This was written on Thursday and though I thought it'd published it hadn't:
Tiff and Sean and Jack came and took me for the biopsy, which was terribly nice of them. Then later I was asleep, woke up a bit warm and tired, tipped over and realised my phone was on my bed. I crawled to the living room as that was the direction I was pointing, pulled down the phone and it was dead. Crawled to the kitchen and pulled down that phone. Dead. WTF? Crawled to my bed and pulled the blanket and got my cell, rang 911. I made them say, "Honey, I'm home!" when they arrived. What a comedy my life has become on its last act!
Whilst awaiting rescue I checked in case I'd been cut off or something but no, my phone bill is not overdue. I should just cancel it if it isn't even going to work at crucial times.
Supposedly I'll get the biopsy report on Friday, to pinpoint the cancer type. I feel I won't qualify for PAD, which is too, too bad. It has spread somewhat, which is a meh to me at this point. I'm trying to be aware and enjoy what I can of this stage as I think it might be short. From where I am it feels like it will go on and on and on but honestly I am going downhill at a perilous speed.
Lucia used to say it was like being offered a part in a movie and then being told it was not a leading lady instead it was the part of the cripple.