First the good news: Although all CT scan results are not yet in, so far there is no evidence of metastasis in the bones. It could very well be that the rib I cracked this morning (with one big hearty cough-sneeze combo at breakfast) is just a "cough fracture." But it hurts like hell, so you'll forgive me if I'm a little stoned on pain medication as I write this. And now the bad news-in fact the worst news we have received since my diagnosis almost 2 years ago: The nodules in the lungs have grown and while some lymph nodes have shrunk, some have enlarged and there are new ones in the space between my lungs. All of this means that it is official: my cancer does not respond to standard chemotherapies. Actually they've tried all but one, and they're holding that in reserve for now. Better I try some experimental treatments, they say. Better we find a clinical trial, they say, though they don't have one in particular in mind right now. I am simply devastated. I feel desperate and frightened and angry. Nothing has been able to stop this cancer, and I fear that nothing will. I feel mystified ' utterly and completely ' by the idea that something so ferocious has made me its target. I am simultaneously on the kitchen floor, under the duvet and wandering around disoriented and underdressed in the blizzard. There have been a lot of tears today ' a lot. My husband and I have instinctively been no further than a few feet apart at any time since receiving the news, as if we are afraid that this cancer well and truly means to separate us. The invisible tentacles of my parents, my family, and my friends have reached out through phone calls, texts, e-mails and general vibes of love, weaving a kind of blanket of collective protection around me. And my daughter? Oh, my baby. That's the hardest of all. I can't even look at her without thinking, I just want to see you grow.