When I was 19 years old, I found out that my mom had cancer. She had known for some time, but only when surgery was imminent did she tell us of her diagnosis, during a routine exam, of lung cancer. She was 50, and had quit smoking the year before. The subsequent surgery left her with one fully operating lung, a horror movie scar from one end of her chest to the next, follow-up radiation, nerve damage, burning and scarring. We all felt blessed she was alive.