The National Inquirer was the first to break the news about Farrah's diagnosis of anal cancer before the star confirmed it.

The same paper is now saying that Farrah's cancer has returned. According to the article, doctors have found a small, malignant polyp. The actress was previously treated with radiation and chemotherapy. The new plan would be to place a small metallic seed in the area that would kill the cancerous polyp.

Can't believe everything you read -- especially from this source. Even if it is true that her cancer has recurred, I think most of what is said in the article is probably wrong.

Five weeks after doctors discovered that Tony Snow had a diagnoses of metastatic colon cancer -- he is back at work.

I just watched a briefing by Mr. Snow. He seems very optimistic about his treatment plan. He will receive chemotherapy and then maintenance chemotherapy to try and keep the cancer at bay.

Tony advises anyone with cancer to "not go it alone". He feels very supported by his colleges and family. He also stated that he feels very lucky and he has the gift of life and is going to make the most of it.

Mr. Snow was diagnosed with colon cancer in 2005 and has recently went through exploratory surgery to confirm his cancer recurrence. He did say that there are new chemotherapy drugs that were not available when he was first diagnosed, that he will be treated with at this time.

He seemed a bit choked up in the interview, but only because he is humbled by the love and support he has received.

Breast cancer survivor Catherine West was married to her husband, Jason, in a very public ceremony in May. The couple beat out 450 other couples battling in the ESPN Marriage Madness competition and celebrated with sports fans everywhere their beautiful union, inspired not only by their love for one another but also by the one-year anniversary of Catherine's double mastectomy for breast cancer.

What fans didn't know at the time of the wedding was that Catherine knew in her heart something was very wrong. And just after she returned from her Indianapolis 500 honeymoon, Catherine learned her breast cancer had returned.

The 37-year-old from Jupiter, Florida underwent three more surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation and is happy to report her treatment is complete. She is also certain breast cancer came to her life -- twice -- so she could make a difference.

"This happened to me so I could help other people,'" said West, who volunteers her time for the West Palm Beach Race for the Cure, a 5K walk and run sponsored by Susan G. Komen For The Cure.

The topic of my hair is often the subject of conversation -- and is a constant reminder that this brown curly hair I have covering my head is nothing like the straight blond hair I was born with, grew up with, was known for. Because my little boys have white blond hair, I am consistently asked by strangers, "Where did your boys get that blond hair?" "From me," is what I want to say because it's the truth -- but that would make no sense to anyone who does not know me, anyone who does not know that my hair -- that once looked much like my boys' hair -- was lost to chemotherapy and returned shockingly different. So sometimes I just chuckle in wonder with these strangers who may not expect an answer anyway. Or I tell them the story -- if they seem to really want in on the details of the mystery. Most people are surprised that my hair grew back like it did. I am not surprised -- I was warned that it might happen -- although it is still a startling discovery each time I look in the mirror, each time I look back at photos, each time I see gray hairs emerging through my dark hair -- gray that only slightly showed up in the midst of my blond locks.

The memory of my blond hair keeps popping up. My husband told me the other day that he had a dream about me -- I was in a restaurant, at a table, by myself. He was walking toward me. And I had blond hair. The rest of the dream is insignificant. The blond hair is significant. And the other day, I pulled my brush out of my purse. It hasn't been used in more than a year -- because I don't brush my curls at all -- and at the base of the brush, wound around the bristles, were long blond strands of hair. My blond hair. My old hair. The same hair I showed my friend who visited from Ohio last week -- the hair that was once on my head, was cut off in preparation of the great fallout, and is now kept in a ziplock bag.

I like my brown hair. I like my curls. But I miss my blond hair. I am sad that I no longer match my children, that I don't look like the bride in my wedding photo, that I will attend my 20-year high school reunion in two years and will wear a photo name tag that looks nothing like me. I like the familiar -- which is why I never wanted to show my bald head, why I covered my head with blond wigs and hats to keep my appearance as close to normal as possible. And then in a strange turn of events, my hair grew back in an unfamiliar fashion -- and somehow the question, "I see where your boys get that blond hair" flip-flopped into "Where did your boys get that blond hair?" It is all still new to me. I know one day it will become familiar and normal and not such a big deal. Some day. I hope.

I am always a bit nervous before I head out for a check-up with my oncologists. I have two of them -- a medical oncologist who delivered my chemotherapy and a radiation oncologist who delivered my radiation therapy. Today I see my radiation oncologist and she will examine my breasts and manipulate my breasts and feel my underarms and check for lymphedema -- swelling in the arm due to removed lymph nodes -- and she will ultimately determine whether or not I have anything to worry about at this time. It's been just over one year since my last radiation treatment and six months since I saw this doctor for a follow-up.

So I am a little apprehensive about what I might hear -- because it's always possible that something does not feel right, that something is questionable, that something has returned. I am mostly confident that I am okay but there is still an unknown that lies ahead of me. An unknown that in a matter of a few hours will be known. And I will either learn that I am in fact okay. Or I will begin another spiral into the what-if-it's-cancer scenario. Only time will tell.