His face softens. “I see.”

“And it’s hard not to wonder now, whether the reason I couldn’t see a career or future for myself was because maybe deep down, on some cellular level, I knew I had no future.”

He looks skeptical.

“I know. It sounds crazy. But believe me, when you’re told you’re dying, while you still feel and look healthy, it’s hard not to question your whole life. Examine it for clues, signs of what was to come. Anyway. When they told me the cancer was back and that it was terminal, I figured, why not? Why not have the only thing I’ve ever wanted?”

“I understand.” His face doesn’t quite reflect his words, though.

“No, I don’t think you do.” My voice grows heated. I’m not sure why it’s so important to me that he understands, but it is. “I’m not doing this to be self-indulgent, or because I want everyone to see me look pretty in a big white dress. I’m doing this because I can. Because it’s the one thing I’ve always wanted, and it’s the only thing left that I can have any control over.”

He gives a little nod. “Fair enough. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your position. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, I’m glad you did.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then can I ask one more question? Or am I pushing my luck?”

“Of course you can.”

“Why get the magazine involved? Why not keep it as something private, between you and your family?”

“I didn’t get them involved. My friend Amanda, she plastered it all over social media.”

He winces. “Ah, yes, social media. The blessing and curse of our times.”

“Her heart was in the right place. She just wanted to help out, financially. But for some reason the story just took off, and then the magazine got in touch, wanting to write about it. I did say no, initially. But then I was reminded by some very wise women that it could be a powerful platform to help raise awareness.”

“That’s admirable.”

“Not really. I’m nervous about putting myself out there, I’m not going to lie. But if it stops even one person from going through the same thing it’ll be worth it. I wasn’t taken seriously at first, when I went to see a doctor. And I didn’t push the issue because I figured they knew what they were doing.”

“We place a lot of trust in the medical profession. Sometimes misguidedly.” His voice sounds bitter.

“Exactly. So I figure that if by telling my story I can help other women, especially younger ones, be better advocates for their own health, why not? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For misjudging you. Your intentions.”

I shrug. “That’s OK. You’re probably not the only one.”

“No, it’s not OK. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t.” I smile. “I’m not bothered.”

“That’s because you appear to be one of those people who look for the positive in any situation.”