July 28. Annual checkup at the doctor. There is nothing wrong with me. I run eighteen miles every week and I drink less. My blood pressure is normal and my diet is balanced. A perfect patient. But I’m getting tested for all the usual kinds of cancer, and it is almost certain: someday one of those tests will hit. One day the doctor will say something serious, and the good days will turn into bad days. But I will learn from J: Her days have been bad for decades, and she doesn’t accept it.