I was sitting in the waiting room with three other half-naked women, each of us wearing pale blue johnny robes and looking a little squirmy. The technician came out, eyeballed me and said, “Val, we need to do a couple more scans.”  A week later I had an ultrasound mammogram. A few days after that, a biopsy. The diagnosis...

We’ve been married 18 years. Together our ages total 151. We play golf, watch “Morning Joe,” sip dirty martinis (mine Vodka, his gin), dig classical guitar stations on Pandora and stroll Kennebunk Beach. Consistent in our daily dialog: “Where are my reading glasses?” and “Can you turn up the volume on the remote.” I repeat, “CAN YOU TURN UP….”