Cancer clinics try to be places of encouragement, and for that we can offer them a slow hand clap. But mostly they are encounters with death set to the tune of a young volunteer on the lobby’s baby grand piano and the muffled sounds of someone yelling, “Mr. Smith! It’s your turn for blood work!” When I heard a harp player in the foyer, I immediately turned to my dad and said: “Is it really that bad?”
Me at tbe JHH
