Heavy head. Heavy body. Sore throat. Sore gums. Swollen lymph nodes. Fever blister. Hurts to chew. Hurts to swallow. Hurts to recall last time symptoms appeared. During chemotherapy.

Drugs attacking cells. Body weak. Blood counts plummeting. Body crashing. Headache. Fever. Sore throat. Sore gums. Trip to hospital. For five days. For antibiotics. For opinions. For constant monitoring. For daily shots to rebuild blood.

Phone call to dentist who knows my burden. Of worry. And fear. And anxiety. That never really goes away. Always reappears. A virus, he says. All of it. The throat. The gums. The lymph nodes. The fever blister. Nothing more. Should last five to seven days. Don't worry. Relax. Call if it gets worse.

Feeling better. Feeling emotional. Because people are so kind. Like my dentist. Who eased my mind. Soothed my soul.

Time to march forward. For myself. For today.

I have a new friend who is a new breast cancer survivor. She is surviving a new diagnosis, a recent lumpectomy, and the moments leading up to another surgery to further investigate the margins surrounding the tumor removed from her breast. She is surviving the first phase of her breast cancer journey. A phase full of uncertainty and fear and panic. A phase so new and so fresh and so raw, her mind is whirling. A phase that has her grasping for any bit of direction she can find as she navigates a terrifying, unfamiliar road.

My friend is a young wife and mother whose worries are consuming her. She e-mailed me today and asked if I ever have moments when I look at my young children and worry that cancer will take me from them while they are young. She asked if I have always been so sure I will be okay. And so I replied with this candid cancer confession.

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has announced a new warning labeling change regarding bevacizumab (Avastin) a cancer drug currently in use to treat colorectal cancer, that state an increased risk for a brain-bleeding condition and potential nasal septum perforation that can create a hole in the nose for those patients being treated with Avastin. The rare brain-capillary leak can trigger headache, seizure, blindness and other vision and neurological problems.

The FDA has published a letter sent by Genentec to healthcare providers notifying them of the new warnings, available as a pdf document.

In the meantime, Avastin's drug maker Genentech has asked for FDA approval for the drug in the treatment of advanced lung cancer and breast cancer.

I was in the emergency room the other night with my three-year-old who was experiencing a mysterious leg pain that resulted from a bad case of strep throat. It wasn't serious enough to warrant swift movement from the waiting room to an actual room and we sat in a holding pattern with a crowd of other patients, some of whom were still waiting after Danny had been treated and released. I was told patients are served in the order in which they arrive but also according to the seriousness of their complaints -- which takes me back to the night I was in the ER with a fever, headache, sore throat, and sore gums. The night I was given a mask and was immediately escorted from the waiting room to a private room where doctors and nurses treated me for neutropenia -- a condition caused by chemotherapy and marked by a drop in neutrophil levels, a condition that puts chemotherapy patients at great risk for infection. This was the second time I went to the hospital for neutropenia. Both times I was admitted and treated for five days.

And so sitting in the ER reminded me about how serious chemotherapy side effects can be. And it makes me want to caution all chemotherapy patients to never dismiss the signs that the body is suffering -- to never tough it out with the hope that a good night's sleep or a few days rest will straighten everything out. Because it may not -- and the end result may be tragic.

All chemotherapy patients should be briefed by their medical teams about when to call for medical assistance. For me, a temperature of 100.4 was the magic call-for-help signal. And twice, I called for help -- once in the middle of the night. But any symptoms , and definitely a combination of symptoms, are cause enough for a simple phone call. So don't delay. Don't excuse warning signs that your body is struggling. Don't second-guess your decision to notify a medical professional about your symptoms. Just call. It could save your life.

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.