Chemo is tough stuff. That's what my oncologist told me the day I tracked her down on the phone and told her how awful I felt. I was weak, dizzy, pale, and as close to incoherent as I'd ever been. I was so out of sorts I was convinced I would jump out of my skin at the very moment this doctor implied all I needed was a firm grip on reality.

"Do you have enough support?" she asked. "Yep," I replied. I told her my mom lives right around the corner, my sister just a few miles away. I told her friends were delivering meals and my husband was coming home from work whenever I called for him. Help was just a phone call away, and I had plenty of it. What I didn't have was medical guidance about how my body was tolerating chemotherapy. That's why I needed her.

I hung up the phone that day having accomplished nothing. And I woke up the next morning barely able to walk. I crawled into my kitchen, grabbed a banana, sprawled out on the floor, inhaled some nutrition, and called my mom. I told her I needed to have my blood examined.

My mom transported me to my oncology clinic -- we had a genetic counseling appointment there anyway so it was convenient timing -- and before long, I was hand-delivered a mask and was swiftly escorted to my very own hospital room where I stayed for five days.

The day I was admitted to the hospital, my white blood counts were 700. My body was not tolerating chemotherapy. And I'll never know why my oncologist didn't know this, didn't call me in for an evaluation when so many signs were presenting themselves, didn't offer me more than her steadfast declaration that "chemo is tough stuff."

Yes, chemo is tough. And there are all sorts of expected side effects of the dreaded treatment that patients must endure. But there are many effects patients should not have to suck up, effects that warrant immediate medical attention and can be alleviated with the right intervention.

It took days of antibiotic treatment and a blood transfusion for my body to recover from its chemotherapy attack. I often wonder what would have happened had I toughed it out at home. I suspect the outcome could have been tragic.

If I ever have the occasion to preach about the dangers of chemotherapy, which is what I am doing here, I offer a firm warning about how difficult the treatments can be, how anyone with any string of worrisome side effects should seek medical help immediately, how any oncologist who doesn't respond to an outright cry for help should be fired.

I learned many lessons from my chemo crusade. I learned how to better help myself, and I learned to report right to the emergency room the second time my blood counts plummeted. I learned to demand the care I deserve, and I found an oncologist who is a warm and caring partner in my pursuit of health. And I learned that chemo is tougher than I ever imagined, too tough for some -- like me -- to go it alone.

Chemotherapy sent my blood counts spiraling on two separate occasions. Both times I landed in the hospital. And during my second stay, it took several daily injections of Neupogen -- a growth factor immunity drug -- to push my white blood counts from a low 1,200 to a whopping 58,000.

The only side effect I suffered as a result of this drug was aching bones and joints. This was temporary and not such a big deal. What might be a big deal for breast cancer survivors like me, however, is the result of a new study suggesting there may be a risk of leukemia from these immunity boosting drugs.

These drugs, G-CSF (such as Neupogen) and GM-CSF (such as Leukine) may cause rare cases of leukemia, says Columbia University's Dawn Hersmand whose study is published in yesterday's Journal of the National Cancer Institute.

It's already been established that chemotherapy itself can cause leukemia. And Hersmand's study showed 1.04 percent of women who did not receive growth factors developed leukemia from chemotherapy alone. But 1.77 percent of women treated with G-CSF or GM-CSF developed the disease. While the drugs appear to statistically double the risk, the actual risk still remains quite small. And researchers say the benefits of the drug right now outweigh the risks.

A drug commonly used to minimize the toxic effects of chemotherapy has been shown in mice to cause bone loss and promote tumor growth, according to the results of a recent study.

This drug, granulocyte colony-stimulating factor (G-CSF) -- also known as Neupogen, Neulasta, and Granocyte -- helps restore white blood cell counts that take a beating during chemotherapy, protecting cancer patients from an increased risk of infection.

According to researchers, G-CSF -- essentially a growth factor -- encourages bone breakdown. And any therapy that decreases bone density can enhance tumor growth in bones. So doctors are urged to closely monitor their patients during chemotherapy with regular bone density scans. They can also prescribe medications to prevent bone loss if necessary. And patients can protect their bones by consuming enough calcium and vitamin D and engaging in regular exercise.

Currently, research on cancer patients treated with G-CSF have not yielded the same strong results researchers found among mice.

The details of this study appear online in the journal Blood, and will be published in an upcoming print issue.

Cancer patients who have heart attacks are typically not treated with a course of life-saving aspirin because of the belief that these patients might experience lethal bleeding.

This belief is now under dispute and researchers at The University of Texas M. D. Anderson Cancer Center say that without aspirin, the majority of these patients will die. Their arguments, subject of a recent study, will be published in the February 1 issue of the journal Cancer.

Aspirin has been viewed as harmful because of its tendency to thin blood. Because cancer patients can experience low platelet counts and abnormal clotting, aspirin has been considered a contraindication. But this study found that nine of 10 cancer patients with low platelet counts who experienced heart attacks and who did not receive aspirin died. Only one patient died, however, in a group of 17 cancer patients who received aspirin.

This conclusion -- that aspirin helps people with cancer just as it does for people without cancer -- may help medical professionals determine guidelines for treatment of heart attacks in cancer patients. Because right now, physicians are uncertain about how to balance treatment for both conditions.

There is a downside to cancer. There's the distressing diagnosis, the shocking realization that something evil is invading cells and tissues and organs. There's surgery and treatment and loss of hair, loss of blood counts, loss of energy, loss of wellness, loss of future plans and intentions. There's the fear of recurrence and the fear of death and the fear of surviving. Cancer is dark and dismal and daunting. There is no room for argument. There is a downside to cancer.

But there is an upside to cancer too. Really, there is. And a growing body of research suggests cancer changes many people's lives -- like mine -- for the better.

"Cancer gives some survivors a renewed sense of confidence and greater appreciation for their own endurance," says one professor of medicine and public health. "The adversity of treatment may give people the sense that 'I've come through this and I'm stronger.' " Yes!

This same professor says cancer also leads survivors to question their priorities -- and to better manage them. Yes!

She also says survivors tend to find the coping strategies they develop during therapy can help them handle other life problems. Yes!

Many cancer survivors and their families turn to helping others dealing with the disease. It's part of the healing process to give back. And it feels good. Yes!

Cancer almost always is a blessing. This may not be apparent while in the trenches of a cancer fight. But when the smoke clears and the dust settles, blessings emerge. Really, they do.

Heavy head. Heavy body. Sore throat. Sore gums. Swollen lymph nodes. Fever blister. Hurts to chew. Hurts to swallow. Hurts to recall last time symptoms appeared. During chemotherapy.

Drugs attacking cells. Body weak. Blood counts plummeting. Body crashing. Headache. Fever. Sore throat. Sore gums. Trip to hospital. For five days. For antibiotics. For opinions. For constant monitoring. For daily shots to rebuild blood.

Phone call to dentist who knows my burden. Of worry. And fear. And anxiety. That never really goes away. Always reappears. A virus, he says. All of it. The throat. The gums. The lymph nodes. The fever blister. Nothing more. Should last five to seven days. Don't worry. Relax. Call if it gets worse.

Feeling better. Feeling emotional. Because people are so kind. Like my dentist. Who eased my mind. Soothed my soul.

Time to march forward. For myself. For today.

Just two months after her mother lost her battle with gall bladder cancer, Liane was diagnosed with breast cancer. It all happened earlier this year -- and while Liane is still mourning the loss of her mother, she is also still managing the madness of her own disease. Liane is surviving with courage, with determination, with the same powerful spirit that powered her mother's fight.

Liane lives in a small city -- population 43,000 -- in northern Alberta Canada. She has been happily married for 18 years and has two daughters, ages 13 and 15, and a golden retriever named Sunny. Liane loves to garden, cook, read, and spend time with family. She normally works full-time in a real estate and property management office but has been blessed with six months off for treatment. Liane is already -- without a doubt -- a survivor.

Just before my chemotherapy for breast cancer started -- when I was fantastically frightened by the toxic drugs that were about to drip into my veins -- I was told by doctors, nurses, survivors, friends that I would be just fine. I was young and strong and tough. I would easily tolerate the beating my body was about to take. This is what I was told and actually came to believe myself. I had no other choice really than to approach chemotherapy with a fighter mentality. And so I did. And I did pretty well for my first three doses of Adriamycin and Cytoxan -- given every two weeks instead of three in a dose-dense fashion -- followed by one injection of Neulasta 24 hours later to maintain normal blood counts. And then something happened. And I did not end up tolerating the chemotherapy my gut told me was a scary endeavor.

Several boxes containing injections of Neulasta have lined the bottom of my refrigerator for more than a year. They are left-overs from chemotherapy -- from a time when one needle pierced the skin on my arm after each chemo treatment to keep my blood counts in a safe range. I've looked at them day after day after day, and I've allowed them to sit in the same exact spot for all this time. But today, they are in the trash -- not because I made a conscious choice to throw them away but because water spilled all over the inside of my refrigerator and left them soggy and damaged. Surely I would not have used them in this condition, I thought -- so I tossed them. But really, I would not have used them anyway. They were old -- probably past their expiration date -- and I am not receiving chemotherapy anymore. I had absolutely no use for them. But I kept them for safety or comfort or some other impractical reason -- for the same reason I keep a basket full of old medication in my kitchen cupboard. It's all cancer-related -- most of it never touched because I don't really like taking medication, even when necessary. So this stock-piling tendency defies all logic for me. Until today -- when part of my past sits in a white trash bag, ready for the curb, and the rest of it is soon to be trashed. So I can continue moving forward. Away from cancer. For good.

MTV -- the ultimate source of music videos and pop culture -- has been around for 25 years now. And that amount of time makes for a lot of memories.

So in recognition of the entertainment MTV has offered over the years, Indystar.com, Indiana's #1 local media site, takes a walk down memory lane and counts down 25 best MTV memories. It's fitting that many of the memories include actual music -- although some may say MTV is not really about music anymore, with music videos hard to come by -- so Michael Jackson's 1983 14-minute video Thriller makes the list and so does the 1985 performances of Live Aid, a conglomeration of musicians who sang to raise money for famine relief in Ethiopia.

But many memories are not recollections of music videos -- or even musical performances. They are nostalgic remembrances of other media events -- like a kiss between Madonna and Britney Spears during an award show, the running of the popular Beavis and Butthead show and Remote Control game show, peeks into spring break extravaganzas, and roof-raising reality shows like The Real World and The Osbourne's.

And even one socially-conscious piece that aired to raise awareness of testicular cancer. On May 23, 2000, wacky, stunt-pulling comedian Tom Green let viewers into his private world, in an operating room while he underwent surgery to remove a cancerous testicle and several lymph nodes. Green survived the surgery well -- and he is surviving cancer still today -- and his public handling of a serious disease goes down in MTV history as something truly memorable.

Every promising drug therapy has a potential dark side. Hycamtin -- topotecan hydrochloride -- a cancer-fighting drug used to treat patients with ovarian and lung cancer, has received FDA approval for treatment of late-stage cervical cancer. When surgery or radiation is not a viable option for women diagnosed with recurrent or incurable cervical cancer, Hycamtin can be added to cisplatin as a combination chemotherapy drug therapy shown to provide life-lengthening benefit.

Combining Hycamtin with cisplatin is not a cure, and in clinical trials showed an additional survival benefit of three months when compared to treatment with cisplatin alone. Who would not choose to live as long as possible, even if you are measuring life in months? However, the combination drug therapy is likely to increase the risk in lowering white cell counts, decreasing blood platelets, inducing nausea, vomiting, diarrhea and hair loss. Quantity of life versus quality of life is the dark side of this drug therapy promise. One woman might choose quantity of life, and another woman choose quality of life. There is no wrong or right but when making a choice it needs to be made with eyes wide open.

For more information, there is a Hycamtin website offering information on how the chemotherapy drug is administered and the side effects a woman can expect during treatment. While it is written for ovarian and lung cancer patients, I believe the basic over all information should be the same for cervical cancer patients.

Thanks to Joel Arellano of Autoblog for this news tip!

I was hospitalized twice last year for chemo-induced fever and low blood counts. My first stay came at a busy time -- the hospital's oncology floor was full and there was no space for me. So I was admitted to the bone marrow transplant unit as an overflow patient and suddenly -- even in my very sick and compromised state -- I became the healthiest person on the floor. My white blood count was 700 -- sounded pretty bad to me -- but some of the patients staying on this floor with me had no blood counts because in order to receive a transplant, their own bone marrow is completely depleted in order to prepare for new bone marrow. Patients on this floor are considered pretty healthy when their counts reach 500. I was considered sick and was hospitalized at 700. Adults and children on this floor stay in rooms behind glass panels and with special -- and loud -- air flow systems that push germs out of the room. Visitors must wear gowns and shoe covers and must wash their hands before entering the rooms. Patients might stay on this floor for months at a time, receiving chemotherapy and preparing for their eventual bone marrow transplants. Some patient rooms are decorated and arranged just like home. Parents prepare rooms for children with play areas and craft areas and television areas. This floor is home to many sick children -- and this is what affected me most. For my five days on the bone marrow transplant unit, I gained an up-close and personal look at what many parents and children encounter when cancer derails their lives. It was so much more than I had to encounter. It must be quite an undertaking to prepare a child for this experience.

I picked up a coloring book the day I was discharged and walked off this floor and back into my own life. It's a coloring book that comes from The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and is made by bone marrow transplant patients for children preparing for their own transplants. There is a poster for children to color and hang on their hospital room walls that says I Will Get Well, there is a page that terms chemo and radiation as Laser Rays and Guard Dogs and pages that help children visualize happy moments -- like playing a favorite sport or activity and jumping rope in the warm sunshine. This book reminds children that it is okay to cry and it even includes a prescription: Make sure you get at least one hug every day!

The overall message of this coloring book, which is stated in writing is, "A good attitude does not mean being cheerful all the time; it just means that you know that this is necessary to help fight your cancer."  Well said. And something I will always remember.