My secret weapon that helps me maintain my sanity when it comes to managing living life with cancer: an organizer. Yes, the things that every one stopped carrying when smart phones were invented.
On Nov. 12, 2008, around 4 p.m., my phone finally rang. It’d been a month since my partial thyroidectomy, and despite calling daily, I had not received my pathology results. I had no idea if I was a cancer patient or not—and I wanted to know. It was my surgeon’s scheduler, saying that I had an appointment at 8 a.m. the following morning. I asked why I had to come in, since a month ago, he’d promised to call me with the results so I could avoid the 500-mile round trip. When my questions weren’t answered, I knew it was cancer.