June is the 7th anniversary of my autologous stem cell transplant. Dates assigned to diagnosis, transplant, remission, and relapse take on special significance to multiple myeloma patients, but the transplant is often regarded as a kind of rebirth—a new birthday.

What happens when we unwind our idea of who we are to include the ongoing presence of myeloma? When I lay in the hospital bed 7 years ago, I became a different version of myself. Imagining a future this far ahead was impossible.

Our daily life has a melody all its own. Life after myeloma includes a different backbeat, a gentle drumming that may begin to get louder at any moment.

I recently experienced a problem with my foot after an ordinary day. At first I thought little of it, but when it continued to hurt after a week, I saw a doctor who told me I had a spontaneous stress fracture of the metatarsal—something that frequently happens to women.

The backbeat of my post-myeloma life knows that everything is connected. The drumming became a little louder wondering if a bone problem in my foot is related to myeloma.

I have heard about all kinds of life celebration parties for cancer anniversaries—not my style. No Hallmark card required. When one of my dates turns over on the calendar, I pause. Sometimes I wear a yellow LIVESTRONG wristband. Endurance is everything. I am grateful.

Some may feel that maintaining an ongoing connection to a medical diagnosis is morbid—negative. You’re better, right? Put the whole thing behind you—just move on.

Rudolph Steiner studied the development of the whole person in relation to their direct experience with the natural world. He determined that human beings evolve in 7-year cycles, continually building on the foundation set during the first cycle. This idea is explored in the wonderful documentary film series called "7-Up" that began in the early 1960s when a group of British school children were interviewed and observed every 7 years. The latest installment looks at the group at age 56.

Most of us have had the experience of seeing the fascinating changes in ourselves and others through snapshots and home movies. Sometimes the parts that remain the same are even more curious. I recently picked up a picture of myself taken the summer I was 7, sitting on a beach at Lake Michigan appearing full of health and potential. I see the “me” of today in that small person.

The transplant re-set all the decades, and I am back at age 7 with a different foundation under foot. The myeloma experience has given me a preview of sickness, old age, and death that awaits all beings. Learning to live on unsolid ground with unsteady footing is the lesson of this 7-year cycle.

I have been returned to the refreshing melody of daily life. Seagulls swoop and squawk outside my window. A car horn honks in the traffic below. I breathe in summer. I rest in the complete unknown of what is ahead.