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"I was in the middle of my triumphant post-cancer 30-block walk in Manhattan when I spotted a sign that instantly deflated me. &amp;quot;Make Your Hair Happen!&amp;quot; the shampoo ad admonished. &amp;quot;Life Can&amp;#039;t Wait!&amp;quot; Can I take a nice walk without the constant reminders that I&amp;#039;m not back to normal? Apparently not. I had 40 minutes until my appointment with my oncologist, so I decided to walk the 30 blocks to his office. Well, I thought I&amp;#039;d walk 10 blocks and then hail a taxi, but I still felt pretty strong, so I kept on going. As I approached the half-way mark, I thought, I&amp;#039;m going to make it the entire way!  This is a big deal for someone with numb toes, thanks to six rounds of chemotherapy, and aching lungs from 20 rounds of radiation. I used to play single&amp;#039;s tennis, but now I get my exercise from walking a little farther each day. First, to my mailbox at the end of the driveway and now, at least 15 blocks in New York City. I scooted past a woman pushing a stroller and a man talking on his cell phone. I maneuvered around a hot dog cart and raced across 50th Street before the light turned green. I was starting to sweat under my winter hat, and it felt good. I thought, Nobody knows I had cancer. Look at me! I&amp;#039;m just one of the regular folks And then I saw the sign. &amp;quot;Make Your Hair Happen!&amp;quot; it chided me from two stories above, as though its Marilyn Monroe photo could see my manly hair-do under my hat. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m trying,&amp;quot; I said out loud, eliciting no response from the people around me who probably thought I was on the phone or just plain crazy.  As if it wasn&amp;#039;t bad enough for the shampoo ad promising &amp;quot;daring volume&amp;quot; to take issue with my hair, the sign then proclaimed, &amp;quot;Life Can&amp;#039;t Wait!&amp;quot; I stopped walking. I thought about the blood test I was about to take, the first since my doctor told me I&amp;#039;m in remission, that would test for tumor markers. A negative result would mean it was likely my lymphoma hadn&amp;#039;t returned. A positive test, though... I started walking again \u2013 faster. I spotted an empty taxi at the corner, but I kept on walking another dozen or so blocks until I was in front of Sloane-Kettering Cancer Center, not far from my doctor&amp;#039;s office. As I waited for the light to turn green, I overheard a doctor talking to a man about my age. &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;ll have to run some more tests to stage her cancer,&amp;quot; he said. I brushed past them, walked a few more blocks and made it to my appointment right on time. &amp;quot;Your hair is really coming in now,&amp;quot; my oncologist said. He examined me, took my blood and promised to call as soon as he had the results. The next day, the phone rang, and I spotted his name on my caller ID. &amp;quot;Jennifer,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;Everything was normal.&amp;quot;  I let out a long sigh. &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;ll set up your PET scan for April,&amp;quot; he said and soon, hung up. Like the sign says, life can&amp;#039;t wait. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a1977/life-after-chemo/>