Well, it's official. The oncologist said today that more treatment isn't a good option. It is doing far more harm than good, and barring supernatural intervention of some sort there's not anything it could really do.
The odds on pancreatic cancer are horrible in even the best case; it was stage III and involving several other organs before they even found it. They did everything they could. But once it re-occurred, there really was nowhere to go. They don't even bother to call it possible treatment; what little chemo they'll do at that stage is considered palliative treatment to keep the tumors from hurting as much or interfering with the function of other organs as much as possible rather than curing anything. And I've known since the start of this there would be a point where continuing to try would basically be torturing her as she dies.
Being told unequivocally that we're at that point is still a gut-punch.
She's at home from the doctor's now. She won't answer the phone because she doesn't want to talk about it (her boyfriend texted me behind her back to explain why I wasn't getting an answer). I can't blame her. I don't either. But I know if I didn't try to call it would be worse, and if a few phone rings is all she can accept from me right now then then that's all I'll do.
I know all this with my head. It sounds all good and wise and the best thing to do. But the other parts of me want to get my hockey stick out of the closet and go dent some heads or curl up under the covers and never come out.