FROM THE EDITOR
CANCER IS Cancer is fear. Cancer is a waiting room full of orange chairs with worn wooden armrests and a doctor with a white beard mouthing words that sound distant and muffled until you feel so hot and so cold that you run to the bathroom, where you kneel over the toilet. Cancer is pain in your bones and your eyes, pain so intense it makes you cry out. Cancer is the metronomic, mechanical grind of the small machine that pumps liquid food through a tube into your stomach. Cancer is watching the blue number on the heart-rate monitor, and checking the color of the urine, and wincing at the needle, and waiting for the results, and the incessant ringing of a phone at the nurses’ station in the hallway. Cancer is two…