It's been 5 years.

2000: My marriage was happy and we had an 11 year old son. I had a great contract with a fabulous manager and the money was rolling in. My volunteer activities were fulfilling. Stocks were up and business in general was booming.

But I had my very own Y2K problem. I had a suspicious test, did a biopsy that was not conclusive, had another biopsy. This played out over a series of months, at a time of my life where things had been great. I had cancer and my surgery was scheduled for August 2.

It's hard to convey how deeply it hits you when you hear the words that are something along the line of "I'm sorry to tell you this, but...".

I had a feeling this would be bad news, and that's why Bill (my husband) was with me. I had brought pen and paper, was ready to take notes.

Take notes, I did. Now ask me if they made any sense. The answer is no, they didn't. Once you hear the words, your mind races. Is this a simple procedure? Will it just be an excision? Will I have chemo and lose my hair? Will I lose my life? And the fact is that the way my mind works, I thought I could be a goner.

I'd had experiences with people who died of cancer including my mother and two of her sisters. Of course, reading the newspaper, I noted people my age who died of cancer.

There positive role models, too. My sisters were both survivors and I'd had friends and acquaintances who had also survived.

But in the moment of hearing those words "I'm sorry but..." my mind skipped all over the place to the people who'd lived and the ones who had died.

We left the office and went somewhere, I don't remember. I was shaky and scared and calm all at once. I was not ready to die.

One of the hardest parts was telling my family members. Looking at our son and telling him I had cancer, telling him I wouldn't die although I really didn’t feel 100% certain. Telling him that kids can't wish this on a parent so he should not feel guilty – that seemed to calm him. {Now I know what he’d been thinking!} I told him with certainty that I was going to die someday, but not now and not from this. Telling my sisters - that was really hard news to break over the phone. As both had survived their own bouts, they knew what I was up against.

I don't want to go into all the details here of what was done, decisions that were made, the treatments I had and what they were like. I did have surgery, chemo, know what I look like bald. I had two kinds of cancer, one of which was very aggressive so it's a good thing I was proactive in my exams and that I had really great doctors.

I think about it almost every day. Serious illness can be a gift. You have your priorities and material goods are not among them. Think about what is meaningful in life and appreciate it. My husband, son, family and friends are deeply loved and appreciated.

It makes you more fearless in the world. I take more chances in sharing information, just like I'm doing here.

Some people are not open about being survivors, and I understand their reasons. It can knock you out of contention in the workplace and some people will forever tilt their heads and look at you with great concern: "How are you feeling, really...?" And I assure them that I'm fine, and that's truly the case, but that doesn't matter, does it?

I’m aware and am angry as anyone could be that we are not further along with prevention, diagnosis and treatment. I’m impatient with our system of insurance that penalizes the patient for being ill. I’m sick over the needless loss of people who don’t have insurance or are without the resources to find and pay for good care.

Because this is a long subject, I’m going to post a separate note about a petition and lack of action by our government.

Over the years, I went frequently at first to my Oncologist. Then it went to every 3 months. Then every 4 months, then 6 months.

And on August 2, 2005, it was 5 years since my surgery. When I say “I’m glad to be here”, I mean it!

Five years is a magical number to cancer survivors.

Now I’m not “in remission”, I’m CURED!