I love dogs. The thing I love most about them is their unconditional love. Growing up, our family never owned a dog. We did have a few cats - until word got out in the feline world that one of my younger brothers liked to carry them about by their tails. After that, they never stayed around too long, and my parents gave up on trying to keep them - especially after learning that my brother was actually allergic to them. Probably a good thing...

I was always intrigued by the dogs in the neighborhood, but I never quite got the attachment my friends had to their canine pets. That is, until I owned one of my own. My husband had a beautiful tri-color basset hound named Elly Mae when we met. She and I became fast friends, and remained as such until the day she died. There were two more dogs after her - a chocolate lab named Laurie who wasn't with us for long, and another basset named Wally, who was very sweet, but possibly the dumbest dog on the planet. But it was Gypsy who stole my heart and endeared me to canines forever.

Gypsy was a beautiful lab mix who we adopted as a puppy. I was very sick at the time, and not at all up to training a rambunctious puppy, but I wasn't about to tell our daughter, Carleigh, NO when she begged for this dog. Training her was no picnic, but we learned very quickly that she was sent to us for a reason. One day, I was standing at the top of the stairs in our house, when I felt a seizure coming on. Gypsy was in another room upstairs, but sensed that something was wrong when my husband yelled from the bedroom to ask me if I was ok. She was only six months old at the time, but she came bounding out of the room and jumped the railing to the stairs - landing in front of me on the stairs and breaking my fall as I fell. It was like something out of a tear-jerker pet movie. And from that day on, Gypsy never let me out of her sight. She would either go into the bathroom with me, or lay on the floor outside until I came out. She would have to be in the same room with me when I was at home, and would go nuts trying to greet me when I came home. She sulked when I left, attacked me with kisses when I returned and looked after our whole family with tender loving care - including our cats.  She was a pain in the butt at times, but she taught me more about unconditional love than any human being could hope to. And she changed my mind about dogs. I am a forever fan of dogs because of Gypsy.

Fast forward to December of 2008. It was the week before Christmas and our family was in Charleston, SC, where our son, Zac, was playing in a holiday basketball tournament. Steve, Carleigh and I had time to kill before the championship game. The wind on Folly Beach was unbearably cold, so we decided to head over to the battery to photograph some of the incredible old homes there. Steve and Carleigh let me out and drove on down the street to find a parking place. I remember thinking how neat it was to see so many people out walking dogs that day. The majority of them were tourists, but you could definitely tell the ones who were not. Their dogs were mostly expensive pedigrees and the owners were dressed to the hilt - even for a dog walking excursion. As I snapped my last photo, I headed down the stairs from canal level to the street below, where Steve and Carleigh were still trying to find a place to park. As I took the first step down from the top of the stairs, I noticed a woman heading up the stairs with two large, perfectly groomed, pedigree dogs. I remember chuckling to myself because she was not walking them; THEY were walking HER. They seemed overjoyed to see me descending the stairs and rambunctiously ran towards me, tails wagging furiously. The problem is, they were a little over-exhuberant and their owner was more than a little aloof and passive. Before I knew what had happened, her crazy dogs had knocked me off my feet and I went tumbling down the concrete stairs. I slammed my left shin so hard into the edge of the bottom stair that I was certain I had broken my leg. My phone flew out of my hand onto the curb, and my brand new camera ended up in the road. I turned just in time to see the dogs' owner look down at me, turn up her nose and walk away. Nice.

Realizing immediately that I was in trouble, I crawled over to the street's edge, grabbed my phone and camera and called my husband. My leg was throbbing, and I remember pulling up the leg of my jeans and seeing a mild abrasion and HUGE hematoma. I was almost certain at that point that my leg was broken, but I wasn't about to go to the hospital and miss my son's championship game. So, I called my husband from my position on the pavement, had him help me to the car, and then we did what any respectable Parrothead (Jimmy Buffett fan) would do: We went to Margaritaville!

Seriously...I had my husband drive us to the Margaritaville store around the corner, where I hopped out of the care (literally...on one leg) and plopped myself into a giant adirondak chair inside that had a big, bright Parrot painted on it. (To this day, I seriously want one of those chairs). I then whipped out my credit card and began pointing to everything in the store that I wanted to purchase for Christmas gifts. I had the poor clerk jumping through hoops and longing for a margarita of her own in no time. Unfortunately, there is no restaurant attached to the store in Charleston, so that was out of the question. Too bad. The pain in my rapidly swelling leg was escalating, and I SO would have partaken of a pitcher of margaritas had it been readily available. Of course, there's no telling what I would have purchased afterwards, so maybe it was a blessing that I couldn't get my hands on a frozen concoction at that moment.

When my budget had been reached and exceeded (always a given if you let me loose at Margaritaville), my sweet husband helped me to the door and out to the car. He asked me one last time if I was sure I didn't need to go to the hospital. When I declined again, we sped off to the basketball tournament, where we located the tournament trainer, a large bag of ice and a cooler to prop my leg on. I situated myself in the corner of the stands, and watched my son's game. He and his teammates played their hearts out, but the home team won the game by a narrow margin. The fans were so rude and obnoxious and my let was so incredibly swollen and painful that I couldn't wait to get out of that gym. However, a quiet exit was not in the game plan. When a parent from the opposing team made the grave error of calling our team losers, a "Come to Jesus" meeting ensued in my little corner of the stands, with me officiating. I summoned over the tournament director and challenged the startled redneck woman to repeat her statement. She suddenly fell silent. Perhaps that had something to do with what I said to her before he arrived. I think I called her a her reality check via my frigid bag of melted ice, among other things. Even though I was injured, I'm sure I was quite intimidating. You don't want to mess with a 5'11", plus size angry mom. Trust me.

Eventually, the drama subsided and we were on our way back home - a nearly four hour drive. When we arrived at our house, it was obvious that I needed to get to the hospital. My left leg was nearly twice the size of the right one, had turned an awful shade of blue and was throbbing. So, off to the hospital I went. I was poked, prodded, x-rayed, scanned...you name it. When the emergency room physician finally came to my curtain with the results, I was pleasantly surprised: no break, bad contusion. I was given a pair of crutches and told to stay off of my leg for a few days. That was it. No prescription painkillers, but I was ok with that. I don't do particularly well with them, and I do have a rather high threshold for pain. Unfortunately, THAT would prove to work to my disadvantage in the coming days...

I made it through Christmas with my leg propped up, but returned to work immediately afterwards. I quickly got used to the pain and discovered that walking on my leg didn't even hurt - it just made it swell profusely. I begrudgingly continued to use the crutches, despite my aching underarms. I propped my leg on my desk, despite the unprofessionalism of that position. I did everything I was supposed to do, but the swelling wasn't going down. And two weeks after the accident, I noticed that there was fluid seeping from the abrasion where I had hit the stairs. I knew that wasn't good, so I went to the doctor. He immediately wrote me a prescription for an antibiotic, which I filled and took religiously. Nothing happened. Within a week, I was back in his office with a BB-sized hole in the middle of my shin. I was quickly referred to a wound-care specialist in a city nearby. When she stuck one of those long Q-tip things into the wound and it went all the way down to my bone, we were both surprised. When it didn't hurt at all, we were shocked. A wheelchair was ordered and I was whisked upstairs to be prepared for surgery.

I had no idea at the time just how dangerous the wound on my leg had become. All I could think about was missing work, my daughter's upcoming dance competition and our son's last high school basketball games. I thought I'd have a little surgery, recover quickly and be back about my business in no time. But that all changed, when I looked at my leg for the first time after surgery. There was a huge, gaping hole in it. I could see my femur. I'm not at all squeamish, but I must say...it was NASTY. And that was only the FIRST surgery! There were more to come...

I spent the better part of the next two months in the hospital, hooked up to a wound vac and IV antibiotics. One night, about two weeks into my stay, I woke up in extreme pain. I couldn't move any part of my body without it hurting. It took me forever to reach out for the call button to call a nurse into the room. Once I did, my room quickly became Grand Central Station. Within an hour, my entire care team was assembled in the hall outside my of my hospital room. And anyone who knows anything about emergencies knows that if your surgeon, infectious disease specialist and wound care specialist are all in the same place at the same time, and that time is somewhere around 1:00 AM - you are in some SERIOUS trouble. And so it was. I was whisked downstairs for an MRI, and then rushed back into surgery - my third surgery in two weeks. On the way in to be prepped, I asked the Infectious Disease Specialist to "lay it on the line" with me. And she did. Basically, they weren't trying to save my leg anymore. They were trying to save my life. I was forewarned that I could wake up without my leg. And though it was all so sudden, I was amazingly calm. I accepted the fact that we needed to do what we had to do to get me well.

When I awoke two hours later, I immediately glanced down at the foot of my bed and saw that I did, in fact, have two complete legs under the covers. I wiggled my toes and saw that they were both working. My leg hurt for the first time in two weeks, and I was extremely nauseous. But I was alive and my leg was attached to my body. The medical team made the decision to try one last antibiotic, and to drain the wound one last time. A second incision was made below the original wound and a larger area was cleaned out once again, down to the bone. In the next two weeks, the new antibiotic started doing the trick, and I started feeling much better. My leg started healing with the aid of the wound vac and drugs that were actually working. And I became very, very bored and restless. Anyone who knows me, knows that can be a HUGE problem. Trouble almost always ensues under those conditions. This time was no exception.

The nursing staff was just amazing during my stay; they'd often stop in just to talk to me when I was bored, had my fill of television and had no visitors. But there was one nurse at night who just rubbed me the wrong way. She was nice, but older and "by the book". She'd enter my room in the wee hours of the morning with a flashlight that she'd shine in my eyes, inevitably waking me every time she did it. And suffice it to say, I wasn't terribly thrilled about being awakened. One night during my "I'm bored as hell" phase, I decided to fix her. I told her that I needed more warm blankets. She scurried out to get them, leaving her flashlight on my bed. And, well...that flashlight made its way UNDER the bed. Nurse Dixie returned and immediately noticed that it was missing. I, of course, played the dumb, groggy, drugged-up patient and claimed innocence in knowing the flashlight's fate. Dixie was frantic. She looked everywhere, except under my bed. I even had her convinced that she may have left it in another patient's room. As soon as she left to investigate, three young nurses came in, laughing their butts off. They KNEW what I'd done. All they wanted to know is what I had done with it. I just shrugged and grinned.

In the next week, I continued to heal enough to earn a discharge to our home, with home nurse care. The next couple of months were spent hauling a portable wound vac wherever I went, and self-administering IV antibiotics. But I continued to heal, laugh and make the best of things. People would tell me that I was courageous and an inspiration to them. My Infectious Disease doctor told me at my first post-hospital visit that I never should have made it out of the hospital; she called me a miracle child. But I knew deep down inside that I was brought through that harrowing experience for a reason - something much bigger than me. A year and a half later, I was diagnosed with cancer. Our children were both home at the time. I calmly explained to them that there was nothing to worry about; I was going to be ok. I then called my husband and three closest friends to tell them all the same thing. And I truly believed what I was saying.

Now I'm two and half years into this journey. It has been a tough one, too. There have been surgeries, treatments, losses due to the cancer (jobs, insurance, our home, a car, our children's college funds and more). I've experienced physical and emotional pain that I could never imagine prior to this experience. But you know what? I've made it through every challenge thus far. In a funny way, I believe those two dogs did me a favor in Charleston. Because, even though that fall lead to a life-threatening situation that cost us so much, it prepared me for a bigger challenge. I believe that I'm handling this one better than most because of what I went through in 2009. And just like I felt in 2009, I believe that I'm making it through this because God has a bigger plan for me. I NEED to go through this in order to fulfill that plan. I already know what it is to. It started last year with the Facebook cancer support page I co-founded with my friend Mike last.  We founded the group to help cancer fighters, survivors and caregivers. But I believe with all of my heart that I am destined to take this to the next level; to do more for these people. And I don't believe that I could be as successful at that task without knowing firsthand what it's like to go through a medical nightmare like I have. So, every time this hurts like hell, every time I cry myself to sleep or wake up in the middle of the night with those dreaded feeling of isolation and desperation, every time I have to scramble to find money to keep the lights on...I remind myself that this is ALL happening for a reason. I'm finding out what and who priorities need to be. I'm learning does and does not make me a priority. I'm learning, that despite the situation my family is in, we are immensely blessed. We have seen the best and the worst of human nature at work during the past few years, but one thing is crystal clear to us: we are LOVED. And I, because of what I've been through, have more love and compassion in my heart. I look at things with a whole new perspective. I am a better person for having experienced all of this. Not perfect, but better. I WILL use this experience to help people for the rest of my life. Life is about living...wide open, full throttle, helping each other along the way. Like those crazy-ass dogs who knocked me down the stairs a few years ago, I have to push forward with enthusiasm in order to reach my destiny. I'm not sure I would have seen that in the same light until I found myself crumpled at the bottom of a concrete staircase that December morning back in 2008. I know I didn't then. But that helped prepare me for this, and this is preparing me for more. So, I guess, in a weird way, I should say:

Thank you, Dogs. Thank you so very much. 

Today started off bad. REALLY bad. Actually, things have been quite tough for a while, but I don't talk about it to great length anymore. I much prefer dealing with the tough stuff in private with my closest friends and family, laughing my way through it all. But sometimes, that just doesn't work.

I have been battling serious health issues for a while now. In 2003, I became very ill. No one knew why. My stomach was constantly upset and distended. I developed neuropathy in one of my legs and both hands. I had migraine headaches and seizures. My joints hurt constantly, I lost most of my hair and I was putting on weight for no apparent reason. Test after test was run, and when my doctors couldn't figure out what the problem was, I was labeled as a depressed hypochondriac. Depressed? Hell, yes! I had to quit my job as a fitness instructor and marketing director at the local YMCA. I couldn't sleep, and I was growing increasingly agitated because I didn't think my doctors were taking me seriously. It wasn't until late 2004, when my husband pretty much demanded that I go to Duke for a second opinion, that we made any headway. I told the doctors there that I thought I had celiac disease, an extreme intolerance to wheat gluten. They threw out every test that had been conducted up until that point and agreed NOT to review my past medical records, in order to not form a biased opinion of me or what was wrong with me. In less than one month, they were able to determine that I not only HAD celiac disease, but I had a very stealth and dangerous form of the disease. I had already begun eliminating wheat gluten from my diet, but a great deal of damage had been done to my body. Still, through the excellent care I received at Duke and diligent adherence to a gluten-free diet, my health began to improve.

During the time that all of this was going on, I was the primary caregiver for my great aunt, Alice. I adored her. When she became too frail to live on her own in the house where she was born in Asheville NC, I drove a U-Haul from my home in Salisbury (two hours away) and moved her here. I spent a great deal of time watching over her and physically caring for her over the next five years, even when I had to move her into an assisted living facility. When that happened, I was incensed at how her monthly income and life savings disappeared in no time. This little lady had given her entire career to her country - first the Navy and then the Department of Social Security in Washington, DC. But she ended up with nothing to show for it. No one told me that she was eligible for a veteran's benefit called Aid & Attendance - none of the facilities where she lived, no one in the Department of Social Services and no one at the Veteran's Administration. It wasn't until she passed away in 2005 that I found out she had been eligible for benefits for nearly 20 years. But it was too late to apply then. She died penniless, after spending her entire life giving to others - her church, her family, whoever needed help. I was furious, and determined that no one else I knew was going to go through this.

I went back to work six months after Alice died, as a Marketing Director at an assisted living facility. The only way I could make sense of what had happened to her was to make sure it didn't happen to anyone else. Little did I know that my tenure in long term care would render so many blessings. It was tough work. The hours were very long and the pay didn't begin to compensate for the time I spent away from my family. But every single day I spent in that facility, every exhausting hour...was a true gift. I got to help people. I got to make a difference. I got to hug distraught family members, help them place their loved ones in appropriate care and find ways to help fund that care. When their family members became too ill to continue on, I got to help them through the death process. I saw many a miracle during that time, and I learned lessons that nothing but the experience itself could teach. I was giving back, and despite the fact that it was hurting me physically - I thrived on the satisfaction of helping people. I fell in love with my residents and they loved me back unconditionally. I couldn't help my aunt anymore, but because of what I had gone through with her, I could help other people like her. I could help their families. And I LOVED that feeling. It was a true gift.

In 2009, I ended up in the hospital for nearly two months with a deadly staph infection in my leg. (That is a story in and of itself, but we won't go into it here.) It was a humbling time for me, as I laid day after day in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes, IV lines and a wound vac. I had three surgeries and came close to dying one night. I was told afterwards that I never should have walked out of that hospital, much less with my leg still intact. But I did. I found a way to fight through the worst of it - because there were people praying for me, supporting my family, giving up vacation days so that I wouldn't have to miss a day of pay, sending flowers, calling, and making me laugh. I had never felt more surrounded by love than I did at that time. It was a harrowing experience, but somehow, I knew it was happening for a reason. Boy, was I ever right...

I've heard it said that going through adversity prepares you for other hardships. Nothing could be more accurate in my case. One month after I was discharged, I was back in the same room at the same hospital - with our son. He had an emergency appendectomy one week before his high school graduation. Four months after that, he collapsed during a basketball practice at college and we had him back in that same hospital to have a mass removed from his nasal cavity, which fortunately turned out to be benign. Three days before Christmas that same year, my husband suffered a heart attack in our living room while we were all together. Two months after that, our son had a career ending surgery on his shoulder. Four months later, my husband suffered a second heart attack. And six months after that - the week before Christmas - I found a very suspicious looking mole in the center of my back. It was removed, biopsied and the results came back on January 6, 2011. Malignant melanoma. I had surgery on February 15, 2011. I refused the conventional treatment at the time, Interferon, because it had a long-standing history of weakening the immune system and didn't have a success rate that justified a year's worth of extreme side effects. My immune system was already compromised, and I certainly didn't need to further complicate that issue. So, I began to search for other options. I ended up contacting a cancer research group in Washington, DC who referred me to two different area physicians. I also consulted with a childhood friend who is an oncologist. And in the summer of 2011, I began preparing for an alternative treatment. Just as I was about to begin, I lost my job and our house was foreclosed on. Astronomical medical bills had made it very difficult to keep up with our financial obligations, and my job was killing me - literally. We had to move out of the house we'd raised our kids in for the past ten years. They had to drop out of college and move home. At the end of 2011, I started feeling really bad. In early 2012, I found another suspicious mole which also turned out to be melanoma. I had been traveling to DC for months to see a variety of specialists and get treatment. A close friend there took care of me. He had a bad fall and was unable to care for himself or me for the first part of the year, so I was pretty much on my own. My husband was desperately trying to make money and keep our heads above water, so he couldn't accompany me on my trips. Then, my autoimmune issues started flaring and interfering with treatments. And if all this wasn't enough...my care situation changed dramatically during the summer and fall of 2012. I was on steroids to reduce inflammation in my joints, which depressed me and caused me to have uncontrollable anger outbursts on more than one occasion. My health was not improving, and I was fighting to stay positive. The ONLY thing that kept me sane was my ability to find humor in just about anything - including my own predicament. That, and the Facebook cancer support group I co-founded with a friend, called Curing Cancer with a Smile. Although I didn't realize it at the time, it was one of the best things I have ever done. As I felt my life spiraling out of control, I suddenly found a purpose much bigger than me or my own problems. By giving me the opportunity to focus less on my own issues and more on those of other cancer survivors and caregivers, CCWAS saved my life.

It is important to mention at this juncture just how CCWAS came to fruition.  A group of amazing high school friends formed their own support group on Facebook to support my family and I. It is called Rams to the Rescue. A high school friend who is a member of that group was online commenting on a site called Mike's Cancer Fight, and I happened to see his post. I was intrigued and went to the page. I joined the group and began reading about Mike Terrill's incredible struggles with end-stage brain cancer. He was "balls to the walls" brutally honest about what he was going through. And he was mad as hell. I decided to reach out to him, we chatted, shared stories, frustrations and became instant friends. He saw what my friends were doing for me through RTR, and told me that he wanted to start a group to help cancer patients - a place where they could get information, vent and find support. I agreed to help. And Curing Cancer with a Smile was born. Mike was, and still is, dying. But CCWAS gave him a new purpose, a reason to continue fighting. We noticed right away that we were actually helping people...lots of people. And we LOVED it. Today, we are 1600+ members strong. And on my very worst days, like today, CCWAS is my saving grace.

Three months ago, as I was in the midst of a very challenging time medically, my husband had yet another heart incident that required surgery. These two amazing groups and many other wonderful people rallied around us in support. Mike became my most vocal advocate - even on the days when he was screaming in pain - and I continued to  support him faithfully through his trials as well. We jumped through hoops for each other and every one of our members. In the past year, we have witnessed the beauty of mankind - the human spirit in its finest hour, every time one of our members has been down and people in the group have rallied to support that person. When one of our original members lost her husband to cancer at the end of last month, the outpouring of support from CCWAS was just incredible - most of it from people who have never laid eyes on her. I stayed up all night with her on the phone the night he passed, and Mike took over for me the next morning when I needed to rest. Even though his own condition is declining fast, he is on the page encouraging whoever needs to be supported each and every day. He and I check in with each other several times a day to support each other and discuss who in the group needs help. New members are joining daily to find and give support. Mike and I both know he's at the end of his journey; he makes no bones about that. My own journey is uncertain; I make no bones about that either. But the ability to "give back" has become our primary focus - a greater gift that either one of us ever envisioned. 

Which leads me back to my very bad day. Things are pretty bad financially. My cancer battle is nowhere close to being over; I have yet another surgery scheduled in mid-July. But I'm not as worried as most people might think I'd be. I know we're going to be ok. I have faith, a great support network and I can still laugh. That, in and of itself, is a blessing. The group that I have put my heart and soul into, the amazing friends who have continued to give selflessly, the awesome charity organization called Eblen Charities that kept us afloat for months, and the countless prayers and loving gestures that come to us daily keep me strong. I believe in the good of the human spirit. I believe that each of us has within us the ability to make a difference in some way. I have found a way to do that myself in my darkest hour; it is my mission to take that to a whole new level when I get out of this situation. And I WILL get out. I am going through all of this for a reason. For, if I had not experienced this, I could never really understand the plight of those who suffer devastating financial loss due to serious illnesses. It is my purpose in life to help those people - for the rest of my life. And even though I can't do it financially right now, I can do SOMETHING. I am inspired by those who rally together to give what little they have and collectively make a BIG difference. I am a recipient of that incredible generosity. Today, when I logged onto the page I co-founded to help OTHERS, what do you think I saw?  People I don't even know were rallying to help ME. I don't at all like that they're doing this; I don't want to be in this position. I am very proud, I'm not at all comfortable receiving handouts and I HATE asking for help. But part of the humbling lesson I'm learning is to accept help when it's offered to me, and to show my gratitude by helping other people.

This is where I am right now. I have little to give materially, but I can still give a lot. I can always do or say something to make a difference. And when the light at the end of the tunnel ceases to be a freight train, I will do great things because of what I've been through and what has been done for me. I will "Pay it Forward". NOTHING on this earth could ever give me more satisfaction.

Last year, as I was perusing through Facebook chatting with friends, I came upon a comment in my newsfeed that caught my eye. It was made by a high school friend on a page called Mike's Cancer Fight. This friend, Norman Strickland, was posting an encouraging word for his friend, Mike Terrill, a Stage 4 Cancer patient. As a cancer survivor myself, I was intrigued. Mostly, my heart was breaking for this guy. He was having a particularly tough day and was really venting - "putting it out there", so to speak. While his post was pretty raw and filled with anger, I found it totally refreshing. I was struggling with the fact that some people in my own life seemed to be tiring of me talking about my own illness - at least it seemed that way. Some actually seemed to be jealous of the attention I was getting, which was NOT the kind of attention I wanted at all. A few "friends" even made accusations behind my back, questioning the validity of my claims - saying that I was using my illness to get attention, and that I wasn't as sick as I was pretending to be. Of course, this was very painful, and unfortunately...it has continued. On his fight page, Mike alluded to the fact that he, too, was dealing with this issue. He was obviously sick and tired of putting up a front in order to make other people feel comfortable. He had made the decision to tell people exactly what he was feeling. And what he was feeling was ANGER. When I read his post, I knew that I just had to talk to this guy. I went to his fight page, requested to join and posted a comment. I then posted a private InBox message, introducing myself and telling him that I understood what he was going through. I didn't want him to give up, as he seemed to be at the end of his rope. I knew what that felt like. I offered to be a sounding board if he ever needed one, and I promised not to judge him for anything he said because I understood where he was coming from.

That very same day, I had a Facebook discussion with Norman. He told me how much Mike meant to him and that four years of battling this horrid disease was starting to get to him. But it didn't take long at all for me realize that Mike was far from giving up. Hardened...yes. You can't help but become bitter when you're four years into a cancer battle, you've seen so many people taken by the disease, your own prognosis is bleak and there are so many people who are indifferent, inconsiderate or just don't understand. He was most definitely changed by the experience - we all are. And he was exhausted from a lengthy battle - not just from the physical part of the disease, but all the other things no one tells you about in the beginning: the emotional ups and downs, the strain on relationships, the crushing financial repercussions - including NEVER having enough money for bills, let alone basic living needs; losing a job that not only paid those bills, but defined who you were; the loss of a home or a car, or in our cases, both; the inability to afford any kind of much-needed vacations or "breaks" from the battle. It would be easy to completely break down and give up at any given point, but not for Mike. No...this man had a stubborn streak that rivaled mine. He was raw; no filter whatsoever. And I loved that. Mike said all of the things that I felt, and all of the things that I wanted to say. I loved this guy from the very first time I read a post of his on his fight page. I not only had to meet him; I had to get to know him. And that I did.

Mike responded to me almost immediately. He was cautious at first, as many people far into a battle are. He didn't want to get close to another cancer survivor who might not win her battle. He really didn't want to explain his feelings or listen to any of the typical "rah rah" words from people who didn't begin to understand what he was going through. But, like I said, I'm just as stubborn as he is. I kept commenting on his posts, and before long we were having lengthy conversations about our illnesses, our frustrations, our dreams, our loved ones - our journeys.

At the same time, some high school friends of mine were rallying to help me and my family. We had lost our insurance, our home, my job and were challenged every month to pay bills and get me to Washington, DC, where I was receiving treatment. My friends started a group on Facebook called Rams to the Rescue. Through this group, my family and I received donations, prayers and support. A golf tournament was organized to raise money, and several other events and projects were also organized. Mike was thoroughly impressed with how people were coming together to help us. One day, he sent me a message and said, "Hey...I want to start a group like this to support cancer survivors and caregivers". I agreed to help him, and we began to talk about the goals of the group. We agreed that we needed to be brutally honest, help people by sharing our own experiences and encouraging them to talk about theirs, and most importantly - to give them all a place to unwind, rant, rave and LAUGH. Laughter has been my #1 medicine throughout my journey. Those who know me best know what a big clown I am; laughter is my life. Whenever I'm struggling, those closest to me know that a moment of laughter can turn me around. Quite often, I am the one providing that moment. And I told Mike that I wanted to do that for others who were struggling too. We continued to talk, and before we ended our conversation, Curing Cancer with a Smile was born.

Our membership started with our closest friends, but soon burgeoned as friends of friends joined the group. Occasionally, Mike would challenge members to help him increase membership, and they always met those challenges. Some members hang out in the balances, never commenting on posts, but reading them. Others comment occasionally. And then there's the core group that comments throughout the day, every day. We are the ones who always try to welcome new members, and cheer each other on. We are the ones who have the nutty conversations that make us laugh until we pee very late at night. We are the ones who vent when things aren't going so well and call attention to others going through the same challenges. And some days, we cry.

Today was a crying day. One of our original members, Lois, lost her beloved husband of 21 years, Ben. He was the first member we've lost to this disease. Ben put up a valiant fight against the lung cancer that ravaged his body as it began to spread. Lois updated us daily and we all got to know her very well. I had the distinct privilege to talk with Lois via phone over the past few days, and to help her through some of the confusion of the last few days. I was on the phone with her in the wee hours of the morning shortly before Ben died, and again right afterwards. And when I needed to rest, our noble leader Mike stepped in - the same man who we almost lost just last week during one of his bad episodes. The same man who, in the back of his mind, is wondering if he himself will be the next to go. Mike put aside all of his own pain and mustered up every ounce of energy he had to be there for a grieving widow and the nearly 1500 members we now have at CCWAS. When he tired, I jumped back in, as did the three other group administrators. People who normally stay silent offered comments of support for Lois and her family. New members, seeing all of the activity within our group, joined the group and began to participate, Mike's daily blog - a tribute to Ben and the work we are doing - went viral. Even as Ben left this world, we continued to spread our message about the far-reaching effects of cancer and the NEED FOR A CURE. To do anything other than that would dishonor our friend, Ben, all of those taken by this disease and every other cancer survivor, caregiver and supporter on the planet. 

So, tonight...we decided to go back to our core values and concentrate on the one thing that has gotten us this far: laughter. Mike posted something funny about his young son tonight in the group. I joked with several members about upcoming birthdays and goofy off-the-wall stuff. We did what we all know Ben would want us to do: we carried on. And as he looks down on us in the coming days, weeks and months, Ben will forever be in our hearts and on our minds. We will be reminded of his gentle smile, his love for family and the incredible bond he had with his wife. We will feel Ben's LOVE, and we will continue to spread that love to all who face this monster. We will gripe, we will advise, we will support, we will cry. But most of all...we will LAUGH in the face of cancer. For as long as we do...WE WIN. 

It was May 9, 2008. I was in the process of searching for a friend of mine named Mark, who I hadn't seen or heard from in ages. He and I were very close at one time, and I couldn't seem to get him off my mind. I'd actually been looking for years, mindful of the fact that something could have happened to him, but refusing to believe the worst. We had shared so many fun and even not-so-fun times back in our early ad agency days, and I missed him terribly. I was positive that things would still be the same between us if I could only find him. I had promised him years ago that if I ever had a daughter, he would be her godfather. My daughter was now 16, and the time was way overdue for her to meet her long-lost godfather. But that's not all that was driving me to amp up my search for Mark. No...on this particular day, I was also thinking about a close mutual friend of ours named Tony. Mark and I had shared many an adventure with our hilarious pal, along with other friends who I met through both of them. I always assumed that if I could find one of them, I'd find the other. But today my focus was on Tony, and for some reason unknown to me at the time, it became more important than ever for me to find my friends.

I had no idea where to start my search. I didn't even know where Mark and Tony were living or if they still spoke to each other. Google was of very little assistance at the time. I tried MySpace and Facebook. I was new to the burgeoning social networking world, but I thought that might be a good place to start. I found nothing.  It never occurred to me to try LinkedIn; it was a relatively new site, and I just didn't see either one of these boys using it anyway. Of course, a lot of time had passed and I soon found out that I was wrong in my assumption.

Throughout the summer months, I thought about my friends. I knew that Mark had moved to Washington, DC shortly before Steve and I got married. He returned to Raleigh, NC (where we had all met) for our wedding, and I was obviously thrilled to see him. However, as weddings go, ours was hectic and I didn't have much time at all to talk to any of the guests. At one point, while Steve and I were posing for photos, I glanced over my shoulder and caught Mark looking at me. A tinge of sadness shot through my heart as I realized our lives had taken different paths and we had barely seen or spoken to each other in the past year. A few photo ops later, I scanned the reception hall and noticed that he was gone. For a brief moment, I panicked. As ridiculous as it seemed, I had the worst gut feeling that I wasn't going to see Mark again for a long, long time. As it turned out, I was right. It would be a very long time: 21 years, to be exact.

Fast forward to October 2008. I was working late and about to call it a day, when I decided to open up LinkedIn and see if, by some crazy longshot, Mark or Tony had a profile. I typed in Mark's name first, and...guess what? There, in black and white, staring me in the face was my friend's profile. I had FINALLY found him. He had been in DC the whole time. I quickly jotted down his email address and fired off a quick message to him. I can still remember what it said, "Hey there Stranger! Remember me? Crazy Suzanne?" I had no idea whether or not I'd get a response, but one appeared in my mailbox almost immediately, in gigantic, 100pt red letters: "OH MY GOD! OF COURSE I REMEMBER YOU! CALL ME!!!!" And so, I did. 

I don't remember everything Mark and I talked about that night; we were laughing, crying and talking at the same time, and at lightning speed. But the one thing that I will never forget was this: "I hate to tell you this, but Tony died back in May. He had cancer."  I was shocked...literally. So shocked that I didn't even respond. I think I said some generic thing like, "Oh no, I'm sorry,", or "Really? That's awful". But as Mark would tell me later, there was no emotion in my voice. I seemed to be undaunted by the news. In fact, I truly was shocked. I didn't believe it. I WOULDN'T believe it. I was so shocked, that it took me a full 24 hours to process what I'd heard. How could Tony be gone? I was supposed to find him when I found Mark. We were supposed to have a big, happy reunion with all of our friends from back in the day. We would recount and relive those times of our youth, when we lived on a shoestring budget, wore flea market sunglasses and celebrated life as if there was no tomorrow. Tony was the epitome of that life too - a perpetual comedian, who lived life as I did - full throttle, with no regrets. He was a handsome, gifted musician who was an excellent cook and gardener. He could create just about anything with a sewing machine and fabric, and helped me out of more than one wardrobe disaster. You just could not be in a bad mood around Tony Eldridge. It was impossible. 

I could recount scores of hilarious stories involving Tony. I could write books, in fact. I used to howl at the ridiculous names he would call people, my favorite being "Idiot Boy", which he stole from "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas".  (He and Mark used to call each other this all of the time.  To this day, Mark and I still use the name to describe incredibly goofy, crazy people - mostly Mark) I could also fill a small lake with the tears I've cried for him since learning of his death - tears that took a while to come, and flowed nonstop when they did. But once the crying subsided, I started counting my blessings. I have never laughed harder than I did with Tony, Mark and friends. They got me through some of the worst times of my life and gave me some of the best. In the past five years, I have been fortunate enough to reconnect with some of the friends who were there in those precious good times. And Mark and I are now closer than we have ever been; rarely a day goes by when we don't talk, text or email. I still pat myself on the back for never giving up hope that I would find my friends. And though I'm still sad that I didn't get to see Tony again, I realize just how blessed I am to have known him at all. For in him, I have found strength to get through some of my own cancer battles. Sure, I wish I had him here to talk me through it. But, all I have to do is imagine what he would say to me if he was here. I know he could offer tremendous insight. More importantly, he'd offer a whole lot of love and laughter. And there is simply NO medicine greater than that.

So, here I am, on the fifth anniversary of Tony's passing. I now realize why I was so moved to continue my search five years ago. As Tony took his final breath, that breath transcended miles and made itself to me, renewing my urgency to continue searching for he and Mark. At first, I thought I'd missed Tony. But I didn't. He is here...in Mark, our many mutual friends, his beautiful sister Sandra and every smile that comes in recalling his memory. I found my other Idiot Boy. Boy, did I ever find him...

I was thinking today about this cancer journey of mine. Actually, I can't help but think about it all of the time. Even when I'm not focused on the physical aspect of the disease, my family and I are constantly bombarded with the financial repercussions, and we all have to deal with the emotional issues as well. But that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm referring to is the "up" side of cancer.
   
What? There's an "up" side to cancer? Yep...there sure is. And in my case, it's a lot more than that; it is a true blessing. You see, I have learned that no matter how bleak my situation may appear to be at any given moment - no matter how bad I feel or how crushing the financial issues may seem - I am still one of the luckiest girls in the world. Because with all of the negatives surrounding my illness, I have discovered plenty of positives - starting with my amazing friends.

I was fortunate enough to grow up in the same city (Asheville, NC), in the same house, the same neighborhood, with the same kids throughout my childhood. Our family never had to move because of a parent's job, and most of the kids I grew up with were in the same position. For the most part, new kids moving into our school district were treated like royalty - a novelty of sorts. By the time we reached high school, we knew each other well. And even if we didn't, there was a very special sense of community surrounding my graduating class and many others before and after it. That close-knit feeling is very hard to replicate today - with changes in family dynamics, more transition, off-campus and internet courses, redistricting and new school construction, to name a few things.

Unlike most of my closest friends, I didn't visit home that much after leaving for college. When I relocated to Chapel Hill, NC to attend the University of North Carolina, I was only four hours away, but I quickly entrenched myself in college life, enjoying the freedom and life outside of my hometown. I stayed in Chapel Hill during the summers to work and attend summer school, so I didn't have as many opportunities to see the people I'd grown up with - except for my very closest childhood girlfriends, and those who were also students at UNC. I didn't attend any of my high school reunions, due to work or family commitments, and I began to feel very much out of the loop when it came to what was going on with people from my childhood. But make no mistake...I LOVED those people. I never forgot how special they made me feel, or all of the fun times we had. I hated the fact that we'd grown apart, and I truly longed to reconnect with some of them. Thankfully, the internet and Facebook changed all of that.

To this day, I will never forget the night about five years ago, when Facebook became very real to me. I had just joined the social network that our own kids were raving about. As I was "friending" old high school chums, one of my favorite friends, Kevin, started posting pictures from "back in the day." Another friend, Rodney, began commenting on the pictures. Soon, we were all captioning and commenting on the photos as quickly as Kevin could get them posted, recounting some of our more memorable "adventures". It was great fun, and kickstarted my reuniting efforts with literally hundreds of high school and childhood friends.

Fast forward to 2012...I was already one year into a cancer battle that had taken a turn for the worse. As I quickly learned, I wasn't the only one in this position. There were several survivors from my high school, one of whom asked repeatedly if my family and I needed help. I was being treated in Washington DC, and traveling there once a month for a week. I had lost my job, we had just lost our home to foreclosure, and the bills were mounting faster than we could open them. It was scary; so scary, in fact, that we reached a point where we could no longer afford to ignore or refuse help. We were destitute. All I had to do at that point was reach out to a few close friends and ask for their prayers. And that is ALL I asked for. But what they did with that request still amazes me to this day.

Because two of my friends had dealt first-hand with cancer and the devastating effects it has on finances, praying wasn't enough. No...they weren't going to stop there. They rallied my close friends from TC Roberson High School and started a movement, that within an hour became a Facebook group called Rams to the Rescue (named appropriately after our school mascot.) From there, they connected with Eblen Charities, a charity management group founded by another high school friend, Bill Murdock. Within days, there was a golf tournament being planned, wristbands with my nickname "Zippy Rose" were being ordered, people were sending donations and the best part of all - our support network was exploding. A Facebook page was opened, where people could post and offer us words of encouragement, and where I could communicate with members of the group to give them the latest information about our situation. I was completely dumbfounded by the selfless acts of kindness that repeatedly came our way.

My husband, Steve, and I have always talked about forming a foundation of our own to help people affected by the crushing financial debt caused by catastrophic illnesses. Even before my diagnosis, our family had dealt with several very serious illnesses and witnessed friends going through similar challenges. Steve and I decided that our charity would be called the Zippy Rose Foundation, incorporating my nickname, "Zippy". When we found ourselves in way over our heads, we knew that foundation had to be formed. And it will be. For now, we are an active part of Rams to the Rescue, which serves other graduates of my high school as well. Eblen Charities continues to be involved in some cases, and they have continued to support us throughout our ordeal. There is a special place in heaven for people like Bill Murdock, the staff and volunteers at Eblen, and the nearly 1000 friends who make up Rams to the Rescue. I feel a moral obligation to continue their good work through my own foundation - the sooner the better. With a logo already designed by my dear friend, Mark, we are taking steps towards making this "pay-it-forward" dream of mine official.

This morning, I posted information on the RTR site about another Facebook group that I co-founded and co-administer. It's called Curing Cancer with a Smile. The co-founder and leader of the group is Mike Terrill, a friend a met through a high school buddy, Norman Strickland. Mike has end-stage brain cancer. His prognosis is very poor. But he was so inspired last year by what my friends at RTR did to support me and others, that he decided to follow suit and start a group dedicated to supporting and lifting the spirits of cancer survivors, caregivers, families and friends. To date, we have nearly 1400 members, and we are averaging at least one new member a day. The support we give and receive is just amazing. Most importantly, we use the tremendously effective "medicines", love and laughter, to do our work. And we are doing some VERY good work - work that started with a very special group of people, appropriately named Rams to the Rescue.

I just got off the phone with my friend Lois. She and I met through the Facebook group, Curing Cancer With a Smile (CCWAS), that I co-founded with my friend Mike Terrill, a fellow cancer survivor.  I must admit...my first impression of Lois was nothing close to what it is now. That is due, in large part, to how cancer has changed her life so dramatically over the past few months. In the last few weeks alone, I have watched this frightened, exhausted and emotionally spent woman transform into a steadfast and valiant warrior. Her courage and resolve have skyrocketed, and she's become a true inspiration to those who are watching this story unfold from the balances - myself included. And while we all wish we could do more to help, I am not at all worried that Lois and Company have got this one covered...Hands Down.

You see, Lois is one of the many unsung heroes in the battle against cancer. Her husband, Ben, is very ill; metastatic lung cancer has invaded his entire body. Ben has put up a valiant fight, but is in the final stage of his journey. Lois remains by his side, tirelessly tending to his every need - just as she has throughout his illness. She is mentally and physically exhausted, and she is leaning heavily on CCWAS and Hospice to get her through Ben's final days. But she is handling this dreadful experience like a champion. She and Ben are an inspiration to all 1400+ CCWAS members, as well as many others. And I, for one, am VERY proud of her.

The image of a devoted wife tending to her dying husband does anything but conjure up warm, "happy-go-lucky, rainbows & puppies" feelings. I mean let's face it...this scenario SUCKS. But, if we can see past the ugliness of it all for just a few minutes, there are so many blessings to be found. One of those is the gift of laughter. CCWAS was founded on the premise that love and laughter have the power to get us through the toughest of times. I believe that wholeheartedly, too. Mike and I will both tell you that we never would have made it this far in our own battles without the amazing people who support us, and the incredible gift of laughter. Every day since he and I met, we have talked to each other and hundreds of other survivors and caregivers whose lives have been touched and forever changed by cancer. Our goal is to support and educate each other - and to use laughter as a means of doing so.

Lois was one of the original members of our group. From Day One, she candidly shared her story - introducing us to Ben, his struggles and her frustrations as a wife and caregiver. It was plain to see that she was feeling lost, lonely and confused. She rarely spoke of anything but her own circumstances in the early days, as they totally consumed her life. She found out all to quickly that it's not just the disease you battle on a day-to-day basis; it's often the many other things no one tells you about that can be the most frustrating. But Lois was smart: as Ben's condition continued to worsen, she asked questions, sought advice from other caregivers and survivors and tried her very best to educate herself. Then, a most amazing thing began to unfold...

Being the perpetual goofball that I am, I decided that Lois needed to "lighten up". That is not at all a negative statement. I just felt like she needed a "break" - something more to focus on than the day-to-day stress of caring for a criticially ill loved one. Something that would energize her and help her get through the trying days ahead. Mike agreed. So, with the help of he and other key CCWAS members, I devised a 2-step plan: 1) Help Lois see how much she had to offer other caregivers and survivors in our group, giving her something positive to focus on, and 2) MAKE THAT GIRL LAUGH!!!

Like so many people going through a catastrophic event, Lois couldn't begin see how much her experience was affecting others. When you're in the midst of the storm, it is very hard to see anything beyond the place where you currently are. But many of us could tell that this woman had the potential and the heart to help so many other people in her position, who desperately needed to know that they were not alone. All she needed was some extra love, support and LAUGHTER. Mike and I offered advice based on our own journeys - his being far more advanced than mine. So did others. Together, we all encouraged her. And the laughter thing...well that just came naturally.

To fully understand this, I need to tell you a little bit about Mike. I could write many blogs about this man, and I probably will. But for this purpose, you need to know that this is a guy with a tough outer shell that covers a huge heart of gold. A former sailor, he "tells it like it is", complete with colorful language when he speaks passionately about any topic - especially cancer. I was captivated by him from the first time we spoke. But it wasn't until later that I found out this incredibly strong family man, who has been through so much in his own journey, was VERY funny. As our group membership expanded, and more personalities came into the mix, the conversations became...shall we say...less conservative. Mike and I agreed from the beginning that we were going to "put it all out there" when it came to cancer - both good and bad - and boy, did he take that to heart.  I, of course, followed suit - as did several other members. Pretty soon, we found ourselves immersed in some hilarious conversations on the CCWAS page - most of which occurred at odd hours of the night when none of us could sleep. At first, Lois seemed a bit timid when she participated in these colorful discussions. But as time wore on, and we made more attempts to engage her - she blossomed. We could see her energy level pick up as we all laughed hysterically over some of the crazy experiences and statements that were posted. And seeing how this positively affected Lois gave us all a much-needed boost.

In time, Lois became a very regular participant in our late-night Facebook shenanigans. She is now one of our most active members, continuing to offer support to others, even though she is close to losing the love of her life. I knew from experience that she needed this, that it would be tremendously therapeutic for her. I can't tell you how heartwarming and inspiring it is to witness her reaching out to other survivors and caregivers. Her devotion to Ben is the same, but she became a much more effective partner in his battle, in my opinion. Through laughter and encouraging others, she found strength and courage that she never had before. She began to question doctors more and to fight even harder for Ben's rights, as she took the "til death do us part" vows of her marriage to heart. But, she also took another vow to heart...an eternal vow to herself and others, one that will profoundly affect her life and those of so many more in the days and years to come. Lois, whether she realizes it or not, has totally subscribed to a "Laugh Ever After" vow. She has learned how to use the powerful gift of laughter like a shot in the arm to get her through the darkest of days. As a result, I feel confident beyond a shadow of doubt that there will be a very bright light awaiting Lois on the other side of this tunnel.

God Bless you and Ben, Lois. And Congratulations on your graduation from the Zippy Rose School of Laughter. Job well done.

Remember when you were young, fresh out of high school or college, ready to conquer the world? When your diet consisted of Oodles of Noodles, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and canned tuna? When you thought a good cocktail was cheap beer ON SALE?  That was my life in the mid 1980s. I had just graduated from Journalism School at UNC-Chapel Hill, and I thought I was going be the next great advertising mogul, with my award-winning copy splattered all over television screens, magazines and such. But first, I had to pay the electric bill and buy beer for the weekend. Yep...I was FIERCE!

It was 1986, and I was working as a Junior Copywriter in a Raleigh, NC advertising agency. I spent every dime of my meager income on living expenses, clothes and yes...cheap beer. Every night, my cats and I would have dinner on my couch - an ugly brown naugahyde (or "pleather") loveseat that was only rivaled in tackiness by the horribly dilapidated couch at my friend Trish's house (pictured in this photo). I had no kitchen or dining room table - unless you counted the ancient card table with the plastic tablecloth in my kitchen. I thought I was a queen because I had a king-sized bed, which was nothing more than two twin mattresses and box springs thrown on the floor with a huge brown comforter on top. Good God, I think I even had a few Care Bears hiding amongst the pillows. Wow. But as I think back, some of the happiest times of my life occurred while I was living in squalor in that God-awful run-down paneled apartment. Ewww.

As embarrassing as my bachelorette pad was, I did take pride in my wardrobe. I had to. You simply didn't make it in the advertising world dressed like a Roseanne Barr wannabe. You had to look the part. Us "creatives" could usually get away with more "out there" wardrobe choices, but I happened to work for a very conservative man who did not particularly care for my taste in clothing. Still, I continued to dress as the unique individual I am, dashing to the local TJ Maxx store on the days the truck came in (yes...I knew when that was), so that I could spend hours searching racks and trying on the designer clothing that had been drastically reduced. (There were probably good reasons for that.) My favorite "finds" were long Esprit tunics matched with Saks 5th Avenue leggings and pumps, an awesome polka-dotted Williwear suit, and Guess jeans & miniskirts in assorted colors. But my absolute pride and joy was a strapless black cocktail dress, matched with fishnets and the most incredible pair of black sequin pumps I'd ever seen. They literally took my breath away the first time I laid eyes on them, and I spent far too much money to get them into my closet. But, I did get a lot of wear out of them. They took me down a lot of unique paths, but none more interesting than the night they landed me in a holly bush. Here's how that story unfolded:

Check out the picture again. There I am, dressed to the hilt and feeling great. I have on my brand-new black cocktail dress, fishnets fresh out of the package, awesome vintage jewelry and my prized sequin pumps. (Why in the hell I chose to have Trish photograph me in front of that hideous couch and tasteless artwork is beyond me, but I'm assuming it had something to do with cheap beer. Just sayin'.) I was headed to an awards ceremony with my best buddy, Mark, the Junior Art Director at the agency, and our friend Tony. To those who knew us, that last sentence would have stirred up a significant amount of fear back in the day. The three of us NEVER went anywhere without embarking on some sort of hilarious adventure. This night was no different.

The boys and I headed off to the Addy Awards, where we schmoozed, ate fancy hors d'oeuvres and drank free cocktails with our agency peeps. Then we sat through the monotonous chest-beating awards ceremony, half-crocked - because that's the only way our collective ADD brains could handle the "excitement." All Mark and I wanted to do was receive the award we had earned for our work on a United Way Campaign so we could get the heck out of there. So, we did just that...received the award, handed it over to the agency Creative Director and scurried out the back door.  We headed straight to a local dance night club/bar that we often frequented, where we danced until my prized pumps had to be removed to air out the screaming blisters on my feet. Then we decided that we needed a late-night "snack". Our favorite greasy burger joint was a only couple of blocks away, so we decided to trek on over for cheeseburgers, fries and shakes. Our plan was to pick up the food and walk back to the boys' apartment to eat since there was no indoor seating and it was a bit nippy outside. So, I threw on my wrap, squeezed my sore feet back into the pumps, and off we went, arm-in-arm to Char-Grill.

Not that this has anything whatsoever to do with the story... but it is interesting to note that the employees of Char-Grill were, at the time, mostly buff men on work release from the local prison. So, half the fun in going there was to gawk over their sweaty, muscled bodies. That's as far as it went, though, because they still looked a little scary from behind the grill in the glass-enclosed building. But boy, could they cook the best darn hamburgers in the universe. We quickly ordered our hamburgers and fries, which were placed in two paper sacks, and we headed off to the apartment, eager to devour our meal.

On the way home, we passed in front an historic girls school, where there was a single holly bush at the edge of the property adjoining the sidewalk. Approaching the school, it became apparent to me that I should be held responsible for holding the food because Mark and Tony were having enough trouble holding their alcohol and bladders. So, I foolishly offered to carry the bags. We were all laughing hysterically as I struggled to walk with my swollen, blistered feet stuffed into the sequin pumps, and Mark tried desperately to hold his bladder until we could get home. But, as fate would have it...my struggle was about to hit an epic level.

As we approached the lone holly bush, Mark tripped and fell into me. Tony was laughing so hard that he also fell into me, knocking me off my feet and into the holly bush. From their vantage point, all they could see was two fishnet-clad legs with sequin pumps sticking out of the bush, which of course made them laugh even harder. When my arms emerged, still grasping the greasy burger bags, it was all they could do to contain themselves. In fact, they didn't even TRY to contain themselves. They fell on the ground laughing as I desperately and unsuccessfully tried to remove myself from the prickly bush. Finally, Tony had the "brilliant" idea to lunge a small fallen tree branch into the bush for me to grab. He intended to pull me out when I latched onto it, only he failed to notice that the branch was dead (as most dismembered tree branches are). Needless to say, it snapped and I fell back into the bush - which produced another round of ground-rolling, raucous laughter. When the boys FINALLY regained enough composure to pull me out on their own, my fishnets were ripped and my legs were scratched to pieces by the holly leaves that were still sticking out of the fishnets. I was a HOT MESS. All I remember at that point was taking off the shoes, handing the burgers to Tony and stumbling home with my two idiot cohorts to eat. I'm sure I pulled a t-shirt and sweatpants out of one of their closets and fell exhausted into bed afterwards.

There isn't a week that goes by without me remembering this story. And it makes me laugh every single time I do. On the toughest of days, as I try recover from a serious illness and  the financial devastation it has caused for my family, I am continuously reminded that laughter really is the best medicine sometimes. It is more therapeutic for me than any medication most of the time. And I thank God every day for friends like Mark and Tony, who make it possible for me to continue laughing. Although Tony is no longer with us (he passed away in 2008 after a courageous battle with lung cancer), he continues to be a source of strength to me. So does Mark. And my precious, hilarious family. And every other person who makes me smile. Trust me...that's a LOT of smiles :)

Have you ever met someone who ALWAYS seems to be in trouble, facing challenges one after another...some of them remarkably bizarre? I'm not talking about the kind of trouble that invites the attention of law enforcement officials (well, not on this particular day). I'm talking about out-of-the-blue, "I never saw this coming", "what have I done to deserve THIS?" drama. Well, that's my life. Some might argue that I've brought a lot of circumstances on myself, and in certain cases they would definitely be correct. But a lot of these "mishaps and misfortunes" are just too bizarre for even me to comprehend (and I have a pretty wild imagination.) To give you an example of what I'm talking about, I'll provide you with a synopsis of the past five years of my life:

December 2008: Knocked down a flight of stairs in Charleston, SC by a two large dogs who were walking their owner. (Dogs and owner left me lying at the bottom of the stairs with a leg injury.) January 2009: Leg, which is miraculously not broken, is not getting better. Doctor orders more tests, antibiotics. February 2009: Leg wound starts to drain. I am admitted to the hospital with a life-threatening staph infection. April 2009: Two months, three surgeries, four different IV antibiotics and a wound vac later... I am finally released from the hospital and return to work. May 2009: Son complains of pain in his side. Rush him to the hospital, where he has an emergency appendectomy - one week before high school graduation. September 2009: Son collapses during a college basketball practice. Small tumor is discovered in his nasal cavity. Has surgery to remove tumor, which turns out to be benign (thank God). December 2009: Four days before Christmas, husband says he isn't feeling well; thinks he may be having a diabetic reaction. Check his blood sugar. It is normal. He says his stomach and elbow are hurting. I call 911 and tell them I think he's having a heart attack. He thinks I'm crazy until EMS arrives and confirms my suspicion. He has surgery and two stents put in his heart.  February 2010: Son has major surgery for shoulder injury, ending his freshman college basketball season. April 2010: Son finishes freshman year and returns home to help me care for his father, who is still not feeling well. May 2010: Son and I notice that husband is unusually winded. Take him to the ER, where he's admitted with a blockage in one of the stents. Has a second surgery. August 2010: Son heads to school in another state, daughter to her freshman year of college in NC. Husband calls while I'm moving daughter in; son's new school has overbooked dorms. He is in a makeshift room with 12 other athletes. No closet, no drawers, all personal belongings locked in his car. Finally gets into a dorm a week later. September 2010: Son is miserable at new school; packs van after three weeks and comes back home to work and attend community college. December 2010: While getting out of the shower a week before Christmas, I notice what I think is a piece of black debris in the middle of my back. Go to scratch it off and it bleeds. Call doctor, who gets me in that day. He removes a large black mole from the center of my back and sends it off to be biopsied. He calls two days after Christmas to let me know the mole is being "sent out of state" for further evaluation (not good.) January 2011: Doctor calls to tell me mole has tested positive for melanoma. See a dermatologist, then a surgeon. February 2011: Have surgery to remove additional tissue from my back. Post-surgical complications mandate overnight stay, and make healing process very uncomfortable for several weeks. Foot long scar on back is extremely painful, but after six weeks I return to work. May 2011: I start a lengthy journey to explore treatment options, landing in DC, where my best friend & freelance business partner lives. Daughter moves back home because we can no longer afford to pay for college. She and son attend community college here and work to help support our family. My immune system continues to weaken, work becomes a challenge, but workload increases throughout the summer. June 2011: Have two separate vein surgeries in my bad leg to help improve blood flow & reduce swelling. Surgeries help some, but are not completely successful. September 2011: Lose job, lose house in foreclosure, move to rental home, start first of several treatments. October 2011: new, small melanoma discovered on my back and removed. December 2011: Suspicious growth discovered on left femur. New treatment begins. February 2012: Third suspicious mole removed for biopsy in NC, upon my demand. It ended up testing positive for cancer. Had surgery to remove additional surrounding tissue on my chest two weeks later, and transferred all care to Washington Cancer Institute in DC. Got in to see amazing melanoma specialist, who still follows me. April 2012: My beloved dog/friend/caregiver Gypsy becomes ill and we have to euthanize her. May 2012: Son gets a personal training job two hours away and moves back out. Turned 50, and spent one of the best weeks of my life at Topsail Island with friends and my daughter. Returned home at the end of the week with tremendous back pain, but attended my 50th birthday party in Salisbury. Continued monthly trips to DC for treatment throughout the summer, continuing to battle intermittent headaches and pain issues in my back. June 2012: Husband quit job in neighboring city in order to start company and be at home to help take care of me. August 2012: Discovered mass on back of head. Scanned and referred to surgeon for biopsy. Had allergic reaction while in the physician's office, passed out in the bathroom, hit head and rushed to ER. Daughter surprises me with a new puppy named Lilly. September 2012: Have surgery to remove mass on back of head, which reveals bad infection, but no metastasis. A group of childhood friends start a charity to benefit our family, as we are financially destitute. October 2012: Emotional ups and downs, med changes and financial woes worsen. Left side back pain increases. November 2012: Ultrasound confirms small mass in left kidney. Start new treatment & meds. January 2013: Start next phase of treatment. February 2013: First round of tests show no changes. Husband starts feeling poorly, ends up in hospital for third heart stent surgery. March 2013: Complete treatment for kidney mass, which is a success. Start receiving food stamps and basic medical care at free clinic in town. April 2013: Unable to pay rent on existing residence, we move to a smaller house around the corner. We are forced to give up one of our cars because we are unable to make the payments. I decide to take a treatment "hiatus" until June and get my immune system back on track. Two friends - one of them close - enter the final stage of their cancer battles, and I want to be there for them. I'm feeling worn down...but NOT out. I will survive this. And I will do it with laughter and a smile on my face. Why? Because that's how I roll!!!

So...you're not seeing the humor in all of this yet, are you? Well, that's because I haven't shared all of the in-between stuff...the crazy antics that have gone on throughout these trials of mine. It is those events - and the people involved in them - that have kept me moving from one crisis to another, enabling me to get past the ugliness of it all and continue on my journey, where I know I will eventually see a big, glaring light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. My daughter has kidded me throughout this journey, saying that I'm "riding shotgun on The Struggle Bus". But I'm not riding shotgun at all...I'm driving this damn bus! With love, laughter, friends, family and a helluva lot of faith...I am going to reach a destination better than the one I'm in. I'm just taking a few "detours" on the way. But I sure am meeting a lot of great people, learning a lot about life and becoming a better person in the process. Friends and family have pushed, prodded and even insisted that I start using my writing skills to document some of my adventures, and I guess I finally decided to stop procrastinating. After all, this is a very precious life I'm living, and the odds are pretty much against me living to be incredibly old. But who knows what the future holds? This girl is by no means giving up; my job here is not done. 

Welcome to The Struggle Bus...Zippy's Tales have FINALLY begun!