1. Moving a billion times and somehow ending up having your stage three cancer removed at the same hospital where you were born.
2. Being admitted to a hospital the day you were born then not being admitted to one again for 45 years.
3. Having a former member of SEAL Team Six say there’s a chance you’ll become a superhero after treatment. (They’re professional superheroes, so they know. Also, I wonder if I’ll get a cape or if this is, like, one of those cape-less superhero situations—which would be cool because, you know, hot flashes.)
4. Having (two) cancer(s) cut out of your body and being like, so, I don’t have cancer anymore? And people being like, yay, you don’t have cancer anymore! But do I not have cancer anymore? Because, like, the fancy doctors still think it’s important to poison me more just in case I do have cancer, and then they want to give me super hardcore meds for a few more months just in case I do have cancer, then they want to block this really important hormone in my body for half a decade—or maybe a whole decade—in case I have cancer, and then they want to see me every 90 days for a couple years just in case I have cancer, then every six months for a few more years to be sure, and then, after—like, in five years—they’ll believe maybe I actually don’t have cancer or won’t have cancer or am I less likely to have cancer? They’re pretty sure. So, do I still have cancer? I’m confused.
5. Thinking we know anything about cancer.

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