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My survivor friends and I share the insensitive comments we have received about our cancer diagnosis.

My father was an alcoholic, and though he died in 1992, he lives on through my siblings and me because we all inherited a cancer syndrome from him.

Eventually, my daughter will stop seeing her oncologist, and while I appreciate all that he has done, I hope that they part ways forever.

I’d become an eating machine with a loathsome attitude on prednisone, so I decided to conduct my own taper of the drug.

There’s a fine line between toxic positivity and encouragement. Myself and other cancer survivors know that all too well.

The season of spring represents new awakenings for me, and this year, I’m determined to bring an air of positivity to my life and my cancer experience.

My heart breaks for patients with cancer and other health conditions who are forced to flee the war-torn Ukraine.

I have come to notice striking similarities between the variants of COVID-19 and the countless genetic mutations found in the cancer world, and all I can continue to do is hope for the future.

When two small spots appeared on my face, I couldn’t help but wonder if they might be cancerous. Had I failed to protect my skin with a hat or sunscreen? Suddenly, I was cancerphobic.

I’ve been feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around my doctor, so I think it’s time that we see other people.

After seeing my brother go through extraordinary pain because of lymphoma and then surviving breast cancer myself, I always pushed through the pain — even when I shouldn’t have.

My osteosarcoma has been under control for a few years now, and in my moments of free time, I start to feel guilty for lacking the drive to take on more.

While a recent health scare ruined a family vacation, I vowed to keep making plans and always look ahead to brighter days.

Cancer took a toll on mine and my husband’s sex life, but after a great sexual encounter on New Year’s Eve, I wondered if adding erotica into our relationship might help keep that passion alive.

I was frustrated when I developed lymphedema after my 2014 breast cancer surgery, but have since turned those negative feelings into advocacy for others who may be affected by the condition, too.

As humans, we have an inherent need to know why everything happens in our life — including a cancer diagnosis. But unfortunately, that is not always the case.

I’ve recently joined the masses in catching up with routine health care that was put off during the COVID-19 pandemic.

In spending just a few minutes a day on Twitter, I’ve created a support group with other cancer survivors who know how it feels to face the disease.

The post-scanxiety crash felt like an avalanche for me, and even though my scans were clear, it took talking to another cancer survivor to snap me out of it.

As a cancer survivor, I know all too well the struggles with depression and sadness. Fold in those grey winter days and It makes for a disastrous recipe.

Chemotherapy treatments for breast cancer would likely cause my daughter to lose her hair, but instead of waiting for her locks to fall out on their own, she took matters into her own hands.

Getting men to talk about their breast health is like fishing in an under-stocked pond, so I turn to the advice of my breast cancer sisters.

A look at a survivor's survivorship appointment and how being a “patient patient” helps tackle anxiety.

Although my daughter’s cancer scans currently show no evidence of disease, I am haunted by the fact that there is always a possibility it could return and uproot our lives yet again.

I think all of us feel abandoned somewhat when we lose an oncologist, and other cancer survivors have expressed these same emotions to me. But I have to realize that a piece of her will always be with me until the day I pass.

After reaching the point where anxiety was completely overwhelming my system before getting routine cancer scans, I decided to try a new approach suggested by my therapist to ease my worries.

Having been a caregiver to my late husband who died from cancer, I know first-hand the difficulties of caregiving — not to mention what it must be like for those trying to do it during a worldwide pandemic.

In the midst of my treatment for mantle cell lymphoma, I had to suffer through the feeling of wanting to crawl out of my own skin when my oncologist gave me a medication tapering plan that was not gradual enough.

Many young people slip cell phones inside their bras or pockets without a thought, but I worry if that is a safe practice and wonder if it could lead to health problems — such as cancer — in the future.

I laminated pictures of my friends and created an angel garden complete with a stone that reads “she flies with butterflies” to ensure that the friends I have lost to breast cancer aren’t forgotten.