October isn't the only month people are diagnosed with breast cancer. Give me five minutes and I'll give you a few tools to take you to superhero status.
Don’t spend your time worrying about the future or feeling badly about the past.
GPS for the Soul
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.
My first thought was my kids. Two pre-teen daughters. They were going to be without a mother. My first call was to my husband. My philandering husband.
It is important to understand this is an ongoing process but one that is definitely doable. It's also important to understand there will be some situations in life you will have no control over. The only thing you can control is your reaction to them.
I decided it was my turn to take control. Matt and I waited outside for the salon to open. At 9 a.m., I put one foot in front of the other and walked in, chin up. In my bravest voice, I said, "I'd like to get my head shaved. I have cancer."
We walked the snow covered streets of Boston with its seductive lights glistening across the wet pavement. We lived in our
Your mama was diagnosed with cancer one week before your second birthday. It was Stage IV lymphoma, and my PET scan lit up like a Christmas tree.
"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.
Of tantamount importance in the cancer lexicon is some acceptable name of a group of individuals who have been diagnosed with cancer. Far too frequently this nomenclature has been applied to, rather than derived of, this amazing group of folks.
Sometimes, cancer would stroll next to me, repeatedly kicking me, punching me, making me fall.I fell down a lot. Sometimes it was more like tripping over my feet. Sometimes I didn't know how to get up. Everyone I know who has gone through cancer has felt this.