Over at BlogHer.com, Blogger Advisory Council member Catherine Morgan has a fantastic round up of breast cancer blogging.

Many women are blogging about their breast cancer fears. From little fears to big fears. They have fears of mammograms, fears of treatments, fears or recurrences, fears of dying…and on and on. What are your breast cancer fears?

From Womenonthefence – Breast Cancer Awareness Month…

I had my own scare when I was 22 years old. One day, I found a lump in my left breast. It was scary as hell. I have a history of breast cancer in my family, and until I saw the doctor and got some answers, I did not sleep. At all. Even my husband, (who was my boyfriend at the time) became so desensitized to “feeling me up.” I mean, he felt my left boob like twenty times, and said, “I don’t like the way that feels.”

From On The Road To Queendom – Mammo…what?

I was petrified at the thought of the big scary monster of a machine smashing the hell outta my little skittle titties.

See, there is also the little fact that my mother’s sister, my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer about 6 years ago. They found it early and she was able to treat it and it has not come back. So, there was also that deep rooted fear that maybe, just maybe it had crept into my tiny little body too. That the big scary “C” monster would get me too.

From Battling Breast Cancer With Class – Fear of Recurrence…

I read the survival statistics for my particular stage of breast cancer at the five-year mark and they say I have a 49 percent to 67 percent chance of making it. Every once in awhile I’ll get stuck in a mode of fear and start obsessing about these grim facts. Then I realize all I can do is pop a Tamoxifin pill every day that is supposed to suppress estrogen, cross my fingers and carry on. I reason that yes, cancer could come back at anytime. But right now, I have my health back and I will never take that for granted again. So why not enjoy feeling normal as much as I can? The seasons change this week. Nothing ever stays the same, so cease the day!

From Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer – My Pregnancy Fears Allayed…

I have mentioned before that the effect of chemotherapy on my fertility was the most devastating aspect of being diagnosed with breast cancer. For some women, the result is permanent infertility, others, like me, have complicated fertility issues post treatment. One of my chemo buddys did get pregnant post treatment with the help of IVF, but tragically developed a recurrence while pregnant. This brings up a lot of fears for me. If a miracle were to happen and I conceived, would this increase my own chances of recurrence. There is not enough statistical evidence as yet to answer this question satisfactorily. However, the latest research does show that pregant women who develop breast cancer do not have worse odds of death or of cancer returning than other young breast cancer patients.

From Thought from Mary Alice Monroe – Life At The End Of A Fishing Line…

“This was her body. She knew she should let go of her old self-image and make peace with the way her body was now… Mia closed her eyes and said a small prayer for strength. She had to let this fear of cancer go down the drain with the dirty water. To live fully, she had to believe she would live.” (pg. 49, Time is a River)

From Susan Heim on Parenting – A Mother’s Story of Breast Cancer…

Since the cancer had already spread, it was necessary to find out just how far it had gone. Did it travel through my nodes and bloodstream, finding a home someplace else in my body? Needless to say, the days and weeks that followed were filled with full body scans, tests, and anxiety about the unknown.

Let’s face it: my son was four years old at the time I was diagnosed. Every mother knows that the will to survive comes in part from wanting to be here for yourself, but in larger part because your child needs you to be here.

Read more here…

I just love this post from Amy at I Could Cry But I Don’t Have Time- check out her blog here.

We have been tasked with adding our voices and sharing a story of how cancer has touched our lives. So consider me harnessed.

There are moments in your life that change you forever. Some are joyful and others are devastating. You remember where you were sitting, what the moments right before felt like and how that turn of events changed the way you view the world from then on.

It started like any other ordinary day.

And then the phone rang.

It was my dad. He asked if I was busy or could I talk. He seemed distracted. And then he just said it. “Listen, your mom has breast cancer.”

So, how do you react to that one!? I will tell you how we reacted. The way we always do, as a family.

Taking my mom’s lead we all sprung into action and dealt with it. Head on.

My mom? She showed us a brand of strength that we would stood in awe of. She kept her wits and most importantly her sense of humor through surgery, treatments and the misery of hair loss. My dad? He showed up one day at my son’s basketball game with my mom’s wig on to keep us all amused. My brother? He kept us all going with his undying ability to keep it cool and point out the absurdities that kept us laughing. Me? I did the research and made the binders. Hey, what can I say? I am a Virgo, it is how I cope.

Throughout her treatments she was always concerned about the other patients. One particular day comes to mind. A women was there for her first chemo treatment. She was a young mom and was so very frightened. My mom sat with her, held her hand, looked into her eyes and helped her cope with what she had to face. She acted like… well, like a mom. The quintessential mom. Even through this, her most difficult time, she kept reaching out to others.

I am happy to let you know that mom has been cancer free for 7 years. She has walked in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, proudly wearing her pink shirt hoping to inspire others to find the bravery to keep going. Her philosophy has always been one of reaching out to help others. When I told her about Bloggers for More Birthdays she embraced the idea of the movement. “Anything that will help build awareness and early detection is something I want to be a part of.”

Thank you mom, for showing me what bravery looks like, and for keeping the glass half full. I love you.

On her blog, Catherine Morgan writes a tribute to her friend Becky, who fought cancer, and inspired her friend Catherine.

My contribution to this effort is about an angel named Becky…

Becky was my best friend.  A wonderful mother.  And a great mom-mom.  Even though she’s been gone for over seven years, a day rarely goes by that I don’t think of her and wish she were here.  Time has helped to replace some of my grief with many lovely memories, but it hasn’t healed my anger towards the disease that took her from us.  Cancer.

I hate cancer, and I hate that my friend didn’t get a chance to be a survivor.   Why her?  She deserved to be a survivor, she deserved to have more birthdays.  She fought this disease with every ounce of strength she had, but in the end cancer took away every ounce of strength she had.

Although I’m angry, I’m also grateful for the time I did have Becky in my life.  She was there for me during some very tough times.  I know I’m who I am today, partly because of her influence in my life.  I only wish I was able to thank her for that.

No matter how much time goes by, I will never forget the angel she was…and still is.

Julie Pippert is a member of the American Cancer Society Blogger Advisory Council, creator of the blog Julie Pippert: Using My Words and contributor to Momocrats and Motherhood.com.

It was days, really, between learning my friend was being sent home, cancer treatment suspended, and learning she had passed away. Sadly, the first symptom came well after the cancer had already metastasized and spread. They began intensive treatment, aggressive. It was hard on her, but she had a lot to live for: loving family, loving friends, and two beautiful children, as well as all of her work, including a book she authored for children about children on the autism spectrum. That was her: a do-er.

She was the sort of person you could picture growing older, still doing. I could even picture her forty years from now blowing out a cake full of candles. In my imagination, over her cake, her hair was still bright, as it was before she got sick. She’d do that, I knew, keep herself looking nice. She’d have a big smile, and she’d tell everyone they shouldn’t have made such a fuss, but everyone would ignore her because they knew she was deeply touched — family and family times were everything. I wished that for her with all my heart.

When I got the message she was gone, I denied it. I didn’t believe it until I read her obituary in the paper. I left a comment on the online memorial. I spoke about what a fantastic person she was. I spoke about how heartbreaking a loss it was. I mentioned nothing of my anger.

The next day, I went for a run. My feet pounded the track in fury. The hot Texas summer sun pounded me back, just as brutal as my anger. I hate this, I thought, I hate this day. My children had been surly, uncooperative, and cranky. The day was intolerably hot and humid. The sun was relentless. I pulled myself along the straight stretch before a curve that took me along the water.

My iPod stumbled out of my pacing songs and Falling Slowly came on. I nearly clicked to the next song, but the lyrics caught and tugged at my grief. We’ve still got time…the song trilled. But my friend doesn’t, I thought, my friend hasn’t got more time. Why not? I knew how she’d feel about that, and that she’d be of two minds, and unapologetic. That’s how she was. She called it like it was. But she also called blessings for what they were too. I felt ashamed of my ingratitude: for having known her, for all the gifts I received from her, for the beautiful children she brought into the world and would not get to see grow up, for the fact that I had today, another day with my children even if they were cranky and I was grief-stricken and miserably hot.

I took the curve in the track a little slowly and I thought hard about her. She’d have loved this hot day. She’d have loved to be healthy and bickering with her children about getting ready for day camp. She would have loved having this day, I knew. And I wanted to give her to, a late or early birthday gift, depending upon how you looked at it.

Here it is, I thought with my mind and heart, here is this day, another day, one you would have liked, one that was hot, one that was about being a mom, one that was about making  a healthy choice. I sent the experience of the day up and out, and away to her. And a little bit of grief fell away from my heart.

She may not have another birthday, but I do. She may not get to celebrate another birthday with her kids, but I can. And I can send the appreciation and joy from that to her.

My friend, and all the other friends, mothers, sisters, daughters, brothers, fathers, husbands, wives – all the other people who have gone, or are still here fighting, or stand beside someone fighting cancer – are why I joined the American Cancer Society’s More Birthdays effort. I can take a page from my friend’s book and be a do-er. I can celebrate and recognize that every birthday is a blessing.

Join the American Cancer Society in the effort to celebrate More Birthdays. All you need to do is dedicate a blog post to someone you love who has been affected by cancer and celebrate their lives.
You can check out other posts on the American Cancer Society’s Birthday Blog for inspiration, but know that whatever you write, you’re raising awareness and inspiring others to join ACS in the fight against cancer.
It would also help if you could host the badge on your blog (or Facebook page, or
MySpace Page) to encourage others to join.

Happy Birthday.