I was reading Telling Knots' blog yesterday and it kind of shook my world a bit. Her post "30%" talked about the fact that 30% of breast cancer survivors eventually have recurrances. It saddened me, but it also shocked me. 30%! You line 100 of us up and every third one of us is going to die of this wretched disease! I will never be tempted to put the pink ribbon away again! The thing is that it isn't a level playing field. Those who are diagnosed early have a greater then 90% chance of complete remission. But those like me who were diagnosed in stage 3 or 4 don't fare so well. With the proper search terms, I discovered that I have a less than 50% chance that I won't have cancer again. Very very sobering. Now I'm questioning the wisdom of getting the defibrillator. I don't regret fighting cancer in the first place. I needed to finish raising Mollie. But now that job is done. She can stand on her own. But this is the bottom line. I don't want to die of breast cancer. Sudden cardiac arrest is a much more merciful death. So as morbid as all this is, I go on living. It will be God who decides the time and means of my death. I know that I am loved.
I'm reading Les Miserables, which may explain some of my morbidity. It is a good book, but Victor Hugo is as undisiplined in thought patterns as I am.
Mollie came to lunch today. She invited me to move in with her. I can't see myself living in a college room mate situation. But the offer was to my estonishment. Now all my children have offered to house me. I know that I am loved, but I also know they don't understand aging.
So this is a very mismatched group of thoughts, and depressing at that. Thanks for hanging in there with me.