My friend has cancer.
He and his sister were diagnosed with the disease in 2016.
My friend was a fan of her work.
But in the last month, he’s started to feel worse.
He’s had more frequent headaches, dizziness and nausea.
He has had a bad stomach ache.
And his breathing has gotten harder.
He can’t stand up or walk for long periods.
His lungs are swelling up and he’s losing blood.
When he’s out of the hospital, he can’t do any kind of physical activity.
My mother-in-law, who has breast cancer, told me she has been seeing the same doctor for months.
I can’t imagine what he’s going through.
I know my friend’s health is very fragile, but my friend and his family have the power to stop him from going through this.
We’re talking about a young woman who had a hard childhood and went to great lengths to get her life back on track.
But now, his health has deteriorated beyond repair.
What I’ve seen in the news this week is just the tip of the iceberg.
My friends and I are just the first of a growing list of people whose health is in the crosshairs of cancer.
Cancer is a devastating disease that has no easy cures, but it does have one powerful tool: its power to kill.
It is a disease that kills its victims with an unrelenting assault on their most basic human instincts.
In other words, cancer is the deadliest disease on the planet, and it is the most lethal to its victims.
And it is killing more people than the world has ever seen.
As a result, it has become a new form of warfare, the very embodiment of death and destruction.
But the question is, what is the best way to stop this disease from becoming a new and terrible weapon of war?
We’ve come to understand that the answer to this question lies in the art that people create, the art they paint, and the art the world watches.
And the best art is made with compassion and love.
So let’s take a look at what artists are doing to stop the spread of cancer through art.
We’ll start with an artist who is already a survivor.
My mom-inlaw and I both had a traumatic childhood, when my father-in and I lived in an isolated, poor neighborhood in rural Texas.
I remember one day my father said to me, “Don’t worry about the kids.
You can take care of yourself.”
I didn’t believe him.
I wanted to believe him too, but he said it in such a way that I couldn’t.
I had been bullied in elementary school.
I was a tomboy who hated everything about boys and wanted to be a tomboyle.
So I went to a Christian church with my older sister.
At the end of the service, I was crying, and I was so scared.
I knew that if I ever cried again, that I would be a suicide risk.
And so I prayed to God for help.
When I prayed, he appeared in front of me.
He was dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt, and he looked like a demon.
I looked at him and said, “You’re the devil.”
And he said, in his voice, “I am.”
The next day, my mother- in-law and sister were murdered by two white men in the parking lot of a local gas station.
My brother was there when the car went by.
When my mother called the police, they were waiting outside.
They told my mother to turn around, but I didn