Britney Spears, fresh out of rehab and back in the spotlight, is explaining why she publicly shaved her head back in February, following a rampage of bizarre behavior.

Think about this:

A friend of Spears says the pop star shaved her head as a tribute to her aunt who died from cancer. The pal states Spears was definitely suffering from postpartum depression at the time and the bold hair maneuver was an act of solidarity.

"Britney's aunt had just died of cancer," says this friend. "She was feeling very guilty because she hadn't been there with her, she was overwhelmingly depressed and she shaved her head in solidarity."

Recent news reports reveal Britney Spears recently checked in and then checked right out of Eric Clapton's Crossroads Centre rehab facility in Antigua. And now that Spears has returned to Los Angeles, something else is being revealed -- her bald head.

Apparently Spears chose to shave her head and add a few new tattoos to her body in honor of her speedy return back home. Why, I am not sure. But the image of her shiny scalp brings back bitter memories of my own bald head that had nothing to do with free will and choice and had everything to do with cancer.

I hated my bald head, took great pains to cover it at all times, and found nothing beautiful about the prominent display of flesh that surrounded my face. I can see beauty in other bald heads -- and I think Britney looks just fine with her new look -- but I was blind to it when looking at myself in the mirror. I hated my bald head.

"What are you going to do with your hair?" one of my co-workers asked me the other day.

"I'm letting it grow," I told her. "And grow and grow and grow," I thought to myself.

This co-worker seemed sad I was growing my hair. She said she really liked it short, with its tight curls and flat-to-my-head style. Many people have told me this same thing, that I look good with short hair. And maybe I do. Maybe I look good bald too. But I never wished for short hair. I never wished for no hair. And so I am getting back at cancer by letting my hair grow and grow and grow. It's my revenge of sorts.

Bald is just not for me. So I'm relinquishing all rights I have to this extreme hair fashion to those who choose it. To those who wear it well. To Britney.

I took my boys yesterday for a tour of the University of Florida's Department of Entomology and Nematology. Translation for these little boys -- ages five and three -- involves one simple word. Bugs. They love bugs, hunt for bugs, capture bugs, and reluctantly set them free because I coax them into allowing these itty bitty creatures to continue living with their "mommies and daddies." I have a soft spot for all living beings -- bugs included.

We learned some crazy facts about bugs yesterday -- insects is the proper term really. We learned there is one cockroach that can live for seven days without its head. We learned there are two types of Madagascar cockroaches living in a lab in the very same building we visited that if set free, would reproduce so quickly they would become a major pest problem in the state of Florida. And we learned that of all animals on this planet, most are insects. But not only did we learn some crazy facts, we -- well, Joey -- shared a crazy fact too.

Joey is five years old. He is the boy who remembers much of my breast cancer journey. He is the one who helped shave my head, the one who thought a banana would make my sick tummy feel better. He's the one who would blurt out to people we never knew very well, "My mommy is bald," the one who asked me just last night if the metal thing -- my port -- was still in my chest. When I told him it's gone, he jumped up and announced, "Yeah, it's gone!" Cancer is one of many vocabulary words housed in Joey's brain. And sometimes the word comes up unexpectedly, in strange contexts, in surprising ways. Like today.

Our bug tour guide told us that in Africa, mosquitoes transmit diseases that kill millions of people. But those with sickle cell anemia are immune to the deadly diseases due to their compromised red blood cells that somehow fend off disease. This fact prompted Joey to share with the guide, "Did you know when people have cancer, there are bugs that can kill the cancer?" Our guide listened to this crazy fact and said in a kid-friendly way, "No, I did not know that. Who told you that?" Joey told her, "I don't remember but someone told me."

I am not sure what prompted Joey to make this announcement. Perhaps he was trying to one-up the tour guide, to sound like an expert on one of his favorite subjects. Perhaps his imagination was in overdrive and he blurted out the best story he could offer. Perhaps he jumbled up a story he had heard on the topic of cancer. And perhaps he is just simply hopeful that one day, bugs will help cure cancer. And wouldn't that be nice -- a simple mosquito comes along, pierces the skin, and poof, cancer is gone.

My cancer journey would not be nearly as interesting, as enlightening, as tender if Joey was not along with me for the ride. He keeps me busy and keeps my spirits up. He keeps me grounded and keeps life simple. Best of all -- he keeps me laughing.

I visited a neighbor yesterday who has breast cancer. She has had one dose of chemotherapy and just yesterday shaved her head. I stopped by to see her new hairstyle and to give her a gift -- a collection of goodies including a hat, some Healing Garden bath lotions and sprays, a flower pen I made, and a card reminding her that like me, she will survive the madness of breast cancer treatment and will go on to enjoy a full head of hair again. And while our travels will be similar in some ways, they are also very different.  You see, Gayle had a mastectomy and I did not. So I can't relate to the emotion that comes from losing a breast and feeling lopsided and searching for a bathing suit to mask the unevenness and waiting for reconstruction that won't take place until after chemotherapy is complete. But Gayle is one strong woman and while I know she will have dark moments at times, her attitude and spirit is remarkable. I went to visit her thinking I could spread some hope her way and I walked away with a dose of hope from her -- a woman new to this journey yet full of courage and strength and bravery.

Gayle, 33 years old, a wife, and mom of two small boys, told me she will go to work tomorrow with a bald head -- she is not interested in cover-ups -- and this makes her an exceptional person in my book. I never did bare my baldness to the world and kept it covered until my new hair was growing back. I admire Gayle -- and all the women who display their heads like badges of honor -- because she is a true survivor. And one who just might teach me a thing or two.