So who on this list isn't also on Tamara's list, the one at dogearedpress.com? We've tried to include everyone on this, the Telesforos list, on the dogeared list, but it's entirely possible we've missed some folks. If you aren't on Tamara's mailing list, you might want to drop her a line (tamarabeck@mindspring.com) and ask that your e-mail address be added, if only because - as the coming weeks unfold - more and more news may well be coming from her.

As you will have read in Tamara's post - if you receive her posts - I was admitted to Emory University Hospital Friday evening in the early stages of renal failure...both kidneys - no longer just the right - were swollen, throbbing, and breaking down. Hence the out-of-control pain.

(If you haven't heard this news from Tamara's list, I'm sorry...it's bad news, so you might want to sit down...)

Renal failure was slowed - if not altogether halted - by placing nephrostomy tubes in both kidneys, bypassing the bladder altogether and allowing both hydronephrotic beans to drain. So I no longer pee. Rather, I carry around two little plastic puppies, which slowly fill with urine. On each visit to the restroom, I empty the bags into the bowl and try to ignore the nagging tickle from my now useless, essentially vestigial bladder.

A PCA pump also dangles from the port above my right clavicle, the push of a black button allowing me to flood my bloodstream with a 0.8 ml bolus of pain-lessening, mind-numbing dilaudid every 10 minutes.

In time - no telling how much time, or how little - my kidneys will fail...aka, renal failure.

Why? Well, it might be the result of chemo and/or radiation. Myriad minute blockages may be the result of cancer in the kidneys - cancer we cannot see...at least, not yet.

The cancer in my lungs, however, we CAN see, and it is on the move again. Unfortunately, my body cannot withstand chemo anymore...specifically, my kidneys can't.

So we've reached a place where something is going to kill me - respiratory failure or renal failure - a place where treatment options - and hope - are gone, and the race is on. The oncologist expects the race to be decided (read: over) in 6 to 8 weeks. Actually, he said six to eight weeks, and then said "holiday time, or New Years," which is more like 13 to 14 weeks.

Whatever. They don't really know, and he's just extrapolating. But I do know that the (artificial?) hope of limbo is gone. Ironic, that, given how much time I've wasted complaining about said limbo.

Suddenly, I have SO much to write about. Suddenly, there isn't enough time in the world. Suddenly, a harsh reality which I've successfully avoided for over two years is here, in my face, unyielding, ineluctable: cancer is going to kill me, and soon.