Hello there Jenn, it's me, well, it's you at age 48 and yes lady, you made it this far so yay you! I'm watching you, on a warm Monday night in 2007, and I know you're terrified. You have an abject paralyzing fear about the future, because just a half hour ago you heard the words no one ever wants to hear, "you have cancer." It's okay, keep crying, I'll wait. You need this time to grieve, because you have no idea what the next weeks, months and years will bring, so cry and get it all out. Right now you're curled up in bed fully clothed, I see you ... and that worn out God Save The Queen tee you have on with your cut-off denim shorts, that shirt will become part of your armor so wear it we

It's funny, by the time we are diagnosed and enter treatment we arrive to the party with all the baggage we've accumulated throughout our life. Some of us are very private and prefer to keep the details of our diagnosis to ourselves. Others are really outgoing and we have no problem sharing and sharing and sharing. There are many of us that rally others and create online support platforms with the same energy and excitement which had once been focused on coaching their kids sports teams, organizing office parties, and coordinating community fundraisers and others advocate quietly from behind the scenes. As we enter the depths of hell ... er, um, chemo, some of us will be devastated by the ha