If you want to get technical, I have cancer. At least I think I do. I was diagnosed eight years ago with chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) and while there are no longer any signs of disease in my bone marrow, this is a condition that never really goes away. The cancer-causing enzymes keep firing and my daily Gleevec pills continue pummeling them into submission.
I like to think of myself as a cancer survivor, but dare I be so cocky? Not only do I not want to tempt fate, but it feels a bit like I’m staking claim to a territory I’m not fully entitled to. After all, I didn’t go through bouts of chemotherapy and extensive hospital visits, lose my hair, and give up months (or years) of my life. All I did was start taking a pill once a day and master the art of living in a suspended state of disbelief.
Since my diagnosis in 2006, I’ve slowly moved out of the “Oh my God!” phase and settled into a mindset more along the lines of Doris Day’s: “Que Sera Sera.” The world does look a little scarier from where I stand but I try to accept the fact that there’s not a whole lot I can do about it. I tell myself every day that things could be a whole lot worse.