living

I have a friend in Illinois who was diagnosed with stage IV metastatic breast cancer about eight years ago. That was the initial diagnosis. She did chemo and radiation for the cancer in her bones and then had her mastectomies and reconstruction. She's a single lady with grown children, and worked in the health care industry until recently.

She's been in and out of remission ever since I've known her. Each time she slips out of remission, she knows she's in no worse shape than from her initial diagnosis. (Truly. It doesn't get worse than stage IV.) She's no longer able to work and survives on disability. She was supposed to come visit this spring but I hadn't heard from her in a while.

Yesterday I got a postcard from her, from Maui.

"Hi! I'm starting five weeks of radiation so my childhood friend and I took advantage of a week in Maui. (A special she found on the internet.) We had a great time and actually rode bikes 30 miles down from the top of this volcano. I'm glad I got away before this next treatment and am feeling very upbeat! Love, S.M."

I love these kinds of notes. And I promise, I absolutely swear to the heavens that one of these days I'm going to quit my whining. Really. I am.