Living Beyond Breast Cancer (LBBC) -- a nonprofit organization dedicated to empowering all women affected by breast cancer to live as long as possible with the best quality of life -- recently began offering a new resource for breast cancer survivors, for both the newly diagnosed and those with metastatic disease.

"The first few weeks after diagnosis can be extremely difficult emotionally, and women with advanced disease often do not get the support and resources they need," said Jean Sachs, LBBC executive director. "We want to give them an understanding of their choices to help them make informed decisions regarding their physical and emotional health."

This understanding comes in the form of a 28-page brochure -- What to expect . . . today, tomorrow and beyond: Steps for coping with the medical, emotional and practical concerns of breast cancer -- available free on the Internet or by request. This guide, a road map, addresses topics such as coping with the news of a new diagnosis, telling family and friends, understanding pathology reports, choosing a medical team, asking for help, and finding support.

LBBC offers multiple addidtional resources -- including specialized navigation tools on its website that lead to a wealth of information. Visitors can Learn More about LBBC. They can Stay Informed through news, message boards, and other resources. They can Participate in events and programs. And they can Support LBBC through volunteer efforts and financial donations.

LBBC was founded in 1991 by a radiation oncologist who focused exclusively on meeting the needs of women post-treatment. She ran the organization out of the third floor of her home using volunteers. Few resources existed for women affected by breast cancer at the time, and so she tried to fill the void. In 1986, an executive director came on board, increased the LBBC budget from $100,000 to $1.8 million per year, expanded all programs and services, and worked to secure LBBC as a solid, dependable resource for all women, of all stages of breast cancer and in all phases of treatment and recovery. And now, in 2006, that is exactly what it is.

It's day 15 in this Breast Cancer Awareness Month and the survivors spotlighted on this site are stacking up. Yet we've only just scratched the surface of breast cancer survivor stories. And by the end of October, we will have only featured a very small sample of survivors everywhere. There are countless others with their own powerful stories. It's sad there are so many stories shaped by breast cancer. It's empowering too -- because breast cancer survivors are a passionate bunch. They are passionate in their fights, passionate in their beliefs, passionate in their willingness to help others.

A passionate bunch of survivors can be found here on The Cancer Blog. They are all women, of various ages, with various backgrounds, defined by different experiences. They are also quite the same -- for they have all been touched by breast cancer. And their words of wisdom are strikingly similar, despite the contrast in characteristics that define these women and their very individual battles with breast cancer.

Here are seven survivor similarities worth spotlighting.

I just read a breast cancer survivor's commentary about the color pink -- about how she hates pink, is sick of seeing pink, is tired of companies capitalizing on the breast cancer color in order to sell products. She calls the color wimpy and too feminine -- and while she accepts that she may just be grumpy about this topic, she is not too happy that pink is the color that symbolizes a serious disease. She would have preferred red or purple, colors that signify strength and power. But pink is what we've got -- and I happen to be okay with it.

I'm okay with pink because I like the color. I'm okay with it because it's recognizable -- and there can't be too many people out there who don't know that pink and breast cancer go hand in hand. To me, the color itself raises awareness. If I buy a pink vacuum cleaner and am reminded of the words breast and cancer each time I suck up dirt from my carpet, then I'm in the loop -- even if minimally. And if it prompts me to check my own breasts or schedule a screening appointment, then I benefit. I'm not sure a green vacuum cleaner would have the same effect. And when I wear my new Key to the Cure t-shirt -- with a pink ribbon gracing the front -- and someone inquires about the shirt, I will have an opportunity to spread some words about breast cancer. Pink doesn't have to be wimpy. It can be powerful.

There are surely companies out there taking advantage of the color pink because it sells. But if sales truly benefit breast cancer research, then it's a win-win situation in my opinion. I am happy that $31 of my $35 t-shirt goes directly to breast cancer initiatives. Sure, the shirt was a bit expensive. But so is breast cancer -- and I have the bills to prove it -- so if simply buying a pink ribbon t-shirt allows me to walk around as a billboard and allows breast cancer research some more momentum, then I am game.

I will wear my new shirt when I run in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer 5K event in two weeks. And I will wear a bright pink ribbon in my hair. And I may even wear pink shorts. Because I think pink is empowering. And I'm happy it's everywhere -- because it illustrates that breast cancer is everywhere. And that is not okay.

Today marks the beginning of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And today, I realize how aware I am of breast cancer -- how much more aware I am than ever before, compliments of a personal encounter with a disease that snuck up on me with no warning and thrust me into a two-year battle that physically, has just ended. Emotionally, the trek continues. But it's not horrible and it's not disabling -- anymore. On most days, it's enlightening, empowering, strengthening.

I think it's the brush with mortality that woke me up to the privileged life I live. Cancer allows me to wake in the morning feeling alive. It allows me to fall asleep at night feeling thankful. And every day, I am totally, completely, acutely aware of how absolutely lucky I am to be living.

There was a time when October was nothing more than another month to me -- a month that stood out only for the onset of autumn and falling leaves and halloween and trick-or-treat. Now I know October for Breast Cancer Awareness Month -- the month belonging to millions of women living with breast cancer and the millions who need to prepare for a possible breast cancer strike. It's a powerful month, jam-packed with events and activities and promotions and media attention. It's a sad month, marking the loss of life for so many who could not conquer an evil disease. It's a happy month, symbolic of life that goes on despite this same evil disease. It's a month that allows me a lifetime membership. A month that will always be on my radar. A month I can call my own -- a month I am proud to call my own.

I never thought the time would come when I could fill a page with names of people I know who have cancer or have died from cancer. When my mom's very best friend died years and years ago of pancreatic cancer, it seemed a remote chance that something like that would happen to someone I know. And then slowly, either because cancer cases increased or because my awareness increased -- or both -- my list of people with cancer grew and grew and grew. And now it's quite long. And it's quite disturbing. And it's empowering too -- because most people on my growing list are surviving. And here are seven survivors who are somehow connected to me -- seven survivors who make up just the tip of the cancer iceberg in my life that stretches far and wide.

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.

Five women.  Five different stories and experiences.  Five breast cancer survivors.  All sharing their messages of struggle and hope and survival in ways they may not have imagined when they first gathered in September 2004 for a writing and theatre workshop with Sacred Cliffs Productions. They debuted a stage performance in December 2004 titled Bosom Buddies: An exploration of breast cancer in the words of survivors and were met with a tremendous response.  After much regional media coverage and offers to tour the New England area with their inspiring messages, Sacred Cliffs is committing their work to a screen adaptation called Getting It Off Our Chests.

Sacred cliffs are those moments we all know so well -- moments when something life-changing happens in our worlds and our only choice is to step off the cliff into uncharted territory.  We all handle these cliffs differently.  Some jump off with eagerness and excitement; some with uncertainty; some with fear and dread.  Regardless, we all have a story to tell once the jump is complete. Just like these five women who share with their audiences stories full of courage, laughter, fear, pain -- stories about life beyond breast cancer.

Getting It Off Our Chests, funded by a non-profit organization, is told by the women themselves, in their own words.  Already, thousands of people have witnessed the wonder of this performance -- a performance that will surely touch the lives of all who hear the empowering voices of these five women.