On the day before my sister Julie died, I lay down on her bed and held her gingerly in my arms, afraid that any pressure would hurt her. She had lost so much weight that she looked like a stick figure I might have drawn when we were kids. As her body had wasted, her tumors had grown – now several of them bigger than baseballs. Her abdomen looked like the lunar landscape, with protrusions everywhere, the sources of her pain plainly visible.