I was going to write a blog later in my series of blogs on toxins and stress and disease from the studies that I have been reading for the last month. But since a comment was made about stress and whether it has a correlation to disease to the previous blog I wrote on toxins and stress creating disease in our bodies, I will jump ahead and share some research I found on the relation of stress and disease. A relation to stress and disease has been researched by many doctors, psychologists, and medical research facilities and conclusions are that stress does several things to the body causing it to shut down in areas that can effect the body with disease and illness.

Do the common phrases, Tension Headache, Upset Stomach, Shaky Nerves, Tight Chest, ring a bell? Studies showed that work place stress has created an increase in heart disease and high blood pressure as well as making the body more susceptible to flu and viruses. It also has shown that stress can be related to Type 2 Diabetes as well as obesity. "Stress in general can disrupt the body's ability to process glucose, especially in people whose genetics make them vulnerable", said Richard Surwit of the Duke University Medical Center in a research article in the November/December issue of the journal Psychosomatic Medicine.

I hadn't been on an airplane since 2001. So all of the customs and rituals of airport safety were entirely new to me. I had no idea I 'd be told to remove my shoes before walking through the security contraption or that my baggage would be opened, searched, and inspected. It was a whole new world for me. Prior to 2001, none of these security measures were necessary. A compression sleeve wasn't either.

A compression sleeve -- my own personal security device -- is my new travel companion. Designed to protect my arm from swelling caused by the combination of missing lymph nodes and airplane cabin pressure, this sleeve fits my arm from wrist to armpit. It's tight like a glove and while it's not a very apparent fashion statement, it's slightly visible with its darker-than-flesh color.

I almost forgot to wear my sleeve on my flight to Tucson because I sometimes forget about breast cancer and it's effect on my life still. I sometimes forget how unsafe this world can be too. Then I see barefoot travelers passing through an airport corridor just before a jolt sparks my memory, and I rush to pull on my sleeve before it's too late.

There are four missing lymph nodes up my sleeve. And I must never forget this.

I've read stories about women whose breast cancer diagnoses were delayed because they explained away certain symptoms. One woman, an athlete, was told by her husband one day that her nipple looked different from the other. "It's probably just the jog bra I've been wearing all day," she assured him. They both moved on.

Some time later, this woman learned that her different nipple was a sign of breast cancer. And she had it. She just didn't know it. And so her diagnosis came late. Eight years later, this young mother of two small children died from a disease she explained away.

This is normal -- the art of explaining away all the odd messages our bodies give us. Perhaps it's the stigma of whining about every little ache and pain that keeps us from pursuing immediate medical attention. It could be the likelihood that our complaints are pretty normal, so we refrain from rushing to judgment.

I'm practicing this well-established art right now. It's odd for me because I've already had breast cancer, and I am usually ultra-sensitive to every twinge of pain I feel. So when I woke this morning, with a tight and aching feeling in my chest, one would have thought I'd be racing out the door, headed for the nearest emergency room. I considered the fact that perhaps I need to be seen, that a chest X-ray might be in order, but I took no action -- because I explained the feeling away. It went something like this:

It must be the way I slept. I slept in a different bed, with one child and one dog, and I don't think I moved an inch all night.

The feeling gets less intense with time. At this moment, I can only feel something -- and it's very mild -- if I inhale deeply.

If I have the same feeling tomorrow morning, I will pursue it -- no, I won't pursue it just yet because I wont' be sleeping in my own bed for a few more nights. I'll wait until I get back to my own bed and see what happens. Maybe this bed is not good for me.

This goes on and on. For me, I think it happens because I suspect nothing really is wrong with me. Perhaps I am dismissing something serious but mostly, I'm chalking this behavior to progress. Because there was a day when I ran to the dentist for a bump on the roof of my mouth -- it was nothing -- and I cried to get myself a next-day mammogram for some lumpy tissue I was convinced was cancer -- it wasn't -- and now, I am happy to feel more like a normal person. I am happy to have perfected my new art, which incidentally I will abandon in an instant if the discomfort persists.

My husband says he's had this feeling before when getting out of bed. I think I'm going to be OK.

To honor and support former 1995 Hooters Calendar Cover Girl, Kelly Jo Dowd, who is battling a recurrence of breast cancer that has spread to her organs and bones -- during the 10th Annual Hooters International Swimsuit Pageant in Las Vegas, Hooters gave her a check for $135,000 and announced a $1 million dollar breast cancer research grant in her name through the V Foundation for Cancer Research.

Dowd, who is 40, successfully went into remission the first time she was diagnosed with breast cancer, only to have the cancer return, is the only woman to climb Hooters restaurant chain's corporate ladder from waitress, to manager, and to general manager. She is also the proud mother of golfing teen phenom Dakoda Dowd.

The V Foundation was launched during the last year of NC State basketball coach and ESPN broadcaster Jim Valvano's life, when he was diagnosed with metastatic adenocarcinoma, and told he had a year to live. He spent the last year as an advocate in raising cancer awareness by sharing his personal experience as someone facing life and death with cancer. Valvano's message in the fight against cancer was "Don't Give Up ... Don't Ever Give Up!"

Dowd is fighting for her life, and Hooters has stepped in to help her, and other women facing breast cancer and fighting for their lives, in never giving up in the battle.

For the almost two years I have been receiving treatment for breast cancer, I have traveled the same path -- over and over and over again -- from my house to the hospital and back again. And while I have seen different doctors and received different treatments and visited various departments and locations for all sorts of surgeries and tests and scans and X-rays, the path has remained the same. And after all the time that has passed, the power of the path has never diminished -- despite how familiar it has become.

Today I drove from my house to the hospital for a counseling appointment. I drove the same stretch of highway for a few miles, got off on my usual exit, drove for a few more miles past all the typical shopping centers and restaurants, and came to the light where I always turn left into the Cancer Center. I drove into the parking lot, found a parking space -- thankfully -- and displayed my yellow patient parking permit that allows to park without fear of a $20 ticket. I got out of my car and began my walk to the main hospital where the psychology clinic is located. I passed -- as usual -- the startling crowds of people smoking outside the Cancer Center, the groups of medical students who gather outside the medical facilities, the masses of people in white coats racing around and checking beepers and talking on cell phones. I entered the hospital, traveled to the ground floor, and turned a few corners until I reached my clinic. I checked in, paid my $25 co-pay, and waited for a just a few minutes until I was greeted by my counselor. We walked to a private room, talked for an hour, and then I followed my path in reverse.

The path is always the same. It is routine and predictable and rarely varies. But it has never become dull and I have never become numb to it -- because the power that is wrapped up in my drive and my subsequent steps that take me to and from my destinations still has a tight hold on me. I can travel the same path for other purposes -- to shop or have dinner -- and the power is lost. But when I travel for reasons all about cancer, the power overwhelms me. It happened today -- as I drove listening to the same CD I always play on these missions, as tears filled my eyes. I was not sad -- just overflowing with emotion. Emotion about all that I've encountered -- the encounters with fear and dread and total repulsion and the encounters with hope and joy and pure contentment. Today I felt powerful. Simply powerful. Because I have overcome what has faced me so far and because I am still traveling the same road, the same path to ensure my future health and well-being -- which is something I hope to become all too familiar with.