California Democratic Rep. Juanita Millender-McDonald, subject of an April 20 post, died of cancer early Sunday. She was 68.

"Juanita Millender-McDonald was a trailblazer, always advocating for the full participation of all Americans in the success and prosperity of our country," said House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. "The dignity with which she faced her illness was an indication of the determination with which she always served the people of her district."

Millender-McDonald, a native of Birmingham, Alabama who served a district including Compton, Long Beach, and parts of Los Angeles, is the second member of Congress to die this year of cancer. Republican Rep. Charles Norwood Jr. of Georgia died in February after his battle with both cancer and lung disease.

Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger has 14 days to set a date for a special election to fill Millender-McDonald's seat.

The congresswoman is survived by her husband, James McDonald, Jr., and five adult children.

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.

Six-year-old Joey told his doctor the other day about my cancer. The topic came up because Joey wore a pink tie-dye t-shirt in anticipation of a gymnastics meet we would attend later that day. The meet was dedicated to breast cancer awareness, and fans were encouraged to pack the place pink. Joey was ready.

Joey told the doctor all about his shirt. And all about me.

"My mom had cancer," he said. "But she survived."

He talked about everything I had to endure, about his surprise that I had to go through so much. He spoke lovingly, his doctor told me. She said he seemed proud.

Joey's doctor told me his eyes were full of emotion when he spoke about me and my cancer. She said he wasn't on the verge of tears, but he was surely passionate about his mom's victory over a disease he just barely comprehends.

And I am proud of Joey. I am proud of his loyalty, his support, his ability to express his emotions, his unwavering enthusiasm for all things pink.

Yes, I survived. Joey did too. And we are both tickled pink.

Valerie Monroe, beauty director for The Oprah Magazine, writes a monthly column -- Ask Val -- that appears on the pages of Oprah's feel-good publication. She responds to questions about make-up, skin care, hair care, and overall body care too.

In her February 2007 column, Val writes, "Many of you have written to tell me that you began to be less critical of your body when you appreciated the things it could do." As I read this, I had what Oprah would call an Aha! moment, a moment when something just clicks and makes sudden sense. Aha!, I thought, as I considered all the things my body can do, completely independent of how I look on the outside. So while I was jogging today -- my body can now easily run three miles -- I ran through all of my body's accomplishments, and I stored them in the files of my mind so I could later write them down.

Here are seven things my body can do. As you read them, consider your own body -- its strength, its power, its capacity for greatness -- and remind yourself of your wondrous self the next time you start to criticize the way you look.

• My body can partner in the creation of human life. It can carry babies and deliver them and love them and care for them and raise them. Not all bodies have this power. I am lucky.

• My body can climb an attic staircase, crawl into cramped and dark corners, pull large boxes out of wedged spaces, drag them back to the staircase, and walk backwards down the stairs with goods balancing on my head so that I can fulfill the wish my five-year-old child who wanted so badly in early November to assemble our Christmas tree and decorate our house for the holidays. "Let's wait until Daddy gets home," I told Joey when I found myself crammed into a tiny space in the attic, wrestling with a heavy box full of artificial tree parts. "You can do it, Mommy," Joey said. "You are strong." And so I fought my way through the frustrating feat because I was afraid of the lessons I would teach this little boy if I didn't. In the end, it was Joey who taught me the lesson. I can do it. I am strong.
  

• My body can endure and conquer a 5K run when it once could barely run around the block. With a little extra effort and push, I think my body can accomplish even more.

• My body, once weak and without definition, can lift increasingly heavy weight and can generate muscle tone. It can even do push-ups -- real push-ups. It takes dedication and practice and persistence and mental toughness too. But I see progress. I feel progress. And I want more.

• My body can help others. I can use my fingers to type words on a keyboard that will reach friends and family and people I don't even know. My words can inform and support and encourage and heal. I can use my hands and my semi-creative talents to create hand-made gifts, to cook and deliver very mediocre meals for friends in need, to massage my husband's sore back, to braid my niece's beautiful hair and paint her tiny nails. I can use my arms to hug my little boys with all my might. I can use my voice to communicate, my ears to listen, my senses to feel.
  

• My body can tolerate surgery and chemotherapy and radiation and horrible allergic reactions to antibiotics. My body was badly beaten by a treatment protocol intended to cure me of a disastrous disease. And somehow, in some way, it survived.
  

• My body killed cancer. With the aid of medical intervention and a hopeful attitude, my body overcame the worst and best thing that has ever happened to me. And if it could do nothing else, I would be truly happy for this one thing my body can do.
  

Michael Brecker, Grammy Award-winning jazz saxophonist who performed with the likes of Joni Mitchell and Herbie Hancock, died Saturday of cancer. He was 57.

Brecker, considered one of the most influential saxophonists of the past 25 years, died at a hospital in New York City as a result of myelodysplastic syndrome -- a form of cancer in which the bone marrow stops making healthy blood cells.

The Philadelphia native, who began his solo career in 1987 with a self-titled debut recording that turned into Jazz Album of the Year, was forced by his illness to stop playing music at times. So he channeled his creative efforts into raising awareness of a very important cause -- bone marrow donation.

Brecker is survived by his wife, Susan; his children, Jessica and Sam; a brother and a sister.

At the end of November, EarthLink CEO Garry Betty took a medical leave of absence from his job to fight adrenocortical cancer, a serious form of cancer characterized by a tumor that occurs in the adrenal glands above the kidneys. On Tuesday, Betty died at his Atlanta home from complications of the disease. He was 49.

Betty joined the internet service provider EarthLink in 1996 and helped the regional company grow from a provider with 500,000 subscribers into a national powerhouse with more than five million subscribers.

"Garry was instrumental in building EarthLink into the company it is today," EarthLink Chairman Robert M. Kavner said in a recent statement.

EarthLink was just one of Betty's successful ventures. He began his career at IBM Corp. and won the IBM President's Excellence Award in 1982 for his work on the company's personal computer. He also served as CEO of Digital Communications Associates Inc. and at the time became the youngest CEO of a company listed on the New York Stock Exchange.

Betty, who graduated from the Georgia Institute of Technology in 1979 with a degree in chemical engineering, was responsible for 2,200 EarthLink employees. And in support of his team, he attended the company's 2006 Christmas party just three weeks after receiving his diagnosis.

"He put on a tux and came out for a night to make all of us feel better," said Mike Lunsford, interim EarthLink CEO. "And he succeeded."

Betty is survived by his wife, Kathy.

The build-up to 2006 was a bit uncertain for me. At the end of 2004, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and set my sights on short-term survival, moment by moment, day by day. I wasn't sure 2005 -- in its entirety -- was a guarantee so I tried not to look too far ahead. I focused on the completion of each of the year's cancer steps -- surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, the beginning of a year-long Herceptin therapy, and so much more -- and somehow, I survived the whole ordeal. And the whole year.

I made it through 2005, and I have almost made it through 2006 -- a year marked by a cancer slow-down, a more normal existence. Moment by moment, day by day, the burden of cancer loosened it's grip on me. And as I begin to reflect on the year that has all but passed before my eyes, I realize it turned out just fine. Here are seven reasons why.

• On May 19, 2006, my very first post published on The Cancer Blog. What a thrill it was -- and still is -- to find myself engaged in a useful pursuit as a result of my own cancer experience.
  

• On June 28, 2006, the last drops of Herceptin made their way through my body, marking the conclusion of 17 doses of this hopefully life-saving potion.

• On September 15, 2006, my port came out, signaling my acceptance of a life without drug treatment, my faith that I will never again need a foreign object sewn under my skin.

• On December 6, 2006, 18 months of counseling came to a close. Armed with skills to cope with all sorts of emotional issues, I am marching forward, free of the disabling anxiety and free-flowing tears that first landed me in the counseling chair.

• For much of 2006, I have been a student of fitness training, pushing myself physically in search of better health. It's not always easy, I'm not always motivated, and I am known to whine a bit -- but still, I am happier just knowing I am working toward sustained health.
  

• Throughout the entire year, I have walked away from every medical check-up and follow-up with a clean bill of health. I hear the longer someone survives cancer, the less likely the disease is to return. Happily, I have two years of survival under my belt.

• Ever since my diagnosis, I have been reaching for others with journeys similar to mine. First, I reached for support and guidance and reassurance. Then, I reached to offer my own version of support and guidance and reassurance. The year 2006 has been full of rich connections, found only because of cancer. Reaching makes me feel good.

Yes, the year 2006 turned out just fine.

Gerald Boyd, the first black managing editor of The New York Times, the man forced to resign two years after his appointment -- during a reporter's plagiarism scandal -- died Thursday of lung cancer. He was 56.

Boyd was diagnosed with cancer in February and while he was sick for most of the year, he kept his condition private from most friends and colleagues.

Boyd is credited for his ability to mobilize a reporting team and surround a story to capture every important fact. He was tough and demanding and had a huge heart. And while he left the paper under sad circumstances, he also left as a well-respected newsman.

Boyd became managing editor in 2001 and resigned in 2003 after the discovery that reporter Jayson Blair had plagiarized material, invented quotes, and wrote stories using datelines of places he'd never seen. The scandal resulted in discontented staff members who lost confidence in Boyd's leadership.

After his resignation, Boyd became involved in several projects and found himself writing a column for Universal Press Syndicate. His goal -- to help people understand how newsroom decisions are made.

Boyd is survived by his wife and 10-year-old son.

It's amazing how modern medicine can repair the damage done by breast cancer, how it can reconstruct breasts removed in an attempt to ward off future cancer attacks, how it can inspire one woman to shed light on this major life transformation.

Debbie was diagnosed with breast cancer in June 2004. She had a double mastectomy and then treatment -- and then reconstruction. At the time, no pictures existed depicting the process, no images to prepare Debbie for the path she would travel.

Debbie traveled her path, survived it all, and now shares her journey -- through both words and images -- through a project she calls Myself: Together Again. Her project, intended to empower other women through the breast reconstruction process, is available online where booklets can also be ordered. A slideshow featuring images and audio of Debbie's journey is currently available on the MSNBC website.

While Debbie's story plots the landmark steps in reconstruction, each woman is unique -- and her medical team knows her situation best. Reconstruction options and results will vary for each person. This is just one woman's story.

Celebrities catch our attention. They cause us to pay attention too -- which is likely why the media uses celebrities and prominent people to send messages about all sorts of issues, like breast cancer.

It's not just the real-life survivor celebrity stories -- about Melissa Etheridge and Elizabeth Edwards and Sheryl Crow -- that make headlines and attract ratings. It's also the portrayal of cancer survivors on television that raises awareness about this disease. It's not a new trend -- it started long ago when All in the Family's Edith Bunker (Jean Stapleton) experienced a breast cancer scare, marking one of the first times the issue of breast cancer was discussed openly on TV.

Tough cop Mary Beth Lacey (Tyne Daly) of the TV show Cagney & Lacey traveled a breast cancer journey. Sisters eldest sister Alex (Swoosie Kurtz) was diagnosed with breast cancer and survived chemotherapy with family by her side. Beverly Hills, 90210 character Brenda Walsh (Shannen Doherty) found a lump in her breast and shed light on the fact that young women are not immune to breast cancer. Sex and the City's Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) developed breast cancer and proudly pulled off her wig on television. The L Word's Dana Fairbanks (Erin Daniels) lost her battle with breast cancer. And on Angela's Eyes, FBI agent Angela Henson recently learned her mother once had breast cancer -- and that it has come back.

There are many others television story lines woven with the thread of breast cancer. They draw viewers and boost ratings. They also raise awareness -- because people pay attention to celebrities.

Actress Mariska Hargitay lost her father on Thursday to multiple myeloma. Mickey Hargitay, the 1955 Mr. Universe, Mr. America, Mr. Olympia, and one-time husband of late sex symbol Jayne Mansfield died at the age of 80 at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles.

Born Miklos Hargitay in Hungary, Mickey emigrated to the United States after World War II. Here he entered the world of bodybuilding and then landed a role in Mae West's Las Vegas Revue. Mansfield, who saw the show in 1956, married Hargitay in 1958 -- and the two later had daughter Mariska and two other children. Mansfield and Hargitay divorced in 1964 -- and Mansfield died in a car crash in 1967.

Family members shared in a statement to the media, "words cannot express how saddened we are by the loss of Mickey. At the same time, we are so grateful for who he was and is to all of us, and for the love he gave us in our lives. He will continue to be our source of inspiration and strength."

Hargitay, also know for a few Hercules-style movies, is survived by his wife of 38 years, Ellen, a daughter, a stepdaughter, two sons, a brother, a sister, 10 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

I never thought the time would come when I could fill a page with names of people I know who have cancer or have died from cancer. When my mom's very best friend died years and years ago of pancreatic cancer, it seemed a remote chance that something like that would happen to someone I know. And then slowly, either because cancer cases increased or because my awareness increased -- or both -- my list of people with cancer grew and grew and grew. And now it's quite long. And it's quite disturbing. And it's empowering too -- because most people on my growing list are surviving. And here are seven survivors who are somehow connected to me -- seven survivors who make up just the tip of the cancer iceberg in my life that stretches far and wide.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer almost two years ago, my greatest fear was losing my hair. The fear was consuming, painful, over-the-top. That was long ago -- and I survived. I can look back now and realize that the panic about losing my hair was such a small-scale fear -- compared to what I fear now. Now I fear a recurrence of cancer. And it's a whole lot more disabling than a little worry about being bald.

I have a few techniques for settling my fears when they get out of control. Sometimes I take deep breaths. Sometimes I distract myself and occupy my mind with something more pleasant than anxiety -- like writing, exercising, playing with my little boys. And sometimes I read about others who have come before me and have handled the same distress I sometimes feel about cancer taking up residence in my body again. Mostly I learn from stories of other women who have survived breast cancer. And I learn that I can handle the fear, that I can handle cancer if it does come back. And the women I find most inspiring are those who have had a recurrence -- or two or three -- and who still manage to happily tackle the life they have in front of them. They give me hope that if a recurrence comes my way, I too can conquer it. And here are seven snippets of hope from the book Hope Lives! The After Breast Cancer Treatment Survival Handbook -- from women who keep on surviving breast cancer.

My brother-in-law came up to me tonight with his iPod and handed me his headsets. A cue to put them on, I guessed -- and so I did. A song played and right away I liked what I heard. It was the exact type of music I like -- with a grungy, rock kind of sound. I figured Jack knows what I like and was sharing a new song with me. Which he was -- but there was something more to it. It wasn't just a good song -- it was a good song about cancer, with a message of hope and strength and living through the struggles of a life that has been shaken. Written by Scott Leger of the Austin-based band wideawake, Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow is dedicated to the millions of people affected by cancer -- those who have lost, those who have survived, those who fight and volunteer and support and research and raise awareness and give and inspire. And for those without cancer too really. For anyone who is faced with forces that threaten the most precious of assets -- time.

Six years ago, when Jane Tomlinson was diagnosed with advanced metastatic breast cancer, the doctors said she had six months to live. Instead of dying, she has gone on to compete in a number of triathlons --including a 2,500-mile bike ride, from Rome to Leeds and last year the New York Marathon -- all to raise money for breast cancer charity. At the end of the year, after raising £1.25m total for cancer charity, the mother of three took a break.

Tomlinson is back. On June 29, she will begin cycling 4,200 miles across America for cancer charity. Beginning at San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge and ending in New York, Tomlinson's Ride Across America will bring her charity fundraising to a £2m total or better. Tomlinson is currently undergoing chemotherapy, but will have five weeks to recover from that before she begins her ride. Tomlinson, 42, will have the company of Leeds Metropolitan University lecturer Ryan Bowd, 27, of Calgary, Canada, and 40-year-old Martyn Hollingworth, of Huddersfield, West Yorkshire on her 62 day challenge. You can learn more about this inspiring breast cancer survivor, her remarkable adventures of accomplishments in living and upcoming progress at Jane's Appeal. Jane Tomlinson has also written a book called The Luxury of Time. I am on my way over to Amazon right now.