I hadn't been on an airplane since 2001. So all of the customs and rituals of airport safety were entirely new to me. I had no idea I 'd be told to remove my shoes before walking through the security contraption or that my baggage would be opened, searched, and inspected. It was a whole new world for me. Prior to 2001, none of these security measures were necessary. A compression sleeve wasn't either.

A compression sleeve -- my own personal security device -- is my new travel companion. Designed to protect my arm from swelling caused by the combination of missing lymph nodes and airplane cabin pressure, this sleeve fits my arm from wrist to armpit. It's tight like a glove and while it's not a very apparent fashion statement, it's slightly visible with its darker-than-flesh color.

I almost forgot to wear my sleeve on my flight to Tucson because I sometimes forget about breast cancer and it's effect on my life still. I sometimes forget how unsafe this world can be too. Then I see barefoot travelers passing through an airport corridor just before a jolt sparks my memory, and I rush to pull on my sleeve before it's too late.

There are four missing lymph nodes up my sleeve. And I must never forget this.