Daily ringing in my ears over a decade ago was the mantra of the Seven Dwarves, with an Oliver twist: "Want more, want clothes, it's off to work I s'pose." Rather than wielding mining picks to uncover jewels, I was probing for legal gems deep within the dark recesses of the law. As a patent attorney in middle management, I not only supervised the work of six attorneys, but also managed my own heavy case load. And I was raising three sons of grade-school age with my husband while teaching Sunday school.

Whizzing through the tunnel-visions of the fast lane, I found scheduling of routine preventative medical tests to be inconvenient. Although I did manage to secure a baseline mammogram at age 40, it revealed nothing of concern. And a second scan the next year showed no abnormalities. So, I thought smugly, I don't need to be so vigilant. Postponement of mammograms was reinforced by a false impression that vegetarians don't get breast cancer, particularly those my age who exercise and have no genetic predisposition. So work and family obligations dominated my life, punctuated by restful interludes of worship on Sundays.

Until I found a suspicious lump in my breast at age 43.

After the lump was confirmed as breast cancer, I sought God in earnest. Prayer support from friends and strangers alike was crucial to my treatment decisions and emotional healing. I opted for a lumpectomy with chemotherapy and radiation. Since I was generally in good health, I resumed work about a month after the operation.

Strange sensations enveloped me as I returned to the office. Nagging me was the notion that cancer is aggravated, if not caused, by undue stress. When I began chemotherapy, I would feel too sick immediately after each infusion to tackle serious assignments. My employer generously accommodated a reduced work schedule on those occasions. Valiant attempts were made to balance God-centered activities with work, exercise, and family-and deal with the distress of having cancer at the prime of my career.

Working while undergoing chemotherapy was nevertheless restorative. Giving advice to colleagues during treatment satisfied a deep longing within me to be needed. My work responsibilities offered a diversion from anxiety and gave me a sense of professional worth. Through Christ's intervention I called in sick only rarely, when I felt too ill to drive.

After chemotherapy I endured radiation, missing work every morning for six weeks straight. But God bestowed His grace upon me again as I bounced back unscathed from each treatment.

Shortly after radiation ended, when I turned 44, my manager, a Vice-President, died unexpectedly from an apparent heart attack. This reality check made me seek relief from heavy management responsibility. Sustained in prayer, I decided with my new director's blessing to supervise only three attorneys and a paralegal, and work part-time. Consequently, my schedule was reduced to a four-day work week.

In corporate America, I imagine that the "cancer survivor" track that I chose is viewed similarly to the "mommy track." In both cases circumstances alter the employee's sense of what is most important in the work-life balance. Cancer became for me an acceptable excuse for dethroning work from its exalted position atop my list of priorities.

Scuttlebutt kicked into high gear at the proverbial office coolers when I forsook the management track. But I gladly said sayonara to competing in the special Olympic event of vaulting through the glass ceiling. And said hello to being more of a respected work advisor.

Several months after that I moved away from corporate headquarters and began remote telecommuting from Northern California, managing only an attorney and a paralegal. I would make regular 200-mile road trips back to the San Francisco Bay Area to have face-time with employees as needed. And I settled into a workspace with dormer windows overlooking the garden amidst God's bounteous creation.

While it lasted, I treasured the one day a week I had off from work. Some of that time was used to contemplate what it meant not to slave every weekday. But occasional weekend spillovers of work continued.

Notwithstanding the tangible advantages of part-time work, after a year I realized the greater efficiencies of having a continuous work week, and decided to resume full-time employment. Not long afterward, a new malignant tumor emerged in the same breast.

Coping with cancer treatments this second time was decidedly easier for me as a distant telecommuter. Although I was destined to undergo bilateral mastectomies and more aggressive chemotherapy, at least I didn't have to dress up and commute in traffic among home, headquarters, and hospitals. The logistics of juggling work and cancer treatments is daunting enough without coping with metropolitan stressors.

Being able to take a spur-of-the-moment nap whenever fatigue set in was an added perk.
Further, contact with myriad people at the corporate office would increase my risk of getting an infection. In the general work environment, the best policy was to wash my hands as often as I thought about it.

This hygienic routine paid off during business travel, when I was exposed to the public on planes. I worked out my travel schedule between treatments, coordinating with the oncology nurses. Travel plans could be scuttled at a moment's notice due to side effects, such as low counts of white blood cells. But God in His mercy knows my love of travel. I never fell ill when on trans-continental-or even trans-Atlantic-flights for business reasons.

Resolved to conquer any anxiety during this season of harsh chemo, I resolved to journal my blessings. One entry: "American Cancer Society provided wigs, bras-and alleluia-complimentary make-up!"

Another journal entry chronicled my excellent employment situation. My husband was a self-employed real estate agent during my cancer bouts, with no medical coverage. Besides upholding my professional dignity, the job I had provided my family with premium, low co-pay health insurance. And my company was the ideal employer for me at that time. Had I quit the work force and sought new insurance as a cancer survivor, I would have faced astronomical premiums to secure near-comparable health coverage. Alternatively, if I had changed employers to assume a less demanding position, I would have had to re-build trust in the new environment.

My perfectionism has waned since cancer reared its ugly head. I'm sure this represents progress, but somehow it would lack pizzazz on a résumé. Imagine the line: "Lawyer seeks position with laid-back company to interact with clients and draft documents under relaxing circumstances with regular breaks." Not a good first impression. Employers should understand, nonetheless, that the most perfect employees are not perfectionists.

My cancer diagnoses allowed me to reflect on what God considers most important in my life, and to make changes where changes make sense. Having a deeper appreciation for my co-workers' struggles, I regularly exercise my muscles of compassion toward them.