I hesitated a long time before posting this. I kept it all quiet the first time, but now, I just don’t care anymore, because…what’s the point.
Two years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was told this week that the cancer was back, in my lungs and in my bones.
And this time, it’s terminal.
I’m 39 and I have from a few months to a few years to live. It’s very uncommon for people to live 5 years (less than 1%).
I am married. I have two children, who are 6 and 10. I’m never going to see them grow up, and my youngest might have few memories of me. The children are going to lose their mother, my husband is going to lose his wife. I feel like I am abandoning them, and that destroys my soul more than the fear of dying.
So at this point in time, my writing career, which until now had kept me sane in the ever present fear of the cancer returning, is a dream I’ll never be able to achieve.
I was writing my third book. I’m not sure I’ll ever finish it.
I will also never write the final volume of my series.
Maybe I will find my strength back after a while and manage to take each day as it comes, but at the moment, the thought of going through chemo again and through all the horrid, horrid pain both mental and physical, knowing that it might not even work and buy me some extra time, just saps all my optimism and energy.
So maybe this is my last post. Maybe not. But I am going to spend most of the time I have left with my family, rather than behind a computer.
Live your life to the full. Dare to live your dreams. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Because you never know what tomorrow is going to bring.