A fellow young-cancer-fighting-mommy friend sent me this article on my last treatment day. I was home from my infusion, and deliriously tucked into bed like a drunken sailor. But even my foggy brain perked up and soaked in every word.
I loved it, because it said exactly what I want to scream at so many people (including doctors who don't read my file before seeing me) who give me that ahhhh-you-have-stage-4-cancer-and-are-terminal look.
I am not terminal. I'm chronic.
Read this, and know it feels like my personal anthem.