Not too many years ago, I got breast cancer. I call it chance, coincidence, fate and on some days, even luck. For today's purposes, I'll call it foreshadowing.

I didn't know it then -- way back in 1993 when I did a genogram project in grad school for a counseling class -- but it seems cancer was in my cards. I hinted at the possibility in my research paper and commented on how my family history might put me in the direct line of fire. But my suspicions in no way caused me any worry for the 10 plus years that followed. And still, even after my breast cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatment, I didn't remember I'd predicted this might happen to me. Not until I pulled my yellowed, faded assignment from an old box in the garage a few days ago did I realize it's not all that odd that cancer headed right for me.

A genogram is a graphic representation of a family tree that displays detailed data on relationships among individuals. It contains names, genders, birth dates, death dates, levels of education, occupations, major life events, and chronic illness. It's not uncommon to find on a genogram patterns of alcoholism, depression, divorce, remarriage, and yes, cancer.

In the paper that accompanied my graphical display, I wrote about my paternal grandmother, my paternal grandfather, my paternal great-grandmother, a paternal cousin, and my maternal great-grandmother. They all died of cancer. I noted in one brief sentence the likelihood of this cancer lineage increasing my risk of developing the disease.

"Yep, you should look at the health issues in your family tree," my professor wrote on my paper in bright blue ink. "Scary, but important nonetheless."

I considered the issues -- for a moment or two -- and then I packed that paper away and completely forgot I'd mentioned this frightening family trend. I kind of like that it happened this way. I didn't ever worry about cancer, didn't fear it coming to get me, and never slowed down as I continued on in school, graduated, got married, traveled, worked, and had kids. Waiting for the disease to sneak up on me would have accomplished nothing. Instead, I lived.

Cancer eventually snuck up on me. I found it. I fought it. Now it's gone. And here sits my genogram in front of me, written in December 1993, foreshadowing the cancer that invaded my left breast in November 2004.

Interesting how life happens, how it unfolds and unravels and then keeps on going. And so in the spirit of life, it's time for me to keep on going. Time to pack that paper back in its box. Time to keep living.