I just read this in the latest issue of The Oprah Magazine (July 2007):

"I have come to believe . . . that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal, and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood." - Audre Lorde

If I could have said this beautiful sentiment on my own, I would have. But I didn't, so I'll borrow it and profess that this is exactly how I feel.

I remember reading that Barbara Delinsky, novelist and breast cancer survivor, never shared her diagnosis of cancer until well after her fight was over. She feared the news would somehow halt her career in the publishing world. She wanted to remain untainted by disease in the eyes of her readers and bosses so she saved her secret. The secret is out now -- and is also part of a book she wrote called Uplift: Secrets from the Sisterhood of Breast Cancer Survivorship. She is in the clear now -- but she once feared the consequences of managing both cancer and her career.

The experts who offer a website resource at cancerandcareers.org believe that it is possible to combine cancer and career without fear or worry or secrecy. The advice provided on this site offers wisdom for working women and for employers and for co-workers. There is also a forum for shared stories -- where all of these individuals weigh in on their experiences. There are reading recommendations and a listing of available programs and services and a complete story about how this all came about.

Five years ago, the Board of Directors at Cosmetic Executive Women -- the preeminent nonprofit organization representing women in the U.S. and European beauty industries -- realized that five out of their 40 members had been diagnosed with cancer. Some told their colleagues at work and some did not. But all continued to work and experienced similar challenges. The fact is that work does not stop for all women who have been diagnosed with cancer. So the mission of this group is to help women, their employers, coworkers, and caregivers deal with this problem in the same way that they have learned to deal with problems at work -- strategically, knowledgeably, and effectively. With the right tools, stress and difficulty can be minimized. And this site is one great tool.

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.

Joey has a hard time staying in bed when we put him down for the night. When we ask him why he continually gets up, he tells us that he wants to be with us -- mommy and daddy --  and that he wants to watch TV and that he's just not tired. He is five years old. And he will try anything to coax us into allowing him to stay up just a little bit longer. Lately, he's been asking serious questions he knows will take some time to answer -- like how exactly does a light bulb work? And how does lightening get in the air? And how do you build a house? Last night, his questions followed a medical path -- a cancer path really.

I wrote earlier today about my mom -- about how she was headed for a mammogram this afternoon. She has since been for her exam, returned, and shared the news that we all wish for -- everything looks fine. Nothing suspicious. No cancer. And so that is my gift for today.

I have received many gifts as a result of cancer -- the news of a clean and clear mammogram is just one such gift. There are many emotional gifts I've received since my breast cancer diagnosis a year and a half ago -- extra love, overwhelming support, loads of kindness, an abundance of prayers, recent compliments about my new dark, curly hair. And I've received many tangible gifts too that comfort me every day. When I walk into my kitchen, I see an angel made from a paper clip, a bead, and a ribbon -- it was a gift from my Chemo Angel once I graduated from my eight-week course in chemotherapy. When I walk into my bedroom, I see the quilt on my bed that was made by the loving hands of my mom friends and then delivered to my doorstep when I was sick, tired, and bald. I see a pink stuffed breast cancer bear sitting on my dresser and yellow, fuzzy, comfy socks inside my dresser drawer. I see a box of cards and letters and books and relaxation tapes -- and so much more -- that sits in another room. I wear a breast cancer charm bracelet that dangles from one arm and another that jingles from my other arm and a backpack that hangs from my back. I am surrounded by gifts that were priceless when they were given to me and are just as priceless today.

These gifts that adorn my personal space lift my spirits, warm my soul, inspire me. They are constant reminders of where I've been and how far I've come. My gifts -- good news from a mammogram, emotional rewards, and actual tokens of the love and support that surround me -- have become a therapy I never looked for, never knew I'd discover, and never would trade for anything.