I feel fabulous (Really! I Do!!)

Today I want to write about feeling great.
I’d much rather feel great than this low-grade shitty.
Feeling great is so much more interesting.
I feel vaguely guilty for feeling lousy.
What right do I have? Everything works. I have all my hair. I haven’t puked in a couple of months. I’m not in the hospital. I can walk. It’s not in my brain. The last battery of tests resulted in some good news and some bad news. Sheesh. It could be worse.
When I feel lousy, my best friend reminds me that I have cancer.
I have permission to feel lousy, like a “get out of jail free” card.
Oh.
Yeah.
But there are women with cancer who don’t whine, who climb mountains, who raise children, who get married.
I want to write about feeling as fabulous as everyone says I look.
When people say, “Wow, you look great…how are you feeling?”
They don’t want to hear “I feel like shit.” Where’s my proof?
My hair never looked better.
I’ll say “I feel like a million bucks!!!” with three exclamation points. Who will believe otherwise?
I’ll add, “I’ve never felt better!!!” And they’ll know what I mean and shake their head in wonder that a woman full of cancer can feel (and LOOK) so good.
My mom used to say that splashing my face with cold water would change everything.
Whew. Cancer isn’t so bad after all.
Maybe I’ll get a full-time job. I’ll write a novel. I’ll adopt a baby from China.
I read somewhere that metastatic breast cancer isn’t fatal anymore. It’s a “manageable chronic illness.”
But according to Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book, the average survival of women with metastatic breast cancer (from the time of first appearance) is between two and three and a half years, according to most studies. But 25 to 35 percent live five years and 10 percent live more than 10 years. There are the exceptional cases that live beyond that, but they are the ones whose metastases have only spread to the bones, not the organs, like lungs or liver.
I was diagnosed a year and a half ago, when I finally responded to a large mass in my left breast and within two weeks we discovered that the cancer had already spread to my liver, my lungs and my bones (spine, arms, legs, ribs, pelvis, skull). How much time does that leave me?
When I’m feeling good (the days I put a blue star on the calendar to remind myself there are such days), I court the possibility of 10 years, why not 20? I’ll outlive the people who are taking care of me now. I’ll have time to pay off my credit cards. Maybe I’ll get a masters degree. I’ll be invited to speak at all of the breast cancer benefits.
When I feel like I do today, a year and a half more looks like mercy. What a relief! Imagine how much I can get done in such a short time. I’ll sign up for a couple more credit cards. I’ll organize my posthumous works. I’ll let my hair grow long.