There is absolutely nothing unique about this rambling, indulgent "memoir." Every other recalled memory involves some mention of an exotic vacation or super-hot ex-boyfriend. There is cancer, there is treatment, and then there is nothing: the ending is forced, awkward, and sudden.
Every person who has or is battling cancer deserves immense respect for their strength and perseverance, but not every survivor needs to write a bloody memoir.
Oh, and to whomever wrote the line comparing her "razor-sharp wit" to that of David Sedaris: No. Just no.