Not only is Rachel an incredibly courageous and sensible woman, but she is also a brilliant and insightful writer. Who else would think to link her personal health battle with that of an upcoming election? You are fortunate to have each other. May God bless.
Here is what I posted on the WaPo site about Rachel's fabulous story:
Rachel, I feel like I know you through Gene's Substack. Now that I have read your story, with its optimism and sense of humor shining through, I think I know what drew the two of you together: laughter. May your horrible time period be over, and may the two of you have many happy, healthy years together, laughing about how we Americans saved our future on November 5, 2024. I'm saying a "Mi Shebeirach" for you (Gene can hopefully translate -- it means a get well prayer in Hebrew) and for the United States.
You are never more alone than when you’ve been seriously ill. The white-coated phalanx, the agonized loved ones, the sympathetic others trying to be helpful. All so much ambient noise. It can be frightening, this being alone with your thoughts. Or it can bring clarity, perhaps for the first time; the precious essence finally appearing from the accumulated dross through the mind’s wondrous alchemy. And if medical science’s best current guess is correct, you exhale and emerge from your confinement wary — always wary — but forever changed.
I suspected something was rotten in the state of Weingarten-Manteuffel. There is no "right" choice. Only "your" choice Rachel. And you made an informed one. UVA Health (presumably where you are being cared for) is among the top breast cancer centers in the US. Truth be told, you wear the follicly-challenged look well. Godspeed.
Rachel's characterization of cancer reminds me of the late Norm Macdonald's quote:
""I'm pretty sure, I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure if you die, the cancer also dies at exactly the same time. So that, to me, is not a loss. That's a draw."
Rachel, may it be many years before you battle cancer to a draw.
Hearing Rachel's story resonated with my recent prostate cancer treatment. And it didn't. I realize that I had an easier path. I was caught early, only had one lymph node starting to join the other side, and had the world's most boring pilgrimage to a radiation center 28 times.
My GP was the person was the first person to say "You have cancer." My first response was that it would be hard to work the news into a comedy set, then I added "So, should I tell my family if I get treatment that I started day drinking?"
The side effects are now in the long term stuff. I get to monitor cataracts. I have a 5%ish chance of recurrence in 10 years. I see your 2% within that context. I decided to improve fitness, lose weight, and study Krav Maga. If I go down, I'm fighting.
Thank you for sharing your story and decisions. And the metaphors. I will give attribution when I steal them.
Thanks for sharing Rachel's (and your) story, my friend. As a 30-year cancer survivor, I have a sense of what you're both going through--and I'm with you in spirit.
All I can say is, Wow. Here’s to her victory.
Me, too. What I posted in the comments on her op-ed was just that: "Wow!"
Not only is Rachel an incredibly courageous and sensible woman, but she is also a brilliant and insightful writer. Who else would think to link her personal health battle with that of an upcoming election? You are fortunate to have each other. May God bless.
It was a terrific essay and I appreciated all of the metaphors in it. Please make sure Rachel knows we are all cheering for her.
Here is what I posted on the WaPo site about Rachel's fabulous story:
Rachel, I feel like I know you through Gene's Substack. Now that I have read your story, with its optimism and sense of humor shining through, I think I know what drew the two of you together: laughter. May your horrible time period be over, and may the two of you have many happy, healthy years together, laughing about how we Americans saved our future on November 5, 2024. I'm saying a "Mi Shebeirach" for you (Gene can hopefully translate -- it means a get well prayer in Hebrew) and for the United States.
is everyone still on the cancel my post subscription bandwagon? I am giving it a minute. Good luck rachel.
You are never more alone than when you’ve been seriously ill. The white-coated phalanx, the agonized loved ones, the sympathetic others trying to be helpful. All so much ambient noise. It can be frightening, this being alone with your thoughts. Or it can bring clarity, perhaps for the first time; the precious essence finally appearing from the accumulated dross through the mind’s wondrous alchemy. And if medical science’s best current guess is correct, you exhale and emerge from your confinement wary — always wary — but forever changed.
Rachel's column is fucking brilliant.
I am grateful for you both, sorry to learn of her ordeal, and hopeful for her continued good health.
Brilliant writing, and a brilliant metaphor. We’re all rooting for you, Rachel.
Best wishes to Rachel for a speedy recovery! And to you as well, Gene - supporting a sick partner is hard.
I suspected something was rotten in the state of Weingarten-Manteuffel. There is no "right" choice. Only "your" choice Rachel. And you made an informed one. UVA Health (presumably where you are being cared for) is among the top breast cancer centers in the US. Truth be told, you wear the follicly-challenged look well. Godspeed.
Being free to choose the bitter pill is what life is all about, sometimes. Beautifully done, Rachel. Thank you.
Rachel's characterization of cancer reminds me of the late Norm Macdonald's quote:
""I'm pretty sure, I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure if you die, the cancer also dies at exactly the same time. So that, to me, is not a loss. That's a draw."
Rachel, may it be many years before you battle cancer to a draw.
Holy moly, what a powerful essay. And so brave. And, I have to admit she is perfect for you as partner…brilliant, hilarious and beautiful.
Fuck Cancer ✊🏼
Hearing Rachel's story resonated with my recent prostate cancer treatment. And it didn't. I realize that I had an easier path. I was caught early, only had one lymph node starting to join the other side, and had the world's most boring pilgrimage to a radiation center 28 times.
My GP was the person was the first person to say "You have cancer." My first response was that it would be hard to work the news into a comedy set, then I added "So, should I tell my family if I get treatment that I started day drinking?"
The side effects are now in the long term stuff. I get to monitor cataracts. I have a 5%ish chance of recurrence in 10 years. I see your 2% within that context. I decided to improve fitness, lose weight, and study Krav Maga. If I go down, I'm fighting.
Thank you for sharing your story and decisions. And the metaphors. I will give attribution when I steal them.
When the nightmare is over, and the cancer has been officially declared to be defeated, it will indeed be a time for great celebration.
Thanks for sharing Rachel's (and your) story, my friend. As a 30-year cancer survivor, I have a sense of what you're both going through--and I'm with you in spirit.