THE NARRATIVE ARC
How to Dress for Chemo
Here are stories from people I’ve loved, but you be you
At 27, I enrolled in grad school at Winthrop University, a gorgeous mid-sized university in Rock Hill, South Carolina. The school is an archetype of a quaint college, full of Georgian architecture and massive oaks and magnolias. As I was looking for housing, I met a woman who worked at the college and who also ran a boarding house for grad students.
Her name was Liz Pirone, and she was adored by all the students who lived with her. The place was a large home divided into half a dozen small apartments, some of them sharing bathrooms and kitchen space. I loved my attic apartment with its large windows and high, angled ceiling.
Liz was a large woman, relatively tall but also a bit round. She was in her mid-fifties and had a halo of curly gray hair. Her round face almost always had a cheerful smile. She was a delight.
She also had cancer. When I once asked her about it, she said she had “a woman cancer” and gave me a look that discouraged further questions.
Liz enjoyed her quiet life at home. On the other hand, we called her son Accident Pirone because he always seemed to be wearing a cast or brace from his many injuries which he got from his adventurous…
