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Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.
People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm.
The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who
invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox.
A fter my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind a nurse with a badge and I
got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die before I could tell her that I was going to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her
chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she
would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar.
A nurse guy came in and told me I had to leave, that visitors weren’t allowed, and I asked if she was doing okay, and the guy said, “She’s still taking on water.” A desert blessing, an ocean curse.
What else? She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is
fu
old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.
I do, A ugustus.
I do.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
T he aut hor w ould like t o acknow ledge:
T hat disease and it s t reat ment are t reat ed fict it iously in t his novel. For example, t here is no such t hing as Phalanxifor. I made it up, because I w ould like for it t o exist . Anyone seeking an act ual hist ory of cancer ought t o read T he Emperor of Al Maladies by Siddhart ha Mukherjee. I am also indebt ed t o T he Biology of Cancer by Robert A. W einberg, and t o Josh Sundquist , Marshal Urist , and Jo
Est her Earl, w hose life w as a gift t o me and t o many. I am grat eful also t o t he Earl family—Lori, W ayne, Abby, Angie, Grant , and Abe—for t heir generosit y and friendship. Inspired by Est her, t he Earls have founded a nonprofit , T his St ar W on’t Go Out , in her memory. Y ou can learn more at t sw go.org.
T he Dut ch Lit erat ure Foundat ion, for giving me t w o mont hs in Amst erdam t o w rit e. I’m part icularly grat eful t o Fleur van Koppen, Jean Crist ophe Boele van Hensbroek, Janet t a de W it h, Carlijn van Ravenst ein, Margje Scheepsma, and t he Dut ch nerdfight er communit y.
My edit or and publisher, Julie St rauss-Gabel, w ho st uck w it h t his st ory t hrough many years of t w ist s and t urns, as did an ext raordinary t eam at Penguin. Part icular t hanks t o Rosa
Ilene Cooper, my ment or and fairy godmot her.
My agent , Jodi Reamer, w hose sage counsel has saved me from count less disast ers.
Nerdfight ers, for being aw esome.
Cat it ude, for w ant ing not hing more t han t o make t he w orld suck less.
My brot her, Hank, w ho is my best friend and closest col aborat or.
My w ife, Sarah, w ho is not only t he great love of my life but also my first and most t rust ed reader. Also, t he baby, Henry, t o w hom she gave birt h. Furt hermore, my ow n parent s, Mike and Sydney Green, and parent s-in-law , Co
My friends Chris and Marina W at ers, w ho helped w it h t his st ory at vit al moment s, as did Joel en Hosler, Sha
P H O TO BY TO N KO E N E , 2009
JOHN GREENis an award-wi
John lives w it h his w ife and son in Indianapolis, Indiana.
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