The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

I'm sick of talking about this sickness of mine. But there's one more thing I need to say in regards to how it's disrupted my life -- and how one person has helped me pick up the pieces I've left scattered around as a result.

The one more thing: Sickness always throws me for a loop. I'm an organized, planned, on-the-ball sort of person and I don't like how sickness takes me out of the game. I'm not good at sitting around, resting, putting my feet up for extended periods of time. I hate how life passes me by and my responsibilities begin to stack up. I try my best to stay on top of everything but all it really does is keep me sick. It seems the more I try to do, the longer it takes for my body to heal.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

I've been sick for 10 days. Only during the past few days have I started noticing my body is beginning to mend. I judge this by the fact that lately, I am able to sleep.

For days and days, I coughed all night. I might sleep for an hour here and there but mostly, I spent my twilight hours hacking uncontrollably. My cough was so severe at times, it caused me to vomit. My cough was horrible and landed me night after night in a vicious cycle I couldn't control.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

My house was struck by lightening the other day. I wasn't home at the time but heard the violent storm from inside my mom's house, in the same neighborhood. The thunder and lightening was so loud and crashing, I wondered if it would tear through the roof above me. It didn't -- but it did tear apart quite a lot at my house, just a block away.

When I got home, I smelled a burning odor, heard a surge protector beeping, and discovered I'd lost power in half my house. A neighbor came to my rescue -- my husband and boys were at the beach while I stayed home to recover from my recent illness -- and restored the electricity in my house. I thought all was well, except for a cable outtage which I determined a minor inconvenience. But then I noticed plaster, rock, and wood had been sprayed around my boys' room and a guest room. My youngest son's bed was covered. A lone piece of wood sat in the middle of the guest room. Where had this come from?

It came from the baseboards located in one corner in each room. They had been shred into pieces and torn from the walls. And my carpet had been somehow lifted up from the floor and appeared singed at the edges. When I spoke to my husband about this amazing destruction, we came to appreciate just how powerful weather can be. Mostly, though, we counted our blessings. No one had been home. No one had been outside at the time of the strike. Our house had not burned down. Our smallest child was not in bed when the debris flew. We are lucky.

Today, I am grateful my family survived the storm.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

Losing my hair was one of my most traumatic cancer experiences. When first told I needed chemotherapy, I didn't fret about the poisons that would circulate throughout my body, or the nausea that might strike me. What I feared most was losing my hair. It seems silly now. I mean, hair is just hair. If I could trade my hair right now for a guarantee that cancer would never return, I'd do it. But three years ago, when cancer was new and my self-image was faltering, I couldn't stand the thought of losing it.

I did OK once my hair was gone. I found great human-hair wigs and I learned to enjoy my shower-and-go morning routine. I could get ready in an instant. It was all kind of liberating really. Now, don't get me wrong. I was glad when my hair came back. And every day when I look in the mirror, I am comforted by the fact that long dark hair now covers my head. Yes, hair is just hair. But there's just something about it that makes me feel well, happy.

Today, I am grateful for my hair.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

When I think about how much my mom rescued me during my breast cancer treatment, I always land at the fact that she watched my little boys for 35 days in a row while I transported myself to and from radiation therapy. That wasn't all she did -- she also accompanied me to surgery, sat with me during chemotherapy treatments, parked herself by my bedside when I was hospitalized, dried my tears, fed me, hugged me, encouraged me, and loved me.

My mom helped me survive cancer. She is my hero.

Today, I am grateful for my mom.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

For the past six and a half years, I've been a full-time, stay-at-home mom. It's my job, just like my husband has a job. In his job, he gets to actually leave the house alone, go to the bathroom all by himself, eat lunch in peace with other adults, and collect a paycheck each and every month. I get none of that. Still, I get a lot. I got to hold my babies all day, every day when they were teeny, tiny. I got to love and nurture them and observe their every move. I saw them walk and talk for the first time, eat solid food, grasp toys, and eventually, head off to school.

Both of my boys are in school now, so I am without them for about five hours each weekday. Still, I am a full-time mom. I wake them in the morning, feed them breakfast, pack their lunches and backpacks, head them in the direction of matched clothing, urge them to brush their teeth and put on their shoes and buckle up tight in the car. I drive them to their respective schools and return promptly at the end of the school day to pick them up. And then we spend the afternoons together. It's a great job. I wouldn't trade it for anything -- not even a big, fat paycheck.

Today, I am grateful I get to be a stay-at-home mommy.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

The night before my lumpectomy, way back in December 2005, I was consumed with fear, worry, and panic. Since I'd found it, the lump in my left breast had been sitting untouched for nearly two weeks. I imagined the mass spreading with each day and believed I could detect its growth each time I felt for it. A doctor told me if it was growing like I thought it was, my tiny pea-sized tumor would be the size of an apple within days.

My fears were unfounded and irrational. I know that now. But during the moments of uncertainty that filled my days between diagnosis and prognosis, I had no direction. I had only my wandering mind for company. The waiting really is the hardest part. Once faced with the specifics of our diseases, we can take action.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

It's hot here in Florida -- steamy, sticky, humid, unbearable hot. The kind of hot that makes me sweat in an instant. The kind of hot that keeps me and my kids cooped up in the air-conditioned indoors for as long as we can stand it. The kind of hot that has me dreaming about cool, crisp, chilly days. I'd even take downright cold at the moment -- anything other than this treacherous heat.

It's only August, which in Florida means there's still a few months of blistering weather remaining. September will be hot, October could be hot -- last year's trick-or-treat extravaganza was pretty darn warm -- and then maybe in November, we'll get some relief. I don't prefer to wait this long for my favorite of all temperatures -- high 60s, low 70s -- but I'll make it. I might even enjoy the wait while I fantasize of wearing sweaters and jackets and long pants. There's something about anticipation that makes life exciting. The countdown is on.

Today, I am grateful for the promise of cooler temperatures.

The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. It's healing for the soul to be mindful of the good in our lives. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

Both of my little boys are in school now. Joey is in first grade. Danny is in Pre-K. And I am at home -- all alone, for four and a half hours, five days per week, in total and complete silence. I get to exercise, read, write, fold my laundry, wash my dishes, run errands, whatever my little heart desires.

It's been six whole years since I've been able to go to the bathroom by myself, take a shower without the distant sounds of fighting and tormenting in the background, and eat lunch with slow, purposeful bites. After all these years as a full-time mom, my new-found free time is glorious.

Today, I am grateful for the stillness and silence that fills my house when my little wonders are at school.

I AM THE CURE is the Susan G. Komen new rallying cry. Intended to urge us to take an active role in our own breast health and remind us that we all play an important part in finding a cure, these are words to live by. I think I won't soon forget them -- because I have a new key chain inscribed with all four of them.

My aunt just participated in the Aspen Race for the Cure, and she sent me all the goodies she picked up at the race. She gave me the Ford Warriors in Pink scarf -- I've always wanted one and can't wait to wear it on October 20 when I run in my local Making Strides Against Breast Cancer event. She also passed on to me a race t-shirt, the sign she wore on her back -- in celebration of my beautiful niece Jacki, it read -- and pink ribbon magnets, sunscreen, a Warriors in Pink temporary tattoo, and all sorts of other little trinkets. The key chain was one of them.

My new key chain features four different sized pink metal circles, each one dangling from the key ring. On each circle, there is one word. From the smallest circle to the largest, the words I -- AM -- THE -- CURE appear. All on their own, these circles are pretty powerful. But there's more. On an insert that came with the key chain is an explanation for each circle.

Kim Goebel was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1999, at the age of 43. Her sister Kris noticed a lot of moms saying "How am I going to tell my kids?"

Partners for a Cure Foundation was founded by the sisters and they began planning a doll and a book to familiarize children with the physical and emotional effects of cancer treatment. The dolls are soft and lovable but depict the hard truth in a special way so that the kids will be less scared of what is happening with their mom's treatment process.

Seven sweet, simple words were hurled at me last night by my oldest child, Joey -- the boy who makes me as crazy as he does happy.

Joey, six, was all snuggled in bed, cozy with his soft blankets, squishy pillows, and three favorite stuffed puppies. I gave him my usual speech -- Sweet dreams. I love you. Now don't get out of bed -- and then made my usual trek to another room for some me-time. My trip was stopped short, though, because a strong urge inspired me to reverse my steps and return to Joey.

"What are you doing, mommy?" Joey asked as I walked back into the room.

"I thought I'd come rest with you for a little bit," I told him. "Is that OK?" I asked, knowing full well any excuse to avoid sleep is just fine with him

Joey sat straight up, pure joy coloring his tired face. I took this to mean he welcomed my return. And so I crawled into bed and hugged Joey tight. And that's when he spoke the seven words that caused tears to pour from my eyes -- the kind of tears that spill out when the human body can no longer harness its emotion.

The words:

"Mommy, I love you so, so much."

Ever since Joey blessed me with these words, I can't seem to get one thought out of my head.

The thought:

God, I hope I survive cancer long enough to hold this boy in my arms until he is all grown up, until he is wrapping his arms around his own loving child.

I really hope this is not too much to ask.

Tears are streaming down my face. I can't stop them, and I'm not sure I want to. In a way, I want to feel the tragedy of life lost to cancer because it makes it all real. It makes it personal. It makes me realize the same tragedy could happen to me, my family members, my friends. It makes me want to make a difference even more now that I've seen the chilling pictures of a young woman dying of cervical cancer than moments earlier when I was moved mostly by my own breast cancer journey.

I first read about Heather Lyn Martin on the JANE magazine website, home of a beautifully-written story -- I Hate Tumors -- by Sara Lyle, long-time friend of Heather and senior editor for JANE, a publication for 20-something women. Sara's words powerfully depict the life and death of her friend, stricken with a disease she was sure she would beat. So sure, in fact, she asked Sara to help tell her success story.

Sadly, Heather never got to tell much. Because she died much too soon, at the age of 28. So Sara told the story through her own words and photos -- the same ones responsible for my tears -- and has just recently written a second essay, one year after her first story started reaching young people everywhere.

Sara wrote Why I Still Hate Tumors after inspiring many young women to open their eyes to the realities of a deadly disease. Her words serve to raise awareness about the dangers of cervical cancer -- and the HPV virus that causes it -- and to point women in the direction of resources critical for preventing and conquering the disease.

Sara, because of the death of her dear friend, is saving lives with her message. And she just may save yours.

To see all that Sara has to offer in the fight against cervical cancer and other hated tumors, visit her I Hate Tumors website.

I found Sandee's blog two years ago, when my breast cancer diagnosis was fresh and I was completely lost. I was immediately struck by the courage of this woman whose story is nothing short of inspirational.

Sandee was diagnosed with breast cancer -- or The Dragon, as she lovingly calls it -- in September 1998. Faced with a stage II disease that had not yet spread to her lymph nodes, she endured a partial mastectomy, six rounds of chemotherapy, and 25 radiation treatments. Despite medical intervention, cancer traveled through Sandee's bloodstream and showed up one year later in her bones and liver. Then in September 2004, a scan showed multiple tumors in her lungs. Today, weekly chemotherapy treatments -- she calls them brutal -- are a way of life for Sandee who is fighting with everything she's got.

Sandee uses her blog -- I Will Survive -- to update readers on her health and to thank friends and family members who shower her with support. And Sandee posts with each entry one random thought, along with something for which she is thankful.

On November 22, Sandee wrote in a post called Bitter Sweet about the results of her recent chest CT -- stable -- and about her cancer-survivor cousin whose MRI results indicate tumor activity in his brain -- again. Sandee writes about a chemotherapy treatment and a bone treatment that followed the very next day.

"Double whammys are never good," she writes.

In this same entry, she grieves the loss of a friend who passed away three years ago, and she thanks a friend for visiting her during a treatment. Sandee closes with a random thought -- I can take "me" being ill but not those I love -- and gives thanks for having known her friend and angel, Andrea.

I am thankful for Sandee -- and the spirit she infuses into a life consumed by cancer.