You

Saturday. September 5, 2026. It’s funny. I think about you every day. I talk to you lying in bed in the middle of the night giving you the latest updates on how I’m feeling physically and emotionally. I often think I should climb out of bed right then and tell you my latest crazy thoughts through this blog. Then I talk myself out of it. Too cold. Too late. Too tired. Too little to share.

You were the reason I started this blog in the first place. And I was the other reason.

When you found out I had cancer, you called, you texted, you emailed, you sent cards. You wanted to know how I was feeling, if I needed any help, if there was anything you could do. You stopped me in the halls at work, at the grocery store, on the sidewalk. I was in your prayers. Your thoughts. Your heart. You wanted to know what was going on. What was the latest. What’s next. I wanted to tell you because you cared and it felt healing to share.

Once the oncology appointments, bloodwork, mammograms, ultrasounds, CT scans, PET scans, biopsies, treatments and surgeries started, the telling became exhausting. That’s when lanahascancer.com was born. A centralized vehicle for telling you my story when there was something new to tell. Informing you sooner than later.

The telling and sharing of it all in one place gave me, and continues to give me, the freedom to give you a more detailed view of what my life has become. You have been with me on this endless rollercoaster ride that defines the type of cancer I have. Through all the ups and downs, twists and turns, and loop-de-loops you support me. Stay on the ride with me. Encouraging me. Cheering me on. You were there after every course of treatment. Optimistic. Supportive. Hopeful. Nonjudgemental. You were there when we learned it had metastasized, was Stage 4, inoperable. And yet you believed, still believe I’ll be cancer free one day.

I can’t imagine what it might have been like without you. I don’t want to. I need you. I didn’t know how much I needed you at the time. After eight years of walking the walk and sharing that walk with you every step of the way, I know you are medicine for my soul. You lift me up. You comfort me. You tuck me in with a blanket of love that makes me think of you in the middle of the night, longing to share the latest, even when it feels insignificant.

So far, I’m beating the odds. I’m still here. And so are you.

Thank you.

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Here I am. I’m alive. How wonderful. —Sophia Loren