Seven sweet, simple words were hurled at me last night by my oldest child, Joey -- the boy who makes me as crazy as he does happy.

Joey, six, was all snuggled in bed, cozy with his soft blankets, squishy pillows, and three favorite stuffed puppies. I gave him my usual speech -- Sweet dreams. I love you. Now don't get out of bed -- and then made my usual trek to another room for some me-time. My trip was stopped short, though, because a strong urge inspired me to reverse my steps and return to Joey.

"What are you doing, mommy?" Joey asked as I walked back into the room.

"I thought I'd come rest with you for a little bit," I told him. "Is that OK?" I asked, knowing full well any excuse to avoid sleep is just fine with him

Joey sat straight up, pure joy coloring his tired face. I took this to mean he welcomed my return. And so I crawled into bed and hugged Joey tight. And that's when he spoke the seven words that caused tears to pour from my eyes -- the kind of tears that spill out when the human body can no longer harness its emotion.

The words:

"Mommy, I love you so, so much."

Ever since Joey blessed me with these words, I can't seem to get one thought out of my head.

The thought:

God, I hope I survive cancer long enough to hold this boy in my arms until he is all grown up, until he is wrapping his arms around his own loving child.

I really hope this is not too much to ask.

I feel like I'm spreading a little hope when I wear my Brighton breast cancer bracelet. It catches others' attention and allows me to explain what all the dangling charms represent. That's hopeful. The dollars I spent on the bracelet help fund breast cancer research. That's hopeful. And the bracelet inspires me personally. It reminds me of my journey, of my path ahead. That's hopeful.

So this hopeful piece of jewelry turns out to be a perfect accessory. And so does the Color of Hope ovarian cancer bracelet -- a new, exclusive, charming piece created as just one of many items in a fundraising campaign for The Ovarian Cancer Research Fund. Presented by L'Oreal Paris, the bracelet features an "O" toggle clasp -- a symbol of love, endurance, life, and "O"varian cancer.

The Color of Hope bracelet, available in sterling silver with cubic zirconia or 14K white gold with diamonds, is available online for a limited time.

Other L'Oreal Paris fundraising products -- sporting the ovarian cancer color teal -- include make-up items for the eyes, face, and lips, a body lotion, and a teal RAZR phone program.

Because You're Worth It has been the L'Oreal Paris slogan for more than 30 years. It represents a celebration of women and was created as part of a mission to give back to women and to empower them as they make educated choices about their well-being. And so in the spirit of well-being, the company strives to help women fully understand a disease that strikes about 20,000 women each year in United States -- and kills nearly 15,000 of them.

L'Oreal Paris honors women and the pursuit of their health through The Color of Hope initiative. Because they're worth it.

I was doing fine at my every-three-month oncologist appointment yesterday. I kept my composure while telling my doctor all about my friend Amy who passed away just one month ago, after a short 15-month battle with breast cancer, at the tender age of 35.

As I detailed the story about how Amy's cancer spread to her brain and lungs, how she was given just two to 12 months to live, how she didn't even survive for two months, I saw in his eyes that he knew exactly why I had hand-picked this story just for him. He knew I was trying to determine my own risk for this same outcome -- and so he was understanding and compassionate and comforting in a medical sort of way. And he was convincing -- when he told me he predicts I will absolutely not follow Amy's same path.

I did just fine for our whole exchange. Until this same man shifted from medical speak and asked me the four simple words that never fail to trigger a trail of unstoppable tears.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

He caught me off guard. I'm not sure I was prepared to dive beyond the surface of my emotions, to reveal my true fear of death from the same disease Amy was sure would not kill her. So I cried. And cried. A medical student fetched me a tissue, my doctor stood and touched my shoulder, and my three-year-old Danny watched with concern. I told everyone I was fine -- mostly, I am -- and I dried my tears. Before departing, my doctor hugged me and told me he'd send in a nurse to give me a flu shot.

Danny thought I cried because I was scared of the flu shot. Had it not been for his own appointment later in the day for the same flu shot, I would have let him believe this was the cause of my tears. Instead, I told him I was sad for a friend who was sick. And he was happy -- until a sharp needle pierced the skin of his little leg hours later.

Danny is happy once again. And I am happy too. My appointment revealed nothing suspicious, nothing worrisome, nothing except the fact that my oncologist thinks of me not just as a case, a statistic, a body that once harbored a disease. He thinks of me as a whole person. And that -- more than anything -- is what makes me cry.

Celebrities catch our attention. They cause us to pay attention too -- which is likely why the media uses celebrities and prominent people to send messages about all sorts of issues, like breast cancer.

It's not just the real-life survivor celebrity stories -- about Melissa Etheridge and Elizabeth Edwards and Sheryl Crow -- that make headlines and attract ratings. It's also the portrayal of cancer survivors on television that raises awareness about this disease. It's not a new trend -- it started long ago when All in the Family's Edith Bunker (Jean Stapleton) experienced a breast cancer scare, marking one of the first times the issue of breast cancer was discussed openly on TV.

Tough cop Mary Beth Lacey (Tyne Daly) of the TV show Cagney & Lacey traveled a breast cancer journey. Sisters eldest sister Alex (Swoosie Kurtz) was diagnosed with breast cancer and survived chemotherapy with family by her side. Beverly Hills, 90210 character Brenda Walsh (Shannen Doherty) found a lump in her breast and shed light on the fact that young women are not immune to breast cancer. Sex and the City's Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) developed breast cancer and proudly pulled off her wig on television. The L Word's Dana Fairbanks (Erin Daniels) lost her battle with breast cancer. And on Angela's Eyes, FBI agent Angela Henson recently learned her mother once had breast cancer -- and that it has come back.

There are many others television story lines woven with the thread of breast cancer. They draw viewers and boost ratings. They also raise awareness -- because people pay attention to celebrities.

Makeup artist Lori Ovitz has taken her twenty years of cosmetics experience in making celebrities and top models look beautiful, and written Facing the Mirror with Cancer, a book of tips and techniques to help cancer patients look less tired and create a natural glow at a time when cancer treatments can take a physical toll.

Ovitz began volunteering at University of Chicago hospitals working with cancer patients to teach them how to enhance their personal appearance using makeup. According to Ovitz, "Makeup is a very accessible, inexpensive way to make significant changes to your appearance. The tremendous gratitude that I've received from each patient I've worked with inspired me to write Facing the Mirror with Cancer -- A Guide to Using Makeup to make a Difference."

To publish her book, Ovitz and her husband Bruce, a 35 year cancer survivor, created Belle Press -- named to honor the memory of her grandmother Belle Michel -- so that 50 percent of the profits from the book could go to cancer research.

"Cancer does not have to rob you of self-esteem or beauty. By teaching cancer patients how to apply makeup, I've seen firsthand what an incredible transformation occurs in their appearance and how much better they feel about themselves. I've written this book because I want to reach cancer patients everywhere so they can learn the tricks of my trade," Lori Ovitz states with assurance.

You can order Facing the Mirror with Cancer, a 200-page book featuring step-by-step tips and techniques for dealing with appearance issues during cancer treatment and beyond, here.

For the almost two years I have been receiving treatment for breast cancer, I have traveled the same path -- over and over and over again -- from my house to the hospital and back again. And while I have seen different doctors and received different treatments and visited various departments and locations for all sorts of surgeries and tests and scans and X-rays, the path has remained the same. And after all the time that has passed, the power of the path has never diminished -- despite how familiar it has become.

Today I drove from my house to the hospital for a counseling appointment. I drove the same stretch of highway for a few miles, got off on my usual exit, drove for a few more miles past all the typical shopping centers and restaurants, and came to the light where I always turn left into the Cancer Center. I drove into the parking lot, found a parking space -- thankfully -- and displayed my yellow patient parking permit that allows to park without fear of a $20 ticket. I got out of my car and began my walk to the main hospital where the psychology clinic is located. I passed -- as usual -- the startling crowds of people smoking outside the Cancer Center, the groups of medical students who gather outside the medical facilities, the masses of people in white coats racing around and checking beepers and talking on cell phones. I entered the hospital, traveled to the ground floor, and turned a few corners until I reached my clinic. I checked in, paid my $25 co-pay, and waited for a just a few minutes until I was greeted by my counselor. We walked to a private room, talked for an hour, and then I followed my path in reverse.

The path is always the same. It is routine and predictable and rarely varies. But it has never become dull and I have never become numb to it -- because the power that is wrapped up in my drive and my subsequent steps that take me to and from my destinations still has a tight hold on me. I can travel the same path for other purposes -- to shop or have dinner -- and the power is lost. But when I travel for reasons all about cancer, the power overwhelms me. It happened today -- as I drove listening to the same CD I always play on these missions, as tears filled my eyes. I was not sad -- just overflowing with emotion. Emotion about all that I've encountered -- the encounters with fear and dread and total repulsion and the encounters with hope and joy and pure contentment. Today I felt powerful. Simply powerful. Because I have overcome what has faced me so far and because I am still traveling the same road, the same path to ensure my future health and well-being -- which is something I hope to become all too familiar with.

The dictionary says tears are a liquid produced by the body's process of lacrimation to clean and lubricate the eyes. As humans we also produce tears in response to extreme pain, or from an emotional response of sadness.  Sometimes we cry when we are happy and excited or extremely joyful.

So when the tears clean and lubricate our eyes, do they clean our minds and soul too? Shin Buddhism believes in the gift of tears as a way to cleanse the soul and heart. Christians as well believe tears to be a spiritual gift, "Blessed are you that weep now, for you shall laugh" (Luke 6.21)