Cancer sent me into a state of depression. And it took more than a year of counseling and treatment with an anti-depressant to bring me back to a balanced and healthy level of functioning.

My type of depression -- the kind that shows up just after a cancer diagnosis -- is not uncommon. And neither is the spillover that depression can leave on the children of moms depressed because of their disease.

A study at the University of Pittsburgh -- the first to examine the relationship between children's concerns and a mother's cancer-related depression -- found children of depressed breast cancer patients were more likely to be concerned or anxious about their mother's cancer and about how the disease affects their families.

It's not surprising that kids worry about their moms during times of illness. What startled researchers, though, is the fact that children's' anxieties extended to concerns about the entire family.

The results of this study, funded by the National Cancer Institute, has clear implications. As a society, we need to think about how depression affects whole family units. Oncologists must learn to spot depression early and must swiftly assist women in finding appropriate treatment. And parents should talk openly about cancer and it's emotional side effects with their children in an effort to protect them from withdrawing, hiding their concerns, and suffering in silence.

Most estimates indicate nearly one quarter of women diagnosed with breast cancer have young children. And about 100,000 kids will be affected by a cancer diagnosis this year alone.

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

Some mechanism has been at work in my body for the past month, some sort of filter that has somehow warded off the crippling panic that typically overcomes me during health scares. It's the panic that allows me to turn a simple cough into a symptom of lung cancer, a stomach pain into a sign of ovarian cancer. It's the curse of surviving cancer, I guess -- the continual worry that the disease is coming back, that it is going to strike someone dear to me.

Yet cancer never entered my mind when my husband and I began noticing our three-year-old Danny's strange eye movements, the strikingly odd manner in which one eye rolls upward when he gazes toward the ceiling -- this is normal -- while the other only crosses -- this is not normal. Surprisingly, I was not overly worried about this and was sure it was something that with glasses or eye exercises could be fixed. Never did I fear cancer.

We started with our pediatrician who quickly knew this issue was out of his league. I was calm. He moved us on to a pediatric eye specialist who was stumped by these eye movements that are typically congenital and occur much earlier in life. If not congenital, it must be something acquired, this doctor told us. He looked around a bit at Danny's eyes, dilated his pupils, and tested his vision. He determined his eyesight is perfect. And his gaze is a complete mystery. He ordered an MRI.

Still I was okay -- until my husband shared one evening with me that he was worried about a tumor. Why I hadn't yet obsessed about this is its own mystery, for which I am thankful. It allowed me to function for a short time independent of fear and anxiety and only a short time ago did I let panic seep into my consciousness.

When I scheduled the MRI for Danny and was told it was an urgent case that must be scheduled quickly, my stomach sank. When the doctor who would read the MRI met with us this morning to talk about this diagnostic procedure, he shared that a mass is what they would be looking for. I'm not sure how for all these weeks I missed this opportunity to get all worked up. But I did. And I got to act like a normal worried mother, not an over-the-top this must be cancer obsessed mother. It felt good.

And it felt good when the doctor read the MRI right in front of us this morning, sharing that there is no mass. He was not able to share what is causing this mystery eye condition that still must be investigated, but he assured us it's nothing serious, nothing life-threatening, nothing like cancer.

Perhaps the fact that my handful of recent health scares have not resulted in malignancies is allowing me to cool my guns a bit, to relax, to realize that not everything comes with a worst-case-scenario result. So maybe -- just maybe -- I am approaching some normalcy in my life, two years after my own worst-case-scenario sent me on the most terrifying ride of my life.

A chemical found in hard plastics -- such as CD cases, baby bottles, food-storage containers, and even electronics parts -- has been loosely linked to incidences of breast cancer. Popular opinion cautions that if we were not worried about this news yesterday, we should not be worried about it today -- because studies are preliminary and nothing is definitive at this point. But there are definitely two sides to the debate over how harmful these hard plastics may be.

The chemical in question -- a pseudo-estrogen called bisphenol-A (BPA) -- appears to be absorbed by breast tumor cells, according to a new study published in the August 28 issue of Chemistry & Biology. Previous studies have linked small exposures of BPA to prostate abnormalities in mice that suggest a link between the plastic chemical and human prostate cancer. Some studies even theorize that embryonic and fetal exposure might influence mental retardation and birth defects. And because this pseudo-estrogen is a synthetic material that in human cells can trigger estrogenic effects, breast cancer now comes up as a disease that may result from this questionable chemical.

Critics say that average levels of the chemical found in urine is infinitesimally small -- about one part per billion. Some say the results of this research come from in-vitro studies that one expert says can never fully explain human disease. Yet the real crux of the matter, according to another expert, is that we are surrounded by all sorts of chemicals that are pseudo-estrogenic -- not just BPA -- and it's the cumulative effects that we do need to worry about.

If I could go back in time, I would not repeat my journey with breast cancer. I would choose a different path -- one free of disease and treatment and the fear that comes with it all. I would choose the route where my children would never hear me say, "mommy has cancer." The route where there would be less worry about dying, less worry about how my kids would do without me, less worry about how all my loose ends would be tied up without me here to tie them. I would choose another direction in a heartbeat. But there are some things I do treasure about my trip down breast cancer lane -- some things I do not wish to give back, even if given the chance to choose a different path. They are the hidden treasures I discovered along the way, in the midst of a harrowing, sometimes horrendous battle. There are many treasures that have come my way -- and I'm sure there are more to come. Here are seven of my valuable finds.

I confess. I was once a sun worshiper. I grew up in Ohio where a really sunny day was rare -- so on the occasion when the sun was bright and hot, I was in my back yard or at a swimming pool or at a lake soaking up the warmth and comfort of the rays that mostly burned my skin but gave me a glow that eventually turned the slightest shade of tan and made me feel healthy. It's ironic really -- that I felt healthy when the act of sunbathing is so completely damaging. And I knew this at the time and for the many years that followed -- and I still basked in the sun and vacationed in Florida and sometimes actually drove in the direction of the sun on a overcast day, in search of a tan that was never fully achieved because my skin is pale and fair and was never meant for any amount of sun exposure.