There's this guy. His name is Matthew Zachary. He's a cancer survivor, a motivational speaker, a concert pianist, and the founder of a resource portal for young adults surviving cancer.

Steps for Living, Inc. -- also known as I'm too young for this -- was created by Zachary because he wants us all to know there are awesome cancer support services out there for adolescents and young adults. He means really awesome opportunities -- like spa retreats, online forums and blogs, social networking, camping excursions, fertility education, peer counseling, financial scholarships, and more.

You may be too young for cancer, but you are not alone, says Zachary whose mantra is Get Busy Living. And this is exactly what he is doing, despite challenges and setbacks in his own cancer recovery.

Think about this, an e-mail written by Zachary for those near and dear to his heart:

I am writing to share that I have suddenly gone deaf in my left ear. The condition is called Sudden Sensory Neural Hearing Loss.

After consulting with the country's best hearing experts as well as my oncologist, it has been determined that this is unequivocally a latent, long-term side effect of my post-operative cancer treatments from eleven years ago. Evidently, the excessive radiation dosages to the left hemisphere of my brain have caused irreparable neurological damage to my cochlea, which has ceased functioning.

There may be options (cochlear implants) but I will not know more for several weeks. As you can imagine, this is a devastating blow to my personal life and music career, especially since I remember fighting so hard to regain dexterity and muscle control in my left hand when it ceased functioning prior to my initial diagnosis in 1995.

That said, it has only reinvigorated me to stay the course and continue to advocate on behalf of the more than 500,000 young adults living with, through and beyond cancer each and every year. Now more than ever, I stress the importance of recognizing that remission is not a cure and that public awareness and adequate funding for adolescent and young adult cancer survivorship programming is tantamount to that of cancer research.

This is what it means to be a cancer survivor.

To read more about Zachary's powerful journey, click here for an unbelievably moving essay -- titled The Cost Of Living: No Cure For Cancer -- written by this unbelievably grounded guy.

My sister recently ran into the surgeon who removed my breast cancer tumor almost two years ago -- on December 3, 2004. He asked my sister how I was doing, recalled the unprecedented rash I developed from the latex and Tegaderm tape used during my lumpectomy, and then talked about how terribly busy he has been.

This surgeon -- who spends countless clinic hours with women whose breasts are somehow diseased and then spends day after day in operating rooms trying to remedy these diseases -- said he is amazed and at how many breast cancer cases are consuming his time. It's sad -- the amount of women showing up with breast cancer -- but there is a silver lining to this cancer cloud, because according to this surgeon, the vast majority of these breast cancer cases are early stage. This means they were caught swiftly and quickly. And for the women behind these cases, there is a good chance of long-term survival.

And so maybe all the pink and all the press surrounding breast cancer is working. Maybe it's inspiring women to pursue self-breast exams, clinical exams, mammography, and other screening options. Maybe all the persistence and passion about breast cancer is the reason for this early detection -- the key to a good prognosis.

My surgeon closed his chat with my sister by telling her to call him if anyone in our family ever needs anything. But he told her he hopes he never has to hear from us. My sentiments exactly.

My port -- that thing that pops up from under the skin on my collarbone, that thing that by default stays in place because I can't decide whether or not to remove it -- is now officially in maintenance mode, now that my treatment for breast cancer is complete. My last Herceptin infusion was on June 28. And my first port flush was today. For as long as I keep my port -- and for as long as it has no real use -- I must have it flushed one time each month. So today, I strolled into the cancer infusion center where I've spent many hours and this time spent just a few minutes -- enough time for my usual chemo nurse to puncture the skin on top of my port, push through a rather large needle, and inject a dose of blood thinner into the lines of the port to keep clots away. The whole procedure was harmless, painless, no big deal at all. And I will return one month from today for a repeat performance.

One day these once-a-month visits may become a hassle. After all, I have to find a place for this appointment in my already-busy schedule and find childcare for my kids and find a place to park. I have to numb my port and endure a needle stick and sometimes fight traffic to get home. And the whole trip to and from the cancer center takes longer than the procedure itself. Clearly, this may be a waste of time for a port I don't even need right now. But at the moment, this visit is just what I need while I sort out the details of my post-treatment world. I need to go back to the infusion center. I need the comfort of the drive. I need to feel part of the chemo community. I need medical people swirling around me. I need a bit of hand holding. For now anyway.

I received a comment today on my Sunday Seven post about how inspiring sentiments help me survive. The comment was from a women who is surviving lung cancer and she asked a question to all readers really -- when will the fear of recurrence ever go away? How do you out there deal with it? So I replied to her private e-mail address and shared my thoughts about fear and recurrence and how I deal with these issues as a cancer survivor. She replied and wrote, your e-mail was so uplifting. I think I just found you on a really bad day and I am thankful that I did. And so I realized that maybe I should not limit my thoughts to just one person when others are surely in her same boat -- my same boat. So here is what I wrote to this one reader who -- like so many others on my journey -- has helped me by allowing me the chance to help her.

Just want to say that I think you are already dealing with the fear-of-recurrence thing because you have been surviving for as long as you have been traveling this bumpy road. So while you survive, you just need to live each day like it's your last and fight for your life at the same time. Someone once told me to think of cancer as a chronic condition -- something we will live with for the rest of your lives. And we just keep treating it, wherever it pops up. And the longer we survive, the more resources there are to help us survive even longer. As for getting through each day, I recommend counseling (I go once per month but at one time I went each week). I also take an anti-depressant (Zoloft) which I do not push on anyone, but for me, it has helped. I went to my oncologist one day and asked him how to live peacefully without worrying constantly that cancer is coming back to haunt me -- he said many cancer patients take anti-depressants to take the edge off so I began the drug and began counseling too. Neither completely take away the fear -- but they help me manage and that's all I can ask for. I also have two little boys who keep me busy and distracted from feeling sorry for myself. And I try to keep busy in other ways too. Helping others with cancer -- or others who just need help -- is healthy too!

Helping others with cancer does help me. It reminds me that I am not alone and that others have fears like me and that collectively, we can all survive better if we lean on one another and borrow from one another and inspire one another.