Oh, goddamnit, Ginger. No, and fuck no.
I so much wish we lived closer. There are really no words, but even without words at least if we were closer we could clean and fix and give rides and walk Mr. Peabody and just do all the things that need doing that you don't need to be wasting time and energy on. I hate having nothing but words to give you.
Oh, fuck cancer! I'm sorry, Ginger.
So sorry, Ginger. All my fingers are crossed that they can do something about it.
I wish I even had the right words to say to you, Ginger, but I know nothing except you're a wonderful person, and I don't want you to have any pain or distress. Oh, how I wish people got what they deserved, because you would be sailing with the clearest skies and the steadiest of winds. I...I don't know.
Ginger, words fail other than I'm so sorry.
And oh HELL yeah, fuck fucking cancer!
Ginger, I'm so sorry. What Javachik said, and Amy, and everyone. Whatever we can do to help.
Ginger, I am so goddamn sorry. I wish I knew what else to do or say.
Thank you so much. I'd hate to face this without y'all. Right now, I'm repeating my mantra: All 5-year statistics are at least 5 years old. Now if only I didn't have to tell my mother. I'm going to wait until I know the next steps, at least.