Neenah Paper has joined the fight against breast cancer and partnered with the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation to create Soft Pink stationery.

By choosing the Soft Pink stationery from Neenah Paper, businesses and individuals can help to support the fight against breast cancer, as a portion of the purchase proceeds will be donated to the foundation.

Patrick Lynch, Senior Brand Manager for Neenah Paper says "Neenah Paper has the only stationery brand supported by the foundation. Our Soft Pink letterhead sheets are an elegant opportunity to show support of the cause".

The American Cancer Society has happily announced that cancer deaths have declined for the second straight year. This is big news -- mostly because our population is growing and aging and it's entirely possible this could have led to an increase in cancer deaths. Not only is this not true, but the drop in deaths for this second year is eight times greater than the drop during the first year. Amazing.

It's hard to imagine in light of this great news that there are still less hopeful statistics out there on the cancer front. But there are so many dimensions to this disease -- prevention, detection, diagnosis, treatment, survival -- that the numbers can vary tremendously depending on perspective.

From the perspective of diagnosis, one in two men and one in three women in America today will develop cancer during their lifetimes. These staggering statistics, based on data collected during 2001 through 2003, are detailed in a pivotal paper appearing in The Oncologist -- a monthly peer-reviewed journal for doctors devoted to cancer patient care.

Dr. Matthew Hayat and colleagues, who worked on this paper for the National Cancer Institute, reveal other worrisome numbers and facts.

It seems the number of new cancer patients is expected to more than double from the current 1.36 million in 2000 to almost 3 million in 2050. Five-year survival for all cancer stages combined ranges from as low as 16 percent for lung cancer patients to 100 percent for prostate cancer patients. And black Americans are reported to have the highest cancer incidence and mortality rates for men and women for all cancers combined.

So while less people are dying from cancer, diagnosis of the disease seems to be on the rise. Not exactly a perfect scenario -- but if science and research can keep up, perhaps those diagnosed with cancer will need to prepare not for death, but for the management of a chronic condition.

On Friday, I had my annual OB/GYN appointment. It's the appointment known by all women for (1) its blood pressure check and humbling weigh-in, (2) the pee-in-a-cup ritual, (3) the get naked and change-into-a-paper-dress routine, (4) the finger-stick-iron-check, (5) the clinical breast exam, (6) the manual internal pelvic exam, and (7) the ever popular feet-in-stirrups Pap test. It's all so uncomfortable, so not fun. Yet it's all so necessary.

It was a visit with my OB/GYN that resulted in my breast cancer diagnosis two years ago this month. It was the clinical breast exam that confirmed the hard little lump I had found in the shower the previous day. It's what prompted my emergency mammogram a day later. It's what sent me on the wildest ride of my life. It's what keeps me going back for repeat yearly visits -- because I know if something goes wrong with my female parts, this doctor is likely the one who will make the discovery. He is likely the one who will save me from a late diagnosis of something terrible, the doctor who will set the wheels in motion for whatever comes after something terrible is detected.

I know already that (1) my blood pressure and weight are normal, (2) my urine is normal, (3) the paper dress is so not flattering, (4) my iron is normal, (5) my breasts are normal, and (6) my ovaries and uterus feel normal. I am only waiting on (7) the results of my Pap test that will reveal any abnormalities in the tissue of my cervix. This is the one test that can save me from cervical cancer or detect the disease in a stage that is completely curable. It's one of the best cancer screening tests around -- and I plan to receive it every year, year after year -- even if I have not one ounce of modesty left when it's said and done.

It's not so bad really. I'm accustomed to the rituals of the annual exam. I know the drill, know I will survive it all, know it's all critical for maintaining my health. So it's good really. Good -- compared to what could happen if something went undiscovered.

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.

I've been keeping a journal ever since I was first diagnosed with breast cancer. I first wrote by hand in a pink fabric-covered book, sprinkled with multi-colored polka dots. It looked feminine -- which is why I bought it -- and it's vibrance made me feel inspired, motivated, eager to write down the dreaded details of the beginning of my journey. Then I stopped writing in this book and began typing my words in an on-line journal -- a blog. My husband designed the presentation of it, with a pink banner that serves as the backdrop for the title -- my Breast Cancer blog. My first entry was completed on December 21, 2004 and I am still chronicling my journey here. I am also writing for this site -- the Cancer Blog -- and I write whenever and wherever else I can record my words. I do it because it helps me process information in a quiet, calming, introspective way. It soothes me, helps me work through panic and anxiety, helps me heal, and helps me chart my progress. When I look back at what I've written, I realize how far I've come -- or haven't come -- and it helps me move forward. I recommend journaling for everyone, and I recommend these seven simple suggestions for getting started.

Someone raced for the cure -- in celebration of me. I am honored and flattered and so thrilled to have received in the mail today a t-shirt and the crumpled piece of pink paper than hung from my aunt's back -- with my name on it -- as she ran this 5K race in Aspen, Colorado on July 15. It was the 16th annual Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Aspen, and my aunt has run for me for two years now. I have a t-shirt and pink piece of paper from last year too. Maybe one day I will run it for myself. First, I have to master the whole running thing.

The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation Race for the Cure began in 1983 with 800 participants. Today the Komen Race for the Cure is the largest 5K event in the world. And in 2005, more than one million people participated in more than 100 races designed not only to raise funds but to also educate the public about early detection -- about how it is the most effective method of surviving this life-threatening disease. The five-year survival rate is 95 percent when the disease is discovered while still confined to the breast. I'm proud to have found my own lump early, before it had spread outside my breast. And I am proud to have been a part of a race -- even in name only -- that might make this early discovery possible for many more women to come.

One of the first recommendations I received after my cancer diagnosis was this -- write everything down. I was told to write down dates and times of appointments, results of tests, names and doses of medications, all procedures and protocols, every question that popped into my mind, and the general gist of what doctors and assistants and nurses and technicians told me.

Because the stuff that comes with a cancer diagnosis is overwhelming and confusing and disorienting -- and writing it all down can help manage the chaos of it all.