A friend recently commented on the difficult year I endured eight years ago when myeloma entered my world. I hesitated when I heard this. “Don’t tell me that cancer was a gift,” she said.

Myeloma was more of a puzzle than a gift. All the puzzle pieces were tossed up into the air. Myeloma called upon me to wake up and become brave in order to put myself back together.

Myeloma also added a veil of specialness to my life. I had professionals, friends, and family offering me all kinds of extra attention—a lifeboat of visits, cards, and prayers.

A month after my diagnosis, a friend mailed me a box containing 100 wrapped gifts with a card instructing me to open one whenever I needed a lift. Some days I opened several gifts! I continue to treasure the gesture of this gift.

Months later, as my health began to stabilize, the extra support naturally diminished, and I was relieved to return to my new normal life.

However, a sense of loss lingered along with my new condition of wellbeing. I wondered—what next? I was not whole yet—simply no longer broken. The “veil of specialness” was lifted, but myeloma left me feeling like a fragile teacup. I worried that I may “break” again.

Courage is accepting fully things as they are and saying “yes” to life.

The meditation teacher, Chögyam Trungpa, endured many hardships early in his life that instilled a great confidence to continually remind his students “You can do it.” I frequently tell myself the same words.

The Buddhist tradition centers around the four streams of human life: birth, old age, sickness, and death. Once a child and mother are united in the process and labor of being born, there is no turning back. The passage must be made.

And so it is with myeloma. Once the diagnosis has been received, there is another kind of passage to travel.

In my case that passage included chemotherapy, autologous stem cell transplantation, and vertebroplasty. There was so much to fear along the way—needles, pain, diagnostic tests, medication side effects, weakness, dependence, and death. Staying present in all of it has been an exercise in courage.

We may strive to preserve as much youthfulness and health as possible through exercise, diet, and cosmetics, but there is no stopping the natural process of our aging cells. The body machine requires more maintenance and upkeep than any of the machines we use on a daily basis. Every being with a body will get sick at some point.

Every morning I water my green plants and pick off the withered brown leaves and flower heads. It reminds me of impermanence.

Courage is not an absence of fear. It is embracing fear in order to fully experience the events of our personal journey. We naturally lean toward the familiar and comfortable. Myeloma requires dwelling in unpleasant sensations and the unknown.

Fear has become an ally. Myeloma continues to be a puzzle, but the puzzle of how to live with it is an ongoing process—the pieces come together and fall apart again.

The more I pay attention to what is actually happening to me, the more I open to all possibilities and enjoy the streams of human life.