My brother-in-law just read the post I wrote about his allegiance to the pink breast cancer bracelet -- the one that snapped after three solid years of wear, the one he replaced a day later.

I wrote my previous post in an attempt to give meaning to this perhaps symbolic happening. A breast cancer bracelet breaks -- what could that mean? I took a stab my own interpretation. My thoughts are featured in that post, On broken cancer bracelets. Now, Jack is weighing in with his own twist on the matter. I like his version.

Jack says his bracelet, worn ever since I was diagnosed with breast cancer in November 2004, broke because I am free of cancer. The bracelet is no longer necessary. End of cancer. End of bracelet. End of story.

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.