The Luck of the Draw

The Luck of the Draw
Through the unlikeliest of circumstances, I found myself in a first-class seat on a flight to Guatemala this week. They actually served warm almonds in fine china. I enjoyed mine with a glass of red wine and marveled at my glimpse of how the other half lives. It didn’t hurt that the flight attendant was so good looking that he probably moonlights at GQ magazine. David, if you’re reading this, thank you for the excellent service. I didn’t have to pay extra for the first-class seat; it was a fluke of circumstances, and I had an I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-to-me feeling, which these days is always magnified. Breast cancer has a way of doing that. I know I’m lucky to be alive, much less sipping wine in an extra-wide seat on an airplane. Five years ago, an oncologist told me I had three months to live. My daughter had just turned 10 and my husband didn’t know how to find — let alone heat up — the lasagne I left for him in the refrigerator. How could it be my time to say goodbye? It’s hard to believe that instead of being dead, I’ll be delivering humanitarian aid to an impoverished village called Peña Blanca, a rural enclave of about 300 people where most subsist on a dollar a
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