Seeing friends who are gone reappearing on stage and in print is as close to Heaven, or the Bardo, or the Rainbow Bridge, as I can get.
This year, I had to bribe myself to go for my mammogram—even though I know how critical it can be.
You could feel it build as the women performed. Audiences got transported to this strange club, suspended in disbelief, rooting for everybody to survive. But when the character Secret, written in homage to my late friend Sigrid, did her monologue, people realized they weren’t going to get a happy ending.
“club termina” gave me the chance to bring my lost friend back onstage for two hours a night. I needed that medicine—because we had both expected to survive, and that’s not what happened.
It’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And as a survivor, I have a lot to say about it.
Doctors don’t give good news in person on the eve of Yom Kippur. I was really scared.