My mother, who died at the age of 79, over 30 years ago. May she rest in peace. This is a photo of her in her 30s, taken in the 1940s.

The title of this blog refers to living well with a misdiagnosis. My mother was one of those “mistakes” that doctors make, and then bury. She had complained of stomach pain early in the year, and her general practitioner physician pooh-poohed it as remnants of stomach flu or some such thing, instead of ruling out the worst case scenario and following a logical path to an accurate diagnosis. By the time she was actually diagnosed and real doctors were able to take a look, the pancreatic cancer was too advanced to treat, and passed away a few months later in great pain that even heavy doses of morphine were unable to mitigate. At her funeral gathering we sang her favorite church hymn: I Sing A Song Of The Saints of God