I’ve stopped trying to define how the New York Times defines “love,” modern or otherwise. Cause it’s conspicuously absent from the latest “Modern Love” essay, ” The Kindness, and Xanax, of Strangers .” Or is it?! Don’t get me wrong: this is an interesting piece. It’s the account of a scientist’s breast cancer relapse, and it’s brisk, mordant and absorbing. I had a fresh case, in my previously unscathed breast. The new occurrence was local, meaning no multiple surgeries, no chemotherapy. This time I had the very best form of breast cancer.
