“Go UP the stairs. Slide DOWN the slide. No, Sweetie. Go UP the STAIRS.” She could barely walk, but she was climbing up the slide. Then, and now. Spend ten minutes at a playground, and the appeal of climbing up the face of the slide is undeniable. I am acutely aware of the dangers of falling off the slide, the risks of children bumping into each other. I vaguely remember falling off a slide, decades ago--one of the old, tall ones—before playgrounds had soft surfaces. I like to see everyone going in the same direction. Up the stairs. Down the slide. Nice, orderly, predictable, and safe.
When I started getting sick in the late summer of 2011, I was pretty sure I knew what it was. I thought my endometriosis was "acting up." Then my symptoms changed and a Google search convinced me I needed my gall bladder removed. I exaggerate, but the point is that while my disparate symptoms piled up, I was sure there was a simple explanation. Cancer never entered my mind, even when my gynaecologist found a lump in my breast I hadn't noticed.