Elizabeth Edwards, wife of Democratic presidential candidate John Edwards, has had many routine medical follow-ups since her 2004 breast cancer diagnosis. And all of them -- until just a few days ago -- resulted in what is generally termed a clean bill of health.

The term doesn't always come with a sense of relief for those of us surviving breast cancer -- or any cancer for that matter -- because it only really defines what our bodies are telling us at one specific moment. There are no magic blood tests, no special body scans, no conclusive ways of determining whether or not cancerous cells have gone astray and will one day surface again.

I asked my oncologist after my first six-month follow-up how he would know if my cancer returns. He told me it's really up to me to determine whether it comes back. It's up to me to get mammograms and ultrasounds and MRIs. It's up to me to report any symptoms and suspicions. It's up to me to track my general well-being so that it will be clear when something feels not-so-right. If I have a persistent cough or headaches that won't subside, my doctor will take action with X-rays and scans and tests. But as long as I feel fine and nothing troubling presents itself, then I remain in the clean-bill-of-health club.

Edwards no longer has a clean bill of health. But she is determined to use her newest diagnosis -- stage four metastatic cancer of the bones, considered treatable but not curable -- to work toward the best health she can acquire for as long as she can hold onto it. And that is about as good as any of us can do.

For the almost two years I have been receiving treatment for breast cancer, I have traveled the same path -- over and over and over again -- from my house to the hospital and back again. And while I have seen different doctors and received different treatments and visited various departments and locations for all sorts of surgeries and tests and scans and X-rays, the path has remained the same. And after all the time that has passed, the power of the path has never diminished -- despite how familiar it has become.

Today I drove from my house to the hospital for a counseling appointment. I drove the same stretch of highway for a few miles, got off on my usual exit, drove for a few more miles past all the typical shopping centers and restaurants, and came to the light where I always turn left into the Cancer Center. I drove into the parking lot, found a parking space -- thankfully -- and displayed my yellow patient parking permit that allows to park without fear of a $20 ticket. I got out of my car and began my walk to the main hospital where the psychology clinic is located. I passed -- as usual -- the startling crowds of people smoking outside the Cancer Center, the groups of medical students who gather outside the medical facilities, the masses of people in white coats racing around and checking beepers and talking on cell phones. I entered the hospital, traveled to the ground floor, and turned a few corners until I reached my clinic. I checked in, paid my $25 co-pay, and waited for a just a few minutes until I was greeted by my counselor. We walked to a private room, talked for an hour, and then I followed my path in reverse.

The path is always the same. It is routine and predictable and rarely varies. But it has never become dull and I have never become numb to it -- because the power that is wrapped up in my drive and my subsequent steps that take me to and from my destinations still has a tight hold on me. I can travel the same path for other purposes -- to shop or have dinner -- and the power is lost. But when I travel for reasons all about cancer, the power overwhelms me. It happened today -- as I drove listening to the same CD I always play on these missions, as tears filled my eyes. I was not sad -- just overflowing with emotion. Emotion about all that I've encountered -- the encounters with fear and dread and total repulsion and the encounters with hope and joy and pure contentment. Today I felt powerful. Simply powerful. Because I have overcome what has faced me so far and because I am still traveling the same road, the same path to ensure my future health and well-being -- which is something I hope to become all too familiar with.

I am going to tell you about this study because it is just the kind of study that will end up on the national nightly news. It has that sensationalism feel to it. The study is based on a questionnaire given to 1,600 European women with genetic mutations that put them at greater risk of being diagnosed with breast cancer asking if, and when, they had been exposed to chest X-ray and mammogram screening. The analysis of the questionnaires suggest that women who reported being exposed to ionizing radiation were 54 percent more likely to develop breast cancer than those women who were not exposed.

After I read about it, I am not sure why the researchers published the results of the study -- because after they state the results indicating women with BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutated genes should avoid mammograms because exposure to ionizing radiation might put them at even greater risk -- the researchers conclude by questioning the validity of their own study. Did the women with breast cancer have better recall of being exposed to medical procedures exposing them to ionizing radiation than women who did not have breast cancer, and in addition, there is no data in the study on specific dose and timing of radiation. As I shared, I don't think exposure to radiation is good for anyone's health and I believe there are diagnostic technologies being developed that will eliminate the need to be exposed to any potentially cancer-causing radiation. Until then, women have few choices -- mammogram and the less accurate MRI. While well-intentioned, I am not sure this study helps in any significant way -- but I am absolutely certain it will make television news. In case the news anchor leaves out the part about the researchers not being too terribly sure about the accuracy of their own study, I thought you might want to know.

Lizard Eater is on her way to the ministerial life, but right now, life has other plans. Her infant, whom she reverently calls the Little Warrior, had been sick, and one side of her abdomen had swollen. Her mother thought it might be something simple, like gas or indigestion. Lizard Eater took Little Warrior to the pediatrician. After an ultrasound, echocardiograms, x-rays, CT scans and biopsy, Little Warrior was diagnosed with bilateral Wilm's tumors in both of her kidneys. Journey to Ministerial Life is Lizard Eater's blog about Little Warrior's battle with cancer, the treatments the baby endures, the mother who prays, and watches over, and cares for, a child with cancer.