Sarah has been blogging about her battle with melanoma since May 2006. She begins with a post titled Something About Sarah where she chronicles the series of events leading up to her diagnosis.

July 2004

Have a bit of pain in right arm. Feels like "10 bees stinging me at once" deep inside my arm. Thought I pulled something at gym.

August 2004

Still have same occasional pain but not worried in the least. I'm enjoying my summer and playing soccer. Have tons of energy, working full time and going to school. Moving at end of August.

Just before my radiation therapy began, my oncologist ran through a long list of potential side effects I might experience from the treatment. The only two significant short-term possibilities were fatigue and burned, blistered skin -- I went on to encounter them both -- but there were other more long-term effects my doctor told me might one day creep up on me.

She told me the range of motion in my arm might be compromised -- it was -- and that lymphedema or swelling could occur -- not yet -- and that I could feel numbness and tingling in my arm -- I do -- and that I should forever take precautions on the left side of my body. No needle sticks, no blood pressure cuffs, no excessive lifting -- all because of radiation and the missing lymph nodes that further complicate matters.

My doctor also told me that while radiation would target one intended area -- my left breast, just where my cancer was found -- other areas would suffer some degree of exposure. My heart, my lung, and my ribs all bordered the location of my tumor and despite measures to protect these areas, they would be zapped, at least minimally.

This all seemed a bit overwhelming 18 months ago when it came barreling at me. But something fortunate happened with the passage of time -- I began to forget about most of this. And while this a blessing really -- to not be burdened by the what ifs -- I realized yesterday when my three-year-old son kicked me with all the force he could muster right in my ribcage that I really must remember the side effects of radiation -- because they could serve to haunt me at any moment.

I remember clearly now my oncologist telling me that my ribcage could be damaged by radiation in such a way that an injury to the area could easily result in broken ribs. But I don't think about this regularly. And I wasn't thinking of it when I snuggled up to my 35-pound baby boy, knowing full well he could strike at any time. But not until he struck did I recall one of the downsides of radiation.

I feel happy and healthy and strong. Like cancer never landed in my lap and threw me for a loop. But somewhere in the back of my chemo brain -- an entirely different side effect story -- I must remember the dangers of the treatments that are keeping me alive. Because the last thing I want is another complication from cancer. I just want smooth sailing -- and smooth snuggling.

I've had my very own extreme makeover. And while it has nothing to do with cosmetic plastic surgery or an overhaul on my house, it's been an appearance-altering and life-changing event. I'll call it my Extreme Makeover: Cancer Edition.

Stop One

The first stop on my extreme makeover tour came compliments of a lumpectomy -- to remove one cancerous tumor in my breast along with four lymph nodes. I was left with two scars that travel underneath my armpit, a bit of scar tissue buried beneath the skin, and a tinge of numbness that comes and goes without warning.

Stop Two

My second stop brought me a port -- to save my veins and ease the infusion of chemotherapy -- which for more than a year allowed me to look a bit like an alien. A foreign object sewn under the skin of my collarbone popped up something like a tracking device that identified my whereabouts. Now surgically removed, my port has been discarded. A scar marks the one-time location of this wondrous apparatus.

Stop Three

The third facet of my makeover was quite extreme -- is still quite extreme. It happened like clockwork -- 13 days after my very first chemotherapy treatment -- and while I knew it would happen, the shock of total hair loss was not minimized in any way, shape, or form by predictability. And the shock of my new dark, curly hair with a sprinkling of gray -- that replaced my blond, straight hair -- amazes me every time I look in the mirror.

Stop Four

For four months, I lost my menstrual cycle to chemotherapy -- not such a bad deal except for the hot flashes that arrived for the same four-month period. When my cycles returned, they were unpredictable and much more intense than ever before. They are still problematic.

Stop Five

Surgery and radiation limited the range of motion in my left arm. Physical therapy helped some, and weight training helps too. But my arm is permanently affected by the attempts to save my life.

Stop Six

Just when I thought my makeover journey was coming to an end, my mind told me otherwise. Bouts of fogginess, forgetfulness, and just plain odd behavior marked the beginning of what researchers now call chemo brain. The plentiful drugs that cycled through my body for almost two years are playing tricks on my brain.

Stop Seven

And to cope with it all -- my scars, my hair, my confusing cycles, my tightened arm, and my chemo brain -- I made one last stop at the pharmacy for an anti-depressant. Prescribed so that I could become accustomed to my new life after cancer, my Zoloft keeps me calm and peaceful and happy. And one day, when I have adjusted to all that has changed in my world, I will wean myself off this potion.

I am not sure I would ever elect to alter my appearance -- although I am sometimes tempted by a tummy tuck to remove what two more-than-10-pound babies left with me.

Mostly, I think cancer has done enough to reshape and redesign my whole self. And while I didn't wish for any of my cancer changes, I think they help me define me. They tell a story -- of challenge and hardship and victory and survival. For as long as I am alive, for as long as my extreme makeover is visible, it will be clear that I have conquered something great and powerful. And that makes me proud.

Lymphedema is a chronic condition that causes excess fluid to collect in tissue and produce swelling. In breast cancer survivors the swelling can occur in the arm or hand because the lymphatic system has been compromised by surgery or radiation. Its an unattractive and painful reminder of having breast cancer that never goes away.

Robin Miller, 23, and Rachel Levin, 36, are young breast cancer survivors that developed lymphedema after their breast cancer treatment. They were required to wear an uncomfortable, beige orthopedic-looking sleeve. They decided that there had to be a better solution for the look and feel of the sleeves they would have to wear. They approached Kristin Dudley, a Drexel fashion design graduate, with the idea of creating fashionable compression garments that would bring together form and function.

These three friends have made it their mission to help breast cancer survivors manage their lymphedema in a fashionable way, and inspire them to feel confident and attractive with their company called LympheDIVAs. The armsleeves are made of high-tech fibers and come in fashionable colors and designs.

"The look and style of the sleeves has remained the same for over 30 years" said Rachel Levin. "There is absolutely no reason it can't look stylish and still be an effective medical device"

The CyberKnife -- a powerful new weapon in the war on cancer -- involves no cutting, like the name implies. This robotic system instead uses hundreds of focused radiation beams to destroy a tumor. A robotic arm moves around the patient and an image-guided system tracks the targeted tumor. CyberKnife delivers small blasts of radiation from up to 200 angles and keeps the tumor in its sights at all times. CyberKnife treatments are completed in one to five days which is just one of the benefits of this therapy compared to traditional radiation therapy.

With traditional radiation, patients often endure treatment for five to eight weeks. And healthy tissue can be destroyed every time the patient shifts or breathes. The CyberKnife attacks the cancerous tumor only -- even while the patient breathes. CyberKnife therapy, available in only 50 hospitals in the United States, requires no mold to position patients, can treat anywhere in the body, and can help patients who no longer respond to traditional treatments.

CyberKnife is covered by insurance and approved by Medicare.

I am always a bit nervous before I head out for a check-up with my oncologists. I have two of them -- a medical oncologist who delivered my chemotherapy and a radiation oncologist who delivered my radiation therapy. Today I see my radiation oncologist and she will examine my breasts and manipulate my breasts and feel my underarms and check for lymphedema -- swelling in the arm due to removed lymph nodes -- and she will ultimately determine whether or not I have anything to worry about at this time. It's been just over one year since my last radiation treatment and six months since I saw this doctor for a follow-up.

So I am a little apprehensive about what I might hear -- because it's always possible that something does not feel right, that something is questionable, that something has returned. I am mostly confident that I am okay but there is still an unknown that lies ahead of me. An unknown that in a matter of a few hours will be known. And I will either learn that I am in fact okay. Or I will begin another spiral into the what-if-it's-cancer scenario. Only time will tell.

Horizon Blue Cross and Blue Shield of New Jersey announced plans to launch a test program where they will be implanting an ID microchip in people who suffer from chronic diseases. The radio frequency identification device (RFID) microchip will include family contact information and medical history. The purpose is to give emergency room medical staff the ability to access a patient's information if they are brought to the emergency room and are unable to speak on their own.

According to the test program team, Horizon will start sending letters to patients with chronic diseases explaining the new program and inviting them to participate. The program will be cost-free and voluntary for those who wish to participate.

RFID implanted microchips in surgical sponges is one thing -- in people? I don't know.

I am taking an informal poll. Would you consent to having a microchip implanted in your right arm for the purpose of information retrieval?