I woke up the next morning with a strange feeling. Something called . . . optimism. It was just a twinge, but at this point I’d take a twinge. Maybe all the crap I had read on the Internet pertained to a worst-case version of this cancer, I thought. Maybe Dr. Barnes, the first of two neuroendocrine specialists we were seeing today, would reveal that Kit had a more treatable form of the disease. Maybe Kit and I would be able to grow old together as husband and husband. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.
