I was trained months ago to serve as a Reach to Recovery volunteer for the American Cancer Society (ACS). My purpose: to meet face-to-face with women facing breast cancer, to offer them some measure of comfort, to help them manage their overwhelming emotions, to provide them with information and resources, to impart hope during a time of fear and uncertainty.

For months, I had not been called upon to meet with anyone in my community. I'd like to think this is a good thing -- a sign of decreasing breast cancer cases perhaps -- but I tend to believe it stems from a hesitancy to ask for help or a lack of knowledge about this support program. Regardless, I got my first call last week. And I made my first visit. And these are my first impressions of my first encounter as a Reach to Recovery volunteer.

The Reach to Recovery program operates on the premise of matching like-cancer survivors. I was matched with a young woman -- she is 31; I am 37, although my diagnosis came at age 34 -- and each of us was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. We both had surgery, both have young children, both feel a little sad that because of cancer, we likely won't have more children. We connected. We bonded. For a little more than one hour, we were in the same boat. Together, we tackled rough waters.

I like to find meaning in ordinary life events. Like my dreams, for example. The other day, I had a dream about a friend from high school. In my dream, this friend was a doctor at my local hospital, where all my cancer poking and prodding takes place. It makes sense this guy was a doctor -- last I heard from him, he was in medical school. Where he practices medicine, I had no idea. But maybe my dream was a clue. Maybe it was sign this old pal is right here in Gainesville, Florida.

Nope. I did a Google search and he's in Ohio -- right where we graduated from high school and he attended medical school. Not so much meaning in that dream. That's OK. I'm on to my next life interpretation now.

Ever since I was diagnosed with breast cancer my brother-in-law has been wearing a pink bracelet -- the one that says: Share Beauty. Spread Hope. For almost three whole years, the same rubbery band has been hanging from his wrist. Everyone in my family started out with one of these trinkets of support. And every one of us has since abandoned our pink fashion statement -- everyone except for Jack. He has stood firm in his support. I'm not sure he ever took that thing off. What a guy.

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.

It's funny the random things you remember from your past. I was thinking the other day of a guy I went to high school with, who told us one day that, seeing as his uncle and grandpa both died of cancer, there was no doubt in his mind that he would too. 'He's fishing for sympathy', I scribbled furiously to a friend, 'What a whiner'. I'm not nearly as judgmental in adulthood, but some things don't change: I still don't like that kind of negative thinking. Yeah, my dad, grandparents and aunts died of cancer, but so what? I'm not them.

What reminded me of that story was this one, about Shirley McQueen, who's seen 14 relatives -- including all of the women in her family -- die of breast cancer. She says she feels like she's 'standing in the middle of the M25 waiting for a lorry to hit her', and with those odds, I don't blame her. But I truly believe in the power of positive thinking, and if I were in a similar situation, I hope with every fiber of my being that I can muster up enough faith to steadfastly ascertain that cancer will not, under any circumstances, be the end of me, like I've seen so many brave survivors do. I think without that sort of hope, we're just a bunch of lost souls, floundering, preparing for death and not looking towards the future.

How have you found hope in your battle with cancer?

Hope is a complex concept and one that is often misunderstood by many people including health care professionals. Many people tend to interchange the terms of wishing, optimism, and hope, but the three have significant differences.

Wishing is usually specific in that you wish for something you desire. It is positive in nature. Optimism emphasizes the positive aspects of a situation and is considered to be a positive trait. Both of these have places in our lives but to live with a disease like cancer and to get through treatments, navigate health care systems, and to overcome society's negative views about cancer as a death sentence, a person must have a strong sense of hope.

In stumbling upon an article published by the National Coalition for Cancer Survivorship written by Elizabeth J. Clark, PhD entitled "You Have The Right To Be Hopeful", I realized that without this inner strength, this determined will power, this drive, that hope creates, there would be a lot less survivors in this disease. It is a good read and I am passing along the link to the free PDF file for others to enjoy and learn from.

1. Hope constitutes an essential experience in the human condition.
2. Hope means desirability of personal survival and the ability of the individual to exert a degree of influence on the surrounding world.
3. Hope is necessary for healthy coping.
4. Hope is a cognitive affective resource that is a psychological asset.
5. Hope is a mental willpower and is a sense of mental energy that helps move a person toward a goal.

My husband came up with this idea he thought I should pursue. Why not contact the makers of bras, he suggested, and encourage them to sew some kind of pink ribbon or inspirational message inside these undergarments so women are reminded of the importance of breast health every time they get dressed? Because I don't have enough time right now, I told him, thinking maybe one day when my two little boys are all grown up and I have time for myself I will focus my energy on some worthwhile cause.

A few days after my husband shared his brainstorm with me, I read about a woman who has spearheaded a project very similar to the one he was dreaming of. Great minds think alike.

Think about this:

The one constant thing that gives people fighting cancer hope is the continued support of friends and family. Phone calls, emails, a surprise or planned visit at the door that has a big hug on the other side, a held hand over coffee or tea, or sitting patiently by their side as they go in for treatments. When that support falls by the wayside, it makes the determination to fight this disease or any other less worth the effort. In my humble opinion as someone fighting cancer, we sometimes fight harder to overcome disease for others more than ourselves. Because it is in their caring and the will in their eyes that gives us a much brighter hope than we find in ourselves. It is the lack of support or caring that sets off an internal depression that makes it ten times harder to find the will to fight. People seem to find it easier to hug a tree than a human. Try to imagine if you will sitting in a house alone and thinking about a disease that can run rampant through your body. It is hard to imagine and something that we do not want to think about. Yet many many people face that struggle every day of their lives.

So if you haven't reached out to someone you know, a neighbor, a friend, someone in your church or where you work, or even a family member that is struggling with cancer or any other disease, then find it in your heart to do so. It will make a difference. And if you have reached out to someone once or even twice, know that once is not enough and twice is not enough. No matter how much you think you are being a nuisance, that constant reminder of love and support is 95 percent of your friend's battle. The old saying "You never know who your true friends are until you go through a crisis and see who stands by our side" is very very true. So go stand by someone's side today, tomorrow, and for many days to come to offer support and encourage strength until their fight is successful. Even a phone call goes a long long way.

For those of you who stay in touch with me by phone and emails and that come knocking on my door in this time of need, I thank you very much for giving me the strength and will to survive.

While reading the spring issue of Cure Magazine I came across an article on a book called Help Me Live: 20 Things People with Cancer Want You to Know.

I have not read the book but I think it would be a great resource for those who have a family or friend with cancer. There is a need for a guide --I think this book can fill that gap.

Why would a guide be needed? I have found throughout my cancer journey that fellow survivors have many stories of unthoughtful, tasteless, ridiculous and sometimes funny comments from those around them. We can laugh at a lot of the comments because we know the person means well -- but sometimes it does go too far and can hurt.

What this book does is give the friend or family member some insight on what would be most helpful to the cancer patient. Based on the author's own experience with the disease and other survivors, each chapter tells intimate stories about one of the 20 most important messages people with cancer want to convey.

Help Me Live will help you find the word or gestures to show how much you care. There is never a 'right thing' to say or do but learning how to communicate effectively is very important.

This book can also be helpful to the cancer survivors themselves says Kathy Latour who wrote the article in Cure Magazine. She says "This book is not just for its intended audience of friends and caregivers, but for cancer patients too. In part, it affirms the cutting edge comments we made when Uncle Jack said something tasteless and painful. But in addition to reminding me of the many challenging people in my journey, the stories also revealed ways I could have handled them a little better"

Tom Keilty of San Dimas, California lost his wife Ruth to breast cancer in 2005, 12 years after she was first diagnosed with the disease. From the very first day cancer entered their lives until the very last day of Ruth's life, the Keilty family received hundreds of hand-written notes for Ruth, filled with encouragement and support.

The notes are still arriving, this time for Keilty and his three children. The notes help strengthen this family's faith and help them grieve. The Keiltys are grateful for the trail of mail that has come their way -- and they ask others to consider writing their own their own notes of hope.

It's simple.

Just drop by a local retailer and pick up a special edition PaperMate Pink Ribbon Pen and Pink Pearl City of Hope Eraser. For each item sold through December 31, 2008, PaperMate will make a donation -- up to $200,000 -- to City of Hope for breast cancer research, education, and treatment.

Then sit down and Write for Hope in honor of someone battling breast cancer. Not only will you warm someone's heart, you will also earn the chance to win a $500 donation made in your honor to City of Hope Cancer Center.

Click here to enter.

Seven sweet, simple words were hurled at me last night by my oldest child, Joey -- the boy who makes me as crazy as he does happy.

Joey, six, was all snuggled in bed, cozy with his soft blankets, squishy pillows, and three favorite stuffed puppies. I gave him my usual speech -- Sweet dreams. I love you. Now don't get out of bed -- and then made my usual trek to another room for some me-time. My trip was stopped short, though, because a strong urge inspired me to reverse my steps and return to Joey.

"What are you doing, mommy?" Joey asked as I walked back into the room.

"I thought I'd come rest with you for a little bit," I told him. "Is that OK?" I asked, knowing full well any excuse to avoid sleep is just fine with him

Joey sat straight up, pure joy coloring his tired face. I took this to mean he welcomed my return. And so I crawled into bed and hugged Joey tight. And that's when he spoke the seven words that caused tears to pour from my eyes -- the kind of tears that spill out when the human body can no longer harness its emotion.

The words:

"Mommy, I love you so, so much."

Ever since Joey blessed me with these words, I can't seem to get one thought out of my head.

The thought:

God, I hope I survive cancer long enough to hold this boy in my arms until he is all grown up, until he is wrapping his arms around his own loving child.

I really hope this is not too much to ask.

Elizabeth Edwards has been told the metastatic cancer found in her bones is considered stage four. And it's treatable. But not curable.

Tricky stuff -- all this cancer terminology -- and a little hard to fully comprehend.

I saw Sheryl Crow talking with Maria Shriver and Dr. Susan Love on Larry's King's CNN program the other night. Crow says her breast cancer was curable -- it was teeny tiny and had not spread and required a lumpectomy and radiation, but not chemotherapy. "I'm the walking poster child for early detection," she said. Her cancer was caught and treated swiftly. She is cured. Theoretically.

Can Crow's cancer still return? Yep.

We just aren't sure at the time of one cancer discovery if these deadly cells have drifted away from the main site and will later show up elsewhere, explained Dr. Love. All predictions would have Crow living a long life free of cancer. But they may have had Edwards in the same boat just two years ago when she was first diagnosed with breast cancer.

So now Edwards' cancer is not curable. It is treatable. And this is a bit easier to understand. Her cancer will never go away. But doctors can keep it at bay. And Love says they can even make it better. But there is no cure for what Edwards has. So she will live with cancer for the rest of her life.

I guess curable means: the cancer is gone and we hope it never comes back. And treatable means: the cancer is not gone and will never be gone but we will treat it for as long as we can.

I think I get it.

Today I offer you not so much a Thought for the Day but a Question for the Day. Before I ask my pressing question, though, I want you to consider this story.

Diagnosed with a rare malignant melanoma on her retina in 2001, Ann Guthrie, a South Carolina wife and mother of two grown sons, endured radiation and chemotherapy. The treatments shrunk Guthrie's tumor, but another mass appeared two years later, forcing the removal of her right eye.

At about the same time Guthrie lost her eye, cancer was discovered in her lungs. It was inoperable. Then cancer landed in her brain. And now, without any approved treatment avenues, Guthrie is out of options.

Like many people with terminal illnesses, this woman is willing to try just about anything -- a clinical trial, experimental drugs, risky treatments -- to extend her life. If she's going to die anyway, why not? She just might live longer. And if she doesn't, she could at least help advance science by offering herself up as a sort of guinea pig.

While the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has proposed changes that would make it easier for patients to access options like these, it's just not that simple right now.

There are ethical issues -- like weighing the needs of people who think anything is better than death against the need of society to prove drugs and treatments work safely. The only way to ensure a sort of balance is through clinical trials -- and letting anyone participate in clinical trials, for example, would make the results harder to interpret.

And there are medical and legal risks. What if terminally ill patients end up in worse shape after a treatment with an experimental drug, for example? What if the FDA or a physician is considered responsible for adverse drug reactions?

Denying terminal patients their last bits of hope is difficult. "It's a hard discussion to have with a patient and his family," says one doctor. "There's a lot of tears. We all would love to be able to get them access to some form of therapy."

And now for my question:

What do you think about terminally ill cancer patients and their access to anything that might extend -- or save -- their lives?

I'm sharing seven bits of wisdom this Sunday that are not my own. I am borrowing them from Pat McRee who has collected all sorts of survivor stories, affirmations, quotations, poetry, lyrics, and resources, has wrapped them with a bunch of hope and humor, and has packaged them in a box she calls Support to Go, The Unbook for the Journey through Breast Cancer.

McRee's colorful, lively box contains 80 cards. And on each card is some type of tip, idea, recipe, myth, truth, and essay that makes the breast cancer road easier to travel.

Live it. Learn it. Pass it on. That's what McRee says -- and exactly what she did when she stacked her deck of cards with such meaningful and magical material.

There is no way I could easily choose seven cards from my own box of support -- there's just too much good stuff, and it all deserves equal attention. So I drew seven random cards from the pile that sits before me, and this is what I got.

Queasy Made Easy
This card lists menu items targeted for the chemo tummy. A registered oncology nurse for 20 years, Betty Dozier shares what she has learned about what to eat -- clear, cool drinks, fruit juice, plain baked potatoes, Cold canned or fresh fruit, saltines, rice, toast, clear broths, sherbet, Popsicles -- and what not to eat -- gravy, sauces, potato chips, sour cream, heavy creamed soups.

Safety in Numbers
McRee doesn't put much stock in statistics and numbers generated by calculators that have nothing to do with real people. But she does believe in numbers when it comes to survival. On this card, she lists the names of genuine survivors with real numbers. She lists Shirley Weinman, a 20-year-survivor, Janice Johnston, an eight-year survivor, Linda Beebe, a 15-year survivor -- and so on.

No Smile Left Behind
McRee offers a prescription for play, an invitation to smile and laugh and rejoice in the face of cancer. "Cut eye holes in a paper bag and wear it to treatment," she says. "Tell 'em you just couldn't face another day." Another idea -- "Pass the word that everyone who enters the waiting room will get a Standing Ovation. They all deserve 'em just for showing up."

Fuzzy Logic
Check out this oh-so-true poem:

Too gray, too wavy, too doggone thick,
Smack in the front ... a big 'ol cowlick!
Split-ends and frizzies whenever it rained,
Now it's hard to believe I ever complained;
So, Lord, let's grow something! I'll nevermore whine ...
Gray, thick and wavy will suit me just fine.

Postcards
McRee provides a few postcards intended for mailing to surviving friends. One says, I hear you're patched, retreaded and approved for the road. Another says, U are not alone.

Hair Tomorrow
McRee offers a souvenir keeper for a lock of pre-chemo hair. Why not save it, says McRee, who shares that what grows back might be as different as your new life will be.

Buttoned-Up
Make your own buttons -- and wear them proudly. This card gives button wording ideas -- like Symmetry is so yesterday, Cancer: Been There, Beat That, and Stamp Out False Hopelessness.

Seven down -- 73 to go. I can't wait to read more.

The second issue of the magazine Beyond: Live & Thrive After Breast Cancer will hit newsstands March 20.

The magazine, one of many targeting individuals with manageable conditions and diseases, such as allergies, heart disease, diabetes, and rheumatoid arthritis, stands out as an upbeat, positive, feel-good package of information and inspiration.

University of Mississippi journalism professor Samir Husni says magazines of this sort that succeed are the ones offering up a good dose of chicken soup for the soul. This is definitely a magazine good for the soul.

Beyond editor Martha Miller Johnson calls the magazine a purveyor of hope and information, a source of reliable facts, figures, and features for the growing community of survivors living with breast cancer. Beyond is for "the women who has been through her initial treatment and now sees her life through a different prism," says Johnson.

"Her body's changed, her skin's changed. To her, it's not a death sentence; it's a condition she just has to live with. More and more women are living with breast cancer."

The soon-to-be-released publication spotlights breast cancer survivor Deanna Favre with husband Brett Favre and includes stories about breast cancer and black women, chemotherapy and weight gain, and the most important questions to ask your doctor.

Why pick up a copy of Beyond's Spring/Summer issue this March 20? Because breast cancer attacks so many aspects of our well-being, says one survivor of the disease.

"It's your identity, it's your sexuality, it's your womanhood. Fertility. For many of us, it throws us into menopause early," she says. "Every aspect of your emotional and psychological well-being is impacted by cancer and the treatment. So that kind of puts it in its own category, I think. So you combine that with the fact that there are so many women going through it, and I think you do have a market there for something like this."

I couldn't have said it better.

It's been so long I can barely remember the cause of the family rift that kept me separated from an aunt, an uncle, and cousins for many years. All that remains clear is that a once-close family split apart because of disagreement and hurt feelings and that my grandma -- the glue that held this family together for more than 50 years -- was heartbroken. She did everything she could to repair the damage of her splintered family. But despite begging, pleading, and continued prayers, reconciliation seemed impossible -- until it became evident this sweet woman was about to die.

The progress was slow and began with a rallying of family members at my grandma's bedside. She was somewhat incoherent at the time, and I'm not quite sure if she realized her broken family was on the mend. But I hope she knows, in some heavenly way, that she is the one who ultimately brought everyone together.

After her passing, we all gathered for her memorial service. We took turns spreading her ashes at a tree planted in her honor. We talked and visited and laughed and ate. We broke the ice and opened the door for further interaction. It was refreshing to mourn the loss of Gram without overriding tension and conflict.

I'm not sure if family relations would have continued without what happened next. I suspect we may have all returned to our lives and gone our separate ways, happy we had reconnected but still missing the closeness we once experienced. But then cancer entered our lives, shocked us all, and gave us all reason to stay in touch.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer not long after my grandma died. And the same people who came to her bedside came to my rescue in ways I never would have imagined in the heat of battle. The same people who for years were absent from my life were the ones offering me support and encouragement and love. They helped me get better.

Once I was better, life returned to a somewhat normal routine. And maybe we would have routinely slipped back into our selfish ways. But illness struck again, requiring we all step back up to the plate.

My uncle, who has lived with diabetes for many years, was faced this year with losing his foot. Thankfully, he found specialists who gave him hope and reason to travel every month for several months to a clinic in my city, where eight family members live and where options never before available to him became a reality -- both medically and personally.

My uncle is doing well, walking on his foot with the aid of a brace. And our family is doing well, as a result of frequent visits, lunches, and continued laughs.

It took death and disease to bridge the gap that existed for much too long between the members of my family. And just this weekend, after spending a glorious weekend with my long-lost cousins, I realized we have possibly arrived back where we once started -- before whatever led to our disagreement and hurt feelings drove us apart.

I believe Gram is smiling down upon us at this very moment, content at last that her three beautiful children -- and their children and their children -- are again a happy family.