I don’t remember calling my daughter in Montana and telling her I had breast cancer. Just thinking about it makes me feel sorry for anyone who has to do it. Having to talk to her about it helped me decide how I was going to handle my illness. I had to be strong for her and behave as if I would survive. But deep down, the shock of hearing those words, “You have cancer,” still translated to, “you’re going to die.” It would take time to shift my mental state and begin to truly believe it wasn’t my time to go.