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The doctor looks at me and says, "You have cancer." My mouth goes dry, I swallow hard and blink twice.He says, "It's on your testicle, your lymph nodes, your heart, your lungs. It might be moving towards your brain. It's everywhere."The floor drops out from under me. I am free floating in space. "cancer" becomes "Cancer". It is in me. It is inside of me, it's black tendrils slowly stretching out through my body. I reach down and touch my jeans, thinking of the lump I discovered only days ago.He continues to talk but his voice fades away. His lip-things move and grunt noises come out of his mouth-hole but I'm thinking about how I haven't yet had children or left the country or written a book or eaten a pizza from the center out.Over the next six months I am pumped so full of chemo that I feel like a jelly donut. My figure emaciates until I've reached my target weight of 130 pounds and I have that much sought after cancer-chic look. And in this time I find that at the uncertainty of dying young, there is a wild joy at being alive.This is a story about what happens when cancer grabs your hand and demands you walk alongside it.