In the Spring or Fall between the years of 1949 and 1951, I was a young teenager crossing Park Avenue at the corner of St. Joseph Blvd. in Montreal. I was crossing on a green light.
A Veterans Taxi turning from west to north on that green light struck me and knocked me to the pavement.
The driver stopped a few yards away, opened his door, saw me get up and fled.
I was able to walk home but a lump developed in my right arm where his rear view mirror had hit me. My mother feared it could be cancer. From that day on, my life was forever changed. I have feared cancer since the day my mother mentioned the word. For years, I lived in fear that the lump would become cancer. I went for regular check-ups but the surgeon refused to removed the lump from the arm of a young girl.
In 1993, I found a lump in my breast and I have been fighting cancer ever since.
Today, I was wondering if that taxi driver ever confessed to anyone the crime that changed my life forever.
A Veterans Taxi turning from west to north on that green light struck me and knocked me to the pavement.
The driver stopped a few yards away, opened his door, saw me get up and fled.
I was able to walk home but a lump developed in my right arm where his rear view mirror had hit me. My mother feared it could be cancer. From that day on, my life was forever changed. I have feared cancer since the day my mother mentioned the word. For years, I lived in fear that the lump would become cancer. I went for regular check-ups but the surgeon refused to removed the lump from the arm of a young girl.
In 1993, I found a lump in my breast and I have been fighting cancer ever since.
Today, I was wondering if that taxi driver ever confessed to anyone the crime that changed my life forever.
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