5. I have had 5 family members have cancer. Two of those family members have died from cancer and one is currently fighting the battle.

6. I have had six friends who have or had parents who have or had cancer. And those are just the people who were open about it. Two of those parents have died and the rest are still fighting the battle.

3. I have had three friends who had cancer.

1. I currently have one good friend fighting cancer.

Too many. I've had too many people in my life fight and lose the battle.

It's a sickening feeling to realize that cancer has become normal in my life. My parents tell me that the cancer is back and I respond "oh shoot" in the most unemotional voice ever.

The first one was my Aunt Cheech. I don't remember most of it, I was too young, and she lived in a different state. I mainly remember her getting better after she went into remission. She was lucky; statistically, she shouldn't have made it. She had blood and bone cancer. She had stem cell transplants. She was and still is a walking and living miracle.

Second was my dad. My dad had been in an accident and had to have his kidney removed. They found a tumor in the damaged kidney. Some may say a gift from God and I am one of those. This time was different. There was no chemo or hair loss or loss of appetite. He had cancer and then he didn't have cancer, and we didn't even know the difference. It truly didn't hit me that my dad was a survivor until years later when I saw him wearing a survivor's pin at an event for his work.

The next one was my Grammy. Again, I don't remember much of it. I remember moments. I remember her turbans and taking her and picking her up from treatment. I remember when she got her breasts removed, for she had breast cancer. I remember the sores on her chest from her medication. I remember how tiny she got and how much weight she lost. I remember when she couldn't be the same Grammy I had as a kid. The one who would play Barbies and card games with me. The one who would take me to the park and the toy shop. The one who would sing to me and spend every moment she could with me. I remember the room she died in. I remember the way my mom told me. I remember the breakfast with my family the morning after. I remember the ache in my heart. I will never be able to forget that ache.

In my mind, the next was my Gram. I never met my Gram, she died before my parent's even got married. She died of leukemia. This comes next in my mind because when my Grammy was getting ready to pass, my dad told me about he dealt with the loss of my Gram, his mom. She had leukemia for 10 years and never told a soul. She didn't want to be seen as weak. Typical Oral Dryden: a tough woman who never wanted to be seen any less! It ended quickly. The last thing she wanted was my dad by her side with a chocolate milkshake from In N Out. I can remember my dad's voice quivering when he told me that part. I didn't know about my other Gram's passing until I loss my Grammy. In my mind, two grandma's in one weekend, both to cancer.

My junior year, my dad's cancer came back. It was scary. We didn't think he would ever get sick again. Cancer had stayed out of my family at that point for 4 years, since my Grammy passed. I had hoped I would never have to deal with it again, but we did. The tumors were removed and dad was in remission again, but it still does not make it any less scary. The thought of losing my dad still makes me sick to my stomach. I do not think I would be able to go on if I lost my dad.

That same year, my Uncle Bobby was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Another family member, another round of cancer, a more normal feeling around it.

And finally, just two months ago, my mom told me that my Aunt Cheech had been re-diagnosed with cancer. Same family member, same type of cancer, and a totally normal feeling about it.

When cancer becomes normal, you don't react the way most people do. There aren't any tears or moments of overwhelming emotions. There is just "the mode."

The mode is my mind is the reaction that people have when they have seen too much cancer in their life. They ask about stages, chemo sessions, surgery options, etc. There is no emotion, for they have already exalted too much emotion over this disease. It is all about logistics and numbers. Of course, there is still emotion, but it's different. The emotion isn't so much sad or angry, but more numb. I feel numb when I think about my aunt who currently has cancer and my father who has been battling it off and on because I don't have emotions to give about it. Cancer is now normal to me.

I grew up with cancer. I grew up with my mom traveling to San Diego every weekend to help take care of my Grammy. I grew up learning about chemotherapy and radiation and the pro's and con's of both. I grew up going to and from hospitals and surgery dates. I didn't spend most of my days with my grandparents at parks and toy stores, I spent them in hospitals and in their bed room after a long day of chemo.

When cancer becomes normal, you don't take a single day for granted. You tell everyone you love them. You make everyone feel special. You take risks and stay in the safe zone at the same time. You truly do live everyday like it is your last, because you have seen too many people not be able to live their final days the way they would have wanted to.

I tell people I love them all of the time. Even if I don't, I still tell them I do. I will tell someone I love their shoes or their bag. I will work for everything I have and will apply for anything and everything just to be involved and to have new experiences. I will live everyday as if I end up in a hospital bed tomorrow because I never truly know when I could end up like the millions of others who have had cancer.

Reality becomes much harsher when cancer becomes normal. Someone will respond so greatly and with so much emotion when they hear of someone being diagnosed with cancer. I will shrug and say "oh shoot." That is literally was I did when my mom told me about my aunt's cancer coming back. It feels like an everyday occurrence to me now. It seems as if every conversation I have has something to do with cancer. It's normal.

When cancer becomes normal, you become sad. I look at so many people who have never had a family member or friend with cancer and I just wonder why? Why my family? Why so many of us? Why so many of my friends and their families?

When cancer becomes normal, you know it is time for change. It breaks my heart and baffles my brain that there still is no known cure for cancer. I can't even begin to fathom the amount of people impacted by this terrible disease. It's sometimes even hard for me to fathom how much cancer I have already had to deal with in my life.

When cancer becomes normal, your whole world is turned around. You see the world as a terrible place and as a beautiful place. You see the good and the bad. You curse God for the hard times and thank Him for the good. It's this weird in between state of being scared but emotionless and being proactive. You are scared naturally, but feel no true emotion about it. But there is part of you that has this fire in your gut to live life to the fullest.

Cancer as a normal is weird, but maybe it's just the way some of us were meant to live. Maybe this is God's way to make sure we all celebrate each and every breath of every day. Because I promise you, when you see 20 people you love battle cancer, you never take a single breath for granted.