I have less than three weeks left to finish radiation. It’s rather ironic: I’m the girl who never tanned and now the upper right quadrant of my body looks like I’ve spent a week in Bermuda. Who knew? All I needed to do was sit under a radiation machine for weeks on end! All I need to complete the look is a flower lei and one of those tropical umbrella drinks.

I am starting to feel a bit of fatigue at the end of the day. When I mentioned this to my doctor, his only reply was, “Well, I feel that way at the end of the day, too. I must be getting old.” So much for sympathy. Actually, he was trying to be humorous and not insensitive, so I won’t hold it against him. I really like him, even if he is a bit quirky.

As Dr. K. was leaving the room after my exam, he stopped at the door, turned and looked at me and said, “My wife and I saw an interesting movie the other night. You might want to see it.”

I thought, “Hmm . . . . I’ve never had a doctor make a movie recommendation to me before . . . this ought to be good.” So, naturally, I asked about the movie. “It’s called, ‘The Reader,’” he said. “It’s very interesting.” Then he smiled and left me to get dressed.

I wondered what that was all about, so I went to the Internet and discovered that it’s a movie about a woman in her 30s who has an affair with a 15-year old boy. One reviewer even referred to it as “soft porn.”

It left me a little puzzled, but I suppose he was just trying to be friendly. A friend suggested that maybe something about me reminded him of Kate Winslet (who received an Academy Award for her role in the movie). I told her that it was probably because he’d seen us both topless. :-)

Lately, I have been afraid to look forward to the future (what if I don’t have one?). I’ve been afraid to allow myself to feel joyful or to celebrate the end of treatment (what if the cancer comes back?). I even remarked to my husband recently that I haven’t listened to any of my “feel good” music (the kind that makes me feel like dancing), since this cancer thing began. I’m just now feeling the urge to listen to it again.

I also told my husband that lately I feel that I am beginning to “wake up” and realize what’s happened to me. On one hand, I am beginning to feel more myself, but I know that I will never be the same again. I have even been surprised by feelings of anger and a general, “Cancer sucks!” attitude.

I recently signed up to participate in the American Cancer Society’s “Relay For Life” with my husband. It’s my first opportunity to do something positive and proactive about cancer rather than being a victim. Even so, I began to second guess myself (“What if I haven’t truly beaten cancer? What if it comes back? Maybe I’m not really a survivor.”). These seem like ridiculous thoughts, yet I believe they are completely normal.

When I examine my fears, I realize they are normal, but totally impractical. I followed my fears full circle and realized that with that kind of mindset, why would anyone celebrate a birthday (can’t have a birthday party--you might be dead next year or the next or the next . . . ). With that reasoning, no one would ever celebrate anything . . . after all, we're all going to die!

One cancer survivor put it this way: “I went to see the movie Philadelphia. In the theater, I finally cried as the hero came closer to his death, and when I left, I was still crying. As I drove home, I was consumed with thoughts of death. In my mind, I became the movie’s hero in that hospital bed, struggling to breathe, my friends whispering around me. Then it hit me from my gut: wait a minute—I’m not sick; I’m not in that hospital bed; I can eat and make love and see the stars and hear the river. Even if I find out that I’ve had a recurrence, I’m here now, and I can be alive now. I felt an immediate and enormous relief and joy.”

I can so relate to her statement. There’s a certain intensity of joy that comes from living “small” moments now. I have come to the conclusion that I want to LIVE while I’m alive. No matter what the future holds—whether cancer or some other malady or accident kills me—all I have is right now. I want to celebrate end of treatment, birthdays, achievements, friendships, the fact that I can live, move, and breathe—while I’m alive and able to do so! Why live as if you have one foot in the grave? As the saying goes, “Every day above ground is a good day.”

This brings me to the very apropos words of the inimitable Erma Bombeck, whose writing I have admired for many years. She wrote: "I got to thinking one day about all those women on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to 'cut back.' From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible."