I have a rough patch of skin on the bridge of my nose. It's been there for some time -- how much time, I really don't know -- and I am aware of it every day when I look in the mirror. I wash it, coat make-up on top of it, and sometimes pick at it and watch the flaky skin disappear. It always comes back, and then I study it, wash it, cover it all over again.

It's Skin Cancer Awareness Month and so I've been thinking more about this spot than usual, wondering if it could be more than just a spot. I even went so far as mentioning it to a medical student I saw a week ago during a breast cancer follow-up visit. But the inquiry never made it to my doctor and I've since let it drop.

I'm never sure just how to handle medical issues like these. Typically, I'm hyper-sensitive and worry about all that could be going wrong with my body. Sometimes, I am able to cope normally, realizing most everything is probably nothing. That' the route I took this time. Yet now, now that I've talked to my mom who had a basal cell skin cancer removed from her face years ago -- the kind that flakes away and then comes back -- I'm becoming convinced, pretty sure anyway, that this could be worse than I've imagined it to be.

Ever since revealing her breast cancer had recurred, there has been speculation about a spread from Elizabeth Edwards' rib -- the initial metastasis -- to other spots in her body.

Last night, on the CBS news program 60 Minutes, Edwards told Katie Couric that a hot spot has been detected in her right hip. But doctors believe it is too small to pose a new health risk, she reports.

"There are a couple of hot spots, on the bone scan, in my right hip, for example," she said. "And one of the questions is whether or not to do radiation to reduce the size of that -- of the cancer in that location -- and for fear that it might weaken my bone and that I might break my hip. But their consensus was that it was too small an area for that to be a risk."

In addition to discussion about the cancer itself, Edwards and her husband John defended their decision to stick with the presidential race. Edwards said she just cannot deny her husband the chance to be president.

"That would be my legacy, wouldn't it, Katie?" Edwards said to Couric. "That I'd taken out this fine man from -- from the possibility of -- of giving a great service. I mean, I don't want that to be my legacy."

Cancer sent me into a state of depression. And it took more than a year of counseling and treatment with an anti-depressant to bring me back to a balanced and healthy level of functioning.

My type of depression -- the kind that shows up just after a cancer diagnosis -- is not uncommon. And neither is the spillover that depression can leave on the children of moms depressed because of their disease.

A study at the University of Pittsburgh -- the first to examine the relationship between children's concerns and a mother's cancer-related depression -- found children of depressed breast cancer patients were more likely to be concerned or anxious about their mother's cancer and about how the disease affects their families.

It's not surprising that kids worry about their moms during times of illness. What startled researchers, though, is the fact that children's' anxieties extended to concerns about the entire family.

The results of this study, funded by the National Cancer Institute, has clear implications. As a society, we need to think about how depression affects whole family units. Oncologists must learn to spot depression early and must swiftly assist women in finding appropriate treatment. And parents should talk openly about cancer and it's emotional side effects with their children in an effort to protect them from withdrawing, hiding their concerns, and suffering in silence.

Most estimates indicate nearly one quarter of women diagnosed with breast cancer have young children. And about 100,000 kids will be affected by a cancer diagnosis this year alone.

Research presented at the meeting on Molecular Diagnostics in Cancer Therapeutic Development, organized by the American Association for Cancer Research, says that in the near future the United States will have a new way to detect distant metastasis sooner in breast cancer patients.

The company AdnaGen's diagnostic tool is being evaluated in clinical studies at The University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. The tool can spot one malignant cell in a typical blood sample.

Using the new technology cancer cells can be captured and analyzed to identify several gene products, including potential molecular targets for a specific drug. Treatments for metastatic breast cancer usually will be given based on the features of the primary tumor. The cancer's primary tumor can be estrogen negative but the metastasis can be estrogen positive. Knowing this information can open up more treatment options for those diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer.

AdnaGen, which is marketing its breast cancer assay (as well as assays for colon and prostate cancer) in Europe, is awaiting the results of a clinical trial before applying for FDA approval to make the test available in the United States.

On January 14, 2005, my sister drove me to the hospital for my port placement -- a minor surgical procedure to implant an Infuse-a-Port® underneath the skin on my collarbone. My port -- used steadily ever since that January day for the infusion of breast cancer chemotherapy drugs -- is about to be removed.

Tomorrow -- September 15, 2006 -- my sister will drive me to the same hospital where another minor surgery will result in the removal of this same port and its accompanying parts. I will come home with a scar that will mark the spot symbolic of my cancer travels. Along with my healed lumpectomy incisions and my head full of new hair, this scar will remind me of where I've been and will not ever let me lose sight of where I'm going -- full steam ahead into a life I am blessed to have in front of me. A life that was never promised to me for any specific amount of time. A life I am going to wrap my arms around -- for every second, every minute, every breath I am lucky enough to take.

I guess it was my decision to remove my port -- now that my chemotherapy is over and there is no more treatment in store for me -- that prompted a surge of worry deep in my gut. A worry that is heightened today about an odd spot of tissue in my left breast that my oncologist told me one week ago was nothing to worry about, was probably just scar tissue from the lumpectomy that was performed in just about the same location as this spot.

For one week, I have tried to be okay with this assessment -- that it is nothing to worry about -- but this is not in my nature really. Especially since my first lump -- the one that turned out to be cancer -- was also nothing to worry about, according to a few doctors. But a mammogram and ultrasound determined otherwise and prompted my two-year journey with treatment for breast cancer.

And now that my journey is slowing and approaching a stop and my port is ready to come out, I am worried about something that just does not feel right. So I made a call to the medical person who knows how to steer me through the system, and I will soon get a mammogram and ultrasound to figure out exactly what is going on. And then I can move forward -- with my surgery on September 15 to remove my port or with a detour on my journey with breast cancer.

I am an expert in the game of what-if. I guess it's because my recent what if this hard lump in my breast is cancer worry turned into Oh My God, it is cancer that I am so polished at this exercise in all things irrational. Sure, some worries will be fulfilled by reality but for the most part, things turn out okay. But still, I worry. When a bone hurt in my arm last year, I was sure it was bone cancer. It wasn't. When I felt a soft bump on the roof of my mouth, I whisked myself to the dentist for my mouth cancer diagnosis. It was just a little bit of inflammation, probably from a cold. A headache landed me in a tube for a scan of my head. It revealed nothing interesting, and ibuprofen fixed me right up. And lately, I am checking every mole, freckle, spot, speck, and discoloration that adorns my fair skin.

I asked about each of these what-if marks yesterday at my annual skin cancer screening. Surprise -- nothing is wrong with me. But all unfounded fears aside, there is some method to my madness about skin cancer because I have had several bad burns in my life, have spent too many hours in the sun in search of a tan, and have already had a few pre-cancerous spots removed from my skin. So I do plan to monitor my skin -- just maybe not every day -- for the ABCDs of melanoma. And you should too -- because melanoma is the deadliest of skin cancers, and it is known for spreading, which makes treatment essential. So consider these what-ifs when screening yourself for skin cancer.

What if a spot on my skin is Asymmetrical? This means that one half of the mark on your skin does not match the other half. See your dermatologist.

What if the Border of the spot is irregular? This means that the edges are ragged, notched, or blurred. See your dermatologist.

What if the Color of the spot is not uniform? This means that shades of tan, brown, and black are present. Dashes of red, white, and blue add to the mottled appearance. See your dermatologist.

What if the Diameter is more than 6 millimeters? This is about the size of a pencil eraser. Any growth of any mole should also be of concern. See your dermatologist.

It is estimated that 44,000 Americans will develop melanoma annually. Of these people, 7,300 will die. But the death rate is declining -- because patients are seeking help earlier. Perhaps the ABCDs of melanoma are helping. I hope they help you -- and me too.

Several boxes containing injections of Neulasta have lined the bottom of my refrigerator for more than a year. They are left-overs from chemotherapy -- from a time when one needle pierced the skin on my arm after each chemo treatment to keep my blood counts in a safe range. I've looked at them day after day after day, and I've allowed them to sit in the same exact spot for all this time. But today, they are in the trash -- not because I made a conscious choice to throw them away but because water spilled all over the inside of my refrigerator and left them soggy and damaged. Surely I would not have used them in this condition, I thought -- so I tossed them. But really, I would not have used them anyway. They were old -- probably past their expiration date -- and I am not receiving chemotherapy anymore. I had absolutely no use for them. But I kept them for safety or comfort or some other impractical reason -- for the same reason I keep a basket full of old medication in my kitchen cupboard. It's all cancer-related -- most of it never touched because I don't really like taking medication, even when necessary. So this stock-piling tendency defies all logic for me. Until today -- when part of my past sits in a white trash bag, ready for the curb, and the rest of it is soon to be trashed. So I can continue moving forward. Away from cancer. For good.