A doctor found something suspicious when she read the results of the breast MRI I had on Friday. What she found is of unknown significance. This means something caught her attention. She just isn't sure what it is.

This doctor does know that whatever it is inside my right breast appears to be a low-risk something. But still, there's a concern looming in the air -- for her and for me.

I spoke with my oncologist about this concern, and he told me anything suspicious must be pursued by further testing. I'm thankful for that. He also said he expects that nothing actually significant will come of this. But if it does, it will have been caught early.

On Friday, I will report for further testing -- a mammogram and an ultrasound -- and then I will learn more about this unknown something that inhabits my breast, this something that takes me back more than two whole years when another something turned out to be what I feared more than anything. Breast cancer.

"I have a mammogram on Friday," I told my husband just two days before the test I will receive every six months for the rest of my life. The test I should not have even needed for another four years, when I hit the age of 40. The test that helped find a cancerous lump in my breast two years ago and will hopefully catch any future lumps in enough time to save my life.

The mammogram. It's a big test that hinges on one moment of disclosure from the technician who performs the procedure. The disclosure -- everything is fine or the doctor would like to see you -- predicts whether or not life goes on normally or is derailed by uncertainty. Mammograms are a big deal.

"Are you worried?" my husband asked after my announcement. I thought for a moment and then replied, "No."

For some reason, I am not worried about this mammogram. Perhaps it's because I am monitored so regularly by the medical establishment and I'm confident anything suspicious in my breasts will be caught early and treated successfully. Perhaps the routine of it all makes mammograms not so eventful anymore. Maybe I'm just coping better with the seriousness of it all, and mammograms have become one more mundane appointment that requires my presence.

It doesn't matter really. What matters is that I am calm about my mammogram, that I am not giving it serious thought, that I am free of anxiety.

What matters is that I am not worried.

My sister recently ran into the surgeon who removed my breast cancer tumor almost two years ago -- on December 3, 2004. He asked my sister how I was doing, recalled the unprecedented rash I developed from the latex and Tegaderm tape used during my lumpectomy, and then talked about how terribly busy he has been.

This surgeon -- who spends countless clinic hours with women whose breasts are somehow diseased and then spends day after day in operating rooms trying to remedy these diseases -- said he is amazed and at how many breast cancer cases are consuming his time. It's sad -- the amount of women showing up with breast cancer -- but there is a silver lining to this cancer cloud, because according to this surgeon, the vast majority of these breast cancer cases are early stage. This means they were caught swiftly and quickly. And for the women behind these cases, there is a good chance of long-term survival.

And so maybe all the pink and all the press surrounding breast cancer is working. Maybe it's inspiring women to pursue self-breast exams, clinical exams, mammography, and other screening options. Maybe all the persistence and passion about breast cancer is the reason for this early detection -- the key to a good prognosis.

My surgeon closed his chat with my sister by telling her to call him if anyone in our family ever needs anything. But he told her he hopes he never has to hear from us. My sentiments exactly.

Suzanne Pleshette's agent reported on Friday that the actress is currently undergoing treatment for lung cancer. The cancer was discovered during a routine X-ray and was no bigger than a grain of sand. Pleshette apparently feels very lucky and is in great spirits as she receives outpatient chemotherapy at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center -- where the cancer was diagnosed.

What is fundamentally missing in a human being that could stoop so pathetically low as to tell people his child has cancer and then later tell them his child died from cancer -- when none of it is true? I know, innocent until proven guilty but the way things are stacking up in this story, it does appear Michael Ruffalo told a new employer his 3-year-old son had cancer, spent months reporting on his child's failing health and then topped it off by announcing the death of his son.

Ruffalo got caught in the lie when the Atlanta-based software firm Lancope Inc., tried to send flowers to the funeral. The fake funeral. "When you hear of somebody's child being ill and ultimately the child dying, you feel for that person," said Lancope's chief financial officer, David Cocchiara, whose company put Ruffalo on paid leave within weeks of hiring him because of his son's cancer diagnosis.

To absolutely make matters worse, if that is possible, Ruffalo has done this before with a previous employer. EncryptX Corp., an e-mail security company, said that shortly after hiring Ruffalo they got an e-mail about his son. "We tried to send flowers to the funeral home and they said we never heard of him." EncryptX wrote off the $21,464 dollars they paid him as a bad experience.

Lancope Inc. is suing Ruffalo.