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My last conversation with my father was an argument we'd had. When I came to know of his hospitalisation, I'd lost him within seven hours. I still regret the last conversation with him.

My father died of brain cancer in 1991. I do not know anyone whose life has not been touched by the loss of a loved one to cancer. I wrote my book 'Gracefully Gone' about my father's fight and my struggle growing up with an ill parent. I wrote it to help others know they are not alone in this all-too-often insurmountable war against cancer.

When I was 14, my dad came home one day and told us he had cancer. It was looking pretty bad. And I remember him saying how afraid he was that he hadn't gotten to do the things he wanted to do during his life. He had surgery and survived. And he's still alive today, thank God. But it made a big impact on me.

My father's death from prostate cancer in 1993 was tragic. He never complained about pain. He was a fighter. By the time he was ready to die he wasn't able to die in the way that he wanted to, which seemed an outrage to me.

My father passed from cancer in 2000; his brother died of cancer before that. My grandfather died of cancer.

I have no regrets. I had an amazing surrogate who carried my son for me. I am so grateful to her. I can even say I am grateful for having cancer. I was always meant to be a mom, but if I didn't have cancer, I never would have had Zev. I would have had a kid, but not Zev, and I want Zev - tantrums and all.

When I found out I had cancer, I just said one thing: 'I want to hold on to life' and that changed everything for me.

I have been unexpectedly confronted with my own mortality as I was told that I had cancer.

My father died prematurely at the age of 52 when I was 24, and it is a recurring regret that he never lived to see me succeed beyond university and drama.