Hank Bauer, wounded World War II Marine and New York Yankees legacy, died on February 9 at the age of 84. The cause of death -- cancer.

Bauer, who managed the 1966 Baltimore Orioles to their first World Series title, was a three-time All-Star Yankees outfielder during his time with the team that won nine American League pennants and seven World Series titles in just 10 years. Bauer, a Yankees fixture from 1948-59, set the Series record with a 17-game hitting streak. His record still stands.

Yankees owner George Steinbrenner says, "Hank Bauer is an emblem of a generation that helped shape the landscape of our country. He was a natural leader and a teammate in every sense of the word, and his contributions went well beyond the baseball field. His service to the Yankees, his country, and his family shows why I have been so privileged to call him a friend."

Bauer's baseball accomplishments, which also include playing two seasons with and later managing the Kansas City Athletics and scouting for the Yankees and Royals, are not his only claims to fame. He also earned two Bronze Stars and two Purple Hearts for his courageous dedication to the United States.

Enlisting in the Marines shortly after Pearl Harbor, Bauer was wounded in Okinawa when he was hit in the leg by shrapnel just 53 days after he arrived on the island with 64 other men. "Only six of us came out," said Bauer who signed with the Yankees minor league after his discharge and sported his Marine Corps crewcut throughout the baseball career that landed him with the likes of Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, and a young Roger Maris.

During the same week Bauer lost his life, two other players of his time also passed away -- Steve Barber, who pitched for Bauer in Baltimore and Lew Burdette, who played against the Yankees in the 1957 and 1958 World Series.

Bauer is remembered by many.

"I am truly heartbroken," says Berra. "Hank was a wonderful teammate and friend for so long. Nobody was more dedicated and proud to be a Yankee, he gave you everything he had."

Numbness is wearing off, and I am beginning to feel twinges of pain surrounding the area where my port was once located. I can't see what was done to me today -- because the area is carefully bandaged -- but I know from what I feel that my skin has been cut and sewn back together. I feel the skin tightening, stretching, pulsing and while it's not terribly comfortable, it's pretty minor compared to the pain of so many other cancer procedures -- like my lumpectomy, my chemotherapy, my nausea, my neutropenia, my allergic reactions to various medications.

So I am fine, following my port removal that was predicted to last a few hours but somehow took most of the day. The actual procedure took just one hour, and the twilight drug that kept me in a peaceful funk allowed me to relax while the port that was tunneled into the tissue underneath my skin was precisely taken from my body. It was an uneventful experience -- except for a few tears that dripped from my eyes during the final moments before my surgery. I think it may have been the power of the moment -- the moment signaling the end of my active cancer journey. Or it may have been the power of support offered by my sister and my three-year-old son who accompanied me today. Or it may have been the power of the response I gave a nurse who had just seen my little guy and asked me if I planned to have more children. My response -- probably not, because of cancer -- seemed a little too final, a little too sad.

It may have been the combination of everything, all adding up over the past two years, that brought tears to my eyes today. But for now, the tears are gone. And the port is gone. For now, my cancer is gone.

On January 14, 2005, my sister drove me to the hospital for my port placement -- a minor surgical procedure to implant an Infuse-a-Port® underneath the skin on my collarbone. My port -- used steadily ever since that January day for the infusion of breast cancer chemotherapy drugs -- is about to be removed.

Tomorrow -- September 15, 2006 -- my sister will drive me to the same hospital where another minor surgery will result in the removal of this same port and its accompanying parts. I will come home with a scar that will mark the spot symbolic of my cancer travels. Along with my healed lumpectomy incisions and my head full of new hair, this scar will remind me of where I've been and will not ever let me lose sight of where I'm going -- full steam ahead into a life I am blessed to have in front of me. A life that was never promised to me for any specific amount of time. A life I am going to wrap my arms around -- for every second, every minute, every breath I am lucky enough to take.

Screenings for colorectal cancer offer more than a chance for early treatment -- they offer the chance to avoid cancer completely. The disease usually starts with growths called polyps that can take a decade to turn cancerous. If polyps are found and removed, cancer can be avoided altogether. Yet many are avoiding the screening. And polyps that go undetected can turn to a cancer that can lurk silently in anyone -- especially during middle age and beyond. And black Americans are especially at risk.

Almost 42 million Americans over the age of 50 are not getting checked for colorectal cancer -- the nation's No. 2 cancer killer. Perhaps it's the financial burden that comes with the life-saving procedure. Now in five states, a government-funded program is offering free testing for the poor. But still, many will fall through the cracks in many states. And while Medicare pays for screenings, this federal program is for people 65 and older -- a long wait for someone at age 50 who needs the test but does not have insurance.

Perhaps it's the part of the body under study that steers people away. Perhaps it's the manner in which the test is performed -- a long, flexible tube is used to visually inspect the colon -- that turns heads in the wrong direction. While the financial burden is a valid deterrent, other worries or fears should be put to rest. The test is not all that bad, says one doctor who had a colonoscopy himself. The worst part of the whole experience may be the liquid mixture that is consumed prior to the test that cleans out the system -- minor discomfort really in the scope of the alternative. Cancer.

Colonocopies are recommended just once every 10 years. And nearly 60 percent of deaths from colorectal cancer can be prevented if each person over the age of 50 finds some way to make this screening happen. And if not this screening, there are other options -- like a fecal test that is done annually but is more more affordable and can be quite effective too. So consider your options. And make a choice.

This is my port. It looks to me like a bottle cap sewn under the skin on my chest. My son Joey -- he is five years old --  calls it my stone and his brother Danny -- he just turned three -- at one time thought everyone must have this same boo-boo. He would look for it, feel for it, hunt for it. But mine is the only port he could actually locate and now that he's getting older, he is not so concerned with it anymore.

My concern about the port is that everyone who needs chemotherapy should have one. It's the alternative to receiving IV sticks in the arms and hands and except for one quick stick that can sting -- I use a 5% lidocaine numbing cream prior to my infusion and with this miracle lotion, I don't feel a thing -- it is quick and painless. My port is a one-stop shop. Once accessed, blood can be drawn, drugs and fluids can be infused, shots can be injected, and at the end of treatment, an injection of blood thinner keeps the line clear and clean. The line attached to the port underneath my skin travels into large veins in a direct and efficient manner. While hospitalized for chemo-induced fever and low blood counts, I received antibiotics and a blood transfusion through this method. There was one stick when I was admitted and for my five-day stay, I never had to be poked again.

My port, called Infuse-a-Port®, was implanted during a minor outpatient surgery with use of a local anesthesia and it was ready for use immediately after the procedure.

My port has been used for 16 months now and will no longer be necessary at the end of July -- this is when the last drops of Herceptin will sail through my veins. Then I get to decide whether to keep my port or have it removed. It can stay for many years as long as it is flushed once each month. The superstitious part of me thinks I should keep it for future use -- if necessary -- and the rational part of me thinks I need to get rid of this bottle cap because I may never need it again. Regardless, I love my port. It has eased the discomfort of chemotherapy and for that, I am grateful.

Paul Gleason, who played the go-to bad guy in Trading Places and the angry high school principal in The Breakfast Club, has died. He was 67.  Gleason died at a local hospital Saturday of mesothelioma, a rare form of lung cancer linked to asbestos, said his wife, Susan Gleason.

"Whenever you were with Paul, there was never a dull moment," his wife said. "He was awesome."

A native of Miami, Gleason was an avid athlete. Before becoming an actor, he played Triple-A minor league baseball for a handful of clubs in the late 1950s. Gleason honed his acting skills with his mentor Lee Strasberg, whom he studied with at the Actors Studio beginning in the mid-1960s, family members said.  Through his career, Gleason appeared in over 60 movies that included Die Hard, Johnny Be Good, and National Lampoon's Van Wilder. Most recently, Gleason made a handful of television appearances in hit shows such as Friends and Seinfeld. Gleason's passions went beyond acting. He had recently published a book of poetry. 

"He was an athlete, an actor and a poet," said his daughter, Shannon Gleason-Grossman. "He gave me and my sister a love that is beyond description that will be with us and keep us strong for the rest of our lives."

Gleason was survived by his wife, two daughters and a granddaughter. Funeral plans were pending.

On May 7, at Prince George's Stadium, the Bowie Baysox will host Pink in the Park prior to the game against the Trenton Thunder, where they will honor breast cancer survivors. All fans are encouraged to wear pink to the game to show their support of breast cancer awareness. The first 1,000 women attending the game will receive a limited edition pink Baysox logo baseball cap. The pink jerseys the players wear during the game will be auctioned, and the winners of the auction shirts will be able to go onto the field after the game and claim the shirt from the player. To learn more about minor league baseball team Bowie Baysox, visit the official Bowie Baysox website.