I tend to think of cancer as a gift. I think it helps me prioritize life's details. I believe it has taught me to stress less. I know it's made me more sensitive to others sharing this planet with me. Yes, cancer has made me a better person. And I consider that a gift.

This is not how writer Lauren Terrazzano describes her dance with cancer.

"The truth is, having cancer just pisses me off," says Terrazzano.

"I wish I could be one of those people who has had the epiphany, who believes the disease has given me valuable insight into life. OK, I occasionally feel that way, but it might just be the pain medication."

Neither of us is right. We just have different takes on living with a deadly disease. And our opposite viewpoints make for a rather enlightening study on how cancer affects us all so differently.

I regularly write about the blessings I've found in the midst of cancer. So for today's Thought for the Day, I present to you some thoughts from Terrazzano about how cancer is not always a gift.

Think about this:

On cancer making her a better person

I don't really remember what kind of person I was before cancer. While I may not be better, I am definitely blunter.

I often say whatever I want to whomever I want, whenever the moment strikes me. These flashes can be toxic to those around me. I once yelled at a homeless man who asked me for a dollar. I yell at my husband sometimes, arguing about stupid things like how to shove a brisket into the freezer, above the peas and spinach.

And I sometimes wish bad things on bad people. Mostly the high-octane evil people, like Osama bin Laden (Why can't he have to go through chemotherapy? Why can't he have a good dose of radiation?). Are these really the musings of a better person?

On living each day as if it's your last

Nope. Can't do it.

While sometimes I am the carpe diem sort of girl, I want to live each day like just another day. I want to watch When Harry Met Sally for the 17th time or surf the Internet for new pictures of Britney Spears' bald head. Then I want to cap it off by several hours of reading. Forget Tolstoy, though. I'd rather read People magazine. Why do I have to cram life into 20 seconds, while other people have the luxury of doing it over the span of 20 years?

On why she is not so brave

Firefighters and police officers who plunge head first into dangerous situations are brave. A child protective worker who gets paid next to nothing and tries to be a mother to as many as 50 dysfunctional families is brave. Those people chose their positions in life. Cancer chose me. It's not bravery that gets me up every morning to try to beat back the monster. It's a survival instinct that kicks in, pure Darwinism.

The fact is, most of the time I am scared to death. I wear Band-Aids far too long because I can't take the agony of pulling them off. I hate needles (though I don't know anyone who likes them). Why is it that people who hate getting blood drawn are the ones who usually end up with serious illnesses that require getting stuck often? It's a mystery of the universe, much like why tornadoes seem to seek out trailer parks to do their damage.

Sarita Zouvas knows what it's like to have a child in the hospital. Her daughter, Isabella -- who died while receiving treatment for cancer -- spent many days in the hospital, and Zouvas says it's hard to anticipate what items from home will make a child's stay more comfortable.

"We don't go prepared," she says. "You don't take clothes; you don't know what's going on. You get there and they put a gown on them. My first response is, 'I want to make them comfortable because they're scared.'"

Zouvas has found a way to bring comfort to the lives of children at her local Children's Hospital. And her goal is to make sure every child admitted to the hospital during the holiday season gets a complimentary pair of pajamas.

After the death of her daughter, Zouvas became involved with the Friends of Scott Foundation (FSF) -- a non-profit organization founded in memory of Scott Delgadillo who lost his life to childhood cancer. FSF strives to help children with cancer and their families with emotional and financial support in order to cope with this devastating disease. Zouvas became a part of the FSF support team and is thrilled she can help bring comfy jammies to sick children.

Zouvas says the response to her call for help has been overwhelming. Most pajamas are donated and have come from as far away as Boston. Employees of the San Diego Padres, Southwest Airlines, and the district attorney's office have also helped Zouvas in the endeavor she hopes will continue year-round.

For more information on the Friends of Scott Foundation and Zouvas' pajama drive, click here.

Last week, I watched actress Emma Thompson portray with real power a life derailed by cancer in the 2001 HBO screen adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize-winning drama Wit by Margaret Edson.

I watched the movie, on DVD and in the privacy of my own home, almost six years after it was released -- and two years after my own cancer derailment. I like the order in which it all happened -- having cancer and then watching the movie, rather than watching the movie and then having cancer.

Thompson's portrayal of Vivian Bearing, Ph.D., professor of 17th-century English poetry, and expert on the sonnets of John Donne, was entirely real -- so real I sometimes felt I was reliving my own journey with cancer.

The cold, impersonal delivery of Bearing's treatment plan -- eight high-dose, experimental chemotherapy treatments taken over the course of eight months for stage-four metastatic ovarian cancer, an aggressive and advanced form -- reminded me of the matter-of-fact manner in which doctors speak to patients, the manner in which my own oncologist spoke to me, void of compassion and warmth and concern.

The on-going sterile and clinical interactions Bearing encounters from doctors, technicians, nurses, and medical students allowed me to appreciate the very few caring souls who crossed my medical path.

Bearing resolves to become a scholar on cancer, just as she has on Donne. And while I am no Ph.D. scholar, I did study cancer, sometimes to a fault, in order to acquire some sort of control over what was happening to me.

Chemotherapy makes Bearing sick. It made me sick too. Chemotherapy lands Bearing in hospital isolation. It landed me there too. Cancer scares Bearing. It scared me too.

Sometimes, cancer -- the return of cancer -- still scares me. But mostly, I am happy to be alive, happy to be watching movies that authentically capture the reality of cancer, movies that make me proud to have overcome what Bearing's doctor calls an insidious disease.

I never thought the time would come when I could fill a page with names of people I know who have cancer or have died from cancer. When my mom's very best friend died years and years ago of pancreatic cancer, it seemed a remote chance that something like that would happen to someone I know. And then slowly, either because cancer cases increased or because my awareness increased -- or both -- my list of people with cancer grew and grew and grew. And now it's quite long. And it's quite disturbing. And it's empowering too -- because most people on my growing list are surviving. And here are seven survivors who are somehow connected to me -- seven survivors who make up just the tip of the cancer iceberg in my life that stretches far and wide.

Lynne began her blog on August 6 -- one week ago and two months after she endured surgery to clear a clogged bile duct and received the grim and frightening diagnosis of gallbladder cancer. Her cancer is stage IV -- not an uncommon staging for a hard-to-detect disease that many will only survive for two to six months. So Lynne is scared but still strong and hopeful and full of faith. Her goal is to live -- not die -- with cancer, even though her days may be numbered. So Lynne blogs her thoughts and fears and all the bits and pieces of information she gathers about a disease that is rare and resources that are scare. It helps her. And it will surely help others. And here is a glimpse into what she shared in her first post.

If you had only six months or a year to live, would you want to know? What would you do with the information? Would it make a difference in how you lived your life? These are questions I have been asking for the past two months. In asking them, I have also noticed how little guidance there is for this process. Who have I known personally who was able to anticipate their death? I can think of only two individuals, and I never asked them whether or not they were living differently in their awareness of their mortality.

So, those are the themes in this blog. I look forward to a dialog with those I know, and those I don't about this strange, life changing journey.

To Lynne -- and to all others who are faced with the disease -- may you find peace and comfort and strength in every step you take, every direction you follow, every path that becomes your road to recovery.

My breast cancer friend Adriene -- who I wrote about on May 19 -- e-mailed me today about a friend of a friend who was just diagnosed with breast cancer. This friend -- Jen -- is 31 years old and just yesterday had a lumpectomy. Adriene asked if I could be in touch with Jen since, like her, I am young and I am a breast cancer survivor and I had a lumpectomy. So far, we are somewhat alike. And depending on the results of Jen's pathology report, we may be even more alike -- if she follows a path anything like mine that included chemotherapy and radiation therapy and Herceptin therapy -- or our paths might diverge from one another. Regardless, I feel a connection to this woman, much like I do with anyone with cancer whose path I cross, anyone who is sent my way, anyone who finds me for the sole purpose of support.

So I told Adriene in my return e-mail, "Yes, I will contact Jen." And I have already sent her an e-mail. And I hope when she reads it that she finds a trace of comfort, a hint of encouragement, a glimpse of hope that can somehow transform scared souls into confident spirits. I hope that she emerges from under the rock of breast cancer. Like I did. Like Adriene did.

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.

The day I was diagnosed with breast cancer is the day I bought Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book -- actually my sister ran to the store and bought it for me -- after it was recommended as the bible for women with breast cancer. I was told that in the absence of answers to my questions from my doctor, I should look to Dr. Love for responses that would probably mirror what my own doctor would say. So if a question or worry entered my head, I didn't have to call and leave a message for my doctor. I didn't have to wait for a return call or for my next appointment. I could open the pages of this almost 600-page book and find up-to-date and accurate information. The information I found eased my mind and gave me hope -- and it also scared me and introduced to me to the sometimes-tragic effects of breast cancer.