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.

We have written here at the cancer blog about Courtney Nicole a few times. You can find posts here and here. Courtney passed way about eight months ago. Her mom still keeps a journal of what is going on in her life and how she is coping with the loss of her nineteen year old daughter.

I find myself going to her site often to see how she is doing. It is heartbreaking to read her words at times and encouraging at other times. She is trying to go on -- but how, without her daughter?

Recently, Court's mom posted Its Like a Scab! on her website. Here's what she said:

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.

I am thankful. Plain and simple. I am thankful -- for these seven reasons.

One. Joey and Danny. The little boys who tore out of my body at a combined almost 21 pounds and have been tearing through life with the same screaming spirit they exhibited the very moments they entered the world. I didn't know it at the time, but these boys were delivered just in time -- for they became the angels who guided me through breast cancer. I can't even consider how I would have survived without them.

Two. Each and every member of my family who has supported me, loved me, motivated me, and comforted me during all phases of my life. The same people who really stepped to the plate when the breast cancer deck was stacked against me and I was faced with losing my life.

Three. The millions of breast cancer survivors who came before me. The women who fought, conquered, lost -- and paved the way for my own survival.

Four. My hair. It's brown. It's curly. It's nothing like the blond, straight hair I loved for 34 years -- before it was stolen by chemotherapy. But it's hair. And it's mine. And it sure beats having no hair at all.

Five. Writing. I entered college as a journalism major and somehow pursued entirely different interests. Eighteen years later, I am back to writing -- thanks to the material cancer gave me.

Six. Connections. I have collected a whole circle of friends whose faces I have never seen. Yet our shared experiences with cancer and other life-changing events have made us fast friends. Our bonds are deep, meaningful, and nothing like I've ever known.

Seven. My health. The love of my husband. My niece and borrowed little girl. Reminders of my late grandmother. Loving co-workers. The roof over my head. The food on my table. And so much more.

I am thankful. Plain and simple. I am thankful.

Approximately 3 percent of all new cancers in the United States are linked to obesity, according to the US National Cancer Institute. Stay trim to cut cancer risk, that is what the headline reads. Researchers hypothesis that fat might be preventing apoptosis -- the process in which cancer cells perform a sort of suicide. But it's all untested speculation at this point as to how fat might affect cancer development and growth.

Recently, Rutgers University researchers conducted tests on mice and found leaner mice were less susceptible to developing cancer. Cancer cells in fatter mice died much more slowly, twice as slow as their skinny counterparts. The study is published in the National Academy of Sciences.

In other weighty health-related news, University of Pittsburgh researchers are reporting that overweight middle-aged people who walked briskly for 30 to 60 minutes a day lost 7 pounds in 18 months, while similar adults who didn't exercise consistently gained seven pounds in that time.

During the study, the participants were advised to eat healthy foods but not to restrict the amount of food beyond the norm. Seventy-five percent chose walking as their form of exercise.

Walking is a wonderful exercise for the body, mind and spirit. Most people do not walk alone, and this is a leisurely time to visit and enjoy each other's company. In addition, it's a way to slow down and reconnect with the world around you. Walking is a time to take deep breaths. Living Out Loud author Keri Smith, who blogs The Wish Jar Journal, often blogs about her many observances and adventures in walking and uses it as an exercise in creativity and a renewal of wonder in the every day. Delightfully, she collects things on her walk.

I am a fan of walking. Anyone can walk. During breast cancer treatments (except for the time my red blood cell count dropped so low I didn't have enough steam to make it across the room) walking was something I could do even if I did not have the stamina or will for more formal exercise.

Author and breast cancer survivor Barbara Delinsky has just released an updated edition of her book UPLIFT: Secrets from the Sisterhood of Breast Cancer Survivors and like her previous editions, this one delivers inspiring real-life stories from real-life survivors -- like Deb Haney, an administrative assistant diagnosed in 1996 at age 48, who reveals her secret to surviving breast cancer in the workplace.

"My boss at the time was my brother. He suggested I go for radiation treatment in the morning, work a few hours, then go home and rest in the afternoons. That is what I did, because even though I looked great, I was unbelievably tired. When illness comes, we need to listen to our bodies and give them the time to rest and recover. I hadn't anticipated it, but those afternoon hours became a truly peaceful, nurturing time to read and rest and enjoy quiet time."

Delinsky offers a chapter in her book called A Workplace Manual -- it's a place where survivors like Haney share strategies that helped them maintain the crucial balance between cancer and work.

Delinsky writes, "What works for one woman may not work for another. What works in one job may not work in another. The thing is, you need to take a step back, think about yourself and your situation, then speak up about what may work for you. In every situation, you have choices, and the choices are all good. What pleases one woman may not please another."

And so the women featured in UPLIFT share their individual choices. And their choices become options for the millions of women surviving a disease that throws everything off balance.

Rosamary Amiet, a program manager diagnosed in 2000 at age 48, shares, "I juggled cancer and work by just giving up some things, like housework. I discovered that the house could go for weeks without being vacuumed or dusted -- and not only did the sky not fall, it didn't even crack!"

UPLIFT is not all about the workplace. It's also about chemotherapy and losing hair and losing breasts. It's about family and humor and men. It's about religion and exercise and diagnosis. It's about help. It's about hope. It's about sisterhood -- plain and simple.

Cynthia Yousefi is a wife and mother of three living in Granada Hills, CA. She is 42 years old and works as an analyst for a Federal agency. She and her family enjoy trips to Harrah's Rincon Casino in San Diego -- and while the destination is a favorite, the sights along the way also bring them pleasure. Cynthia enjoys museums and amusement parks and swimming and evening walks. She enjoys a lot these days because she feels she's been given a second chance at life -- now that she is surviving breast cancer.

Teenager Abraham Cherrix made national headlines recently with a legal battle that earned him the right to fight cancer on his own terms. Cherrix, 16, who chose to treat his disease with alternative treatments after traditional therapy failed to cure him of Hodgkin's disease, was told by the courts that his choice was not acceptable -- that he must undergo higher doses of chemotherapy in combination with radiation and followed by stem cell transplant. Cherrix ended up a winner in court and is currently receiving the therapy of his choice. But despite the legal win, Cherrix and his family are losing financially.

The Cherrix family owns a kayak company in Virginia, and spring and summer are peak seasons. Since the family had to close shop on many occasions due to court appearances, profits suffered. So on Sunday afternoon, local musicians headlined a fundraising concert -- billed as Voices for Choices -- to help with medical and court costs. Cherrix could not attend -- he's in the midst of treatment in Mississippi -- but the show went on. And while the money raised is not enough to cover all outstanding bills, it is enough to remind the family of all the caring people in the world.

Reports from family indicate Cherrix is doing well with treatment and that his tumor is shrinking. If he continues to make progress, he may be able to return home soon -- so he can thank those whose support is so much more than money can buy.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer almost two years ago, my greatest fear was losing my hair. The fear was consuming, painful, over-the-top. That was long ago -- and I survived. I can look back now and realize that the panic about losing my hair was such a small-scale fear -- compared to what I fear now. Now I fear a recurrence of cancer. And it's a whole lot more disabling than a little worry about being bald.

I have a few techniques for settling my fears when they get out of control. Sometimes I take deep breaths. Sometimes I distract myself and occupy my mind with something more pleasant than anxiety -- like writing, exercising, playing with my little boys. And sometimes I read about others who have come before me and have handled the same distress I sometimes feel about cancer taking up residence in my body again. Mostly I learn from stories of other women who have survived breast cancer. And I learn that I can handle the fear, that I can handle cancer if it does come back. And the women I find most inspiring are those who have had a recurrence -- or two or three -- and who still manage to happily tackle the life they have in front of them. They give me hope that if a recurrence comes my way, I too can conquer it. And here are seven snippets of hope from the book Hope Lives! The After Breast Cancer Treatment Survival Handbook -- from women who keep on surviving breast cancer.

I visited a neighbor yesterday who has breast cancer. She has had one dose of chemotherapy and just yesterday shaved her head. I stopped by to see her new hairstyle and to give her a gift -- a collection of goodies including a hat, some Healing Garden bath lotions and sprays, a flower pen I made, and a card reminding her that like me, she will survive the madness of breast cancer treatment and will go on to enjoy a full head of hair again. And while our travels will be similar in some ways, they are also very different.  You see, Gayle had a mastectomy and I did not. So I can't relate to the emotion that comes from losing a breast and feeling lopsided and searching for a bathing suit to mask the unevenness and waiting for reconstruction that won't take place until after chemotherapy is complete. But Gayle is one strong woman and while I know she will have dark moments at times, her attitude and spirit is remarkable. I went to visit her thinking I could spread some hope her way and I walked away with a dose of hope from her -- a woman new to this journey yet full of courage and strength and bravery.

Gayle, 33 years old, a wife, and mom of two small boys, told me she will go to work tomorrow with a bald head -- she is not interested in cover-ups -- and this makes her an exceptional person in my book. I never did bare my baldness to the world and kept it covered until my new hair was growing back. I admire Gayle -- and all the women who display their heads like badges of honor -- because she is a true survivor. And one who just might teach me a thing or two.

My son shaved my head 16 months ago.  My hair was falling out in clumps from chemotherapy, and I thought the trauma of losing my hair all at once would be somehow less painful than watching it fall from my scalp one batch at a time.  It was still traumatic -- and I cried -- but Joey told me, "It's only a haircut, mommy.  You are not going to die."  Joey was four.  I was 34.  And he was right -- I did not die.  And my hair is growing back. 

It's not the same long, blond, straight hair I once had -- it's now short and dark and curly.  But I have hair.  It feels a whole lot better than not having hair.  Losing my hair was hard.  Being bald was hard.  I never found the strength or courage to flaunt my shiny scalp and I searched high and low for the perfect cover-up.  I found it at Hip Hats. 

Admittedly, for years I was a sun worshipper in quest of the perfect golden tan. But I noticed as the years went by the sun was changing, the effects were different, it did not feel as good to be out in the sun for long periods of time. I burned too quickly, tanned far less. I thought it was my imagination, or my age, but I have since learned that the ozone is thinning and the result is an altering in the intensity of the sun's rays. I practice sun safety these days.

When I was telling you about Olay's Bring a Buddy free skin cancer screening campaign, I read a heartbreaking personal story about Dr. Maribeth Bambino Chitkara losing Melissa, her sister, to melanoma at an early age. Who worries about the sun when they are young? I didn't, and most young adults don't. A mole on Melissa's right shoulder had become cancerous, and the cancer had spread to many of the lymph nodes under her arm. Despite treatment, between the two years of skin cancer diagnosis and death, the cancer continued to spread throughout Melissa's body, including her brain. The story, although a very sad one in the loss of a cherished and beloved sister and best friend, I recommend it for reading. The full story can be found here.

May is National Skin Cancer Awareness Month. Become aware and educated about the risks of skin cancer and sun safety. The sun is changing -- the damaging rays increasing in intensity. Even the very young need to be protected, and no one today can afford the risks from a golden tan.