One month after I completed my radiation treatments,
I went back for a follow-up MRI of my brain.
I am relieved to announce that the doctors found nothing of note—they
think that my brain is looking fine, albeit different given the surgery and treatments
I underwent. The current plan is to
continue with a scheduled chemotherapy regimen as well as intermittent scans to
make sure I progress normally. And based
on the type of tumor that was removed from my brain, the scans will be used to
make sure it doesn’t reoccur.
And yet despite my clean bill of health, I can feel
myself slipping back into the depression I thought I had left behind me several
months ago. I feel trapped in a life
that just won’t let me get ahead. The
book I started writing fizzled out after 36,000 words or so, well shy of my
60,000-plus word goal. The editing and
publication of two other completed novels seems a slow, laborious process that
I can only hope will provide some reward to go with the risk. My book sales have been decent if not
spectacular—then again, they never were spectacular, but merely just enough to
get by from month to month.
