The important thing is to take that first step. Bravely overcoming one small fear gives you the courage to take on the next. -- Daisaku Ikeda

When your diagnosed with cancer you sometimes feel that you don't know how to take that first step. What is the first step? For many it is very different. You might need time to accept what is happening, or you could be the kind of person to jump right into researching your disease, you'll probably need to find a surgeon and an oncologist and maybe even a plastic surgeon. Getting through the first steps can lead to making the rest of the journey easier.

One thing I have learned throughout my cancer experience is that I surprised myself at what I could actually handle. I took a scary step and got my port put in my chest so I could receive chemotherapy. I dreaded the fact that I had to get that port. I felt like such a freak. Even though the port was under my skin completely, it was protruding from my chest and I really felt like a cancer patient at that point.

I've said it before. Every time I go running I feel like I'm crushing cancer with each and every step I pound onto the pavement. It's exhilarating, knowing I'm doing something good for my body and my soul, knowing every day I run is one more day I've survived a nasty disease. Apparently, others agree.

Think about this:

A new Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure magazine advertisement features a close-up shot of the bottom of a running shoe. Woven into the tread on the bottom of the shoe are these words:

Every step resounds with the satisfying crunch of breast cancer being stomped into oblivion.

This is exactly how I feel.

It's an unsettling journey -- the pursuit of the five-year cancer survival mark. Some say each year of cancer survival makes the future more of a sure thing. And so surviving five years -- the traditional landmark of real remission -- is a big accomplishment. But then there's the perspective of numbers that for me say I have a 93 percent chance of surviving breast cancer for five years. After that, though, there's no telling what will happen. So I am eagerly awaiting the moment when I cross the five-year finish line as I anxiously realize this very same moment may also signal a more dismal outlook.

The paradox hit me straight in the face yesterday as I was waiting for my radiation oncologist to give me another six-month all clear announcement. I was reading the January/February 2007 issue of Coping magazine while I waited. And as I flipped through the pages, I landed right at these words:

Studies show that half of all breast cancer recurrences occur after completion of five years of standard tamoxifen therapy. Additionally, a third of women with estrogen receptor-positive early breast cancer experience a recurrence, and more of half of these recurrences occur more than five years after surgery.

Now this doesn't apply directly to me. My breast cancer was estrogen receptor-negative which makes me a non-candidate for tamoxifen. And this is what scares me. My tumor was aggressive and while my treatment was also aggressive, I don't get the extra five-year protection from hormone therapy. If women taking this drug can have recurrences after completing the therapy, I wonder what's in store for me having not had it.

Maybe I'm making comparisons that don't amount to any real conclusions. Perhaps my type of disease allows for a more secure future. Or perhaps it places me on shaky ground. I don't know for sure. And I don't think I'll dive any deeper into research than I already have. Instead, I will live for today -- while enjoying the announcement my oncologist shared with me yesterday. All clear!

Lynne began her blog on August 6 -- one week ago and two months after she endured surgery to clear a clogged bile duct and received the grim and frightening diagnosis of gallbladder cancer. Her cancer is stage IV -- not an uncommon staging for a hard-to-detect disease that many will only survive for two to six months. So Lynne is scared but still strong and hopeful and full of faith. Her goal is to live -- not die -- with cancer, even though her days may be numbered. So Lynne blogs her thoughts and fears and all the bits and pieces of information she gathers about a disease that is rare and resources that are scare. It helps her. And it will surely help others. And here is a glimpse into what she shared in her first post.

If you had only six months or a year to live, would you want to know? What would you do with the information? Would it make a difference in how you lived your life? These are questions I have been asking for the past two months. In asking them, I have also noticed how little guidance there is for this process. Who have I known personally who was able to anticipate their death? I can think of only two individuals, and I never asked them whether or not they were living differently in their awareness of their mortality.

So, those are the themes in this blog. I look forward to a dialog with those I know, and those I don't about this strange, life changing journey.

To Lynne -- and to all others who are faced with the disease -- may you find peace and comfort and strength in every step you take, every direction you follow, every path that becomes your road to recovery.

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.

There are many proud sponsors of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation Race for the Cure -- American Airlines, Yoplait, Ford, Kelloggs, New Balance, Ultra Quilted Northern, Remax, Sun Chips, and Zeta Tau Alpha Fraternity. And new this year is Coldwater Creek -- a company that specializes in women's apparel, jewelry, accessories, and gifts. Tucked away in Sandpoint, Idaho, Coldwater Creek offers merchandise through a number of retail stores across the country, through direct-mail catalogs, and through their website too. And now they offer something more -- the IN PINK Collection. Ten percent of each purchase from this collection of clothing and accessories goes directly to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. And for each visor purchase, 100 percent of the profits are donated.

At Coldwater Creek, more and more women are being touched by breast cancer -- employees, co-workers, family members, friends, and customers. Breast cancer is a widespread disease that needs widespread support. So those at Coldwater Creek are reaching out and joining the ranks of supporters. And they are giving back to the many women who have supported them over the years. One small step by one company can make a world of difference.

Joey has a hard time staying in bed when we put him down for the night. When we ask him why he continually gets up, he tells us that he wants to be with us -- mommy and daddy --  and that he wants to watch TV and that he's just not tired. He is five years old. And he will try anything to coax us into allowing him to stay up just a little bit longer. Lately, he's been asking serious questions he knows will take some time to answer -- like how exactly does a light bulb work? And how does lightening get in the air? And how do you build a house? Last night, his questions followed a medical path -- a cancer path really.