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Role of cancer patient emotional for teen actress
SANTA MONICA -- Sofia Vassilieva cried uncontrollably the first time she saw herself in the makeup that would transform her into a young woman dying of leukemia for "My Sister's Keeper."
"We were doing the screen test. It was just the beginning of it all. I came back to the trailer and I was hysterical. It is so hard to see yourself like that and envision people going through that," Sofia says during an interview at the Casa del Mar Hotel where she joined castmates Cameron Diaz and Abigail Breslin to talk about the film version of the best-selling book by Jodi Picoult.
Sofia plays Kate, a teenager whose long battle with cancer has left her pale and frail. The fight appears to be coming to an end when her sister takes legal action so she no longer has to be used as donor for the ailing sibling.
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Dr. Vassi Gardikas: 'I knew I was going to live'
Dr. Vassi Gardikas had been operating on women with breast cancer for years, so it didn't really surprise her when she was diagnosed with the disease.
She knew she wasn't immune.
And she knew it was good news when the pathologist told her what type of cancer she had -- ductal carcinoma in situ, confined to one site.
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Audrey Redmond: 'I had too much to live for'
People really didn't talk about breast cancer when Audrey Redmond was diagnosed 40 years ago.
"It was hush, hush," she said. "Cancer was a death sentence."
But death wasn't an option for the then-29-year-old living in Ohio: "I had too much to live for."
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TV show finds Tulare woman's sisters
At age 66, Sandra Peterson of Tulare learned that she had two sisters she never knew existed. She praised both God and "The Locator" TV show, which reunites lost relatives.
Hours after hearing the news, Peterson dialed a phone number.
"This is your sister, Sandra Jean," she said nervously.
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Breast cancer two words you never want to hear
I was sobbing, shivering in a pink paper vest that opened in the front. The doctor's assistant had told me to take off my blouse and bra and put the vest on. The assistant was nice and did her best to console me, saying it was OK to cry: "It's fine. Everyone does it. Everyone is scared."
She took my vital signs - I think - and walked out. I watched my tears splash onto the floor. Reality was setting in. I was terrified.
I have breast cancer.
Monica Blanco-Etheridge said she was raised like a lot of Hispanic women, believing doctors are always right.
When she was 18, she trusted her family doctor when he said the tiny lump she discovered was probably just a cyst and nothing to worry about. He never ordered tests.
At 35, she noticed the lump had grown.
Her husband, Mark, convinced her to get it checked.
It was cancer and had likely been growing for 17 years.
"Cancer never entered my mind," she said.
Treatment consumed her life for eight months.
The high-dose chemotherapy made her sick and her hair fall out.
Her husband, family and prayer -- she's a devoted Catholic -- helped her cope.
Blanco-Etheridge worried about her family. She had six sisters she thought might share her fate.
Her mother was devastated.
But she has some pleasant memories, like when she and her sister, Pat, went to shop for a wig to cover her bald head and nearly all the other sisters showed up to meet them.
And there's her dog, Paco Etheridge, the runt Chihuahua she got during treatment. He was missing his tail.
She took it as a sign they were meant to be together: "I didn't have hair and he didn't have a tail."
Cancer brought new meaning to Blanco-Etheridge's job -- helping the poor get health care.
"For me, it made me become outspoken. ... It's really critical to educate ethnic women about breast cancer."
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