My mom's friend was diagnosed with breast cancer the other day. Since I've already been down the breast cancer path, she asked me to send this friend a supportive e-mail. I've done this before -- reach out to someone newly diagnosed -- but it's never easy. I never know quite what to say. Somehow, I figure it out, though.

Here are seven of the messages I shared with this woman who is just beginning her journey with Paget's disease of the breast, a form of breast cancer that shows up in the nipple as an itchiness or scaling that doesn't get better.

• In the face of uncertainty, worry, and fear, here's some good news: once you gain more and more information about your diagnosis, the easier it gets. The waiting really is the hardest part. Knowing what lies ahead will give you some control over your path.

She's the guru on breast cancer, the woman who writes the continually updated breast cancer bible. She's Dr. Susan Love, author of Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book, and in the May/June 2007 issue of MAMM magazine, she shares some of her latest thoughts.

On milk ducts

Dr. Love says all breast cancer begins in the milk ducts. If we want to get rid of breast cancer, she says, we need to understand where it starts. Until recently, we weren't able to do that. Now, doctors can numb the nipple, thread a catheter into a milk duct and sample the fluid, cells, carcinogens, and hormones. By looking at the location where cancer develops, there's the potential to find out how it started and how to prevent it. In March, Dr. Love's Research Foundation sponsored a conference on this topic.

On MRI

Dr. Love is not a big fan of MRI. It's overly sensitive and finds everything -- most of which is not cancer, she says. MRI leads women on wild goose chases so Dr. Love likes to reserve this test for women at high-risk.

Author Leah Hager Cohen says her blog is inspired by her mother, for at least two reasons. One: it is because of her mom that she's a writer. "She has seen me for a writer my whole life, ever since I could make up stories and dictate them to her," says Cohen. Two: her mom is fighting ovarian cancer, has been since April 2006 when she was 62. Cohen's blog -- Love As a Found Object -- is for her mom and about her mom. It is quite a blog.

In an entry written in September 2006, Cohen shares:

My mother is perhaps the most energetic person I know, and my children, who collectively run a close second, have grown accustomed to having her set the pace when she is around. She's the one who persuaded me, six years ago, that the kids and I did not need a dining room nearly so much as we needed a "project room." She usually arrives for visits bearing the raw materials and mental blueprint for some art or engineering project into which she and the kids then plunge together. Even though we've all had months to get used to her cancer, her tiredness still seems strange, as does the chemo-haze from which she regards us more quietly than is her wont. She seems almost an imposter in this muffled state, so accustomed are we to having her lead us on capers and jaunts through real and metaphorical woods.

Studies show that diets high in fiber and low in fat can help prevent cancer. Like tofu, tempeh is made from soybeans, but tempeh is a whole soybean product with different nutritional characteristics and textural qualities. It has a higher content of protein, dietary fiber and vitamins compared to tofu. In the past five years tempeh has grown so much in popularity that it is now available in the refrigerated section of many supermarkets. Here is a simple way to prepare tempeh that both kids and adults love.

Vicki's Spicy Tempeh Soft Tacos
Serves 4

1 block tempeh crumbled
1/2 vegetable broth or water
1 red bell pepper chopped
1 onion chopped
1 tbsp chili powder
1 tbsp garlic powder
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper (can leave out if you don't want spicy)
2 tbsp olive oil
1 cup cooked black beans or pinto beans drained
1 tomato chopped
handful chopped lettuce
grated hard soy cheese if you want vegan or cheddar if vegetarian
8 whole wheat tortillas

Recipe directions

Saute the tempeh in the olive oil on medium low heat for about 3 minutes. Add red pepper and onion and continue to saute for about 5 minutes more. Add the spices, 1/2 cup broth or water and the beans and cook for about 5 minutes or until most of the liquid has evaporated.

Serve in the tortillas with the chopped lettuce, tomato and cheese.

If there's one thing that I've learned about cancer, it's this: Life is too fragile to worry about the things we usually spend all our energy on, like deadlines, traffic, working late, making money and so on. Cancer isn't always a death sentence but it should always be a wake-up call. Whether it happens to you or someone close to you, it should always remind you of what's really important.

When my dad passed away, I went through the anger stage of grief being angry at him because although he knew he was dying and I didn't, he never once told me he loved me, even though we had about a dozen conversations during that time. I took grief counseling shortly after and my counselor said something simple but profound and definitely thought-provoking: sometimes the way we say I love you isn't through words.

I'm in a stable relationship now but I spent a few years entrenched in the dating scene and though I look somewhat fondly on my days of single freedom, I still shudder at the bad things about dating -- awkward silences, clumsy first kisses, realizing that you have no chemistry and you still have two more courses of conversation to fill. But we still put up with all of this because by nature, we want to find that someone. We know they're out there, somewhere.

Considering how difficult the dating scene was on someone like average like me, I can't imagine how hard dating would be for those who are un-average--those who are ill or disabled or disfigured. In a world where outwardly appearances and 'fitting in' are so important, how do you meet people who won't mind that you come with a few flaws?

Cancer Research UK is about to increase its wealth -- once a signed honeymoon photograph of the Prince and Princess of Wales is auctioned.

The photograph reportedly came from an unnamed member of the Royal Household and had been purchased by a collector. Taken on the Royal Estate at Balmoral just days after the wedding of Charles and Diana, it's Diana's signature prominently displayed on the photograph -- it reads, Lots of Love, Diana.

The auction, organized by a businesswomen whose lost her mother-in-law to breast cancer, will take place on June 9 at a charity ball at the London Marriott Hotel, Grosvenor Square. It is expected to sell for £3,000.

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.

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.

Luanne Austin says chemotherapy is not all it's cracked up to be. She doesn't mean it's cracked up to be something really great but is far from such a thing. She means it's cracked up to be something pretty horrible but is really not all that bad.

Austin says the day her doctor announced she would receive chemotherapy was almost as bad as the day she learned she had breast cancer. That's because she had heard nothing but bad things about the treatment. She expected to be laying in bed with her life in the balance -- nauseated, vomiting, sick -- as the "cure" killed her.

All expectations aside, Austin decided to tackle chemotherapy with a positive attitude. This may seem a daunting task -- turning a dreaded chemotherapy protocol into a not-so-bad experience -- but Austin mastered the task. And here are seven of her positive thoughts about a treatment that is not all it's cracked up to be.

• Austin talked to people who had traveled journeys similar to hers. What she learned is that many women continued working through treatment. Some suffered very few side effects. One woman even told Austin her experience was super. Austin was inspired by the positive women she tracked down. And now she inspires others.
  

• Austin did some reading. She learned that chemotherapy drugs target quickly-dividing cells, like cancer cells, red and white blood cells, blood platelets, and digestive tract cells. Learning about the process helped her realize chemotherapy was intended to make her well, not make her suffer.

• Austin learned how to support her body through treatment. She came to understand that the best chance of surviving breast cancer comes from conventional medicine -- surgery, chemotherapy, radiation -- but that alternative treatments can complement the traditional approach. She recommends the book Breast Cancer: Beyond Convention and considers her pursuit of a healthy diet, exercise, supplements, and a good night's sleep some of her most helpful chemotherapy add-ons.

• When Austin felt weak, tired, and just plain zoned out, she retreated to her bed with a good book and a cup of tea. Instead of considering it a setback, she called this downtime a good excuse to spend hours reading.

• Austin found relief from her nurses. They were terrific, she recalls, and professional and friendly and respectful too. Getting to know her medical crew -- and receiving hugs from them at the end of her treatment -- confirmed chemotherapy has some good points.

• For Austin, God -- who carried her through her whole journey -- was instrumental in her positive outlook. She felt lifted up and carried, she says.

• And then there's love -- pure and simple love from her husband and family members -- that allows her to conclude that chemotherapy is not so bad. "I'd have to say chemotherapy hasn't been all that bad," she says. "Not bad at all."
  

I never tire of cherishing the moment. Sometimes I get busy and distracted and caught up in the hustle and bustle of life, but I always come back to the simple appreciation of time. There's no stopping it -- time -- and there's no telling how my days will unfold as the seconds and minutes and hours tick by, so I try to live in the present with every breath I take.

Cancer taught me this lesson -- this realization that time is not a guarantee, this deep-down feeling that I must soak up every experience that faces me.

Each night when my husband and I check on our sleeping boys, we sigh with amazement and one of us religiously says something like, Wow, they are so great. We never want to lose sight of the joy these sometimes-challenging little people share with us. And so we watch them in their most peaceful moments, while emotion fills our heads and hearts.

My husband has lost sight of his father -- literally. He died eight years ago today and while John can no longer see the man who passed away suddenly, without warning, and at a much-too-young age, his memories are still vivid. It's the simple things he didn't let slip by that are fresh in his mind today.

John wrote this essay for his mom and two brothers and sent it to them today, in honor of his dad whose life he hopes will never escape him.

And then there were four

I think about him just about every day. Most often it's a song that reminds me of Dad, such as Cats in the Cradle, or even one of his favorite TV shows, Quantum Leap. I was shopping in Publix the other day while a great mix of music played -- a song from Three Degree's came on, When Will I See You Again, and I stood there with a thousand-mile stare on my face as I thought of Dad. I work in a building that looks right across the street from the last residence hall I lived in, Yulee Hall -- the last dorm from which Dad muscled all my belongings. I see that building every day.

The passing of time doesn't fade the memories I have of him, the distance between the last one just increases. Just about this time eight years ago, I laid across Dad's chest well after he took is last breath. That memory is forever burned into my mind along side the memory I have of walking past Kristin's room that fateful day many years ago. Before that day there were six of us, then there were five, and now there are four. Every force of nature cannot stop that number from reaching zero, so I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you all that I love you and think about you every day. Although death may be the worst gift of life, the gift of our kids will keep our numbers growing. It's unfortunate he didn't get to meet any of our kids and they didn't get to meet him -- but in a way they do. There is no doubt I share some of his qualities and those (hopefully only the good ones) affect the way I parent, the way I work, and the way I love.

I miss you, Dad.

Love, JP

Valerie Monroe, beauty director for The Oprah Magazine, writes a monthly column -- Ask Val -- that appears on the pages of Oprah's feel-good publication. She responds to questions about make-up, skin care, hair care, and overall body care too.

In her February 2007 column, Val writes, "Many of you have written to tell me that you began to be less critical of your body when you appreciated the things it could do." As I read this, I had what Oprah would call an Aha! moment, a moment when something just clicks and makes sudden sense. Aha!, I thought, as I considered all the things my body can do, completely independent of how I look on the outside. So while I was jogging today -- my body can now easily run three miles -- I ran through all of my body's accomplishments, and I stored them in the files of my mind so I could later write them down.

Here are seven things my body can do. As you read them, consider your own body -- its strength, its power, its capacity for greatness -- and remind yourself of your wondrous self the next time you start to criticize the way you look.

• My body can partner in the creation of human life. It can carry babies and deliver them and love them and care for them and raise them. Not all bodies have this power. I am lucky.

• My body can climb an attic staircase, crawl into cramped and dark corners, pull large boxes out of wedged spaces, drag them back to the staircase, and walk backwards down the stairs with goods balancing on my head so that I can fulfill the wish my five-year-old child who wanted so badly in early November to assemble our Christmas tree and decorate our house for the holidays. "Let's wait until Daddy gets home," I told Joey when I found myself crammed into a tiny space in the attic, wrestling with a heavy box full of artificial tree parts. "You can do it, Mommy," Joey said. "You are strong." And so I fought my way through the frustrating feat because I was afraid of the lessons I would teach this little boy if I didn't. In the end, it was Joey who taught me the lesson. I can do it. I am strong.
  

• My body can endure and conquer a 5K run when it once could barely run around the block. With a little extra effort and push, I think my body can accomplish even more.

• My body, once weak and without definition, can lift increasingly heavy weight and can generate muscle tone. It can even do push-ups -- real push-ups. It takes dedication and practice and persistence and mental toughness too. But I see progress. I feel progress. And I want more.

• My body can help others. I can use my fingers to type words on a keyboard that will reach friends and family and people I don't even know. My words can inform and support and encourage and heal. I can use my hands and my semi-creative talents to create hand-made gifts, to cook and deliver very mediocre meals for friends in need, to massage my husband's sore back, to braid my niece's beautiful hair and paint her tiny nails. I can use my arms to hug my little boys with all my might. I can use my voice to communicate, my ears to listen, my senses to feel.
  

• My body can tolerate surgery and chemotherapy and radiation and horrible allergic reactions to antibiotics. My body was badly beaten by a treatment protocol intended to cure me of a disastrous disease. And somehow, in some way, it survived.
  

• My body killed cancer. With the aid of medical intervention and a hopeful attitude, my body overcame the worst and best thing that has ever happened to me. And if it could do nothing else, I would be truly happy for this one thing my body can do.
  

If you have ever been diagnosed with breast cancer, it is quite likely that one of the first books, if not the only book, recommended to you was Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book. The New York Times rightly refers to her book as "the bible for women with breast cancer." Her second book, Dr. Susan Love's Menopause and Hormone Book, was one of the first to question the widespread use of postmenopausal hormones. Dr. Love is a genuinely trusted presence and clear voice in the world of women's breast health.

An eminent pioneer in the field of breast cancer for 30 years, and considered one of the founding mothers of the breast cancer advocacy movement, her mission, and the mission of the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation, is to eradicate breast cancer within our lifetime and better the lives of women by generating resources and innovation for education, research, and advocacy on women's health issues.

Part of the recently redesigned Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation website is the addition of a blog. Dr. Love is blogging the San Antonio for the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium where she joins more than 8000 physicians, scientists, and breast cancer advocates in what is considered one of the most important conferences held each year regarding cancer.

On the first day, Dr. Love blogs both clinical and big picture highlights, including her take on two newsworthy study findings we posted here earlier today. The first concerns the common house mouse virus link to breast cancer and the second one regarding the dramatic decrease in breast cancer cases and the corresponding decrease in women using hormone replacement therapy (HRT).

Dr. Love posted, "There was a sudden dramatic (7 percent) decrease in breast cancer in 2003 corresponding with the equally dramatic decrease in women who stopped taking HRT after the WHI study found it appeared to do more harm than good. The study found 14,000 less breast cancers in one year! In my mind this is the final proof we need that taking hormonal therapy after menopause for the prevention of the diseases of aging makes no sense."

For a trusted analysis of the conference, you can find Dr. Love blogging the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium here.