Life is not a fairy tale....

The story of the Three Little Pigs has always been a parental favorite, because it's obvious, from the very beginning, which pig is going to win, and which pigs are going to lose. It is a cautionary tale, of course, and we read these moralistic fantasies to our children with a view to guiding them onto the right pathway. The story is all about hard work, doing things right, taking the time and effort to build the proper foundation so that you can withstand the storms of life.

If only it were so easy in real life.

Our family stands at a new threshold, one that is exciting, even thrilling, both for the two children who are fleeing the nest, as well as the mother who has anticipated this day for so long. I frequently hear children likened to baby birds leaving the nest, and flying for the first time. The parent birds even throw the reluctant fledglings out, getting them started on their own life journey. Perhaps that's true elsewhere, but doesn't really capture what I see in my world.

I think children are more like baby bunnies. I had the dubious pleasure of watching a nest of them grow to maturity a couple of weeks ago in dangerous proximity to a Jack Russell Terrier. When I accidentally discovered the nest, it was full of teensy little bunnies who did nothing but sleep in a pile deep in the ground nest. As the week went by, the pile grew larger, until it overflowed the nest, and finally, they were ready to leave. One by one, they hopped away, out into the big world by themselves, ready to take on the thrills and dangers of their future.

The Jack Russell, which I did take some care to keep away from the area, did not discover the nest until after they were out of it, and he is very disappointed, although clearly remaining hopeful they will return! There is no corollary in this story for him. I just figured I'd share.

I feel obligated to point out that this was not Peter Rabbit. These bunnies were not going to run home to mother at the end of the story, and if they got in trouble, she was no where to be seen. They were going to have to make it on their own, and if they got into Mr. McGregor's garden, they were likely to encounter a dog with a lot of teeth. This is real life, and it's a harsh world out there.

I have spent the last 25 years watching over my baby bunnies, and now, they will each flee in their own separate directions, very much like the baby bunnies as they left their nest.

The oldest, a full fledged college graduate with a fellowship at a great school ahead of him, and the thrill of graduate school on the horizon, is fully grown, self-supporting, and no longer a dependent in any sense of the word. I have watched him evolve during the last few years, and it has been a fascinating process, because this is the time where he has truly become an adult and a man, and is now ready to take on the world. He and I have adult conversations these days because suddenly, he sees things from an adult perspective, and he looks at life and the world and his future differently than he did even a year ago.

As a mother, I look at him with pride and a sense of a job well done. I have always seen, as my primary goal, making myself obsolete, and with him, I have reached the finish line.

I don't mean to imply that he doesn't still need, or perhaps more accurately want, me in his life. On the contrary, like most adult children, he calls on me frequently for help or advice of various kinds, especially when he runs into a new life situation for which he is not fully prepared.

But I know now if he had to, he could handle anything he needed to on his own. These days, when he calls for advice, he is really calling to talk over what he has already decided, and he has taken charge in a whole new way, which allows me to step back and step out of the way, and know that he is prepared for whatever life throws in his path.

My son has taken his time, done things right, and is building his house of bricks. He has planned, set goals, worked hard, and is now enjoying the fruits of his labors. It is a true thrill to see that happen, and to watch him realize his dreams. When the wolf tries to crawl down the chimney, I am confident that my son will be ready for him.

I learned this week, however, that the bunnies don't just run from the nest and disappear. They hop out of the nest and find the nearest safe place, and there they rest and prepare themselves for the big push out into the world. There is a maturing that takes place in the safety of the place near the nest - they have left, but they are gathering themselves for the big leap of faith that is life on their own.

My youngest is about to take that step and flee the nest, and find that first safe place where she will mature and grow up. Like most college campuses, it will be a mostly safe place for her to get ready to meet the world, although there will be dangers for her to deal with on her own. Each new challenge will be an additional step along the path of her maturity, a necessary part of the process of growing into adulthood.

Here is where the analogy stops, however, because unlike the mother bunny, who is out of their lives forever, I will still be here. They can return to the nest any time they want, and they know I will be here, more or less the same as always. There is a lot of comfort in that - as social creatures, it's important to each of us to know that we have our own tribe to look out for us.

A friend recently warned me that living alone is a wonderful thing, but you have to be very careful not to allow yourself to become a despot in your own kingdom. She pointed out that once your children move out, you no longer have anyone to disagree with you. Instead, you are in charge of everything all the time, you get to have everything your own way, and you never have anyone telling you what to do or taking charge of your time.

I have never lived alone, going straight from home to college, then graduate school and marriage. I feel I am on the cusp of an exciting new place in my life, one which will provide me with new opportunities for personal growth, and even to determine the course of the rest of my life. With my bunnies out of the nest, at least partway, suddenly, I have the freedom to please myself.

I will be able to sleep until 10 if I want to. [Of course, at almost 50, that is probably not in the cards, anyway, but it's the idea of it that appeals, more than the fact, anyway.] I can go to bed at 8 and watch a movie without having to think about when someone will be home. I won't have to schedule my days or nights around someone else's schedule.

The power may corrupt, I fear.

I have never had the ultimate say over my life. I have always answered to someone - parents, spouse, children, not necessarily because I had to, but because I have a lifetime of putting others first as my priority.

When my daughter was little, I had a long list of things I was going to accomplish when she went to school, and I would have all those hours every day to myself. Instead of knocking things off my list, I filled the time in other ways, largely to do with volunteering at school, and supporting my kids in their various activities.

I was a room mom for five straight years. I attended every band concert, almost every play performance, every recital, and more rehearsals than I care to remember. I have had the thrill of seeing my child perform in a national honor band, and a play that received international recognition. I coordinated, organized, participated in, and supervised any number of events, from field trips to band festivals to volunteer activities, and it has been worth every moment.

But I am looking forward to the opportunity to check some things off of my own bucket list, and to finally, at long last, reap the rewards of having given of myself to others for so long.

Sometimes you see bunnies frolicking on the lawn when they think no one is looking. They jump and dance and dart around, just enjoying life in the moment, without regard for the dangers they have passed through, or what may be ahead. I am anticipating some of those moments ahead for myself. If you happen to see a 50 year old woman frolicking through life, don't be surprised. She may be the mother bunny celebrating the empty nest, and watching her children building a house of bricks.

A laugh a day...

Human beings take themselves very seriously, as a general rule. We need look no further than Twitter to see the proof of that statement. Although I can see the value of Twitter if you are in a meeting, and want to send brief content summaries to people not in attendance, I can't see the value of knowing Lindsay Lohan's every thought or movement.

Applications such as Foursquare, which automatically report our location to our entire social network, are further evidence that we have very little sense of perspective on our own place in this universe. Perhaps even the smug assumption that writing a blog is worth the time for someone else to read is another symptom of the natural narcissism of our culture.

I generally try to maintain a sense of humor about life, because, as the old saying goes, you either laugh or you cry. I prefer to laugh. It's not always easy, especially when it comes to laughing at myself, but I try, anyway, because I hate crying. Although I've been doing a lot of that lately, what with the many changes that have already hit and will continue to occur in my household over the next few months.

However, it is always easier to laugh at someone else's troubles than it is to laugh at one's self. For example, if you see someone trip over a curb, you may initially make sure they are okay, but then you will laugh. If it's your relative or friend, you will probably laugh harder. But how do you react when it's you that is looking foolish or silly?

I got to thinking about that this morning when I read a post on my Facebook that one of my daughter's friends had posted to her wall. Teenagers are especially susceptible to taking themselves too seriously, I think. They are so worried about being seen as adults and being taken seriously by others that they forget a lot of life is nonsense, and they don't have enough fun.

The website to which my daughter's friend was referring is one where people post silly things designed to make themselves look foolish in order to make other people laugh at them. I like the trend. Even if anonymous, it is not only allowing, but actually encouraging, teens to see the embarrassing things that happen and to share them with others so they can all have a good laugh at themselves together.

Most of the stuff that gets posted is not that funny, and a lot of it is made up, simply to see what they can come up with. But I still like the idea of a website where people can make fun of themselves for the entertainment of others, with everyone having a good laugh as the outcome.

It makes a nice contrast to incidents like the recent suicides we have heard about, where kids felt so bullied by other teens that they literally couldn't bear their lives any more and ended them. The tragedies in these situations don't need elucidation. We all know it's a bad thing when a 15 or 16 year old thinks life is so terrible there is no point in waiting for something better to come along.

We live in serious times, and there are a lot of serious issues to deal with in most households. Unemployment is high, and even in households where they are employed, people are working longer hours, doing more work for less pay, and generally more stressed about everything. People are taking less vacation time, they are doing less for fun and relaxation, and they are taking themselves and life more seriously all the time.

So, in the effort to spread the laughter around, here is my anecdote for today. Several years ago, we went to Mexico on vacation. We were all laying by the large pool when an attractive young woman came walking towards us on her way to get a beverage to drink. I saw heads turning from way down at the other end of the pool, and a wave of snickering behind her, but couldn't really see what was so funny until the woman was in front of me. That was when I realized that she was letting it all hang out, literally and unintentionally.

Even as I laughed along, I found it fascinating that not one person told her. Including me. We all watched her walk by, and we all laughed and stared, but no one stopped her to tell her of her embarrassing situation. At least, until she got into the poolside bar, where the bartender spilled the bad news. We were sitting close enough for me to see her reaction, and it was clear that she had no idea of the show she had been putting on for our benefit. That might have been the funniest part of all, truthfully. It was like a comedy sketch, with her facial expressions worthy of Buster Keaton.

On her return trip, a long walk, I'm sure, she was blushing, but seemed to have a sense of humor about it. I imagine the beverage she had in hand may have helped ease the situation a little, but I suspect that mostly, she just had a sense of humor about herself. I would bet that she now tells that story to others, and has a good laugh about it every time.

There is an old saying, laughter is the best medicine. I think that is a prescription we all need to take, each and every day. Forget apples. Maybe it's really a laugh a day that keeps the doctor at bay.

Children of your world....

When you have children, you find that your world expands significantly. You start with one tiny baby, and before you know it, there are a bevy of young people invading your space and your kitchen, and, it seems, your heart. As I approach my daughter's graduation day, it is with some sadness that I realize she will soon take her circus with her to college, and the days of chaos will be a distant memory too soon.

I have always enjoyed my children's friends. They are fun and funny, quirky and unique, and they found a place in my heart almost without my realizing it. When my son graduated from high school, I missed the lively discussions and the interesting conversations that came with his friends hanging around the house.

But I still had the more social child here. There wasn't much time to worry about who was missing, since she was always pretty busy filling the space.

I have realized that this fall, my life will be very different. For the first time in 25 years, I will have my time and space to myself, and it is going to be hard to fill. I find myself thinking at odd moments about the kids I will miss, and it brings me to tears. (It has been a wet spring, and it's not going to get any drier, I don't think.)

I have been a mom most of my adult life, and I am not sure I know how to be just me any more. My daughter said recently that she wasn't sure how I would get along without her, because I am always in such a haze about everything. I had to laugh, because she said the same thing before she went off to kindergarten. Just as she worried back then about what I would do to fill my lonely time without her, and how I would ever find my car in the parking lot, she is worrying now, quietly in the back of her mind, about how I will fill my time without her, and how I will ever find my car in the parking lot.

Back then, it was just a short time each day, and I cherished the precious moments to myself. Now I will have days and weeks to fill, and I will miss the fun that comes with having a social butterfly living in my household.

I will miss her friends - the laughing and the talking, the dresses and the goofy stories, the pretty smiles and the bitter tears and everything that goes with having a teenaged girl in your household. I will miss the girls, with their silly stories, and I will miss the boys with their sheepish smiles and shy manners.

It will be quiet around here, especially on dance nights, when I am used to having my bathroom overtaken by girls on a mission of beauty and fashion. I will miss walking into my bedroom and finding a group of people stretched out on my bed watching television. I will miss the talking and the laughing and the stories of all the stuff they have done, and I will especially miss all the times they were kind enough to include me in the happenings.

As your children get older, your world expands to include the people who are special to them. Whether it is their best friend or their girlfriend or boyfriend, the heart has room for everyone, and your life is the richer for it.

I realized awhile back that my daughter's closest friends know our garage door code, and think nothing of using it to come in when they arrive. It is convenient for me, because then I don't have to answer the door. But I also realized that by giving out the code to someone, you are making them a part of your world, accepting them in your circle of trust, and conferring upon them honorary family status.

When this part of my life is over, I will have no regrets. I have lived in the moment, and experienced the fun as it unfolded, and my memories will allow me to relive it whenever I want.

But just in case one of them still needs me once in awhile, I hope they will know that they can always come over for a hug and some conversation. I just hope they don't forget to close the garage door on their way out.

Wise old owl....

Not too long ago, in a moment of exasperation, someone I know informed me that I am an owl. He had recently learned about animal personality profiles, and his assessment of me was that I fit that profile to an O. This evening, as I was mulling something over, I thought of that comment and it prompted me to look up that personality test to see what the owl traits actually were.

The Owl Personality: A quiet thinker with analytical traits; wants to know things, wants accuracy, likes lists, numbers and statistics. Loves detail, research, data and information. Dislikes change, taking risks, people who are sloppy in their work and who have poor time-keeping habits. Owls also dislike people who are showy and loud. When change is happening, they want to know HOW to do what they are being asked to do. Can get quite stressed during change processes, particularly if a lot of change happens over a sustained period. Under pressure Owls will avoid conflict. Owls are attracted to careers in banking, insurance, office management and even credit control.

I hadn't bothered to look at the profile before, because I knew it wasn't exactly meant as a compliment. I have to admit, though, he probably got it exactly right, although I think most of the traits are qualities, of course, whereas I believe my identifier was feeling otherwise, at least at the time.

I haven't taken the test, but I probably don't need to, either. Anyone who knows me at all should be able to easily identify me, in fact. I laughed out loud when I got to the end. I wish I'd had this back when I was in my 20's and trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up....

Of course, this is just a profile, and I'm sure everyone has elements of all four profiles in their personalities. I am certainly the owl, but I also have some dove traits, too. Which probably explains why it takes me two weeks to choose a pencil. (That observation came courtesy of my ex, Mr. Peacock, when he was irritated with my indecision one day. Sadly, I couldn't deny it. If you're right, you're right. Annoying, but right.)

As I reviewed the other profiles, I quickly identified my closest relatives, some of whom are my exact opposites. That might explain a few things. Anyway, I offer here for your reading enjoyment the remaining profiles. See if you can find yourself, or your spouse, parents or children, in any of them.

The Dove Personality: Amiable, caring, sensitive. Great helpers, very personal, indirect communicators (tend to ask permission before they will do something). Also don’t like too much change, but if change has to happen, they want to know WHO needs to do what. Can become personally involved with other people’s problems, sometimes to the detriment of their workload. Their whole reason for being is to build personal relationships. Very supportive people; great in customer service. Under great pressure can tend to do a ‘Poor me, it’s not fair’ type of reaction. Can be martyrs if they are not careful. Love careers to do with people. Nursing, counseling, teaching and being nannies. Great in customer service and love dealing with customer complaints. They will love your customers to bits.

The Peacock Personality: Peacocks are the very loud, life-and-soul of the party types that Owls dislike so much. They are intuitive, impulsive, swift moving (often hard to find because they move about so much and so often). Love being the front person, love social situations, parties are their life-blood. Need appreciation, recognition and regular pats on the back. Like to inspire others – can be very charismatic. Not good with deadlines, detail or time-frames. Dislike meetings, particularly meetings that drill down into too much detail. Great at coming up with off-the-wall ideas, but don’t ask them to implement the ideas, they are not great implementers. Want to know WHY. Great salespeople.

The Eagle Personality: Direct, action-orientated, can be quite forceful and dominant. Often in positions of power. Wants to know WHEN. Needs to be in Control, needs deadlines and expects people to stick to them. A direct communicator – can tend to tell rather than ask. Not good with time-wasters or woolly thinkers. Particularly dislikes long-winded explanations and hates excuses.

Turns out I am closely related to a peacock, a dove, and an eagle, although I'm guessing the eagle wouldn't recognize himself. The peacock would not only embrace the situation, but would, in fact, want to throw a party to celebrate.

The profiles that are most likely to come into conflict? Peacocks and owls; doves and eagles.

Of course, you need all kinds of personalities, or you would never get anything done. So I think we should embrace our own particular qualities, whatever they may be. Of course, owl that I am, I enjoyed seeing myself quantified and nailed down. Odd? Perhaps. But at least it's in character.

The only thing missing was how much of the population falls into each category. Given the current celebrity cultural obsession, I'm guessing peacocks make up the majority of the population, followed by the eagles, who all want to be in charge of everyone. [As an owl, I spend a lot of time avoiding those in charge types, because it's people like me that they most want to rule.] I suspect doves are in short supply, and all the owls are in hiding, trying to figure out where they will blend best with the foliage so no one notices them. [They just need to accumulate a few more facts before they have to make a decision about something.]

While I don't take these personality profiles too seriously, I think there is some value in looking at the different ways we all approach the world, and how we cope and manage our lives. If we spend a little time recognizing our own traits, it may help us to identify those areas where we need to give a little extra effort. And it may help us to work better with others if we understand where they are coming from, as well.

Birds of a feather flock together, they say. But I wish you a bouquet of feathers of every bird, because that will make your life richer, if a little more confusing. And probably more fun, if the peacocks have anything to say about it.

Give me an inch, I will take a mile.....

About 13 years ago, I had a tiny spot on my upper back, under a bra strap, that would not go away. It was in a location that was very hard to see, and it took awhile for me to pay attention. It would catch, then it would bleed, then scab over until the next time, and we would repeat.

After a few weeks of this, I was tired of treating the blood stains on my clothing, so I decided I had better get serious about healing it up. I put a bandaid over it with a little antiseptic ointment, figuring with a little protection, it would be gone in a day or two, and that would be it.

Things didn't work out quite the way I expected. It didn't heal, it continued to bleed on and off, and this tiny little spot, no bigger than a pin point, really, just would not go away. Finally, I made an appointment with my doctor to have it removed.

This was not my first trip into his office. I had been there many times before to have suspicious moles looked at and the occasional dysplastic nevi removed, due to my high risk for having melanoma. (Fair skin, blue eyes, so many blistering burns I can't count them, difficulty tanning, the list goes on and on.)

I thought at least this time there wouldn't be the worry about what it was, because it in no way fit the risk factors for anything serious. I didn't think it was a mole, and I didn't recall having seen it there before. It was tiny, pin point sized, and perfectly round. It was raised, but that was only because it kept scabbing over. The edges were irregular, but of course, the scab was my explanation for that as well. It just appeared to be an irritated spot, and I wanted to get rid of it.

The couple weeks wait before I could get into his office passed quickly. When I got into the examining room, the doctor, who has a lot of experience with these kinds of spots, said he didn't think it was anything to worry about. However, he agreed it needed to come off, since it just wouldn't close up and heal. He also said he was sending it in to a lab for testing, just to be on the safe side given my history of dysplasia, which seemed like overkill to me, but I was just happy to be over and done with it.

It was a quick procedure, although it seemed more painful than usual. He told me when he had finished that he had taken enough that it required taping with steri strips, which would fall off on their own. He also warned me to make sure I kept it dressed with a bandaid until it was fully healed.

I thought it was odd, for such a small spot, to have taken such a large amount around it, and the wound went rather deep. But he reassured me before I left his office that although he would biopsy it, he didn't think it was anything to worry about, and I didn't need to come back unless it gave me trouble.

I went home, not thinking about it any more, and figured no news is good news. I thought very little more about it, other than the wound hurting for a day or two.

A couple of weeks later, I received a phone call from his nurse, and she uttered the word that I had been waiting, in the back of my mind, to hear for so long. "Because the biopsy revealed melanoma cells, we need to get you scheduled for a follow up exam."

I will never forget that moment.

It took my breath away, and my stomach knotted into a ball as I stood at the end of my kitchen counter. I don't remember what day of the week that call came, but I will never forget how it felt to hear the word cancer applied to my own life. I had very young children, I was only in my 30's. I had too much life left to have cancer, (and a very deadly form, moreover.)

I hit bottom with a thud, then realized it had to be a mistake. The doctor had never notified me, they didn't call and have me come in, nothing. Obviously, they had the wrong patient; had mixed me up with someone else.

I heaved an internal sigh of relief, and then told the nurse that I thought she had the wrong person. I confidently told her I hadn't been notified of anything like that, I only had a small spot removed, and it was over and done with. She asked me to hold so she could look at the original report again, to verify her information.

It was a long minute while I awaited the official reprieve - although I have always been the queen of denial, it is a lot harder to live in ignorance when you are waiting on hold for the doctor's office. But still, I knew in my heart that it was a mistake, and waited with confidence to have it cleared up.

The next voice I heard was my doctor, apologizing, and trying to explain. I don't remember exactly what he said, I sort of blanked out as he was talking, overwhelmed at the sudden turn my life had taken. I do remember him saying that somehow, my report had slipped by him, and that he was sorry I had gotten the news on the phone. I also remember him telling me they only saw a few cells in the top layer of the skin, that it was caught in the earliest stage possible, stage 0 to 1, and that they were certain they got everything with the biopsy.

The other thing he said are the words I have embraced since that day - I was lucky, because most people wouldn't have gone in and done anything about it. Melanoma is a rapid and deadly killer, and six months later might have been too late. Except for the extreme good fortune that it was in a location where it was being irritated, I might not have seen it until it was too advanced to treat.

An inch to the right or an inch to the left, and this story might have had another ending. That inch very probably saved my life.

Other than my immediate family and a few close relatives and friends, I have rarely mentioned my brush with cancer to anyone.

It is in part denial, I suppose. I am good at ignoring things in hopes they will somehow evaporate, although that has never been a particularly winning strategy, so I'm not sure why I keep trying. Until you talk about it, it's not really real, goes the thought process, so don't talk about it, and it won't be happening.

But it is also partly because I have never really felt like I had cancer, so I never felt it was right for me to say that I did. I didn't know what I had brewing at the time, and it was already gone before I found out. Talking about a cancer that was barely there seemed somehow wrong, because I didn't have a life battle to tell about; no chemotherapy, no radiation, my hair never fell out, nothing. I had a bit of minor surgery, it was gone before I knew it was there, and my life went on as if nothing happened.

The only time I have ever really talked about it is to yell at my kids to put on sunblock, because of course, they now have a family history of melanoma. Where my kids' lives are concerned, I cannot afford to play dumb, and neither can they.

I have always framed this experience for myself as being lucky, because it could have been bad, if I hadn't gotten it removed when I did. I refer to it as baby cells, just developing, no big deal. I never use the word cancer, really it was just a spot that could have been bad, if I had waited.

Of course, for the first year, I returned for checks every three months, then the following few years it was every six, to be certain that it didn't return, either to that spot, or somewhere else. Melanoma is one cancer that is at high risk for returning, and they are very careful in follow up treatments to be certain that it has not recurred. In between visits, I watch every mole on my skin, and any time there is something new or different, I keep an eye on it, and my doctor will see it next time I'm in her office, just in case.

There is disagreement among the experts about whether dysplastic nevi actually turn into melanoma, or whether melanoma is itself the spot from the first day. All I know is that I had a spot that caused a small problem, and because I paid attention, I am here today to tell you about my experience.

Why am I suddenly telling the world something I have been reluctant to admit even to myself? It is a fair question, and the answer is two fold.

The first answer is the quick and easy one - early detection saves lives. I am here today because I noticed something unusual and acted on it. It is critical to be aware of our own bodies, and to notice changes. You should never be afraid to talk to your doctor about anything that has changed, or seems different, or feels funny about your own body, because that is how lives are saved.

But that desire to warn people, alone, has not been enough to bring me out of my insulated shell. I am selfish enough to want to control my experience, and the desire for privacy has trumped everything else until now.

Last night, I reluctantly attended an event at my daughter's high school. Relay For Life is an annual fundraiser sponsored by the American Cancer Society, and I have always carefully avoided it. One of the things they do at this event is to honor cancer survivors. Given my attitude, that is a little awkward for me, so I have never been a part of it.

However, last night's event was co-chaired by my daughter. She found out at the last moment that there were very few survivors planning to attend, and she was trying to think of more people to invite that they could honor. She called out to me to ask me who I could think of, when suddenly, she stopped and said, "YOU are a cancer survivor. YOU can come and be honored."

If you had hit me with a brick in the middle of my forehead I could not have been more gobsmacked.

It was not an aha moment for me, it was a moment of panic, as I tried to back away from her words. I thought of all the people I know who have survived a real battle with cancer, and volunteered to contact everyone I know to see if there were more people that would be willing to attend and claim that status with pride.

She was disgusted with me. Even as I was carefully explaining to her and her boyfriend that I was not, in any way, a cancer survivor, she rather brutally reminded me that I have had melanoma, and that is cancer.

That is the thing about one's own children. They are not afraid to cut through the carefully constructed illusion and just throw the truth down on the table in front of you. Well, mine aren't, anyway.

I went to bed, having reluctantly agreed that I would think about it, and we didn't talk about it much more. I did agree to attend, not because I felt like I deserved to, but because she needed survivors. I qualified on a technicality, and I wanted to help her out.

When I arrived for the dinner, I received a T-shirt. I looked around at some of the people wearing the shirts, and was shocked to see the number of kids in purple. Cancer is an equal opportunity scourge, and that dinner was a good reminder of how far we are from eliminating it.

After the dinner, attended by a few people including one of my best friends who has survived her own battle, we all gathered for a picture. I put on the T-shirt without really looking at it, but I still didn't get the message that was meant for me.

Then we went into the gym for a short program. That program has changed my view of both my own attitude, and what it means to be a survivor.

During that program, I heard a woman talk about her battle with breast cancer. She is alive today because she was persistent, because she refused to take no for an answer, because she knew, when everyone else told her otherwise, that something was wrong, and she kept on searching until they had the right answer for her.

That woman is my template for what it means to be a survivor. She shouldn't even be here right now, and she has defied the odds. It is inspiring to be in the presence of people with such courage, and humbling, as well. When she called on the other survivors there to step out onto the floor to be recognized, I felt unworthy, like a fraud.

Following her talk, the survivors started the relay by taking a victory lap around the gym. It was a moment that changed my perception, because I had in front of me two people in purple T-shirts, and for the first time I read the message on the back.

"Happy Birthday is a victory song."

That is the message of survival, and it spoke straight to my heart. I am here today because of early detection, fluke though it may have been, and that is my story of survival. Each person who has battled cancer has their own story, and my story doesn't diminish anyone else's, nor does theirs diminish mine.

On the contrary, my story is the storybook ending, the hoped for outcome, for every person who has had that dreaded moment of hearing the word cancer applied to them. In fact, I would wish for every single person, and their loved ones, the happy ending that I was lucky enough to enjoy.

I was aware of my body because I got the message long ago that early detection is important, and now it is my turn to pass that lesson along to others. I will soon celebrate my 50th birthday because someone else taught me that early detection is the key, and everything went right for me. My story could have turned out differently, but for the warning that I needed to be aware of my body and what it was telling me.

It has been more than ten years since cancer gave me a passing blow, and in the eyes of the medical actuaries, I am back to square one - as if I had never had a cancer cell invade my body, and my mind. But if I am honest with myself, it has changed me indelibly. You cannot brush up against cancer and be untouched, no matter how fortunate you are, or how easily you got through it.

I worry about my kids using sunblock, and I wear sunblock religiously myself, where I otherwise probably would never have thought about it.

I don't go out in the heat of the day, and I don't want anyone else out there, either, because it is too much risk, and nothing is worth that.

I avoid situations in which I could get burned again, because I cannot afford even one blister any more.

I do a mole self-check every single month. Whenever I find something different or unusual or changed, I make an appointment to be seen by a doctor immediately instead of just brushing it off and pretending it doesn't worry me. I am aware of the signs of melanoma in a way that most people aren't, and I am constantly on the lookout for the next suspicious spot.

I make sure that my doctor keeps an eye on my moles each year at my annual physical, just to be sure that I haven't missed anything.

Although I don't dwell on it, I am never far from awareness that my life could have turned out differently, and I have deep gratitude that I was lucky when it really mattered.

Today, I am going to add one more change to the list because of attending that dinner last night. I am going to remind people whenever I can that early detection is the key to long term cancer survival. The earlier you find it, the more likely you are to beat it. It's that simple, and I am living proof.

On my next birthday, and every one thereafter, I will celebrate my survival with my family and friends. When they sing Happy Birthday, I will hear it in a new way. I will embrace the victory that I have experienced, and I will have a new appreciation for the life that I have been given.

In the meantime, I am going to frame a ruler and hang it on my wall as a reminder to everyone who comes in my door that early detection is one key to survival. And I'm going to take the inch I've been given and fight for the whole mile. Life is a gift to be shared, and I celebrate the living.

I want to pass that life saving gift to you, as well - early detection could save your life. Be self-aware, and don't be afraid to ask your doctor about anything that worries you. Schedule your annual physical today, and do the testing your doctor recommends, even though it seems like a waste of time, or you don't want to. Early detection saves lives, and next time it could be you.

Here is a website to learn about the early warning signs of melanoma, complete with pictures. http://www.skincancer.org/Melanoma/Warning-Signs.html

Happy birthday to Mom, Tootsie, Becky, Denise and every other cancer survivor out there. Today is the best day to celebrate your victory, and I cherish each day you have won.

I wish you an inch. It's up to you to run the mile.