Told in a series of letters to family and friends, the story contrasts the glitzy world of Hollywood and film making with the grim reality of serious illness and its effect on family relationships.
Although the subject is sombre, this is not a gloomy book.
How could you be going along just fine one day, getting married, getting pregnant, cooking a little spaghetti, watching 'Wheel of Fortune' on the couch with your husband, etc etc, and the very next you're someone who has spinal taps and bone marrow biopsies every Wednesday and Friday? Where's the transition? It's irrational, but I keep feeling there must be a higher level of management we haven't talked to where we could get some satisfaction. There must be one somewhere.