She?s an especially beautiful young woman even when her identity is nearly hidden.

She was seated, shrouded in a long coat, her head covered with the hood of a sweatshirt.

?Nice to meet you,? she said. She didn?t get up. Her body looked weary.

But her seemingly unblinking, dark-coloured eyes were alive ? peeking out from behind that hood with all the readiness of a prize fighter.

?This arm I don?t get any use out of it anymore,? she explained. ?They can only use this arm.?

Bermudian, Lori Mello, 24, is battling cancer. She?s been examined and probed, pricked and studied like a lab experiment. That?s why one of her arms has practically given up.

And the relentless onslaught she?s enduring doesn?t rest for Christmas.

Today the 24-year-old is due to board a plane to Boston where she?ll undergo aggressive chemotherapy treatment to fight non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

But one month ago, long before the scheduled trip, the people who love Lori celebrated Christmas early.

While some of her friends were thinking about Thanksgiving, the really close friends were with Lori, as she ripped open Christmas presents in November.

?We spent way more than normal on it,? confessed one of Lori?s friends.

There was an elaborate dinner, Christmas carols, even a fully decorated tree.

And perhaps the sincerest gesture of that night lies in the fact that all of Lori?s friends first got flu shots, because they didn?t want to burden her with any more ailments than the one she?s already got.

?I cried a lot,? said Lori. ?It was great. It was Christmas.?

Her friends presented her with a scrapbook of memories.

The pages were individually constructed by three of Lori?s dearest friends: Jennifer Morris, Lauren Mahoney, and Kara Mederios. Kara and Lori have been friends for as long as anyone can remember. Her page was titled: ?Why Lori and I are Soul Mates.?

?It was funny,? said Jennifer Morris, ?because when we gave her the scrapbook we were all like crying, but then we?d burst into laughter because some of it is so hilarious.?

That same trio gathered again in mid-December to tell about Lori.

Despite the obvious life or death challenges that lie ahead, the night was filled with an amazing amount of laughter.

In fact, in the past seven months since Lori?s diagnosis, there?s been more laughter than any outsider would dare expect.

?We don?t feel awkward around her because of it,? Jennifer explained.

?We?re all so comfortable with each other. It?s no biggie.?

Kara Mederios is the one who was there with Lori when she got her diagnosis at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston.

The doctor walked over and set down a box of tissues in front of the girls. His first two words were: ?I?m sorry.?

?I kept waiting for her to crack,? said Kara. ?I really did.?

But in those early days, Lori never cracked. She was the strongest one of all.

?I comforted everyone else.

?Everyone else was falling apart. I was the one saying: ?It?s gonna be okay. I?m going to be fine. If I have cancer, I?ll just fight it.??

And ever since that?s exactly what she?s done.

It all started at the beginning of this year with Lori complaining of chest pains ? consistent lung clenching chest pains.

She saw her doctor, who said she should go to Boston for further tests.

Only hours after arriving at the hospital on a spring day in May, she was in an office with a box of tissues under her nose.

The oncologists at Dana Farber insisted she start chemotherapy right there on the spot.

Since then, she?s had six rounds of traditional chemotherapy. And the cancer in her chest hasn?t shrunk ? it has grown.

That?s why doctors have ordered a more aggressive form of treatment. These sessions can last as long as 33 hours each and the medicine is four times more powerful.

It?s a regimen that will stretch from about Christmas Day until just after the new year.

If it works, a stem cell transplant will be next.

It?s a gruelling medical journey. But Lori knows it?s her only chance at beating non-Hodgkins Lymphoma ? a disease that has attempted to steal her beauty, almost killed her spirit, and is trying to take her life.

She has no plans to surrender on any front.

?It?s been a roller coaster ride,? Lori said, then took a deep breath. For the first time the entire room is quiet. Her friends were silent. She has removed her hood now to reveal sprouts of hair just re-emerging since her last go at radiation. She spoke again: ?It?s been a roller coaster ride because I never ever expected my chest pains to be cancer. ?When it came back as non-Hodgkins, then the chance of curing it dropped a lot.?

It?s been hard, Lori?s friends admit, to make plans for 2007.

In the meantime, they have been planning fundraisers with the help of Lori?s family and her extended network of friends.

There?s been an alumni cocktail party at Saltus, her alma mater. There?s been a golf-a-thon, Lori?s cousin is a golf pro.

There was even a well-meaning neighbour who just handed over her monthly pension cheque. ?We?re reaching our target,? said Jennifer who concedes she?s the overly protective mother figure of the bunch.

Lori?s going to need all the financial assistance she can get because, according to her family, their insurance company will pay only 75 percent of the treatment costs. And that doesn?t begin to address the $175,000 stem-cell transplant.

Add that to all the travel back and forth to the US and the Boston living expenses for Lori?s parents. As if survival wasn?t daunting enough, the cost of survival is nearly insurmountable.

Last night the girls got together for dinner ? one more gathering before Lori heads out to continue her fight.

She?s energised by a community that has wrapped its arms around her and friends who?ve never left her side.

?Everyone took shifts coming out to me. Lauren?s been there every time I have chemo and I?m vomiting. She?s the one standing there flushing the toilet for me.?

There was more laughter, then one more round of rare silence. Then Lori says: ?My friends have gone beyond anything I could have ever imagined.?