I know FDR said this about December 7, 1941. And not just because he was talking about Pearl Harbor, but let’s face it – it would be flipping amazing if he said it in 2022 since he’d been gone for 77 years.

It’s not lost on me that my own day of infamy – the one where I got that call no one ever wants to get – was December 7. Even if I don’t know when that date rolls around, I still just know. It’s one of those things that I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try.

It’s not every day that your doctor is like,

“Hey girl! Just want to let you know that you’ve got this thing in your body that’s aggressive and actively trying to kill you. All we have to do to get rid of it is load your body up with poison for a few months, lop off your boobs, and by the way – you’re going to lose all your hair in the process, during the coldest part of the year. K? Thx bye.”

I like to think I handled my diagnosis and treatment fairly well, or as well as one can, anyway. It was make-or-break, so I used my ridiculous sense of humor and followed the sage advice of one Andy Dufresne who once said,

“I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying.”

(Yes, sometimes I take life advice from Stephen King and Frank Darabont. It could be worse. I could’ve chosen to follow the plot of Misery.)

So that’s what I’ve done over the past three years. I’ve been busy living. And through it all, I think I’ve kept my sense of humor.

Why Autumn, whatever do you mean? Can you give me an example? I’ve been dying to tell someone how thoroughly I’ve embarrassed my dad with the random things that will just pop out of my mouth. You know, like the time that we were sitting at a game in Allen Fieldhouse and I turned to him straight faced and laid out this gem,

“You know, Daddy – the last time we were here, I had boobs and no hair. Now I’ve got hair and no boobs!”

The look on his face was priceless. I’m not sure if he was amused, mortified, or equal parts of both, but I got quite a kick out of it. Catch us at a football game sometime. I’m sure I’ll have a couple more bangers.

I don’t recommend running out and getting cancer. It’s not remotely on my top ten list of things to do. But if anything remotely good has come out of this whole adventure, it’s given me perspective.

• The awful haircut I got a few months ago? Meh. It’s just hair. (Seriously, I’ve been bald. It can be worse.)
• Meeting someone for the first time and having a totally awkward conversation? It would’ve sent me into the gold medal round of the Overthinking Olympics before. Now, not so much.
• Finding out someone doesn’t think super highly of me? First, they’re wrong, and second, so what? It’s their loss.

As the great Ferris Bueller said, “Life comes at you pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Long story short (or long, who knows?) – anyway, listen to Andy and Ferris. Life is too short and it’s going to throw you some curveballs. If it doesn’t, then you need to buy a lottery ticket and share those doll hairs with me.

But seriously, take it from someone who knows. Spend an entire weekend with your family doing nothing but eating pizza and binging Stranger Things. Take the trip to NYC. Go see the Jonas Brothers or Taylor Swift or Bad Bunny or Hozier or Foo Fighters. Don’t wait until something super fucking serious happens to start living.