Of 1,500 foods tested in a University of Oslo study, blackberries were identified as nature's top cancer fighter.

Blackberries apparently have the highest antioxidant content per serving of any food tested. And a compound found in fresh blackberries appears to stop the development of skin tumors and lung cancer cells.

Think about this:

This sweet and juicy fruit, available year-round but plentiful and perfectly potent in April and May, was promoted in a television commercial that aired during the recent Michigan-Ohio State football game.

Ohio State University is a recipient of federal grants to study the health effects of blackberries, and the student who appeared in the TV ad plugged the school's research into the cancer fighting effects of blackberries. Now that's some good press.

Somehow, Amy -- my friend whose cancer has spread to her brain and lungs just five months after her initial treatment for breast cancer -- ended up comforting me today when we spoke about her shocking news. Somehow, Amy is the strong one -- convinced that she will live long after the year she was given to survive this cancer metastasis while I feel somewhat defeated. Somehow, Amy is approaching this ordeal with spunk and grace -- while I feel a bit deflated. Somehow, Amy is teaching me that attitude is everything. That there is still hope. That she can outlive the statistics and numbers that predict she will not fare well. Somehow, Amy is strengthening me through her difficult moments. Somehow, she is worrying about me -- the one not experiencing the blow of a cancer recurrence.

Somehow, Amy -- with more on her plate than any one person should have to manage -- has already established that she is a fighter. That she will fight for her life. That she will survive. Somehow, she makes me feel better.

On August 9, Patty was diagnosed with breast cancer. She is 36 years old, a wife, a mother of four children -- and already a fighter in her battle that has just begun. So far, she has endured surgery, and she will soon proceed through months of intensive chemotherapy, one year of Herceptin treatment, and weeks and weeks of radiation. It's a familiar path for so many women -- a path marked by devastation, fear, worry, and panic. Yet if there is a gift that flows from cancer, it must be the support and concern and love that can cushion the blow delivered by this disease.

Patty has an abundance of support -- and it all starts with her husband, ironically an administrator of two cancer centers, who is blogging her journey with great strength and an overwhelming love for his wife whose own mother died of breast cancer in 1992 at the age of 46. Patty and her husband have been vigilant about monitoring her health over the years -- in light of her family history -- and Patty had been tested, screened, biopsied, and examined many times before her diagnosis. When her recent tests and biopsies revealed breast cancer, it was both shocking and expected.

Now Patty and her husband -- who authors the blog Patty's Journey -- are expecting the best of outcomes on this journey of a lifetime.

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.

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.

Adriene's blog was the first I'd found when I was searching for information on breast cancer just after my own diagnosis with this life-threatening disease.  It was a good find because while Adriene and I were to travel different paths in our fights against cancer, our timelines were similar – we were diagnosed at about the same time (about 18 months ago), experienced chemotherapy and its side effects at about the same time, lost our hair at the same time, and we currently share very similar dark locks now that chemo is complete and our hair is returning.  I have never met Adriene and only know her through the e-mail and comments we have both left for each other on our respective blogs.  But Adriene was my first real sister through this breast cancer journey and I feel like I know her well – maybe it's the common road we are traveling and our worries, hopes, and dreams that are strikingly alike.  Our blogs are different, however.  While mine relies heavily on the written word – and includes a few photos – Adriene's blog features mostly photos and uses text on a minimum basis.  It's powerful and inspiring and so worth a visit.  Adriene is a survivor.  A fighter.  A cancer hero.