For writers everything is copy.
However, my left breast has not been copy for me. At least not since about 10 days ago when the radiologist looked at the ultrasound and said, "There's been a change. Look at it here." The technician stiffened. That scared me.
Somehow I didn't have an immediate meltdown. I did look. Sure enough, there was a large area of tissue which appeared significantly different from what surrounded it.
Six months ago, I went through a biopsy. The medical team very professionally informed me that the clustering of breast and colon cancers tends to run in families. It ran in mine. I assumed that I was a goner. Then the results were negative. Euphoria would be an understatement.
Now this. On Friday I went through another biopsy at Yale Medical Center. The doctor, nurse, and technician were both efficient and warm. They were geniuses at getting the patient to relax during the procedure by talking. Of course, they seemed quite engrossed in hearing about how ghostwriters operate. I chatted up a storm. In no time, the deed was done.
On Wednesday, I hear the "verdict." I am also a legal writer. Although I didn't write about this ordeal, I did tweet about it. That tweet, as do all my tweets, migrated to my Facebook page.
One colleague and two school chums from our alma mater Seton Hill, Greensburg, Pennsylvania contacted me. Social networks are bringing a kind of comfort which only writing once could, at least for me. Awesome. That could mean that Everyman and Everywoman can derive from social networks the same emotional benefits we writers do from deconstructing, organizing, and then force-fitting language on our experience.
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