Here's what might be a typical train of thought for someone surviving cancer. That someone, in this case, is me.

I have been getting sicker and sicker for the past three days. Sore throat, sore ears, and a heavy head made me think at first it was some sort of sinus issue. Add a cough, a rumbling and painful chest, sore gums, chills and sweats, and a fever roaring past 102.8 and the worries start rolling in. I feel like I did twice before, just before I was admitted to the hospital with dipping white blood counts.

The worst of it hit Friday night and since I just couldn't make myself sit in the ER for hours on end, I overstepped my boundaries, tracked down my hospital's on-call oncologist, and listed off my symptoms. Since my treatment for breast cancer concluded one year ago, the doctor wasn't worried. He called it an infection and called me in a prescription. In a few days, when my course of antibiotics run out, I should be fine.

Jill Sklar was diagnosed with Crohn's disease, a debilitating gastrointestinal condition, when she was twenty. Jill set out to investigate how others who have survived the diagnosis and treatment of a chronic life altering illness perceived themselves -- and the effect of that illness on their life.

The Five Gifts of Illness: A Reconsideration is the result of Jill's investigation. She interviewed over one hundred individuals who had suffered a wide variety of illnesses. Sklar discovered that five gifts emerged as common denominators among the survivors. Those five gifts form the heart of this book.

You can purchase the book on amazon.com.

We have written here at the cancer blog about Courtney Nicole a few times. You can find posts here and here. Courtney passed way about eight months ago. Her mom still keeps a journal of what is going on in her life and how she is coping with the loss of her nineteen year old daughter.

I find myself going to her site often to see how she is doing. It is heartbreaking to read her words at times and encouraging at other times. She is trying to go on -- but how, without her daughter?

Recently, Court's mom posted Its Like a Scab! on her website. Here's what she said:

Discussions about cancer often include mention of age. We talk about how old someone is at diagnosis, how old a person is at each year of survival, the age of an individual at the time cancer claims his or her life. Age reveals a lot. It dumps us into statistical categories. Most patients diagnosed with gallbladder cancer, for example, are older than 65. Age sometimes predicts prognosis. Young women diagnosed with breast cancer tend to have more aggressive forms of the disease. This can compromise chances for survival. Age also solicits judgments. "You are too young," some people told me after learning I'd been diagnosed with breast cancer.

I think about my age all the time. I think about how I was 34 when I found my lump, how I happily arrived at age 35, how I made it to 36, and how today, I am 37. Come November, I will have survived my disease for three years. Three years will remain before I make it out of my 30s and land on 40 -- the age when women should begin receiving regular annual mammograms.

I didn't ask for much this year for my birthday. A candle, a bathing suit, dinner out with my husband, and time with family are all I really want -- because the best gift has already arrived. I turned 37.

Chances are, someone you love has breast cancer. And if not now, one day this is likely to be true -- because one in eight women will develop an invasive form of the disease at some point during her lifetime.

If and when it happens to you, when you find yourself saying, Someone I love has breast cancer, one of the first things you'll consider is how you might help. It's a natural feeling -- the urge to reach out -- and I've got an idea for you if you find yourself searching for the right way to brighten the day for that someone you love.

Think about this:

How about honoring your loved one in a special Ladies' Home Journal website photo gallery? Simply find a photograph that candidly captures the essence of your special someone, why you love her, and how she is surviving the disease.

To submit by e-mail, send your photo digitally in JPEG format to lhj.breastcancer@meredith.com. Type "breast cancer" in the subject line, and include the following information:

Her Name:
Her Age:
Where she lives (City, State):
What LHJ should know about her:
Your Name:
Your Address:
Your Phone Number:
Your e-mail address:

To submit by mail, include the same information and a copy of your photograph. Mail to:

Ladies' Home Journal/Breast Cancer Photo Gallery, 125 Park Avenue, 20th Floor, New York, NY 10017

Deadline: July 11, 2007

Elizabeth Edwards, wife of Democratic presidential candidate John Edwards, has had many routine medical follow-ups since her 2004 breast cancer diagnosis. And all of them -- until just a few days ago -- resulted in what is generally termed a clean bill of health.

The term doesn't always come with a sense of relief for those of us surviving breast cancer -- or any cancer for that matter -- because it only really defines what our bodies are telling us at one specific moment. There are no magic blood tests, no special body scans, no conclusive ways of determining whether or not cancerous cells have gone astray and will one day surface again.

I asked my oncologist after my first six-month follow-up how he would know if my cancer returns. He told me it's really up to me to determine whether it comes back. It's up to me to get mammograms and ultrasounds and MRIs. It's up to me to report any symptoms and suspicions. It's up to me to track my general well-being so that it will be clear when something feels not-so-right. If I have a persistent cough or headaches that won't subside, my doctor will take action with X-rays and scans and tests. But as long as I feel fine and nothing troubling presents itself, then I remain in the clean-bill-of-health club.

Edwards no longer has a clean bill of health. But she is determined to use her newest diagnosis -- stage four metastatic cancer of the bones, considered treatable but not curable -- to work toward the best health she can acquire for as long as she can hold onto it. And that is about as good as any of us can do.

My blood looked good. My weight is normal. My temperature was 98.2. My blood pressure was perfect. And the physical exam conducted by my oncologist revealed that for another three-month stretch, I have survived cancer.

There are other exams ahead in the next few months -- a breast MRI, a mammogram, an ultrasound, a follow-up with my radiation oncologist -- but mostly, my life revolves around the every-three-month visit with my medical oncologist. He's the one who plotted the course of my treatment, responds to my physical and emotional ups and downs, and checks my every piece and part. He is the one who will declare my remission in five years, if warranted. He is the one who told me today I am doing very well.

And for the next three months, I will assume I am just that -- very well. And my hope is that on May 21, when I depart his office once again, I am able to report that not one thing has changed.

Survivorship is the new cancer buzz word -- and what an important word it is. Once left to each individual to define, manage, and transcend, survivorship is now recognized as a distinct phase of cancer recovery -- just as important, and maybe even more so, than diagnosis and treatment.

Linda Griggs, a 13-year breast cancer survivor, clearly remembers the day her chemotherapy ended. With her therapy complete, her hair growing back, and her medical team sending her off to have a nice life, she thought she'd be fine. But she wasn't.

Three months after her last dose of chemotherapy, Griggs was depressed, consumed with worry about how her cancer might come back. And she realized that the end of treatment is not really the end. It's just the beginning.

Griggs told her doctor about her anxiety, about how she was just trying to make it to her next three-month-check up. When her doctor told her, "that's not living," something clicked for Griggs who instantly decided to start living -- really living.

Surviving is about self-nurturing, says Griggs, who has created a kit to help others survive cancer. On her website, she writes that there are a couple of other breast cancer survivor kits out there -- containing tissues, herbal teas, meditation tapes, medical appointment books, and breast cancer resource materials.

"This is not that," she says of her kit that focuses on the emotional upheaval cancer creates.

Griggs' kit is full of hands-on creative materials -- like an inner child notebook, complete with magic markers for journaling and expressing emotions. If you're angry, you can write down angry thoughts. If you're sad, write what makes you sad. Save the pages, tear them up, burn them, do what you wish -- but allow your emotions to flow, Griggs says.

The kit also includes a wooden box with instructions on how to create a healing shrine, a copy of Griggs' non-fiction account of the first five years of her cancer journey, and so much more.

Griggs, who also teaches healing workshops, guides others to understand cancer as a hero's quest. She says when something happens to us -- death, divorce, disease -- we are receiving a call to adventure. All bet's are off. We must start fresh, gather our spirit guides, collect ourselves, dive into the underworld, overcome, and then emerge full of wisdom of growth.

Griggs has emerged -- full of her own wisdom and growth. She is a hero -- on a quest to help others survive a disease that threw her way off track for way too long.

I am headed out the door this Christmas morning -- with my husband and two little boys -- to my sister's house where our family members will gather to celebrate the spirit of the season. There will be good food and good company and good laughs -- and good gifts too. And while I have managed to create a mini wish list -- I'm liking decorative tin stars this year and I'll always take the gift of a pedicure -- there is only one gift I really want. Time.

I have been surviving breast cancer for two years. I've seen my oldest child march off to kindergarten and my youngest son grow into an independent little soul. I've seen my hair grow, my anxiety diminish, and my writing career blossom. Time is quite a gift. And I want more of it.

I want to see my kids tackle first grade and preschool. I want to further develop my writing pursuits. And I want meet my sister's new baby, due at the end of May.

I believe in my head and my heart and my gut that I have a lot more time left on this planet. But just to be safe, I'm keeping time on my wish list for as long as I can. Because all ll I really want for Christmas -- every Christmas -- is time.

I spend 10.5 hours every weekday on my own with some combination of my two little boys. My day starts each morning and extends through meals and playtime and laughs and tears and fights and struggles and snuggles -- but never a nap -- and even a part-time preschool job where one or two boys always tag along. Sometimes I try to write during the day while my boys are happy and occupied. Typically, I don't accomplish much. Interruptions are endless -- as they should be for a mostly stay-at-home mom who chooses to devote her daytime hours to raising children.

And so I go it alone until dinner time when my husband returns from work and selflessly takes over and sets me free. He cooks, serves, and cleans up dinner. He plays and entertains and wrestles and heads up bath and book time. And then he transports each boy on his back to their respective beds.

During my moments of freedom each evening, I lose myself in my thoughts -- and I begin to write. I love my mommy job -- and wouldn't trade it for any other full-time job -- but I also love being alone. And I love writing.

Helen Keller said, "I must have something besides husband and children, something I can devote myself to! I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore, I am grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself, and of writing, of expressing all that is within me."

Writing -- mostly about cancer -- helps me develop my surviving self. It helps me express all that is within me. And maybe it's fitting that I don't get too much time to dwell on the disease that consumed me for two years. If I had to choose between two busy boys and a life busy with cancer, I'd take two boys in an instant. At the end of the day, a little bit of writing about a little of cancer suits me just fine.

There is a downside to cancer. There's the distressing diagnosis, the shocking realization that something evil is invading cells and tissues and organs. There's surgery and treatment and loss of hair, loss of blood counts, loss of energy, loss of wellness, loss of future plans and intentions. There's the fear of recurrence and the fear of death and the fear of surviving. Cancer is dark and dismal and daunting. There is no room for argument. There is a downside to cancer.

But there is an upside to cancer too. Really, there is. And a growing body of research suggests cancer changes many people's lives -- like mine -- for the better.

"Cancer gives some survivors a renewed sense of confidence and greater appreciation for their own endurance," says one professor of medicine and public health. "The adversity of treatment may give people the sense that 'I've come through this and I'm stronger.' " Yes!

This same professor says cancer also leads survivors to question their priorities -- and to better manage them. Yes!

She also says survivors tend to find the coping strategies they develop during therapy can help them handle other life problems. Yes!

Many cancer survivors and their families turn to helping others dealing with the disease. It's part of the healing process to give back. And it feels good. Yes!

Cancer almost always is a blessing. This may not be apparent while in the trenches of a cancer fight. But when the smoke clears and the dust settles, blessings emerge. Really, they do.

Tonight at 8:00 PM on ABC's Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, television viewers get to witness the week-long renovation of a 135-year-old farmhouse belonging to 26-year-old Shawna Farina and her three children.

It's not just the powerful makeover of this drafty Indiana house that makes for a touching story. It's the fact that Farina has been surviving breast cancer for the past 18 months, raising three children, working, raising money, and organizing her local American Cancer Society Relay For Life walks -- while living in an old, drafty farmhouse -- that makes this story truly inspirational.

Inspired by her mother, who was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was a child, Farina became involved with Relay For Life -- a yearly, overnight event held in more than 4,700 communities to celebrate cancer survivorship. And now, in tandem with Farina's extreme makeover, volunteers from 18 different Relay for Life events across southern Indiana have been honoring Farina through Extreme Relay For Life events consisting of five back-to-back 24-hour relays. More than 5,000 people and the cast of crew of the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition participated while construction took place on Farina's house.

It all unfolds this evening -- the story of one courageous young woman raising awareness about breast cancer in the midst of her own battle. And the story of one dedicated bunch of supporters who are building her spirit -- and rebuilding her home.

My own oncologist did it just two days ago. He checked in on my mental health, asked how I was surviving, and eased my fear of cancer recurrence and possible death. He reached beyond the medical scope of our relationship -- literally. He placed a hand on my shoulder. He offered me a hug. He cared.

Yet many doctors refrain from reaching too far into the lives of the patients they treat. They stay at a distance. They focus on merely replacing illness with health. This is, after all, the purpose of medicine -- to fix people.

Dr. Jeremy Geffen, author of The Journey Through Cancer: Healing and Transforming the Whole Person, shares in his book that "at present, doctors focus primarily on the physical characteristics of their patients -- bones and organs, tissue samples, test results, height, weight, and age. Yet in each of us, there is a rich mental, emotional, and spiritual reality that influences, even directs the course of our lives."

Conventional medicine responds to cancer patients with surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and other treatment protocols to essentially get rid of the cancer. Physical signs, symptoms, and responses are carefully monitored -- while other areas of patients' lives receive little attention.

A whole component of true medical care is missing -- as doctors may feel unprepared to address emotional issues, and time restraints allow for limited interaction between doctor and patient.

Geffen believes the ultimate purpose of medicine is to help all beings "experience unbounded love, joy, and inner peace, and to know this is the essence of who we truly are." This purpose, he believes, deserves as much attention as the purpose of treating symptoms and curing disease.

And so Geffen created a program based on his Seven Levels of Healing -- a program that includes both the relative and ultimate purposes of medicine, both the doing and the being.

Level One: Education and Information -- provides basic information about cancer and treatment options and encourages patients to actively participate in and obtain benefit from their care.

Level Two: Connection with Others -- explores the importance of reaching out to others for comfort and support on the journey through cancer.

Level Three: The Body as Garden -- invites patients and family members to see the human body as growing and evolving, as a complex garden rather than a machine. This level touches on good nutrition, exercise, massage, acupuncture, and a variety of complementary and alternative approaches to healing.

Level Four: Emotional Healing -- enters the realm of the human heart, shedding light on fear, pain, anger, self-love, and forgiveness.

Level Five: The Nature of Mind -- examines how life with cancer is influenced by our thoughts, beliefs, and the meanings we give events.

Level Six: Life Assessment -- delves into aspirations, goals, and purposes of our lives.

Level Seven: The Nature of Spirit -- embraces the spiritual aspects of the healing process.

As a physician, Geffen aims to bring his vision of medicine and healing to cancer patients everywhere. And he uses his book as an instrument of communication -- so readers can participate in his vision, so they can learn to settle for nothing less than medical care that centers on the whole person. And not just the parts.

To read previous posts on the same topic, visit:
The Journey Through Cancer: Introduction
Sunday Seven: Seven Levels of Healing on Cancer Journey

Stay tuned for:
The Journey Through Cancer: Beverly Is Every One Of Us

My mom's best friend died from pancreatic cancer just three months after her diagnosis with the disease. One of my co-workers lost her mother to the same disease just weeks after diagnosis. Another co-worker's husband lost his battle with pancreatic cancer after a 15-month all-out fight. And a family friend has somehow been surviving this deadly disease for years now. He's the exception, defying the odds rarely in favor of long-term survival.

About 33,730 people will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2006. Many of them -- 32,300 -- will die from the disease that is rarely caught early. Pancreatic cancer is the fifth leading cause of cancer death in the United States.

I have a new friend who is a new breast cancer survivor. She is surviving a new diagnosis, a recent lumpectomy, and the moments leading up to another surgery to further investigate the margins surrounding the tumor removed from her breast. She is surviving the first phase of her breast cancer journey. A phase full of uncertainty and fear and panic. A phase so new and so fresh and so raw, her mind is whirling. A phase that has her grasping for any bit of direction she can find as she navigates a terrifying, unfamiliar road.

My friend is a young wife and mother whose worries are consuming her. She e-mailed me today and asked if I ever have moments when I look at my young children and worry that cancer will take me from them while they are young. She asked if I have always been so sure I will be okay. And so I replied with this candid cancer confession.