A short version, from an email to a friend. Most of you already know, and I might not write about it here again: "I have carcinoid tumors, much metastasized. It is a slow-growing neuroendocrine cancer, and usually—as with me— found by accident and after it has spread beyond removal. We are still gathering information, further scanning scheduled in Seattle for 2nd week of January. Treatment of choice already begun, injections of a hormonal drug which if it works will slow growth still further, and suppress symptoms (which in fact I have not yet got).
"If it doesn't work, yeah well, other things to try and the clock ticking louder; no way to know how it will go for me, where I will be on the survival curve (whose median is definitely scary); and isn't that really life. Not knowing.
"I was shocked and frightened clear out of my wits for about six weeks; better now. Am going to my tiny part-time job at the college library, doing volunteer time working on the 'electronic library documents' database for the Olympic Coast National Marine Sanctuary, and generally behaving as if for now I can stay here and be embedded in the life I chose in Port Angeles four years and a bit ago.
"Which as I get sicker will not work. But I am not going to uproot myself until I do get sicker. Whenever that is.
"Sorry for all the detail. Talking about it helps me not drift off into denial. Thanks for asking."