As time flies by, more and more progress is made in the fight against cancer. Over the years, new and better screening methods have emerged, cutting-edge technologies have surfaced, successful treatments have saved lives that may have otherwise been lost, and awareness has been raised about all sorts of cancer-related issues. It's amazing really, because in so many areas, we are not making progress.

According to research published in the March/April 2007 issue of WebMD: the Magazine, the per capita consumption of corn sweeteners in 2004 was 78.1 pounds in the United States -- up from 35.3 pounds in 1980. In 2005, the per capita consumption of candy by Americans was 25.7 pounds. We are pumping our bodies full of junk -- our rates of obesity in this country prove it.

When I think about our trend of over-eating and over-indulging, I gain a better appreciation of how far we've come medically. Not only have researchers, scientists, and medical experts made strides in the prevention and treatment of disease, they've done it against the odds. Just think how much more progress we'd make if we all did a little better at living healthy lives. Why not start now?

I've read stories about women whose breast cancer diagnoses were delayed because they explained away certain symptoms. One woman, an athlete, was told by her husband one day that her nipple looked different from the other. "It's probably just the jog bra I've been wearing all day," she assured him. They both moved on.

Some time later, this woman learned that her different nipple was a sign of breast cancer. And she had it. She just didn't know it. And so her diagnosis came late. Eight years later, this young mother of two small children died from a disease she explained away.

This is normal -- the art of explaining away all the odd messages our bodies give us. Perhaps it's the stigma of whining about every little ache and pain that keeps us from pursuing immediate medical attention. It could be the likelihood that our complaints are pretty normal, so we refrain from rushing to judgment.

I'm practicing this well-established art right now. It's odd for me because I've already had breast cancer, and I am usually ultra-sensitive to every twinge of pain I feel. So when I woke this morning, with a tight and aching feeling in my chest, one would have thought I'd be racing out the door, headed for the nearest emergency room. I considered the fact that perhaps I need to be seen, that a chest X-ray might be in order, but I took no action -- because I explained the feeling away. It went something like this:

It must be the way I slept. I slept in a different bed, with one child and one dog, and I don't think I moved an inch all night.

The feeling gets less intense with time. At this moment, I can only feel something -- and it's very mild -- if I inhale deeply.

If I have the same feeling tomorrow morning, I will pursue it -- no, I won't pursue it just yet because I wont' be sleeping in my own bed for a few more nights. I'll wait until I get back to my own bed and see what happens. Maybe this bed is not good for me.

This goes on and on. For me, I think it happens because I suspect nothing really is wrong with me. Perhaps I am dismissing something serious but mostly, I'm chalking this behavior to progress. Because there was a day when I ran to the dentist for a bump on the roof of my mouth -- it was nothing -- and I cried to get myself a next-day mammogram for some lumpy tissue I was convinced was cancer -- it wasn't -- and now, I am happy to feel more like a normal person. I am happy to have perfected my new art, which incidentally I will abandon in an instant if the discomfort persists.

My husband says he's had this feeling before when getting out of bed. I think I'm going to be OK.

Within Our Grasp, Or Slipping Away? Assuring a New Era of Scientific and Medical Progress is a twenty one page report written by Johns Hopkins University and seven other institutions.

These institutions petitioned Congress not to let biomedical research funding stagnate. The scientists say that funding for cancer, Alzheimer's disease and spinal cord injury research is not keeping up with the times.

The scientists argued years of stagnant budgets for the National Institute of Health interrupted promising research and drove young investigators into other careers.

"Warning bells should be sounding loudly in Congress and among the public, " said Edward Miller, Hopkins dean and CEO. "The world's premier biomedical research engine is at risk"

Currently, eight of ten research grant applications are going unfunded, according to the report and principal investigators are spending more time raising funds instead of conducting research.

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.
  

Pancreatic cancer is one of the deadliest forms of cancer. So any bit of progress on the pancreatic cancer front is a big deal. And researchers are happy to report they've found a chemotherapy drug that can help patients who have received surgery prevent a return of the disease for a longer period of time.

In a German study, participants who received Gemzar, or gemcitabine, lived an average of 13.4 months without their cancers coming back. Participants who did not receive the drug lived without the disease for 6.9 months. While the findings of this study may seem modest, they really are quite encouraging because pancreatic cancer is such a rapid killer, and patients with this disease have the worst chances of recovery.

This study, published in Wednesday's Journal of the American Medical Association, brings hope for the mere 20 percent of pancreatic cancer patients who are candidates for surgery. While surgery is the best hope for a cure, the disease still returns in the majority of cases -- so Gemzar is surely worth a shot.

It should be noted that some study authors report financial ties to Gemzar drugmaker Eli Lilly and Co. Researchers, however, report the firm had no influence in design or data interpretation.

If we made no further progress in breast cancer research from this day on, the number of women dying from breast cancer five years from now would still drop substantially because we've progressed so much over the past few years, says MD Eric Winer in the October 2006 issue of Oprah magazine. Winer, director of the Breast Oncology Center at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and associate professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, is right. There has been a lot of progress. Breast cancer research is on a roll. And here are seven reasons why.

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.

I have had a hard time keeping my counseling appointments lately. Life keeps getting in the way, and counseling keeps getting pushed to the side. The last time I called my counselor to cancel -- due to an emergency room trip with my three-year-old -- I mentioned that my inability to keep up with sessions was perhaps a precursor to an eventual termination of our counseling relationship. My counselor -- Lindsay -- said this was maybe an accurate assessment, that we should discuss the possibility of an ending point. We haven't yet discussed it, though, because I have not made the time to contact her. I have continued to leave counseling on the back burner.

But today Lindsay sent me an e-mail to check in. She wrote that I am probably going to be okay on my own now -- in the aftermath of cancer -- and that we should have one final session to reflect on my progress over the past 16 months. I have not replied to Lindsay -- not because I am busy with other things but simply because her words made me cry. They still make me cry, hours later. I'm not exactly sure why. And I'm not exactly sure how I will follow up on scheduling my very last session.

I assume my tears -- my sadness -- are part of the healing process, part of the separation anxiety I feel each time a part of my treatment ends and a part of my life moves on. I assume I am sad at the prospect of leaving a vital part of my recovery behind, about leaving the comfort of my counseling chair, about leaving Lindsay. The possibilities are endless. And I suppose we will cover all possibilities when Lindsay and I sit down for our last, final, concluding session -- when we recall how much I have grown since the day we first met, when I could barely mutter a word about cancer without weeping uncontrollably, when I could barely manage to find pleasure in my days, when I could barely imagine that life could -- and would -- offer me peace and happiness.

Today, life is good. And it's clear that counseling is no longer necessary for my survival. But that doesn't make it any easier to make my final appointment. To contemplate saying my last goodbye. To tackle life completely on my own. Which is what I will do -- in time -- so I can continue moving on, away from breast cancer.

The Beck family blogs about life in California -- about soccer games and parades and hikes and family trips. They display happy photos of their kids eating pancakes made by daddy and playing on the beach and dressing up for Halloween. And they also blog about breast cancer -- because Valerie Beck, wife and mom of two young children, was diagnosed with this disease on June 26, 2006.

Valerie is just two months into her journey and has just completed her second chemotherapy treatment. She has already survived surgery and scary pathology results and some dark moments. But Valerie will surely conquer cancer with her happy take on life, her supportive family, and her ability to go with the flow -- however unpredictable it may be. And her husband -- author of the family blog -- keeps all readers updated on Valerie's progress. He is positive, hopeful, and a bit frightened too. On July 8, he wrote:

What a past couple days, my beautiful bride Valerie, my wife, my life long partner has a serious fight in front of her. She is going to grow old with me, she is going to help me spoil our grandchildren, we will beat this! I have faith, and I believe, but I also believe you cannot hide from the awful truths, this is not a nice disease. Three of the best doctors in the world do not come rushing to your aid in ONE DAY if they thought "you will easily make it through this" (which is what it seems I am always telling Valerie). I am trying to be strong, I feel I have to be, but sitting here in front of an inanimate object I find it easier to share my inner fears. I do have faith we will make it through this ..... it just won't be easy.

It won't be easy. But it can be done. Best wishes, Beck family!

In celebration of his 50th birthday, fitness enthusiast Patrick Thompson and his over-sized inflatable penguin Percy start the epic journey to cycle across Australia to raise funds for child cancer research today.

His fundraiser was inspired by the loss of three friends to cancer. Thompson estimates it will take 80 days to finish the journey from Margaret River in WA to the Manning River at Taree in NSW. He hopes to raise more than $50,000 for the Children's Leukemia and Cancer Research Foundation.

According to if it's bloody easy, everybody would be doing it Thompson, he has been training most of his life for this unusual and challenging event. The Pedalling Penguin Appeal website has been launched where you can learn more about Thompson, Percy the Penguin, check his progress at Where is Patrick? and donate a few dollars to a worthy cause.

George W. Bush declared five years ago that no federal funding would be allocated for embryonic stem cell research. He has not changed his mind -- and two weeks ago vetoed a bill that would allow this research. He says that supporting the bill would be supporting the taking of innocent human life in order to find medical benefits for others. For Bush, it crosses a moral boundary. But most Americans support stem cell research and would like to see the Bush White House loosen its restrictions, says Kathy Hudson, director of the Genetics and Public Policy Center at Johns Hopkins University in Washington. Until this happens, though, scientists and researchers find themselves in an ethically-charged minefield, operating carefully and responsibly and ethically.

Dr. Peter Dirks -- a neurosurgeon specializing in childhood brain cancer at Toronto's Hospital for Sick Children who has been making headlines around the world for isolating brain cancer stem cells two years ago -- is one person weighing in on controversial issue of stem cell research. Dirks does not use embryonic stem cells but instead uses cells from tumors removed during brain surgery that would otherwise be discarded. But he says embryonic stem cell research is critical for his success. It's what has led to the findings that exist today -- and it holds the clues for further discovery. It's a delicate matter, though, regardless of the politics surrounding the issue. Before he harvests stem cells from any patient's brain tumor, for example, Dirks asks parents to sign a three and a half-page consent form. And that's just the beginning.

Federally-funded embryonic stem cell research does not yet have its beginning here in the United States. Maybe the tides will change. Maybe we will see progress. Maybe we won't. Only time will tell.

I've been keeping a journal ever since I was first diagnosed with breast cancer. I first wrote by hand in a pink fabric-covered book, sprinkled with multi-colored polka dots. It looked feminine -- which is why I bought it -- and it's vibrance made me feel inspired, motivated, eager to write down the dreaded details of the beginning of my journey. Then I stopped writing in this book and began typing my words in an on-line journal -- a blog. My husband designed the presentation of it, with a pink banner that serves as the backdrop for the title -- my Breast Cancer blog. My first entry was completed on December 21, 2004 and I am still chronicling my journey here. I am also writing for this site -- the Cancer Blog -- and I write whenever and wherever else I can record my words. I do it because it helps me process information in a quiet, calming, introspective way. It soothes me, helps me work through panic and anxiety, helps me heal, and helps me chart my progress. When I look back at what I've written, I realize how far I've come -- or haven't come -- and it helps me move forward. I recommend journaling for everyone, and I recommend these seven simple suggestions for getting started.

I clearly remember reading a pamphlet about a test that might determine with pretty good accuracy whether or not I would benefit from chemotherapy for breast cancer. This was more than a year ago and I hoped, prayed, wished upon a star that I would be a candidate for this test -- and that the result would reveal that I did not need the toxic chemotherapy that I feared with every fiber of my being. But I did not qualify for this test because it's only effective for tumors that are estrogen receptor positive -- and I am negative. So I received chemotherapy and while I've survived it, there still remains an important issue -- did I need it?

I realize that you do the best you can with what you have to work with at the time. However, I am pleased to report, the scorched earth era of a chemotherapy drug designed to kill everything in its path in attempting to wipe out cancer -- might finally be coming to an end.

At present, pharmaceutical companies are carrying out clinical trials on approximately 400 cancer drugs, many with a targeted ability to kill cancer cells without damaging healthy cells in the process. And that my friends, is progress.

It's about time. Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I had little idea about how generalized cancer treatments were, or how medieval I would come to view them when I discovered what the oncology team had to offer. Frankly, I was disappointed and began to understand the disillusionment that motivated cancer patients to seek alternative therapies. I really expected, living in the 21st century, much more in the way of specialized targeted cancer drugs.

It wasn't the fault of the oncology team -- you really can only work with the tools you are given. With 400 cancer drugs now in clinical trials, I am beginning to get the sense we might be headed in the right direction. To a place I imagined we had already arrived.