When you hear the word “cancer,” a dark cloud blooms overhead. Fear. Pain. Questions – even existential questions of life, and death, hover or overwhelm us.

Your schedule fills with appointments, that may change from day to day. Unlike school tests for algebra or history, tests are done on your body: blood, MRI, biopsy.

Orange prescription bottles crowd the cupboard.

I have a front row seat to my husband’s suffering, and I’m sorry I have such a ticket. I hear this strong man moaning in pain sometimes. Then, when he sees me watching him, he’ll look back at me, with a faint smile, trying to reassure me - which doesn’t work, by the way.

But in this new territory, you find a new perspective. Cancer doesn’t care about your religion, your politics, your definition of masculinity or femininit

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