waiting, as we all do, for the sword of Damocles to give him the relief that he escaped lo those many years ago
when cancer took both of his nuts but spared what only the most generous soul would call his life.
AND YOU TOO MIGHT BE SO LUCKY! Then we introduced ourselves: Name. Age. Diagnosis. And how we’re doing today.
“I’m Hazel,” I’d say when they’d get to me.
“Sixteen. Thyroid originally but with an impressive and long-settled satellite colony in my lungs. And I’m doing okay.”
Once we got around the circle, Patrick always asked if anyone wanted to share.
And then began the circle jerk of support: everyone talking about fighting and battling and winning and shrinking and scanning.
To be fair to Patrick, he let us talk about dying, too. But most of them weren’t dying. Most would live into adulthood, as Patrick had.
(Which meant there was quite a lot of competitiveness about it, with everybody wanting to beat not only cancer itself,
but also the other people in the room. Like, I realize that this is irrational,
but when they tell you that you have, say, a 20 percent chance of living five years, the math kicks in and you figure that’s one in five...
so you look around and think, as any healthy person would: I gotta outlast four of these bastards.)
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색