I’m a retired physician and empty nester. Basically, a woman with degrees, hot flashes, and a deep commitment to self-deprecation. Wanting to write essays about life’s interruptions, I imagined blogging was a lot like journaling — except with fonts and public humiliation. The spirited internal debate between my psyche and me lasted years. I was terrified of what people would think. Should I post? Would it be good enough? Would it be meaningful? Unexpectedly, life threw me a plot twist. I was diagnosed with cancer. Melanoma. Gut-punched, I couldn’t breathe, let alone move. My fears pivoted from trivial concerns about others’ opinions to that of my own survival. Timelines became…