Abstract
When I was given a diagnosis of cancer, my first thought was not, Will I die? but rather, How can I beat this? Like a youngster who flunks a big test, I immediately began to worry about what to do to pass the course. I was 32 years old at the time, a physician, a husband, a parent, and a son. I had been healthy, athletic, and free of pain, but with the diagnosis, I became formally sick. My mind and my hopes riveted immediately on the goal of cure. Cure. The word itself became magic for me, a . . .