ONLY A GENERATION AGO , the "C-word"—cancer--was so terrifying as to be almost unutterable. It carried with it an inescapable, and often imminent, death sen­tence. But over the past decade, with earlier detection and improved treat­ments, the death rate from cancer has fallen. Though the diagnosis may still evoke fears of impending doom, today more people are living with cancer than are dying from it.

Make no mistake: Cancer remains the second leading cause of death in this country. But as with the number one killer, heart disease, cancer is becoming a chronic illness--something that flares up, requires treatment and subsides again. Although the outlook is better for some types of cancers than others ("can­cer'' is actually about 100 separate dis­eases), most people who receive the diagnosis now can claim membership in the survivor's club. No one, it's fair to say, seeks admission; but once ushered in, many find that membership has some surprising privileges

. Following are the stories of three midlife women who agreed to talk openly about what it's like to go on after  getting cancer. They're living proof that it's possible to coexist, vitally if not always comfortably, with the disease.

If you don't know who Alice Chang is, look for the fine-boned woman in the shiny gold tennis shoes. It's her footwear for special occasions. As a result of chemotherapy, she developed a painful, permanent nerve condition, peripheral neuropathy, in her feet. She can't run anymore. She can't even walk for long. And she certainly can't wear high heels. "My feet hurt all the time," she says matter-of-factly.

But the advanced inflammatory breast cancer for which she was being treated--diagnosed in 1994, when Alice was 50--has not reappeared. And Alice loves her fancy footwear. "They make me feel pretty special as a champion of cancer," she says.

Champion is Alice's word for survivor. Her bruising rounds with cancer began six years ago, when the psychologist had just retired from her clinical practice in Kansas City. Through careful financial planning, she'd managed to buy a house in Tucson, Arizona, and fashion a future involving a small private practice, but mostly research, volunteer work and professional responsibilities with the American Psychological Association. (At the time she was diagnosed, Alice had just been elected to the board of directors of that 159,000 member organization.)