I just finished reading a Nurse's Story by Tilda Shalof. It was full of heart-breaking stories of families forced to give up on their critically-ill patients, all told from the perspective of the medical professionals. It reminded me too much of my dad's final days, when, given a choice between taking all measures necessary to prolong his life and quietly letting him go, we chose the latter. We did it for him--if I had been making the decision based on what I wanted, I would have kept him around, in the hopes that if he had the chance to beat his cancer, he could. But although he was incredibly brave, he didn't want to fight. He wanted to live his last days in peace.

Who knows which pieces of cancer information floating around out there are actually true? I don't. Do cell phones cause cancer? Some say yes, some say no, I say I'm confused! Luckily, I happened upon this Discovery Health article that highlights a variety of myths and then offers the lowdown on each one. Here are seven of them:

Myth #1. There is currently a cure for cancer, but the medical industry won't tell the public about it because they make too much money treating cancer patients.

Chalk this up to urban legend. And consider this: doctors, laboratory scientists, and their families and friends die of cancer at the same rate as everyone else in the United States. How about this: medical breakthroughs happen all the time and are quickly applied. Think about antibiotics and vaccines -- like the polio vaccine -- that have transformed health care. How about this? Not too long ago, less than one in 10 kids with leukemia survived 10 years. Now, the cure rate is nearly 80 percent. Seems like progress to me.

Sarah has been blogging about her battle with melanoma since May 2006. She begins with a post titled Something About Sarah where she chronicles the series of events leading up to her diagnosis.

July 2004

Have a bit of pain in right arm. Feels like "10 bees stinging me at once" deep inside my arm. Thought I pulled something at gym.

August 2004

Still have same occasional pain but not worried in the least. I'm enjoying my summer and playing soccer. Have tons of energy, working full time and going to school. Moving at end of August.

She's cute and spunky and full of life. She's Miss Melanoma, and her mission is simple: to raise awareness about skin cancer. Her slogan -- Attitude is everything. You're living with melanoma, not dying from it -- sums up this survivor girl, also known as Lori Lee, whose main goal is to get a Surgeon General's warning in every tanning bed salon window.

Think about this:

Miss Melanoma has a website. It's a spot for readers to learn, explore, RANT, even curse at cancer. "We won't censor your thoughts," she writes. "And we promise someone here will get exactly what you're saying."

The site features news, articles, artwork, shopping, and Miss Melanoma's personal blog, which is simply captivating. And quite shocking too.

Miss Melanoma, who learned in 2005 that a mole on her right foot was the absolute worst form of skin cancer, has endured the amputation of part of this same foot and aggressive treatment for a disease that began spreading up her leg and into her lymph nodes. And now, right now, Lori Lee is awaiting news from her surgeon about whether or not a likely cancerous lymph node deep in her pelvis can be surgically removed.

"Is it weird what a relief it is to be fighting cancer again?" she blogs. "It's something only a cancer survivor can understand, I think. You just don't know until you've been there. It's the new abnormal, people. Sitting around waiting for it to return when every doc you see tells you it's most likely coming back will drive you up the walls. Knowing that it's here and it's really just one lymph node and that we can treat it, that's a relief. I know. I can't explain it."

I urge you to think some more about Miss Melanoma, visit her website, her blog, and even send her your warm wishes as she continues living -- not dying -- from cancer.

My friend's husband lost his mother to liver cancer during the wee hours of Sunday morning. He had traveled with his family from Ohio to Florida expecting to take his mom home with him so she could spend her last months where she once lived.

Steve never got to take his mom home. She died just days after he landed in Florida. Still, I am confident he won't return to Ohio empty-handed. His positive and healthy perspective on losing his mom will surely keep him company.

I got to see Steve and Kim -- my very best friend whose bouncy ringlets I envied long before I got my own post-chemotherapy curls -- on the same day Steve's mom died. They needed to get away and wanted a distraction for their two small children.

I am honored to have been chosen as my friends' destination -- not only so they could begin to heal from their loss, but because I gained a renewed sense of calm about death and dying during the time we talked and laughed and reminisced.

Steve's mom, 69, died at home in the loving arms of hospice caretakers who offered her round-the-clock care. During her final hours, she received a bath, a back rub, and a massage with body lotion. She sent non-verbal messages to her family members indicating she wished to be alone and once she had convinced everyone to head for bed, she took her final breaths. She died facing a wall, in contrast to her usual position in which she faced the door, as if to welcome all visitors. Her final resting pose was perhaps her way of saying good-bye. Steve sees it this way.

Just moments after Steve's mom was driven away in a funeral home car, Steve saw the clouds part. And then the rain fell. "Mom just figured out how to turn on the water," Steve said.

I don't think I'll ever forget this remark. Or the fact that the rain didn't last for very long on Sunday. The day Steve's mom died was gorgeous, glorious, and sunny.

There's so much more we talked about -- like the convertible Steve's mom drove and how he thought about placing her urn, her photo, and a scarf in the seat and taking his mom for one last spin before turning the car in -- and we passed the day in a celebratory manner. This, I think, is exactly what Steve's mom would have wanted.

Jack Nicholson has been serving up a steady stream of cheer for cancer patients at the Cedars-Sinai Los Angeles hospital.

The Hollywood icon and Oscar winner has been visiting terminal patients and cheering them up with jokes, card games, and behind-the-scenes stories about his career.

Nicholson's next career move comes in the form of a movie called The Bucket List. He plays a dying man in the film and began spending time at the hospital to research his role. But once his film finished, Nicholson kept visiting. He was that touched and moved by the patients.

Hospital staff say the actor's visits do wonders for the patient spirits. The only down side is for Nicholson who finds it hard to leave, knowing he may have seen some of his new friends for the last time.

Cancer-related fear once consumed my mind. Now it sits lodged in the back of my brain and only presents itself on rare occasions.

I handle my fears so much better now than when cancer was new and fresh and raw. My fears hardly ever cause me real anxiety, they don't cripple my mental functioning anymore, and more than ever, they serve to focus my efforts in life. When fear strikes, it's usually a wake-up call of sorts, a reminder to leave no stone unturned, a summons to keep on living.

Although so much less threatening than they once were, my fears still exist. And I like to review them once in awhile, lose myself in a little emotional housekeeping, tidy up some of the mess cancer made. I always feel better when things are in order -- fears included.

• I fear a breast cancer recurrence, the return of a tumor that rises to the surface of my skin and presents itself again underneath my fingertips -- or in my worst-case scenario is lost among dense breast tissue, undetected by self-exam, and caught too late by some combination of mammogram, ultrasound, and MRI.

• I fear more than anything another cancer -- something entirely different from breast cancer, something buried in my body and not as responsive as breast cancer to treatment. I am prepared for a second visit from breast cancer because I know how to proceed, know I will succumb to treatment that is familiar, know I will remove both breasts in the most radical of life-saving approaches. But cancer in my lungs, brain, bones, blood, ovaries is out of my realm. And these cancers -- among many others -- really scare me.
  

• I fear that my mom and my sister -- my first-degree female relatives -- will one day follow in my breast cancer footsteps. I once thought family history trickled down from above, from older family members. Now I know the disease can start with anyone. I am the anyone in my family. I am the reason my mom and sister are closely watched and monitored and tested. I am the one that put the fear of cancer into their hearts and minds -- and into mine.
  

• I fear having another baby. I fear the return of cancer during pregnancy, leaving me with difficult choices regarding my health and my baby's health. I fear cancer returning after a baby is born, leaving me with one more child and more treatment to manage. I fear another cancer would lead to a decreased chance of survival and another baby would leave my husband feeling stranded should I die too soon. And I fear having a baby girl who would inherit the very real chance of developing breast cancer at some time during her life.
  

• I fear not having another baby. I fear the regret I may feel one day, perhaps 50 years from now when I am healthy and cancer-free and without the child I longed for. I fear I am being overly cautious, too tentative, a bit selfish. A fellow cancer survivor once wrote me, "I learned that my family continues, even if I do not. I also learned that they are at least as tough as I am so will cope with the genes I pass to them and their own cancer battles if needed. Finally, I learned they look out for each other just as I looked out for them. No matter what your future, you will never regret giving another child a place in your family." I fear this man may be right.
  

• I fear dying at a young age. I fear leaving my children before they are grown. I fear leaving my husband a single parent, my mom someone who has lost a child, and my sister an only child. I have been told over and over again that my chances of survival are great, fantastic even. I have a 93 percent chance of not dying from breast cancer. This does seem great -- until I take into account that this percentage is good for only five years. My five years will expire when I am 39 years old. What happens then, I am not sure. The only thing I am sure about is that five years is not enough time. I want more, need more, demand more. Yet I fear my days may be numbered.
  

These are the fears that keep me focused. And while they are sometimes not-so-pleasant, I am in no hurry to resolve any of them. I am thankful really to have these fears swirling in my head -- because it means I am alive. And for me, being alive with fears is better than not being alive at all.

Should my cancer come back, should my prognosis be poor, should my life approach an abrupt stop, my one wish would be for enough time to leave something meaningful for my children. It would be something written or something on video, something that would allow me to somehow guide my little boys through their years, something that would offer them a lasting impression of me.

This is just what Melanie Worthington, a Michigan mom, did for her five-year-old son after receiving her diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer.

Worthington made video tapes for her little boy, Theo. Her mother helped her, and they taped mother and son making cookies and playing together at a cabin. They tried to capture anything to remind Theo time of spent with his mom.

And then a few weeks after his 39-year-old mom died, Theo's tapes were stolen by someone who walked through an unlocked door at the Worthington home. Also stolen were two camcorders, a portable DVD player, and other assorted tapes.

Virtually all of Theo's video memories are gone. There are no duplicates of the tapes, and police have no suspects in the case.

"It was like someone had come out and taken her away from us a second time," Worthington's sister said.

Melanie, who died Thanksgiving weekend, was living with Theo, her parents, and her sister in a ranch home on a dirt road. Her parents, both on disability and without a lot of financial resources, have pulled together a $200 reward for the return of the tapes.

"Maybe this is one way we can get them back," said Worthington's mom. "I guess I'm hoping for some kind of miracle."

There is a lot of breast cancer awareness out there. Some believe it's too much. Some say it's overboard. Some wish breast cancer could share some of the spotlight with all the other cancers -- those struggling for a little more funding, a little more research, a little more air time. Is it possible there could be more awareness for the disease that corners the market on all things pink? Yes. It's possible. And it's necessary too.

As long as women are dying of breast cancer -- in 2006, breast cancer will kill about 40,000 women in the United States -- there is cause for more awareness. And each October -- Breast Cancer Awareness Month -- breast cancer information bombards us all. Annoying as it may seem, the reminders that flow from breast cancer campaigns are truly critical. Reminders about self exams and mammograms and early detection and risk factors and new developments can save lives. They do save lives. And while we should all hope other cancers -- that are just as serious, just as widespread, just as life-threatening -- one day receive the attention they deserve, we should still not pass on opportunities to hop on the breast cancer bandwagon. There is still a lot of road to cover, a lot of progress to be made.

Hopefully, breast cancer awareness stays on the radar. Hopefully, reminders continue to keep charging at us. Day after day. October after October. Until breast cancer is a thing of the past.

If we made no further progress in breast cancer research from this day on, the number of women dying from breast cancer five years from now would still drop substantially because we've progressed so much over the past few years, says MD Eric Winer in the October 2006 issue of Oprah magazine. Winer, director of the Breast Oncology Center at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and associate professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, is right. There has been a lot of progress. Breast cancer research is on a roll. And here are seven reasons why.

Luis Carranza is just eight years old. And he is just a few years -- or perhaps a few months -- away from dying as a result of a weakened immune system due to aggressive treatment for leukemia. The same treatment that at one time brought remission for this boy also attacked his central nervous system, caused seizures, brought on terminal and irreversible brain damage, and eventually sent him into a vegetative state. Luis has traveled a rough road -- and so has his mother who illegally slipped him across the Mexican border into the United States in hopes of treatment to save her young son's life.

Guadalupe Carranza did find salvation for her son in a Texas hospital and for more than one year, Luis received chemotherapy and radiation -- and loads of love from staff and volunteers who helped care for him. Guadalupe was not always there for her son, though, because after locating helpful health care and social services, she was deported to Mexico. She tried to return on many occasions and even received assistance from doctors, nurses, social workers, and attorneys who worked to find a legal way to unite Guadalupe and Luis. But not until Luis fell into a coma did efforts pay off.

After negotiation with border and consulate officials, Guadalupe was granted a humanitarian parole visa and legally crossed into the United States on May 8. The visa allowed her 60 days -- but officials agreed to let her stay until Luis passes away. And so she stays -- by her son's bedside where he rests peacefully in a place that gave him a chance at life. A chance his mother says he never would have had in Mexico.

I love the terminology used by those behind the scenes at Hurricane Voices. This is where I first read the words breast cancer dancer and where individuals have gathered to advance the rebellion against breast cancer. The content on this site is powerful, edgy, and truly inspiring -- it incites public action. And it makes me want to jump up and do something -- now. To break down the barriers to progress in pursuit of the causes and cures for breast cancer -- which is the whole purpose of Hurricane Voices.

Hurricane Voices began because of one woman -- Lois Egasti, a wife and mother living with metastatic breast cancer. Lois, who passed away on April 15, 2003, knew she was not alone and felt the need to take a stand against the disease. So she put her urge into action and formed this not-for-profit organization. And in just four years, a great community of voices emerged -- voices that have helped raise support and participation in far-reaching programs and events.

Hurricane Voices offers on its website a family reading list, a regular newsletter, an empowering overview of breast cancer and its statistics, and a sampling of various myths surrounding breast cancer. Hurricane Voices provides direction for involvement in unique conferences -- such as When a Parent Has Cancer: Strengthening the School's Response which helps school systems support families affected by parental cancer and Breast Cancer: Truth & Consequences, a conference that challenges the status quo concerning breast cancer. Hurricane Voices initiates thought-provoking public awareness campaigns and strives to inform the public that the disease we call breast cancer is a very serious illness.

Every day, more people are being diagnosed. Every day, more people are dying. Yet we are not beating this disease -- in fact in the time it takes to brush our teeth or drink a cup of coffee, another person has died of breast cancer. And this is what Hurricane Voices wants us to know. This and the fact that well-meaning, misconstrued survival rates in the 90 percentiles only extend for five years. And five years is just not enough.

Powerful -- that's what Hurricane Voices is -- powerful. And each of us can contribute our own power to this organization by becoming a Hurricane Voice. So speak up -- by simply clicking here.

Breast Cancer Daughters Tell Their Stories is a book that looks at how mothers and daughters change when facing breast cancer. The book addresses the daughters' experiences based on how old they were when their mothers died. It also has chapters on women whose mothers survived breast cancer and looks at genetic risk.

The author Dr. Oktay explains the process of interviewing women whose mothers had died and their reactions. This book is a good source for someone facing mortality issues. It examines four phases a daughter may experience. The period prior to a mother's illness, the period during the mother's illness and treatment, the period following a mothers death and long term impact.

U.S. Army Col. Dirk Spanton's back hurt and he felt tired, but then he was wearing a 40-pound flak vest and getting half the amount of sleep, 4 hours a night, most normally get to feel rested and ready to go the next morning. He felt healthy, bench-pressing 205 pounds in repetitions of 10 several times a week, and did not anticipate anything was seriously wrong, other than the physical wear and tear from the rigors of war.

Within days of returning home after three tours and 32 months in Iraq, Spanton fell ill and was taken to the hospital. It was then the back pain and fatigue were explained. He had cancer of the liver bile ducts, and the physicians suspect he had cancer for awhile. Initially, they told him he had two months to live.

Spanton says he feels lucky. "I could have gotten killed while I was over there and not gotten to say goodbye to my family. This way, I'm lucky. How many people get to say goodbye to their kids, their wife and their family? You don't like the short time frame, but it's at least a time frame."

He is currently undergoing chemotherapy. Although it is reported he is gaunt and has lost 40 pounds from the cancer treatments, they feel he might have a few extra months to live if the chemo can shrink the tumor.

Yesterday it was announced that Lost in the Fog -- 2005 Eclipse Award winner as sprinter of the year -- will be put down in the next ten days because of spleen cancer that has spread to his abdomen.

"Unfortunately, we found two other tumors in his abdomen,'' said veterinarian, Don Smith. "There is one in his membrane and ligament, about the size of an egg. Unfortunately there is another along his back and its about the size of a football.''

An almost million dollar winner in his short career, the pain will determine when they decide to end the life of this majestic and powerful champion. They are planning on taking Lost in the Fog back to Golden Gate Fields so that he can rest comfortably in his own stall.

"We'll keep him in the stall for a week or 10 days," trainer Greg Gilchrist said. "This would be the best thing to do, get him back with his groom. I just couldn't leave him up there (at Davis) to be euthanized and thrown in the bone yard." Lost in the Fog's remains will be cremated and sent back to Southern Chase Farm in Ocala, Florida where he was raised.

Last year, Lost in the Fog made seven cross-country trips and won eight stakes, including the King's Bishop. Lost in the Fog won 10 races in a row to begin his career and 11 of 14 starts while earning $978,099.

"What a warrior -- I've never had a horse that comes close to this one," stated Gilchrist.