Once More Into the Breach

Once More Into the Breach

This morning, I head to the infusion center for my final chemotherapy infusion. Unlike so many endings in life, this one is not bittersweet. (In fact, since I gave up sugar entirely during chemotherapy, but brought a box of lemon Pocky back from Japan to enjoy when it was over, I can tell you the end of chemo will be very sweet indeed.) That said, I don’t regret my decision to undergo chemotherapy after my breast cancer diagnosis, even though my stage (1a) made it my choice rather than something I “had” to do.

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Green Grass Sometimes Indicates a Septic Leak

Writers (and artists generally) spend lots of time admiring the neighbors’ grass. It’s not that we’re lazy by nature. (OK, we are, but that’s not the reason the problem occurs.) It’s just that the writer’s life consists of extended periods of work, followed by brief, bright moments when our former work-in-progress becomes the beautiful new release on the bookstore shelf. And then, a few days later, someone else has a book release, and our adorable new puppy becomes the gangly shelter dog that people pass right by without looking. Or so it often seems. If we’re not careful, writers (and, truthfully, everyone else) risk dangerous, and often depressing,

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