Read an Excerpt
“…I need to say it one more time. I have cancer. I feel like Chevy Chase before he jumps in the swimming pool with Christy Brinkley. This is crazy this is crazy this is crazy. Ok. I’m just going to sit here in my den with my dog at my feet- licking my feet- and wait…. It’s that word that’s bothering me so much. The one Dr. Bach used. The one… ya’ know. The “C” word. When I think of “that word” an old person springs to mind with yellow skin, hollowed-out eyes, brown teeth, and a cough that sounds sick enough to hack up several pieces of lung. But that’s not me. That’s not even close to me. I’m young and healthy. I use whitening strips regularly and, albeit pale, my skin has a rosy undertone. And yes, I admit, I have the occasional nervous cough, but nothing deep or hacking or mucous producing.
“That word” always seemed fairly easy to say when i’ve used it in stories about other people. Stories about older people. It used to slip out, flow freely along with a whole slew of nouns and adjectives. It was just another word. It’s just another word when you’re talking about someone else. But…now. -I don’t have…that word. I just can’t.
It’s so weird. I’m sitting here on my couch and everything around me looks the same as always. Same coffee table, same T.V., same light coming through the same french doors hitting the Berber carpet in the same old way, yet I feel like everything is so completely different. I am completely different.”