I Promised My Son Forever—Then Cancer Made Me Count the Months

Me? I smell like the cancer center. Even after two showers, I smell like rubbing alcohol and fear. Chemo changes your chemistry; it seeps out of your pores. I’m terrified he smells it. I don’t want to be a sad memory. I want to be the smell of Sunday morning pancakes.

This afternoon, while we were building a Lego tower, he asked, “Momma, will you dance continue reading …