No, seriously, this is damned special.
Eleven years ago, my great and good friend (and award-winning SF writer) Pat Cadigan was diagnosed with recurrent endometrial cancer. If you look that up, the prognosis sucks.
That was eleven years ago.
Yesterday, her oncologist told her she was cancer free.
Which is the most awesome thing ever in the history of awesome. This is the kind of thing that would make me want to go out in the backyard and fire off a full magazine from my AK-47 (with the shoulder thing that goes up) in celebration, except I think that would hurt Pat’s feelings.
It’s nice to know that Pat’s going to live forever: I figure at this point, she’s frightened Death enough that she, and anybody geographically close to her, is probably safe from the Grim Reaper.