Walking into my cancer center waiting room is one of my most sobering experiences. I enter this room -- jam-packed full of men, women, and children -- every three months for a breast cancer follow-up. It never gets easier. It always startles me, stirs my emotions, makes me realize how so many people are touched by such a treacherous and all-consuming disease. The fact that I sit in this room, that I am one of these many people, still doesn't seem real.

It's been almost three years since I got a phone call from a surgeon declaring, "You have cancer." I didn't believe it then. Even after all I've been through -- surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and more -- I hardly believe it now. But it's real. I have scars and new hair and a whole new set of worries to prove it.

Walking into that waiting room proves it's real. There's nothing like it. There's also nothing like walking out, with a clean bill of health and the promise of three more months.

Nicole was a fellow member of an online group called Sisters In Survivorship. It is a Yahoo support group for women under 40 that have been diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember speaking to Nik on the phone a few times a few years ago when she needed some support and encouragement. I knew she wasn't doing that well lately and I found out today that she has passed away.

Her obituary reads as follows:

Nicole Norman Wetzel passed away on Wednesday, June 20, 2007 at her home in Mandeville, LA.

Beloved wife of Jason Steven Wetzel and devoted mother of Dominique Claire Wetzel, she is survived by her parents, Dale David and Elmire Begovich Norman; one brother, Kevin David Norman and many nieces, nephews and cousins. She was preceded in death by her grandparents: Dominick and Josephine Begovich, Dennis and Rose Norman.

Age 35 years, a native of Marrero, LA and a resident of Mandeville, LA for 14 years. Nicole was a 1990 graduate of Immaculata High School, she received a degree in Business from UNO before moving to Mandeville where she worked as a Notary and Paralegal.

Christine Sansone was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2000 at the age of twenty-five. She passed away a few days ago after battling bone metastasis for eight years. She recently had leg surgery and never recovered. I met Christine a few times at the Young Survival Conference held by LBBC and the YSC.

Christine was featured in The Beautiful Eight -- An educational video for women living with metastatic disease.

She was recently quoted in the March/April issue of MAMM magazine.

"Living longer and stronger - Women with metastatic breast cancer are bringing new hope and energy to their cause." -- Christine Sansone.

Christine's story..

Remember that old saying -- An apple a day keeps the doctor away? Well, it seems that an apple peel a day might keep cancer at bay, according to a new study.

A dozen compounds have been found called triterpenoids. These compounds found in the peel of an apple either inhibit or kill cancer cells in lab cultures.

"We found that several compounds have potent anti-proliferative activities against human liver, colon and breast cancer cells and may be partially responsible for the anti-cancer activities of whole apples," says Rui Hai Liu, Cornell associate professor of food science.

Previous studies have shown that apples not only fight cancer cells in the laboratory but they also have shown to reduce the number and size of mammary tumors in rats.

So, don't peel those apples. Eat the whole thing!

I did a post about Alese back in March titled Survival Spotlight: Alese Coco is fighting 2 win. I read on her website today that she passed away on Monday May 7, 2007.

This is what I read on her website.

It is with shattered hearts we announce that Alese died Monday May 7th at 1:20 p.m.

Mentally and emotionally, Alese's attitude to the end remained Fight 2 Win. However, her body could no longer carry on the fight and she succumbed due to respiratory complications. She will be greatly missed and there is a collective ache and void left in the hearts of the many people who loved her and were encouraged by her.

What a beautiful young girl she will be forever.

I've read stories about women whose breast cancer diagnoses were delayed because they explained away certain symptoms. One woman, an athlete, was told by her husband one day that her nipple looked different from the other. "It's probably just the jog bra I've been wearing all day," she assured him. They both moved on.

Some time later, this woman learned that her different nipple was a sign of breast cancer. And she had it. She just didn't know it. And so her diagnosis came late. Eight years later, this young mother of two small children died from a disease she explained away.

This is normal -- the art of explaining away all the odd messages our bodies give us. Perhaps it's the stigma of whining about every little ache and pain that keeps us from pursuing immediate medical attention. It could be the likelihood that our complaints are pretty normal, so we refrain from rushing to judgment.

I'm practicing this well-established art right now. It's odd for me because I've already had breast cancer, and I am usually ultra-sensitive to every twinge of pain I feel. So when I woke this morning, with a tight and aching feeling in my chest, one would have thought I'd be racing out the door, headed for the nearest emergency room. I considered the fact that perhaps I need to be seen, that a chest X-ray might be in order, but I took no action -- because I explained the feeling away. It went something like this:

It must be the way I slept. I slept in a different bed, with one child and one dog, and I don't think I moved an inch all night.

The feeling gets less intense with time. At this moment, I can only feel something -- and it's very mild -- if I inhale deeply.

If I have the same feeling tomorrow morning, I will pursue it -- no, I won't pursue it just yet because I wont' be sleeping in my own bed for a few more nights. I'll wait until I get back to my own bed and see what happens. Maybe this bed is not good for me.

This goes on and on. For me, I think it happens because I suspect nothing really is wrong with me. Perhaps I am dismissing something serious but mostly, I'm chalking this behavior to progress. Because there was a day when I ran to the dentist for a bump on the roof of my mouth -- it was nothing -- and I cried to get myself a next-day mammogram for some lumpy tissue I was convinced was cancer -- it wasn't -- and now, I am happy to feel more like a normal person. I am happy to have perfected my new art, which incidentally I will abandon in an instant if the discomfort persists.

My husband says he's had this feeling before when getting out of bed. I think I'm going to be OK.

I guess I've just assumed that breast cancer organizations happily accept every donation they receive and joyfully funnel all charitable gifts into their noble endeavors. I mean, without money and research and programs and services and education, where would we be? We'd be uninformed and lagging behind the force of this disease instead of gaining momentum on its trail. That's where we'd be.

Now, I've never assumed these organizations accept money obtained through illegal measures. But I've also never assumed they'd turn away money just because it came from a group of women whose profession and means of fundraising might be considered unacceptable. I suppose I shouldn't make assumptions. Because I seem to be wrong on all accounts.

The Breast Cancer Society of Canada has officially rejected a donation from a group of Vancouver strippers because of the controversial nature of their fundraisers. Exotic Dancers For Cancer these women call themselves, and for four years they have been raising money in honor of another dancer who lost her battle with terminal cancer.

Trina Ricketts, founder of the exotic dancer website nakedtruth.ca and recipient of the letter rejecting the donation, is shocked that people consider this contribution dirty money. And she is so bothered by this unfair judgment that she has been contacting the media and outting the Breast Cancer Society of Canada's discrimination practices. Her protests are working.

In a supportive turn of events, Ricketts has been met with an overwhelmingly positive response -- and she now has several organizations willing to accept all donations she wishes to offer.

This story is not nearly as simple as presented here. It's so much more detailed and touching and moving when told by Ricketts herself -- who happens to share her inspiring journey right here.

CORRECTION: Trina Ricketts reports that she did not seek out the media to out the Breast Cancer Society of Canada.

"The decision to go public was not in the interests of outing the Breast Cancer Society of Canada, but rather to seek out charities that would be willing to accept our donations," she said.

Molly Ivins (born August 30, 1944 -died January 31, 2007),an American political commentator, journalist, and author based in Austin, Texas. She was a syndicated columnist with nationwide distribution; her column appeared in nearly 400 newspapers across the United States.

Her articles have appeared in 'Esquire', 'The Atlantic Monthly', 'The Nation', 'Harper's', 'The Progressive', 'The Progressive Populist', and 'Mother Jones'. She has been a commentator for 'NPR', 'The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer', and '60 Minutes'.

In 1999, Ivins was diagnosed with stage III inflammatory breast cancer. Joking about it, she said:

'One of the things I said was that I had been in great hopes I would become a better person as a result of confronting my own mortality, but it actually never happened. I didn't become a better person.'

I wanted to share something Molly wrote about her breast cancer journey.

I just finished reading the words of Mark Raymond Clements -- and the words of his wife, Marianne, written when Mark was too ill to comment. I am overcome and overwhelmed with emotion because each string of sentences filling the pages of the Clements family homepage has touched me, inspired me, and saddened me all at the same time.

Clements was diagnosed in October 2005 with cholangiocarcinoma, a rare cancer of the bile duct normally found in people in their 70s.

"There is no known cure," writes Clements. "It does not respond well to chemotherapy. It is fast moving."

And fast moving it was. Surgery -- rarely a good option for this cancer -- was attempted but without success.

"After they opened him up, they discovered that the cancer had just spread too far," Marianne writes. "They closed him back up."

Chemotherapy came next and while there were some hopeful moments -- "overall distribution of the disease has decreased" -- the overwhelming course of Clement's disease continued on a fast track. And by June 2006, Clements realized, "the cruel reality of CANCER hits like a brick wall," when a CT scan revealed the presence of as many as 20 new tumors in his liver.

The Clements family never abandoned hope and were steadfast in their faith as cancer continued to dominate their lives. In October -- one year after diagnosis -- when Marianne believed doctors were sending a let's make you as comfortable as we can message, the family began pursuing alternative methods. But by December, when it had become clear treatment of any kind would no longer help, Mark Clements was welcomed by the loving arms of hospice -- where he remained until he passed away on January, 19, 2007. He was 40 years old.

On the very day of her husband's death, Marianne writes, "I know I am not alone in feeling complete anguish at this time. I know it will lessen over time. I know I will not understand 'why' until I'm with him again, but what I do know is that Mark loved me. He loved his children. He loved his family and friends. He will be waiting for me with our loving Father in Heaven. And we will be together again. Our Father in Heaven is aware of our pain and will comfort us still as he has through this past year."

And these are just some of the words that have has touched me, inspired me, and saddened me all at the same time.

I remember thinking when my grandma was a spunky 80-year-old -- still going to aerobics classes in her purple tights -- that it must be sad to be such an age when so many friends and acquaintances are falling ill and passing away. My grandma was always one to care for others, call on others, pray for others -- and often she seemed to be the only one in her circle who was thriving. Somehow, she took it all in stride and continued baking and gardening and sewing and living strong until her own death at the age of 86 -- when she left her remaining friends and acquaintances wondering if their own time on Earth was approaching a quick end. At the time, I thought this loss of friends was merely a side effect of aging. It didn't seem to concern me at my own young age of 30. I didn't really know any 30-year-olds who were dying. And I didn't predict anyone my age would be dying until I was closer to the age of 80. How wrong I was.

I am now 36 years old. And I know many women my age who have died -- most of them because of breast cancer, the same disease I have been fighting for nearly two years. So it's not only sad to me that people my age are dying, it's also quite personal and frightening -- for it could easily me in the same predicament. So I feel vulnerable -- so many years earlier than I imagined.

I think I know how my grandma must have felt when her loved ones were leaving her. And I think I will take her same approach to coping with this unfortunate fact of life. Although I couldn't possibly bake and garden and sew like she did, I can keep busy with my own hobbies and interests. And I can continue living strong until my own death -- which hopefully won't occur until after I've made my appearance in purple tights. About 50 years from now.

A reader left a comment the other day on the Cancer Blog post death by cancer dims outlook of promise, hope, survival. It was positive and supportive and inspiring -- and sad too. The reader shared that her mother passed away in February after a year-long battle with gallbladder cancer. She wrote that her mother handled her diagnosis, chemotherapy, transfusions, medications -- and her final days -- with true grace. And this is a big deal. Because there is not much information floating around on the topic of this cancer. So this woman didn't have much to cling to. Like I do. As a breast cancer survivor, I have mounds of resources at my disposal. I have books and magazines and websites and blogs that devote generous coverage to breast cancer. There are walks and runs and yard sales and fashion shows and other fundraisers that make breast cancer survivors the lucky recipients of extensive research and study. I see pink ribbons all over town and license plates on the roads and clothing and hats and even tennis shoes that promote breast cancer awareness. I could go on -- and on and on.

Gallbladder cancer is rare. So perhaps that's why there is not an abundance of information on the disease that has no known cause or test to detect its presence in the body. The American Cancer Society estimates that about 8,750 new cases of gallbladder cancer and bile duct cancer (excluding bile ducts within the liver) will be diagnosed in 2006 in the United States. And about 3,260 people will die of these cancers in 2006. Of these new cases and deaths, about half are due to gallbladder cancer, which affects predominantly women and those who are older than 65. Diagnosis of this cancer is difficult because symptoms do not often surface until the late stages when aggressive treatment becomes necessary. Surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation therapy are typical treatment tools, along with palliative therapy to help control or reduce symptoms. There are also drugs currently under study in the areas of both targeted therapy and immunotherapy.

It's good to know that gallbladder cancer is rare -- and that it takes far fewer lives than breast cancer and other diseases -- but for the unfortunate ones who are diagnosed with this life-threatening illness, the lack of information and resources is a truly an unfortunate side effect.

There are all sorts of gifts for dad on Father's Day -- shirts and ties and books and coffee mugs and golf balls -- and many of us have already spent money on the stuff we can wrap up and deliver or mail off to dad on this special day. But some gifts -- the ones we can't wrap up -- have an appeal that is priceless because they focus on the moment, they build relationships, and they promote mental and physical health. And here are just seven simple but everlasting gifts to consider sharing with dad on this Father's Day.