Today I chatted briefly with a gal who was leaving town "indefinitely" to be with her sister-in-law in her last days. I expressed my sympathies, and she said she was really going to support her brother, because he was having such a rough time. "She was only diagnosed around Mothers' Day, so he's really struggling."
From diagnosis to death in less than six months? The words 'rough' and 'struggling' can't possibly be enough.
So tonight, on Surgery Eve, I find myself feeling grateful and lucky. I hereby rescind my grouchiness over the phrase 'good cancer.' Dan's got a good cancer all right. Maybe a great cancer. A cancer that offers a 90% chance at a lifetime together instead of six months.