I'm not one to make a big deal of personal milestones or anniversaries, but I do want to take a minute or two to recognize a significant date today.

Three years ago, I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma. Without a doubt, this marked one of the low points in my life. Physically, I was a wreck. My kidneys were failing, my bones were softened to the point of crumbling and my body was producing millions of myeloma cells.

So, being here today, being able to write this, is a victory. Today, I'm in complete remission. Three years at the hands of Dr. Guido Tricot and the folks at the Huntsman Cancer Hospital in Salt Lake City have cleared the myeloma cells from my body and set me on the course of "hopeful waiting."

Physically, I'm feeling good, doing a decent job of keeping up with the demands of four growing kids. I get fatigued a little more quickly than I used to, but part of that is just being older.

While my diagnosis in 2008 marked a low point physically, I am blessed to have seen that is spurred a great outpouring of love and support for me and my family. I am still amazed at the number of people who have stepped up over these last 36 months, and how many of them continue to offer their prayers and well wishes.

And finally, the last three years have offered concrete proof that the love within a family is the foundation upon which we can endure any hardships. My parents, sisters, nieces and nephews have never stopped supporting me, along with my in-laws and all of Irene's siblings.

My children have been constant reminders of how we can overcome hard days by looking ahead at the good times to come.

And my wife, Irene, has been a constant source of strength and support for me, no matter how down or discouraged I might have been.

So, three years in the books. Two stem cell transplants. A bunch of infusions, pills and treatments done.

Now, just trying to eat right and get enough sleep.

Hopefully, many more milestones to come.

Geraldine Ferraro, former candidate for vice president and well-known political figure, died yesterday after a 12-year battle with Multiple Myeloma.

As a Myeloma sufferer, I have known about her affliction for a couple of years. Ferraro was always mentioned as a MM "survivor" who was able to lead a "normal" life.

In no way am I trying to cast a negative light on Ferraro's approach to dealing with Multiple Myeloma. From everything I read, she's been a leader in pushing for better insurance coverage and more research for treatments and a cure.

What I want to point out is that no one who suffers from Multiple Myeloma can ever be called a "survivor." Unfortunately, until there's a cure, we are all living with a terminal illness that is currently considered "manageable."

So we're Myeloma managers. Some of us can manage for a few years, some for 12 years, and some of us (hopefully) will be able to manage for many years to come.

Unlike some other forms of cancer, the absence of Myeloma (complete remission through chemo or transplant or other treatments) is not permanent. Relapse will occur at some point.

I'd be thrilled if I don't reach that point for many, many years. But I accept that it will happen some day.

And when it does, I'll manage.

Here's an MSNBC feature on Kathy Giusti, one of the leading forces behind the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF) and the Multiple Myeloma Research Consortium (MMRC).

I've wrapped up my ninth cycle in maintenance therapy, heading back to the Huntsman next week to get tested again. My 13th biopsy. Always the highlight for me.

Expecting another complete remission report, no reason to suspect otherwise. The VTD regimen has been relatively uneventful, other than some tingling in the toes that forced me to take a week off the Thalidomide. And there's the roller coaster ride of effects from the Dexamethasone, but I'm learning how to live with that.

The constantly amazing component of all of this is the Velcade. I go to the infusion clinic and see other cancer patients getting two bags of reddish or brownish or clear liquids infused. They camp out for a few hours with magazines and laptops and friends.

Me, I pop in, sit down, get hooked to my port for five minutes, they walk over and shoot a three-second injection into my line. After a few minutes to rinse my line, I'm out of there. It's about a teaspoon of medicine. An expensive teaspoon, of course. But even four times a month, it's just tough to see how this stuff can be so effective.

If I was a conspiracy theorist, I might think I'm getting the placebo here.

But hey, it's working, and that's what counts.

One of the drugs I routinely take these days is Dexamethasone. I take if for four consecutive days, twice a month, on a 28-day cycle.

So I'm on Day 4 of the cycle today, I'll take my last dose for this week. On the 27th, I'll resume the Dex for four days again. And then I'll keep doing it for another four cycles, while I'm also taking Thalidomide daily and getting Velcade infusions four times a month.

Here's some background on Dex from the National Library of Medicine:

Dexamethasone is classified as a corticosteroid (more precisely a glucocorticosteroid), and has many uses in the treatment of cancer.

Corticosteroids help in the treatment of patients with blood disorders, such as multiple myeloma. Corticosteroids work by causing programmed cell death (apoptosis) of certain cells, which helps to fight the diseases.

And here's the list of common side effects from Dex:

- upset stomach
- stomach irritation
- vomiting
- headache
- dizziness
- insomnia
- restlessness
- depression
- anxiety
- acne
- increased hair growth
- easy bruising
- irregular or absent menstrual periods

OK, I do get a little stomach irritation, but nothing severe. Insomnia, yes. Why else would I be up at 5 a.m. blogging.

Restlessness, check. Anxiety, a little. Increased hair growth, not so sure, based on my ever expanding forehead.

The thing I get is emotional. My doctor tells me I'm hormonal, just like women might get during their monthly cycle.

It was really bad for me during the Winter Olympics. All those touchy-feely features on the athletes and their families and the sacrifices they'd made to reach the medal stand. I swear, I cried about some Norwegian cross-country skier's life story.

I realized I was in a Dex-mood last night when I got misty-eyed while watching a PBS documentary about the civil rights movement. I mean, I respect the sacrifices those people made, but I've studied it, I've watched plenty of documentaries, I've heard the same MLK speeches before. They shouldn't bring me to tears.

I just tell myself, "It's the Dex." Hmmmm, I wonder who's on "The View" today.