Before the Milk Spoils - Surviving the Drain is Just the Beginning

When I was diagnosed with cancer in 1999 at the flighty age of 19, I always thought that survival was the "happily ever after" ending I was supposed to strive for. Twelve and a half years later, I know better.

While battling cancer for 5 years, enduring many surgeries and finding the delicate balance between health and happiness was certainly the struggle of my life, the battle really began the day I was told I was cancer-free.

Sounds crazy, right? Perhaps, but it's true. You suddenly know firsthand how much you stand to lose, you worry about a re-occurrence and you begin your mission to make a difference in the world. After all, who wants their funeral to be full of people attending only out of obligation? (My biggest issue)

The more time that passes, these fears/goals/obsessions become more mild but they are forever rooted in our psyche. I will catch myself on occasion getting teary-eyed while looking at my sons. I have so much more to lose now than I did as a single, childless 19-year-old. The "what ifs" continue to haunt me.

I'm reminded of this side of cancer on days like today; the side nobody speaks of because we're programmed to merely express gratitude for surviving. An oncologist friend of mine and fellow cancer survivor found out he has the advanced stages of esophageal cancer recently. A man who has a beautiful wife and children, dedicates his career to helping those with cancer, regularly supports the American Cancer Society, conducts mission trips to Haiti and makes an immensely positive impact in the world. All the things we're supposed to do following the "happily ever after" ending of cancer survival, right?

Except, it doesn't seem so RIGHT. In fact, it seems so backwards that it makes my head spin. I'm a street corner hope-pusher and a firm believer in a positive outlook but the reality is that sometimes ignorance IS bliss. Before a cancer diagnosis, we live freely (although frivolously) but without the reality of an unknown expiration date. After a cancer diagnosis, we are like that borderline jug of milk that you have to sniff a few times, wondering if it's still good or if it's ready to dispose down the drain.

I guess all I can do is hope we complement one more bowl of Cheerios or provide one more splash in a warm cup of coffee. But, I'm lactose intolerant. Kind of ironic.

The Sword Gets a Freebie - Take a Swipe at My Pen!

I have terribly neglected this blog over the past few months. Talk about an oxymoron. I focus greatly on my clients, their needs and goals that sometimes my own endeavors get put on the back burner. Shame on me. (In my best scolding voice.)

I just returned from a weekend writing conference with the Florida Writers Association which obviously lit a fire under my blog-slacking behind. It is refreshing to occasionally converse with those who are talented, arrogant, humbled, facetious, self-centered, terrified and gracious...much like the rest of society...except that they are also creative nuts much like myself.

I engulfed myself in workshops and networking, Chardonnay and truckloads of food, and left a bit richer in knowledge, friendships and lessons in the art of self-sacrifice. I watched the expressions on the faces of my fellow Friends In Pens as they received awards, were honored for their achievements and applauded for astounding performances.

You see, writing is the ultimate self-sacrifice. You bear emotions you wouldn't express to your closest friend, you risk rejection from complete strangers whose approval you desperately seek and strive to make some sort of profound difference in a world full of mediocrity.

And while Edward Bulwer-Lytton whispers, "The pen is mightier than the sword," in my tone-deaf ear, I can't help but wonder if a good swipe by the blade at our rejection-ridden, critique-giving, pen-toting asses is just what we need sometimes to keep us on track.

I'm appreciative of my battle wound this weekend. My pen is stronger than ever.