![]() ![]() I go to my neighborhood coffee shop each morning and try to write something new. I buy a juicer off Craigslist and for a short while force myself to drink gag-inducing kale concoctions. I drag myself to the gym in the basement of my building a couple of times a week-a feat, even for my pre-illness self. When I am finally pronounced “cancer-free” in the autumn of 2015, after being diagnosed at age 22, I make attempts to inhabit that narrative, to return to living as triumphantly as I can. It can be even harder not to internalize them, and to feel as if you have to live up to them. ![]() It’s hard not to traffic in such clichés when they’ve become so culturally embedded. For the past four years, as I’ve undergone treatment for leukemia after being diagnosed at age 22, I’ve been bombarded with this narrative, observing it in movies and books, fundraising campaigns and get-well cards. Survivors, like heroes, have faced mortal danger and overcome impossible trials. Once victory has been secured, they return to the ordinary world transformed, with accrued wisdom and a renewed appreciation for life. Against all odds, the heroes persevere, becoming better, braver for their battle scars. The hero’s journey is one of the oldest narratives in literature. ![]()
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