The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

The night before my lumpectomy, way back in December 2005, I was consumed with fear, worry, and panic. Since I'd found it, the lump in my left breast had been sitting untouched for nearly two weeks. I imagined the mass spreading with each day and believed I could detect its growth each time I felt for it. A doctor told me if it was growing like I thought it was, my tiny pea-sized tumor would be the size of an apple within days.

My fears were unfounded and irrational. I know that now. But during the moments of uncertainty that filled my days between diagnosis and prognosis, I had no direction. I had only my wandering mind for company. The waiting really is the hardest part. Once faced with the specifics of our diseases, we can take action.

Young patients that are diagnosed with a form of leukemia called acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL) are at an increased risk of relapse if they have a high body mass index at the time of diagnosis.

Dr. Anna M. Butturini, lead investigator of a study that reported the findings, said "Obesity is associated with lower probability of cure in pre-adolescents and teenagers with ALL. A current analysis suggests that the same is true for adults with the same disease".

Dr. Butturini thinks that there is a need for better understanding of why obese patients have an increased risk of relapse. If this is found out, then better therapies for these young patients could be potentially designed.

Cancer is a complicated disease often described by those who know it well in confusing medical, technical, and scientific terms. There's a way to understand it in simple terms, though. And a recent CBS news story features a great run-down on the disease, its causes, how it grows, and more.

Think about this:

• Cancer refers to any one of a large number of diseases characterized by the uncontrollable growth of abnormal cells. These cells have the ability to infiltrate and destroy normal tissue and can spread -- metastasize -- throughout the body.

• Cancer is caused by damage in the DNA. DNA is like a set of instructions for cells and tells cells how to grow and divide. Normal cells can develop mutations in their DNA but can repair most of them. If they cannot make a repair, the cells often die. But certain mutated cells don't repair and don't die. They instead grow and become cancerous.

• Normal, healthy cells grow in an orderly, well-controlled way. They live for a set period of time and then die on schedule. Dead cells are replaced by new normal cells. Cancer cells, in contrast, grow in an uncontrolled manner. They don't die. They accumulate. One malignant cell becomes two, two become four, four become eight, and so on, until a mass of cells -- a tumor -- is created. Tumors remain small until they're able to attract their own blood supply, which allows them to obtain the oxygen and nutrients they need to grow larger.

• Not all cancers form tumors. Leukemia, for example, is a cancer of the blood, bone marrow, lymphatic system, and spleen.
  
  
• Cancer can take decades to develop. By the time a cancerous mass is detected, it's likely that 100 million to one billion cancer cells are present, and the original cancer may have been dividing for five years or more.

• Lung cancer is the top cancer killer among men and women and will kill 160,390 people in 2007.

Simply being female puts all women at risk for breast cancer. That and age, race, family history, personal history, genetic make-up, when they had children, when they reach menopause, and a whole host of other possible factors.

Now U.S. doctors are officially calling body mass index, breast density, and alcohol consumption predictors of the disease, says Therese Bevers, medical director of the Cancer Prevention Center, at the University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston.

Bevers helped write updated guidelines for the prevention of breast cancer and presented them at the 12th annual National Comprehensive Cancer Network in Hollywood, Florida on Friday.

The guidelines, featuring the revised list of risk factors, also offer treatment options for women -- including bilateral mastectomy for women who have tested positive for the genes BRCA1 and BRCA2 as well as possible medical treatments with drugs such as tamoxifen and raloxifene.

As Leroy Sievers says, "Most of you know me as someone with cancer. Google my name -- and yes, I confess, I've done that -- more often than not, it comes up linked to one other word: cancer. But what about all the other things I've been?"

Sievers has been a journalist for most of his adult life. He's also been a baker, a short-order cook, a teacher, and an aspiring author. Yet cancer is the word most often used to describe this man.

But maybe not for long.

Could it be that Sievers -- a man whose life has been derailed by a deadly cancer traveling throughout his body, a man who has been contemplating death with each passing day -- may soon be rid of cancer altogether?

Actually, Sievers already sees glimpses of cancer falling to the wayside.

Having undergone a new procedure called Radio Frequency Ablation -- where needles are stuck into tumors, burning them away from the inside out -- Sievers sees a brighter future. He's seen his latest scans. He's seen the black holes where tumors once lived. He's seen that no new tumors have appeared. He's seen that he may actually survive cancer.

Months ago, this man, who blogs his cancer journey for NPR, was told he would likely not survive the year. Now he realized he may outlive this prediction. And while this is great news, Sievers finds himself a bit unsure about a life without cancer.

"Will I be somebody who used to have cancer?" he says. "I think most cancer patients don't ever think it's really gone. It's just hiding, waiting to jump out and scare us when we least expect it. Will I be able to resume my old life? To rebuild my battered body into what it was before? I don't know. But I know this disease has changed me dramatically in so many ways. I am a different person. Hopefully a better person. You cannot go through an ordeal like this and not be profoundly affected."

Now that's what a call a fresh perspective.

To read previously-written posts about Leroy Sievers, click here.

A friend of a friend was diagnosed this week with a cancerous brain tumor -- a glioma to be exact -- and the surgery to remove the mass is scheduled for Monday.

I don't know much about this woman or her cancer, but I do know doctors told her yesterday she will likely survive for only a few years. I can't help but think that if doctors had given me this same prediction at the time of my cancer diagnosis, my time would just about be up.

I can't fully grasp the magnitude of this sad and sobering news. But I can comprehend that any one of us could be on the receiving end of such an announcement at any given moment. We are all vulnerable. And so I am confronted once again with the powerful and painful reminder that each day really could be my last.

My gut hasn't always guided me through life's most difficult decisions and dilemmas. It wasn't until I felt a lump in my breast more than two years ago that my gut kicked into gear and told me something very important.

"It's cancer," my insides told me one week before the surgeon who did my biopsy called.

"It's cancer," the surgeon said. I didn't tell him, but I thought it: "I know."

I also knew prior to surgery that my cancer had not spread to my lymph nodes. My gut told me this too. It also told me the chemotherapy drug Taxol was not right for me -- since my cancer had not spread -- despite the urging of one oncologist that I accept this treatment. I would have gone on gut instinct alone in my rejection of this medication but another doctor weighed in and agreed with my gut, so I had solid backing on this decision.

Many have dismissed hunches like these and have written off those who believe in them as screwballs, says writer Chip Brown in the March 2007 issue of The Oprah Magazine. But as Brown shares after peering into the world of gut instinct, there are 100 million nerve cells in the gut. They run on autopilot, regulate digestion, play a critical role in the body's immune system, and control mood-altering neurotransmitters identical to those in the brain.

The gut is essentially a second brain. It was a "gut feeling" that led Fred Smith, founder of Federal Express, to begin exploring the possibilities of overnight delivery and Howard Schultz, founder of Starbucks, to begin mass marketing coffee. Wall Street professionals make millions on their gut feelings, sportscasters make startling predictions based on gut guidance, and entrepreneurs launch thriving businesses because of the inklings that rumble in their tummies.

You may or may not be a gut thinker yourself. But I've stumbled upon a gut exercise -- thanks to psychotherapist Nancy Napier --and I'd like for you to consider it the next time you find yourself stuck at a crossroads, unsure of where to turn. You never know, the direction you seek may be swirling around in your midsection, just waiting for a call to action.

Think about this:

You are wavering between two choices. Find yourself a quiet, serene place where there will be no disruptions. Now sit down. Take a moment to settle and focus on the issue you want to explore. Then choose one side. Think about this side and notice what happens in your gut. Do you feel a tightening and gripping or a softening and warming? Are the sensations pleasant or uncomfortable? Notice your thoughts. Are they positive or negative? Give yourself some time to feel your gut and your mind responding.

Now shift to the other side. Think about the previous questions, and try to chart what your body gut is saying.

While you may not get a gut answer at first, if you come back with the question several times, you'll likely hear just what your gut wants you to know.

The January issue of The Journal of Clinical Endocrinology & Metabolism reported that once a week treatment with Risedronate prevents bone loss in breast cancer patients who underwent treatment with chemotherapy.

Risedronate, a bisphosphonate used to strengthen the bone, is shown to increase bone mineral density (BMD) in the spine by 1.2% after one year of treatment. Markers of bone resorption decreased significantly in the treatment group compared with the placebo group.

The authors noted "These results have important clinical ramifications for breast cancer survivors who go into remission after aggressive therapy. Because of the long-term survival of this cohort, they are at risk for bone loss and osteoporosis. Skeletal integrity needs to be assessed and considered as part of their long-term management."

Some other topics on The Cancer Blog concerning bisphosphonates:

Premenopausal breast cancer patients and bone loss

Postmenopausal Breast Cancer Survivors at Risk for Osteoporosis

Scientists from Harvard University and Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) are developing a tiny implant that will allow doctors to see what's happening with tumors from the inside out.

If all proceeds according to plan, doctors will one day be implanting tiny sensors inside tumors to determine whether or not cancer drugs are shrinking the tumors. The sensors will also determine whether or not tumors are growing.

Cancer specialists have long wished for better methods of measuring the success of drugs. While blood tests can show if a drug has reached the bloodstream, they don't reveal much about the tumor itself. This small silicone cube, no bigger than two millimeters on each side and embedded in a tumor or lymph node, would remain in the body throughout treatment while essentially broadcasting what's going on inside the tumor.

MIT scientists hope to begin animal experiments within months. Their goal is to one day make the implant as thin as the pieces of led used in mechanical pencils.

This research, funded by the National Cancer Institute, is part of a long-term project to make medical technologies that will cure cancer. It's all part of journey toward complete targeted cancer treatment. And this little implant will have the power to communicate whether or not these treatments are working.

The doctor who recently read my mammogram films and maneuvered her ultrasound wand over every inch of my breasts could not find one darn thing wrong with anything in her view. I wasn't worried that she would -- but it's still a relief to know that for now, I am fine.

It was two years ago, November 19, when this exact doctor sent me for a biopsy of a mass her same ultrasound wand detected. She did not know at the time the mass was a cancerous tumor, but she did know it was suspicious enough for further investigation. And so she sent me on my worried way, and the result of my biopsy -- cancer -- cemented our life-long relationship as doctor and patient.

Every six months I see this doctor for a mammogram and ultrasound. And when I find myself freaking out about something breast-related, I call her and she fits me into her busy schedule. I know she is there for me when I need her. And she knows I will always be there for her -- every six months and sometimes in between.

While I really like my doctor, I do hope I don't see her until May 15 when I report for my next mammogram appointment -- because with our kind of relationship, less is truly more.

I will visit my oncologist on Monday for my every-three-month check-up. It's the recurring appointment that will appear on my calendar until I hit the five-year-survival milestone. I am three years away.

It's the appointment that consumes at least half of my day due to endless waiting -- waiting for a parking spot, waiting in the lobby, waiting in the exam room, waiting to pay. It's the appointment that officially begins with the drawing of my blood for lab work, continues with a check of my vitals, proceeds with a history review and physical exam with a medical student. It's the appointment that brings me face to face with the man who prescribed my treatment, the man who offers me strategies for living beyond treatment, the man who helps keep me alive. My oncologist.

And so I am preparing for this visit in the same exact way as I always do. I set aside a large chunk of time for this time-consuming extravaganza. I think a lot about the lab work and wonder if something suspicious will surface. I think a lot about the physical exam and wonder if an enlarged lymph node or mass in my breast will be discovered. And I think a lot about what I want to ask -- because this is my only very own allotted time for unraveling the mysteries of cancer with the man who knows the topic like no one else I know.

On Monday, I will ask a few questions. I will ask about tumor markers, about why I am not tested for these indicators of tumor growth, a standard option for my co-writer and co-cancer survivor Kristina Collins. I will ask about Zoloft, about how long I should continue taking this anti-depressant and how to best wean myself from this drug when the time comes. I will ask about the flu shot, about whether or not I can get one during this same appointment.

And that's all. For now. Until three more months pass and my calendar tells me it's time to return for this recurring appointment that takes me closer to the five-year mark.

Some mechanism has been at work in my body for the past month, some sort of filter that has somehow warded off the crippling panic that typically overcomes me during health scares. It's the panic that allows me to turn a simple cough into a symptom of lung cancer, a stomach pain into a sign of ovarian cancer. It's the curse of surviving cancer, I guess -- the continual worry that the disease is coming back, that it is going to strike someone dear to me.

Yet cancer never entered my mind when my husband and I began noticing our three-year-old Danny's strange eye movements, the strikingly odd manner in which one eye rolls upward when he gazes toward the ceiling -- this is normal -- while the other only crosses -- this is not normal. Surprisingly, I was not overly worried about this and was sure it was something that with glasses or eye exercises could be fixed. Never did I fear cancer.

We started with our pediatrician who quickly knew this issue was out of his league. I was calm. He moved us on to a pediatric eye specialist who was stumped by these eye movements that are typically congenital and occur much earlier in life. If not congenital, it must be something acquired, this doctor told us. He looked around a bit at Danny's eyes, dilated his pupils, and tested his vision. He determined his eyesight is perfect. And his gaze is a complete mystery. He ordered an MRI.

Still I was okay -- until my husband shared one evening with me that he was worried about a tumor. Why I hadn't yet obsessed about this is its own mystery, for which I am thankful. It allowed me to function for a short time independent of fear and anxiety and only a short time ago did I let panic seep into my consciousness.

When I scheduled the MRI for Danny and was told it was an urgent case that must be scheduled quickly, my stomach sank. When the doctor who would read the MRI met with us this morning to talk about this diagnostic procedure, he shared that a mass is what they would be looking for. I'm not sure how for all these weeks I missed this opportunity to get all worked up. But I did. And I got to act like a normal worried mother, not an over-the-top this must be cancer obsessed mother. It felt good.

And it felt good when the doctor read the MRI right in front of us this morning, sharing that there is no mass. He was not able to share what is causing this mystery eye condition that still must be investigated, but he assured us it's nothing serious, nothing life-threatening, nothing like cancer.

Perhaps the fact that my handful of recent health scares have not resulted in malignancies is allowing me to cool my guns a bit, to relax, to realize that not everything comes with a worst-case-scenario result. So maybe -- just maybe -- I am approaching some normalcy in my life, two years after my own worst-case-scenario sent me on the most terrifying ride of my life.

Breast cancer is widespread -- so widespread that most of us have direct personal contact with someone living with this disease. Information about breast cancer is also widespread -- so widespread that it's easy to get lost in the maze of details that define this illness that two million women in the United States are living with at this very moment. Breast cancer has its own set of definitions and facts and statistics -- and myths too. And here are seven myths that are not worth spreading.

Most lumps in the breast are cancer.
Actually, most lumps in the breast are not cancer. But every lump should still be examined and diagnosed.

Breast cancer does not occur in young women.
While most breast cancer cases occur in women over the age of 50, breast cancer can and does occur in women of all ages. I was diagnosed at age 34.

Women with large breasts have a greater risk of breast cancer.
Size does not affect risk. But it can be more difficult to examine large breasts and therefore detect a suspicious lump due to a larger amount of tissue.

A woman has little or no risk of breast cancer if she has has no family history of the disease.
Most women with breast cancer -- about 75 percent -- have no family history of breast cancer. Simply being female puts all women at risk. I have no family history of breast cancer -- but I still was diagnosed with this disease and have been treating it for almost two years.

If mammography shows nothing to worry about, then there is nothing to worry about.
Mammography can miss 10 to 15 percent of all breast cancers. So any suspicious mass should be investigated with further tests -- such as ultrasound and MRI. When my lump was examined during a mammogram, my doctor was not worried. But an ultrasound that followed revealed a solid mass -- and this was something to worry about. A biopsy came next. And then came my breast cancer diagnosis.

Once a woman is treated for breast cancer, she should avoid becoming pregnant.
Many breast cancer survivors go on to have successful pregnancies and healthy children. Women should consult their doctors, however, about current and previous treatments and should discuss any possible concerns about pregnancy after breast cancer.

Removal of the entire breast is safer than segmental mastectomy.
Survival is similar for women who have breast-conserving surgery -- like a lumpectomy -- and for those who have either a total or modified mastectomy.

It's not surprising that inaccurate information is floating around about breast cancer -- because there is so much information on the topic and much of it is not completely understood by those who study the disease every day. But we all can take an active part in our own education by researching each tidbit of news that comes our way. We can confirm it, deny it, and understand it better if we take matters into our own hands. And if we don't spread anything we just are not sure about. We owe it to ourselves -- and women everywhere -- to spread only the most accurate information about this disease we all need to better comprehend.

Between pale is the new tan and cultural or religious beliefs that require young girls to wear clothing that covers all skin areas and young girls who are restricted from outdoor activities, adolescent girls are paying the price in insufficient levels of vitamin D needed for peak bone mass -- increasing the risk of osteoporosis fracture later in life. By shunning the sun they might be decreasing the risks for skin cancer, but they are increasing the risks for 16 other cancers.

Of the 51 healthy girls tested, Saint Mary's Hospital for Women and Children in Manchester researchers found 73 percent were vitamin D deficient, and 17 percent were severely deficient in vitamin D.

Lack of a sufficient level of vitamin D was in direct correlation to the lack of exposure to sun and not to dietary intake. "This is in keeping with the fact that the main source of vitamin D is that produced by the action of solar ultraviolet B radiation acting on 7-dehydrocholesterol in skin," the team explains. "Only small amounts are obtained from dietary sources."

Aside from encouraging more outdoor activity for these young girls, the researchers stated that it remains to be determined how to meet the needs of older children and adolescents from cultures that avoid sunlight.