WHAT IF WE LEAN INTO DISCOMFORT MORE?

Last week, I cried in a hospital waiting room. Together with other individuals waiting for their names to be called and to be ushered in for their scans, I told my husband in between silent sobs about my growing discomfort around being poked with a needle.

Since the diagnosis, I have had needles poked at me for one biopsy, three separate blood tests, one…