I had to check my calendar — it seems like just yesterday that I received the phone call with the test results. And yes, I’m just weird enough to have noted “Cancer Diagnosis” on my calendar on December 11. I remember thinking how unreal this all was…and that I was supposed to be hosting upwards of 70 people at my home for a holiday open house on the following evening.

Now, one month, one hysterectomy, two CT scans and countless blood draws later, it’s suddenly real. I am just five days away from my first round of chemo. After that, radiation. Then, who knows?

Honestly, the hardest part of this so far hasn’t been recovering from the surgery, even though that hasn’t been a bed of roses. It hasn’t been having to get rid of the bed I’ve slept in for the past 25 years because it’s so tall that I won’t be able to crawl in when I’m at the low point of my treatment. It hasn’t been telling some of my oldest and dearest friends about my illness.

It’s knowing that, for the next six or so months, I am not in control. And that sucks.

I know I have the emotional strength to get through this. And god knows, I’m blessed with a wonderful support network, access to great medical care (and the ability to pay those bills) and fairly good health (except for the cancer and all). But I really, really hate knowing that for more than half of this year, my life will be dictated by scheduled treatments, tests and check-ups.

I refuse to let this disease define me. I refuse to become “Cancer Patient Susan.” I refuse to let it win. So suck it, cancer. You have no idea what you are fucking with when you fuck with me.