I have had a hard time keeping my counseling appointments lately. Life keeps getting in the way, and counseling keeps getting pushed to the side. The last time I called my counselor to cancel -- due to an emergency room trip with my three-year-old -- I mentioned that my inability to keep up with sessions was perhaps a precursor to an eventual termination of our counseling relationship. My counselor -- Lindsay -- said this was maybe an accurate assessment, that we should discuss the possibility of an ending point. We haven't yet discussed it, though, because I have not made the time to contact her. I have continued to leave counseling on the back burner.

But today Lindsay sent me an e-mail to check in. She wrote that I am probably going to be okay on my own now -- in the aftermath of cancer -- and that we should have one final session to reflect on my progress over the past 16 months. I have not replied to Lindsay -- not because I am busy with other things but simply because her words made me cry. They still make me cry, hours later. I'm not exactly sure why. And I'm not exactly sure how I will follow up on scheduling my very last session.

I assume my tears -- my sadness -- are part of the healing process, part of the separation anxiety I feel each time a part of my treatment ends and a part of my life moves on. I assume I am sad at the prospect of leaving a vital part of my recovery behind, about leaving the comfort of my counseling chair, about leaving Lindsay. The possibilities are endless. And I suppose we will cover all possibilities when Lindsay and I sit down for our last, final, concluding session -- when we recall how much I have grown since the day we first met, when I could barely mutter a word about cancer without weeping uncontrollably, when I could barely manage to find pleasure in my days, when I could barely imagine that life could -- and would -- offer me peace and happiness.

Today, life is good. And it's clear that counseling is no longer necessary for my survival. But that doesn't make it any easier to make my final appointment. To contemplate saying my last goodbye. To tackle life completely on my own. Which is what I will do -- in time -- so I can continue moving on, away from breast cancer.

I ran on my treadmill today while listening to a song by the band Green Day. I have always liked the song -- Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) -- but I like it more at this moment in my life than ever before because it speaks about looking back on the past in light of unexpected journeys -- and because my unexpected journey with breast cancer makes me look at everything differently. And when I look back at my life one day, I want to say that I had the time of my life. And that's why I like this song. And that's why I share it here today. Because I hope that in the end, we all can look back with the crystal clear knowledge that we had the time of our lives.

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth it was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

Coletta Barrett believed her stomach pains were caused by a gall bladder attack after eating greasy fried food. She excused a tightening in her lower abdomen as irritable bowel syndrome, and she explained blood in her stool as a response to stress. Only after a referral to a gastroenterologist led to a colonoscopy did she learn that the upper portion of her colon was almost completely blocked by a large tumor -- a cancerous tumor. Barrett was diagnosed with colon cancer. Her colonoscopy saved her life.

Barrett never once predicted she might have colon cancer. She thought the disease mostly struck older people. She was just 42. Screening tests are not even recommended until the age of 50. She had no family history of this cancer and had no typical risk factors associated with the disease. She did not smoke, was not overweight, and drank very little. But she did in fact have colon cancer -- shocking as it was -- and doctors believed her tumor had been growing for 18 months before detected. Fortunately, Barrett learned that her cancer had not spread. And she learned a few other things that she now shares as advice -- from her survivor point of view. These tips come from an article about Barrett in the August 1 Women's Day magazine.

• Barrett says, "know your body." And don't ignore or dismiss any changes that occur.
• Don't let embarrassment stop you from seeking help. Some symptoms can be difficult to discuss -- such as change in size and frequency of bowel movements, bloody stool, cramping, and bloating -- but still ask your doctor about them. Early detection is critical, she says.
• If diagnosed with colon cancer, learn as much as you can about the disease -- a well-informed patient has a better chance at a better outcome.

Barrett offers sound advice. And I think it is global advice. Knowing your body, discussing symptoms, and education after diagnosis are key for anyone. For everyone.