Had I asked if she thought she inhabited her own body when we met a decade ago, she would have said yes without any hesitation. She’d done years of therapy and had just written a play, The Good Body, all about women’s relationships with their bodies. But when Ensler began passing blood five years ago, and her stomach distended, and she suffered terrible indigestion, and felt nauseous, she decided not to pay attention. By the time she finally saw a doctor, cancer had spread. It was stage III, nudging stage IV, and the odds of her surviving were bleak. How could she of all people have ignored what her body was telling her?