I wrote this journal entry one year ago today. It's one of many entries I look back on to remember my journey with breast cancer, to capture the emotions that preceded the ones I have now, to chart just how far I have come since the day of my diagnosis. This is one of my happier journal entries -- written at a time when I was coming back to life after surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation, when I was happy to be alive and in the company of two little boys whose simplicity inspired me.

My hats were once so important to me. Now they are scattered all over the floor of my bedroom closet. Once my daily camouflage for what cancer had done to me, my hats are now toys. Joey and Danny play with them and toss them around and wear them -- sometimes one at a time and sometimes they pile as many as they can on top of their little blond heads. The hats hold no real significance to them -- they are just playthings and while Joey can recall that I wore them at one time, the emotion wrapped up in the pale blue sleep cap and the black Nike ball cap and the yellow bucket hat is lost on him. I consider this a blessing -- that one day, he and Danny will likely have very little memory of this cancer adventure and that they may only remember what fun it was to wear so many hats.

Kids can be so positive and encouraging, even in the face of sickness. Now today my kids have just a simple sickness -- nothing life-threatening -- that I'm sure will pass in a day or so. They are throwing up every content of their little tummies -- even sips of water -- and they are pale and lethargic and run-down. But still, they have hope for a brighter tomorrow. This morning, five-year-old Joey said to me while resting in my bed and just after he threw up , "this is just the good getting rid of the bad." He went on to explain how the good in our bodies knows when to push the bad out. And this is what is happening to him today, he said. He is throwing up the bad so the good can take over. Simple. Easy. Makes sense.

I never saw my own sickness like this. Instead of visualizing chemotherapy as a good agent that kills bad cells, I was repulsed by the horrific liquids that poisoned my body. I knew of people who were able to turn chemotherapy into a Pac-Man game -- with Pac Man chomping away at the cancer cells and leaving nothing but healthy cells to thrive. And I knew people who were relieved to feel sick because it meant the chemotherapy was working. I never saw it like this -- although I do know that chemotherapy may have saved me from a life with cancer. I was discouraged by chemotherapy. I had a negative attitude about it, and I had to really gear up for all of my infusions. I still -- more than one year later -- cannot eat anything I ate on my chemo days. The mere thought of these foods makes me feel ill.

A pediatrician friend of mine told me that kids with cancer tend to be positive. There are a few old souls, she said, but for the most part, they continue to tackle life with spirit and adventure and simplicity. Like my boys today who are peacefully napping at the moment so everything good in their bodies can come back with a vengeance.

I told my little guy Danny today that he and his big brother would be going to their Nana's house so I could go to the doctor -- for an echo-cardiogram to test for possible heart damage due to Herceptin therapy for breast cancer. Danny -- age three -- asked me, Why you keep doing that? This is the same question he keeps asking -- because he wants to know why I keep going to the doctor. I give him the same answer each time -- that I need to keeping seeing doctors so I can stay healthy. He always seems satisfied with this response, although he continues to ask the same question. He either forgets that he's already asked or he forgets my response or he finds comfort in my routine answer -- or perhaps he is completely aware of his repeat question and just wants me to provide a better explanation. Which is hard to do -- in a three-year-old kind of way -- when my response is the best I've got. I keep going to the doctor in search of health. It's simple. And fortunately, so is Danny -- simple in a young and innocent and pure way. And Joey is too.

Right after my exchange with Danny, Joey -- age five -- said to me, Won't you be glad when you don't need to go to the doctor and you can be healthy all by yourself? Yep, I told him and then realized that these boys have a definite pulse on my cancer journey -- almost two years after it started. They wonder about it and try to figure it out and predict how I must feel. And through it all, I am happy they are involved with me in this intricate adventure. And I am concerned at the same time that what they do know may cause them some stress, some worry, some uncertainty about our future together. My hope is that this experience in their young lives strengthens them, humbles them, prepares them for a future that is not always as simple as the responses I give them about an illness that is so complex. But when it comes down to really simple terms -- that we all can appreciate -- I have my boys and they have me and for today, that is all that matters. Well, that and the fact that my echo-cardiogram today revealed that my heart is just fine.