This week was my turn to cover our Survivor Spotlight feature. I perhaps naively thought that I would have no trouble finding a survivor to talk to because there are so many survivors out there and it seemed that most of them were more than happy to tell their story in the hopes of helping others. But many of the women did not feel comfortable talking about it -- mainly because they didn't want to dredge up the past, to think about a time in their life that was difficult and trying, especially with a stranger. Their hesitance is understandable, but also came as a surprise to me because I assumed that most people who had bravely stared death in the face and won would make it their mission to inspire others.

In a recent post, I wrote about a study that showed that if we can put a name to our feelings, our brains undergo real changes; our fear is reduced along with the intensity of negative emotions.

Sounds like great advice. Except sometimes it's hard to know exactly what we are feeling.

Marshall Rosenberg, the author of Nonviolent Communication, has created a model for compassionate communication. Rosenberg's model "guides us to reframe how we express ourselves and hear others by focusing our consciousness on what we are observing, feeling, needing, and requesting."

One part of the Nonviolent Communication model is trying to figure out exactly what we are feeling. Rosenberg encourages the use of true "feeling words" when we are communicating our needs to others.

Here is the list of feelings from the CNVC. They include feelings that we might be experiencing when our needs are being met and not being met.

If we can pinpoint how we are feeling during times of stress, whether it be daily stress or the stress related to a cancer diagnosis, recovery, or even a grieving process, we can ask for what we need in a more effective way. And hopefully catch some of that brain-calming effect.

A cancer diagnosis for ourselves or our loved ones can throw us into a whirlwind of emotion, including anxiety, anger or depression. According to a recent study published by Matthew Lieberman at the University of California, Los Angeles in the journal Psychological Science, putting names to our feelings can decrease the intensity of negative feelings.

His team used brain scans to monitor the response in the amygdala, the portion of the brain that handles fear, as the participants viewed pictures of faces showing different expressions including anger. When the study participants named the emotion, the response in the amygdala decreased.

While we have all known that talking about what we are feeling can help us feel better, Matthews points to this study as evidence that something real and positive is happening in our brains when we do this.

New research suggests that it is not uncommon for cancer caregivers to suffer emotional or psychological problems as a result of caring for a loved one battling cancer, and they often suffer in silence. According to study results, the anxiety and stress of caring for someone with cancer is comparable to caring for someone with Alzheimer's disease. This news will come as little surprise to caregivers but it might be a blindspot of need traditionally overlooked by others in the community and medical fields. In USA Today Cancer hurts caregivers, several caregivers stories are featured highlighting the challenges faced as family members struggle to take care of a loved one in cancer treatment.

Aside from the emotional trauma of learning a loved one has been diagnosed with a disease that may cut life short and the psychological effects that can manifest in feelings of hopelessness and unrelenting fear, New York's Memorial-Sloan Kettering Cancer Center psychiatrist Jimmie Holland points out that hospitals are currently discharging cancer patients sicker and quicker when they are still in great pain before their wounds have healed. As a result, family members, who are not trained medical professionals, are left to provide the level of medical care of experienced nurses.

In reaching out to cancer caregivers, the answer might start with something as simple as providing a talk therapy environment where caregivers have a safe place to open up and share their thoughts and feelings. A resource of trained counselors and nurses who can offer reassurance and practical help in navigating the inner terror, and at times, the physical exhaustion of cancer care. For additional information and support resources for caregivers, visit the Cancer Caregivers category of this blog.

I never colored my hair -- until after cancer, when my once-blond hair lost to chemotherapy grew in mousy brown with touches of gray. I thought it needed some spark and dazzle so I doused my head -- and my bathroom counter and walls too -- with hair dye in an effort to brighten up my look. It worked. And I like it. But I don't like what I've now heard about a possible link between hair dye and cancer. And this is what I told a reporter from the New York Times who called me the other day. She had read my post here on the Cancer Blog about this news story -- about hair dye and cancer -- and she wanted to know more about my personal feelings as a cancer survivor and as a person with colored hair.

I told this reporter that it's a bit ironic that in 36 years, I had never applied hair dye to my hair and that only after cancer did I take the plunge -- only to learn that hair dye may be cancer causing. I told her that I wouldn't do it again -- dye my hair -- although I don't think one application of coloring chemicals will really affect me when research indicates a risk only when women use hair dye 12 or more times. But still, I don't choose to take even the smallest of risks when it comes to my health -- which has already been compromised once. I told the reporter that I have not witnessed any widespread panic among the public about this issue. And I think the people I know who color their hair will continue to do so. That's okay with me. Because when it comes down to it, I am responsible for my hair only, my health only, my life only. That's really all I can manage.

And once my colored hair grows out -- the colored hair that was photographed today for the story this reporter is writing -- I'll manage to live on with my mousy brown hair with natural gray highlights. It won't have much spark or dazzle. But it will be safe.

When Someone You Love Is Being Treated for Cancer is a book of tips and insight from caregivers for caregivers when it comes to the needs and issues of being a caregiver for a loved one diagnosed with cancer. Published online by The National Cancer Institute, the introduction states, "The purpose of this book is to focus on you and your needs."

In reviewing it, I found it to be a valuable and realistic resource for family members who find themselves in the role of caregiver because a loved one has been diagnosed with cancer.

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.

I see and use my handmade quilt every day. It was created especially for me by more than 20 talented friends who crafted the lavender, pale green, and white patches into a flowered work of beauty and serenity and warmth. It sits at the end of my bed -- folded neatly and by coincidence matching the color scheme of my room -- until the time at which I turn in for the night and I spread it out and allow it to comfort me and warm me. It has covered me every night since the night it was delivered to my doorstep by a few of the friends who helped make it -- and the peace it brings me today is no less than the peace it brought me the first night I used it -- the night when I was weak and sick and struggling with breast cancer.

Nearly seven in ten marriages touched by breast cancer do not survive. Trauma of any kind can split a weak marriage and divorce rates are at an all time high with 6 out of 10 marriages ending. So how do you support your spouse, wife, or life partner when they are going through breast cancer so your relationship does not end?

We are all given trials and life threatening trauma has got to be one of the worst. It can tear you apart or it can build character. For a long period of time one partner may have to shoulder most of the responsibility while the other is sick, weak, and going through surgery and treatment. This can lead to stress and arguments between the two of you or worse it could cause you to harbor feelings inside and start looking for a way out.

Some of the simple things you can do as the supporting spouse is tell her you love her. Don't be silent in your thoughts and discuss your concerns, feelings, and needs. Seek the help of friends and family with every day chores to help with things in and around the home. Don't feel like you have to be super man or wonder woman. Let her know you love her and not her breasts and be sensitive to her feelings and emotions. Find time to do things together that you both enjoy. And one very important thing to remember is let her lead back into the sexual relationship between the two of you giving her time to feel desirable and wanted.

I went to a yoga class once -- it was when I was bald from chemotherapy because I remember wearing my wig and hat and hoping desperately that nothing would topple off my head while I stretched and balanced and folded my body into various positions. My bald head did stay covered and I was able to depart from the class with my dignity intact -- but for some reason, I never went back for another yoga class. Perhaps it was the difficulty I had relaxing while trying to manage the security blanket that masked my bare head. If I ever have to do it again, I think I will leave my hair and hat at home so I can give my undivided attention to the yoga experience -- which is becoming more and more recognized for its healing power.

New findings from a pilot study reveal that women going through treatment for breast cancer feel better, sleep better, and have less fatigue when they practice yoga. Side effects of treatment also seem to fade as a result of this ancient discipline. Lorenzo Cohen, a psychologist, led researchers at the University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center, and studied 61 women undergoing treatment for breast cancer. Thirty women were placed in a test group and took yoga twice per week for six weeks. The others did not take yoga. Once the study was complete, the participants completed questionnaires grading their physical abilities -- ability to lift groceries, walk a mile, and complete other physical tasks -- and also their feelings about fatigue, sense of well-being, and quality of life. The yoga group consistently scored higher on almost all physical components. No difference was found between the groups in the areas of depression or anxiety.

There is no doubt that exercise contributes to a healthy lifestyle in general. And it seems yoga is no different. Focused on meditation, imagery, controlled breathing, stretching, and physical movements, yoga is sure to benefit breast cancer patients. And I think I need to give it another try.

Dori died this past November after a long battle with breast cancer that recurred and spread and ultimately took her from her husband and two young children. I never knew Dori -- she was one of my blog acquaintances -- but I gather from her words and the hundreds of comments that were left on her site that she was full of spirit and courage and grace.

Dori died gracefully at her home, with the assistance of hospice and a loving network of family and friends. She is no longer able to write in her blog -- No Bra Required -- and I miss her abundant strength and humor in the midst of a exhausting journey. But something happened that I think has eased the transition for those who are struggling with the death of a woman much too young to have left this world -- Dori's husband continued to write. He continued Dori's blog for a bit and then started his own personal blog where he shares the peaks and valleys of a life without Dori and with two kids he is raising on his own. Winter to Spring is insightful and touching and sad and happy. It chronicles birthday parties and school plays and Mother's Day too. It reveals feelings and hopes and wishes and sorrows. The tragedy of it all -- the death of Dori -- is devastating. The upside of the tragedy -- the resilience of a family, the lessons learned, the hope for a brighter tomorrow -- keeps me coming back for more. For more of a story that can break my heart and warm my heart all at the same time.

Men have the reputation for not always opening up and sharing their true feelings when with their friends. According to some of the men (young and old) in my life, to comment on a basketball game or a particular beer is fair, but to bare the soul and chat about personal topics is more out of the ordinary. I stumbled upon an interesting line of chat this morning among young men and their thoughts on testicular cancer. The thread is novel enough that stopping by the site is well worth the insight it gives into the male gender.

The thread wanders a bit, but at the heart of it is a young man who think he has a lump in his testicles; he cannot think of a way to tell his parents while maintaining his dignity. He asks his online friends for advice regarding his fears, some are helpful while others just can't open up and be honest. Following is a brief clip form the chat, "I just can't think of a proper way to tell my parents that I need to go to a ball-clinic. 'So... I was feelin' around down there the other day, doin' my usual, and I found something...'?"  This open view into the young male psyche is definitely an interesting one.

Often men who have cancer are not as willing to open up and share their feelings during and after their cancer diagnosis. The need to viewed as a rock is a prohibitive factor that prevents them from sharing their inner fears and hopes with friends and family. One group of three friends understood this problem and in 2003 the group of trio started the Reel Recovery program. Jim Cloud, Coy Theobalt and Stewart Brown birthed this brain child when Brown was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. The three began the first trial program at the Sylvan Dale Guest Ranch west of Loveland, Colorado, with just eight men in the group. Eighteen months later Brown lost his battle with cancer and passed away.

In the last three years the program has grown into a 2 1/2 day retreat for men with cancer. Over the two days the men get together and share their thoughts while experiencing the serenity that the river and line of string can bring to those who allow it. Cloud and Theobalt continue to carry out the mission the three friends began. "We laugh a lot and fish a lot," says Cloud, "but a huge piece of this is what we call courageous conversation. We get into a space where we share issues most men wouldn't talk about." For more, click here.