What do you mean I have cancer? I suddenly feel like I've slipped into a hidden well, that lurked beneath the tall grass and broken branches as I walked along the edge of that little farmhouse I owned years ago in Canterbury, New Hampshire. The house that we used to live in some twenty years ago and the house that I cried about when we left it and moved back to Maine. There was a well that we found one day as we cleaned the perimeter of woods that fenced the huge back yard. An old hand-dug well that hadn't been used since the property farmed cows, chickens and pigs. And innocently as I skipped through the flying fuzz and floating butterflies, I suddenly landed foot first into the deep and dark dirt that sank at least fifty feet below the surface of the earth. And today I've fallen into it. Not just one of my feet has slipped but both of them have fallen through the broken, rotten wooden covering that lays across the opening of the deep, moldy well. And it smells like decay. There is decay all around me. The earth is rotten and it is thick and it is dark. And I'm falling. I'm falling deeper and deeper into the well and I'm screaming for help and I don't even know why This is my story. It's a story about coping, understanding, and accepting.