Farrah Fawcett turned 60 on Friday. And she's been celebrating this milestone along with a very important message she just received -- she is cancer-free.

Fawcett, former star of the hit 1970s TV drama Charlie's Angels, was diagnosed with anal cancer four months ago and has been enduring an aggressive treatment protocol to treat the disease -- a treatment that appears to have worked.

Her physician, Dr. Gary Gitnick at the University of California, Los Angeles, medical school reports Fawcett "has had a full and complete response to treatment." Recent tests show her cancer is gone -- and Gitnick calls her prognosis excellent.

Fawcett calls the whole experience a hopeful one.

"In the face of excruciating pain and uncertainty, I never lost hope," she said. "I hope that my news might offer some level of inspiration to others who unfortunately must continue to fight the disease."

I was diagnosed with cancer on my thirty-first birthday, December 18th, 2001, five years ago today. Those diagnosed with cancer might be receiving a diagnosis at this time, undergoing treatment or they even might be finished treatment and are on there way to starting their new normal life.

Whatever the case may be, dealing with cancer during the holidays can be rough. Emotionally speaking, it can be very hard to get in the mood and be joyous over the holiday season. Activities like shopping, social events, family gatherings and traveling can lead to high levels of physical effort and stress.

Sometimes it might seem so much easier to avoid social gatherings all together. Remember though, that family and friends are there to encourage and be supportive. It can be hard when you keep hearing how great you look, when you feel like it is not the truth. I believe that those that make that comment really do mean it. When your diagnosed with cancer I think people expect you to look a wreak! Usually that is not the case.

The holiday season could cause some thoughts to creep into your mind--Is this my last year to celebrate with my family? At this time of year it is common for those diagnosed with cancer to think about the future. Its OK to have those what if? questions. Its not negative thinking. Its normal. There is not one best way to deal with these thoughts or anxiety attacks you might be experiencing. Relaxation techniques can help and sometimes anti-anxiety medications can do the trick.

If you are feeling fatigued, let your family know this so they can help. Don't push yourself to do what you have always done in past years, be comfortable with yourself doing less. Set some clear priorities, things you think are most important that you want to accomplish. Always tell your oncologist or another physician how you are feeling. Tell the truth. Don't try and be brave. There are certain medications that can be administered if you are experiencing fatigue that developed from anemia, a common side effect from chemotherapy.

For me this holiday season is a special one. I'm so thrilled to be celebrating the five year milestone of survivorship along with my birthday. I'm so happy to be alive!

Happy Holidays!!

I will visit my oncologist on Monday for my every-three-month check-up. It's the recurring appointment that will appear on my calendar until I hit the five-year-survival milestone. I am three years away.

It's the appointment that consumes at least half of my day due to endless waiting -- waiting for a parking spot, waiting in the lobby, waiting in the exam room, waiting to pay. It's the appointment that officially begins with the drawing of my blood for lab work, continues with a check of my vitals, proceeds with a history review and physical exam with a medical student. It's the appointment that brings me face to face with the man who prescribed my treatment, the man who offers me strategies for living beyond treatment, the man who helps keep me alive. My oncologist.

And so I am preparing for this visit in the same exact way as I always do. I set aside a large chunk of time for this time-consuming extravaganza. I think a lot about the lab work and wonder if something suspicious will surface. I think a lot about the physical exam and wonder if an enlarged lymph node or mass in my breast will be discovered. And I think a lot about what I want to ask -- because this is my only very own allotted time for unraveling the mysteries of cancer with the man who knows the topic like no one else I know.

On Monday, I will ask a few questions. I will ask about tumor markers, about why I am not tested for these indicators of tumor growth, a standard option for my co-writer and co-cancer survivor Kristina Collins. I will ask about Zoloft, about how long I should continue taking this anti-depressant and how to best wean myself from this drug when the time comes. I will ask about the flu shot, about whether or not I can get one during this same appointment.

And that's all. For now. Until three more months pass and my calendar tells me it's time to return for this recurring appointment that takes me closer to the five-year mark.

I don't take for granted that I am alive. I am fully aware of it, consciously grateful for it, continually amazed by it. Before I was confronted with breast cancer, I still knew I could die -- in a car accident maybe -- but I thought chances were pretty good that I would make it to a ripe old age. Death was never at the forefront of my mind. I had no reason to believe that life could be snatched from me. And because of this, I am sure some pretty important moments slipped by me, virtually unnoticed. But now -- after a breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and then more therapy, I realize life is not a guarantee for anyone. Me included. Even at age 36, I am not safe. I feel confident about my future -- and I believe cancer has left my body -- but my life has been threatened like never before. And that makes me wake up and take notice -- really notice -- the moments that are too important to take for granted.

My first baby boy starts kindergarten today. Before cancer, this still would have been a monumental day for us both. But now, after cancer, it's even bigger. Because I know of several moms who did not survive cancer long enough to see their children walk through their first classroom doors -- moms who thought, like me, that they would surely beat cancer and would see their kids off for every first day of school. So I am lucky to have made it to this day -- to witness the wonder of my sweet, shy, sensitive, challenging, demanding, loving boy as he leaves the comfort of home for the real world.

Two days ago, my littlest guy said, "Mommy, I love you and want to keep you forever." Joey -- the boy whose wisdom should guide him right through his first day of school -- said, "Danny, you can't have mommy forever. One day she will die, and you will never see her again." Fortunately, his harsh meaning was lost on three-year-old Danny who kept playing with whatever toy was occupying him at the time. But his meaning was not lost on me. He spoke the truth. And so I plan to soak up the kindergarten moment this morning -- and photograph it and write about it and cherish it for my days to come. And in two years, I hope to do it again with Danny as he starts off on the same path. With me by his side.

I have read all kinds of material on increasing your odds for survival and how to keep cancer from returning. Odds of returning. Odds of surviving. To me that all sounds like taking bets at a horse track. At one time in the medical profession, the five year mark for being cancer free was the milestone to claim you beat the disease and that you are a true survivor. Five years to me didn't seem too long. I could do that. Five years later seemed like an eternity to me after my bladder cancer returned 22 months after my first diagnoses. Even more so after the third recurrence of bladder cancer and two lumps having to be removed from my breast 16 months later after finishing up my second round of treatments. Coming up on my 36 month anniversary in 10 days for being clean, can I not consider myself a survivor?

I have a friend that went through a double mastectomy for breast cancer while she was in her twenties and she is now in her forties. She is definitely a survivor. I have a friend who just finished treatments a month ago and to me she is just as much a survivor as the first. I also have two dear friends that passed with cancer after a 6 and 8 month battle. But for a duration of time, they were surviving.

Being a victim to this disease is very clear. It is when we are diagnosed and our lives change instantly on our vulnerability, our strength, and our mind set. And sometimes it means death. So when can we claim ourselves to be survivors?

Well in my humble opinion we are all survivors from when we are first diagnosed to whatever stage or time period we are in right now. We are living so we are surviving. We are facing the beast head on and going day to day in the activities of our lives.  Keeping a positive mind set is one of the best ways to deal with everything that gets thrown at you from the first time you hear "You have cancer."

So this is my mind set. I was a survivor one day after being diagnosed in 1998, and I have continued being a survivor although the cancer returned twice. I fight it. I am alive. I am a survivor. And so are you no matter what stage you are in facing this disease. You are alive so you are a survivor. You have the ability to create your own mind set. Whether your attitude is positive or negative, is up to you. So tell yourself that you are a survivor and keep that in your mind so you can over come all the hurdles that life puts in front of you every day you face the sunrise off in the horizon.