Diseases have no eyes. They pick with a dizzy finger anyone, just anyone.
Life is made up of uncertainty. Each time we breathe out, we don’t know if we’ll breathe in again. Each time we risk stepping forward, we don’t know what we’ll encounter. . . . Despite all our efforts to picture the unfolding of events as managed, orderly, fixed, we don’t know what will happen next.
There were lymph glands that might do him in. . . . There were fertile red meadows of epithelial tissue to catch and coddle a cancer cell. . . . There were billions of conscientious body cells oxidating away day and night like dumb animals at their complicated job of keeping him alive and healthy, and every one was a potential traitor and foe. . . . Hungry Joe collected lists of fatal diseases and arranged them in alphabetical order so that he could put his finger without delay on any one he wanted to worry about.
