It's terminal.

Where to start? Monday, I guess. Got the results of the biopsy and it was the news no one wants to hear. The pain in my neck and shoulder wasn't stiff muscles, nor yet scar tissue hardened by radiation. My cancer has metastasized and is spreading into other organs. Muscles and skin so far. The bump that was biopsied is skin cancer. Chemo can slow it down but nothing can cure it now. The doctor hesitantly estimated I have just months to live.

To say this news is devastating is an understatement. I'm so overwhelmed I don't know what I feel exactly. Grief, rage, terror - I think those are foremost. Grief that I'll never do all the things I was planning to do in retirement. Rage that I had no risk factors for this type of cancer. Terror - well, in spite of being a Christian, in spite of being sure there is a God and an afterlife, there's enough doubt around the edges to be scary. Plus, no one knows for sure what form the afterlife takes. What if I have to pay up for all the crap I've done wrong? What if deep down, I'm not a good person?

What hurts the most is all the stories I'll never write. So many of them. I know I'm not a great writer. I may not even be a good writer - couldn't sell any to a publisher, which is why I self-published. I have read novels that did get published traditionally that I know are written much more poorly than mine. I won't name any, because since some of them were best sellers I know a lot of people would disagree with me, and I don't want to get into a literary argument just now.

Hopefully I'll reunite with the people I love in the afterlife. I have missed them sorely.