I tend to think of cancer as a gift. I think it helps me prioritize life's details. I believe it has taught me to stress less. I know it's made me more sensitive to others sharing this planet with me. Yes, cancer has made me a better person. And I consider that a gift.

This is not how writer Lauren Terrazzano describes her dance with cancer.

"The truth is, having cancer just pisses me off," says Terrazzano.

"I wish I could be one of those people who has had the epiphany, who believes the disease has given me valuable insight into life. OK, I occasionally feel that way, but it might just be the pain medication."

Neither of us is right. We just have different takes on living with a deadly disease. And our opposite viewpoints make for a rather enlightening study on how cancer affects us all so differently.

I regularly write about the blessings I've found in the midst of cancer. So for today's Thought for the Day, I present to you some thoughts from Terrazzano about how cancer is not always a gift.

Think about this:

On cancer making her a better person

I don't really remember what kind of person I was before cancer. While I may not be better, I am definitely blunter.

I often say whatever I want to whomever I want, whenever the moment strikes me. These flashes can be toxic to those around me. I once yelled at a homeless man who asked me for a dollar. I yell at my husband sometimes, arguing about stupid things like how to shove a brisket into the freezer, above the peas and spinach.

And I sometimes wish bad things on bad people. Mostly the high-octane evil people, like Osama bin Laden (Why can't he have to go through chemotherapy? Why can't he have a good dose of radiation?). Are these really the musings of a better person?

On living each day as if it's your last

Nope. Can't do it.

While sometimes I am the carpe diem sort of girl, I want to live each day like just another day. I want to watch When Harry Met Sally for the 17th time or surf the Internet for new pictures of Britney Spears' bald head. Then I want to cap it off by several hours of reading. Forget Tolstoy, though. I'd rather read People magazine. Why do I have to cram life into 20 seconds, while other people have the luxury of doing it over the span of 20 years?

On why she is not so brave

Firefighters and police officers who plunge head first into dangerous situations are brave. A child protective worker who gets paid next to nothing and tries to be a mother to as many as 50 dysfunctional families is brave. Those people chose their positions in life. Cancer chose me. It's not bravery that gets me up every morning to try to beat back the monster. It's a survival instinct that kicks in, pure Darwinism.

The fact is, most of the time I am scared to death. I wear Band-Aids far too long because I can't take the agony of pulling them off. I hate needles (though I don't know anyone who likes them). Why is it that people who hate getting blood drawn are the ones who usually end up with serious illnesses that require getting stuck often? It's a mystery of the universe, much like why tornadoes seem to seek out trailer parks to do their damage.

I really like the book I've recently been writing about -- The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person. And I plan to read more. And I plan to write more. But I'm at a standstill.

I haven't been reading lately. And I haven't been writing lately. Because life is getting in the way. And in my book, that's a good thing.

There was a time when it would have caused me great stress to have committed myself to something -- like reading a book and writing about it -- and to have somehow fallen short on completing the task. Stress would have caused me to make time for my commitment, to push other important tasks aside, to fulfill my self-imposed deadlines.

But ever since cancer arrived in my life and jolted me into the realization that I only have the pleasure of one day at a time, I am better at capitalizing on what's most important in my world -- my family.

I have been busy playing beauty shop with my son. The boy who once shaved my head prior to my chemotherapy fallout is now twisting my dark brown curls into one-of-a-kind styles. I have been hanging Christmas lights with my sister who really has done all the work for me. I have been watching my two boys play in the yard and skateboard down the driveway and create concoctions of dirt, water, and weeds on the front porch. I have been shopping for holiday gifts and finding all sorts of great buys for myself too. I have been playing with my niece and dining out with my husband and writing posts and sitting by a fire at night. I have not been reading.

I am perfectly content with my hiatus from reading and writing. Because enjoying my moments, on my preferred terms, is surely part of recovering from a illness that threatened to take all my moments away.

I'm not sure when I'll get back to Dr. Jeremy Geffen's book, when I will continue reading about his Seven Levels of Healing. Because at the moment, I am too busy healing myself.

To read previous posts on the same topic, visit:
The Journey Through Cancer: State-Of-The-Art-Medical Care
The Journey Through Cancer: Beverly Is Every One of Us
The Journey Through Cancer: What Is The Purpose Of Medicine
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for an eventual post about:
The Journey Through Cancer: Level One -- Education and Information

Every cancer patient should receive state-of-the-art medical care, says Dr. Jeremy Geffen in his book The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person. This medical care -- the foundation of every cancer treatment program -- should be administered by highly trained and qualified caregivers, under the meticulous supervision of an experienced oncologist.

Some don't believe this is the necessary foundation and consider the triad of surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation both poisonous and barbaric. There is no doubt that people encounter pain, frustration, and toxicity with these therapies, according to Dr. Geffen. But he believes it's almost always a serious mistake to forgo these remedies in exchange for unproven alternative therapies.

There are demonstrated benefits of conventional medicine. And it is clear that with each day, treatments become safer, less toxic, and more effective than ever before. Some cancers -- like Hodgkin's disease, testicular cancer, and childhood leukemia -- were once considered deadly. Now, they can be cured. The anatomy and function of the eye, breast, larynx, esophagus, anus, rectum, and prostate can now be preserved, despite surgery and treatment. Advances in pain control have delivered considerable relief to patients experiencing discomfort with treatment. And there is reason to believe future progress against cancer will be even more dramatic -- with the advent of molecular and genetic technology, immunotherapy, targeted therapies, better diagnostic technologies, and more effective control of side effects.

Dr. Geffen stresses this -- conventional medicine is a must in the fight against cancer. But alternative and complementary therapies also have a place. And throughout his book, he details the Seven Levels of Healing that encompass both approaches.

He begins with Level One -- Education and Information. The starting place. The place common to all of us who receive diagnoses that are troubling and confusing and require a little investigation, a little research, a little explanation. The place I will describe in my next Journey Through Cancer post.

To read previous posts on the same topic, visit:
The Journey Through Cancer: Beverly Is Every One of Us
The Journey Through Cancer: What Is The Purpose Of Medicine
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: Level One -- Education and Information

Beverly called Dr. Jeremy Geffen in a state of panic. She had just been diagnosed with breast cancer that had spread to her lymph nodes, just had her breasts removed, and was terrified of her recent diagnosis -- high grade infiltrating ductal carcinoma.

Beverly, age 44, was told by her doctor that she would need chemotherapy and radiation. She had heard horrible stories about chemotherapy. And having never been sick a day in her life, she was scared. So when a friend told her about a caring doctor she heard speak at a conference, Beverly knew she had to locate him. She tracked down his phone number, picked up the phone, dialed, got Dr. Geffen on the phone, and asked him to help. He did.

Beverly was a complete stranger to Dr. Geffen, author of The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person. Yet she was like so many people he knew -- people with cancer, confronted with the greatest challenges of their lives, seeking more than just physical remedies, grasping for someone who really cares.

Dr. Geffen received calls like Beverly's every day. And the number of calls seemed to increase with time. It's no wonder really. Cancer is a growing presence -- and more and more people like Beverly are confronting the disease. More and more people like Beverly are seeking more than just science to cure their ailments. And in an effort to harness a little compassion in their lives, patients are reaching for alternative methods of healing -- for their minds and hearts and spirits. Yet few disclose to their doctors their secret missions for fear they will be dismissed.

Beverly knew of Dr. Geffen's belief in holistic healing, his desire to treat the whole person and not just the organs and tissues and cells. So when she asked for his guidance on what treatment protocol to follow -- conventional, alternative, or complementary -- she was a bit surprised at his response.

Dr. Geffen told Beverly that conventional medicine was her best line of defense. Science tells us these methods work -- and abandoning them could be tragic. Dr. Geffen told Beverly that chemotherapy and radiation, when used skillfully and sensibly, can be truly beneficial. But he also suggested she pursue complementary therapies related to diet, nutrition, exercise, and stress relief.

Dr. Geffen believes in balance. And he teaches through his Seven Levels of Healing how we all can achieve balance when considering how to scientifically and emotionally heal our bodies.

Dr. Geffen will detail throughout the chapters of his book how Beverly represents all the strengths and vulnerabilities of the contemporary cancer patient, how Beverly is every one of us.

To read previous posts on the same topic, visit:
The Journey Through Cancer: What Is The Purpose Of Medicine
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: State-Of-The-Art Medical Care

My own oncologist did it just two days ago. He checked in on my mental health, asked how I was surviving, and eased my fear of cancer recurrence and possible death. He reached beyond the medical scope of our relationship -- literally. He placed a hand on my shoulder. He offered me a hug. He cared.

Yet many doctors refrain from reaching too far into the lives of the patients they treat. They stay at a distance. They focus on merely replacing illness with health. This is, after all, the purpose of medicine -- to fix people.

Dr. Jeremy Geffen, author of The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person, shares in his book that "at present, doctors focus primarily on the physical characteristics of their patients -- bones and organs, tissue samples, test results, height, weight, and age. Yet in each of us, there is a rich mental, emotional, and spiritual reality that influences, even directs the course of our lives."

Conventional medicine responds to cancer patients with surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and other treatment protocols to essentially get rid of the cancer. Physical signs, symptoms, and responses are carefully monitored -- while other areas of patients' lives receive little attention.

A whole component of true medical care is missing -- as doctors may feel unprepared to address emotional issues, and time restraints allow for limited interaction between doctor and patient.

Geffen believes the ultimate purpose of medicine is to help all beings "experience unbounded love, joy, and inner peace, and to know this is the essence of who we truly are." This purpose, he believes, deserves as much attention as the purpose of treating symptoms and curing disease.

And so Geffen created a program based on his Seven Levels of Healing -- a program that includes both the relative and ultimate purposes of medicine, both the doing and the being.

Level One: Education and Information -- provides basic information about cancer and treatment options and encourages patients to actively participate in and obtain benefit from their care.

Level Two: Connection with Others -- explores the importance of reaching out to others for comfort and support on the journey through cancer.

Level Three: The Body as Garden -- invites patients and family members to see the human body as growing and evolving, as a complex garden rather than a machine. This level touches on good nutrition, exercise, massage, acupuncture, and a variety of complementary and alternative approaches to healing.

Level Four: Emotional Healing -- enters the realm of the human heart, shedding light on fear, pain, anger, self-love, and forgiveness.

Level Five: The Nature of Mind -- examines how life with cancer is influenced by our thoughts, beliefs, and the meanings we give events.

Level Six: Life Assessment -- delves into aspirations, goals, and purposes of our lives.

Level Seven: The Nature of Spirit -- embraces the spiritual aspects of the healing process.

As a physician, Geffen aims to bring his vision of medicine and healing to cancer patients everywhere. And he uses his book as an instrument of communication -- so readers can participate in his vision, so they can learn to settle for nothing less than medical care that centers on the whole person. And not just the parts.

To read previous posts on the same topic, visit:
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: Beverly Is Every One Of Us

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.

It was his father's death from stomach cancer -- and the cold, impersonal, clinical manner in which his father was treated leading up to his death -- that inspired Dr. Jeremy Geffen to become the kind of oncologist he wished had been available for his father -- "someone who could look into the mind, heart, and spirit of a human being as intently as he could gaze at an MRI scan or pathology report; someone who provided love, support, wisdom, and hope."

For the 20 years that have followed his father's death, Geffen's inspiration has led him in exactly this direction. He credits education and a strong network of mentors for preparing him for the path less traveled, for allowing him to achieve his vision for comprehensive, integrative medical care.

Geffen founded the Geffen Cancer Center and Research Institute in 1994, and directed it until 2003. It was one of the first cancer centers in the United States created specifically to provide complete, holistic care for people with cancer and their loved ones.

After working closely with cancer patients over the years, Geffen observed that every single question and concern encountered on the journey through cancer falls precisely into one of seven different yet interrelated domains.

Geffen wrote down these domains -- he calls them the Seven Levels of Healing -- and began sharing them with his patients and staff who remarked that the levels perfectly mirrored their own experiences. And so Geffen kept them fresh in his mind and over the course of time developed them into a formal program that became the foundation for the standard of care offered to his patients and their loved ones.

Geffen's book -- that brings life to the Seven Levels of Healing -- is called The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person. It is a result of his own personal journey that began the day his father left a dreaded string of words on his answering machine. "Oh, Jeremy. I think I've got a little problem. I had an endoscopy today and the doctor said I have a tumor in my stomach. Unfortunately, it's malignant. Maybe you could give me a call."

Geffen was in medical school when his father recorded these words. Now he is an accomplished oncologist, author, public speaker. He is the father of the Seven Levels of Healing -- soon to be revealed right here on The Cancer Blog.

To read previous post on the same topic, visit:
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: What Is The Purpose of Medicine?

I love it when seven of something lands before me, offering me potential material for the Sunday Seven series. In fact, it just happened. And I can't wait to start writing about the Seven Levels of Healing common to cancer patients and those who love them.

I have a new book. It's called The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person by Jeremy Geffen, MD.

Dr. Geffen knows cancer. He lost his father just three months after a stomach cancer diagnosis. He became an oncologist. He founded a cancer research center. He travels and speaks and writes about health and wellness. And inside the pages of his newly revised and updated paperback, he details the Seven Levels of Healing -- a blend of conventional and complementary principles-- and the true stories of cancer patients who have directly experienced them.

It occurred to me while first flipping through this book that I might read it in its entirety and then write a review of the material. Then I determined it would take much too long for this approach. With two small children, a few jobs, an exercise routine I must revisit, and all the other bits and pieces of life that keep me occupied, this would be quite an undertaking -- the actual reading, the remembering, the writing. Somehow, this would be too much to manage. But small steps. I think I can handle small steps. So this is how it's going to work.

I will present to you in this post the Seven Levels of Healing. I don't know much about them yet -- although by title alone, I am sure I have lived most of them in my own cancer journey. So I will simply lay the groundwork. And then I will start reading. And as I read, I will write. This will be my own one-woman book club -- with an open invitation for new members. Read my posts and reflect on them. Agree. Disagree. Leave comments. Buy your own book. Read with me. Apply what you learn to your own life. Share what you learn with others. The possibilities are endless as I journey my way through this new book in search of peace, clarity, and comfort -- all of which flow from these seven levels.

Level One: Education & Information
Level Two: Connection with Others
Level Three: The Body as Garden
Level Four: Emotional Healing
Level Five: The Nature of Mind
Level Six: Life Assessment
Level Seven: The Nature of Spirit

And so that's what I have to offer for now. I'm sorry to keep you hanging. But rest assured, I am hanging right along with you, eager to find a moment to dive into this book. To sink my teeth into the words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters. To relay it all to you. I can't wait -- to really understand the Seven Levels of Healing.

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction

Ryder Cup golfer Darren Clarke lost his wife Heather to breast cancer last month. Clarke has not played competitively since July 21 when he took time off from golfing to care for his wife. Since her passing, Clarke has been thinking and regrouping and mourning the loss of his 39-year-old wife and mother of their two young sons. Now, he is ready to re-enter the world of golf. He is ready, he says, for the upcoming Ryder Cup.

Clarke says his game is good and while his decision to return to his sport was tough, he is returning only because he knows he can fully contribute. And he knows his wife would have wanted him to play so he made himself available for selection. Clarke could not have qualified automatically due to the time he took off to care for Heather but he was eligible to be selected -- and he was. Clarke is grateful and prepared for the challenge. "I am stronger altogether," he says. "I've had to face up a lot of tough things. I hope I've come through it a better person."

When we memorialize someone at the time of death, we often refer to the date of birth and the date of death. These numbers tell us something -- like the age of the person -- but they don't say much about the life that fills the gap between start date and end date. They don't tell of the life that was surely full of ups and downs and victories and struggles. And happiness and joy and sadness and sorrow. And family and friends and jobs and hobbies. They don't do justice to the true stuff of life that is so much more important than numbers. But there is something important about these two sets of numbers -- something that when really examined, tells the full story. This important something -- the dash.

The dash that separates these static numbers is what tells the story of life. So consider your own dash when contemplating life, while determining how to spend your time and fill your days. Make your dash matter. Make it worthwhile. Make it something that people will talk about long after your own numbers become a matter of permanent record. And when you memorialize loved ones in the future, think about what their dashes mean. Talk about them, remember them, honor them. And pass on this link -- www.thedashmovie.com -- so others will consider the meaning that flows from each simple dash.

I never colored my hair -- until after cancer, when my once-blond hair lost to chemotherapy grew in mousy brown with touches of gray. I thought it needed some spark and dazzle so I doused my head -- and my bathroom counter and walls too -- with hair dye in an effort to brighten up my look. It worked. And I like it. But I don't like what I've now heard about a possible link between hair dye and cancer. And this is what I told a reporter from the New York Times who called me the other day. She had read my post here on the Cancer Blog about this news story -- about hair dye and cancer -- and she wanted to know more about my personal feelings as a cancer survivor and as a person with colored hair.

I told this reporter that it's a bit ironic that in 36 years, I had never applied hair dye to my hair and that only after cancer did I take the plunge -- only to learn that hair dye may be cancer causing. I told her that I wouldn't do it again -- dye my hair -- although I don't think one application of coloring chemicals will really affect me when research indicates a risk only when women use hair dye 12 or more times. But still, I don't choose to take even the smallest of risks when it comes to my health -- which has already been compromised once. I told the reporter that I have not witnessed any widespread panic among the public about this issue. And I think the people I know who color their hair will continue to do so. That's okay with me. Because when it comes down to it, I am responsible for my hair only, my health only, my life only. That's really all I can manage.

And once my colored hair grows out -- the colored hair that was photographed today for the story this reporter is writing -- I'll manage to live on with my mousy brown hair with natural gray highlights. It won't have much spark or dazzle. But it will be safe.

Every time I hear about someone who has died from cancer, it knocks me down a notch. It makes me sad for the person, for the family, for the friends, for me -- because I know I am not guaranteed survival from cancer and while I mostly live each day as if I am immune to this tragic outcome, the knowledge that people do really die from this disease that I am trying to beat is overwhelmingly sobering. And what shakes me most is the fact that these people who die from cancer must have had the same outlook as me at some point in their journey -- the outlook of promise and hope and continued survival. And then something happens that jolts this hope from their grasp. It could happen to me -- and my family and my friends. And that scares me.

Sometime last year, my husband told me about a woman in one of his graduate classes whose husband was fighting melanoma that had spread to his brain. He was in year number eight of constant treatment -- both traditional and alternative -- and with each day, his hope for survival was fading. His wife and my husband talked at times about his journey -- and they talked about my journey with breast cancer. And after the class ended, both spouses periodically checked on each other. Today, my husband asked this woman in an e-mail about her husband. She replied and shared that he died last October. She wrote that he could not fight any longer -- that the last chemotherapy he tried to endure was too hard on him. He died with dignity. And she is proud of him. And I can't stop crying.

My tears will dry. And sadness will drift from my every thought. And I will return to my usual enthusiastic approach to surviving my own dreaded disease. But in the back of my mind, where I have saved every sad story about cancer and death, my sorrow will linger. And I suppose it should. So I can keep my sights on the possibility that surrounds me -- death -- and so I can continue living with every fiber of my being. Because living is not a guarantee. Ever.

Over a month ago we introduced you to Miriam Engelberg, breast cancer survivor and author of Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person: A Memoir in Comics. Years before she was diagnosed with cancer, she had planned on creating comics featuring life as a mother.

Instead, she used cartooning as a way to cope with the shock of diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, support groups, and a second cancer diagnosis. Today I discovered her blogging at Live Journal about her current cancer treatments, adventures in the world of being a published author and every day life as Miriam Engelberg.

In addition, at her Miriam Engelberg website, she features a weekly cartoon. Engelberg is simply delightful and deliciously funny. You'll enjoy the blog and the featured weekly cartoon.