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When I was diagnosed with highly aggressive breast cancer, I was confronted with a remedy so poisonous that, if I survived, I could lose my eyesight, lecture and memory
When the technician leaves the chamber, I turn my psyche towards the screen to understand any neoplasms, the webs of nerves, the small lit typefaces in which my pathology or my future might be written. The first tumour I ever appreciated was a darkness on that screen, round with a long craggy finger protruding from it. I took a photograph of it from my inspection bunked with an iPhone. That cancer was my own.
To be declared with certainty ill while feeling with certainty penalty is to fall on the hardness of speech without being given even an hour of soft indecision in which to steady oneself with pre-emptive worry. Now you don’t have a solution to a number of problems , now you have a specific call for a life breaking in two.
Read more: theguardian.com
