Scott Blakeman loved watching the reactions when he casually told new friends at house parties and barbecues that he had brain cancer.
He deployed it like a joke, deep into conversation, timed for the most comedic effect. It didn’t matter to him that he was usually the only one who thought the sudden, sputtering shock of it—that transition from light banter to morbid reality—was funny. He even nicknamed his cancer: Boomer the Tumor. (The smaller tumors that formed later were baby Boomers.)
As he lost some of his vision, tried numerous medications and radiation therapy, got dangerously thin, and had six surgeries in as many years, Scott was often laughing.
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