from a year ago, or 2 or 3 years ago, and wonder, “Was the tumor growing in me then?”

What about then?

What about then?

It gives me an odd, even eerie, sensation to look at photos of some of my happiest moments of the last few years, and to think that this nasty little fucker might have been there silently growing inside me. It’s like suddenly finding out that I got photobombed, but on the inside, and the photobomber is this loathsome growth trying to take over my body. Those joyful times are still as joyful, and the memories just as piquant. It’s just that now I look at the pictures, and I can’t help staring at my abdomen, wondering if that little fucker is there.
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