It was January 19, 1995
She came to the door wearing one of those little white caps that remind me of the bulles people wear in some cultures.
Once inside, I sat down on the living room sofa. But Mary stood and stared out a sliding glass door which opened on to her backyard patio. I didn't ask, but I guessed she was looking out over the endless rows of peanuts that began at the far edge of her lawn.
Yawning, she told me the medicine she was taking for nausea made her sleepy.
A chemo pump was strapped to her waist, but she seemed happier than I've seen her in a long time. The doctors at the clinic in Texas had just phoned to say they reckon her cancer to be in remission. After sharing their speculation she said, "It's strange how a trace of hope can make the nausea more tolerable."
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