Don't believe what they say for one minute. They know medicine, but they don't know the human spirit. Imagine yourself still here two years from now, then make it five, ten, twenty. I'm not saying believing it will make it real, but I do know that we can't let others tell us how to live or for how long.
Regardless of what happens, I want to say I'm thankful for what distance has done for us. You've been putting up walls for as long as I remember, but I finally feel like I'm finding doors through some of them. Not all, but some. Sure, there's the thread of unity that came with our cancer diagnoses, and the subsequent swapping of chemo stories, but it's more than that. After your double mastectomy, we talked on the phone for two straight hours, which is impressive considering our longest conversation before that had lasted about five minutes.
I can't imagine how scary this must be for you, and how disappointing--to have gone through hell and come out the other side only to be told that you have to do it all over again. It's likely the road ahead will be paved with even more uncertainty than before. I'm sure there'll be many times when you'll want to give up, when you'll wonder what the point of all this is. I can't tell you I know the answer to that, but I hope you can stick around to find out.
Your little sis