Last modified: Sunday, June 21, 2009 2:19 AM EDT BROWN: Putting on the gloves for round three I always wanted to do an heroic act like save someone from the top of a burning building, which would be triply heroic considering my tremendous fear of heights and fire. Silly me. More seriously, I wonder if I could be the case study in finding out what makes cancer tick or how to fend it off successfully. I read somewhere that 2009 is the year of the cancer breakthrough/cure. With the year half over, I'm not going to hold my breath. In the meantime, does anyone want to study me? Never fond of the phrase "stage four terminal cancer," I find it easier to think advanced or metastatic. Either way, I recently and unintentionally saw that the five-year survival rate for my cancer is 27 percent. Oops, I'm on year six. Guess I defied the odds, but what now? Does my 10-year survival rate increase, decrease, or remain the same? If you know the answer please don't tell me as I don't want to know. Did my doctors do everything right? Have I done everything right? Am I just that lucky one who got to survive? Back to being a hero, though. It turns out I'm just a big chicken because when asked if interested in participating in a trial drug study, I declined. Afraid to disrupt the status quo, I thought why try something else that may not work and have unforeseen side effects? I didn't even mention the study to my oncologist; I pretended I never received that little postcard invitation in the mail. Perhaps there's still a chance that I'll earn heroic status if the headlines one day read, "Lori Brown - first person cured of terminal breast cancer," but unfortunately it won't be anytime soon. You see, my wonder drug has stopped working. What has kept me alive these last few years has failed me, because the cancer has reappeared in my liver in such a big way that I must go back on chemo. Last time the tumors grew back, there were only two so they could be killed off with a surgical ablation. That is not an option this time; I need more chemo before the cancer gets out of hand. I've had time to prepare myself for the worst, because bloodwork in May indicated an increase in tumor marker levels. I was flustered, irritable, distracted, then after a few days I was fine. I've learned that it does one no good to worry. I had been a worrier all my life but it never changed an outcome. If I worry about tomorrow, I cannot enjoy today -and with an uncertain cancer future, today is all I have. So I've graduated from worry and thus far avoided the giant panic waves of old, although little flickers of disappointment and discouragement sometimes pop up. A few weeks after getting results of my bloodwork, I had a PET scan that was immediately followed by Dr. J's second phone call: "Lori, you need to go back on chemo. Come see me tomorrow." The news was not unexpected as I had even told my husband and sister that I had a feeling the cancer came back. Those trusty tumor marker blood tests that I had put faith in over the past few years, telling me my cancer was under control, how could I not trust them now when they suggested setback? Unexpected, no, but nevertheless unwelcome. In between calls one and two, between suspected and confirmed recurrence, it helped a bit to remind myself that there are worse things than cancer - war, violent crime, etc. Now that I know I must endure the dreaded chemo poison again, I've decided to take a little of my own column advice and remain positive for as long as I can without beating myself up when I have my days of depression, get a short buzz cut before the hair begins to fall out, not feel obligated to anyone for anything, and welcome all the extra drugs for nausea and other side effects. What else can I do? And as usual I have tried to look on the bright side: Commitments and activities are winding down for the summer; my children are now teenagers who can surely help out more; and I am a wiser, more experienced cancer veteran. Plus, it should make for more riveting columns than me constantly writing, "I'm doing great!" I will try to write again next month if I am up to it, after all it surely is therapeutic. So, here we go again. Three years ago, devastated by reoccurrence, I would not have accepted chemo as easily. Today, I must. I feel like I am in a boxing match. Ding, ding, round three. Let's all pray I can stay on my feet. North Attleboro's Lori Brown continues to chronicle her fight against breast cancer. She can be e-mailed at brown11861@yahoo.com.