One man. One cancer diagnosis. One feature-length film. About how 17,000 men gain membership every month in a group this one man calls, The Men's Club.

The man is Rocky Galgano. He is 58 years old. He is a retired police officer. And he happens to be a member of the very club he features in his film -- a club full of men living with prostate cancer.

Galgano created his documentary as a companion to all the densely-written books and resources he found filled to the brim with medical jargon about a disease that will strike 218,890 and kill 27,050 men this year alone.

Men are reluctant to talk about prostate cancer or get tested for the disease, says Galgano. And yet this form of cancer can be cured if caught early. So Galgano stepped to the plate and started talking. He talks about his personal experience, and he talks about different types of treatment. He has nine different doctors talk. He has cancer survivors talk. And he says he wants as many people as possible to see this film.

Galgano is working on distribution and says he's close to a deal with Amazon.com. He also plans to market the not-yet-rated film to urologists across the country, and he will soon sell his masterpiece -- a trailer can be seen here -- on his website for $19.95.

I'm wearing a pretty pink sticky note on my shirt. It was taped on me just recently by my six-year-old Joey who's been busy in kindergarten learning to spell words. He's in the sounding-out stage and as long as he gets his consonants right, we're happy. Joey's teacher says he doesn't need to master the vowels just yet, and with that in mind, Joey is doing a pretty impressive job of crafting real words -- although sometimes he misses.

Tonight, Joey had a hit and a miss. But the sentiment buried in his written message -- cryptic as it was -- is enough to warm my heart.

Joey always links me with breast cancer -- no surprise, since he's been a key player in my match with cancer since it began two years ago -- and so tonight, he wrote on the pink sticky note, Bube skawos. He tells me it reads, Boobie cancer. Not so sure about the cancer part. But the boobie part speaks loud and clear. And even more clear is the breast cancer ribbon he drew on the same sticky note, just before he pinned me with his powerful work of art.

Joey's smile spanned from ear to ear as he presented me with my special badge. And I'm smiling just the same as I look at the little pink piece of paper given to me by my loving little boy.

It's hard to describe the feelings that overwhelmed me during my bad days with cancer. I could call them consuming and crushing and sickening and frightening and crippling and still not completely cover all the bases. It's much easier to describe the feelings that overwhelmed me on my good days with cancer. I felt -- and still mostly feel this way -- happy and spunky and motivated and invigorated and fulfilled. And I felt loved -- because most of my bad days were turned around by the love of others. It was like clockwork. When I needed it most, a surprise awaited me in my mailbox or my inbox or on on the other side of my front door or on my front porch. These surprises strengthened me on my bad days -- and sometimes beyond the bad days. They still help me really -- because my memory of how they saved me from days of despair continues to fuel my good days. And here are seven of my special surprises.