I had a free massage the other day, compliments of a local massage workshop called Caring for Clients with Cancer.

This hands-on gift came to me by way of a woman who was once a scientist and is now a massage therapist. Concerned that cancer patients are rarely encouraged to cash in on the benefits of touch therapy, this woman merged her two disciplines so she could help patients heal in a holistic manner. And so her workshop was born. And I was invited to take part.

I received one completely soothing and invigorating massage. I also received one completely inspiring packet of quotes -- that I've already read over and over again -- related to recovery and healing. Each quote is so perfect in its message, and I wish I could share them all today. But time and space are limited at the moment, and I can only share a few.

So here are seven of my favorite quotes, free for the taking, a gift from me to you. Take a moment to read them, share them, savor them, and quietly reflect on the power of these simple words.

People who have been through illness's dark passage can occasionally give us a glimpse, not only of what it is like to become whole, but of what it is to be more fully human.
--Marc Ian Barasch
The Healing Path

Those who have suffered understand suffering and therefore extend their hand.
--Patti Smith

What matters is this: you can look at a scar and see hurt or you can look at a scar and see healing. Try to understand.
--Sheri Reynolds

I have a duty to speak the truth as I see it and to share not just my triumphs, not just the things that felt good, but the pain, the intense, often unmitigating pain. It is important to share how I know survival is survival and not just a walk through the rain.
--Audre Lorde

Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.
--Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor

Remember that everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something, and has lost something.
--H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Patience is a hard discipline. It is not just waiting until something happens over which we have no control; the arrival of the bus, the end of the rain, the return of a friend, the resolution of a conflict. Patience is not waiting passively until someone else does something. Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. When we are impatient, we try to get away from where we are. We behave as if the real thing will happen tomorrow, later, and somewhere else. Let's be patient and trust that the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand.
--Henry J.M. Nouwen

Danny became aware of my port just before it was removed. He was only 18 months old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and my journey went pretty much unnoticed by this small boy who had no idea ports were not standard on every person he met. Now he is three years old and even though he still has no real idea why a port popped up from underneath my skin for two years, he did come to realize it was something akin to a boo-boo that one day goes away.

My port went away on September 15. And ever since that day, Danny has been very concerned about the incision that marks the spot once home to a foreign device. For one week after my port removal, my incision was covered. Danny wondered why. I told him I was healing, that I had to keep my boo-boo protected, that I could not take a shower because it could not get wet. Danny was very attentive. He pulled at the neck of my shirt every time I held him to sneak a peak at the site of my surgery. He asked if it hurt, if doctors cut me with a knife, if new skin was growing underneath my bandage. "Yes", "yes", and "yes." I told him. And one day when I decided to take a shower, despite orders to keep the area completely dry, Danny said, "The doctor said you cannot take a shower." I told him, "I know." And he said, "But actually you did take a shower." I told him he was right and hoped he would not pursue my disobedience any further. He did not -- he was just checking up on me, he was just concerned about me, he was just wondering if I may have compromised something. I told him I was fine.

I did not do any damage with my rebellious shower, my bandage is off, and Danny only peeks once in a while to monitor the area. He is mostly back to his normal life, free from all nursing duties. And I am mostly back to life, free from my port and happily showered in love by my littlest guy -- the guy who was once oblivious to all things cancer related, the guy who somehow became my caregiver.

When Someone You Love Is Being Treated for Cancer is a book of tips and insight from caregivers for caregivers when it comes to the needs and issues of being a caregiver for a loved one diagnosed with cancer. Published online by The National Cancer Institute, the introduction states, "The purpose of this book is to focus on you and your needs."

In reviewing it, I found it to be a valuable and realistic resource for family members who find themselves in the role of caregiver because a loved one has been diagnosed with cancer.

Before my radiation for breast cancer, I heard horror stories about the treatment. I heard that I might be extremely tired and severely burned and that I might feel generally unwell for the time it would take to completely zap any and all traces of cancer surrounding my breast. But my own radiation wasn't all that bad -- and really, the worst part of the whole therapy for me was the drive to and from the cancer center every day for seven weeks. It was a hassle, a nuisance, a bother. There were other small annoyances throughout the course of my radiation, but they were minimal -- thanks to some secrets that were shared with me along the scorching path of radiation and beyond. And here are seven of them.