I survived cancer, she didn’t; but I learned a lot from her

I am the one in eight women quoted in statistics about breast cancer in the United States.

I’m a part of the 12% of the population cited when talking about the probability of developing breast cancer within an average lifespan of 80 years.

But for me and the millions of women — and men — who are breast cancer survivors, we are not merely facts. We are faces. And behind the stats are our stories. Stories of survival and what it means.

Every day brings a myriad of tiny little reminders of what survival looks like.

The chemotherapy-induced neuropathy that makes my right foot somewhat numb and tingly, and limits the mobility of my right hand is one. Scars from a mastectomy and two rounds of reconstruction crisscross both breasts and my abdomen — where a surgeon slit me from hip-to-hip in order to graft my own tissue to reconstruct my left breast – reflect from the mirror each morning as I dress for the day.

But there are other reminders — so many more of them — of what survival means. Dinner dates with my husband, when we share bites from each other’s plates and stories of our days. Dressing our home for the holidays, preparing to welcome home our adult children and hosting our extended family for dinners and cherished celebrations. Crisp mornings on my patio, listening to my fountain splash and the birds sing while I write and work on behalf of my clients.

Simple joys that aren’t simple at all when I consider the eight rounds of dose dense chemotherapy, 25 rounds of radiation, and surgeries too numerous to count that it took for me to be here to experience them.

Yes, this season of Thanksgiving gratitude makes me keenly aware of the blessing of surviving advanced-stage cancer. But it’s more than this that causes me to stop and reflect.

On Nov. 1, I was both surprised and humbled to receive the Michelle Hastings Empowerment Award at the Project Pink: Pink and Pearls event benefiting Arizona Assistance in Healthcare.

I have no idea who nominated me or how I came to receive such an award.

And on that day, I had even less knowledge of who Michelle Hastings was.

But I went home determined to learn more about the woman who had inspired such an award.

Like me, Michelle was a mom. Wife. Blogger. And, like me, cancer — hers colorectal — interrupted her life.

Also like me, cancer brought into focus for Michelle what was most important to her — namely, her children, Julia and Kevin; her husband Lee; her mother and father, brothers and extended family; and her unfailing commitment to make every moment count.

Diagnosed in her early 30s with Stage 3 colon cancer, Michelle fought and won that battle, only to have it return — this time as Stage 4 colon cancer that had metastasized to her lungs and abdomen.

At just 38, Michelle passed quietly, held by the loving arms of her family.

But it is not her death they choose to remember. Instead, it is her life they honor with this award that bears her name.

You see, Michelle was funny, tenacious, passionately devoted to making the most of every minute. And it was her family that drove her to become a passionate advocate for bringing awareness to colorectal cancer and its warning signs.

As I prepare to welcome my own children and family home for the holidays and our youngest son’s college graduation in December, I am thinking of Michelle and her family. Like me, she wanted to see her children grow up, experiencing high school and college graduations, weddings, births and all that comes in between.

Both of us fought like hell to survive — for us and for our families.

Michelle would echo the advice I now offer. Get a mammogram every year. Talk with your doctor about a colonoscopy. Pay attention to changes in your health.

And make every moment of these coming holidays count: Be present. Listen intently. Give from the heart. Turn up the music and dance with your family in the kitchen. Don’t assume your family and friends know you love them — tell them. Often. More than anything, #LiveLikeMichelle.