Broken Hearted

The chemo didn't do what it was supposed to do. My marrow looks worse. I am sad and mad and panicked.  I'm home now and I hear everyone having sushi in the kitchen. I think they think I fell asleep. I can't sleep. Afraid of nightmares. Waking and sleeping. 
I'm doing a drug that's supposed to help diminish the blasts so that maybe in the meantime we can find a trial study or a more aggressive approach in the U.S.  They will not give me the transplant here in London.  I might just have a few months. Or I might get lucky.  For everyone praying for me, and who loves me, I love you back and I'm praying too and thank you.

My children. They are so beautiful and so young. Ari is five and Isaac is eleven. Their heads smell like heaven, their voices are serene and their eyes are something to get lost in. They are full of humor and love, each in their own way. My husband Andy is so sad.  I will do everything I can to stay here.  I really really like it here. It's so beautiful. There is so much beauty. In family, in friendship, in soul mates. In trees and flowers and blooms and buds. In babies and music and the wind. And in being able to say everything's ok. I wish it was. I wish it was.
I love you.