Abstract
"A year at the most, but you'll probably go sooner." Like a travel agent wait-listing me for a popular destination. "I'm sorry." The oncologist pointed to the scans of my disease on his light table, the clouds clustering like cold fronts in the darkness of my body. "You can see the metastases in the liver and the lungs. I can get you on a trial for the new drug in a month's time, but bear in mind there are no guarantees with that one, either. It's likely to buy you only a few extra months at the most. Time to start thinking in terms of quality rather than quantity of life."