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The night before I had brain surgery, the telephone rang and my friend Bennett handed it to me. I looked at the phone and I said, "What is it?"
"It's a phone, Chelsea," he said.
"What do I do with it?"
"Talk into it."
This was in New York, in 1999, and two weeks earlier, I had been diagnosed with a brain tumor the size of my fist. As a trapeze artist, I had always been incredibly in touch with my body. My act required me to swing and balance in a choreographed performance that had more in common with Les Sylphides than Barnum & Bailey. I could hang from a bar by a single foot or dive off backward and catch myself by the ankles, and ...