Unchecked, the malignancy has begun to work at her lumbar vertebrae. With every sharp twist or turn, the tension comes to bear on the weakened bone. Some tumor cells have moved to within millimeters of the nerve roots leading to the spinal canal.

Her personal physician is comforting but perplexed. Finding nothing but a slight tenderness over her lower back, he prescribes a nonsteroidal antiinflammatory and orders her to slow down.

Though she denies it, even to herself, the condition is starting to impact her daily routine. Normally able to get by on four or five hours sleep a night, now, as her body searches desperately for the resources to fight off the relentless invader, she is often exhausted before nine. Usually alert and remarkably perceptive, now she more and more lacks focus.

In his office, her physician won’t let it rest. His training and instincts tell him, even in the absence of hard evidence, that something is terribly wrong. He calls and informs her that he has scheduled a series of tests at Bethesda Naval Hospital.

“Impossible.” She laughs, though completely in earnest. “Unschedule them.”

She has fourteen months to live.