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.

In 1967, when Beverly Hlavka was 12 years old, her mother Naomi Poppe Kopke was diagnosed with breast cancer and given six months to live. She remembers how helpless she felt wanting to help her mother and not knowing what to do.

Earlier this year, Beverly lost a friend, Holly Elizabeth Remmers to breast cancer. Again, she had felt helpless because she did not know what to do for her friend as her friend struggled to survive cancer. This is when Beverly decided to create a way to help others help women facing breast cancer. Based on the Pay it Forward concept, made famous with the book and movie, she has launched Gift it Forward.

"If people have done nice things for you, don't give it back, Gift it Forward. This project is a way for people to give money to a cause, receive a fantastic piece of fabric art in return and help women diagnosed with breast cancer." From the money raised, individual women with breast cancer will receive a new mastectomy bra; visit to a wellness retreat; new wig; facial, massage, manicure or pedicure at a day spa; tank of gas to get to chemotherapy; some pretty jewelry; new outfit or makeup; phone card to call the grandkids or anything that puts a smile on her face.

Beverly's intention in Gift it Forward is to help women with the issues that surround keeping a positive attitude, self-esteem and concentrating on the idea of wellness instead of the disease of cancer. She includes instructions on how to make a fabric postcard and how to start a Gift it Forward project of your own. For more information, visit Gift it Forward.

Thanks to a tip from a reader, I have just ordered my free Pink Ribbon 25-cent coin from The Breast Site. The Royal Canadian Mint, in partnership with the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation, has produced the 2006 Pink Ribbon Coin as a symbol of hope for a future when breast cancer does not take the lives of our loved ones. Thirty million coins have been produced and are only available in Canada, at participating Shopper's Drug Mart stores and through the Royal Canadian Mint -- and now through The Breast Site too. One free coin, the first of it's kind and available since April 2006, is offered to each reader who requests one.

The Breast Site serves as a guide for breast health products, services, and information. Featured on this site are facts and tips and news about breast cancer, breast surgery, breastfeeding, bras, and breast-themed books. What a valuable website with a valuable offer for a valuable coin.

Thanks to Anna for the tip!

Before my radiation for breast cancer, I heard horror stories about the treatment. I heard that I might be extremely tired and severely burned and that I might feel generally unwell for the time it would take to completely zap any and all traces of cancer surrounding my breast. But my own radiation wasn't all that bad -- and really, the worst part of the whole therapy for me was the drive to and from the cancer center every day for seven weeks. It was a hassle, a nuisance, a bother. There were other small annoyances throughout the course of my radiation, but they were minimal -- thanks to some secrets that were shared with me along the scorching path of radiation and beyond. And here are seven of them.

Dori died this past November after a long battle with breast cancer that recurred and spread and ultimately took her from her husband and two young children. I never knew Dori -- she was one of my blog acquaintances -- but I gather from her words and the hundreds of comments that were left on her site that she was full of spirit and courage and grace.

Dori died gracefully at her home, with the assistance of hospice and a loving network of family and friends. She is no longer able to write in her blog -- No Bra Required -- and I miss her abundant strength and humor in the midst of a exhausting journey. But something happened that I think has eased the transition for those who are struggling with the death of a woman much too young to have left this world -- Dori's husband continued to write. He continued Dori's blog for a bit and then started his own personal blog where he shares the peaks and valleys of a life without Dori and with two kids he is raising on his own. Winter to Spring is insightful and touching and sad and happy. It chronicles birthday parties and school plays and Mother's Day too. It reveals feelings and hopes and wishes and sorrows. The tragedy of it all -- the death of Dori -- is devastating. The upside of the tragedy -- the resilience of a family, the lessons learned, the hope for a brighter tomorrow -- keeps me coming back for more. For more of a story that can break my heart and warm my heart all at the same time.