Oddity of odds

I have a "better than zero chance" of beating this monster living in my chest. That's what my oncologist told me today. You probably won't see those odds posted in Vegas. Then, again, if you heard this scouting report from a co-worker of mine, you might bet on me: "This cancer has chosen a formidable foe." Thank you, Shirley.
When I was positively identified with cancer, I asked for two things: That it not have spread beyond my right lung and that I be given a chance to beat it. Both wishes have been granted. Thank you, God. ...
The results of my PET scan show I do not have widespread cancer. It is contained in the right side of my chest. Still, I have stage 3B lung cancer. Here's the plan: Massive doses of kick-ass chemo. We start Wednesday. Three days of five-hour treatments. Take a timeout for 21 to 28 days, then three more days of kick-ass chemo. I continue my radiation treatments while having chemo. The chemo is going to give me fits, I'm warned. Horrible nausea. I won't have any problems while I'm undergoing chemo treatments, but come late Saturday or on Sunday, I'll be feeling more than a bit squeamish. I'm young, I'm strong, that's why the doctors are comfortable giving me these godawful doses of chemo. I won't bore you with the technical stuff; if you're that interested, leave a comment and I'll give all the 411. ...
Back to the odds. I asked the oncologist what I should tell my mother when she asks me if I will survive: "It's in God's hand." (My Mother will like that, because she turned things over to God several days ago.) Do I have a shot at being able to say after five years that I'm a cancer survivor: "Absolutely." She says she's had patients at my stage who can now say they're survivors. I plan on being a survivor in 2010.