I never would have predicted it -- that a tooth could become a tool for dispensing medication. But the refinement of such a creation is actually in the works and before long, you may be asking not for a gold or decorative tooth but for one capable of doling out your drugs in the exact doses and at the right times.

Think about this:

Researchers from Europe and Israel are working right now on a tiny dispensing system called IntelliDrug. Their goal is to create parts small enough they can fit into a false tooth placed in the back of the mouth. The device will release a specific amount of medication at certain intervals so patients receive the proper dosage right on schedule.

This invention, crafted by an Israeli dentist, could pick up the slack for people who forget to take medicine and could save lives for those whose lives depend on scheduled drug therapy. It could also allow for better absorption of medication into the body.

The IntelliDrug device will deliver medicine directly into the bloodstream through the lining of the cheek around the mouth. Saliva, meanwhile, mixes with the drug and carries it throughout they body in a manner more efficient than just swallowing a pill every few hours.

While researchers hope to one day turn their device into a replacement tooth, the apparatus -- consisting of a stainless steel housing, a pump, custom valves, a microprocessor, batteries, and a reservoir for the drug pill -- currently comes in the form of a block the size of two teeth. It is strapped to the the side of teeth and hugs the inside of the cheek. The unit can be removed, and a technician can refill the drug reservoir, clean the unit, and change batteries when necessary.

Clinical trials on pigs are ongoing. Human testing is expected to begin by the end of the year.

I like to exercise. I like the challenge, the sweat, the mental release, the physical results, the time to myself. I like everything about it -- practically.

What I don't like about exercise is the pressure to accomplish the feat over and over again for the rest of my life. For years, the pressure I put on myself was palpable. I thought about exercise all the time. I stressed about what to do and when to do it. I fought to convince my kids to climb into a double stroller long after they were too big to sit comfortably in the wobbly contraption and when I found time to exercise all by myself, I struggled with an overwhelming desire to spend quality time with my little boys. I felt rushed to complete my workouts -- because my kids were waiting, dinner was waiting, work was waiting.

I was faithful about exercising -- even through treatment for cancer -- because of my self-induced pressure and despite the stress and worry it caused me. And then something happened.

It was probably a combination of cancer and my relentless push for physical fitness that caused my body to crash. I became tired and exhausted and could barely lift my legs to walk up the neighborhood hills I typically conquered with ease. My oncologist told me to stop, to give my body a break, to let go of my high expectations. He advised me to exercise two to three times per week -- and that's it.

It took some time but I have finally embraced this approach. I have abandoned schedules and routines and plans and I now exercise when I can, when it fits into my day, when I really want to do it. My fitness trainer friend Fitz, a new blogger on That's Fit, wrote in one of her first posts that we should all stop trying to get fit -- and we should just do it. "Don't wake up tomorrow with the idea of trying to go for a jog," she says." "Get up and go for a jog! Put it in your planner and make it happen."

Fitz might not like my approach, but I have stopped putting exercise on my planner. For me, this works. It takes away the pressure, the stress, the worry. It gives me peace to confront each day free of exercise anxiety. It makes me happy to tackle exercise on my own terms, without some preconceived notion of what I should be doing.

I should share something else about myself. I am a perfectionist. I want everything to be just right. As child, I tore up drawings that may have had one stray mark. I wouldn't leave my house for school until my ponytails were flawless. My house is clean and neat, my toenails are pedicured and painted, my hair is styled just so. Perfectionism, sometimes just a step away from obsession, can be an unhealthy practice. And for me, exercise was becoming an emotionally unhealthy endeavor.

I am confident my perfectionist tendencies will keep me in the exercise loop for all of time. Just knowing I need exercise will propel me to conform. But I must say that I am so relieved to have let go of some of my exercise burden.

I like exercise. I really like it. And today, when I ran three miles -- because I had the time and felt up for the task -- it was refreshing, empowering, cleansing. I think it's the lack of pressure that allowed me to lose myself in the moment today. For me, letting go of exercise has lightened the load.

They are called DES daughters, and they are the women who mothers took the anti-miscarriage hormone drug DES during pregnancy. It is estimated that millions of pregnant women were given this drug between the 1940s and 1960s, and it's now been determined that the daughters born to these women have not only an increased risk of a rare vaginal cancer but also nearly double the chance of developing breast cancer.

This sad finding has been addressed before but now more than ever, DES daughters are urged to stick to a strict breast cancer screening schedule.

A news brief published in the February 2007 issue of Good Housekeeping boldly reminds all women to comply with government guidelines that call for mammograms for all women every one to two years starting at age 40 and every year after the age of 50. But it's a different story for women exposed in utero to DES.

"If you were exposed to DES, be sure to let your doctor know and have a mammogram ever year, even in your 40s," says Julie Palmer, lead researcher of the DES study.

I just read a breast cancer survivor's commentary about the color pink -- about how she hates pink, is sick of seeing pink, is tired of companies capitalizing on the breast cancer color in order to sell products. She calls the color wimpy and too feminine -- and while she accepts that she may just be grumpy about this topic, she is not too happy that pink is the color that symbolizes a serious disease. She would have preferred red or purple, colors that signify strength and power. But pink is what we've got -- and I happen to be okay with it.

I'm okay with pink because I like the color. I'm okay with it because it's recognizable -- and there can't be too many people out there who don't know that pink and breast cancer go hand in hand. To me, the color itself raises awareness. If I buy a pink vacuum cleaner and am reminded of the words breast and cancer each time I suck up dirt from my carpet, then I'm in the loop -- even if minimally. And if it prompts me to check my own breasts or schedule a screening appointment, then I benefit. I'm not sure a green vacuum cleaner would have the same effect. And when I wear my new Key to the Cure t-shirt -- with a pink ribbon gracing the front -- and someone inquires about the shirt, I will have an opportunity to spread some words about breast cancer. Pink doesn't have to be wimpy. It can be powerful.

There are surely companies out there taking advantage of the color pink because it sells. But if sales truly benefit breast cancer research, then it's a win-win situation in my opinion. I am happy that $31 of my $35 t-shirt goes directly to breast cancer initiatives. Sure, the shirt was a bit expensive. But so is breast cancer -- and I have the bills to prove it -- so if simply buying a pink ribbon t-shirt allows me to walk around as a billboard and allows breast cancer research some more momentum, then I am game.

I will wear my new shirt when I run in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer 5K event in two weeks. And I will wear a bright pink ribbon in my hair. And I may even wear pink shorts. Because I think pink is empowering. And I'm happy it's everywhere -- because it illustrates that breast cancer is everywhere. And that is not okay.

It can be hard to remember when it's time for check-ups and exams and screenings. Many come just once each year and with the swift passage of time, it's easy to forget our medical to-do lists. But missing an appointment -- or even delaying one -- can lead to missed and delayed diagnoses. So remembering these easy-to-forget chores is key. And perhaps reminders are the key to remembering.

The American Cancer Society offers a free mammogram reminder in the form of e-mail message sent each year to remind women to schedule their mammograms. It takes just a moment to register with an e-mail address and a preferred month and day of the year for this e-mail to arrive. To register for your yearly reminder, click here.

The College of American Pathologists offers a free reminder service for the following appointments -- blood donation, cholesterol screening, colon cancer screening, diabetes test, pap test, and mammogram. Click here to choose one or more of these options that also require just just an e-mail address and preferred month and date for delivery.

So forget that string around your finger -- reach for your computer keyboard right now. It takes just a few keystrokes to ensure prompt testing for the health issues that if detected early, can save our lives.

Geralyn Lucas, author of the memoir Why I Wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy can see the pages of her book come to life on the television screen this October -- during National Breast Cancer Awareness Month -- when Lifetime TV airs her story and spreads her word for all to see. Headlining in this Lifetime Original Movie are Sarah Chalke (Scrubs) and Jay Harrington (Desperate Housewives) whose performances will capture Lucas' struggle after a breast cancer diagnosis at age 27 and with a mastectomy, six months of chemotherapy, and a job she maintained throughout it all. Her job -- as an assistant story editor for the TV news program 20/20 -- kept her sane. While her physical world was falling apart, her mind was still working. And that -- along with a promotion during the same time -- kept her focused.

After her 1995 diagnosis, Lucas found herself working as Lifetime's own programming director. She also found herself as mom of post-cancer daughter Skye, and then found herself in the midst of writing a book. It wasn't her goal to write a book really -- but she took a writing class which prompted her to jot down her personal breast cancer story. And the rest is history -- and coming soon to a television screen near you. So stay tuned for October's programming schedule -- and find out why exactly Lucas wore lipstick to her mastectomy.

Cancer has helped me slow down -- a little. I am more patient in the moment without racing to the next task I think is waiting for me. I can better manage my priorities and can offer the most important things the majority of my time. I am better at passing on opportunities that are low on my wish list. And I can typically say "no" if I don't have the time or energy to devote to a request. I know that I have to be healthy and happy and fulfilled in order to operate effectively and joyfully in this world. So I try to enjoy peaceful moments and put priorities first and not overextend myself and slow down. I'm not completely there -- yet. But I plan to keep practicing. And I'm going to try these seven strategies -- offered by a freelance writer, wife, mother of two, and reformed over-committer -- in an article I stumbled across in a local family magazine I picked up this week.

When your loved one is diagnosed with cancer, you will find many friends and family members will come forward and ask what they can do to help.

Lotsa Helping Hands has provided a way for the caregiver to coordinate volunteer services of friends, family, and neighbors that want to help with a private online group calendar -- as a one-stop webpage. All you have to do is sign up for a free account and using pre-designed template screens, enter information about the need for help with meals, rides, respite -- whatever your needs might be where others could pitch in and help.

Once you have your webpage set up and information entered, members of your Lotsa Helping Hand group calendar automatically receive an email about the site and the needs that have been listed. They can see the group calendar, and volunteer for whatever fits their own situation. Volunteers receive automatic confirmations and reminders of their commitments.

Lotsa Helping Hands and National Family Caregivers Association donate part of their profits to supporting women's health education and researching novel approaches to the early detection and treatment of women's cancers.

My port -- that thing that pops up from under the skin on my collarbone, that thing that by default stays in place because I can't decide whether or not to remove it -- is now officially in maintenance mode, now that my treatment for breast cancer is complete. My last Herceptin infusion was on June 28. And my first port flush was today. For as long as I keep my port -- and for as long as it has no real use -- I must have it flushed one time each month. So today, I strolled into the cancer infusion center where I've spent many hours and this time spent just a few minutes -- enough time for my usual chemo nurse to puncture the skin on top of my port, push through a rather large needle, and inject a dose of blood thinner into the lines of the port to keep clots away. The whole procedure was harmless, painless, no big deal at all. And I will return one month from today for a repeat performance.

One day these once-a-month visits may become a hassle. After all, I have to find a place for this appointment in my already-busy schedule and find childcare for my kids and find a place to park. I have to numb my port and endure a needle stick and sometimes fight traffic to get home. And the whole trip to and from the cancer center takes longer than the procedure itself. Clearly, this may be a waste of time for a port I don't even need right now. But at the moment, this visit is just what I need while I sort out the details of my post-treatment world. I need to go back to the infusion center. I need the comfort of the drive. I need to feel part of the chemo community. I need medical people swirling around me. I need a bit of hand holding. For now anyway.