For those of you living for the moment, you are about to lose 60 whole minutes come Sunday when Daylight-saving time strikes once again.

This may throw you off a bit if you are one to maximize every second, minute, and hour you are afforded in this tenuous life. And while I can't offer you any secrets for recapturing this lost time, I can share some thoughts, compliments of professional organizer Linda Richards of Organize and More, on how you might compensate for Sunday's lost hour.

Think about this:

• Go to bed 15 minutes earlier and get up 15 minutes earlier starting a few days before the time change.
• Move any important meetings to later in the week so you body isn't as tired.
• Snack on healthy foods such as fruits and nuts to replenish energy.
• Shorten your to-do list to your top three to five priorities.
• Print out a copy of your calendar and appointments for March and make sure your computer has a patch to handle the earlier time change this year.
  

Sometimes all it takes is a small gesture to warm the heart of a cancer patient. It doesn't take anything huge. It shouldn't cause any stress or discomfort. And it shouldn't require a whole lot of thought. It should be simple. Simply simple.

A whole lot of small gestures spread a whole lot of cheer my way when I was knee-deep in cancer treatment and needed a lift. Cozy socks kept my feet and my spirits toasty. A package of brownies sweetened my sour days. Flowers brightened my dining room and my state of mind. Books left on my doorstep delivered knowledge and wisdom and a bit of humor to my world.

The options for spreading sunshine are endless. The list of possibilities could go on and on. Here is just a start -- a small list of small gestures that can make a dreary day downright delightful.

Give a hug
Send a handwritten letter
Make a homemade card
Write a poem
Give a journal
Deliver a candle
Make a home-cooked meal
Arrange for food delivery
Babysit children
Play with children
Drive to appointments
Go wig or hat shopping
Visit during chemotherapy sessions
Give something comfy -- socks, pajamas, hat
Do grocery shopping
Accompany to lunch, dinner, movie
Take a walk
Attend church
Have a picnic
Go fishing
Make a donation to favorite charity
Walk, run, volunteer, raise funds in honor of your special someone

Be specific in your gesturing. Trade a comment like "let me know if I can do anything" for "I'm going to come over and wash and clean your car on Saturday." Vague offers are rarely successful -- cancer patients are not likely to recall every general offer they receive and then manage them all into a schedule. It's just too much to consider in the midst of turmoil. But an offer that comes to life right before them is easy. It's effortless. It is truly a gift. A simple, priceless gift.

Your cancer care continues even after you have completed your planned course of treatment. Any physician who participated actively in your care should continue to see you for routine check-ups. This may include your medical oncologist, radiation oncologist, and surgeon. The good news is that as time passes checkups will be less frequent.

Here are some important reasons to keep your follow up appointments:

• Managing ongoing side effects from cancer treatment.
• Early detection of any cancer recurrence.
• Cancer patients are at increased risks for other cancers and should be monitored for detection in the early stages.
• Management of medications that may decrease the risk of cancer recurrence but could cause a second primary cancer to develop.
• Discussing any new concerns that arise.

It is always important to contact your physicians immediately if there is a change in your medical condition or if you feel there is a problem that needs attention.

I have had a hard time keeping my counseling appointments lately. Life keeps getting in the way, and counseling keeps getting pushed to the side. The last time I called my counselor to cancel -- due to an emergency room trip with my three-year-old -- I mentioned that my inability to keep up with sessions was perhaps a precursor to an eventual termination of our counseling relationship. My counselor -- Lindsay -- said this was maybe an accurate assessment, that we should discuss the possibility of an ending point. We haven't yet discussed it, though, because I have not made the time to contact her. I have continued to leave counseling on the back burner.

But today Lindsay sent me an e-mail to check in. She wrote that I am probably going to be okay on my own now -- in the aftermath of cancer -- and that we should have one final session to reflect on my progress over the past 16 months. I have not replied to Lindsay -- not because I am busy with other things but simply because her words made me cry. They still make me cry, hours later. I'm not exactly sure why. And I'm not exactly sure how I will follow up on scheduling my very last session.

I assume my tears -- my sadness -- are part of the healing process, part of the separation anxiety I feel each time a part of my treatment ends and a part of my life moves on. I assume I am sad at the prospect of leaving a vital part of my recovery behind, about leaving the comfort of my counseling chair, about leaving Lindsay. The possibilities are endless. And I suppose we will cover all possibilities when Lindsay and I sit down for our last, final, concluding session -- when we recall how much I have grown since the day we first met, when I could barely mutter a word about cancer without weeping uncontrollably, when I could barely manage to find pleasure in my days, when I could barely imagine that life could -- and would -- offer me peace and happiness.

Today, life is good. And it's clear that counseling is no longer necessary for my survival. But that doesn't make it any easier to make my final appointment. To contemplate saying my last goodbye. To tackle life completely on my own. Which is what I will do -- in time -- so I can continue moving on, away from breast cancer.

She says it's all that really matters to her -- the time she spends with family. It comes before work and commitments and responsibilities. It shapes her minutes, her hours, her days. It brings her joy and laughter and sometimes tears. It propels her, comforts her, inspires her. And it shows -- in everything she does. And she does a lot. But most important, especially in light of today -- Grandparent's Day -- is what she does for her grandchildren who are too small to truly express what's in their little hearts but will surely one day shout from rooftops with joy about this woman who wraps them in love every day. But for now, these three children -- ages five, three, and almost two -- mostly just shout happily about all sorts of things that don't always make a lot of sense. So today, I will speak for them. I will say thank you to their Nana -- my mom -- who watches her granddaughter every day, picks up her grandson from kindergarten two times per week, takes all three kids on swimming adventures, babysits on a moment's notice, and has twice this year sat with her daughters for hours in emergency rooms with sick babies. And in addition to the fact that she was completely by my side during my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, she was also somehow caring for my children -- her grandsons.

If my mom wasn't sitting with me during chemotherapy infusions, she was watching my boys so my husband could be with me. If she wasn't sitting with me in the hospital each time I was admitted with neutropenia, she was at home with my boys so my husband could sit with me. And when my husband had to rush me to the hospital with dangerous fevers, she arrived in the middle of the night, slept in my bed, and greeted my babies when they woke. She entertained my boys every day for seven weeks while I hauled myself to and from radiation appointments. During chemo, she took my kids when I was tired, foggy, incoherent and needed desperately to sleep. She did it all -- tirelessly, effortlessly, constantly.

And so on this Grandparent's Day, I realize that I owe this grandma for saving my life. By caring for the two most important people in my world, she allowed me to fight for my life -- and to come back to life. And there seems nothing really appropriate I can share with her for this gift she has given me. But I can say thank you. And one day, when they can eloquently express their own feelings, I know Jordan and Joey and Danny will all let their Nana know just how important she is. All day. Every day.

The governments of Canada and the US are both closely involved in the delivery of health care. The main difference between the two is health insurance. In Canada, the federal government is committed to providing funding support. In the US health insurance must be paid for privately or is provided by the person's employer.

There are many uninsured Americans. I was lucky that I had a good insurance plan with my job. After my cancer diagnoses I didn't have to wait very long for appointments and medical procedures.

An article I read states that "American doctors and hospitals are more likely than their Canadian counterparts to purchase new and expensive devices and technologies. An American patient is more likely to be rapidly treated by a specialist with the most up to date equipment. Canadians are more likely to be treated by their GP and cared for over a period of time in the hospital."

After my breast cancer diagnosis, I received endless offers from friends and family who offered to help me. I was offered meals, babysitting, errands, escorts to appointments, and two faraway friends even told me they would hop on a plane in an instant to come stay with me. I accepted a tiny bit of help -- like a meal here and there and a morning of babysitting -- but I really did not want much assistance. Mostly because I am do-it-myself type of person and however unhealthy this can be -- especially in the midst of a health crisis -- I wanted my life to remain as normal as possible. And if that meant taking care of my kids, despite nausea and fatigue, I wanted to do it. I wanted to be the one in the driver's seat on my way to treatments and procedures. And I wanted to run my own errands. Part of me believed that accepting help meant I was really sick. And I couldn't admit that. Yet it was true. I was sick. I needed help.

And I need help now too -- while I am healthy and strong and able to do everything for myself. And maybe that's why I am able to ask for it -- because it doesn't require my confession that something in my life is not alright. And actually, asking for this type of help helps me express that I am really okay, that I am able to use my health to help others.

I was in my oncologist office yesterday and noticed a new poster hanging on the wall advertising an on-line system for managing health care -- for scheduling appointments, confirming appointments, locating test results, paying bills, and more. Founded in 1999 and headquartered in Emeryville, California, RelayHealth is the premier provider of secure on-line healthcare communication services that link patients, healthcare professionals, payors, and pharmacies in matters that are medically non-urgent. The website also features news and customer stories and aims to improve the delivery and accessibility of healthcare to patients -- in a seamless manner.

I haven't done much with this service yet -- but I did take a short tour and made a simple search for my physician whose information promptly popped up on my screen. That part was easy. And once I register with a username and password, I will have more access to more information pertaining to me and my healthcare team. And you can too.