When I was 11 years old I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I was given less than 5% chance of survival. I endured chemotherapy treatment every other week for 18 months, 30 radiation treatments, 7 surgeries and over 3 months in a hospital bed followed by months in a wheelchair or on crutches. As near to death as I may have been then, I beat the odds and am here today to tell the story. Rarely does a day go by where I am not somehow affected by my battle with cancer. On April 17, 1990 I had my last chemotherapy treatment and was able to go on living. Since then, every April 17th is like another birthday for me. A day of celebration and reflection. Keep family and friends close -- they'll be your support system -- and a much needed distraction. Advice (and words to live by) that was given to me during my battle, "Be a fighter, don't let it beat you."