This time last year I felt pretty darn lucky. I’d tiptoed through my breast cancer treatment without awakening its two snarling monsters: chemotherapy and radiation. Now I find myself facing both head on. This coming Monday I’ll have surgery to install a port. Most likely, the following week, the first of 4 rounds of chemo. The decision to move forward with chemotherapy wasn’t easy. The genetic test was decisively vague. After much deliberation, the pros seemed to outweigh the cons (barely). Then again, as my oncologist freely admits, no one knows if chemo will help or not. Basically, it’s a crapshoot. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Maybe I’ll get lucky.