The Big C
So here's a little tidbit: over the weekend I found out my mother has cancer. She just dropped it in an email. "How's the apartment hunt going? The Super Bowl is stupid. By the way, I have cancer." Wow. The apartment hunt is not going well, but let's actually focus on you for a second. Cancer? She says she's not worried, which would make me feel better if she had something like the measles, instead of cancer.
She has something called invasive lobular cancer. I hate to say it, but this is the first time in my life Wikipedia has not come through for me. Their entry on lobular cancer is deplorable. It has all sorts of fun facts and figures, but here's the one I really want: the survival rate. Chances are if I'm looking up cancer, I want to know about the survival rate. I particularly want to know about how the survival rate has exponentially increased over the past ten years thanks to unprecedented advancements in technology. It should be in BIG, BOLD LETTERS at the beginning of the article. They do tell me that only 1 in 33 women will die because of breast cancer generally, so I suppose those odds are pretty good.