I'm in another hospital lobby -- this time waiting while my three-year-old son has surgery to repair a hernia.

So I'm back to reading a magazine. This time I brought my own not-so-outdated publication -- The Oprah Magazine, April 2007. And as I sit here flipping and turning the pages, there is so much I want to tell you.

I'll be back with more. But for now, think about this:

"...see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh.
as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest."

Jane Hirshfield, From What Binds Us

I have a few small triumphs pinned to my chest -- they show in the form of surgery scars and radiation tattoos and puckered skin where a port once lived. Proud flesh. Stronger than the once untested surface. My honors for having survived a battle.

Six-year-old Joey told his doctor the other day about my cancer. The topic came up because Joey wore a pink tie-dye t-shirt in anticipation of a gymnastics meet we would attend later that day. The meet was dedicated to breast cancer awareness, and fans were encouraged to pack the place pink. Joey was ready.

Joey told the doctor all about his shirt. And all about me.

"My mom had cancer," he said. "But she survived."

He talked about everything I had to endure, about his surprise that I had to go through so much. He spoke lovingly, his doctor told me. She said he seemed proud.

Joey's doctor told me his eyes were full of emotion when he spoke about me and my cancer. She said he wasn't on the verge of tears, but he was surely passionate about his mom's victory over a disease he just barely comprehends.

And I am proud of Joey. I am proud of his loyalty, his support, his ability to express his emotions, his unwavering enthusiasm for all things pink.

Yes, I survived. Joey did too. And we are both tickled pink.

I'm not a big sports fan. But everyone in my family is, and I live in Gainesville, Florida -- home of the Florida Gators -- so by default, I've come to know a bit about sports. And I tend to get caught up in the orange and blue spirit that lives in this town. It's contagious.

I am thrilled that the Gator football team beat Ohio State Monday night, earning the 2007 National Championship title. But I am even more thrilled that one player -- safety Reggie Nelson -- gets to claim this victory, for himself and for his mother, who passed away on December 21 after a three-year battle with breast cancer.

It must have been a bittersweet win for Nelson, who talked with his mom on the phone prior to each of his games. She was his biggest fan and one of his toughest coaches. She cheered him on and offered critiques all the same.

But there was no phone call Monday night -- before Nelson's biggest game ever. But his mom was surely present to witness the wonder and glory of her son. And Nelson surely made every move on that field in honor of her.

"My mom's my life and my best friend," he said prior to her death. "Everything I do is because of her. She's always in my mind."

Nelson did not speak to the media between the time of his mother's death and his match-up with Ohio State. According to the BCS contract, all players must be made available to the media during media day. But the University of Florida struck an agreement with the BCS to waive the clause for Nelson so he could begin to heal from his loss, without the stress of the Arizona media frenzy.

It's been a difficult time for Nelson who is now speaking out about his mom.

"A person never gets over losing his mother," Nelson said on the field Monday night, as confetti fluttered on the national champs. "I'm a Momma's boy at heart. All I wanted was to make her proud."

Previous posts about Reggie Nelson and his mom are as follows:
Florida Gator Reggie Nelson loses mom to breast cancer
Florida Gator would trade football for family

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.

Preggers n' Proud, a hip sexy fashion company started by a mommy-to-be who wanted to celebrate her pregnant belly with trendy maternity slogan tees, has designed the Loving My Buddha Belly pink tank top to benefit the Susan G. Komen Foundation for breast cancer research. Part of the profits from the sale of each tee will go to the foundation.

According to the company, the Loving My Buddha Belly soft pink tank top reminds pregnant women to embrace their blossoming belly, and will stand as a reminder going forward to empower each other to have regular mammograms, as well as perform self exams.

A socially conscious company, Preggers n' Proud takes advantage of the celebrity gift giving of merchandise to garner a type of advertising most companies could not afford to pay in dollars -- but for every celebrity that receives one of their tees, they donate five to a pregnancy care facility located in Santa Barbara, California area called Life Network. Very cool.

I look at it this way. You are going to spend your money somewhere, why not do it with a company that gives back. Preggers n' Proud tees have appeared on VH1's Hot Mama show, The Today Show and TLC's Baby Story. Check them out, it's for a good cause.

There are many proud sponsors of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation Race for the Cure -- American Airlines, Yoplait, Ford, Kelloggs, New Balance, Ultra Quilted Northern, Remax, Sun Chips, and Zeta Tau Alpha Fraternity. And new this year is Coldwater Creek -- a company that specializes in women's apparel, jewelry, accessories, and gifts. Tucked away in Sandpoint, Idaho, Coldwater Creek offers merchandise through a number of retail stores across the country, through direct-mail catalogs, and through their website too. And now they offer something more -- the IN PINK Collection. Ten percent of each purchase from this collection of clothing and accessories goes directly to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. And for each visor purchase, 100 percent of the profits are donated.

At Coldwater Creek, more and more women are being touched by breast cancer -- employees, co-workers, family members, friends, and customers. Breast cancer is a widespread disease that needs widespread support. So those at Coldwater Creek are reaching out and joining the ranks of supporters. And they are giving back to the many women who have supported them over the years. One small step by one company can make a world of difference.

Celebrities can bring awareness to cancer causes. Celebrities can attract money to cancer fundraisers. Celebrities influence our society in fashion and lifestyle trends. Whether you are one who thinks celebrities have too much influence, and wondering why there seems a global obsession with celebrity -- or you are someone who applauds the efforts of those who have risen to success in fame and fortune and take time to give back, there is no doubting celebrities have power. And even when celebrities aren't trying to make a difference, they do, by the simple fact they are a celebrity.

A news story out of Canada is reporting that young girls, inspired by fair-skinned celebrities like Australian actress Nicole Kidman, are rejecting the fashion standard that a tan makes you attractive and embracing what they are calling the pale and proud of it attitude. When it comes to reducing the rising incidence of skin cancer, this couldn't come as better news. Really good news since it is in the young where a shocking number of new skin cancer cases are being diagnosed, a trend that is fairly recent to our times.

I always notice women wearing ball caps. I wore them almost every day while I received chemotherapy last year. I used them to cover my bald head -- along with wigs made for ball caps -- because I never could muster up the courage to show the world what was happening to me. So I look at others who wear these hats and wonder if they wear them for the same reason I did. Most times, I can tell they are worn for nothing more than fashion or for a means to disguise a bad hair day -- but there are times when I spot a ball cap that covers the battle scars of a war with cancer. And this makes me sad. And proud. And connected to these women who share an experience with me -- even though we never meet or speak or realize the bond we share. It's like watching another mom with a brand new baby in a stroller -- and knowing how it feels to be that mom with a new life at her fingertips and all the joy and potential (and lack of sleep and worry and tantrums) that lie ahead. It's a silent sisterhood -- being a mom in the world with other moms and being a cancer survivor in the world with other cancer survivors.

I never thought ball caps would be so important in my life. I observe them and analyze them and remember how they cushioned the blow I took when my blond hair left me for good.

My blond, straight hair never came back. Dark, curly hair took its place -- and it now sits underneath a ball cap because I'm having a bad hair day.