We have two choices about how we handle painful life experiences: from a place of fear or optimism. When I was sick I chose (and it was a very active, decisive choice) optimism in the form of Silver Linings.

As a nurse-turned-patient, I can say with 150 percent confidence that being a caregiver involves some of the hardest work in the world. In fact, I can't overstate how difficult being a caregiver is. It is painstakingly difficult, physically, emotionally, socially, psychologically and, it must be said, financially.

After my fourth round of chemotherapy, I went into what I now refer to as "The Funk Zone." What helped me the most was my ability to put on my nurse's cap (being a nurse was definitely a Silver Lining during my treatment) and assign myself some healthy coping mechanisms.

The Silver Linings that I have experienced (and continue to experience!) during my cancer diagnosis, treatment and recovery help me get through each and every day. I have a tremendous amount of gratitude for the Silver Linings, but you'll never, ever, not in a million years hear me refer to cancer as a gift.

When I was diagnosed with cancer two years ago this month, I never asked "Why?" Instead, I wondered, "What am I supposed to learn from this experience?" As it turns out, one of the Silver Linings of my experience with breast cancer was learning some valuable life lessons.

Pain and sadness are important and valuable feelings that need to be processed during and after any rotten experience. The beauty of Silver Linings is that they don't take away the rain. Rather, they provide an umbrella.

My intention with these suggestions is to acknowledge how breast cancer patients feel when (well-intended) things are said and to offer positive Silver Lined ways to interact with people who are coping with the dreaded disease.

Including children (of all ages!) in the disease process and treatments, though emotionally burdensome and painful, will ultimately be the greatest gift parents can give their children.

The two to three hours spent in chemo are absolutely no fun. There was a Silver Lining though, when I reminded myself that I could watch feel-good, no-brainer movies either on my laptop or iPad.

Chemo Clutter has many different descriptors: chemo brain, chemo confusion, mind fog. All are terms that describe impairments in cognition resulting (at least in part) from chemo.

Waiting for a diagnosis is extraordinarily difficult because it brings up an array of feelings that are hard to hold: anxiety, fear, sadness, frustration, impatience, and powerlessness, to name a few.

One big misnomer in our culture is that doctors (solely) develop a patient's plan of care. No. No. No. This could not be farther from the truth! Patients have a real responsibility to be fully engaged in the development (and revision) of a plan of care.

As a nurse and social worker, I have a unique perspective on decision making because I approach it "from the other side of the bed." I put my professional hat on and ponder: How would I handle this situation if I were counseling a patient?

The scope and intensity of these feelings of isolation and subsequent emotional pain fluctuate from day to day. More often than not, though, they carry me closer to invaluable inner resources. These are resources that I never knew I had.

Last week, my oncologist told me that if he could get rid of one of my side effects, it would be the insomnia. He told me that this cumulative fatigue is exacerbating all of my other symptoms. How many sheep can a girl count?

As I was mentally preparing for chemotherapy infusion #4 (out of 6) for breast cancer, a dear friend emailed a very timely question: How does one Keep Calm And Carry On when a dear friend is diagnosed with breast cancer?