The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.

Losing my hair was one of my most traumatic cancer experiences. When first told I needed chemotherapy, I didn't fret about the poisons that would circulate throughout my body, or the nausea that might strike me. What I feared most was losing my hair. It seems silly now. I mean, hair is just hair. If I could trade my hair right now for a guarantee that cancer would never return, I'd do it. But three years ago, when cancer was new and my self-image was faltering, I couldn't stand the thought of losing it.

I did OK once my hair was gone. I found great human-hair wigs and I learned to enjoy my shower-and-go morning routine. I could get ready in an instant. It was all kind of liberating really. Now, don't get me wrong. I was glad when my hair came back. And every day when I look in the mirror, I am comforted by the fact that long dark hair now covers my head. Yes, hair is just hair. But there's just something about it that makes me feel well, happy.

Today, I am grateful for my hair.

Today, think about donating your hair. I know the thought of giving up your precious locks is scary, but it can make the difference in someone's life -- particularly if that someone is a cancer patient who had part ways with vanity long ago to save their life. Interested? Check out this post from The Beauty Brains on how and where you can donate your hair.

Here's the catch: Most hair donations need to be between 8 and 10 inches long, and often (but not always,) it need to be virgin hair -- hair that is not coloured or chemically treated. But if you fit the bill, you can make a world of difference.

Walking into my cancer center waiting room is one of my most sobering experiences. I enter this room -- jam-packed full of men, women, and children -- every three months for a breast cancer follow-up. It never gets easier. It always startles me, stirs my emotions, makes me realize how so many people are touched by such a treacherous and all-consuming disease. The fact that I sit in this room, that I am one of these many people, still doesn't seem real.

It's been almost three years since I got a phone call from a surgeon declaring, "You have cancer." I didn't believe it then. Even after all I've been through -- surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and more -- I hardly believe it now. But it's real. I have scars and new hair and a whole new set of worries to prove it.

Walking into that waiting room proves it's real. There's nothing like it. There's also nothing like walking out, with a clean bill of health and the promise of three more months.

My hair is changing -- again. It started out perfectly straight, blond, and shoulder length. Then it came tumbling out, thanks to the chemotherapy drugs adriamycin and cytoxan. Four months later, it was back -- curly, dark, and way too short for my liking.

Over the past two years, I've grown to enjoy my hair. The longer it gets, the less curl it keeps. I like it this way. The color has grown on me too. When I look back at photos of my lighter locks, I think dark suits me better. Why do I get the feeling, though, that my hair won't be dark for long?

I still think of my hair as dark, I guess because it was once so very blond and it is so very not blond at the moment -- in my opinion anyway.

My six-year-old Joey noticed my sister's wedding ring at lunch the other day. "Is that your ring from when you married Jack?" he asked. "Yep," replied my sister. And then Joey told her, "My mom took her ring off when she went to cancer because she couldn't wear it there. And then she never put it back on."

It's true. I took my ring off prior to my treatment for breast cancer. I guess I was worried about swelling in my fingers or worse yet, lymphedema. I became so comfortable without the ring, I never put it back on. Do I still fear swelling, almost three years later? No, not really. But that's what I say when my husband and I joke about his symbol of wedded bliss and my lack of one. Joey has heard the conversation many times and today, he shared his very own version.

Just as I think Joey has a grasp on the whole cancer thing, I'm reminded that this disease is such a foreign concept for such a young boy. It's clear cancer messed up our lives for awhile, took my hair, made me sick, and forever changed our outlook on the color pink. But what is cancer really, for a six-year-old? It's a noun sometimes -- "My mommy had cancer," Joey might announce. And sometimes, like today, it's a location.

Yes, I had cancer. I guess I went to cancer too. Whatever is it, I sure am glad to have gotten rid of it -- and to have departed the whole vicinity of such a disease.

The seven cancer thoughts I present to you today are purely random. They are not linked by theme or category. There is no rhyme or reason for my choosing them. And they do not belong with one another for any other reason than this: they all come directly from my very own head and are somehow related to the disease that lingers in my thoughts for most minutes of most days. Here they are:

1. Vanity is merely a six-letter word. It's certainly not as important after cancer as it is before. I admit vanity played a role in my life prior to my breast cancer diagnosis and still, it's with me to some degree. But more important than vanity now is waking each morning and realizing I'm alive. I don't want to lose weight to look ultra thin. I choose to reach an ideal weight because I want to be healthy. I don't want a tan. I want skin that is free from damage. My clothes? I want them to fit and feel comfortable. That's it.

2. Normal is a thing of the past. It's funny how I worked so hard to look normal after cancer struck (note: here's vanity rearing its head). Prior to losing my hair to chemotherapy, I worked hard at matching my long, straight, blond hair to a wig that would become my disguise for five months. I found the perfect replica of what would eventually tumble from my scalp, and I wore it proudly. A neighbor who knew I was receiving chemotherapy once told my sister, "That's so great Jacki didn't lose her hair." I looked that much like normal, people didn't know anything had changed. Little did I know change was right around the corner. When my hair grew in, it was dark and curly. Not even close to normal.

Most women who are faced with hair loss due to radiation or chemo usually get at least one wig and alternate wearing the wig with hats, bandannas, and scarves. Here are a few tips to get ready for wearing a wig and tips on choosing a wig.

If your hair is long, consider having it cut shorter so that switching to a wig or other head attire will be less noticeable. Once your hair begins falling out, many former patients advise shaving your head. This puts you in control of the situation and eliminates finding your hair all over the pillow or in the shower.

Some women rush out and buy an expensive natural hair wig and then regret it later because not only is it expensive but it requires a lot of upkeep. Synthetic wigs are less expensive and are easier to maintain and they look and feel natural. So keep in mind that six months after your last treatment you should have your hair back again. It may not be the same color and texture as before your treatments but it is natural.

Before starting treatments take a current photo of your hair and even save a swatch from the top front of your head in case you want to find a wig close to your present color. Use lighting near a window or outside to match the wig to your hair swatch or photo. if You want to purchase your wig before your hair falls out, measure your head with your hair slicked down. Always measure around the back of your head with a tape measure above your eyebrows and ears. If your head measures between size ranges, choose the larger size. You can also consider buying or using a hat sizer.

The wig will not look natural if it's pulled too far down in front and it should never be placed over your ears. Treat your wig like your own hair when styling and remember your beauty shop or hair salon personnel can always help you with styling your wig just like your own natural hair.

Breast cancer made a mess of me -- a scarred, sick, bald, burned, depressed mess. The mess was short-lived, though, and I am happy to report that my scars are fading, I'm no longer sick, I have hair, radiation burns are a thing of the past, and most important: I'm not depressed.

I took my last anti-depressant pill on Saturday. For some time, I've been tapering my dosage and when I realized on Monday that I was taking my Zoloft only twice per week, I asked my oncologist to recommend an official quitting time. He told me: Now.

So that's it. I'm standing on my own two feet -- no treatment, no counseling, no pills to help me cope. The mess has cleared, and life is once again tidy.

Someone told me in the thick of my cancer madness: This too shall pass. For me, It did.

Oakland Athletics center fielder Nick Swisher appeared at Saturday evening's pregame event wearing three ponytails. Prepared to donate his locks to the Pantene Beautiful Lengths non-profit campaign, Swisher said just before his ponytails were snipped, "I feel like Pippi Longstocking. I look so goofy right now. But if I can make a difference in one or two women's lives, it's worth it."

Swisher's father -- major league baseball player Steve Swisher -- did the cutting honors. And it was fitting the two men were in on this endeavor together because Swisher's grandmother -- his dad's mother -- died from brain cancer two years ago.

"The initial idea was out of respect for my mom -- but the second thing is: It's time for a haircut,'' Steve Swisher said. "I'm so proud of Nick. He's bringing attention to a good cause and that's what it's all about.''

Pantene creates free wigs for women dealing with hair loss from cancer treatment.

My six-year-old Joey told his grandmother -- my mom -- the other day, "Nana, you are generous." It was thoughtful and touching and it brought a smile to her face. Later that night, Joey said the same to me. "Mom, you are generous," he proclaimed. And now I'm not sure if he really meant his sweet sentiments or if he was just practicing one of his new kindergarten vocabulary words. Regardless, it got me thinking about how generous his Nana really is.

My mom not only generously gave me life. She also saved my life -- not in the medical, scientific manner surgeons and oncologists saved my life but by the sheer force of love, support, comfort, and undying devotion that seems to involuntarily pour from the hearts of moms with sick children.

We're not even 11 days into Skin Cancer Awareness Month, and already my awareness about the disease has been raised several times.

Today, I learned that measuring the amount of melanin in a strand of hair can predict a person's risk for melanoma. It's all detailed in the May 15 issue of the American Journal of Epidemiology. And the study leading to this new conclusion -- that the amount of melanin in hair indicates an individual's skin type -- is quite interesting.

Think about this:

Researchers involved in a large skin cancer trial measured 2,3,5-pyrroletricarboxylic acid (PTCA) levels of 98 subjects with melanoma and 98 subjects without melanoma. They found the subjects with a PTCA concentration below 85ng/mg had more than four times the risk of developing melanoma.

Kim Goebel was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1999, at the age of 43. Her sister Kris noticed a lot of moms saying "How am I going to tell my kids?"

Partners for a Cure Foundation was founded by the sisters and they began planning a doll and a book to familiarize children with the physical and emotional effects of cancer treatment. The dolls are soft and lovable but depict the hard truth in a special way so that the kids will be less scared of what is happening with their mom's treatment process.

If you've ever visited the website My Breast Cancer Network, part of the Health Central conglomerate of health and medical information, you know the appeal of this site is its insightful navigation menu, comprised of three helpful locators -- Find, Manage, and Connect.

With a click on the Find button, you can search answers to questions, check symptoms, and locate resources. Choose Manage and you can take action, achieve goals, and resolve problems. If you wish to get advice, find support, and share your experiences, take a simple tour through the Connect community.

My Breast Cancer Network currently invites all viewers to connect with one another through a new feature: Show Us Your Chemo Style. You can simply visit this portion of the site and view photos submitted by others. Or you can submit a photo and caption of yourself, a friend, a family member. My Breast Cancer Network says it like this:

What does it mean to be confident during and after chemotherapy? Are you proud to be bald and beautiful? Does a wig, scarf or hat make sense for you and your style? We'd also love to see your new hair, as it grows back in. Share your favorite photos!

I did it -- go take a look -- and you can too.

My hair is not so short, not so dark, not so curly anymore. And the shock of what sprouted from my head following chemotherapy is not so startling anymore. I guess it's a combination of my getting accustomed to my new look and the fact that lately, my hair is a changin' -- once again -- and this has me somewhat numbed to all things hair-raising in my life.

I was born with straight, blond hair. And I wore these locks on my head for 34 years. Until cancer came a knockin', chemotherapy came a drippin', and my hair went a tumblin'. Bald brought quite an adjustment. And so did the stuff that replaced my pre-chemo hair.

For almost two years now, I have been peering in the mirror at short, brown, curly hair. It took some time, but I grew to like my new look. And now, just as I am feeling OK about my changed appearance, my hair is taking another turn.

Naturally, my hair is longer. That's what happens when chemotherapy becomes a thing of the past. So this is not so surprising. But as my hair grows and gets heavier, my curls are transforming into waves. And I wonder if my curls will continue to disappear as my hair continues to grow. Will my hair be straight again one of these days?

With each passing day, my hair also gets lighter as it slowly fades from dark brown to light brown with a tint of red and a hint of blond. Will my hair be blond again one of the days?

Someone once told me that cancer is temporary. Someone else told me this is not true -- there's nothing temporary about the way cancer changes a life forever. I think I agree. Because as I study my hair, I realize that all of its temporary phases are really just a sign of the permanence cancer has left branded on my body and soul.

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.