A few weeks back, Jennette sat in the exam chair at the Ottawa Hospital, surrounded by the usual suspects, a group of hunky doctors with sad eyes. They were there to deliver the bad news -- her mouth cancer had returned with a vengeance. The tumor, they told her, was now the size of a baby's foot and rested in the exact location where doctor's had cut out a chunk of her lower mouth two years ago. It was news we had both been expecting, ever since she told me that the shape of her jaw was actually changing, and that she had developed a painful sore on the bottom of her chin. Still, it felt like the docs were serving her a warmed-over shit sandwich without even a pickle. I took her out for coffee, and we talked around the subject. She was both shaken and stirred. "Okay, so what's on your bucket list?" I asked her as I sipped an over-priced chai tea. She shot me a look, the same one she used to give Roger when he'd eaten all the peanut butter cookies. ...
More than a million served!