Stacie Chevrier is a recovering type-A, corporate climber who made a big life change after being diagnosed with cancer in September 2014. She now spends her days focusing on writing, fitness and healthy living. Outside of these passions, Stacie can be found practicing yoga, enjoying anything outdoors, traveling and defying the odds as a pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor survivor.

Stacie Chevrier

Those of us in cancerland know that cancer isn't always black or white, and the line separating cancer and cancer-free isn't always thick and dark. We know that the word remission is a bit taboo, so the goal of this post is to educate the cancer muggles on the gray area where this disease can sometimes rest.

After being diagnosed with a pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor in September 2014, I underwent surgeries and treatments until my body showed no evidence of disease (a favorite term among oncologists). I went along for a year, crossing my fingers the illness would leave my life, but also knowing the statistics behind this cancer and that it would probably make an appearance again.

During those months, I was free of any signs of disease, when a questionable spot popped up in my liver. Radiologists debated whether it was contrast build up, a new tumor, but even the tumor board (an oversight committee) couldn't come up with a definitive conclusion. My (usually very sensitive) tumor marker remained normal, so they threw me into a dreaded strategy of, "watch and wait."

I asked my doctor, "So, do I have cancer?" and in a nutshell, he said, "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Go live your life and come back in a few months. We'll scan you again."

Three of months later, I was thrilled when the radiology report concluded the previous spot was gone. "Yup, it was contrast build up. It's resolved, and everything looks good. Come back in a few months."

And so I did, but this time, one of my symptoms had begun to reappearing and my blood tumor marker was crawling towards abnormal range. To my surprise, the scans were clear. "Come back in a few months."

Eventually the uncertainty and anxiety became too much to bare. I decided to reach out to a specialist, who told me his hospital had a new, more precise diagnostic machine that would hopefully help us find the source of the symptoms and blood results. The scan uncovered microscopic tumors too small to show up on an MRI or CT. The news was bittersweet. Bad news: I had cancer. Good news: I now had a definitive answer and could move forward with a new treatment plan, which I executed faithfully over the next year.

I tolerated the new therapy well and it barely impacted my life. Those tiny tumors got even tinier and the blood tumor marker became normal again. At the end of the treatment, I was advised to have a precise scan again, so doctors could see the before and after. However, when I did, the radiology report indicated all the tumors were gone, except one that had progressed. My oncologist and I were both thoroughly confused and sent the images to the specialist for another opinion. His interpretation completely opposed that of radiology report — the disease had indeed shrunk and I was classified as a partial response. "Come back in a few months."

Ever a faithful patient, I did and was happy to have all doctors agree that the disease continued to retreat. "Come back in six months."

Navigating opposing interpretations of scans, watch-and-wait scenarios and living life in three-to-six-month increments are a few examples of the uncertainties cancer patients experience. It's important for cancer muggles to know the true complexity of this disease and that many of us who have walked down cancer street are not always strolling on one side of the boulevard or the other. Sometimes we tread, with caution, down the middle of the road, unsure if we should be on the left or right side.

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The line separating cancer and cancer-free isn't always thick and dark.

The Blurry Lines of Cancer

The last few years fall has been a season of challenge for me. In 2014, I was recovering from a distal pancreatectomy and splenectomy after my pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor diagnosis. In 2015, I was recovering from a liver resection, months of chemotherapy and a serious case of PTSD. In 2016, I had a surprise surgery due to a bowel obstruction, a complication from my previous abdominal surgeries. And this year, I am undergoing an experimental treatment, but overall, I’m doing well and grateful to not be watching leaves change through a hospital window.

I admit, I tiptoed into autumn holding my breath with optimism I would exit without a traumatic event. While there are still a few days of the season left, I, personally have been spared, but others have not been so lucky, creating a new kind of trauma.

Between September and today, there were four people in my circle who died from cancer. They were all young and all women, making their deaths too close to home. One was a young mother I met in a luncheon in New York City who had a very similar case to mine. We exchanged emails regularly and I got scared when the messages stopped coming only to find my fears realized when I logged onto Facebook after a hiatus to see she had passed away. Another was Beth Caldwell, who died from neuroendocrine breast cancer. I only knew her from social media, where she was revered for changing the advocacy game. And most recently, a friend of friend, who died from pancreatic cancer.

Another one of these new angels was a fellow CURE contributor, 

. I also never met her, but enjoyed reading her blog and being Twitter friends. I always thought she sounded pretty cool and someone I’d be friends with in real life even if we both didn’t have cancer. When I read her last blog,

, I could not help but smile and be sad at the same time because she did it - she won. She didn’t die while still living and she didn’t let the disease break her to the point of bitterness. In fact, Jen got to say goodbye in a pretty cool way.

Unfortunately, cancer wasn’t the only grim reaper to make an appearance this fall. There was a tragic death of a friend of a friend whose family was already grieving a huge loss. Also, my husband came home one day with terrible news of a colleague that passed away from a massive heart attack, leaving a wife and two daughters. He simply left in the morning to go hunting and didn’t come back. I think of both these families and am heartbroken to think they are left replaying last, perhaps mundane, meaningless conversations and without “I love yous” or important words said. It definitely makes me ask, where is the justice?

With each death, I lit a candle and sat for a quiet few minutes processing my feelings. Of course, there was sadness, but more than anything there was appreciation for my own life and the people close to me. I feel gratitude for still being here, having an excellent quality of life and for the warning cancer gives.

These losses also have me treading into the holiday season with renewed compassion as I encounter angry traffic, tired crowds and over booked schedules. Knowing the chances are high that the person in front of me experienced loss and hardship this year. I find myself pausing, slowing down and truly appreciating, like never before, the intangible gifts of life, family, friends and my fellow-man. My only wish this year is the same realizations for everyone (hopefully without experiencing death and cancer). And may we all take a moment to light a candle for those empty spaces in our life and the lives of others.

, which she gave days before passing away.

Of course, there was sadness, but more than anything there was appreciation for my own life and the people close to me. I feel gratitude for still being here, having an excellent quality of life and for the warning cancer gives.

The Season of Grief, Gratitude and Compassion

I know this might make me sound crazier than a crazy cat lady, but, I think my cat might be able detect cancer.

Before someone orders a straightjacket to be sent to my house, let me explain.

In 2012, my cat started licking and eating the hair off her belly. Thinking she might have an allergy or an invisible strain of fleas, I took her to the vet. After several swipes of my Visa and many tests, the doctor ruled out any physical problem and told me he believed my cat had a mental disorder called psychogenic alopecia. Basically, it is the feline equivalent of obsessive compulsive disorder. Instead of washing her hands a million times a day, she over-grooms. They sent me home with a version of kitty Xanax, which failed miserably. Those of you who have ever tried to give a cat a pill understand.

2012 is also when I began experiencing symptoms of neuroendocrine cancer. For me, the initial symptoms of this rare, silent cancer included facial flushing, occasional heart palpitations, bloating and trouble digesting food.

After a couple years of my cat obsessively licking her belly and my symptoms increasing, eventually I became symptomatic enough to prompt my doctor to perform a myriad of tests. Neuroendocrine cancer is often misdiagnosed for five to seven years, but I was “lucky” enough to be diagnosed with a pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor one month after my first doctor's visit. Weeks following the diagnosis, I had a distal pancreatectomy and splenectomy and was sent home to recover without any additional treatment. My cat stopped licking her belly for a couple months and then started again. Soon after some spots were found in my liver. And the cycle has repeated itself a few times. When all is well in my body, her over-grooming ceases and when something's astray, the licking commences.

Could it be a coincidence? Sure, but if scientists are beginning to research dogs’ abilities to detect cancer, perhaps they should explore the secret power of cats as well. And should scientists accept my invitation, I know a certain tabby feline who would happily raise her soft, over-groomed paw in exchange for a couple servings of Fancy Feast.

Neuroendocrine cancer (sometimes referred to as NET or carcinoid cancer) has the largest growing incident increase rate of all cancers. To learn more about this cancer and its symptoms, visit www.carcinoid.org. 

There is a strange coincidence between my cat's obsessive grooming and my cancer symptoms.

Can My Cat Detect Cancer?

Peptide receptor radionuclide therapy (PRRT) is an exciting treatment for neuroendocrine tumors (NETs). While considered investigational because of its pending status at the FDA, Europe has performed this therapy with a high success rate for over a decade.

When a May Gallium-68 scan found microscopic tumors, my specialist recommended I pursue this treatment.  It took a lot of coordinating, but I was able to access this therapy at a facility in Houston under Texas’s Right to Try law, a preferred option compared to traveling to Europe.  

My first treatment went great, leaving me virtually symptom-free and slashing my blood tumor marker a whopping 75 percent. Investigational therapies are not always covered by insurance, so it was also pretty exciting when I found my insurance company paid for the treatment.

Life was looking like sunshine and kittens, so my husband and I decided the next trip to Houston should not be completely about cancer. So, we booked a romantic beach weekend in Galveston before my next therapy, scheduled for Aug. 31.

Cancer has already taught me to quickly develop back-up plans, so when the Houston clinic called to explain there could be a delay due to the approaching hurricane, I jumped into action, developing a Plan B and Plan C. Little did I know after all the events transpired, I’d end up on Plan F.

 - Fly from Nashville to Houston to enjoy a weekend on the beach in Galveston before returning to Houston for treatment.

 Take the scheduled flight to Houston, drive to Dallas for the weekend. Return to Houston when the storm passes.

 Drive from Nashville, stopping to visit Memphis, Little Rock and Dallas, where we would wait for the green light.

 Reschedule therapy until Sept. 12, the one week my husband had an important commitment.

 Get my older brother lined up to take my husband’s place by booking him a flight out of Tampa Sept. 10. Enter Hurricane Irma.

 Break my husband’s commitment so he can come with me to Houston and spend the next few days calling airlines, hotels, etc. to reschedule...yet again.

While all of this was unfolding, I could rationalize that it would have been pointless for me to try to enter Houston during the chaos or for my brother to leave his family in the midst of a disaster, but still, it was stressful. Cancer already creates feelings of powerlessness, fear and uncertainty. Piling on more seems unfair. Before I spun into a ball of anxiety, I stopped and gave myself an attitude and perspective adjustment. I am lucky my situation is not critical, because there were/are others impacted by cancer who had/will have urgent situations in the midst of these disasters. Rescheduling is a minor inconvenience when a hurricane is barreling toward your home.

As I rationalized and calm myself, I realized the similarities between hurricanes and cancer. Both are natural disasters, with human-contributing factors. Both are completely unfair. Both can be devastating by taking everything you have. Both have the potential to create resilience. Both can bring out the best in people. Both create perspective because when we or our loved ones are in danger, the stresses of daily life don’t seem so stressful. And both are reminders that there is so much we cannot control.

“If plan A doesn't work, the alphabet has 25 more letters - 204 if you're in Japan.” - Claire Cook

One cancer patient’s story of being impacted by both hurricanes Harvey and Irma. 

All Is Unfair in Cancer and Hurricanes

This time last year, I was deep into my 30-day, 200-hour yoga teacher training “intensive,” which is the most accurate description of the experience. I have never pushed myself more physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally. I cried therapeutic tears everyday, and was surprised at how much unresolved trauma I had stored in my body because of cancer. It was the best gift I have given myself and I graduated the program with so much more than a deeper understanding of the physical practice.

One of the many concepts that resonated with me during the 30 days was the Seven Axioms of Teacher Training. Over the last year, as I’ve continued to ride the rollercoaster of illness, these universal truths have been comforting reminders.

You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

 This is a hard one to accept when an illness is involved. When I was sick, if someone said this to me, I probably would’ve punched them in the face, but now, I get it. I would give back cancer in a nanosecond, but that means I would also have to give back the meaningful friendships I’ve created, the completion of the El Camino de Santiago, yoga teacher training, my career as a writer, my role at the FDA, my thirst for adventure, etcetera. All these wonderful things are a result of cancer. So, am I exactly where I’m supposed to be? Unfortunately, and fortunately, yes.

Fear and pain are life’s greatest teachers.

 Do I need to say anything more? I have learned so much from illness because it has brought on fear and pain I never realized existed and through that same fear and pain, I have learned how to live and not just exist. Cancer has taught me that I am so very strong, resilient and courageous, a word that makes me roll my eyes. I have been able to do things I never thought I’d be able to do because of cancer. For instance, before cancer I coward at the idea of needles. Now, I could give myself an injection while climbing a mountain at the same time. Cancer has also taught me deep compassion for my fellow humans. Others are often shocked when I tell them how the disease has impacted my life because I look like a normal, healthy, 37-year-old. This is proof we never know what others have going on based on outward appearances and for that, I am kinder to people. 

Laughter and play are the fountains of youth.

 I find nothing fun about cancer. I often say it is the opposite of fun. But, I think within the non-fun, it is important to keep laughing and retain a childlike sense of play. In moments where it’s too hard to keep things light, call for backup. My husband is a major source of keeping me laughing and has succeed to make me smile in dark moments. When he’s not around, I watch YouTube and am surprised how much time I can spend watching puppy videos.

Exercise and rest are the keys to vibrant health.

 We all know this, yet, so many of us ignore it. Before cancer, I exercised like crazy, at the expense of sleep. I believe, sleep deprivation was a contributing factor to my diagnosis. Now, I make sure I get at least eight hours and move my body every day. I wouldn’t describe myself as having vibrant health, but I would say I am more fit that the average person, which has been one of my secrets to managing a chronic illness.

Touch and intimacy are basic human needs. 

We’ve all seen the study about babies who do not thrive when they are not touched and cuddled, yet, as we grow older, we assume that need dwindles. If you’re unwell, you should double-up the hugs and love.

 For me, this is the most powerful axiom. Its context is that everything is temporary. We all walk around with an illusion of control, which is not the case. When you look deeply, you will see that there are no guarantees. Health is temporary. Sickness is temporary. Happiness is temporary. Sadness is temporary. One of the reasons loss of anything is so hard to accept is because we do not expect change. We want our lives to continue on without any uncomfortable interruption. And when the interruption occurs, we are surprised and hurt. Accepting that everything is impermanent has given me great comfort. It has made the natural ups and downs easier to accept. And most important, it has taught me to live each day as if tomorrow is not guaranteed, because it is not.

 I vividly remember the days and weeks after surgeries and chemotherapy concluded. I felt this euphoric connection to everyone and everything down to the core of my bones. Perhaps it was a high level of relief, trauma or PTSD, but I was so happy to be alive and enthralled with everything. I would go for a walk in my neighborhood and notice the tiniest, most beautiful things I never realized were there. I’d often come home with tears streaming down my face and my husband looking at me as if I’d lost my marbles. Everything seemed magical. While some of the feeling has faded, the memories remain evidence that we are all connected to everyone and everything whether we notice it or not.

	Whether you are impacted by cancer, another illness or life challenge, I hope these axioms give you the same pause, solace and perspective they have for me.

7 universal truths for pause, solace and perspective during cancer and life. 

7 Yoga Truths for Cancer and Life

In his book “Information Anxiety” (1989), Richard Wurman claims that the weekday edition of “The New York Times” contains more information than the average person in 17th-century England was likely to come across in a lifetime. I am curious how that statement would change given the speed of information and life in 2017. Of course, I am so grateful for the significant impact this surge of information has created in the cancer world. However, the biggest downside of the increased velocity is a world with so much noise.  Add cancer to this equation, and it’s no wonder anxiety accompanies the disease.  

Gandhi said, “There’s more to life than increasing its speed,” and it took a cancer diagnosis in September 2014 for me to understand the meaning of this quote. Information overload and busyness has become a chronic disease in our society. It seems as though everyone wants to move through life as fast as possible, and news pours on us before we can formulate our own thoughts. I think it’s quite sad. None of us will be on our deathbed wishing we moved through this world more rapidly. Everybody and everything wants our time and attention, which are two of the most precious commodities for a cancer survivor.   

Illness did not just force me to slow down - there was a chunk of time where it pretty much stopped me in my tracks. I went from endurance athlete to bedridden in a matter of months, which was humbling and an experience filled with valuable lessons. As a result, I learned that the slower I go, the more I can actually accomplish well. Slowing down allows me to live with quality, in the moment.  And most importantly, decreasing my pace has made me acutely aware of the outside noise that distracts us from the life’s most important things, which aren’t things at all. They are our relationships and health.   

I am very fortunate that I did not have (or want) to jump back into a busy life after going through active treatment. My life gives me the option to say, “no,” which I do often. When I’m in a particularly noisy period, I don’t just slow down the intake of information and activities, but do my best to pause all together in order to put all my time and attention into my personal self-care. I give myself the time and space to do my favorite things which include writing, yoga, reading, sleeping for eight to nine hours, taking naps, meditating daily, writing my prayer and gratitude list, taking walks (gasp) without a device and reduce my time on the internet.   

Whether you’re a cancer survivor or not, EVERYONE could benefit from slowing down, pausing and reducing the noise to enjoy the only guarantee any of us have, which is the present moment we are in. 

How decreasing my pace has made me acutely aware of the outside noise that distracts us from the life’s most important things, which aren’t things at all.

Pausing, Slowing Down & Reducing the Noise

I’ve wanted to see the movie "Collateral Beauty" since its release last year, and I finally watched it. There are times when a movie, song, writing, painting or another piece of art generate a profound impact in us; I would add this film into that category. 

The main character, played by actor Will Smith, is suffering from tremendous grief. The movie tells the story of his business partners and friends going to great lengths to help him. These people learn important life lessons as well. The underlying themes are love, time and death. Cancer also has a couple starring roles. The concept of "Collateral Beauty" is explained, 

a character shares her feelings of an overwhelming 

and profound connection to everything after her own traumatic experience.

After this scene, I looked at my husband and said, "I totally get it." 

Without question, dealing with illness has made me more intensely aware of love, time and death. I remember not long after treatment, feeling so much love for everything and everyone around me. I had so much gratitude for time and deeply understood its fragility and temporariness. I walked the line between life and death, and saw how thin the line is. These feelings were so intense to the point my face would be soaked with tears from a pretty sunset or when my eyes flicked open in the morning. It was then I learned how much beauty can exist in that deemed terrible. I think these feelings and awareness have been a gift and none of that would be possible without cancer. 

"No matter how dark and no matter how difficult a time is, there is something beautiful that’s happening right there, you just have to look and see it." 

Be sure to stop and notice the “beauty” during and after cancer. 

The 'Collateral Beauty' of Cancer

Ugh! Getting scans is a necessary evil along the road of cancer. It is my opinion, terms like "scanxiety" should be clinical diagnoses. where its affected should be prescribed copious amounts of sleep aids, anti-anxiety meds and painkillers. It is real and it is no joke. I once asked a more seasoned survivor, “Does it ever get easier?” They just laughed, then immediately stopped and with the straightest, most serious face, said, “No. No, it does not.” And I’m here to attest that three years in, it has not gotten easier, but I have learned how to manage the anxiety.

Ugh! My scan is on Friday. I clear entire schedule this week, so I can worry in solitude. I don’t want to tell anyone this is the week because they’ll spend Friday sending me texts like, “Thinking of you,” and I won’t know how to respond because I know I have cancer and I know it’s everywhere. In fact, why don’t we just skip the scan, since I know my doctor’s going to tell me there’s nothing more to be done. I spent the rest of the day eating McDonalds, in bed, watching an entire season of “The Real Housewives of New York.”

Waking up on Tuesday, I decide to treat myself with a shopping trip. While shopping, I have thoughts along the vein of, “Why are you even buying clothes anymore since you’ll be dead in a few months anyway? It’s a waste of money.” I leave the mall, having bought nothing. I go home and take a nap.

Wednesday, I plan my funeral complete with instructions, playlists and who should be alerted.

Thursday, I start a shared Google docs folder with all the instructions for home since I know when I die in a couple days it will be super important for my husband to know that trash day is Monday and not to forget to vacuum under the bookshelf because that’s where cat hair hides.

Friday, In the shower, I tell myself, “I don’t even care if I have cancer.” I drive to the hospital, get undressed, jump in the MRI machine. It’s taking longer than normal. I picture at least ten doctors in a room with worried faces where they’re saying things like, “She’s a goner.” When the MRI concludes, I notice the technician won’t look me in the eye. Yup, confirmed, I should get my affairs in order. Whatever, I don’t even care if I have cancer anyway. I stop at Taco Bell. I’m starving thanks to the no food for six hours rule. I cry the whole way home as I stuff tacos in my mouth. I didn’t protest when my oncologist scheduled this test on Friday, which means I get to continue post-traumatic scan anxiety throughout the weekend, ruining both my weekend and everyone who is around me. By the time my doctor’s appointment occurs the following Thursday, I’m back to, “I don’t care if I have cancer.” My oncologist comes in and wants to small talk. Make a note that should there be a next time, I will not even say hello and tell her to cut to the chase and tell me how long I have.

Ugh! My scan is on Friday. Resist the urge to cancel all your plans. In fact, do the opposite. Look at your calendar and make sure you have something fun planned every single day. I schedule lunch time yoga Monday through Thursday. I go for a walk every morning. Knowing it’s going to be beautiful on Tuesday, I call a friend and ask if she’s free to meet and color at the park, which is something we talked about months ago. She is and we enjoy a few hours chatting and coloring.

Wednesday, I go to Target and buy a small gift for a friend who just accomplished a major goal. I write her a nice note and put the gift in the mail. Thursday, I clean and organize the garage. “Idle handles are the devil’s workshop.”

Friday rolls around and I did not sleep good. My MRI isn’t until 10:30, so I lay in bed watching Jimmy Fallon. This is a big indulgence, plus I can’t eat or drink, anyway. At 9:00, I rise, shower and put on a nice outfit. I do my hair and makeup. Look good, feel good. I get to the hospital and they’re on time. I jump into the MRI machine and notice how much my meditation practice has come in handy during the 35-minute study. I just lay there and focus on my breath. When I exit the room, my husband’s in the waiting room. We go have a lunch. I don’t get McDonalds. We return to the waiting room until the nurse calls us back. I’ve since learned I can just tell my oncologist I don’t want to wait the weekend. If she schedules my scan on Friday, I want my results Friday. Without protest, she obliges.

So, the lesson in these two stories is: If you suffer from scanxiety, having a plan for the days leading up to your scan is absolutely critical. Be sure to develop this plan before scanxiety starts. Write a list of things that make you happy and are fun. Don’t hide. Call a friend - that’s what they’re for and I know they’d love to be a part of your scanxiety reduction plan. Communicate with your doctor and make sure they know you don’t want to wait. Implementing these tactics hasn’t made my scanxiety disappear, it’s just made me get through the week with less torture.

A survivor develops a plan for managing anxiety through scan week. 

Two Approaches to Scanxiety

Anytime a friend or family member knows someone newly diagnosed, they get sent my way. I love this because I believe in mentorship, but I hate it because it’s a role I never wanted. Actually, I don’t think anyone wants this job.

When I connect with the referral, I often find that they’re looking for words of wisdom and my reaction is, “You’re coming to me? OMG! I have no idea what I’m doing.” But, when I take a step back and meditate on the years since my diagnosis, I realize that I have acquired a significant amount of wisdom on navigating the maze, so below you’ll find some of my biggest lessons learned along this crazy road:

1. Prepare for bad days. They’re inevitable. I created a list of things to do on when cancer or life gets me down. On my list: take a walk, call a friend to hang out, go to yoga or for a run, watch Jimmy Fallon lip sync battles, you get the idea. Doing these things doesn’t always turn a bad day good, but they do aide in sooth me so it’s not as torturous. But guess what, there will be good days too. Enjoy those.

2. Choose your vocabulary. I hate being called a “cancer patient” and prefer “cancer survivor,” which I assigned to myself on diagnosis day. I also decided not to claim cancer by choosing to refer to it as “the” cancer and not “my” cancer. Sure, it’s a play on words, but words matter and have power. I often roll my eyes at cliché verbs such as “fighting,” and battling and nouns like “warrior,” but I can see where others find great power in these words. This is your experience and you get to choose the words to describe what you’re going through - not prepackaged phrases or clichés.

3. Limit your research. Yes, you read right. Google’s search results can be overwhelming. While being an informed patient is critical, there comes a point where it’s too much. Set a timer for an hour, do your Googling and then go live your life. It might even be helpful to plan your research at a specific time of day. I don’t Google in the evening. Otherwise, I stay up all night thinking. I Google before something fun, so my mind does not dwell on the results for too long.

4. Prepare to learn the true meaning of friendship. There are people who showed up for me, who I considered acquaintances before illness. They were people who called, texted, sent me cards, cooked me dinners and took me to appointments. There were also friends I considered close, who went missing in action. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. I understand - cancer is uncomfortable and not fun, but I now know the true meaning of friendship. Words cannot express my gratitude for these angels and I would go to the ends of the earth on their behalf, as they did for me.

5. Think about what you will do on the other side. I cannot accept that we are given these obstacles for no reason. I think it’s important to discover meaning or the lesson in a traumatic experience. Do you want to help others affected by the disease? Awesome. Or do you want to erase the experience from your memory? Totally understandable. Whatever category you fall into, do something! Take the trip you’ve been talking about for years. Write the book. Run the marathon. Jump out of the plane. Make amends with the family member. If cancer teaches us anything, it’s that there are no guarantees, so minimize your chances of regret.

6. Get a therapist. Your doctor is leading the team on physical healing, but you cannot ignore the mental, emotional and spiritual aspects. Cancer is a torturous mental challenge and having an outside opinion has been instrumental to me. Ignore this and you’ll miss important aspects of healing. Plus, it’s sometimes difficult to talk to those so close to you about big fears that accompany the disease since they themselves are so emotionally invested in you.

7. Find a support group. It does not have to be traditional. It just has to work for you. I still have never been to one where you sit in a circle and cry, but I have met countless lifelong friends through a weekly writers’ workshop and a young survivors nonprofit. I also participate in an online group of people with the same disease. It’s here where I found my specialist and often research treatments. I always thought of support groups as therapy, but they can also be a wealth of information.

8. See a leader. No one will hold your best interests at the top of their mind the way you do and having the right doctor is game changing. Life-saving, in fact. Don’t settle on the first doctor who crosses your path. Visit at least two or three—more if your case is rare. Find someone who’s doing research on your disease and not someone who’s following the pack. It took me several opinions to find a specialist who knew what to do with a one-in-10-million diagnosis, but once I found him, my world changed. He disagreed with all the previous opinions and I know I am alive today because of his experience. I travel from Nashville to New York City to see him every six months and often look forward to hearing the research is in his pipeline.

9. Be relentless. It is exhausting, and the only time I’ll ever refer to disease as a fight is in reference to navigating the medical maze. My doctors call me relentless and I take it as a compliment. I do not leave them alone (respectfully) and because of this, they return my call or email quick.

10. Practice gratitude. It wouldn’t be a post from me, if I didn’t mention gratitude at least once. There will be days it will be hard to be grateful for anything, but believe me when I say, there is always something to be grateful for, even if it’s being alive, which is a privilege denied to many. Write these down. Re-read them when times are tough.

I’ve also learned these lessons are constantly shifting, evolving and revealing themselves. Cancer survivorship is a process and I am a grateful participant. I wish the same for you.   

10 Lessons for the Newly Diagnosed Patient With Cancer

We all want more sleep, yet most of us are walking around deprived of this essential element our bodies need. When we haven’t gotten enough sleep, our immune system is lower and our brain function reduced. We don’t have energy for the exercise which reduces our risk. Shall I continue? I believe that there’s a high probability the day that first rogue cell entered my body, I was probably sleep deprived. If I had not been, maybe cancer would have never happened.

Sadly, sleep deprivation has become a badge of honor in our society. We all know a person who resolves, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” or brags, “I’m more productive because I only get five hours a sleep each night.” What these people don’t realize that is a lack of sleep could bring death sooner rather than later and their lack of sufficient sleep actually makes them less productive. I don’t know about you, but I want to live longer and work smarter, not harder.

According to the National Sleep Foundation, the average adult needs seven to nine hours each night. I’m no expert, but I think adding an hour or two if you’re affected by cancer or another illness is a prudent idea. The National Sleep Foundation also states your genes begin to change when you get anything less than six hours a night. Their researchers observed up to 700 different changes that can occur after a week of sleep deprivation.

My truth is, I am preaching about sleep after realizing my own problem two months ago which developed during treatment. Like many of us, I fell into the category of being perpetually exhausted. I would spend my days and nights laying in bed with the TV blaring. Once I was healthy again, falling asleep with the TV continued to be my security blanket and hindering the quality sleep my body craved.

On a long flight home after the holidays, I stumbled along a podcast where the Huffington Post’s Arianna Huffington was interviewed about her book, 

. She explained how the majority of us are sleep deprived and as a result, not living up to our full potential. Her recommendation was to create a bedtime routine as we do for our children, who wake up with superhuman energy. Yes, some of this has to do with youth, but some of it has to do with the quality and quantity of sleep they get each night.

Taking Ariana’s advice, I began putting myself to bed. I turn on my salt lamp. I take a bath or shower. I dress myself in comfortable pajamas and not the holey, old t-shirt I used to sleep in. I take my pills. I rub some lavender oil behind my ears. I write a list of everything I’m grateful for. I read a book for enjoyment until I start to nod off. I turn the lamp off and fall asleep until the birds are chirping. There’s no cell phone in the room, no TV and no iPad. The verdict - I am sleeping nine hours a night and waking up more refreshed than ever. It’s been two months and I haven’t napped during the day once, which used to be a regular occurrence.

While undergoing treatment, most patients complain about either not having the energy to get out of bed or not being able to sleep at all. I get it and I say, during treatment, you need to do what works for you and addresses the immediate need. If you’re too tired, drag yourself out for 20 minutes of exercise and then back to bed if you’re still exhausted - if you can. If you can’t sleep, try putting yourself to bed like mom did when you were a kid. And when all else fails, talk to your doctor. Let them know how you’re sleeping and any challenges you’re having around the subject. I can guarantee you’re not the only patient who’s ever encountered this problem, so chances are, you’re doctor has a solution for improving the situation. And like everything, be persistent. Especially if you have a history of cancer. One of the best healing mechanisms of the body is triggered by sleep and don’t you want all those mechanisms working at their full capacity?

I can see some of your faces. You might be a parent, someone with a demanding job and/or that person who has never been a good sleeper. I’m here to politely acknowledge your challenge, but then Arianna Huffington, the National Sleep Foundation and I are here to tell you, it’s imperative you prioritize sleep. Put your mask on first before assisting others. Prioritize it above everything else and you’ll be so much better at everything else. And most important, you’ll be healthier and increase your odds of overcoming and avoiding disease.

Check out the National Sleep Foundation’s site, sleep.org for some interesting articles, statistics and recommendations on getting better sleep. 

One cancer survivor's story of making sleep a priority.