Grief as my guide: How my sister made me a better doctor

The razor had a familiar thrum. Only this time, I wasn’t the one doing the shaving. I was watching as my sister’s remaining hair fell away. She was putting on a brave face, joking with the hairdresser. Her defiant look said: “Leukemia’s not going to get me.” But in her eyes, I also saw terror. I wanted to rescue her, but there was nothing I could do.