"You have to believe you will make it. "

One of the first things my family and I agreed to was not to research my cancer online. Google is not your friend. Not when you have cancer. The fear of the unknown is already overwhelming, but even more so when you are armed with only a pathology report; I don't need an article written by someone who doesn't know me telling me I have a 50/50 chance of survival. I am not a statistic. The truth is, though, I felt like a stranger in my body. It's hard to even look at myself. Am I just one big ball of cancer waiting to explode?

One of the first calls I received the following day was from my cousin Sandi, who was diagnosed 5 years earlier with a rare breast cancer and has been cancer free since. I tell her how I feel. Having someone know exactly how I feel right now is a relief. Sandi discovered her cancer on a Friday night, the worst day of her and my cousin Dave's life. She practically planned her funeral flowers that weekend. But Sandi, a brilliant and take charge person, immediately started taking in all the information and fighting. Her treatment plan consisted of both mainstream and holistic, integrative treatment- anything she could do to "tip the scales in her favor." I like that; for the first time, I feel like I, too, can have some control over this. It's what I need to hear. Sandi then tells me something that shifts my mindset: "You must believe you will make it." I'm scared and have no idea what will happen next, and I will make it. I have to make it. I immediately recognize that I need to work daily for this to become my mindset. This has not always been my perspective; I have considered death an escape for much of my adult life. I cannot do that anymore now that death is on the table. I have too much to live for, and even though I am in a category of people who can die from this disease, I will not be one of them.

She gives me some practical suggestions for keeping my mindset positive. She recommends keeping a gratitude journal- studies show that doing so increases happiness and can help foster that positive attitude, which I will need more and more as the treatment begins. She also recommends a book, Breast's An Owners Manual, by Dr. Funk, which my mother-in-law gave me. I carefully review its pages, only reading the book's portions explaining how to fight my disease and avoid any statics. I learn that diet and exercise play a massive role in preventing and minimizing the chances of relapse. Anything I can do to tip the scales in my favor, I immediately add to my daily routine. This is now my motto. It will be for the rest of my life. I still cannot believe I have cancer.

The week of my diagnosis happened to be the anniversary of Jesus of death, an emotional time, regardless of what was going on in my life. It's a time to meditate on the priceless gift of the ransom and what it means for us personally. At the time, I didn't know how I would get through it; with my friends present, only some knew about cancer, and the others, would they be able to tell that my body was betraying me? I felt self-conscious, but I keep praying for perspective; this is not about me. It was also Delaney's first memorial, so that was a nice distraction. She is curious and observant, and everyone is happy to see her. We get through the memorial with minimal tears. The last song of the night touches me. Here is a portion of the lyrics:

"It was a willing sacrifice

that Jesus made.

Out of love, his perfect life

was the price that he paid.

We had no hope until he came

to save mankind.

But now our hope is finding life,

leaving death behind."

You can find the song here if you are interested: https://www.jw.org/en/library/music-songs/sing-out-joyfully/18-grateful-for-the-ransom/?media=sjjc

I am grateful to know that even if the worst-case scenario happened, this is not the life that Jesus and his father, Jehovah, intended for us and that through the gift of the ransom, one day, we will leave death behind. But as for me, I am going to make it.