My friend -- who has a friend newly diagnosed with brain cancer -- greeted me at the door the other day and asked with a sense of urgency, "How can I help?"

"Help your friend?" I asked.

"Yes, she said, unsure of what she might say or do in this time of great difficulty for everyone involved.

I told her a few things. And then I thought of some more. It wasn't terribly easy to come up with these ideas. Because even though I myself was on the receiving end of help during my cancer journey, it's still hard to imagine what an individual wants or needs -- or doesn't want or need. But here's what I've got to offer.

I hope this helps my friend.

I hope it helps you too.

• Allow your loved one to take the lead. If you sense this person wants to talk, then talk. If you sense talk is not welcomed, then don't talk. To determine whether or not your friend or family member wants to discuss cancer, approach the topic and judge the response you get. I know I can usually tell if someone is willing to open up -- typically the conversation just flows -- and when someone is putting the brakes on chit-chat -- typically the conversation falls flat.

• If talk is not in the cards, then consider an offer of food. Sometimes actions speak much louder than words. So think about calling a restaurant in your friend's town and ordering a meal to be delivered right to the door. Most eating establishments accept credit card numbers over the phone so location should be a non-issue. Even those deep in despair need to eat, and taking away the chore of cooking and cleaning up can be quite a gift.

• If the gift of food is not up your alley, how about sending a small gift, like a candle, a pair of cozy socks, a grocery store gift card, a music CD, a gift certificate for a spa. You name it, your special something might brighten the day.

• If you live near your loved one and have some free time, offer to drive to appointments, visit during treatments, pick up kids and entertain them for the day, clean house, cook, and clean up dinner. Try to be very specific with your offers. Say, "I'd like to pick up your kids tomorrow at lunch so you can take a nap" or "I'm coming over on Sunday to rake leaves." These offers are easier to accept than the "call me if you need anything" kind.
  

• If a quick stop at your loved one's house is possible, drop off a book on the front porch or set some pretty potted flowers by the door. Or do both. Then walk away without saying a word. Let your help take your friend by surprise.

• When you do have the chance to talk, avoid guiding the conversation with your own thoughts and advice, unless requested. Saying, "Everything will be OK," for example, may not be true. Assuring your friend she will sail right through chemotherapy may backfire if nausea and fatigue are just down the road. Stating, "it's OK, your hair will grow back," doesn't really help those living with the horror of hair loss. So stay away from promises and predictions and stick to the present. Ask questions, listen, and paraphrase back what your friend has shared. These are basic counseling techniques. The premise is that allowing the person to work through the issues is more important than what we can do to directly help.
  

• Don't forget about the good old greeting card or short note that lets your loved know how much you care. Let the card say it if you wish to avoid writing and then add an address, a stamp, and send your support on its way.
  

• This makes eight -- so much for sticking to my Sunday plan -- but I must share this too: Don't forget about your loved one after months and even years pass by. Initial diagnoses are tough and treatments are tough too. But as your friend survives each day, remember to check in. Cancer is a life-long battle for many. Support and assistance may be just as valuable a year down the road as it is on day one.

As Leroy Sievers says, "Most of you know me as someone with cancer. Google my name -- and yes, I confess, I've done that -- more often than not, it comes up linked to one other word: cancer. But what about all the other things I've been?"

Sievers has been a journalist for most of his adult life. He's also been a baker, a short-order cook, a teacher, and an aspiring author. Yet cancer is the word most often used to describe this man.

But maybe not for long.

Could it be that Sievers -- a man whose life has been derailed by a deadly cancer traveling throughout his body, a man who has been contemplating death with each passing day -- may soon be rid of cancer altogether?

Actually, Sievers already sees glimpses of cancer falling to the wayside.

Having undergone a new procedure called Radio Frequency Ablation -- where needles are stuck into tumors, burning them away from the inside out -- Sievers sees a brighter future. He's seen his latest scans. He's seen the black holes where tumors once lived. He's seen that no new tumors have appeared. He's seen that he may actually survive cancer.

Months ago, this man, who blogs his cancer journey for NPR, was told he would likely not survive the year. Now he realized he may outlive this prediction. And while this is great news, Sievers finds himself a bit unsure about a life without cancer.

"Will I be somebody who used to have cancer?" he says. "I think most cancer patients don't ever think it's really gone. It's just hiding, waiting to jump out and scare us when we least expect it. Will I be able to resume my old life? To rebuild my battered body into what it was before? I don't know. But I know this disease has changed me dramatically in so many ways. I am a different person. Hopefully a better person. You cannot go through an ordeal like this and not be profoundly affected."

Now that's what a call a fresh perspective.

To read previously-written posts about Leroy Sievers, click here.

My hair is not so short, not so dark, not so curly anymore. And the shock of what sprouted from my head following chemotherapy is not so startling anymore. I guess it's a combination of my getting accustomed to my new look and the fact that lately, my hair is a changin' -- once again -- and this has me somewhat numbed to all things hair-raising in my life.

I was born with straight, blond hair. And I wore these locks on my head for 34 years. Until cancer came a knockin', chemotherapy came a drippin', and my hair went a tumblin'. Bald brought quite an adjustment. And so did the stuff that replaced my pre-chemo hair.

For almost two years now, I have been peering in the mirror at short, brown, curly hair. It took some time, but I grew to like my new look. And now, just as I am feeling OK about my changed appearance, my hair is taking another turn.

Naturally, my hair is longer. That's what happens when chemotherapy becomes a thing of the past. So this is not so surprising. But as my hair grows and gets heavier, my curls are transforming into waves. And I wonder if my curls will continue to disappear as my hair continues to grow. Will my hair be straight again one of these days?

With each passing day, my hair also gets lighter as it slowly fades from dark brown to light brown with a tint of red and a hint of blond. Will my hair be blond again one of the days?

Someone once told me that cancer is temporary. Someone else told me this is not true -- there's nothing temporary about the way cancer changes a life forever. I think I agree. Because as I study my hair, I realize that all of its temporary phases are really just a sign of the permanence cancer has left branded on my body and soul.

I just received my University of Florida alumni magazine and right smack in the middle of the publication is a story about cancer. The gist of the article is that there's an explosion of effort and activity in cancer research at this institution -- much like all over the nation -- and featured are all sorts of new cancer techniques and strategies and treatments. But one thing in particular stood out to me. What I read -- in the space of just two short sentences -- jumped off the page and really made me think.

This one thing is what I am about to share, and I'm calling it my Thought for the Day. It's a great morsel of information -- short, sweet, easy to digest, and perfectly powerful -- and so I invite you to read on, let this string of words sink into your mind, think about it over the course of the day, and then determine how you might use it in your own life. And then come back tomorrow, when another Thought for the Day will await you.

Think about this:

More than half of all cancer deaths can be prevented by maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Poor nutrition, obesity, physical inactivity, and cigarette smoking together account for 63 percent of all cancer deaths.

Former NASCAR champion Benny Parsons, hospitalized on December 26 due to complications from lung cancer, died today in Charlotte, North Carolina after a short battle with the disease. He was 65.

Parsons, who had not smoked since 1978, was diagnosed with cancer in his left lung in July 2006. He underwent aggressive chemotherapy and radiation and announced in October that he was in remission. But the intensive treatment rendered his left lung useless and then a blood clot appeared in his right lung, prompting his admission to the hospital where he spent his remaining days in an induced coma.

Parsons was confident he could survive with one lung and compared his condition to that of John Wayne.

"John Wayne lived and had a great career with one lung," he said. "There is no reason why I can't do the same. It will take a little while for the right lung to pull the weight for the left lung so until then I will still need to use oxygen when I walk. I won't need it sitting or commentating races and to me that is the main thing. If given a choice between cancer or losing a lung I would say that I got the right end of the deal."

Parson's intense spirit was his trademark. It motivated him to rise from a poor childhood, leave behind a taxi driving job, and head straight to the top of NASCAR. His success is marked by his 1994 induction into the International Motorsports Hall of Fame and his 1995 induction into the National Motorsports Press Association's Stock Car Racing Hall of Fame.

One of NASCAR's 50 greatest drivers and the 1973 champion, Parsons retired from racing in 1988 and headed straight into a broadcasting career. He spent the past six years as a commentator for NBC and TNT and even continued to call races from the booth during his treatment. He hosted a weekly radio program and kept fans updated on his condition on his very own blog.

Judging by the comments left for Parsons on a January 8th post about his hospitalization, there was an abundance of love for this man, nicknamed BP by the NASCAR community.

"He was a great driver and a terrific broadcaster, but above anything else he was a kind and generous human being," said Dick Ebersol, chairman of NBC Sports. "His character and spirit will define how he is remembered by all of us. Benny will be sorely missed."

Parson's death comes eight days after the death of NASCAR driver and Truck Series Champion Bobby Hamilton.

I have a new friend who is a new breast cancer survivor. She is surviving a new diagnosis, a recent lumpectomy, and the moments leading up to another surgery to further investigate the margins surrounding the tumor removed from her breast. She is surviving the first phase of her breast cancer journey. A phase full of uncertainty and fear and panic. A phase so new and so fresh and so raw, her mind is whirling. A phase that has her grasping for any bit of direction she can find as she navigates a terrifying, unfamiliar road.

My friend is a young wife and mother whose worries are consuming her. She e-mailed me today and asked if I ever have moments when I look at my young children and worry that cancer will take me from them while they are young. She asked if I have always been so sure I will be okay. And so I replied with this candid cancer confession.

I was in my oncologist office yesterday and noticed a new poster hanging on the wall advertising an on-line system for managing health care -- for scheduling appointments, confirming appointments, locating test results, paying bills, and more. Founded in 1999 and headquartered in Emeryville, California, RelayHealth is the premier provider of secure on-line healthcare communication services that link patients, healthcare professionals, payors, and pharmacies in matters that are medically non-urgent. The website also features news and customer stories and aims to improve the delivery and accessibility of healthcare to patients -- in a seamless manner.

I haven't done much with this service yet -- but I did take a short tour and made a simple search for my physician whose information promptly popped up on my screen. That part was easy. And once I register with a username and password, I will have more access to more information pertaining to me and my healthcare team. And you can too.

Herceptin -- a targeted breast cancer drug used to treat women who are Her2 positive -- has received rave reviews and has shown great promise in cutting down on recurrence of this aggressive form of breast cancer. Given over the course of 52 weeks, Herceptin is wondrous for its lack of short-term side effects. There is no hair loss, no compromise of blood counts, no significant sickness. For me, fatigue may have resulted from this treatment -- but it's unclear to me really whether it was the Herceptin or the two small boys I have living in my house that most contributed to my occasional exhaustion. Regardless, I functioned well while receiving Herceptin for the past year -- and I did not suffer anything more than a twinge of pain when my port was accessed for each treatment. In the short term, I have fared well. In the long term, the jury is still out.

I've always been a fan of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I've been touched, motivated, inspired and brought to tears by the short stories that lie between the covers of these books -- stories that dive into the depths of family and parenthood and work and teaching and death and religion and even cooking. They warm my heart and rejuvenate my spirit. It's been a while since I've read one of these books, though -- it's been a while since I've read any book lately -- and I think I need another serving of chicken soup. Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul is exactly what I need.