Over the past few days, I have been talking to people - and reading - about the experiences of other cancer survivors. They come in all shapes and sizes, and are all at different stages of the journey - some have just started and others have been travelling the road for years now. However, there seem to be several common denominators:

For instance, while I felt that my experiences were unique to me, I found that almost everyone I have talked to, or read about, thought death was imminent upon diagnosis. Most people had lumps smaller than mine, yet that sense of panic was the same. The reactions were different. I met one woman whose fear was focused on the treatment, not mortality. Yet another was focused on her legacy and how she wanted to leave this life. For me, I was focused on denial, a sense of anger, and simply...prayer for healing. And I refuse to leave this life!

Then, there is a refusal to be beaten by the cancer. We all react differently but all are determined to reflect the 'been to hell and come back in a fur coat' syndrome. I, for example, am determined to emerge as though from a chrysalis, thinner, with chic haircut - I saw the photo first, Kylie! - with uber-chic new wardrobe 10 years too young (but who cares), and a new sense of soignee calm, peace and maturity, reminiscent of the Dalai Lama. Hahahaha!

It is going to take ALOT of hard work, and will have to work on the 'act' in the next few weeks. Yes, yet another re-resolution to stick to macrobiotics, eschewing curry puffs, chee kuey, mee rebus, and Japanese kaiseki. Must practice calm demeanour in mirror every morning, meditate every night, exercise vigorously, and practice coping skills for dealing with inept service staff and taxi drivers who see the sign 'jam in tunnel' and yet head straight for it. Grghhh. Ok, deep breaths now...

Another commonality is the need to find a reason for it all. Someone said in her writing that breast cancer strikes at the very heart of what it means to be a woman - the hysterectomy, early menopause, the mastectomy - all forms of mutilation of womanhead. Why are we put through it? I am told by some that it is not a judgement (others tell me it is). Some say it is just luck of the draw. You know, I cannot believe it is all for nothing, just so we can go back to the way things were.

Initially, I focused on 'getting through this', so I could go back to my life. In actual fact, I am beginning to realise that this is my life now. I am changed by this disease. Moreover, I feel I have been changed on a level so fundamental I cannot see how much so just now. But when I think of my life BC (before cancer), I feel an inner rejection. I just do not feel it is enough anymore. I want more. But the question is - what? I do feel I need deeper, more visceral experiences, not the surface skimming I had before. The nine to five slog, the corporate environment, just doesn't do it for me anymore. I think of the executives and the games they play, the pally-wally, back-slapping, testosterone enhanced, male bonding childishness in the boardroom - good grief, is this what life is? How boring. Boys, you can have it.

Another commonality - the empathy with other cancer survivors, and the eventual acceptance of a life lived close to death. In the quiet, small hours, when I sometimes awake, I begin to think seriously about the final transition, how I would like to exit. I feel the old panic again, the fear, and the refrain of 'no, not yet' begins to echo in my mind again. Every time I talk to someone with cancer, we recognise this in each other, without having to speak of it. This is something that binds us all - the pink ribbon sisterhood.

This will, I am told, gradually go away after treatment and we get back to normal. But with every test, every physical event that does not seem normal - it all comes rushing back.

I am really grateful for the fact that I will be seeing my various doctors on a regular basis going forward. I cannot trust myself to know when something is wrong. I certainly didn't before. I want to put myself through the gamut of tests every 6 months, but am told I am overeacting. Well, it's my party and I'll panic if I want to! The fear may not go away, but I can somehow manage it if I do my bit.

Finally, cancer is a humbling experience. It tells us we are not in charge. And with every test, every check up, every symptom, we are reminded.

With all of this, how can one not emerge unchanged? We all, undountedly, have been. The question is: do we accept our changed selves and do we want to progress the change? Or revert? I, for one, think I would like to continue on this path to see where it takes me. I hope to be able to look back 5 years from now and see myself the better and happier for this experience. Fingers crossed...