It’s clear to you immediately that you can have anything you want when you have cancer. Word spreads, and your doorstep shows it—a cheery bunch of Gerber daisies, a little tin of peanut butter cookies, a calla lily. The phone calls are endless. You think to yourself that your diagnosis is probably generating as much curiosity and awkwardness as winning the lottery would. Except two people who still want you to find their bunny—not that one!—and fill up their sippy cup and read them a book.
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