“Well, there we have the truth about cancer in a few words; or, anyway, a good part of the truth. Up to twenty years ago or so, cancer was practically incurable. It always returned after operation. That was because the surgeon thought he needed only to cut out the cancer. Now he knows better; he knows that he must cut out all the tissue and the glands around the obvious cancer, and thus get the root of the growth out of the system.”
“And that cures?” asked Mrs. Clyde.
“In a great majority of cases, if it is done early enough.” The Health Master dropped his book and beat time with an emphatic forefinger to his concluding words.
“But Agnes Westerly’s is cancer of the breast,” said Mrs. Clyde, as if that clinched the case against the patient.
“Just about the most favorable locality.”
“I thought it was the worst.”
“Where on earth do intelligent women collect their superstitions about cancer?” cried Dr. Strong. “Carcinoma of the breast is the commonest form among women, and the easiest to handle. Show me a case in the first stages and, with a good surgical hospital at hand, I’d almost guarantee recovery. It’s simply a question of removing the entire breast, and sometimes the adjacent glands. Ninety per cent of the early cases should get well.”
“But the operation itself is so terrible,” shuddered Mrs. Clyde.
“Terrible? Unpleasant, I’ll admit. But if you mean terrible in the sense of dangerous, or even serious, you’re far wrong again. The percentage of mortality from the operation itself is negligible. But the percentage of mortality without operation is 100 out of 100. So the choice is an easy one.”
“They seem to hold out little hope for Agnes Westerly.”