[cancer] Some days you fly, some days you fry

Had a cancer meltdown over lunch with . Not a full tilt, crying-screaming fit. (I’ve had a few of those, too, just not in the middle of the Lloyd Center Stanford’s.) A lot anger, a lot of grief, some good old-fashioned rage, and a whole lot of fear. I said a bunch of irrational things about myself, about the cancer, about , about my writing, about my publishing career. He was very patient and loving and thoughtful.

I don’t suppose the details matter much, but they felt very real to me in the moment. Still do. And some of them are real, or at least meaningfully possible pending we see how hard chemo hits me and what comes next with the lung scan on the CT, etc.

This disease turns me inside out, makes me not myself. And it drags everyone who loves me along through the hole. Emotional terrorism, courtesy of rogue cells within my own body. Who ever expected it, eh?