Were it not for the fact that you, you know, actually have to have cancer, I would recommend the technique to any young, struggling blogger.
Enough with the forced humor.
I have gotten more emails in the last week, especially since Friday afternoon, than I can count. Some of them came from people I know (Hi, Judy!); most of them came from complete strangers. They range from angry, to thoughtful, to much funnier than ought to be allowed in this situation, and every one of them is indescribably precious to me.
There are no other words to say except the ones that we say out of habit, so I'll say them:
There's no way I can answer even one email right now. I'm still too shocky, still too shaken by what's happened, but please know that I read everything that comes to me with immense gratitude. I haven't always been thoughful enough to be conscious of the advantages and blessings that I have, but this time? It's so obvious even I can figure it out.
I'm still terrified. There are moments when everything's fine, and then suddenly it all goes to hell and I'm left sobbing and shaking. The edges will get smoothed out as time goes on and I get used to Having Cancer, but right now I am just so *thankful* for all you guys' prayers and thoughts and emails and...just everything.
Things will get better. Just because (as Zenna Henderson pointed out) you've shut your eyes doesn't mean the sun's gone out. It's important to recognize the difference between the two. In the meantime, there are hundreds of people hoodwinked enough by gross stories and cheap humor to actually care about somebody they've never met. They--you--keep reminding me that I can indeed open my eyes, dammit! and that, at some point, all manner of things will be well.
It humbles me to read yet another email from somebody who read this blog through nursing school and the first few years of practice.
All I can say is "thank you, thank you" over and over.