Tomorrow, the second issue of Beyond: Live & Thrive After Breast Cancer hits newsstands. And I, for one, can't wait to pick up a copy of the Spring/Summer edition of this positively powerful publication.

If you read the first issue -- the Fall/Winter magazine released in October -- you know what this glossy book has to offer. There are personal stories and interviews, shared wisdom and sound advice. There are exercise tips and health tips and survival tips. There are stories about chemo brain and fertility and relationships. There is information about breast cancer research and resources and products that are tried and true.

I want to tell you so much more -- but really, I want you find out for yourself just how moving and soothing this magazine can be.

So plan to get your copy -- tomorrow -- and tell all your friends to do the same. If you need a gift for a loved one newly diagnosed or someone who has long survived this disease, try this on for size. Buy a few copies and donate them to your favorite doctors' offices -- a fresh magazine can do wonders for any waiting room. Share one with a neighbor, a relative, a new acquaintance.

Do what you can, will you -- to both reap the benefits of this solid source of inspiration and help sustain the life of this magazine? Because magazines are only as strong as the readers who embrace them. And trust me, this is one catch we cannot afford to lose.

Sarita Zouvas knows what it's like to have a child in the hospital. Her daughter, Isabella -- who died while receiving treatment for cancer -- spent many days in the hospital, and Zouvas says it's hard to anticipate what items from home will make a child's stay more comfortable.

"We don't go prepared," she says. "You don't take clothes; you don't know what's going on. You get there and they put a gown on them. My first response is, 'I want to make them comfortable because they're scared.'"

Zouvas has found a way to bring comfort to the lives of children at her local Children's Hospital. And her goal is to make sure every child admitted to the hospital during the holiday season gets a complimentary pair of pajamas.

After the death of her daughter, Zouvas became involved with the Friends of Scott Foundation (FSF) -- a non-profit organization founded in memory of Scott Delgadillo who lost his life to childhood cancer. FSF strives to help children with cancer and their families with emotional and financial support in order to cope with this devastating disease. Zouvas became a part of the FSF support team and is thrilled she can help bring comfy jammies to sick children.

Zouvas says the response to her call for help has been overwhelming. Most pajamas are donated and have come from as far away as Boston. Employees of the San Diego Padres, Southwest Airlines, and the district attorney's office have also helped Zouvas in the endeavor she hopes will continue year-round.

For more information on the Friends of Scott Foundation and Zouvas' pajama drive, click here.

The build-up to 2006 was a bit uncertain for me. At the end of 2004, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and set my sights on short-term survival, moment by moment, day by day. I wasn't sure 2005 -- in its entirety -- was a guarantee so I tried not to look too far ahead. I focused on the completion of each of the year's cancer steps -- surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, the beginning of a year-long Herceptin therapy, and so much more -- and somehow, I survived the whole ordeal. And the whole year.

I made it through 2005, and I have almost made it through 2006 -- a year marked by a cancer slow-down, a more normal existence. Moment by moment, day by day, the burden of cancer loosened it's grip on me. And as I begin to reflect on the year that has all but passed before my eyes, I realize it turned out just fine. Here are seven reasons why.

• On May 19, 2006, my very first post published on The Cancer Blog. What a thrill it was -- and still is -- to find myself engaged in a useful pursuit as a result of my own cancer experience.
  

• On June 28, 2006, the last drops of Herceptin made their way through my body, marking the conclusion of 17 doses of this hopefully life-saving potion.

• On September 15, 2006, my port came out, signaling my acceptance of a life without drug treatment, my faith that I will never again need a foreign object sewn under my skin.

• On December 6, 2006, 18 months of counseling came to a close. Armed with skills to cope with all sorts of emotional issues, I am marching forward, free of the disabling anxiety and free-flowing tears that first landed me in the counseling chair.

• For much of 2006, I have been a student of fitness training, pushing myself physically in search of better health. It's not always easy, I'm not always motivated, and I am known to whine a bit -- but still, I am happier just knowing I am working toward sustained health.
  

• Throughout the entire year, I have walked away from every medical check-up and follow-up with a clean bill of health. I hear the longer someone survives cancer, the less likely the disease is to return. Happily, I have two years of survival under my belt.

• Ever since my diagnosis, I have been reaching for others with journeys similar to mine. First, I reached for support and guidance and reassurance. Then, I reached to offer my own version of support and guidance and reassurance. The year 2006 has been full of rich connections, found only because of cancer. Reaching makes me feel good.

Yes, the year 2006 turned out just fine.

I never predicted counseling would be part of my treatment for cancer. I am well-acquainted with the practice of talk therapy -- I have a graduate degree in counselor education and spent seven years counseling college students with presenting issues such as roommate conflicts, alcohol use and abuse, sexual assault, and depression -- but I never envisioned myself on the receiving end of such a relationship, never imagined I would be the one prescribed an anti-depressant and referred for cognitive-behavioral therapy.

Yet I have spent the past two years talking candidly -- and at times weeping uncontrollably -- with a talented young woman who has given me the tools to cope with life in the aftermath of a cancer diagnosis. And on Tuesday, the culmination of these two years will result in one final session. Together, my counselor and I will recount what has happened to me, how I have handled it, how I will proceed for the rest of my life.

At the end of my one-hour session on Tuesday, I will be set free. I will walk the white, sterile halls of a hospital basement, travel in an elevator up one flight, and exit a building I never knew could become so familiar. I will allow the outdoors to greet me, and for the very first time since cancer invaded my life, I will accept the challenge of living forward -- without the therapy that helped save my life.

On Tuesday, my case will be closed. On Tuesday, a new version of my life begins.

When Someone You Love Is Being Treated for Cancer is a book of tips and insight from caregivers for caregivers when it comes to the needs and issues of being a caregiver for a loved one diagnosed with cancer. Published online by The National Cancer Institute, the introduction states, "The purpose of this book is to focus on you and your needs."

In reviewing it, I found it to be a valuable and realistic resource for family members who find themselves in the role of caregiver because a loved one has been diagnosed with cancer.

Hearing the words "You have cancer" is a traumatic experience for most adults. Having to tell your loved ones and friends that you have cancer is just as hard. Being a parent and having to tell your young child that you have cancer is one of the toughest conversations many adults face. The American Cancer Society reports that one in seven women in the U.S. will develop breast cancer during their lifetime, and roughly a quarter of them will do so while they still have children living at home. That is just one statistic of one form of cancer and there are more to consider. 

So what do you tell your young child and how much detail should you get into? Most children have seen commercials, heard conversations, experienced some form of educational material on the subject already. Should you tell the truth, hide some facts, or try to avoid letting them know all together?

Wendy Schlessel Harpham, MD wrote a book called When a Parent Has Cancer: A Guide to Caring for Your Children. In this book she states that one of the biggest mistake parents make is trying to hide the truth from their children. "Even small children will figure out that something is wrong, even if you don't tell them," she says. "Kids are observant and smart, and if you give them too little information they will try to figure it out on their own. If you don't tell them, you lose control and you are less able to guide the child through the changes in their world in healthy and hopeful ways."

Telling the truth, giving them understanding and the support they need, and educating them about your cancer may be the toughest conversations you will ever have in your life, but it will help you and your child in gaining the confidence to cope with the challenges that you both will face.