Valerie Monroe, beauty director for The Oprah Magazine, writes a monthly column -- Ask Val -- that appears on the pages of Oprah's feel-good publication. She responds to questions about make-up, skin care, hair care, and overall body care too.

In her February 2007 column, Val writes, "Many of you have written to tell me that you began to be less critical of your body when you appreciated the things it could do." As I read this, I had what Oprah would call an Aha! moment, a moment when something just clicks and makes sudden sense. Aha!, I thought, as I considered all the things my body can do, completely independent of how I look on the outside. So while I was jogging today -- my body can now easily run three miles -- I ran through all of my body's accomplishments, and I stored them in the files of my mind so I could later write them down.

Here are seven things my body can do. As you read them, consider your own body -- its strength, its power, its capacity for greatness -- and remind yourself of your wondrous self the next time you start to criticize the way you look.

• My body can partner in the creation of human life. It can carry babies and deliver them and love them and care for them and raise them. Not all bodies have this power. I am lucky.

• My body can climb an attic staircase, crawl into cramped and dark corners, pull large boxes out of wedged spaces, drag them back to the staircase, and walk backwards down the stairs with goods balancing on my head so that I can fulfill the wish my five-year-old child who wanted so badly in early November to assemble our Christmas tree and decorate our house for the holidays. "Let's wait until Daddy gets home," I told Joey when I found myself crammed into a tiny space in the attic, wrestling with a heavy box full of artificial tree parts. "You can do it, Mommy," Joey said. "You are strong." And so I fought my way through the frustrating feat because I was afraid of the lessons I would teach this little boy if I didn't. In the end, it was Joey who taught me the lesson. I can do it. I am strong.
  

• My body can endure and conquer a 5K run when it once could barely run around the block. With a little extra effort and push, I think my body can accomplish even more.

• My body, once weak and without definition, can lift increasingly heavy weight and can generate muscle tone. It can even do push-ups -- real push-ups. It takes dedication and practice and persistence and mental toughness too. But I see progress. I feel progress. And I want more.

• My body can help others. I can use my fingers to type words on a keyboard that will reach friends and family and people I don't even know. My words can inform and support and encourage and heal. I can use my hands and my semi-creative talents to create hand-made gifts, to cook and deliver very mediocre meals for friends in need, to massage my husband's sore back, to braid my niece's beautiful hair and paint her tiny nails. I can use my arms to hug my little boys with all my might. I can use my voice to communicate, my ears to listen, my senses to feel.
  

• My body can tolerate surgery and chemotherapy and radiation and horrible allergic reactions to antibiotics. My body was badly beaten by a treatment protocol intended to cure me of a disastrous disease. And somehow, in some way, it survived.
  

• My body killed cancer. With the aid of medical intervention and a hopeful attitude, my body overcame the worst and best thing that has ever happened to me. And if it could do nothing else, I would be truly happy for this one thing my body can do.
  

A few days ago, notification of an e-mail arrived in my inbox. It popped up right in front of me, with the sender's name -- Amy Wilson -- glaring in black print right before my eyes. Amy is my friend who was diagnosed with breast cancer just after my own diagnosis. We e-mailed frequently about our cancer hopes and fears and so it was never before odd that a message would travel from her computer in Ohio to mine in Florida. But on the day this one e-mail arrived, it was odd -- because Amy died two weeks ago, after a 15-month battle with the disease we both vowed to conquer.

The e-mail was not from Amy. It was from her husband, Paul. And it was as comforting to hear from him as it was odd to see Amy's name flash in front of me. You see, I have wanted to call Paul, e-mail Paul, send a card to Paul -- something. I have wanted to reach out in some way, even though I have never met the man who thought he would spend the rest of his life raising his two children with Amy. But I never could figure out what I would write or say or send. I have been afraid that it would be hard for him to talk about Amy's death. I've been afraid that it would be hard for me to talk about her death. So I have waited, hoping the passage of time would help prepare me for some sort of action. And in the end, time was not necessary. Because Paul reached out to me. And this is what he wrote in the e-mail he sent from Amy's mailbox.


And now I can contact Paul, because he has opened the door. He -- the one suffering the greatest loss -- has comforted me. And now I need to thank him.

Today marks the beginning of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And today, I realize how aware I am of breast cancer -- how much more aware I am than ever before, compliments of a personal encounter with a disease that snuck up on me with no warning and thrust me into a two-year battle that physically, has just ended. Emotionally, the trek continues. But it's not horrible and it's not disabling -- anymore. On most days, it's enlightening, empowering, strengthening.

I think it's the brush with mortality that woke me up to the privileged life I live. Cancer allows me to wake in the morning feeling alive. It allows me to fall asleep at night feeling thankful. And every day, I am totally, completely, acutely aware of how absolutely lucky I am to be living.

There was a time when October was nothing more than another month to me -- a month that stood out only for the onset of autumn and falling leaves and halloween and trick-or-treat. Now I know October for Breast Cancer Awareness Month -- the month belonging to millions of women living with breast cancer and the millions who need to prepare for a possible breast cancer strike. It's a powerful month, jam-packed with events and activities and promotions and media attention. It's a sad month, marking the loss of life for so many who could not conquer an evil disease. It's a happy month, symbolic of life that goes on despite this same evil disease. It's a month that allows me a lifetime membership. A month that will always be on my radar. A month I can call my own -- a month I am proud to call my own.

The Beck family blogs about life in California -- about soccer games and parades and hikes and family trips. They display happy photos of their kids eating pancakes made by daddy and playing on the beach and dressing up for Halloween. And they also blog about breast cancer -- because Valerie Beck, wife and mom of two young children, was diagnosed with this disease on June 26, 2006.

Valerie is just two months into her journey and has just completed her second chemotherapy treatment. She has already survived surgery and scary pathology results and some dark moments. But Valerie will surely conquer cancer with her happy take on life, her supportive family, and her ability to go with the flow -- however unpredictable it may be. And her husband -- author of the family blog -- keeps all readers updated on Valerie's progress. He is positive, hopeful, and a bit frightened too. On July 8, he wrote:

What a past couple days, my beautiful bride Valerie, my wife, my life long partner has a serious fight in front of her. She is going to grow old with me, she is going to help me spoil our grandchildren, we will beat this! I have faith, and I believe, but I also believe you cannot hide from the awful truths, this is not a nice disease. Three of the best doctors in the world do not come rushing to your aid in ONE DAY if they thought "you will easily make it through this" (which is what it seems I am always telling Valerie). I am trying to be strong, I feel I have to be, but sitting here in front of an inanimate object I find it easier to share my inner fears. I do have faith we will make it through this ..... it just won't be easy.

It won't be easy. But it can be done. Best wishes, Beck family!

FREEEEEDOM! is the cry made famous with Mel Gibson's portrayal of William Wallace in the movie Braveheart. The movie stayed true to the reenactment of the Scottish warriors painting faces and chests a bright blue before battle to visually intimidate the enemy. The plant used to create the blue dye is called Woad.

While the ancient Scottish warrior Wallace met with a gruesome fate at the hands of the enemy, women in the modern world diagnosed with breast cancer might gain advantage in the war against cancer with the same plant used as an ancient blue dye in battle.

Italian researchers from the University of Bologna have discovered that the Woad plant, belonging to the same Brassicaceae plant family as Brussels sprouts, cauliflower and broccoli, contains 20 times more glucobrassicin than broccoli. They also discovered that by wounding the Woad plant, they were able to increase the concentration of glucobrassicin seven times the normal level found in Woad. Glucobrassicin is known for its breast cancer-fighting abilities, and researchers are hopeful that isolating this compound will enable them to conduct clinical trials to better understand and clarify its effectiveness against cancer.

According to the Wikipedia entry on Woad, the first archaeological find of woad seeds were found in the French cave of l'Audoste, Bouches du Rhone. It is reported that Julius Caesar spoke of ancient Britons going into battle naked and using blue dye derived from Woad in face and body painting to terrify their opponents during battle. In addition, the blue dye from Woad was used as a tattooing ink and medicinally as an astringent.