In August 2004 I was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer, a rare aggressive cancer that appears suddenly as a rash or thickening of the breast.

I was in the midst of moving my offices after 20 years and went for a mammogram in Kingston on Tuesday afternoon. By that evening was in NYC having a biopsy and being told that I would have to start immediate aggressive chemotherapy before I could even consider surgery.

When I returned home the next day, my life was in an uproar. My wonderful dog of 16 years stopped eating, within four days she had died in my arms. Shock.

Then came the rush of tests, endless scary tests,  second opinions, financial details, insurance , a living wills, wills, even funeral arrangements. Nights spent on the Internet researching this rare form of breast cancer and my treatment options and mortality rates. I earned about muga scans and pet scans and all about the dreaded side effects of chemotherapy.

All the while watching my fiancee and son try to look stoic as their fears flared.

I saw my life quite possibly ending as summer began to exit the Catskills. Quite a new chapter. Not what I was expecting. Not at all.