Cancer stopped me from having a third child -- not physically, but mentally. Still, it hasn't taken away my ability to witness first-hand the miracle of childbirth, to hold a brand new baby in my arms, to lose myself in the wonder of an innocent and unburdened life.Yesterday, my sister had her second baby girl. I was there -- from morning until evening, while she labored for 12 hours and then delivered a perfect, pink, precious bundle of hope. The whole journey made me cry. I cried for the sheer pleasure of being in the room for such a special occasion, for holding my sister's numb and heavy leg in the correct position, for watching a baby plunge into the world, for cutting the umbilical cord. I cried for the pain my sister endured, for the joy of new beginnings, for all that comes next.
For a moment while I held my new niece, I longed for my own baby. Then thoughts of cancer flooded my mind -- combined with thoughts of sleepless nights and endless shrieks and temper tantrums -- and I realized I am happy just as I am, with my own two little boys and a sweet baby girl I plan to borrow as much as possible.
Welcome to the world, Tori!


Sadly, another cancer death has occurred -- this one caused by leukemia and ending the life of Arthur Lee. Lee, eccentric singer and guitarist with the 1960s rock band Love, died Thursday at the age of 61. His death was shocking to many who knew him because he had the ability to bounce back from just about everything. Leukemia was usually no exception. But recently, Lee, who was diagnosed this year with acute myeloid leukemia, was not faring well after three rounds of chemotherapy failed. And despite a bone marrow transplant using stem cells from an umbilical cord -- the first of its kind for an adult in Tennessee -- Lee could not overcome cancer.
Parents may want to save their kids' baby teeth for more than just nostalgic reasons -- they may want to save them because they are rich in stem cells and the pulp tissue could provide the means to treatment for injuries and disease.
I was present for death only one time in my 36 years of life. I consider this both a bad and a good thing. It's bad because I did not want my grandmother to die -- and watching it happen made it so real, so vivid, so painful. I don't think I would have ever chosen to watch my grandma die -- to watch her slip from consciousness to coma, to observe her altered body once death arrived, to witness the movement of her body on a stretcher as it was wheeled out of the house from the bedroom I still see every time I visit my mom's house. But I think I am lucky really -- and this is the good part -- because I got to be with her during her final moments. I got to watch her body as it lay still, peaceful and calm and still breathing. I got to talk to her and although she could not respond, I believe she could hear my words. And it makes me happy to know my grandma may have known I was with just prior to her flight to heaven. And after her flight, I got to touch her cool hands. I got to feel the power of the passing of one life -- a long life -- and I got to feel the comfort of a death that was not ugly or painful or difficult. It was sad -- it's still sad -- that my grandma died three years ago. But what a privilege it was to be part of the day she left this world.
It's almost impossible to think of anything associated with cancer that could come to any good, but researchers have discovered a 







