Friday, March 25, 2011 at 11:58PM Still enjoying those scan results. Living life in super-HD is even better when you're cancer-free. I've had a very full and fulfilling day today...which I'll tell you about tomorrow. For now, I'm just going to relax, let the chemo do its thing, and be grateful for my new lease on life. All is well, dear readers. All is well.
Thursday, March 24, 2011 at 11:18PM Today, the Duke Blue Devils lost. Their season is over, the joyride has ended, and Coach K and I won't be having that date in Houston for the Final Four after all.
It's upsetting, of course. When you love your team, you want nothing but the best for them. Seeing Nolan walk off the court in tears broke my heart tonight.
But I'm also so incredibly grateful to the Duke Basketball program. Coach K, his family, and Gerry Brown have been nothing but wonderful to me ever since they learned of my diagnosis. To be coached and cheered on -- on a weekly basis -- by one of your heroes is a true gift. And the team had a brilliant year, too. Their inspired play gave me so much joy and happiness. There were so many moments that took my breath away this season -- from Coach K giving me the thumbs up before the BC game in Cameron, to Nolan commenting on my blog post (saying "ahhhh see ya!" to my cancer), to the team coming back to beat Carolina as I rested in my hospital bed last month. Duke Basketball helped inspire me to beat cancer and helped to make these past several months as joyful as they have been. I cried after we lost tonight, but they were tears of gratitude.
Duke may not be the National Champions this year, but there's still one big reason to celebrate. I received the results to my PET/CT scan (I didn't tell you about it, but I had it done on Monday). My scans are clean. I am cancer-free. I'm the National Champion this year. But you'd better believe that next year, Duke will be right back on top with me.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011 at 10:54PM Three weeks ago, I didn't feel like doing three more months of chemo. I had my hands full with post-op healing and felt that the real battle was behind me. I was riding the high of Sugarbaker's surgical success and didn't know how I'd get my head back in the game for this last bit of treatment.
Two weeks ago, I was nervous about these three next months of chemo. My wounds were still raw, my appetite was small, and I was losing weight almost by the day. I didn't know how I'd react to these drugs now that all visible cancer was totally out of my body, and I was worried.
A week ago, I wanted to put off chemo. I started to feel stronger and was enjoying my ever-increasing freedom. Maybe I could fit in one last weekend trip without dealing with my bag o' chemo, I thought. I wasn't worried anymore, but I wasn't focused.
But now, the night before chemo treatments start, I am ready. I am focused, I am strong, I am confident, and I can't wait to get started. Game day is tomorrow, and I'm prepared and ready to play. Cancer has already lost, but now it's time for a victory lap.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011 at 11:49PM 
When you're waging war against cancer, a support system is a must. Doctors, friends, and colleagues are key. And family is essential.
When I had my first surgery, the outlook on my future was bleak. We hadn't yet learned about the "pick it out/pour it in" procedure, and all my parents and Will knew after Dr. Ramos consulted with them is that I still had cancer in my body. A lot of cancer in my body.
But I had had a discussion with my mom the night before surgery. "What if it's Stage IV?" my mom asked me when we had a moment alone at Good Samaritan.
"I'll beat it," I responded, without hesitation.
Equipped with my promise to beat cancer, regardless of the odds or the sacrifice or the pain, my mom rallied my family. She delivered the news to my grandparents, aunts, and uncles - telling them that the diagnosis was terrible but that, in the end and no matter what, I would win. She told them to harness their love for me into positivity, not fear. And she asked them to show that positivity when they entered the recovery room.
I was awake in the recovery room and remember the scene like it was yesterday. Every single person in my family was smiling, cheering for me, kissing my cheek and telling me how great I did and how proud of me they were.
I soaked in that support, love, and the knowledge that nobody believes in me more than my family. These things became my most essential fuel for this battle. And each 
time I spend time with my family -- like tonight -- I get more of that fuel.
So whatever invisible, shivering, dying cancer may be left in my body, you should really just give up now. My tank is full and I won't be stopping this all-out assault on you anytime soon.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011 at 12:49AM One of the compliments I hear most frequently from people is how inspiring my attitude is. I always warmly receive the compliment (I am not one to shy away from praise), but I always feel a bit like it's receiving recognition for breathing. Because keeping a positive attitude, you see, is completely natural to me. More importantly, it is key to survival.
Anger is a powerful emotion, and can motivate a person partially, but motivation from negativity can only go so far. Maybe you'll be able to angrily grit your teeth through some pain, but when that's over, what keeps you going during those quiet, painless times? Most of the emotional challenges that come with beating cancer are during these quiet, painless times. If you're blinded by anger -- the "why me" bitterness -- you can't get your head right. And that's more than half of what you need to succeed.
Fear is even more useless. It paralyzes and corrupts. When you're afraid of the disease, or what it could mean for you or your career or your family, you are wasting time and energy. Why allow your mind to go to those dark places in your imagination? When you're battling cancer, you don't have room to be afraid. Your nemesis is powerful enough without fear strengthening it and weakening you.
I don't mean to say that anger and fear following a diagnosis of "the cancer" are unnatural or wrong. But they aren't beneficial, and they only make the battle more difficult.
So yes, I've got a positive attitude. I approach my battle with enthusiasm, confidence, and the knowledge that everything will work out exactly as I want it to. Of course I do. Because I plan to survive.
