I'm a 48-year-old somewhat disabled cancer surviving house-husband. I was given less than three months to live ... had a huge tumor in my chest ... softball-sized in fact. That was five and a half years ago ... I didn't die.

When I say I had a tumor in my chest, that's only part of the story. If that were all, maybe the docs woulda given me more hope. My stepfather, at 80 years old, has tumors in his lung and they give him 50 to 60 percent odds of living at least another five years if they're removed.

My tumor was huge. For those metric folks, it was 14.5 cm. Want inches? That's about 5 ½ inches or close to the size of a softball. Think about that. "Huge" is a pretty good word for it.

I kept my humor about the whole mess ... why not? Even dying ain't worth getting upset about! When the doc told me about the cancer and mentioned possible treatments, I put my hands on my mostly bald head, looked him straight in the eye and said, "OH NO! It won't make me lose my HAIR will it?!?" He looked at me like I was nuts.

Of course I am nuts. That's my secret. If you're nuts, the cancer won't take you seriously and it'll leave you alone.