In a remarkable memoir, 5 Months, 10 Years, 2 Hours, Lisa Reisman writes about her diagnosis of glioblastoma, her treatment and her survival. She was 32 at the time, a lawyer who quit her job and planned to get a lipstick-red convertible and tool around the country. Instead, she got cancer.
I asked God for a year. OK, truthfully, I begged for 10. Because I wanted to be your father for as long as possible, until each of you became adults. It was a begging rooted in my personal desire to see each of you grow up. Mature. And step into life. That's why today is rather special.
I've realized that it's more important to be myself than it is to be positive. And as a result, when I am positive, it is genuine and authentic.
"It’s still up and down," Callie Blackwell told the outlet. "It’s on the up and I am so scared to get too excited in case
As they waltzed around, locked in an embrace, looking at each other lovingly, they seemed to be sharing a bond that few of the rest of us could ever know or understand. Related by shared bone marrow and white blood cells, they danced the wedding's first special dance together.
Besides being a reporter, Wadler, who pens the "I Was Misinformed" column for the New York Times, is one of the best humorists around. Wise-cracking is both how she communicates and how she copes.
As I reflect on the one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, I don't really know how to feel or how to make sense of it. I survived it. I remember it every day, and will always live with the aftermath of it. Still, I must keep moving forward.
The estimations are based on data from the Surveillance, Epidemiology and End Results Program and the U.S. Census Bureau
My father is now a long-term survivor who has completely defied the conventional wisdom about his disease. He has survived for seven years: seven years living with a disease whose five-year survival rate for the most favorable patient class is a dismal 14 percent.
Just like for rock-climbing, I have the build for "quadstepping," my term for walking with crutches. I can even tweak the verb for related activities, like "tristepping" if I go non-weight-bearing; "quadsquashing" if I pole-crush bugs; or "quadfleeing" if I leave the scene of a crime.