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For My Eyes Only

I've discovered many other breast cancer blogs since I started this journey. And like the other authors, I've found writing to be very cathartic. But if nobody ever reads these words that I now type at 3:00 am, that will be okay. Sometimes it just feels good to strike the keys, sort out my headspace and release the words. Sure, it's nice to share my journey with far away friends and family. Yes, I like to relate my story to other women walking this same path. But, truly, I write for me.

Over the past year I have received many heartfelt gifts at my doorstep. Amongst the of meals, gift cards, pretty hats and baubles (bald is TOTALLY better with earrings) there were also a great deal of books about cancer. But I must tell you that while I sometimes enjoy writing about cancer, I rarely enjoy reading about it anymore. At this point, I'm overwhelmed by breast cancer. It seems it is always on my tongue, always in my ear, always on my mind; it is at times all consuming. It's enough to make a girl sick (terribly unfunny pun intended.) Sure I'll check out a blog from time to time. I'll scan articles on the latest breast cancer research. I'll even read the painfully long list of side effects on the drugs prescribed to me. But mostly, I'll keep writing. Until, perhaps one day there is nothing left to write about cancer.


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