Chapter 6 Beautiful day.

In the middle of the night I remember my oldest friends, my grandparents, my parents,

my sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, family.

I make sure my wife and kids are tucked in.

I remember what matters.

Daily dose, April 11th, 2020.

Most of us have lived with cancer in one form or another, because it has touched our

own health or that of someone we love.

For me it was both grandmothers, my aunt, my father's favorite cousin, and nearly two

decades ago while I was still finding my way as an oncology fellow, it was my teenage

sister-in-law.

More than any other, hers was the case that made me realize that all of us who go through

this experience are one big complicated chaotic family, like any family we need each other,

and we need to love each other.

In December of 2000, as I was driving to work at the Lombardi Center, my stereo blaring

U2's new hit Beautiful Day, I got an urgent phone call from my mother-in-law.

My wife Julie's 15-year-old sister was sick, Brittany had woken early that morning with

her heart racing, her head pounding, and her vision blurred.

Within minutes she'd passed out, something was seriously wrong.

At the local emergency room there was no quick diagnosis, but Brittany was not improving,

and my mother-in-law Nancy refused to leave without some explanation.

By the time she called me, someone had taken a closer look at Brittany's blood cells.

...