I'm a little tired of reading and writing about sunscreen. Maybe it's not the actual reading and writing that has me worn out. Maybe it's the realization that I keep reading and writing about sunscreen yet the information is just not sinking in with the masses of sun-hungry people out there -- according to the EPA, there has been a staggering 1,800 percent increase in malignant melanoma cases since 1930. Recent figures show a shocking rise in skin cancers among those in their 20s and 30s.

The experts at Canyon Ranch are weighing in on sunscreen. So here I go again, with some more about this tiring topic.

• Sunscreen contains unique chemical components which absorb ultraviolet (UV) light. When applied to the skin, the chemical molecules form an invisible, protective layer that repels the penetrating UV rays. It also helps prevent premature aging and pre-cancerous growths.

Leroy Sievers has many titles. He's a journalist and a commentator and even a blogger. He's a cancer patient too. And while he accepts cancer patient as one of his working titles, he never would have said this title dominates all others in his life. He is, after all, more than cancer.

On his December 4 NPR podcast and My Cancer blog entry, Sievers reports about a host on a radio call-in show who recently asked him if cancer overshadows everything else in his life.

"No," he answered, recalling the first time he had cancer. He was treated with surgery and moved on. Cancer didn't overshadow anything. But that cancer was different than the cancer now invading his lungs, spine, and brain. And after a bit of thought, Sievers thinks he may have been too quick with his radio response.

This cancer is not a drive-by-disease, he says. It's grabbed him -- and is holding on. It has changed his entire life. He can no longer do everything he once did. And not a day goes by without a reminder of cancer. The treatment, the nausea, the tingling in his hands. Cancer is with him all the time, lurking in the shadows.

Whether he gets the pleasure of remission or the disappointment of a set-back, Sievers realizes he will always be a cancer patient. He realizes that cancer does in fact overshadow everything else in his life.

Previous posts about the cancer journey of Leroy Sievers are as follows:

Journalist Leroy Sievers adjusts to newfound hope
War journalist now witnessing his own cancer death
NPR Leroy Sievers blogs My Cancer

I heard a man interviewed on the news the other night who said the side effects of chemotherapy make him feel so poorly, so unlike he once felt. Recently, however, he discovered a remedy that makes him feel better, more like he did before chemotherapy took its toll on his well-being. His remedy -- reflexology.

Reflexology does not erase the side effects of chemotherapy, but it can provide relief for patients whose lives are altered by chemotherapy-induced nausea, pain, fatigue, and anxiety.

Reflexology, or zone therapy, is the application of pressure, stretch, and movement to the feet and hands in order to break up patterns of stress in corresponding parts of the body. There are many theories about how this practice actually works -- one is that applied pressure signals the nervous system to initiate changes in the brain which promotes inner balance. Still, all theories operate according to the belief that reflexology reduces stress and anxiety and lessens overall wear and tear on the body systems. And many medical professionals are incorporating this therapy into their cancer care programs.

Some doctors are not so quick to embrace this complementary therapy that has no real scientific backing. They believe reflexology is nothing more than a pseudoscience, offering the same benefits as massage.

The enthusiastic man I watched on the news is not concerned with popular opinion on the zone therapy he receives on his feet. It makes him feel better -- and that's all that concerns him.

Leroy Sievers is a journalist who has spent a long career covering dozens of wars. He is accustomed to seeing other people die. But now, he is witnessing his own death. And on a recent NPR podcast, Sievers talks about how his doctors are trying to kill him by pumping poisonous chemotherapy drugs into his body. They haven't succeeded in killing him yet -- but they haven't cured him of cancer yet either.

Blogger Dalene Entenmann wrote about Sievers on July 3, 2006, pointing readers in the direction of his NPR blog My Cancer. Since her posting, Sievers has continued to reflect on his battle and on October 3, he shared an essay about chemotherapy -- the same essay he reads on the NPR poscast. He tells readers and listeners that nowadays he reports for chemotherapy every three weeks and sits for five or six hours while drugs sail through his veins. The drugs just keep coming -- and a vacation from this drug treatment is nowhere in sight. It's become a way of life for a man who is simply buying time. It is a changed life -- one he would happily live without.

Sievers, who thought he won the war against colon cancer and is now fighting brain and lung cancer, wakes each morning and feels pretty good -- as long as he stays in bed. When he gets up, the nausea begins and the tingling in his hands and feet begins. It takes him hours to get going, and eating is the last thing on his mind. But he takes pills that require food so giving up food is not an option. Sievers fights through debilitating fatigue each day, and no longer schedules anything in the morning. Mid-day -- when he feels pretty good -- is when he packs in appointments and meetings. But it all wipes him out and by the end of the day, the nausea and fatigue is back. One-quarter of one day, and Sievers is totally spent. And then each evening is a repeat of each morning.

Sievers is trying a new drug and hopes it will shrink his tumor. He doesn't want to get his hopes up though, and he fears disappointment. Mostly, though, he wants his old life back. Even if just for a few days.

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.

I was hospitalized twice last year for chemo-induced fever and low blood counts. My first stay came at a busy time -- the hospital's oncology floor was full and there was no space for me. So I was admitted to the bone marrow transplant unit as an overflow patient and suddenly -- even in my very sick and compromised state -- I became the healthiest person on the floor. My white blood count was 700 -- sounded pretty bad to me -- but some of the patients staying on this floor with me had no blood counts because in order to receive a transplant, their own bone marrow is completely depleted in order to prepare for new bone marrow. Patients on this floor are considered pretty healthy when their counts reach 500. I was considered sick and was hospitalized at 700. Adults and children on this floor stay in rooms behind glass panels and with special -- and loud -- air flow systems that push germs out of the room. Visitors must wear gowns and shoe covers and must wash their hands before entering the rooms. Patients might stay on this floor for months at a time, receiving chemotherapy and preparing for their eventual bone marrow transplants. Some patient rooms are decorated and arranged just like home. Parents prepare rooms for children with play areas and craft areas and television areas. This floor is home to many sick children -- and this is what affected me most. For my five days on the bone marrow transplant unit, I gained an up-close and personal look at what many parents and children encounter when cancer derails their lives. It was so much more than I had to encounter. It must be quite an undertaking to prepare a child for this experience.

I picked up a coloring book the day I was discharged and walked off this floor and back into my own life. It's a coloring book that comes from The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and is made by bone marrow transplant patients for children preparing for their own transplants. There is a poster for children to color and hang on their hospital room walls that says I Will Get Well, there is a page that terms chemo and radiation as Laser Rays and Guard Dogs and pages that help children visualize happy moments -- like playing a favorite sport or activity and jumping rope in the warm sunshine. This book reminds children that it is okay to cry and it even includes a prescription: Make sure you get at least one hug every day!

The overall message of this coloring book, which is stated in writing is, "A good attitude does not mean being cheerful all the time; it just means that you know that this is necessary to help fight your cancer."  Well said. And something I will always remember.

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.

500 years ago, Ponce De Leon, one of the explorers who sailed with Christopher Columbus, became famous when he set off in search of the fountain of youth. He heard stories about a magical water source that could keep a person young. He didn't find the magical water source, but he did find Florida. Aging, and how to stop the hands of time, are still of interest to scientists today. They are simply a different kind of explorer, who use microscopes instead of ships, in the voyage of their explorations. We are human, and humans want to live long and remain young longer.

Aging increases the risk for cancer. So, in a study of how aging works on a cellular level, scientists are also studying how cancer works on a cellular level. Buck Institute in the USA and the University of Manchester in the UK researchers found a protein that plays a role in aging and is linked to cancer prevention -- in the checkpoint  proteins of the nematode worm. By removing some of the proteins, they could increase the lifespan of the worm by 15 to 30 percent. This could open the door to understanding why some people seem genetically programmed for longevity and also seem to have a greater resistance in the development of cancers.

Get Hands On has joined with the Entertainment Industry Foundation and the Revlon/UCLA Women's Cancer Research Program, to offer a special thank you limited-edition celebrity handprint t-shirt for those who donate $45 dollars or more to the foundation for breast and ovarian cancer awareness and research programs. Available while supplies last. Contribute to making a difference for breast and ovarian cancers -- and get a conversational t-shirt in the process.

The Women's Cancer Research Fund, a program of the Entertainment Industry Foundation, was established to support research, education, and outreach programs for more effective approaches to the early diagnosis, treatment and prevention of all women's cancers. Honorary chairs include Kate Capshaw and Rita Wilson.

Jeannette, a breast cancer survivor who blogs Two Hands, in addition to being the founder of the Traveling Hope Project, has uploaded the first scanned images of the traveling journals. The Traveling Hope Project began as a conversation between bloggers who maintain cancer blogs, as an idea for creating community journals that will be shared as part of a real world traveling exhibit to bring awareness to the personal life experiences of those touched by cancer. Eventually, copies of the journals will be mass produced and distributed to cancer patients and their families, at no cost. All who have been touched by cancer are invited to contribute to the journals. Be sure to take a visit and see the personal artwork and wonderfully handwritten entries.