for her heart condition? I guess, weighing the two evils, the clotting disorder beat out the heart condition. She'll be going on Tuesday for her first six hour chemo session, and then the day after she goes for a shot that is supposed to raise her white blood cell count. She'll continue that regime for 6-8 weeks, and then the sessions will reduce to two hours.

It's like some sort of hell day camp or something. "Bring a lunch or a snack, you'll have a TV so you can relax, blah, blah blah," What a load of shit.

Couple that with the wig fitting sessions, make up session for when she loses her eyebrows and eyelashes, how to fit the prosthetic breast and what clothes look the best, the support gropus... It just sucks.

She, of course, is looking on the bright side of it all. She even said, "Maybe the reason this happened to me was so that you would be diagnosed and save this pregnancy!" What a silver lining, and for all I know it could be true! But, for now, all I know is that I'm helpless. I can't even hold a discussion with her because I can't fathom how she's feeling. I can't begin to understand how someone deals with the constant thought that their life could be moving toward the "end", that they may have to prepare themselves to say good-bye to everything they've knows, the worry for the people left behind.