And Then Cancer Struck. Fuck.

Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

My fiancé was rushed to the hospital two weeks ago for emergency chemotherapy, after his “chronic” leukemia aggressively transformed from treatable and manageable—with just this little pill—to raging and blasting in his blood. No warning. Just a routine trip to the oncologist, then panic and confusion, then the harried packing of a weekend duffel with fresh underwear and socks. What the fuck?