Chemo 4 and--forget it! I'M IN REMISSION!

I've only cried like that once before as an adult. When Dad died 11 1/2 years ago, I cried out of pain--when the nurse practitioner said the phrases "total remission" and "no trace of disease", I broke down so completely out of sheer relief and who all knows what else that the two episodes are going to be indistinguishable. I realize by my reaction in both cases that most of what goes on behind the mind is nearly impenetrable. I had obviously bottled up so much anguish and sheer terror during the last few months that when the dam burst, it flew wide open in an instant, leaving me defenseless against an onslaught of joyous tears. September 27, 2005 was the first really great day of this year (wedding days that end in overheated physical exhaustion and cancerous collapse don't count!) after an incredibly long string of truly awful ones. Words cannot express my feelings at this point, and I'm quite sure there are those out there that would welcome my silence. (Haw!)
The next two months are going to be just as agonizing as the previous two have been, however. I am still undergoing chemotherapy, which will last until the end of November, even given this tremendous news. It's simply that the light at the end of this tunnel isn't that light at the end of the tunnel, and that's really saying something.
For those others of you who have kind thoughts for me, though, thank you. Thank you from the depths of my renewed soul for keeping me in mind during your busy lives. Thank you for the emails, cards, phone calls, and even the comments here. Thank you for letting me lean on you a bit, even if you didn't realize it. Thank you for all the offers of help and succor. Finally, thank you for allowing me the privilege of calling you "friend", or "TBO", or "BS", or simply "loved one". Because one thing I do recognize about what's inside my mind is that the love I feel for the good people around me is as real and concrete as any structure ever built.