I wrote this article at roughly 3 am, sitting in a clinic lobby while my friend talks to an oncologist in the cabin behind me. The air is saturated with the smell of medicines, of course, and the atmosphere has an unmistakable whiff of gloom that compels me to exit the compound as soon as possible. The overwhelming sensation, however, is that of rage and fury.
Merely an hour ago, I had received a call from my 24-year-old friend, complaining about a severe headache and pain in her stomach. She is currently undergoing treatment for breast cancer, and after seeing her go through the ordeal over the past two years, I rushed to her place, hoping…
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