Something occurred while talking to Becky a couple days ago:
If one woman in eight gets cancer, chances are the women with DCIS are included in that statistic, even if our abnormality is only "the doorway."
When I am in the huge, crowded local market, waiting to thread through the crowd for the wine samples kiosk, there are probably one or two other women there at some stage of their recovery.
That woman pushing the cute, happy tyke in the stroller may have just heard a diagnosis far more scary than mine. That elegant, grey-haired woman at the meat counter may still be getting annual checkups and hoping and wondering.
Yet they are loading up the cart, telling an acquaintance about their new car, tossing in a bottle of vitamin D. Even laughing. Maybe making plans for a party.
I'm tempted to say something corny like Life goes on. So I'll quote my daughter on ". . . the best moments of life are still in the future."