When I told my husband that the use of cannabis is being linked to a five percent increase in lung cancer risk -- that's 15 new cases each year in New Zealand where a study was just conducted -- he seemed to think this risk is comparable to his dying from a grasshopper landing in his eye.

A scientist John is not, but his thoughts on the matter seem to parallel international thinking on the drug which goes something like this: the risk marijuana use has on cancer incidence is so very low it's hardly worthy of much worry.

A California study of more than 1600 people last year found no link between cancer and smoking the drug, despite researchers' prediction they would find some kind of connection.

New Zealand researchers have found a connection, though, and however small it may seem, they say it's significant.

They found the risk of developing lung cancer increased by about eight percent each year for people whose cumulative exposure equated to smoking one joint per day -- about the same as the increase for someone who smokes one pack of cigarettes per day. They also found the younger someone starting smoking cannabis, the greater the risk and that contributing risk factors include smokers' deeper inhalation and the tendency to hold smoke in their lungs.

Cannabis, the most commonly used recreational drug in the world with 161 million users, has been thought to have a protective effect against cancer due to its chemical THC, which appears to kill aging cells and keep them from becoming cancerous. This study may prove otherwise.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer almost two years ago, my greatest fear was losing my hair. The fear was consuming, painful, over-the-top. That was long ago -- and I survived. I can look back now and realize that the panic about losing my hair was such a small-scale fear -- compared to what I fear now. Now I fear a recurrence of cancer. And it's a whole lot more disabling than a little worry about being bald.

I have a few techniques for settling my fears when they get out of control. Sometimes I take deep breaths. Sometimes I distract myself and occupy my mind with something more pleasant than anxiety -- like writing, exercising, playing with my little boys. And sometimes I read about others who have come before me and have handled the same distress I sometimes feel about cancer taking up residence in my body again. Mostly I learn from stories of other women who have survived breast cancer. And I learn that I can handle the fear, that I can handle cancer if it does come back. And the women I find most inspiring are those who have had a recurrence -- or two or three -- and who still manage to happily tackle the life they have in front of them. They give me hope that if a recurrence comes my way, I too can conquer it. And here are seven snippets of hope from the book Hope Lives! The After Breast Cancer Treatment Survival Handbook -- from women who keep on surviving breast cancer.

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.