Gardening is good for the soul. I'm sure of it. It did wonders for my grandma, who planted and flowered and blossomed for most of her life and long after her rounded back and arthritic fingers told her to stop. She just couldn't help herself -- the fruits of the earth brought her such joy that the toll hard labor took on her body was somehow worth every trace of dirt that crumbled beneath her fingertips.

In my own small way, I can't resist either. I'm no lifelong gardener or anything. I'm more of a spur-of-the-moment kind of girl. And I haven't a green thumb on either of my hands. My flowers always seem to die. Because no matter how much I love them at the beginning of the warm season, I end up neglecting them.

I tell my husband every year, "Please remind me not to buy flowers this year." It just seems silly to spend so much money only to toss my dead blooms after they wither and shrivel. So my husband reminds me. And I go right back out and buy more. Like I did today.

I spent about an hour with my little boys shoveling dirt and arranging red and orange and yellow and white flowers in all sorts of pots. It was a priceless hour -- although really it cost me about 60 bucks. It was refreshing and rejuvenating and in a way, healing.

I know the effects of today's flower therapy will fade, just as the flowers themselves will fail to thrive. But I also know I will do it all again next year. Because it's good for my soul. And I just can't resist.

I've never had a problem with crying. My tears of joy and sorrow have always flowed easily, and I have never regretted shedding any one of them. I once told a college student I mentored who was hesitant to cry over a work-related scenario that I cry all the time. She later told me my confession sticks in her mind -- my ability and willingness to cry freely, without reservation. I told her I consider crying a cleansing, therapeutic process. I told her that I always feel replenished after a good cry. And I still believe this, years and years after my encounter with this student.

I cried just a few days ago while talking to my doctor and then my mom about how cancer may prevent me from having another child, if not physically, then emotionally. I just don't know if I could peacefully experience a pregnancy with the fear of cancer recurrence. And this makes me cry. Because I want another child. But I don't think I will have one. I cried at my oncologist appointment the other day while talking about the death of a friend. I cry while reading certain books and while watching sad movies and television shows. Two nights ago, I cried while watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, about a breast cancer survivor. I cry when recalling the births of my babies and while marveling at my little growing boys. And I know I will cry when I read a journal a friend just shared with me, written by his uncle who lost a daughter to brain cancer.

Tears cleanse my soul. And sometimes, they complicate matters. They make me wonder how well I am, two years after my cancer diagnosis. I interpret my tears now more than ever, in an effort to determine how well I am coping with life in survival mode. I wonder if the tears that frequently well up in my eyes are normal or if they are indicative of the depression that prompted my oncologist to prescribe an anti-depressant. I consider that perhaps I should be better able to handle some topics, some situations, some tough experiences without becoming weepy. And I also realize that perhaps my tears are completely normal, that I could be ultra sensitive to my every emotion, that as long as I feel happy and function easily, I am just fine.

I plan to iron all this out at my next and final counseling session that I need to schedule. This closing session will allow me to wrap up two year's worth of cancer issues, to close one chapter of my life and begin another. I just need to make the appointment. Which I have yet to do. Because contemplating the end of something so healing seems so daunting. And for better or for worse, this makes me cry.

My own oncologist did it just two days ago. He checked in on my mental health, asked how I was surviving, and eased my fear of cancer recurrence and possible death. He reached beyond the medical scope of our relationship -- literally. He placed a hand on my shoulder. He offered me a hug. He cared.

Yet many doctors refrain from reaching too far into the lives of the patients they treat. They stay at a distance. They focus on merely replacing illness with health. This is, after all, the purpose of medicine -- to fix people.

Dr. Jeremy Geffen, author of The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person, shares in his book that "at present, doctors focus primarily on the physical characteristics of their patients -- bones and organs, tissue samples, test results, height, weight, and age. Yet in each of us, there is a rich mental, emotional, and spiritual reality that influences, even directs the course of our lives."

Conventional medicine responds to cancer patients with surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and other treatment protocols to essentially get rid of the cancer. Physical signs, symptoms, and responses are carefully monitored -- while other areas of patients' lives receive little attention.

A whole component of true medical care is missing -- as doctors may feel unprepared to address emotional issues, and time restraints allow for limited interaction between doctor and patient.

Geffen believes the ultimate purpose of medicine is to help all beings "experience unbounded love, joy, and inner peace, and to know this is the essence of who we truly are." This purpose, he believes, deserves as much attention as the purpose of treating symptoms and curing disease.

And so Geffen created a program based on his Seven Levels of Healing -- a program that includes both the relative and ultimate purposes of medicine, both the doing and the being.

Level One: Education and Information -- provides basic information about cancer and treatment options and encourages patients to actively participate in and obtain benefit from their care.

Level Two: Connection with Others -- explores the importance of reaching out to others for comfort and support on the journey through cancer.

Level Three: The Body as Garden -- invites patients and family members to see the human body as growing and evolving, as a complex garden rather than a machine. This level touches on good nutrition, exercise, massage, acupuncture, and a variety of complementary and alternative approaches to healing.

Level Four: Emotional Healing -- enters the realm of the human heart, shedding light on fear, pain, anger, self-love, and forgiveness.

Level Five: The Nature of Mind -- examines how life with cancer is influenced by our thoughts, beliefs, and the meanings we give events.

Level Six: Life Assessment -- delves into aspirations, goals, and purposes of our lives.

Level Seven: The Nature of Spirit -- embraces the spiritual aspects of the healing process.

As a physician, Geffen aims to bring his vision of medicine and healing to cancer patients everywhere. And he uses his book as an instrument of communication -- so readers can participate in his vision, so they can learn to settle for nothing less than medical care that centers on the whole person. And not just the parts.

To read previous posts on the same topic, visit:
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: Beverly Is Every One Of Us

The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation wants help fighting breast cancer. So forget about fighting crowds this holiday season -- help fight cancer instead.

The Komen Marketplace is offering two specially designed holiday greeting cards this year, available for purchase on-line through December 8.

Prices for cards, that can be personalized with an individual name, a company name, and a special message, range depending on the card. One option costs $1.30 to $1.40 per card, plus nominal printing fees. Another option costs $5.00 per card, with no printing fees. For this option, The Komen Foundation will also print envelopes with mailing and return addresses. They will even stamp envelopes and drop the cards in the mail too.

Fifty to 100 percent of sales will benefit the fight against breast cancer. And 100 percent of the cards will spread hope and promise through messages like this -- The best gifts are wrapped in the joy we give to others. Happy Holidays. This card has been given to you as a special tribute in support of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation.

For me, it's the small things that matter most as I heal from breast cancer. Like a hand on my shoulder, a note in the mail, a phone call to see how I'm doing -- and a happy boobie card my friend and fitness trainer gave me the other day. I went to her house for a training session, and she greeted me at the door with a purple piece of paper cut into the shape of breasts. Butterfly stickers marked the nipple areas and the words Good Luck, Jacki were written happily in red marker. Just the day before I received this cheery gift, we had spoken about my upcoming mammogram and ultrasound for a suspicious lump I had discovered in my breast. We have spoken about my whole cancer journey over the course of my whole training journey -- so she knows all about the ups and downs. And when she sensed my dip in spirits, she reached out, with love and concern -- and with happy boobies.

My mammogram and ultrasound turned out just fine. Nothing is wrong. What I felt is just normal tissue. My cancer is not back. So my spirits are back up -- and my happy boobies are hanging on my refrigerator as a reminder of the support that still surrounds me every day.

A ninth Hole in the Wall camp is in the works -- thanks to actor Paul Newman who started the first camp for critically-ill children in Connecticut in 1988. Hole in the Wall camps host thousands of children for free and are now scattered all over the map -- in California, New York, France, and other locations. And one will soon open in Israel.

Each Hole in the Wall camp is a separate entity with its own distinct personality and name -- like The Victory Junction Gang in Randleman, NC and Camp Boggy Creek in Eustis, Florida. All camps share a common goal of building self-esteem and restoring joy in the lives of seriously-ill kids. And typical camp activities -- for kids whose diagnoses range from cancer to muscular dystrophy -- include rope climbing, face painting, horseback riding, swimming, and sports. It's a typical camp where children can enjoy childhood, without compromising their medical needs, due to state-of-the-art medical care.

Newman makes periodic visits to the camps and only partially funds the camps that mostly survive on their own through charitable contributions. He clearly loves the camps that have served more than 100,000 kids from 34 states and 31 countries and says he wants the camps to be the legacy he one day is remembered for. And what a legacy it will be.

Right now -- at this very moment -- my two boys have turned our living room into a mess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals. They put on their jammies and closed all the blinds and are pretending it's bedtime. But it's actually lunch time, so they have spread out paper plates and plastic silverware and bags of chips and boxes of crackers all over the floor -- on top of all their bedding. I delivered them their lunch platters and lemonade and there they sit, in the room next to me -- chattering away, stuffing their little mouths, full of life. And I am in awe -- of the simple joy that comes from a living room camp-out and picnic, of the beauty these children bring into my life. I am mostly in awe of the fact that no matter what cancer takes from me -- my hair, moments of health, my innocence -- it cannot ever take this very moment from me. And that makes today a happy day.

Caregivers are affected by cancer in their own unique and special ways. And those of us who have never been cancer caregivers and those of us who are patients receiving the care will never really know how it feels to walk in caregiver shoes -- until we do it ourselves.

Dr. Mitchell Luftig has done it himself. And after traveling a dark and unwanted journey of caring for his wife with breast cancer, he realized that he had learned a thing or two -- and he learned that he could share a thing or two. So he wrote a book, Be a Hero To The Woman You Love When She Gets Sick, and he speaks openly about his role as caregiver -- and his role at the time as father of twin high school daughters and husband of 20 years and clinical psychologist too. The whole ordeal turned his world upside down and he hopes that his story helps others -- primarily men -- who find themselves in a lonely place with the daunting job of caring for the people they love. As a psychologist, Luftig has good insight. And he wishes to help minimize the psychological barriers that prevent men from effectively caring for loved ones during times of serious illness.

Luftig shares in his book his realization that while he cannot repair and fix all hard times, he does have some important tools. And his power tools are love, support, and understanding. He has learned to sew joy out of rough cloth. He understands that he cannot shelter his family members from bad times, but he can shoulder their burden. And he now appreciates that all things are not so bad when measured against the yardstick of a life-threatening disease like cancer. Luftig's whole collection of wisdom and lessons and advice fill his book -- and bits and pieces also appear in periodic articles in Coping magazine. It's worth the read -- and the journey starts here.

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.

Cancer go away.

The news is not good today. When someone is diagnosed with cancer, and there seem to be so many of us now, it does not diminish the initial response when you find out someone else has cancer. The news is still a shock to the spirit, a moment where the breath catches and pauses out of rythmn, and the heart drops into another pool of sadness. As a cancer survivor, you know what is to come for the newly diagnosed, not just the physical, but the mental, the emotional and the spiritual effects for the cancer patient and those who love them.

Cancer. I hate this disease.

You have just learned you have cancer, and I am surviving cancer. With all my heart, I want you to survive cancer too. I walk back through my mind, retracing my footsteps from the day of my cancer diagnosis to this, remembering all the things I did that might have tipped the scales in favor of my living and not dying. I cannot say I know the one thing that it might have been, or the combination of things I might have done, so I want to remember it all. I want to share all of it with you. I want you to be able to tip the scales in favor of life and not death too.

Here is how I approached my diagnosis of cancer, these are the perspectives I held and the steps I took during my cancer treatments and healing. Maybe there is something in all of it that matters, that made a difference, that if you know too, will help you in your healing too.

As we become more aware that we are what we eat and what we eat affects our immediate and long-term health, we are making healthier choices with an eye on nutrition and weight loss. You choose granola instead of sugary breakfast cereals, salad instead of the cheeseburger, dried fruit, yogurt-covered nuts and banana chips instead of a candy bar. But nutritionist Joy Bauer warns that some of the foods we consider the healthier choices, might be so loaded in sugars, fats and calories that we are defeating our purpose of being healthy without realizing it.

Bauer appeared on NBC's Today show with Al Roker, and gave some examples of foods that are considered healthier choices but might not be -- and offered some suggestions on alternatives.

• Granola, loaded with sugar, is one of the most calorie-dense cereals. Bauer suggests you keep your portions small, and mix it with cereals with less calories and sugar such as Bran Flakes or Cheerios.
• Salad, such as a typical Caesar salad, with dressing, croutons and cheese topping, has 1,130 calories and 90 grams of fat. Bauer suggests that you request a salad with no dressing and no croutons. Instead, use an olive oil and vinegar dressing.
• Dried fruit is higher in calories that fresh fruit. Bauer's example -- 12 small pieces of dried mango have 320 calories, which equals the same as 2 apples, 15 grapes, and half of a small cantaloupe combined.
• Yogurt-covered nuts have little is any redeeming nutritional value. Loaded with sugar, fat, and no active cultures, 20 yogurt covered nuts contain 460 calories, 32 grams fat, 14 grams saturated fat, and 8 teaspoons sugar.
• Banana chips are fried in oil and sugar. One cup of banana chips has 300 calories, 20 grams fat, 18 grams saturated fat, and 19 grams sugar, or 4 3/4 teaspoons of sugar. Bauer's common sense solution? Eat a real banana. It has 110 calories and no added fat or sugar.
  

To learn more about foods that might seem good for you but aren't, and foods that are good for you, visit Joy Bauer Nutrition, life is hard, food should be easy.

When Amy Turner Tunick, an actress and writer who wrote The Feel Good Column for the South Florida Sun-Times, was first diagnosed with cancer she wrote:

"It doesn't seem real. There were no signs or symptoms. Maybe it's a genetic thing. But will I ever really know? I've been a very healthy active 44 year-old woman. I don't drink or smoke.  But, sometimes, unfortunate things do happen to good people. And I don't doubt I'm a good person. Actually, I believe I'm an exceptional person. I'm positive, optimistic, inspiring and enthusiastic. I try to be caring, loving and honest. So, sadly, I'm not blaming anyone, including God, that I've just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer." 

Tunick did not exaggerate when she described herself as a positive, optimistic, inspiring and enthusiastic person. Her columns reflected that, and she had a way of inspiring the reader to feel optimistic about life. She had a way of reminding you of the simple joys of life and the importance of the people in your life. In one of her last columns, she wrote, ''Cry, scream, feel sorry for yourself -- but not for long. Basically, this is all about hope. Never lose it. Never give in or give up.''

Tunick had this to say about death, "I believe that Death teaches us that the time is now. The time is now to pick up a telephone and call the person that you love. Death teaches us the joy of the moment. It teaches us we don't have forever. If teaches us that nothing is permanent. It teaches us to let go, there's nothing you can hang on to. And it tells us to give up on expectations and let tomorrow tell its own story, because nobody knows if they'll get home tonight."

Tunick won't be getting home tonight. She lost her battle to cancer and the world lost more of its light. Tunick was 47.

Laugh. Joy. Love & Respect. Choose Happiness. These are the words that appear on the heart-shaped charms on my breast cancer bracelet made by Brighton. I wear it every day because of the uplifting messages that dangle around my wrist and also because one of the charms is a watch -- a real watch, in the shape of a heart with a pink background and inscribed words that say "Live in the Moment." Just before I received this bracelet from my friend -- whose own mother lost her breast cancer battle recently -- I was in desperate need of a watch. I hadn't needed one for the past four years because as a stay-at-home mom, my schedule was dictated not by the clock but by the needs of two rowdy little boys. But I got a job at a preschool and now time is very important. I have to be at work on time. I have to attend meetings and events. I have to chart the departures of children.  I have to leave my job at a certain time. A watch became necessary and just before my job started, my bracelet arrived in the mail. A perfect gift. Perfect timing. A perfect way to stay in tune with the passage of time. A perfect way to stay motivated on my breast cancer journey.

Another charm on my bracelet reads, "Wherever you go, go with your heart." Whenever my bracelet jingles and jangles on my arm, I am reminded to do just this. To go with my heart. To follow my heart. To feel peace in my heart. This bracelet helps me.  It works like a charm.

Saranne Rothberg, the inspiration and founder of ComedyCures, is a breast cancer survivor. Diagnosed in 1999 with stage IV breast cancer, she made a vow to laugh at least 100 times a day. The ComedyCures foundation reflects her belief in the power of laughter to heal and the positive coping offered by focusing on a comedic perspective.

Many other cancer patients must share her perspective on the positive healing benefits of laughter on the body, mind, and spirit because, according to the ComedyCures website, she has a multi-year waiting list for her motivational, inspirational, laughter-rich performances and keynote addresses. In addition to her appearances, ComedyCures 1-888-HA-HA-HA-HA LaughLine is said to reach as many as 4,000 people per month. Approximately 30,000 of her Wellness Joke Book pages have been created and circulated around the world. The foundation sponsors Live Laugh-A-Thon, Live LaughAbout, Laughing Lunch events, and offers videos and books.

Cancer-free now, Rothberg is a profoundly compassionate woman who has worked with The Red Cross, The United Way, Gilda’s Clubs, Paul Newman’s Hole in the Woods Camp, Paul McCartney’s Garland Appeal, Susan G. Komen Foundation, Cancer Survivor’s Day, and many other organizations. She has been featured on Good Morning America, in Oprah Magazine, The New York Times, and at YAHOO. She has been honored with awards including The Hope for The Future Award, The Making a Difference Award, and The Cancer Superhero of the Year Award. Her work and awards are many, and I could fill up a half-dozen posts just telling you about them.

What is truly remarkable, is that this is the vision Rothberg had while sitting in a chair during chemotherapy treatment. Go check out Rothberg's ComedyCures, find out that James Gandolfini of the Sopranos got caught doing the ComedyCures Body Giggle, and read tips on how to add laughter as part of the healing process.