Democratic presidential candidate and former North Carolina senator John Edwards missed an Iowa campaign event on Tuesday so he could be with his wife as she prepared for a medical appointment the following morning.

Elizabeth Edwards, diagnosed with breast cancer just before the 2004 election, when her husband ran for vice president, has survived chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation and has written a book -- Saving Graces -- about her entire journey.

Edwards' campaign crew has insisted Wednesday's appointment was a routine follow-up to a medical visit his wife had the day before and that Elizabeth Edwards, 57, has been living cancer-free.

Today at noon, Edwards will hold a press conference about his wife's health and how it may -- or may not -- affect his candidacy.

I used a written journal and then a blog to record the stops along my cancer journey. I kept a file for financial paperwork, and I made lists of questions in anticipation of medical appointments. I saved all prescription instructions to track the abundance of drugs entering my body, and I earmarked a large white cardboard box as my cancer treasure chest. The contents of this box include cards, gifts, newspaper clippings, books, literature, and more. It's practically spilling over with stuff -- the stuff of cancer.

My system -- which may seem a bit unorganized and splintered -- worked well for me as I tried to keep my head above water following my cancer diagnosis. For others, a more central system may work -- a system that incorporates all pertinent information in one convenient location.

The LIVESTRONG™ Survivorship Notebook, offered by the Lance Armstrong Foundation, is one option for those seeking a clean, concise way to manage the details of cancer. It's designed to organize and guide. It's portable. It's available for the cost of shipping and handling only. And it includes the following:

Survivorship Tools -- this section includes a personal health journal, an appointment diary, a list for medications, a summary section for health and financial information, and a medical history and treatment area.

Survivorship Stories -- this section features stories of cancer survivors that will inspire and empower.

Survivorship Topics -- this section offers readings, answers to questions, and resources about physical, emotional, and practical issues related to cancer.

This yellow notebook -- a symbol of one man's fight and victory against a mighty disease -- could be the perfect accessory for someone facing the unknown. Sometimes all it takes is a bit of organization to calm nerves, minimize anxieties, soothe fears, and instill a sense of control over an otherwise uncontrollable journey.

On Friday, I had my annual OB/GYN appointment. It's the appointment known by all women for (1) its blood pressure check and humbling weigh-in, (2) the pee-in-a-cup ritual, (3) the get naked and change-into-a-paper-dress routine, (4) the finger-stick-iron-check, (5) the clinical breast exam, (6) the manual internal pelvic exam, and (7) the ever popular feet-in-stirrups Pap test. It's all so uncomfortable, so not fun. Yet it's all so necessary.

It was a visit with my OB/GYN that resulted in my breast cancer diagnosis two years ago this month. It was the clinical breast exam that confirmed the hard little lump I had found in the shower the previous day. It's what prompted my emergency mammogram a day later. It's what sent me on the wildest ride of my life. It's what keeps me going back for repeat yearly visits -- because I know if something goes wrong with my female parts, this doctor is likely the one who will make the discovery. He is likely the one who will save me from a late diagnosis of something terrible, the doctor who will set the wheels in motion for whatever comes after something terrible is detected.

I know already that (1) my blood pressure and weight are normal, (2) my urine is normal, (3) the paper dress is so not flattering, (4) my iron is normal, (5) my breasts are normal, and (6) my ovaries and uterus feel normal. I am only waiting on (7) the results of my Pap test that will reveal any abnormalities in the tissue of my cervix. This is the one test that can save me from cervical cancer or detect the disease in a stage that is completely curable. It's one of the best cancer screening tests around -- and I plan to receive it every year, year after year -- even if I have not one ounce of modesty left when it's said and done.

It's not so bad really. I'm accustomed to the rituals of the annual exam. I know the drill, know I will survive it all, know it's all critical for maintaining my health. So it's good really. Good -- compared to what could happen if something went undiscovered.

I will visit my oncologist on Monday for my every-three-month check-up. It's the recurring appointment that will appear on my calendar until I hit the five-year-survival milestone. I am three years away.

It's the appointment that consumes at least half of my day due to endless waiting -- waiting for a parking spot, waiting in the lobby, waiting in the exam room, waiting to pay. It's the appointment that officially begins with the drawing of my blood for lab work, continues with a check of my vitals, proceeds with a history review and physical exam with a medical student. It's the appointment that brings me face to face with the man who prescribed my treatment, the man who offers me strategies for living beyond treatment, the man who helps keep me alive. My oncologist.

And so I am preparing for this visit in the same exact way as I always do. I set aside a large chunk of time for this time-consuming extravaganza. I think a lot about the lab work and wonder if something suspicious will surface. I think a lot about the physical exam and wonder if an enlarged lymph node or mass in my breast will be discovered. And I think a lot about what I want to ask -- because this is my only very own allotted time for unraveling the mysteries of cancer with the man who knows the topic like no one else I know.

On Monday, I will ask a few questions. I will ask about tumor markers, about why I am not tested for these indicators of tumor growth, a standard option for my co-writer and co-cancer survivor Kristina Collins. I will ask about Zoloft, about how long I should continue taking this anti-depressant and how to best wean myself from this drug when the time comes. I will ask about the flu shot, about whether or not I can get one during this same appointment.

And that's all. For now. Until three more months pass and my calendar tells me it's time to return for this recurring appointment that takes me closer to the five-year mark.

It can be hard to remember when it's time for check-ups and exams and screenings. Many come just once each year and with the swift passage of time, it's easy to forget our medical to-do lists. But missing an appointment -- or even delaying one -- can lead to missed and delayed diagnoses. So remembering these easy-to-forget chores is key. And perhaps reminders are the key to remembering.

The American Cancer Society offers a free mammogram reminder in the form of e-mail message sent each year to remind women to schedule their mammograms. It takes just a moment to register with an e-mail address and a preferred month and day of the year for this e-mail to arrive. To register for your yearly reminder, click here.

The College of American Pathologists offers a free reminder service for the following appointments -- blood donation, cholesterol screening, colon cancer screening, diabetes test, pap test, and mammogram. Click here to choose one or more of these options that also require just just an e-mail address and preferred month and date for delivery.

So forget that string around your finger -- reach for your computer keyboard right now. It takes just a few keystrokes to ensure prompt testing for the health issues that if detected early, can save our lives.

My port -- that thing that pops up from under the skin on my collarbone, that thing that by default stays in place because I can't decide whether or not to remove it -- is now officially in maintenance mode, now that my treatment for breast cancer is complete. My last Herceptin infusion was on June 28. And my first port flush was today. For as long as I keep my port -- and for as long as it has no real use -- I must have it flushed one time each month. So today, I strolled into the cancer infusion center where I've spent many hours and this time spent just a few minutes -- enough time for my usual chemo nurse to puncture the skin on top of my port, push through a rather large needle, and inject a dose of blood thinner into the lines of the port to keep clots away. The whole procedure was harmless, painless, no big deal at all. And I will return one month from today for a repeat performance.

One day these once-a-month visits may become a hassle. After all, I have to find a place for this appointment in my already-busy schedule and find childcare for my kids and find a place to park. I have to numb my port and endure a needle stick and sometimes fight traffic to get home. And the whole trip to and from the cancer center takes longer than the procedure itself. Clearly, this may be a waste of time for a port I don't even need right now. But at the moment, this visit is just what I need while I sort out the details of my post-treatment world. I need to go back to the infusion center. I need the comfort of the drive. I need to feel part of the chemo community. I need medical people swirling around me. I need a bit of hand holding. For now anyway.

I was examined yesterday by my radiation oncologist and two medical students during a six-month follow-up appointment. And any apprehension I had prior to the visit -- about a recurrence of breast cancer or the detection of cancer somewhere else in my body -- is gone. Because I walked away with the news that I am doing just fine. No lumps or bumps or suspicious masses were found. No enlarged lymph nodes were detected. And since I did not report any pain or tenderness or sensitivity or other trouble, I was sent on my way with nothing more than a notice for a return appointment in another six months. I have other appointments hanging in the balance -- one with my medical oncologist in August and a mammogram in November -- and I am sure hesitation and worry will again sneak into my head. But for now, I can only feel the true exhilaration that comes from truly good news. Like the exhilaration that comes from a breathtaking moment at the ocean -- where the power and beauty of the sea and the sky and the sand is all it takes for one five-year-old boy to feel amazingly free.

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.

It's Mother's Day! and the first day of the 7th annual National Women's Health Week. When you wish your mother a Happy Mother's Day, and you give her a hug, and a gift, and say "I love you" -- tell her thank you for taking care of me -- now please take care of you.

"One of the best gifts you can give your mother or yourself is to schedule a check-up visit with a health care provider," said Dr. Wanda Jones, Director of HHS Office on Women's Health. The goal of National Women's Health Week is to encourage women to take simple steps for a longer, healthier, and happier life.

As part of National Women's Health Week is the National Women's Check-up Day on May 15, where women across the country will attend over 1,000 events focusing on women's health. Getting annual screenings for breast, cervical and ovarian cancer are essential to finding cancer in the earliest stages and critical to cancer survival. So today, tell your mother that you can't imagine life without her, and ask her to schedule a visit to the doctor for simple tests that will help her live long and healthy. Check out the women's health information, resources and event calendar provided by the organizers of National Women's Health Week.