She shook her head no, and then took a deep breath before answering. “I was raped when I was 13. Friend of my parents. I guess I suppressed it for 30 years … until I was treated for leukemia. And then it all came out.”

It wasn’t the first time patients have told me that having a life-threatening diagnosis like leukemia roused some past demons, or made them see their relationships in a different light. For some, dodging the bullet of leukemia made them cherish their partner and their parents and children even more. For others, with a second lease on life, they realized that they didn’t want to squander the opportunity with someone they really didn’t get along with, and divorce often resulted, or a rift with other relatives.

“What an awful thing to happen,” I told her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t pick up on it.” I blamed myself for not noticing her sadness. I know that patients often put on their best face for me, and try to see beyond that facade. But I missed it with her.

“Hey doc, don’t beat yourself up over it. I didn’t notice it either,” her husband said, taking her hand in his.

She chuckled. “Even though I was calm on the outside, I was screaming bloody murder on the inside. I kept thinking, ‘I shouldn’t feel this way. I should feel grateful for being alive two years from my diagnosis, when others aren’t.’ But the feeling wouldn’t go away.”

“Are you getting help for your depression?” I asked her.

“Oh yeah. For a while. When I started counseling, they told me it would feel like they were sticking a knife into my soul and slowly pulling it out. And it did,” she said, shaking her head with the memory.

“How are you doing now?” I asked, softly.

She smiled at me and took my hand. “I’m fine now. I’m really good. “ She met my eyes to make sure I believed her. “I’m O.K. now.”