“Immunotherapy Drug Fails Lung Cancer Trial.” Naturally the headline caught my eye since I have been reading about lung cancer since my husband was diagnosed
Readers of the London Review of Books will know that Jenny Diski has been writing diary posts about her cancer for over a year. In
After a series of stable scans, and almost 4 years of monthly chemo, last week my cancer treatment was abruptly cancelled. No doctors, nurses, blood
I was mulling over Oliver Sacks’s mellow meditation on his terminal cancer diagnosis, when Jimmy Carter came out with his cancer story. (Curiously, both illnesses
One of the rare pleasures of old age is observing new words jump into circulation. Or appear to jump. We might just have been nodding.
There’s lots of writing about cancer―memoirs, graphic and prose, blogs, narratological and anthropological studies, science reporting. Most of the writing is bad, by which I
Little did I dream while riding on the back of a black Triumph motorcycle in Paris that several decades later I would be invited to
Having cancer is bad enough without being urged to enjoy your diagnosis, believe you can will it away through your state of mind. And it’s
By the time I was making the final revisions to the Breathless manuscript, I had been diagnosed with lung cancer―“incurable but treatable,” as today’s oncological
Welcome. Some musings on my current preoccupations with the worlds of illness and the worlds of books, the vicissitudes of living with cancer and the need now, in my eighties, to imagine what new writing might be.