Susan had her surgery in Sherbrooke, Quebec. That is where she received the news and that is where she told me her diagnosis. It was March 8. Winter in Quebec. I made my way back to my hotel room, which thankfully was only a kilometer away from the hospital. Except for my teenage sons in Montreal, I don’t have any family within 3000 kilometers. I sat on my bed and I called my sisters, Betty and Susan (yes, I have 2 Susans in my life). I called them that night and explained as best I could what was happening. Both of them are experienced nurses and they knew what the language meant, knew the blunt force of the diagnosis. They asked me what I needed. Oddly enough I knew what I needed. I needed to be not alone.
Usually I’d wait a period of time before…
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