The seven cancer thoughts I present to you today are purely random. They are not linked by theme or category. There is no rhyme or reason for my choosing them. And they do not belong with one another for any other reason than this: they all come directly from my very own head and are somehow related to the disease that lingers in my thoughts for most minutes of most days. Here they are:

1. Vanity is merely a six-letter word. It's certainly not as important after cancer as it is before. I admit vanity played a role in my life prior to my breast cancer diagnosis and still, it's with me to some degree. But more important than vanity now is waking each morning and realizing I'm alive. I don't want to lose weight to look ultra thin. I choose to reach an ideal weight because I want to be healthy. I don't want a tan. I want skin that is free from damage. My clothes? I want them to fit and feel comfortable. That's it.

2. Normal is a thing of the past. It's funny how I worked so hard to look normal after cancer struck (note: here's vanity rearing its head). Prior to losing my hair to chemotherapy, I worked hard at matching my long, straight, blond hair to a wig that would become my disguise for five months. I found the perfect replica of what would eventually tumble from my scalp, and I wore it proudly. A neighbor who knew I was receiving chemotherapy once told my sister, "That's so great Jacki didn't lose her hair." I looked that much like normal, people didn't know anything had changed. Little did I know change was right around the corner. When my hair grew in, it was dark and curly. Not even close to normal.

Former televangelist Tammy Faye Messner -- formerly Tammy Faye Bakker -- posted Tuesday on her website (service is currently unavailable) a message about her health.

Messner, 65, reports that doctors have stopped treating her cancer -- she was diagnosed with colon cancer in 1996 and announced in 2004 the disease had spread to her lungs.

"I am down weight-wise to 65 pounds, and look like a scarecrow," the Charlotte resident shared on her site. "I need God's miracle to swallow. I look at young people and wish with all my heart for just one day of 'feeling great.'"

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.

I often note the passage of time according to events. My husband does it with songs -- if he hears Cheap Trick's I Want You to Want Me, for example, his mind takes him back to a buddy's basement in Jersey where he played pool with a bunch of other 10-year-old boys.

Music just doesn't do it for me. It has to be some sort of happening for my mind to travel back in time -- something like the Florida Gators SEC victory over Arkansas on Sunday.

Last year, the Gators were also SEC champs. And the year before that too. And I think I'll know the status of this team at this same time every year for as many years as I survive cancer -- because two years ago, I sat cooped up in a University of Florida hospital room trying to recover from the effects of chemotherapy and the only real excitement piped into my cubicle of a room was the thrill of a big Gator win.

It was the same kind of win the team repeated the following year -- the win that marked my first year of survival. And now, the Gators win again. And so do I.

While the defending National Champions celebrate their accomplishments and head into the first round of NCAA tournament play in New Orleans, I celebrate my accomplishment -- surviving cancer for two years. And when the Gators play in whatever game comes their way next March, I will be reminded of that same hospital room, that same dark and dreary time in my life. And then I will marvel at the power of time and the unlikely collision of cancer and college basketball.

And then I will pause, reflect, and head straight into my third year of survival.

Go Gators!

A friend of a friend was diagnosed this week with a cancerous brain tumor -- a glioma to be exact -- and the surgery to remove the mass is scheduled for Monday.

I don't know much about this woman or her cancer, but I do know doctors told her yesterday she will likely survive for only a few years. I can't help but think that if doctors had given me this same prediction at the time of my cancer diagnosis, my time would just about be up.

I can't fully grasp the magnitude of this sad and sobering news. But I can comprehend that any one of us could be on the receiving end of such an announcement at any given moment. We are all vulnerable. And so I am confronted once again with the powerful and painful reminder that each day really could be my last.

Cancer drug Nexavar has made its point. It can help people with liver cancer survive longer.

Bayer Pharmaceuticals and Onyx Pharmaceuticals announced Monday that advanced stage clinical trials for this drug will end early. And now patients in the placebo arm of the study can begin treatment with the actual drug.

It's been a long road for researchers who have been searching for a liver cancer treatment that can target tumors with minimal side effects while extending life for months or even years.

It is estimated that 16,780 people in the United States will die from liver cancer in 2007 -- and it seems Nexavar, a drug initially predicted to fail when used for liver cancer -- may help save some of these lives.

Bayer and Onyx are planning to pursue FDA approval for this drug that has already been approved for kidney cancer.

New research indicates when women and men have lung cancer of the same stage and receive the same treatment, women are more likely to survive.

Several studies extracting data from national cancer registries have shown that lung cancer survival is different for men and women. This study, published in the journal Chest, is the first to compare the sexes when staging and treatment are identical.

It took seven years to follow 1,085 patients with non-small cell lung cancer -- the most common type of the disease -- and at five years, 60 percent of women were still alive compared with 50 percent of men. Overall, female survival rates were consistently higher for all stages of the disease.

Researchers, who ensured there were no differences between the sexes in terms of race, other diseases, smoking history, lung function, and treatment, are not exactly sure why women fare better. But they speculate that women might respond better to chemotherapy.

What researchers do know for sure, however, is that these findings -- if given a chance -- could help improve the overall five-year survival rate for patients with non-small lung cancer by helping to locate new therapeutic options.

Florida safety Reggie Nelson said recently he would give up football if he could ensure his mother would survive the breast cancer she had been battling since October 2003. Sadly, such a trade was not possible.

Mary Lakes died Thursday night, just after her son arrived at her Melbourne home following the second-ranked Gators' final pre-Christmas practice in Gainesville.

Lakes, whose illness prevented her from regularly witnessing the wonder of her All-American son -- a possible first-round draft pick -- was able to see Nelson play in September. And while she rarely got to sit in the stands, Lakes and Nelson had a very close relationship.

"Reggie had a special relationship with his mother," Florida coach Urban Meyer said. "She was a tremendous person and an inspiration for Reggie and many others. Our entire football program is deeply saddened and in mourning. We will remain by Reggie's side and provide emotional and spiritual support for him during this difficult time."

Nelson will soon head to Arizona where he and his Florida Gator teammates will take on the Ohio State Buckeyes for the 2007 National Championship title.

Some women opt to remove their ovaries to prevent breast cancer recurrence. I considered it -- and then decided I would not take such an extreme measure when I wasn't all that sure I was done having children.

Now, ovary removal may not be necessary -- because a new chemical equivalent of surgery allows women to temporarily shut down their ovaries while preserving their fertility.

The shutdown of the ovaries is called chemopause, and women who choose to go this route receive monthly injections -- considered a super-hormone treatment -- of a drug that blocks the male hormone testosterone and is often used to treat prostate cancer.

Chemopause has big advantages. It doesn't require surgery. And it's not permanent. Women who want to have children can stop the treatment in order to conceive. And women who have trouble with side effects can discontinue use of the surgery-sparing drugs.

The ovary-suppressing drugs -- triptorelin, goserelin, leuprolide, and buserelin -- can be used in place of or on top of standard chemotherapy and hormone therapy and are showing promise in their ability to decrease incidences of breast cancer recurrence.

Medical professionals agree there is value in ovarian suppression. Studies show women whose periods do not return after chemotherapy -- which often causes early menopause -- have lower relapse rates than women whose periods resume. So shutting down the ovaries and stopping menstruation may not be such a bad idea -- and not such an extreme measure either.

Dear Lindsay,

I had no idea what awaited me the day I arrived at the Psychology Clinic nearly 18 months ago. Fresh out of the hospital, deeply distressed about my existence, and wanting so badly to stop the tears that poured from my eyes at the slightest mention of cancer, I landed in your care. How lucky for me.

I arrived fragile -- perhaps already broken -- with emotions that were wildly unmanageable. I was anxious, worried, consumed by panic. In search of peace, I told you I wanted more than anything to acquire an easy state of mind, to survive the cancer that faced me, to live without fear that I may once again encounter this disease.

You told me my search could be successful and with a healthy dose of your guided therapy -- and a whole lot more than our intended eight to 10 sessions -- I happened upon the gift of serenity. And my mind is now easy. And I have you to thank.

Thank you, Lindsay, for tending to my wilting spirit, for bracing my fall, for helping me reshape my thoughts and visions, for offering me an abundance of coping tools, for coaching me back into a world where I can bloom.

Your work may be done -- officially. But you will always be at work in my mind. You will always be the one who saved me from a lifetime of darkness. And for that, I am honored to have been your client.

Forever grateful,

Jacki

I found Sandee's blog two years ago, when my breast cancer diagnosis was fresh and I was completely lost. I was immediately struck by the courage of this woman whose story is nothing short of inspirational.

Sandee was diagnosed with breast cancer -- or The Dragon, as she lovingly calls it -- in September 1998. Faced with a stage II disease that had not yet spread to her lymph nodes, she endured a partial mastectomy, six rounds of chemotherapy, and 25 radiation treatments. Despite medical intervention, cancer traveled through Sandee's bloodstream and showed up one year later in her bones and liver. Then in September 2004, a scan showed multiple tumors in her lungs. Today, weekly chemotherapy treatments -- she calls them brutal -- are a way of life for Sandee who is fighting with everything she's got.

Sandee uses her blog -- I Will Survive -- to update readers on her health and to thank friends and family members who shower her with support. And Sandee posts with each entry one random thought, along with something for which she is thankful.

On November 22, Sandee wrote in a post called Bitter Sweet about the results of her recent chest CT -- stable -- and about her cancer-survivor cousin whose MRI results indicate tumor activity in his brain -- again. Sandee writes about a chemotherapy treatment and a bone treatment that followed the very next day.

"Double whammys are never good," she writes.

In this same entry, she grieves the loss of a friend who passed away three years ago, and she thanks a friend for visiting her during a treatment. Sandee closes with a random thought -- I can take "me" being ill but not those I love -- and gives thanks for having known her friend and angel, Andrea.

I am thankful for Sandee -- and the spirit she infuses into a life consumed by cancer.

According to new research published in the British Journal of Cancer, younger women diagnosed with ovarian cancer have a greater chance of surviving the disease for five years or more. Researchers at Stanford University in California looked at the records of more than 28,000 American women diagnosed with ovarian cancer between 1988 and 2001.

They researchers found that:

• Women diagnosed under the age of 60 were more likely to survive at least five years than women over 60.
• Women diagnosed under 30 generally had better survival rates, although the disease is rare in this group.
• Women diagnosed under 30, 79 percent were still alive at five years.
• Women diagnosed between 30 and 60 years the survival rate for five years was 59 percent.
• Women diagnosed over the age of 60 had a 35 percent survival rate at five years.

The researchers are not sure of the reasons for the differences in survival at this point. It could be that the younger women had their cancer detected sooner or it could be due to biological differences. The researchers think that understanding the differences in survival for different age groups may help to improve survival for all age groups in the future.

The breast cancer chemotherapy drug Adriamycin is often called The Red Devil. It's red in color and devilish in it's attack on both cancer cells and healthy cells. After her own personal attack by this drug, Katherine Russell Rich wrote a book, and she called it The Red Devil: To Hell with Cancer -- and Back. It's her account of how she got sick at the age of 32 with a relentless form of breast cancer. Although she was given just a short period of time to survive, Rich conquered cancer. And years later, she is alive and well. And she has discovered -- by mere coincidence -- that her book years ago inspired a group of women in Baltimore who are helping breast cancer patients through kind deeds. They foot the bill for transportation costs, housecleaning, and massage. They pick up and deliver medications. They gather and hug and eat. They take strolls. They call themselves The Red Devils.

Rich only found out about The Red Devils support group when a friend noticed a mention of the group in a newspaper. She informed Rich who visited the group's website. What she found took her breath away.

It seems a woman named Lark Schulze had at one time been desperate to learn about young women with stage IV breast cancer -- the same stage her 30-year-old daughter faced -- and she could not find any helpful resources. Until she came across Rich's book and poured herself into one woman's story. Moved by Rich's words, she tried to locate her, with no luck. So she took what she gathered from the book and after losing her daughter 19 months after diagnosis, became a founding member of a powerful support group -- The Red Devils -- in late 2002.

Despite failed attempts at finding Rich, Schulze says Rich changed her life. And now that the women have connected, Rich says Schulze has changed her life. At first Rich was afraid to be drawn into Schulze's world. But with a hunger to understand breast cancer from a mother's perspective, Rich took the plunge. She talked to Schulze, visited her, strolled with her, and soon the hard lump she'd carried in her stomach for so long began to soften as she connected in a deep and bizarre way with a woman she had inspired -- a woman she had never before known.

Her diagnosis came at the same time as mine -- in November 2004, just after her husband, John Edwards, and John Kerry lost the presidential election. She received the same treatment as I did -- lumpectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation -- and so I was especially interested in her breast cancer journey as it paralleled my own in many ways. But just after her diagnosis surfaced in the media, Elizabeth Edwards disappeared from the radar -- perhaps like we all do in some way while immersed in the maze of cancer. So I lost track of her. But now -- almost two years later -- Edwards is back from cancer, back in the headlines, and back with a new book, Saving Grace.

Edwards, 57, reveals on the pages of her book the intricacies of her cancer ordeal. She shares that she experienced every side effect possible throughout her treatment. She bruised, bled, developed sores in her mouth, experienced numbness in her hands and feet, lost her hair, felt nauseated, ached in her bones and joints, and suffered yellowed and damaged nails -- and then chemotherapy stopped and she went on to the burning, blistering effects of radiation. Still, she managed to survive. And she thanks those who helped her survive -- for their tenderness, encouragement, humor, tears, and love -- and she writes all about it in her memoir that reveals how she juggled life and marriage and kids and cancer and how she arrived in a new place. A happy place.

I really do believe deep down in my gut that I will survive breast cancer -- that I will witness the wonder of my children growing up, that I will be married long enough that the years blur together, that I will live to a ripe old age. But I still have moments of doubt -- moments powerful enough to make me think I should not have a third child, just in case cancer comes back. To combat these moments -- that seem to surface more now that my treatment has stopped -- I try to keep busy, keep my mind occupied, keep living. My steps for surviving in the short-term include writing, journaling, exercising, relaxing, and spending time with family. But I also follow some steps for long-term survival -- steps that transcend the moment and give me purpose and direction. And here are seven of them.