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Hoping for residual power

Florida Cancer is smack downtown, occupying what used to be a beautiful church. I remember it being built and wondering why anyone would build a cancer center in such a gorgeous place. It seems sinful, but maybe it's a hallowed ground thing.

The irony strikes me as I go through all the now already familiar cancer patient paperwork rituals. I get a name tag and sit.

It's a Monday and the waiting area is filled with people, tons of them, all loaded with various cancers. A man about 20, quietly texting.  A young black woman, beautiful and bald but sporting an incredible head scarf resplendent with glitter. Old men and women. Middle-aged men and women. Sadly, teenagers. The place is packed and business is good.

Dr. Silver has something else besides the Tina Fey thing going for her. You NEVER have to wait to see her. She is never late. It's quite refreshing, and if the situation were different, I'd be very pleased. We meet Marti, her bubbly nurse first. She weighs me in full view of my husband, the first time in a long line of visits where he now becomes privy to all my secrets. There is nothing I can hide now.  Onto the exam room where Marti hands me a paper top, which comes from a pile of about 100 in the cabinet. Surely there can't be that much breast cancer that they need to keep all those right there?

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