This is my 100th post.

Six years ago when I started jotting notes in an online journal, it was a way to affirm that each day when I woke up I was still breathing. I started over at Blogger, and made several entries I kept private. Eventually I deleted them when I made that blog public. And people read it, made comments. To this day, that still amazes me – and I appreciate every one.

When I started Life Out Loud, I had just been dx’d with Stage IV rectal cancer. I had nine tumors in my liver. I was considered inoperable, and although my symptoms were more or less gone, my tumors weren’t shrinking much. And then, on Labor Day weekend 2004, I woke up early. I had a chicken pie to make for the New York State Fair. It was a great recipe, and I was in the middle of a really successful week at fair (when I’m in the throes of major illness, I always seem to wow the judges.) I was all set to bring home another win that Saturday.

But when I tried to stand up, I couldn’t put any weight on my left leg.

I knew those symptoms – and I was on Avastin and coumadin, both known to aggravate bleeding disorders. I was having another stroke.

Then I *really* became inoperable – even though the previous week a scan had shown that my tumors were (finally) shrinking, nobody in his right mind would operate on a patient so high-risk. Liver resection was now really off the table. My chemo became palliative chemo, chemo for life. And I knew there was only so much more chemo that would work, that I could stand. So sooner or later, I was going to die.

Tell me I’m gonna die, I start to write. I pounded out words – for work, on forums, in my truly private hand-written journal (the one none of you will ever see!) I wrote like a madwoman. I began a blog.

Today it’s almost six years later. I finally had that liver resection in 2006, after a first surgery and more chemo than anyone should ever do. I have had a locally advanced recurrence that challenged me and the skills of five surgeons. I took radiation for the recurrence, both external and internal, that has left me with permanent neuropathy issues. But I am alive and – knock wood – in April I’ll be 24 months in remission and NED (no evidence of disease.)

I am still writing like a madwoman. Three blogs, and I’ve just started a fourth for a news content provider. Five forums, three where I post nearly every day. A lot of writing for work, aka ‘the paying gig.’ Poetry when the muse lets me speak.

Some days I’m really, really tired. Living with cancer, even in remission, is a full-time job.

Other days, I think I’m okay. I make plans for things like Colon Cancer Coalition (C3) Call On Congress 2010, the kind of 5-day energy stretch I have to pace out very carefully. I never know from one day to the next how much energy I’ll have, but I’ve gotten to the point where I’m willing to cross my fingers and make plans.

I’ve never been to Washington, DC as an adult – much less to meetings with my congressional representatives outside of their home offices here in central New York. It should be exciting. It will be new territory. It can make a difference – so since I’m still here, I want to at least try. To make a difference, that is. And to have an adventure while doing that would be a good thing.

I probably should have written something deep and profound for post #100. Instead I went for what is moving me now at 2 a.m. There’s a ring around the moon tonight, and new snow, and I’m making plans for the future I wasn’t sure I’d ever see.

Who knew?