While AJ and I were out to lunch last Saturday, our server greeted us with a smile.

Mid-sentence, he did a double take. There was an awkward pause and then a long stare at my chest. This server, half my age, was gawking at my…

T-shirt.

“What does your shirt say?”

“F#%! Cancer.”

I told him my story. I’ve told it many times, but it still feels awkward and clunky—almost as though I’m speaking in the third person and replacing “she” with “I.”

Surreal.

The server praised me for my courage and called me a warrior.

I felt like a phony.

Warrior. Fighter. Survivor. Battle.

There is so much war terminology surrounding cancer. I’m quiet and more of an observer. I’m not aggressive—unless provoked.

Simply put, I feel as though I have only one choice: to keep moving forward. These days, I categorize my life as before and after my diagnosis.

July is my birthday month, and I am 50!

It’s a fun number to be, and I’m celebrating all summer. I’ve enjoyed visits from Shelby, my brother and Cheryl; a beach trip with both of my nieces; a girls’ trip to Savannah; and a trip to Charleston to visit my sorority sister.

Oh, and there was also a wonderful surprise 50th birthday celebration!

I’m doing well and feeling good. Sometimes, I even forget I have cancer.

Isn’t that a wonderful thing?