The year was 2006 and I was living in southwest Virginia. I had lost 30 or so pounds over the previous few months — chemotherapy will do that to you. My cancer treatments left me, weirdly, both listless and tired, and often unable to sleep. Though I was confident I would be okay (my oncologist told me that, in their more macabre and honest moments, doctors call Hodgkins’ lymphoma the “good cancer” because it has a very high cure rate. Nevertheless, I began putting together a mental bucket-list. On that list back then, and still on that list now, was “fly on a private jet.
Losing Well: A Look Back to 2006 when the Falcons met the Steelers in Atlanta
