To say my friend Ashley's cancer diagnosis has had an impact on my life is like saying that having children brings changes. Basically, there is "before" and "after."

Before Ashley's cancer I thought of us -- our close-knit circle of women -- as on the "young" side. We were easing into our 50s, our hair starting to gray, worrying about aging parents and children suddenly taller than we are, but I still thought most of our lives were ahead of us. We could still afford to make mistakes and learn from them. All of a sudden, there was no room for mistakes. No time to figure out what we wanted to be when we really grew up. This year, this month, could be all we had.

The first diagnosis of ovarian cancer brought about all the stages of grief -- not as theory, but painfully experienced. As Ashley went through grueling chemotherapy, we rotated through her hospital room, cried together, prayed, bargained with God, and tried to make sense of why a talented young mother and civil rights lawyer ("God, don't you care that she gave up money for justice?") would face this monstrous illness. "Carsinosarcoma" became our enemy. Our children stopped asking "When are we eating?" and started asking "How's Ashley?" when they got home.

We beat the first cancer. Well, technically we didn't, because it came back and is now trying to set up residency in Ashley's lungs. But we thought we had, and celebrated with new joy in life and each other's company.

Now we are scared and old again. I was in Peru in July, when an MRI showed new tumors, so I missed Ashley's choked phone call. That night, I opened my e-mail and felt a hard punch to the stomach. I was bent over, groaning, while my dad and son tried to figure out what had happened. I could hear "Oh NO!" as my family read the screen.

Not many of my friends have visited Peru, but Ash joined the "Palmer Peru Expedition" in 2003. I had to come back to North Carolina to work, but she stayed at my parents' home, taking Spanish classes while her daughter Sunny and my children enjoyed abuela's hospitality. My parents officially adopted her when she set up the inflatable bed for our daughters in her room and read them bedtime stories every night.

Ashley has found the strength to fight back. We all are. Through good news (the tumors are shrinking!) and bad news (one tumor is growing), we do our best to contribute to her health and wholeness. Dozens of people, colleagues at the law school, neighbors, even people she has sued, have pitched in. We washed dishes (then got smart and bought a dishwasher); some are planting a garden; many buy organic, cancer-fighting vegetables and cook for Ashley following Tanya's calendar. Some have helped pay for treatments, massages, hats; others have sent cards, books, e-mails, flowers. One Republican even voted for Obama just to please Ashley. Miracles of community happen each day.

I have kept a prayer blog, where I record some of this difficult journey.

One day, as I discussed some ridiculous political issue with Ashley's husband, she laughed and said, "I just caught a glimpse of us at 70." As much as it hurts to grow up and face our mortality, I'm thankful that I moved to Chapel Hill, that I met Ashley and that I am part of her life. Every day I pray that indeed we'll both make it to 70 -- in good enough health to keep arguing politics.

Maria Palmer lives in Chapel Hill. She can be reached at mariatpalmer@gmail.com