Magical Thinking: A schizotypal personality disorder attributing to ones own actions something that had nothing to do with him or her and thus assuming that one has a greater influence over events than is actually the case.

So let's start at Friday . . . which was really the darkest hour. Treatments were bad, real bad. I have never been so sick throughout all this. But Friday, that was a huge slice of hell. Also, I received some oh so craptacularly shitty news. Meeting with the radiation tech, no way out of it. This will almost entirely negate my chance of children. It also makes the idea of surviving cancer . . . almost not appealing, if that makes sense. So after more extensive blood work, I was told to come back Monday for the radiation tech and see what we could do.

So with that news, I went home and cried. I hit bottom that night. Saturday was bad. Mom went into the hospital with a gal bladder attack. So she was laid up, and we didn't know how long. My step-dad was in the same hospital, recovering from his amputation surgery. So life was a big run-around.

Saturday night, very drunk and at my wits end; I just made my case . . . to whomever the fuck lives upstairs. God, God/Goddess, whoever. I pleaded, because dammit, I'm not ready to go. So not ready to go.

So it's Monday. Mom had her surgery at noon. Went to the doctors office. He walked in with an odd look on his face.

"Well, the blood work from Friday came back. And honestly, I don't know how to take this, or tell you. I've even checked this three times, just to make sure. It's really quite odd."

"Um . . . ok doc, spill it. What is it?"

"Your blood work came back clean. I can find nothing wrong with you. Your cancer tracers are zero. I want to do more, just to make sure. But you're done."

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm done. Treatments are over, a full month ahead of schedule. I'm on the road to remission and recovery.

It's surreal, it's almost a dream; but it's real.

Thank you, thank you; a million and one times I could say it. There are so many of you, who I ranted and raved to. Who took care of me while I was sick, helped me pay the bills, told me it was ok to cry. For those who held me, loved me, pushed me, and shook me. To all of you, for your countless acts of kindness and heart and love.


This turn of events, this miracle, this magical thinking; could not have been REMOTELY possible without you.

I love you all, with all of my heart.

Some folks are prone to mumble and moan, they got no joy to give. You could bet the moon they would change their tune if they only had a day to live. The dance you do is up to you, make sure it's no charade

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!