An exercise in uncertainty A memoir of illness and hope

It seemed innocuous at the time. Healthy, 37 years old, journalist Gluck slipped on some ice and twisted his hip in 2002. About a year later, lingering pain prompted his visit to a doctor, and an MRI scan revealed a tumor. The diagnosis was multiple myeloma, a relatively rare cancer from malignant plasma cells in bone marrow. Gluck chronicles his transformation into a "cancer zombie," a person "permanently half sick and half well." His treatments included targeted radiation therapy, chemotherapy, and immunotherapy. "Because cancer is a nuclear bomb, not a conventional weapon, the fallout is widespread," Gluck writes. Adverse effects both physical and emotional arise from the myeloma and its treatment. He eloquently communicates his fear, self-pity, "catastrophizing," frustrating hassles with medical insurance, and chronic sense of uncertainty because of his condition. He also embraces the love, joy, and sense of accomplishment associated with his two children, his professional writing career, and the sport of fly-fishing. As a cancer survivor, Gluck believes he is still alive "because of science," but he emphasizes the immeasurable value of hope.

Former New York magazine deputy editor Gluck highlights his experiences as a cancer survivor in this touching debut. In 2003, a 38-year-old Gluck learned he had multiple myeloma, a "rare and incurable bone marrow malignancy," and was told he had at most three years to live. (Doctors only detected the disease because Gluck asked for an MRI after slipping on ice outside of his office.) A new father, Gluck suddenly found his days revolving around Kafkaesque attempts to navigate health insurance and to schedule tests. All the while, he continued to beat the odds, and he credits the fact that he's still alive today to his early detection of the myeloma. Gluck offers sharp reflections about the taxing uncertainty of life in remission, candidly recounting fights with his wife about her stoicism ("What kind of person doesn't dissolve into a puddle of tears or break down when their spouse is diagnosed with cancer?") and acknowledging that, given his cancer's incurability, he "feels as though I'm locked in a basement that's slowly filling with water." His love of fly-fishing (it "may not be my church or my therapy, but I began to use it for similar purposes") offers welcome levity. Readers grappling with difficult diagnoses--for themselves or their loved ones--will find Gluck's perspective refreshing. Agent: Daniel Greenberg, Levine Greenberg Rostan. (June)