Nicole was a fellow member of an online group called Sisters In Survivorship. It is a Yahoo support group for women under 40 that have been diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember speaking to Nik on the phone a few times a few years ago when she needed some support and encouragement. I knew she wasn't doing that well lately and I found out today that she has passed away.

Her obituary reads as follows:

Nicole Norman Wetzel passed away on Wednesday, June 20, 2007 at her home in Mandeville, LA.

Beloved wife of Jason Steven Wetzel and devoted mother of Dominique Claire Wetzel, she is survived by her parents, Dale David and Elmire Begovich Norman; one brother, Kevin David Norman and many nieces, nephews and cousins. She was preceded in death by her grandparents: Dominick and Josephine Begovich, Dennis and Rose Norman.

Age 35 years, a native of Marrero, LA and a resident of Mandeville, LA for 14 years. Nicole was a 1990 graduate of Immaculata High School, she received a degree in Business from UNO before moving to Mandeville where she worked as a Notary and Paralegal.

"People don't often understand how a tiny skin blemish can kill," wrote Sarah Toller in her July 2, 2006 blog entry. Yet it call kill. And it killed Sarah on Tuesday, June 12, 2007.

On June 10, I wrote about Sarah. I wrote about how melanoma was claiming this young woman, how her husband was writing the final chapters of his wife's life on the blog she began just more than one year ago.

I visited Sarah's blog yesterday and read a closing statement written by her beloved. It was simple, to the point, and terrifyingly sad.

I did a post about Alese back in March titled Survival Spotlight: Alese Coco is fighting 2 win. I read on her website today that she passed away on Monday May 7, 2007.

This is what I read on her website.

It is with shattered hearts we announce that Alese died Monday May 7th at 1:20 p.m.

Mentally and emotionally, Alese's attitude to the end remained Fight 2 Win. However, her body could no longer carry on the fight and she succumbed due to respiratory complications. She will be greatly missed and there is a collective ache and void left in the hearts of the many people who loved her and were encouraged by her.

What a beautiful young girl she will be forever.

Molly Ivins (born August 30, 1944 -died January 31, 2007),an American political commentator, journalist, and author based in Austin, Texas. She was a syndicated columnist with nationwide distribution; her column appeared in nearly 400 newspapers across the United States.

Her articles have appeared in 'Esquire', 'The Atlantic Monthly', 'The Nation', 'Harper's', 'The Progressive', 'The Progressive Populist', and 'Mother Jones'. She has been a commentator for 'NPR', 'The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer', and '60 Minutes'.

In 1999, Ivins was diagnosed with stage III inflammatory breast cancer. Joking about it, she said:

'One of the things I said was that I had been in great hopes I would become a better person as a result of confronting my own mortality, but it actually never happened. I didn't become a better person.'

I wanted to share something Molly wrote about her breast cancer journey.

I just finished reading the words of Mark Raymond Clements -- and the words of his wife, Marianne, written when Mark was too ill to comment. I am overcome and overwhelmed with emotion because each string of sentences filling the pages of the Clements family homepage has touched me, inspired me, and saddened me all at the same time.

Clements was diagnosed in October 2005 with cholangiocarcinoma, a rare cancer of the bile duct normally found in people in their 70s.

"There is no known cure," writes Clements. "It does not respond well to chemotherapy. It is fast moving."

And fast moving it was. Surgery -- rarely a good option for this cancer -- was attempted but without success.

"After they opened him up, they discovered that the cancer had just spread too far," Marianne writes. "They closed him back up."

Chemotherapy came next and while there were some hopeful moments -- "overall distribution of the disease has decreased" -- the overwhelming course of Clement's disease continued on a fast track. And by June 2006, Clements realized, "the cruel reality of CANCER hits like a brick wall," when a CT scan revealed the presence of as many as 20 new tumors in his liver.

The Clements family never abandoned hope and were steadfast in their faith as cancer continued to dominate their lives. In October -- one year after diagnosis -- when Marianne believed doctors were sending a let's make you as comfortable as we can message, the family began pursuing alternative methods. But by December, when it had become clear treatment of any kind would no longer help, Mark Clements was welcomed by the loving arms of hospice -- where he remained until he passed away on January, 19, 2007. He was 40 years old.

On the very day of her husband's death, Marianne writes, "I know I am not alone in feeling complete anguish at this time. I know it will lessen over time. I know I will not understand 'why' until I'm with him again, but what I do know is that Mark loved me. He loved his children. He loved his family and friends. He will be waiting for me with our loving Father in Heaven. And we will be together again. Our Father in Heaven is aware of our pain and will comfort us still as he has through this past year."

And these are just some of the words that have has touched me, inspired me, and saddened me all at the same time.

I was doing fine at my every-three-month oncologist appointment yesterday. I kept my composure while telling my doctor all about my friend Amy who passed away just one month ago, after a short 15-month battle with breast cancer, at the tender age of 35.

As I detailed the story about how Amy's cancer spread to her brain and lungs, how she was given just two to 12 months to live, how she didn't even survive for two months, I saw in his eyes that he knew exactly why I had hand-picked this story just for him. He knew I was trying to determine my own risk for this same outcome -- and so he was understanding and compassionate and comforting in a medical sort of way. And he was convincing -- when he told me he predicts I will absolutely not follow Amy's same path.

I did just fine for our whole exchange. Until this same man shifted from medical speak and asked me the four simple words that never fail to trigger a trail of unstoppable tears.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

He caught me off guard. I'm not sure I was prepared to dive beyond the surface of my emotions, to reveal my true fear of death from the same disease Amy was sure would not kill her. So I cried. And cried. A medical student fetched me a tissue, my doctor stood and touched my shoulder, and my three-year-old Danny watched with concern. I told everyone I was fine -- mostly, I am -- and I dried my tears. Before departing, my doctor hugged me and told me he'd send in a nurse to give me a flu shot.

Danny thought I cried because I was scared of the flu shot. Had it not been for his own appointment later in the day for the same flu shot, I would have let him believe this was the cause of my tears. Instead, I told him I was sad for a friend who was sick. And he was happy -- until a sharp needle pierced the skin of his little leg hours later.

Danny is happy once again. And I am happy too. My appointment revealed nothing suspicious, nothing worrisome, nothing except the fact that my oncologist thinks of me not just as a case, a statistic, a body that once harbored a disease. He thinks of me as a whole person. And that -- more than anything -- is what makes me cry.

The largest sprint car racing organization World of Outlaws founder Ted Johnson has lost his battle with cancer. Johnson, who is credited with bringing sprint car racing national recognition and popularity, started the World of Outlaws nearly thirty years ago. Many NASCAR and Indycar drivers began in sprint car racing, and notable World of Outlaws drivers have included Steve Kinser, Tony Stewart, Jeff Gordon, Kasey Kahne, Andy Hillenburg, Danny Lasoski, Jeff Swindell, Sammy Swindell, Donny Schatz and Dave Blaney.

Growing up, Johnson watched his father race motorcycles. As a teen, Johnson drove midget racecars. He went from that to becoming a china salesman before establishing the World of Outlaws. Today, the Skoal Outlaw Series is the fourth-largest racing series in the world.

"We lost one of the most charismatic pioneers in the sport and we lost a good friend. Prior to the formation of the World of Outlaws series, sprint car racing was disorganized and confusing to fans because racers went to whatever track would pay them the most -- hence the nickname outlaws. Ted gave sprint car racing and its fans order and helped it grow to a staggering level of acceptance," stated Texas Motor Speedway President Eddie Gossage.

"It's not possible to think of Ted Johnson and not think of the World of Outlaws and sprint car racing," said son-in-law Carlton Reimers. "He dedicated a tremendous amount of time, energy and resolve to the sport, but above all else Ted was sprint car racing's biggest fan. He loved the sport and those associated with it. Our family wishes to express its heartfelt thanks for all the kind thoughts and prayers we have received. The racing community has truly lost one of its friends."

Johnson is survived by his wife Stacy, son Rick, daughters Lori and Lesa, and three grandsons. Johnson was 72.

In July 2005, Amy Wilson was diagnosed with breast cancer. In the months that followed, Amy endured a lumpectomy, a mastectomy, reconstruction, and chemotherapy. In January 2006, Amy's treatment ended. And she set off on a journey of survivorship.

In August 2006, Amy found out her cancer had spread to her brain and lungs. Her doctors gave her two to 12 months to live. On Thursday, October 5, 2006, Amy died. She was 35 years old.

Amy became my friend shortly after her original diagnosis and eight months after my own breast cancer diagnosis. A mutual friend brought us together and for a little more than one year, we shared a rich connection, cemented in shared struggles and victories. Through phone conversations and e-mail exchanges and cards and gifts sent through the mail, Amy and I shared a special friendship. But I never looked Amy in the eye, never offered her a hug, never met her husband and children. I knew her only from a distance. Still, our partnership was powerful. It was comforting. And sadly, it is over.

Our same mutual friend called me Friday morning to tell me Amy had passed away -- a mere 15 months after her battle began, three months shy of the end-of-treatment anniversary she happily anticipated, five years from the age of 40 -- the age she had determined would mark her first true survivor milestone.

I miss Amy. I miss the pieces of hope that vanished with her death. I miss that I never met her, never hugged her, never said goodbye.

Amy, whose journey was chronicled in her local Ohio newspaper, is survived by her husband, her two children -- Luke, age five and Ella, age two -- and among others, her mother, who is currently fighting her own breast cancer battle.

Of all the gifts I received during my cancer treatment, I never did receive boxing gloves. And I've never even considered giving them as gifts to loved ones who are sick. I usually stick with fuzzy socks -- that's my traditional put-your-feet-up comfort gift. But I like the idea of boxing gloves. I like that they represent the fight cancer brings out in us. And I like that two sisters came up with this gift idea for their mother during her cancer battle. Complete with signatures from family and friends, they presented boxing gloves to their mom, Gerrell, who loved looking at her symbol of strength. And she was thrilled with all the personal messages that reminded her each day of everyone who stood in her corner. Although Gerrell has since passed away from cancer, the boxing glove idea lives on.

After their mom died, Gerrell's daughters began a company called My Knockout where they sell boxing gloves with signature pens, t-shirts, gift baskets, and more -- and they contribute a portion of all profits to the American Cancer Society. They say it's takes just three rounds to pursue this gift option for anyone faced with a physical or emotional struggle -- just purchase My Knockout boxing gloves, have friends and loved ones sign the gloves with encouraging messages, and give the gloves to your fighters.

Gerrell's daugthers, who also keep a My Knockout blog, say life is truly worth fighting for. So put your gloves up and fight.

Thanks Sheree for sharing your story!

A reader left a comment the other day on the Cancer Blog post death by cancer dims outlook of promise, hope, survival. It was positive and supportive and inspiring -- and sad too. The reader shared that her mother passed away in February after a year-long battle with gallbladder cancer. She wrote that her mother handled her diagnosis, chemotherapy, transfusions, medications -- and her final days -- with true grace. And this is a big deal. Because there is not much information floating around on the topic of this cancer. So this woman didn't have much to cling to. Like I do. As a breast cancer survivor, I have mounds of resources at my disposal. I have books and magazines and websites and blogs that devote generous coverage to breast cancer. There are walks and runs and yard sales and fashion shows and other fundraisers that make breast cancer survivors the lucky recipients of extensive research and study. I see pink ribbons all over town and license plates on the roads and clothing and hats and even tennis shoes that promote breast cancer awareness. I could go on -- and on and on.

Gallbladder cancer is rare. So perhaps that's why there is not an abundance of information on the disease that has no known cause or test to detect its presence in the body. The American Cancer Society estimates that about 8,750 new cases of gallbladder cancer and bile duct cancer (excluding bile ducts within the liver) will be diagnosed in 2006 in the United States. And about 3,260 people will die of these cancers in 2006. Of these new cases and deaths, about half are due to gallbladder cancer, which affects predominantly women and those who are older than 65. Diagnosis of this cancer is difficult because symptoms do not often surface until the late stages when aggressive treatment becomes necessary. Surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation therapy are typical treatment tools, along with palliative therapy to help control or reduce symptoms. There are also drugs currently under study in the areas of both targeted therapy and immunotherapy.

It's good to know that gallbladder cancer is rare -- and that it takes far fewer lives than breast cancer and other diseases -- but for the unfortunate ones who are diagnosed with this life-threatening illness, the lack of information and resources is a truly an unfortunate side effect.

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.

I've been wearing a breast cancer bracelet that jingles with charms in the shapes of hearts, with inspiring little messages like Go with your heart. One of the heart charms is a watch. My friend sent me this shortly after my breast cancer diagnosis. I love this bracelet. So I was sad the other day when the glass piece covering the watch somehow cracked and shattered. I only realized this when I tried to check the time and learned that my watch was not actually telling time anymore. So I went for my back-up -- another watch, exactly the same and also given to me as a gift. I replaced my old watch with the new watch and then days later, my new watch was not working. I think water got inside the glass and damaged the battery or the mechanisms -- or something. I'm sure I could repair the watches -- and I considered this -- but then it entered my mind that maybe this is a message that I am okay now without all my breast cancer gear.