If I could go back in time, I would not repeat my journey with breast cancer. I would choose a different path -- one free of disease and treatment and the fear that comes with it all. I would choose the route where my children would never hear me say, "mommy has cancer." The route where there would be less worry about dying, less worry about how my kids would do without me, less worry about how all my loose ends would be tied up without me here to tie them. I would choose another direction in a heartbeat. But there are some things I do treasure about my trip down breast cancer lane -- some things I do not wish to give back, even if given the chance to choose a different path. They are the hidden treasures I discovered along the way, in the midst of a harrowing, sometimes horrendous battle. There are many treasures that have come my way -- and I'm sure there are more to come. Here are seven of my valuable finds.


Hair. My greatest cancer fear -- losing my hair -- was realized when chemotherapy took my long, blond, straight hair and left me with a bald head and some light fuzz scattered here and there. My hair came back -- but I now have dark, curly hair. I always wished for curls and spent many years and lots of money on perms to temporarily curl my locks. So now my wish has come true and although it's still quite shocking to look at myself in the mirror, I really do like my hair.

Counseling. I have uncovered the healing value of counseling -- and the comfort and peace that comes from talking with someone who knows me only because of my cancer. My once-weekly and now-monthly mental health visits keep me on track as I move forward as a breast cancer survivor. And counseling helps me in other areas of my life too. I have talked about parenting and family issues and have gathered some priceless tools for making decisions, balancing priorities, and managing my world.

Fitness. I am in better shape now than I have ever been -- because cancer made me feel weak and tired and I was not content allowing this to linger. I have always walked for exercise, have never been an overeater, and always thought I was doing the best I could do. Until I found a fitness trainer and starting lifting weights and challenging myself physically. Now I can actually see definition in my arms and legs, I feel stronger and tighter, and I know my workouts contribute to better overall health.

Writing. Cancer has led me back to my love for writing. I began my college career more than 15 years ago as a journalism major. But the tides changed and I coasted toward other interests and I ultimately pursued a graduate degree in counselor education. When cancer struck, I began a blog that became my mode of communication for family and friends and later my therapeutic release. Blogging turned into offers to write for pay -- like I am doing now -- and I find that this is really what I want to be doing long-term.

Giving. Receiving support and help and motivation and wisdom and financial assistance and gifts has made me want to share all this in return. So I give to charities when I once would refuse any involvement. I raise money for events that benefit cancer research. I help others who follow in my path and offer whatever wisdom I think might soothe their souls. The least I can do is spread the same hope that was shared with me.

Moments. Cancer has given me the ability to cherish my moments -- the moments with little boys who dance around the living room without a care in the world and swim in the neighborhood pool, proud of their every jump and plunge and twist and turn in the water. These are the moments I don't want to lose. And realizing I could lose them makes me treasure them even more.

Contentment. I was born a perfectionist, a Type A personality. My mom remembers my cries about crooked pony-tails and my refusal to go to school until my hair was just perfect. My house has always been clean and neat, my drawers and cabinets organized, my chores and tasks outlined in writing every day. And I still have these tendencies -- but I don't fret about them so much and I am able to let go more. I am content to leave the house with toys scattered all over the floor and dishes in the sink and laundry wrinkling in the dryer. I might not prefer this arrangement at first but I forget about it, don't stress about it, and find that contentment does not come from how well my stuff is ordered. It comes from the precious moments that I might miss if I was instead tending to the details that in the whole scheme of things, don't really matter.

Cancer doesn't necessarily make me happy. It makes me sad and worried and scared and overwhelmed. But it has done some good too. And I am thankful for that.