Anyone else would have bounced back in a matter of days, but his body was already weak enough that even a seemingly minor setback could be disastrous. Finally, though, he was back on his feet, if a bit unsteadily. And exactly sixteen days after taking him to the hospital, Joanna found herself sitting beside him in an all too familiar place: the oncologist’s office. In matching mahogany chairs with plush cushions, they faced Dr. Bowman across his massive desk. He leaned back in his leather chair, flanked by three giant bookcases filled with medical texts and a few framed photos. It was a lovely office—nothing sinister or unsettling about it—but she’d been here enough times, even the sight of one of those green-shaded banker’s lamps made her queasy. These sit-down meetings almost always meant bad news. Dr. Bowman had already given them the grim facts. More tumors in more places. Tiny spots that weren’t on the last scan and would probably be full-blown tumors by the next one if their growth wasn’t halted.
