My friend -- who has a friend newly diagnosed with brain cancer -- greeted me at the door the other day and asked with a sense of urgency, "How can I help?"

"Help your friend?" I asked.

"Yes, she said, unsure of what she might say or do in this time of great difficulty for everyone involved.

I told her a few things. And then I thought of some more. It wasn't terribly easy to come up with these ideas. Because even though I myself was on the receiving end of help during my cancer journey, it's still hard to imagine what an individual wants or needs -- or doesn't want or need. But here's what I've got to offer.

I hope this helps my friend.

I hope it helps you too.

• Allow your loved one to take the lead. If you sense this person wants to talk, then talk. If you sense talk is not welcomed, then don't talk. To determine whether or not your friend or family member wants to discuss cancer, approach the topic and judge the response you get. I know I can usually tell if someone is willing to open up -- typically the conversation just flows -- and when someone is putting the brakes on chit-chat -- typically the conversation falls flat.

• If talk is not in the cards, then consider an offer of food. Sometimes actions speak much louder than words. So think about calling a restaurant in your friend's town and ordering a meal to be delivered right to the door. Most eating establishments accept credit card numbers over the phone so location should be a non-issue. Even those deep in despair need to eat, and taking away the chore of cooking and cleaning up can be quite a gift.

• If the gift of food is not up your alley, how about sending a small gift, like a candle, a pair of cozy socks, a grocery store gift card, a music CD, a gift certificate for a spa. You name it, your special something might brighten the day.

• If you live near your loved one and have some free time, offer to drive to appointments, visit during treatments, pick up kids and entertain them for the day, clean house, cook, and clean up dinner. Try to be very specific with your offers. Say, "I'd like to pick up your kids tomorrow at lunch so you can take a nap" or "I'm coming over on Sunday to rake leaves." These offers are easier to accept than the "call me if you need anything" kind.
  

• If a quick stop at your loved one's house is possible, drop off a book on the front porch or set some pretty potted flowers by the door. Or do both. Then walk away without saying a word. Let your help take your friend by surprise.

• When you do have the chance to talk, avoid guiding the conversation with your own thoughts and advice, unless requested. Saying, "Everything will be OK," for example, may not be true. Assuring your friend she will sail right through chemotherapy may backfire if nausea and fatigue are just down the road. Stating, "it's OK, your hair will grow back," doesn't really help those living with the horror of hair loss. So stay away from promises and predictions and stick to the present. Ask questions, listen, and paraphrase back what your friend has shared. These are basic counseling techniques. The premise is that allowing the person to work through the issues is more important than what we can do to directly help.
  

• Don't forget about the good old greeting card or short note that lets your loved know how much you care. Let the card say it if you wish to avoid writing and then add an address, a stamp, and send your support on its way.
  

• This makes eight -- so much for sticking to my Sunday plan -- but I must share this too: Don't forget about your loved one after months and even years pass by. Initial diagnoses are tough and treatments are tough too. But as your friend survives each day, remember to check in. Cancer is a life-long battle for many. Support and assistance may be just as valuable a year down the road as it is on day one.

My blood looked good. My weight is normal. My temperature was 98.2. My blood pressure was perfect. And the physical exam conducted by my oncologist revealed that for another three-month stretch, I have survived cancer.

There are other exams ahead in the next few months -- a breast MRI, a mammogram, an ultrasound, a follow-up with my radiation oncologist -- but mostly, my life revolves around the every-three-month visit with my medical oncologist. He's the one who plotted the course of my treatment, responds to my physical and emotional ups and downs, and checks my every piece and part. He is the one who will declare my remission in five years, if warranted. He is the one who told me today I am doing very well.

And for the next three months, I will assume I am just that -- very well. And my hope is that on May 21, when I depart his office once again, I am able to report that not one thing has changed.

Cancer drug Nexavar has made its point. It can help people with liver cancer survive longer.

Bayer Pharmaceuticals and Onyx Pharmaceuticals announced Monday that advanced stage clinical trials for this drug will end early. And now patients in the placebo arm of the study can begin treatment with the actual drug.

It's been a long road for researchers who have been searching for a liver cancer treatment that can target tumors with minimal side effects while extending life for months or even years.

It is estimated that 16,780 people in the United States will die from liver cancer in 2007 -- and it seems Nexavar, a drug initially predicted to fail when used for liver cancer -- may help save some of these lives.

Bayer and Onyx are planning to pursue FDA approval for this drug that has already been approved for kidney cancer.

U.S. Army Col. Dirk Spanton's back hurt and he felt tired, but then he was wearing a 40-pound flak vest and getting half the amount of sleep, 4 hours a night, most normally get to feel rested and ready to go the next morning. He felt healthy, bench-pressing 205 pounds in repetitions of 10 several times a week, and did not anticipate anything was seriously wrong, other than the physical wear and tear from the rigors of war.

Within days of returning home after three tours and 32 months in Iraq, Spanton fell ill and was taken to the hospital. It was then the back pain and fatigue were explained. He had cancer of the liver bile ducts, and the physicians suspect he had cancer for awhile. Initially, they told him he had two months to live.

Spanton says he feels lucky. "I could have gotten killed while I was over there and not gotten to say goodbye to my family. This way, I'm lucky. How many people get to say goodbye to their kids, their wife and their family? You don't like the short time frame, but it's at least a time frame."

He is currently undergoing chemotherapy. Although it is reported he is gaunt and has lost 40 pounds from the cancer treatments, they feel he might have a few extra months to live if the chemo can shrink the tumor.

I was examined yesterday by my radiation oncologist and two medical students during a six-month follow-up appointment. And any apprehension I had prior to the visit -- about a recurrence of breast cancer or the detection of cancer somewhere else in my body -- is gone. Because I walked away with the news that I am doing just fine. No lumps or bumps or suspicious masses were found. No enlarged lymph nodes were detected. And since I did not report any pain or tenderness or sensitivity or other trouble, I was sent on my way with nothing more than a notice for a return appointment in another six months. I have other appointments hanging in the balance -- one with my medical oncologist in August and a mammogram in November -- and I am sure hesitation and worry will again sneak into my head. But for now, I can only feel the true exhilaration that comes from truly good news. Like the exhilaration that comes from a breathtaking moment at the ocean -- where the power and beauty of the sea and the sky and the sand is all it takes for one five-year-old boy to feel amazingly free.

Right here in Gainesville, Florida -- at the University of Florida to be exact -- the vaccine for cervical cancer is now available for college students. This vaccine -- called Gardasil -- could prevent women from contracting the human papillomavirus (HPV) which can cause cervical cancer and genital warts. Almost 30 of the more than 100 different strains of HPV are sexually transmitted -- and sometime in their lives, 50 percent of sexually active men and women will contract genital HPV infection. Many will not know they have it and will spread it unknowingly to sexual partners. Protection can come in the form of Gardasil which is approved for use in women between the ages of 9 and 26.

Women who are not sexually active are the best candidates for this vaccine because it is clear that they have not yet been infected. The vaccine is not effective for women who already are infected with HPV. And those who don't know if they are infected can determine if they have HPV through a routine Pap smear. If they do not have HPV, the vaccine is indicated. Once the vaccine is indicated, it is delivered in three separate doses over a six-month period of time. Each dose costs $120 -- which may discourage students from this option.

About 9,700 women in the United States will develop cervical cancer in 2006 and this cancer will kill 3,700 of these women. This vaccine -- if received well by young women who can afford it -- should prove a breakthrough in cancer research and prevention.

Quick autopsies -- or rapid organ donation -- may steer scientists in the direction of better diagnosing and treating the most lethal of cancers. Some 33,700 Americans will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer this year -- and 32,300 will die. There is no early detection test for this disease and early symptoms are vague and may be mistaken for health concerns like indigestion. By the time the classic symptoms -- jaundice and itching -- surface, the cancer has typically spread and patients have only months to live. Rapid autopsies have been used before -- for Alzheimer's and prostate cancer -- but this a first in the study of pancreatic cancer and it just may lead to the discovery of what makes this cancer so aggressive and so deadly.

I was hospitalized twice last year for chemo-induced fever and low blood counts. My first stay came at a busy time -- the hospital's oncology floor was full and there was no space for me. So I was admitted to the bone marrow transplant unit as an overflow patient and suddenly -- even in my very sick and compromised state -- I became the healthiest person on the floor. My white blood count was 700 -- sounded pretty bad to me -- but some of the patients staying on this floor with me had no blood counts because in order to receive a transplant, their own bone marrow is completely depleted in order to prepare for new bone marrow. Patients on this floor are considered pretty healthy when their counts reach 500. I was considered sick and was hospitalized at 700. Adults and children on this floor stay in rooms behind glass panels and with special -- and loud -- air flow systems that push germs out of the room. Visitors must wear gowns and shoe covers and must wash their hands before entering the rooms. Patients might stay on this floor for months at a time, receiving chemotherapy and preparing for their eventual bone marrow transplants. Some patient rooms are decorated and arranged just like home. Parents prepare rooms for children with play areas and craft areas and television areas. This floor is home to many sick children -- and this is what affected me most. For my five days on the bone marrow transplant unit, I gained an up-close and personal look at what many parents and children encounter when cancer derails their lives. It was so much more than I had to encounter. It must be quite an undertaking to prepare a child for this experience.

I picked up a coloring book the day I was discharged and walked off this floor and back into my own life. It's a coloring book that comes from The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and is made by bone marrow transplant patients for children preparing for their own transplants. There is a poster for children to color and hang on their hospital room walls that says I Will Get Well, there is a page that terms chemo and radiation as Laser Rays and Guard Dogs and pages that help children visualize happy moments -- like playing a favorite sport or activity and jumping rope in the warm sunshine. This book reminds children that it is okay to cry and it even includes a prescription: Make sure you get at least one hug every day!

The overall message of this coloring book, which is stated in writing is, "A good attitude does not mean being cheerful all the time; it just means that you know that this is necessary to help fight your cancer."  Well said. And something I will always remember.