On that particular Monday evening as I moved through the women's section of the hospice ward at San Francisco's Laguna Honda Hospital, Betty called out to me. A woman in her mid-50s, Betty was in the end stages of her dance with metastatic breast cancer. She had lost considerable weight in recent weeks. Her coloring verged on a mottled gray. She lay with covers tucked over her shoulders, brought up under her chin, her hairless head tucked into a dirty white knit cap. Betty asked me to chec...
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