I recently discovered that the most terrifying possible letter from a doctor contains those words. Until that point, I was smug. I was full of my own pursuit of health, of my certainty that the hard work I've done for decades in terms of eating well, stress management, exercise would render me bulletproof. It didn't. So when I read those dreaded words, my heart stopped. My blood pressure rose. My stomach felt like a giant hand had squeezed it hard and had no intention of letting go anytime soon. I catastrophized. Within a day of processing the message I had battled and lost to breast cancer. My children were motherless. My husband was without his wife. In one scenario I concocted late at night he had remarried, and seemed much happier than I had ever made him. My imagination coupled with my medical knowledge did me no favors. The emotional shit show that resulted during my reaction was ridiculous. Exhausting. In technicolor. Ruthless. One week ...