For most of my life, I’ve been a film buff with a particular soft spot for kids’ movies. Even before we became parents, I’d drag my husband to the latest Disney (and later Pixar and Dreamworks) had to offer. And now that we have two excuses to go to these movies (a.k.a. our son and daughter), we’ve seen it all: From perennial classics like Cinderella and more recent hits like Up to less-than-stellar-but-my-kids-still-love-it movies like Gulliver’s Travels and Yogi Bear. (Seriously!?! They couldn’t come out with one good family movie this past Christmas?)

So I kind of consider myself a bit of a children’s film aficionado and with the Academy Awards just a few weeks away, I feel compelled to say the following: Not only should Toy Story 3 win Best Animated Feature Film, it should also win Best Picture of the Year…hands down.

OK, I’ll admit it:  I can’t walk out of the grocery store without grabbing the latest issue of People or Us Weekly. I watch hundreds of movies and entire seasons of TV shows a year (thank you Netflix!). And I haven’t missed a Golden Globe or Academy Awards’ ceremony since I was 9 years old.

But despite my Hollywood obsession, I’ve never been compelled to read any celebrity memoir, even though there are plenty dominating Amazon. That is, until now. For some reason, I just had to pick up a copy of Portia de Rossi’s memoir, Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain. For me, there was something about the Ally McBeal-eating disorder-journey to finding love with Ellen combination that I found irresistible. But while the book didn’t disappoint—actually I couldn’t put it down—it honestly scared the hell out of me.

I’ve been a health journalist for 14 years, and I’ve covered topics ranging from breast cancer and autoimmune diseases to depression and eating disorders. I always feel like I’ve “seen it all” as they say, and yet I’m still repeatedly shocked by certain medical issues that people face today. One that I recently came across really took me by surprise.

We’ve made such great strides when it comes to breast cancer:  We have better treatments with fewer side effects. We have much-needed funding and dozens upon dozens of organizations dedicated to helping find a cure. And, of course, we have awareness: The entire month of October is bathed in pink; support groups abound; thousands walk in solidarity with signs on their backs proudly exclaiming, “I’m a Survivor!” or “I’m a Previvor!”

But what about those women who are neither?  While we try  to focus on the positive when it comes to breast cancer, the truth is that far too many women do succumb to the disease. In fact, 40,000 people die from the illness each year. So what do we call women who are facing metastatic disease? They are neither survivors nor previvors. And, according to a report in The New York Times by Roni Caryn Rabin, they sometimes feel “invisible” within the advocacy community.

So recently I heard about this new book that’s been making headlines. The title is Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and it’s one of the worst (or best, depending on how you look at it) cases of extreme parenting I’ve ever come across. The book, written by Yale law professor Amy Chua, explains why she thinks that Chinese parents are “better” than those of us here in America. Don’t even get me started!

We’ve been so blessed with the media attention that Previvors has received so far. And it’s still going strong. Check out the latest clip that aired on NBC-WPTV in South Florida. It was a Susan G. Komen for the Cure segment, written and produced by Judith Kolich.

Previvors featured on NBC

I’m Type A, and I’m proud of it. In fact, I honestly think I can attribute any success I’ve ever achieved to the fact that I’ve always been overly organized, ambitious, and somewhat obsessive. I thrive on tight deadlines and stress.

That’s how I ran the New York City Marathon in 2001 despite the fact that I’m far from athletic—for me, the race was 99% mental. I taped my running schedule up on a wall in my studio apartment and never deviated from it. I charted what I ate, how much water I drank, how many gel packs I consumed. I pushed my body to the limit because, being Type-A, there was no way I was going to give up.

The same is true for my magazine articles and my book, Previvors. Juggling my work with raising two young children was all the more easier for me because I seem to excel at multi-tasking. I maximize every free minute I have; relaxation isn’t easy to come by.

But, as much as I appreciate my Type-A qualities, I need a break!

Happy New Year! After celebrating the first few days of 2011 with dear friends and family, I’ve found myself reflecting on the year that passed and wondering about the year to come. You see, last January as 2010 began, I knew exactly what was in store for me: I figured I’d pretty much spend the entire year preparing for the release of my first book, Previvors, in October.

And it turns out, I did.

The first six months of the 2010 were spent working on revises, helping come up with an appropriate title, securing endorsements, and fact-checking the book from start to finish. The second six months were spent spreading the word about the book as much as possible. And, in between all the work, I tried to carve out a semblance of a balanced life (like that exists), by planning date nights with my husband, spending as much quality time with my children as possible, and even having an occasional lunch with friends.

I look back at 2010, and I know it’s a year I will never forget. But as I look forward to 2011, I have to admit I’m a little anxious.

For the past six weeks, I’ve been speaking at various events throughout the country about my book, Previvors. And many people have asked me how I first decided to become a writer. Well, at my most recent book signing at Barnes & Noble in Boca Raton, part of my answer was there in person: A man by the name of Anthony Jaswinski.

For those of you who read my last blog post, you were probably as shocked as I was about the sign I saw in my local grocery store. It was prominently displayed above pink teddy bears, pink water bottles and other pink merchadise, and it actually said “50% Off: Breast Cancer.”

I was appalled and decided I’d go back to the store the following day to ask the manager to either change the sign or remove it. Here’s how it went down: