Beyond the declarations of war, there is another, even more popular class of misapprehensions that cloud our view of disease: “I have cancer.” “She has MS.” “My nephew has ADD.” Embedded in each phrase is the unexamined assumption that there is an I (or a someone) distinct and independent from the thing called disease, which the “I” has—as in the statement “I have a flat-screen TV.” Here is my life, and over there is the disease that has encroached upon it. Seen this way, disease is something external with its own nature, existing independently of the person in whom it shows up. Given where
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