Sunday, March 25, 2007

Here's to You, Mrs. Edwards

I have to hand it to the Edwards'. Never has terminal cancer sounded so good. Treatable, not curable. Manageable, like diabetes. Mrs. Edwards even said she didn't look sickly or feel sickly.

OK, well. Cheers to you and your excellent health care that somehow didn't notice until the cancer had spread to your bones that you didn't beat breast cancer. When you are stage 4, statistics don't matter. Each person handles their cancer in a different way. It could be two months, it could be two years. I'm sure Mrs. Edwards will hear every kind of miracle story and miracle cure. And at this point, before treatment and before she feels or looks sickly, I'm sure she wants to call game on, and show her game face to the campaign. After all, nothing makes anyone feel more sick than when everything changes because of some number, some test that someone says of you.

Eventually, maybe not tomorrow or the next day, her cancer will catch up to her. And all the careful tip-toeing of the press to follow the Edwards' statement and not the reality about her illness won't matter. The treatment better be good. Because there is no cure for terminal cancer. What she does have is hope. And that will carry her a long way.



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