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If you ever feel like there is nothing left for you; I promise you that you’re wrong, things will get better, you just have to give life the time to turn around.

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Enough is when you just tell me I look pale like the sky before dawn, like whitewash walls of your childhood bedroom, and you still call me darling, honey, baby, beautiful. My name.

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Most women with breast cancer – scratch that – most people in the world aren’t all that aware of their bodies and their health.

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This is how it ends? This is what I worked for? This is why I fought in the war and paid my taxes?

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First I woke up at 7 in the morning to beat the traffic and get to the day hospital on time. I needed blood drawn, I had a clinic with the oncologist and then there’s the whole 7-hour infusion thing, so it was going to be a long day.

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Nobody talks about that side of things. No one talks about how scary it is, how even just the threat of it leaves you vulnerable when they’re throwing out pink this and pink that and showing these sexy, fierce woman with proud, bald heads, or still perky breasts, in the heyday of their youth.

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My mom now needs help from her children, she needs our arms around her when she cries and sobs in a dark room because she’s scared of dying, because she feels so weak after each chemo session, because she still cannot believe that this is happening to her.

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The walls of my bed chamber seemed to be closing in on me the more I scrolled and read, but I still couldn’t stop. There were so many questions, and my questions led to more questions.