Last year, I became one of the estimated 1,685,210 new cases of cancer to be diagnosed in 2016. Of that number, one out of three was projected to die from the disease. While the diagnosis and statistics are daunting at best, for me cancer became a lesson in how to live like I was dying, in how to embrace life in whatever form I was allowed. Surgery and chemotherapy were fraught with unexpected complications and hospitalizations. I chose to share my diagnosis only with close friends, family and my managers at work. I did not rush to Facebook or Twitter to bemoan my state, because let’s face it, many people have it much worse. I didn’t want sympathy or sad-eyed glances. I wanted only to be normal once again, and that status could be found only in living normally. Between chemotherapy treatments, I returned to my job as a nurse, worked on my third novel, and tried to savor every special moment of every day. What I discovered is that every moment is extraordinary—especially if it might be your last—a last kiss, a last hello, a last glimpse of someone special, a final goodbye, and with those possibilities firmly in mind, I appreciated them all the more. There is magic in every moment and in so much around us. And the prospect of dying makes them that much richer.