this thing. here.

My heart aches learning all of this. I can’t imagine what you and your family are going through. I know I’m far away, but if you need anything, I’ll always be here for you.

That was when it hit me. I don’t know what about that made it be so, but it was.

We played Gin today. We watched The Golden Girls on my father’s chrome book. She has wires everywhere, rashes covering much of her skin, bruises from all the needles that have poked her. Every once in a while she moves her lines to the side and says “This is such fucking bullshit.” I have to agree.

The moments between taking care of my family and attempting to stay present with them were spent searching for what I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I couldn’t google my sister’s cancer. It didn’t find anything. I had to read PDF files of medical journals to get the answers to my questions.

3%. 3% of the people with my sister’s type of cancer survive the next 5 years after their diagnosis. Nowhere said how many survive the next 10.

I don’t want to make anyone feel as though I’m forcing an ad campaign down their throat, but each time this link is shared, someone I have never met contributes to our fundraiser. Thank you for that. Thank you so, so much.

My sister doesn’t know the extent of her diagnosis or prognosis yet. She’s asked her team of doctors and nurses to please speak with us instead of her. She isn’t ready to hear it, and when she is, my mom will likely be the one to tell her (I can’t tell her. I can barely tell myself).

Health insurance is still pending. Even when it gets approved, it’s Medicaid, and that alone will not cover all of the tests, procedures, transfusions, and chemotherapy. It will be better than zero health insurance, but not the same as having full, private health insurance. We live in a country where access to affordable healthcare is a privilege, and she doesn’t have it.

My parents are devastated. I would like to try not to bankrupt them as well.