Nothing to do with ovarian cancer, other than through my attachment to the Mojave Desert and my concern about taking water from one place to serve a highly-populated other place.
From a blog I wrote 3 1/2 years ago, from my hotel in Ridgecrest, CA when on assignment there:
There is something about the Mojave Desert. There are those who look out across the vastness--glaringly pale sand dotted with tumbleweed and creosote bushes--and see nothing. Others see opportunity -- a cistern here, an irrigation system there, and voila! A circular field of alfalfa, a housing development, a weapons testing range. Some have an affinity with the austerity of the desert, or are in awe of the stark contours of mountain ranges and rock outcroppings, or are fascinated by the history of the Shoshoni populations who decorated the Coso range with petroglyphs.
That's all well and good. My relationship with the lands that lie within Indian Wells Valley is less noble or ambitious. This is where I made my first friend, where I started school, where I framed out ambiguous relationships with my sister and brother, where I saw my first fireworks while trembling with fear on the roof of our prefab duplex, where I learned to ride a bike, swim, bowl, and read. Where I first went horseback riding. Where I hiked with a friend up B Mountain. Where I had my first boyfriend, and then, after he broke up with me, my second. Where I learned to square dance, went with my brother to stamp collectors' meetings, and played Murder-in-the-Dark with him and his friends on hot summer evenings. This was my foundation.
Somehow it seems wrong to take what little bit of water exists under that bone-dry landscape. Is it crazy to think this?