The Day In 2004 When The Radiologist

Writing Is Like Bricklaying; You Put Down One Word After Another. Sometimes The Wall Goes Up Straight And True And Sometimes It Doesn't And You Have To Push It Down And Start Again, But You Don't Stop; It's Your Trade.

I Had Been Afraid Of Breast Cancer, As I Suspect Most Women Are, From The Time I Hit Adolescence. At That Age, When Our Emerging Sexuality Is Our Central Preoccupation, The Idea Of Disfigurement Of A Breast Is Particularly Horrifying.

It Is Natural To Want To Forget, Anna, When Everyday Is A Brimful Of Sadness. But Those Souls Also Forgot Those That They Had Loved. You Do Not Want That, Surely? I Have Heard Some Preach That God Wants Us To Forget The Dead, But I Cannot Believe So. I Think He Gives Us Precious Recollections So That We May Not Be Parted Entirely From Those He Has Given Us To Love. You Must Cherish Your Memories Of Your Babes, Anna, Until You See Them Again In Heaven.

I Was Really Interested In How Marriages Work, How You Can, You Know, Be In Love With Somebody And Spend Many Years With Your Lives Intertwined, But In The End Another Soul Can Be Fundamentally Unknowable. And I Think That The Stress Of War, When One Party Goes Away And The Other Has To Deal At Home, Is A Really Testing Time In A Lot Of Marriages.

The Day In 2004 When The Radiologist Told Me I Had Invasive Cancer, I Walked Down The Hospital Corridor Looking For A Phone To Call My Husband, And I Could Almost See The Fear Coming Toward Me Like A Big, Black Shadow.