Survivorship is the new cancer buzz word -- and what an important word it is. Once left to each individual to define, manage, and transcend, survivorship is now recognized as a distinct phase of cancer recovery -- just as important, and maybe even more so, than diagnosis and treatment.

Linda Griggs, a 13-year breast cancer survivor, clearly remembers the day her chemotherapy ended. With her therapy complete, her hair growing back, and her medical team sending her off to have a nice life, she thought she'd be fine. But she wasn't.

Three months after her last dose of chemotherapy, Griggs was depressed, consumed with worry about how her cancer might come back. And she realized that the end of treatment is not really the end. It's just the beginning.

Griggs told her doctor about her anxiety, about how she was just trying to make it to her next three-month-check up. When her doctor told her, "that's not living," something clicked for Griggs who instantly decided to start living -- really living.

Surviving is about self-nurturing, says Griggs, who has created a kit to help others survive cancer. On her website, she writes that there are a couple of other breast cancer survivor kits out there -- containing tissues, herbal teas, meditation tapes, medical appointment books, and breast cancer resource materials.

"This is not that," she says of her kit that focuses on the emotional upheaval cancer creates.

Griggs' kit is full of hands-on creative materials -- like an inner child notebook, complete with magic markers for journaling and expressing emotions. If you're angry, you can write down angry thoughts. If you're sad, write what makes you sad. Save the pages, tear them up, burn them, do what you wish -- but allow your emotions to flow, Griggs says.

The kit also includes a wooden box with instructions on how to create a healing shrine, a copy of Griggs' non-fiction account of the first five years of her cancer journey, and so much more.

Griggs, who also teaches healing workshops, guides others to understand cancer as a hero's quest. She says when something happens to us -- death, divorce, disease -- we are receiving a call to adventure. All bet's are off. We must start fresh, gather our spirit guides, collect ourselves, dive into the underworld, overcome, and then emerge full of wisdom of growth.

Griggs has emerged -- full of her own wisdom and growth. She is a hero -- on a quest to help others survive a disease that threw her way off track for way too long.

I wrote this journal entry one year ago today. It's one of many entries I look back on to remember my journey with breast cancer, to capture the emotions that preceded the ones I have now, to chart just how far I have come since the day of my diagnosis. This is one of my happier journal entries -- written at a time when I was coming back to life after surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation, when I was happy to be alive and in the company of two little boys whose simplicity inspired me.

My hats were once so important to me. Now they are scattered all over the floor of my bedroom closet. Once my daily camouflage for what cancer had done to me, my hats are now toys. Joey and Danny play with them and toss them around and wear them -- sometimes one at a time and sometimes they pile as many as they can on top of their little blond heads. The hats hold no real significance to them -- they are just playthings and while Joey can recall that I wore them at one time, the emotion wrapped up in the pale blue sleep cap and the black Nike ball cap and the yellow bucket hat is lost on him. I consider this a blessing -- that one day, he and Danny will likely have very little memory of this cancer adventure and that they may only remember what fun it was to wear so many hats.

Kids can be so positive and encouraging, even in the face of sickness. Now today my kids have just a simple sickness -- nothing life-threatening -- that I'm sure will pass in a day or so. They are throwing up every content of their little tummies -- even sips of water -- and they are pale and lethargic and run-down. But still, they have hope for a brighter tomorrow. This morning, five-year-old Joey said to me while resting in my bed and just after he threw up , "this is just the good getting rid of the bad." He went on to explain how the good in our bodies knows when to push the bad out. And this is what is happening to him today, he said. He is throwing up the bad so the good can take over. Simple. Easy. Makes sense.

I never saw my own sickness like this. Instead of visualizing chemotherapy as a good agent that kills bad cells, I was repulsed by the horrific liquids that poisoned my body. I knew of people who were able to turn chemotherapy into a Pac-Man game -- with Pac Man chomping away at the cancer cells and leaving nothing but healthy cells to thrive. And I knew people who were relieved to feel sick because it meant the chemotherapy was working. I never saw it like this -- although I do know that chemotherapy may have saved me from a life with cancer. I was discouraged by chemotherapy. I had a negative attitude about it, and I had to really gear up for all of my infusions. I still -- more than one year later -- cannot eat anything I ate on my chemo days. The mere thought of these foods makes me feel ill.

A pediatrician friend of mine told me that kids with cancer tend to be positive. There are a few old souls, she said, but for the most part, they continue to tackle life with spirit and adventure and simplicity. Like my boys today who are peacefully napping at the moment so everything good in their bodies can come back with a vengeance.

Lori Raimondo set off on a cross country journey in May with the goal of raising $9,490 -- one dollar for every day that her mother battled breast cancer. And just yesterday, she reported that her trek is over, that she is back home in New York City after her amazing adventure in search of hope. I think she found the hope she was looking for because she not only met her goal -- she exceeded it. She raised a grand total of $12,610.90 while traveling 10,334 miles -- and every cent was donated to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation where hope for a cure just got a bit sweeter.

Lori coined her trip the Road for a Cure and what a road it was. She crossed many state borders, met charming and kind and outrageous locals, visited with friends along the way, ate at tucked-away restaurants and slept in quaint places, toured roadside stops, and while accompishing her fundraising chronicled it all through words and photographs that appear on her own personal blog. It's inspiring -- that Lori would give of her time and effort and spirit to help others. All in honor of her mother, who lost her battle with breast cancer, and in support of those currently fighting their own battles. I am truly thankful -- as a breast cancer survivor -- that the research that might one day save my life may be a result of Lori's courage and bravery and hard work and generosity.

Welcome home, Lori. And congratulations on a road well traveled.

I told my little guy Danny today that he and his big brother would be going to their Nana's house so I could go to the doctor -- for an echo-cardiogram to test for possible heart damage due to Herceptin therapy for breast cancer. Danny -- age three -- asked me, Why you keep doing that? This is the same question he keeps asking -- because he wants to know why I keep going to the doctor. I give him the same answer each time -- that I need to keeping seeing doctors so I can stay healthy. He always seems satisfied with this response, although he continues to ask the same question. He either forgets that he's already asked or he forgets my response or he finds comfort in my routine answer -- or perhaps he is completely aware of his repeat question and just wants me to provide a better explanation. Which is hard to do -- in a three-year-old kind of way -- when my response is the best I've got. I keep going to the doctor in search of health. It's simple. And fortunately, so is Danny -- simple in a young and innocent and pure way. And Joey is too.

Right after my exchange with Danny, Joey -- age five -- said to me, Won't you be glad when you don't need to go to the doctor and you can be healthy all by yourself? Yep, I told him and then realized that these boys have a definite pulse on my cancer journey -- almost two years after it started. They wonder about it and try to figure it out and predict how I must feel. And through it all, I am happy they are involved with me in this intricate adventure. And I am concerned at the same time that what they do know may cause them some stress, some worry, some uncertainty about our future together. My hope is that this experience in their young lives strengthens them, humbles them, prepares them for a future that is not always as simple as the responses I give them about an illness that is so complex. But when it comes down to really simple terms -- that we all can appreciate -- I have my boys and they have me and for today, that is all that matters. Well, that and the fact that my echo-cardiogram today revealed that my heart is just fine.

During my chemotherapy for breast cancer, I received the drug Adriamycin. Adriamycin is toxic and harsh and so powerful that when it makes contact with the skin it can cause a severe burn. How this drug cycled through my body without singeing my veins, I am not sure. Somehow, I survived it and can think back on this drug that is often called The Red Dragon.  It is wicked and fierce and unkind -- yet lifesaving as well.

The word dragon conjures up various images for me. I can clearly visualize the red liquid that dripped into my body many months ago with the purpose of attacking cancer cells. I also picture toy action figures that often cover my living room floor -- my five-year-old has a current love for dragons, and we have all shapes and sizes at our house. And lately, when I think of dragons, I see women in boats -- powerful women practicing the ancient sport of dragon boating.

I know women who participate in this sport through Team Survivor -- a group that provides free opportunities for physical fitness for women with cancer. And I just learned about Hope Afloat, Philadelphia and Pennsylvania's first breast cancer survivor dragon boat racing team.  With a mission of challenging their limits and not limiting their challenges, these women strive to awaken the dragon within through hope, support, and adventure.  This floating support group has been in existence since 2001 and welcomes all women with a history of breast cancer. Weekly practice, monthly meetings, and racing keeps these women in good shape and in good spirits. Go team!