The diagnosis of “I have cancer” morphed into the grief of “I’m going to die.”
Boob Job: Part 1

I remember this feeling. I remember harbouring the idea that I would suffer like a saint of sorts, never short tempered or badly behaved, and promptly losing my temper at an ant. I also remember the biopsy needle. Thankfully it wasn’t cancer, but I remember the waiting for a diagnosis. I am sorry for the paths you have tread, Meg, cancer is not a fair journey mate.

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