“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
“Scanxiety,” a coinage not of my making (I wish!) but that makes the point efficiently, is an attempt to represent the limbo I described in
After the last appointment (June 2016), my oncologist doubled the time between scans to once every six months from every three. Almost five years later,
We wait in our chairs to hear our name called. Some in wheel chairs, Others with carers, canes, oxygen tanks, or neck braces. Soon my
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
I don’t love Facebook, even though I’ve used it, abjectly, to promote my last book. Beyond the obvious embarrassment of self-exposure, the most anxiety-producing feature
Most define it as a decrease in mental “sharpness”—being unable to remember certain things and having trouble finishing tasks or learning new skills. When it
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
“I wanted to fill my elegy with light of all kinds. But death makes us stingy. There is nothing more to be expended on that,
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.