![]() It matters not that I may live another five, or 10, or 20 years it is the soul that feels, not the mind, and I felt my mortality for the first time in that moment. Until that doctor touched a cold finger onto my spine and said, “Donna, get in the line-up,” that mortal queue, with its inevitable destination, felt a thousand light years away. What we know in theory does not prepare us for real life. ![]() This was particularly astonishing, given the tragedies of premature deaths in my family, and the reminders they served as: your time is coming too, everyone’s time is coming…. It felt as though I’d stumbled into another world I hadn’t known was there – the world of mortality. It felt like bleeding ulcers in my stomach. Was it even possible to have two separate cancers growing simultaneously, one in each breast? ![]() I walked the rest of the distance to the studio bent over in shock. When the proverbial rug is ripped out from beneath our feet, we are thrown fully into chaos. We are born and live our lives with one foot in order, the other in chaos. ![]() My first instinct was to scream: “Nooo, Mom – too close, too close.” Of course, I crumpled instead. ![]() A funny thing happened on the way to the recording studio last week: I was heading there to record the chapter in my memoir, Pluck, in which my mother dies of breast cancer, when my phone rang and my doctor told me that I had been diagnosed with breast cancer – bilateral breast cancer, at that. ![]()
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