4:15AM

And I can't sleep. I've been up for a while, waiting for the clock to hit 5:45AM so we can get this over with.

Honestly speaking, I am tired of fighting cancer. My body is so exhausted, and I'm emotionally drained when I think about what I've been through, and what I've got lying ahead of me. Now maybe I'm just tired from not getting enough sleep, but going through the pre-op yesterday was a four-hour waste of time.

And just because I've had gamma knife surgery before doesn't make this one any easier. Yes I know what to expect, but my body's different now. It's a lousy 106 pounds of skin and bones, hardly any muscle mass, proudly displaying ribs that Chili's would be proud to serve.

But I wonder what it's like for my family and Paul. Everybody seems used to the routine: MRI, accompanying bad news, some type of treatment, recovery, a month or two of respite, and then back to the top for another MRI. I guess it's like after you have your first baby: you now know what the routine requires, so you're more prepared and maybe a little more relaxed the next time around the water breaks.

Hopefully this makes sense: I've gotten so tired of fighting the fight, falling down and getting back up, round after round, that at this point, I'm not even the one in the boxing ring. It's God. I've given up a long time ago. He's there, in my place, filling in for me, while everybody in the stands are busy cheering me on. It's like I'm earning the title, when someone else is wearing the boxing gloves.

4:45AM. One more hour. Let's do this. Sound the reveille, it's time for another fight.