I hate being called Cancer Survivor

Profound.  Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary defines the word as difficult to fathom or understand, as having intellectual depth and insight, and all encompassing.  There is no other word in the English language which describes us better.  We are a legion of sorts, that who would spell the doom of another.  We had started as a few, shelling out against all odds, defeating the norms, until now, the time when we are becoming the norm.  We are the survivors of a category of diseases that have been embroiled in a huge battle of bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo and lobbyists and the general society.  We are the champions of hope, the bearers of colors from pink to purple and beyond.  We are as different in our diseases as we are from our neighbor and yet we will always be family, distant, ever touched by the fear and mental anguish that is our being.  Our families have endured with us, standing beside wondering what else they could do, getting mad when folks look at us in an awry fashion, they are disease free more often than not, yet our affliction is bore by them as well.  In fact it is generally through them we are able to realize that we are not defined by a word, we are not to be categorized, we are not to be treated as a number.  It is through them, our families, our closest friends, that we discover we can actually be a survivor.  But I can no longer allow myself to be called simply a cancer survivor.  In fact, the Merriam-Webster definition of survivor even evokes mediocrity.  To remain alive or in existence, to live on… One of the most passive statements I think could be applied to those of us in our category.  Lance Armstrong didn’t just survive, he was all encompassing after his battle had been won.  No, I am not just a Cancer Survivor, I am Cancer Profound.

This is the opening statement to a story I am working on, but I couldn't sit on that anymore, it is beautiful in my eyes. Please pass it around.