When World Tag Team Champion Rowdy Roddy Piper underwent back surgery for an injury he sustained during the World Wrestling Entertainment tour in Europe last month, the surgeons discovered two small marble-sized areas behind his stomach that gave cause for concern that he might have cancer. After biopsy, a diagnosis of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma was made. Because the cancer was found early, Piper is optimistic that he will be able to wrestle cancer to the mat to complete defeat.

"It seems like I have been fighting someone, something, someplace, in some manner, my whole life. But this fight, is one I am gonna win! Ever Forward." stated Piper on his blog.

Canadian-born Piper lives in the Portland, Oregon area. If you are a fan who would like to send Piper your support and best wishes, you can write to him at:

Roddy Piper
18645 S.W. Farmington Rd.
PMB 312
Aloha, Oregon
97007
USA

Piper blogs about wrestling, his family, and now surviving cancer at Piper's Pit.

Sabrina Weill, CEO of Weill Media and former editor-in-cheif of Seventeen, accomplished a big thing on Monday. She launched her own website. And she hopes it will inspire others to do big things.

Weill is partnering with newspapers, television shows, magazines, radio shows, and websites and is asking professionals at these media spots to add a Halo Link to stories they feature about individuals in the midst of personal crisis who represent larger social issues such as autism, child neglect, poverty, cancer, crime, and natural disasters -- and who need financial assistance as they journey through difficulty.

The Halo Link will deliver readers directly to Weill's website where they can make a difference in the lives of those who need a little boost.

Weill's motivation comes from a news story she heard about a mother who saved enough money from recycled cans to send her four children to college. Weill wanted to send this woman a check but didn't know how to locate her. The next day, a friend shared she wanted to do the same thing but was stuck. Weill and her friend wanted to help. They just didn't know how to reach out.

Weill wanted to make it easier for others to locate potential recipients of their good will. And so ProjectAngelMom.com was born.

"In the wake of recent tragedies, and with the holidays upon us, I keep hearing people say they are looking for more personal ways to make a difference," says Weill. "Even if someone only has $5.00 to give, it adds up and can make a huge impact."

The topic of my hair is often the subject of conversation -- and is a constant reminder that this brown curly hair I have covering my head is nothing like the straight blond hair I was born with, grew up with, was known for. Because my little boys have white blond hair, I am consistently asked by strangers, "Where did your boys get that blond hair?" "From me," is what I want to say because it's the truth -- but that would make no sense to anyone who does not know me, anyone who does not know that my hair -- that once looked much like my boys' hair -- was lost to chemotherapy and returned shockingly different. So sometimes I just chuckle in wonder with these strangers who may not expect an answer anyway. Or I tell them the story -- if they seem to really want in on the details of the mystery. Most people are surprised that my hair grew back like it did. I am not surprised -- I was warned that it might happen -- although it is still a startling discovery each time I look in the mirror, each time I look back at photos, each time I see gray hairs emerging through my dark hair -- gray that only slightly showed up in the midst of my blond locks.

The memory of my blond hair keeps popping up. My husband told me the other day that he had a dream about me -- I was in a restaurant, at a table, by myself. He was walking toward me. And I had blond hair. The rest of the dream is insignificant. The blond hair is significant. And the other day, I pulled my brush out of my purse. It hasn't been used in more than a year -- because I don't brush my curls at all -- and at the base of the brush, wound around the bristles, were long blond strands of hair. My blond hair. My old hair. The same hair I showed my friend who visited from Ohio last week -- the hair that was once on my head, was cut off in preparation of the great fallout, and is now kept in a ziplock bag.

I like my brown hair. I like my curls. But I miss my blond hair. I am sad that I no longer match my children, that I don't look like the bride in my wedding photo, that I will attend my 20-year high school reunion in two years and will wear a photo name tag that looks nothing like me. I like the familiar -- which is why I never wanted to show my bald head, why I covered my head with blond wigs and hats to keep my appearance as close to normal as possible. And then in a strange turn of events, my hair grew back in an unfamiliar fashion -- and somehow the question, "I see where your boys get that blond hair" flip-flopped into "Where did your boys get that blond hair?" It is all still new to me. I know one day it will become familiar and normal and not such a big deal. Some day. I hope.

My mom just wished me a happy birthday and said she recalls vividly the days of June 19th and 20th -- way back in 1970. She remembers June 19th because she was admitted to the hospital on this day and June 20th because this was the day she gave birth to me. Her own birthday is just two days from now -- but it is my birthday that is more memorable, more joyous, more etched in her mind. And so it is not my birthday -- today -- that evokes emotion in me or makes me feel nostalgic about the day a life was born. The days my own two babies were born -- January 3 and May 30 -- are the birthdays that are most powerful for me. These are the days when I personally pushed two big boys into the world -- and for me, that is a cause for a celebration.

I will still celebrate my birthday today -- with a day spent with my boys, a dinner out with my husband, perhaps some gifts, and the thrill of knowing I've lived to the age of 36 after a breast cancer diagnosis at age 34. So it will be a happy day for sure. And I am thankful to my mom for pushing me into the world so I can know the true pleasure of birthdays that are not my own.