A friend of mine with breast cancer just sent out an update e-mail to friends and family. She began her message with an apology for her recent lack of communication. But she assured us all that she's been out of the loop not because she's felt sick or tired. It's because she's been too busy with normal life. And that's a good thing, she says.

This friend wasn't so sure how she would fare -- both physically and emotionally -- when she was first diagnosed with cancer. But she seems to have done a champion's job of rolling with the punches. Sure, she's had ups and downs. But she is overwhelmingly positive and hopeful. And jumping off my computer screen as I read her e-mail were at least seven bits of hope that tell me she is doing just fine despite all that is unbelievably hard about breast cancer.

My friend just had her first infusion of Taxol. A breeze, she calls it. One. So easy on her body -- two -- that she headed right out and took her daughter communion dress shopping. Her little love looked beautiful, she wrote. Like a mini-bride. The mother of the mini-bride then -- three -- turned a sad moment into a comforting one when her daughter asked, "Mommy, who do you think will bring me wedding dress shopping?"

I am struggling to find healthy lunch items for my kindergartner who has been a picky eater since the day he was first introduced to food. He won't eat a sandwich -- well, he will eat a peanut butter sandwich but for some reason he thinks it must be warmed in a microwave. But microwaves are not available in his school cafeteria, so peanut butter sandwiches won't work -- nor will anything else that must be heated to satisfy Joey's picky palate. And he won't eat lunch meat or cheese or tuna fish or anything that seems to fill most kids' lunch boxes. He does eat fruits and vegetables -- which is primarily what I send him with to school -- but it seems he needs something more. Something with a kick of protein. But I'm stuck. So today I went to the grocery store in search of the magic item that will both satisfy Joey and satisfy even the smallest of nutritional needs. I ended up with yogurt.

I have never been a huge fan of yogurt because it's loaded with sugar. But yogurt does contain some vitamins and some calcium and a little bit of protein -- 5 grams -- and I opted for the light, fat-free variety which makes me feel better about my purchase. And tomorrow, my experiment begins. If the yogurt container is missing when I open Joey's lunch box after school, I will assume he has eaten the yogurt. If the container is still in the lunch box -- and is still full of yogurt -- I will start back at square one. And I'll just hope he doesn't figure out that he can toss the whole unopened yogurt container right into the trash. Surely, a five-year-old wouldn't think of that. Okay, yes he would.

Even though Joey may not take to my yogurt idea, something good has already come from my purchase of 10 servings of Yoplait Yogurt -- each one features a lid reading Save Lids to Save Lives with a pink breast cancer ribbon printed on the pink foil top. I didn't even notice this until I was in the check-out line, but now I know that for every pink lid I send in, 10 cents will be donated to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. Yoplait will contribute up to $1.5 million and guarantees a $500,000 donation. So regardless of Joey's decision regarding the yogurt, someone will benefit from this purchase -- if only I can convince Joey to save the lids.

And so somehow, helping fund a cure for breast cancer seems easier than convincing my child to try new foods. Both are difficult ventures. And hopefully, a remedy will one day surface for both.

It's kind of a blur how exactly I came to receive a phone call from a volunteer at the American Cancer Society just after my breast cancer diagnosis. I must have checked a box on one of many medical forms shuffled my way during this confusing time. Or I requested assistance from someone, somewhere, at some point in time. I'm not really sure. But I am sure of this -- one very nice woman, a young breast cancer survivor herself, called me one afternoon from the Reach to Recovery program. She asked me about my situation, told me of hers, and led me to resources -- other survivors, support groups, and the fitness group Team Survivor -- and she met me one afternoon with a goodie bag full of information and comforting gifts. She was my first link to the world of breast cancer survivors.

I've come to know this woman in different circles since she first called me. She was a physical therapist at the same center where I received therapy for post-surgery and radiation concerns. She has been present at every walk and fitness event and cancer function I have attended. And she leads the local Team Survivor group -- so I receive e-mails from her about all sorts of events and gatherings and opportunities for joining a spirited group of strong women. And just today, I received an e-mail invitation from her -- intended for all young survivors she knows who might be interested in becoming Reach for Recovery volunteers. I replied instantly. Yes, I want to do it. She happily replied. So in a short time, I will receive training for this very important job.

It's not a hard job -- it just requires some phone calls and a few personal visits. And the ability to share advice. And words of wisdom. And love and care and compassion for those who may not know how to manage during a personal brush with breast cancer. Whether facing a possible breast cancer diagnosis, a new diagnosis, or a troubling time with lymphedema or reconstruction, Reach to Recovery volunteers offer a hand to anyone grasping for assistance.

I must have been grasping during my own difficult time. I just don't remember much about that time. All I know is that someone helped me at a critical time. And now it's my turn to be that someone.

A reader left a comment the other day on the Cancer Blog post death by cancer dims outlook of promise, hope, survival. It was positive and supportive and inspiring -- and sad too. The reader shared that her mother passed away in February after a year-long battle with gallbladder cancer. She wrote that her mother handled her diagnosis, chemotherapy, transfusions, medications -- and her final days -- with true grace. And this is a big deal. Because there is not much information floating around on the topic of this cancer. So this woman didn't have much to cling to. Like I do. As a breast cancer survivor, I have mounds of resources at my disposal. I have books and magazines and websites and blogs that devote generous coverage to breast cancer. There are walks and runs and yard sales and fashion shows and other fundraisers that make breast cancer survivors the lucky recipients of extensive research and study. I see pink ribbons all over town and license plates on the roads and clothing and hats and even tennis shoes that promote breast cancer awareness. I could go on -- and on and on.

Gallbladder cancer is rare. So perhaps that's why there is not an abundance of information on the disease that has no known cause or test to detect its presence in the body. The American Cancer Society estimates that about 8,750 new cases of gallbladder cancer and bile duct cancer (excluding bile ducts within the liver) will be diagnosed in 2006 in the United States. And about 3,260 people will die of these cancers in 2006. Of these new cases and deaths, about half are due to gallbladder cancer, which affects predominantly women and those who are older than 65. Diagnosis of this cancer is difficult because symptoms do not often surface until the late stages when aggressive treatment becomes necessary. Surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation therapy are typical treatment tools, along with palliative therapy to help control or reduce symptoms. There are also drugs currently under study in the areas of both targeted therapy and immunotherapy.

It's good to know that gallbladder cancer is rare -- and that it takes far fewer lives than breast cancer and other diseases -- but for the unfortunate ones who are diagnosed with this life-threatening illness, the lack of information and resources is a truly an unfortunate side effect.

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.

Susan DeWilde left this world in much the same way -- with loved ones by her side. She was a fighter and had conquered several rounds of breast cancer, a tumor in her spinal cord, uterine cancer, lymphatic cancer, and then leukemia, which took her life at the age of 53. I don't know this from Susan herself but from her friend, Christy Mack -- who helped her accept her death and guided her into her own final moments so that she could escape her pain and die peacefully. Christy writes about her beautiful friend and her empowering death in an article that appears in the August 2006 Oprah Magazine. Titled Friends to the End, Christy's story details how she soothed her friend, cradled her hand, and talked her through her last breaths. She helped her on her way during a time her friend feared most. Christy writes, "What she and I shared the night she died was a precious gift of friendship, emotionally profound and sacred in its perfection. It broke my heart. It strengthened my soul."

This I understand.

Internationally acclaimed mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson died Monday in Santa Fe, New Mexico at the age of 52. Hunt Lieberson battled breast cancer in the recent past and had canceled performances in 2005 and 2006 due to back problems -- yet no one was prepared for her death, which occured at her home with her husband by her side. The music world is shocked by her passing. There were no obvious warning signs because Hunt Lieberson often kept her health matters private. No public announcement regarding cause of death has been released.

Known for her beautiful voice -- and a repertoire that ranged from Baroque to contemporary -- the singer, a native of the San Francisco Bay area, began her career as a violist and later became a recitalist, a concert singer, and an operatic performer. She was powerful and polished in her unconventional opera delivery, says Richard Gaddes, director of the Santa Fe opera. She could take her audiences to depths so intense and so true, and her level of commitment will be very difficult to match. She was in a class of her own.

I've always been a fan of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I've been touched, motivated, inspired and brought to tears by the short stories that lie between the covers of these books -- stories that dive into the depths of family and parenthood and work and teaching and death and religion and even cooking. They warm my heart and rejuvenate my spirit. It's been a while since I've read one of these books, though -- it's been a while since I've read any book lately -- and I think I need another serving of chicken soup. Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul is exactly what I need.

A few years ago -- I can't remember exactly when -- I cut bunches of red wavy locks from my friend's head. I tied Amber's thick hair into one big ponytail, and I cut away. It was an extreme haircut for sure. Amber's long hairstyle was transformed into a shoulder-length bob, and for good reason.

Amber sent her 10-inch ponytail to Locks of Love, a non-profit organization that creates human hair wigs and hairpieces from donated hair and gives them to children under the age of 18 who have lost their hair due a medical condition. This was the first time I'd heard of Locks of Love, and I've since met many others who have purposely grown their hair in order to donate it. I have a neighbor who has done it three or four times now. I know two teenage brothers who have cut their long, dark hair for this great cause. And I've known toddlers whose parents have waited for that first haircut until 10 inches could be cut.

Ten inches is the magic number. Once tied into a ponytail, there must be 10 inches of hair hanging beneath the rubber band. The ponytail is cut off and what remains can be cut into a new style. Locks of Love provides the procedures for mailing the hair, and the details can be found on the Locks of Love website.

I was bald this time last year -- after receiving four rounds of toxic chemotherapy for breast cancer -- and I know how devastating hair loss can be. It affected my self-esteem, and I can only imagine how it affects children whose self-esteem is just forming.

You might consider donating your hair so that a child's confidence can be restored during a time that is so difficult and challenging. I will consider it too -- but I must say that for now, I am enjoying watching my new short, brown, curly hair grow and grow and grow.