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"  I had a mini-van full of Cub Scouts, but I couldn&amp;#039;t wait anymore. I had to tell my kids. &amp;quot;My PET scan was clean,&amp;quot; I announced, watching for their reactions in the rearview mirror. Their shoulders dropped, releasing the stress of weeks of worry, and then they smiled. The other kids looked confused, but I chose not to explain it to them. Chances are, they wouldn&amp;#039;t really understand anyway. I had waited two days for the results of my final PET scan for 2008, the fourth of my quarterly scans to see if the aggressive form of lymphoma I had last year would come back this year. But now that my scans have come up clean, I can presumably coast into my year anniversary of remission a few weeks from now. And my kids can relax and just be kids - at least until my next scan a few months from now. I wish I could do the same. See, I keep phone numbers for dead people on my cell phone. No, I haven&amp;#039;t been watching too much &amp;quot;Medium.&amp;quot; I know I can&amp;#039;t call my former hospital roommates who passed away when I was lucky enough to see my cancer go into remission. But while I&amp;#039;m busy getting back to my life, I like to be reminded that other people - people that I cared about - weren&amp;#039;t as fortunate as I am. I know that it sounds like a cancer clich\u00E9, along the lines of smelling flowers and finding rainbows and all that stuff that staring down death is supposed to make you want to do. But I don&amp;#039;t want to be a puppy-hugging, &amp;quot;every day is precious&amp;quot; clich\u00E9. I don&amp;#039;t think I can be. In fact, when I drove into the city to get my PET scan last week, I spotted a sign created by a homeless man, who hangs out along the highway, that pretty much summed up what I feared deep down: &amp;quot;S*&amp;amp;amp;$ is coming!!!!&amp;quot; And I thought, Please no, God. I&amp;#039;ve already had enough s*&amp;amp;amp;$. So much for puppies and rainbows. Two weeks ago, I stood on a stage at the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society&amp;#039;s Light the Night Walk. Like the other dozen or so people on stage, I was carrying a white balloon that signified that we are survivors. I looked out at the hundreds of red balloons - the supporters - and I thought I hope I get to stand here next year, too. And I hope that my kids never have to carry the gold balloons - &amp;quot;in memory of.&amp;quot; When we got home from Cub Scouts the day of my good scan results, my mother called on the verge of tears. She was both happy for me and sad that one of her oldest and dearest friends had passed away that very day from cancer. Maybe the sign along the highway was right after all. That night, my husband and I popped open a bottle of Champagne, and the kids gathered on the couch with us to watch &amp;quot;Mythbusters&amp;quot; together. As we laughed and let go of our worries, I thought about the sign and the balloons and the phone numbers on my cell phone, and I decided it would be okay to be a clich\u00E9. Even on a day without rainbows. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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