I was going through my purse cleaning out receipts and such, when I came across a little slip of paper with my handwriting. I realized that I had written it last April while sitting in a doctor’s office. Sometimes things run through my brain while I’m out that strike me as odd or memorable, and I jot them down on some minuscule scrap of paper for later reference. On this particular day, I was getting an iron infusion for chronic low-grade anemia in hopes of boosting my endurance for half-marathon training. What struck me as ironic and prompted me to put it in words was as the fact that this was an oncologist’s office. He was one of the few doctors open-minded enough to consider IV iron for someone not severely anemic. So here I was with a room full of chemotherapy patients, all of us with our various IV bags dripping while gazing out the window on the spring flowers. I could tell by the puzzled faces that the regulars were struggling to figure out what kind of new cutting-edge chemo drug I was getting. My bag was different from everyone else’s. I remember feeling like a fish out of water that day and being so grateful that this was not my life. Thank God I was healthy enough to run and never had to come back to this place. Only, I would come back to another place just like this one a short year later, and this time I would be one of them, my bag slowly dripping poison into my veins, my world upside down. This is where my story begins….