No, I couldn’t come up with a better title for this post. Once you read it, you’ll know why.

I haven’t written in a while and that means both personally and professionally. 2019 introduced a series of unfortunate events into my life worthy of Lemony Snicket. If you’ll indulge my whinging for a moment or two, I’ll tell you why.

January 2019. Life is good. I’m working on edits for Book 2 of my series which I’m absolutely certain will be coming out in May. I’m looking into attending two writing conferences, Avon’s Kiss Con in Chicago and Book Lovers Con in New Orleans.

And then, one day my oldest son stops by for supper and announces that he’s getting a divorce and moving back home. Like a cheap GPS my brain goes into “recalculating” mode.

February 2019. My husband hasn’t been feeling well and I finally convince him to book a doctor’s appointment. It isn’t until the end of the month, after x-rays, CT scans, and multiple lab tests that we are (sort of) told that he has cancer. What I mean by that is that we saw a word we didn’t understand on the online results for one of his labs, googled it, and realized he had cancer.

March 2019. Without an “official” diagnosis my husband is referred to an oncologist who schedules another CT scan, an MRI, a stress test, and a PET scan. While sitting at home one night, shell-shocked and trying to pretend everything was normal in front of the children, my husband’s doctor called and asked him to report to the hospital the next day. He was going to be admitted.

April 2019. We finally have a diagnosis and it isn’t good. My husband has diffuse large B-cell lymphoma. The cancerous mass is wrapped around his descending aorta, invading the pleura of the lungs, and reaching back, finger-like, into his spine. There is a “hot spot” of cancer in one of his shoulder bones. His lungs are full of fluid and will need to be drained. He is stage IV. He spends almost 2 weeks inpatient and receives his first chemo treatment on a Saturday.

May 2019. My husband’s lungs have had to be drained six times just so he can breathe. The chemo exhausts him and the drugs give him insomnia. He’s crabby because his beautiful red hair is falling out. Half-way through the month my 93-year-old father in law falls at home, breaks four ribs and punctures his lung. Due to his dementia, the only person he behaves for is my husband. We rush to the hospital where my husband doesn’t dare leave him alone too long.

June 2019. My husband visits his father every day and comes home mentally and physically exhausted. We think his lungs need to be drained again. I get a random email telling me that I will no longer be working with my amazeballs editor at my publisher. Book two will not be coming out until 2020, a year and a half after book one. I have no idea if my editor left the company or if it was decided in a meeting that my book was absolute crap.

Not impressed with 2019 so far.