Here's my problem with health-related advice and wisdom -- it's always changing. And I'm never sure if I'm buying into the right practice. Should I eat low-fat foods, for example, or should I stick with moderate amounts of regular food? Is red meat a good source of protein and other goodies or a direct path to breast cancer recurrence? Will sunscreen save my life or cause malignant lesions to develop on my fair skin?

How about drinking eight glass of water a day? Maybe yes. Maybe no, according to experts who say we get water from sources other than diet alone and while we do need to replace water lost through breathing, urination, and sweating each day, our lost fluids do not total 64 ounces. And it seems we can drink too much water. This can lead to an imbalance of sodium and a condition called hyponatremia.

Vitamin supplements? Eat a good amount of fruits, veggies, whole grains, low-fat dairy, protein, and the right amount of calories and you don't need a multivitamin. But most of us don't eat right. So we probably need one.

OK. Now breathe. Take it all in. Filter it. Use it. Abandon it. As for me -- I'm going with the tactic mentioned above several times -- moderation. Seems to me this approach is the key to both health and happiness.

This is my port. It looks to me like a bottle cap sewn under the skin on my chest. My son Joey -- he is five years old --  calls it my stone and his brother Danny -- he just turned three -- at one time thought everyone must have this same boo-boo. He would look for it, feel for it, hunt for it. But mine is the only port he could actually locate and now that he's getting older, he is not so concerned with it anymore.

My concern about the port is that everyone who needs chemotherapy should have one. It's the alternative to receiving IV sticks in the arms and hands and except for one quick stick that can sting -- I use a 5% lidocaine numbing cream prior to my infusion and with this miracle lotion, I don't feel a thing -- it is quick and painless. My port is a one-stop shop. Once accessed, blood can be drawn, drugs and fluids can be infused, shots can be injected, and at the end of treatment, an injection of blood thinner keeps the line clear and clean. The line attached to the port underneath my skin travels into large veins in a direct and efficient manner. While hospitalized for chemo-induced fever and low blood counts, I received antibiotics and a blood transfusion through this method. There was one stick when I was admitted and for my five-day stay, I never had to be poked again.

My port, called Infuse-a-Port®, was implanted during a minor outpatient surgery with use of a local anesthesia and it was ready for use immediately after the procedure.

My port has been used for 16 months now and will no longer be necessary at the end of July -- this is when the last drops of Herceptin will sail through my veins. Then I get to decide whether to keep my port or have it removed. It can stay for many years as long as it is flushed once each month. The superstitious part of me thinks I should keep it for future use -- if necessary -- and the rational part of me thinks I need to get rid of this bottle cap because I may never need it again. Regardless, I love my port. It has eased the discomfort of chemotherapy and for that, I am grateful.