Return to Wholeness

My Latest and Last Manuscript on Neuroendocrine Cervical Carcinomas

This was the hardest manuscript to write, yet the one I am most proud of. It’s also the one that made me feel closer to you than ever, Frumo.

You invited me to work on this piece while battling the relentless side effects of your ongoing immunotherapy. I still remember your words:
"I was invited to write this article. Do you want to write it with me… and when I say ‘we,’ it means you."

Of course, I said yes. I always loved writing "with" you.
Like so many of our moments, this one also revolved around food—a tradition we started after your cancer diagnosis. The simple question, "How are you?" evolved from the casual, automatic response of "I’m good," to a deeper, more meaningful exchange. We shared our fears, our expectations, and talked about possibilities—and yes, about the future.

You, being you, indulging in your unhealthy favorites, always with a Coke ("with no ice, please") while I fasted, something you appreciated because it meant you only had to buy me a black tea.

We planned the topics, we defined the message we wanted to convey, and I started writing. Everything was going well—until it wasn’t.

Your illness was progressing. The metastases grew in size and number. Treatment options shifted from aggressive interventions to palliative chemotherapy. And then, our last in-person meeting took place in the ICU. You were intubated and sedated, and so it became a monologue. But I promised you—I would finish it. I also told you it would be our last project together.

It was, by far, the hardest manuscript to write. It took the longest. But it is also the one I am most proud of because we wrote it together—even more together than any other project before.
There were moments when I wanted to change something, rewrite a section, or take a completely different approach than what we had originally planned. And every time I had that impulse, I looked outside the window. There, a beautiful Monarch butterfly danced—east to west, up and down—nonstop. Every time. That’s when I knew—you agreed. So I made the changes.

And now, here it is. The last one. The one that reflects what we knew, what we accomplished, and the future directions for research—work that others will now carry forward.

Thank you for your friendship, your mentorship, and for Naomi, who I adore and who continues to be such a wonderful presence in my life. And thank you for The Sisters—whose love, resilience, courage, and compassion have profoundly changed the way I see women, illness, western medicine, and grief.

So much so that now, I am shifting gears in my career—to work with women battling chronic illnesses, and to help physicians become their best selves, so they can support and accompany these women through their journeys with compassion and love.

I’m attaching three pictures to this post:
1. A screenshot of the article, along with a link to read it for free. https://authors.elsevier.com/a/1kYJT,NsLd2Lar
2. One of our many breakfasts together—the photo that represents you the most to me (Karen agreed when I shared it with her).
3. The framed picture that sits on my desk every day.
I love you to pieces. I miss you every day.
See you when my time comes.