Forget the pink stuff. Put on Ruby slippers and dance!
My aunt, who was diagnosed three years ago, has defeated the cancer as far as we know and is still going strong. She had taken care of my elderly grandmother for years. When my gma died, the caregiving was transferred to my uncle who was diabetic and had been dealing with Parkinson's disease for more than a decade. He was weakening and becoming more dependent to the point that his needs became the primary focus of my aunt's days. That final year, she could hardly leave the house.
Three years ago, he died during the week between Christmas and New Year's Day. Of course, my aunt was sad, but she was also exhausted.
A little less than three months later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Instead of moping and falling into depression like some in the family feared after all she'd been through, she plunged in and went at the treatment (radiation, chemo, meds) like it was a combination of boot camp and spa treatment. She approached the whole thing like it was finally her turn to be the center of attention, and we all admired and loved her for it.
She and my mom (they are sisters-in-law, not sisters) had long shared a polite relationship, but they were such different personalities that they were only distant friends. My aunt's illness changed all that. They would go out for breakfast or lunch on appointment days, with my mom driving. They drank Margaritas until they got silly. They wore funny hats. They went shopping to add to my aunt's crazy sock collection. And they took great pleasure in making the hospital staff and the other patients laugh, too.
After years of worrying about and doting on other people, my aunt got to be the star of this show, and she made the most of it.
Whatever happens, Ruby, you are one of our shining stars. You have our prayers, our love and respect. We'll dance with you and for you, come what may.
Many gentle hugs.