It’s been keeping me up at night. Two years. That is what my surgeon thought I would live for. Of course I didn’t find this out until a few weeks ago. My two year diagnosis aniversary will be on April 14th. I am hoping to be away, some place warm. Some place with my toes in the sand where I can laugh at how wrong they were. I know why doctors lie and don’t tell you what they are really thinking. If he had told me I only had two years left, I might have said no to chemotherapy. My mind and body might have given up the fight. So obviously I am happy he did not tell me the truth that day. What plays in my mind though is when will he lie to me again? It is bound to happen at some point. He will smile and say something nice but not too nice. He says that all the time, “I will never say things in absolutes Jamie.” I know, but sometimes it would be nice. To say if we operate I do not think we will have anything to worry about for at least a year. Of course my goal is to never have it come back again, but hell I would take a year if it was a guarantee.