Is the cancer in your family inherited? Some families experience large amounts of cancer and whether it is environmental, every day living habits, or genetics are all factors that should be looked into. Genetic testing, usually performed with a blood sample, may provide information about you and an increased risk for cancer because of family genetics.

For instance, nearly everyone born with familial adenomatous polyposis (the genetic predisposition to colon cancer) develops the disease by age 40 if preventive surgery isn't done. Knowing this early can aid in prevention and early detection. Talk with your doctor about genetic counseling. A Genetic Counselor provides individuals and families with information on the nature, inheritance, and implications of genetic disorders to help them make informed medical and personal decisions. Genetic counselors often work in clinics with oncologists or gastroenterologists and focus on cancer risk.

Puja Thomson, counselor, healing facilitator, educator, and minister, has a newly-released book -- After Shock: From Cancer Diagnosis to Healing: A step-by-step guide to help you navigate your way -- that is just perfect for just about anyone dealing with cancer.

Thomson, surviving her own bout with cancer, offers practical suggestions to help others clarify their cancer journeys in this book that features topics such as reaching out for help, designing your own personal wellness program, crafting challenges into hopeful perspectives, and organizing financial records and medical paperwork in simple ways.

Thomson shares her own firsthand stories and borrows reflections from other fellow cancer travelers. She offers a well-balanced sampling of ideas from which readers can pick and choose as they create their navigation plans. She does it all because she knows cancer can come as a shock. She also knows life goes on after the shock.

I have had a hard time keeping my counseling appointments lately. Life keeps getting in the way, and counseling keeps getting pushed to the side. The last time I called my counselor to cancel -- due to an emergency room trip with my three-year-old -- I mentioned that my inability to keep up with sessions was perhaps a precursor to an eventual termination of our counseling relationship. My counselor -- Lindsay -- said this was maybe an accurate assessment, that we should discuss the possibility of an ending point. We haven't yet discussed it, though, because I have not made the time to contact her. I have continued to leave counseling on the back burner.

But today Lindsay sent me an e-mail to check in. She wrote that I am probably going to be okay on my own now -- in the aftermath of cancer -- and that we should have one final session to reflect on my progress over the past 16 months. I have not replied to Lindsay -- not because I am busy with other things but simply because her words made me cry. They still make me cry, hours later. I'm not exactly sure why. And I'm not exactly sure how I will follow up on scheduling my very last session.

I assume my tears -- my sadness -- are part of the healing process, part of the separation anxiety I feel each time a part of my treatment ends and a part of my life moves on. I assume I am sad at the prospect of leaving a vital part of my recovery behind, about leaving the comfort of my counseling chair, about leaving Lindsay. The possibilities are endless. And I suppose we will cover all possibilities when Lindsay and I sit down for our last, final, concluding session -- when we recall how much I have grown since the day we first met, when I could barely mutter a word about cancer without weeping uncontrollably, when I could barely manage to find pleasure in my days, when I could barely imagine that life could -- and would -- offer me peace and happiness.

Today, life is good. And it's clear that counseling is no longer necessary for my survival. But that doesn't make it any easier to make my final appointment. To contemplate saying my last goodbye. To tackle life completely on my own. Which is what I will do -- in time -- so I can continue moving on, away from breast cancer.

If I could go back in time, I would not repeat my journey with breast cancer. I would choose a different path -- one free of disease and treatment and the fear that comes with it all. I would choose the route where my children would never hear me say, "mommy has cancer." The route where there would be less worry about dying, less worry about how my kids would do without me, less worry about how all my loose ends would be tied up without me here to tie them. I would choose another direction in a heartbeat. But there are some things I do treasure about my trip down breast cancer lane -- some things I do not wish to give back, even if given the chance to choose a different path. They are the hidden treasures I discovered along the way, in the midst of a harrowing, sometimes horrendous battle. There are many treasures that have come my way -- and I'm sure there are more to come. Here are seven of my valuable finds.