Day 55 and I returned to the classroom for the first time since starting chemotherapy for breast cancer. I marched across campus double-time, running a few minutes late, my notebook opened to the building and room number scrawled on the ledger pad, my attaché slipping off my shoulder. As I squinted at the closed double doors of the lecture hall to see if its number matched what I’d written down and tried to assemble the chemo spiel I’d been rehearsing for three days, I heard someone say, “Let’s do this!” It was my assistant, Andy, who I wasn’t expecting until the second class meeting. Andy was among the students on whom I’d dropped the cancer bomb in Fiction class last semester. He knew, and somehow this made it infinitely easier to throw the door back and say, “Hello!” I did not say “Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya!” like I’ve always wanted to do, but … some day.
