Two Hands

Thoughts on Anniversaries, Healing, and Abundant Joy

2010-07-01T07:23:00.000-07:00

Each year, on this day, it has been hard not to look back and think about the day as it unfolded six years ago. Each broad-ranging emotion, each action, each word as it was said to me, the look on each person’s face as I told them of my diagnosis. At times those memories sting with the poignancy of the moment as though it happened seconds ago. This year, only one year out of treatment from the recurrence, I find myself facing the day differently.

As 2009 came to a close, I dedicated 2010 to a new start. I needed to put the cancer in its appropriate place in my life – in the past. So I set off on a journey. I had physical side effects that were lingering from treatment and side effects from the hormone-suppressing medication I would be taking for five years. I was trying to heal, physically, emotionally, and spiritually and it led me on a wonderful path of mind body wellness and healing. I began to explore Reiki, yoga, meditation, Ayurveda, and it was all so much to absorb and understand what I needed in my life and how to incorporate as lasting changes. I spent a weekend at the Chopra Center to pull the pieces together and instead it changed my perceptions again.

I learned that meditation isn’t a nice thing to do from time to time, but is the foundation for mind body wellness. I learned that before I could ever begin to heal my body, I had to heal my heart. I had to let go of the pain and the feelings of failure as result of my diagnosis both times. I learned that instead of defensively closing my heart to protect it, I needed to open it to accept love and healing. And the rest would flow, with work, commitment to wellness, and the grace of God it would flow. And it has…

After two months of primordial sound meditation, I am already seeing improvements in feeling a bit more centered, a reduction to my slightly high heart rate, and general well being. I try to always choose colorful, healthy, fresh meals in Ayurvedic tradition. I rededicated myself to a fitness program that seems to be effective so far. My lymphedema issues have stabilized a bit for now. All positive. All moving forward. All blessings for body, mind, and spirit.

Looking back, I am reminded of the beautiful words of Hafiz:

The earth has disappeared beneath my feet,

Illusion fled from all my ecstasy.

Now like a radiant sky creature

God keeps opening.

God keeps opening

Inside of Me.

--Hafiz

In the beginning of this cancer journey, I refused to believe that I was so shallow that lowly cancer would change me. I was determined to disassociate myself with the people claiming that cancer changed their lives in positive ways. Cancer wasn't the catalyst for positive change. Cancer removed my illusions about life and in doing so allowed me to be more aware of the delicate nature of life. It has allowed me to recognize the abundant joys of life on a very different level than ever before. The adundant joys, however, came from somewhere far, far, far from ugly, destructive cancer.

The memories of this anniversary may always be bitter sweet, but I have a most grateful heart today. What more could I ask?

Time, time, time; Look what's become of me....

2010-04-29T11:55:00.000-07:00

...While I looked around; For my possibilities....

I disappear for months and start back with a quote from the Bangles? Well, let me tell you, there are no hazy shades of winter here. Nothing is hazy at all. It's been full speed ahead.

So many times I have started to write and as I write I get this odd feeling that I am either sounding a) whiny about the little things when really I should be grateful to be alive or b) a little full of myself regarding the things I find important as a survivor. Meh, all bloggers are a little whiny and arrogant, no? On with life as a survivor….

This year is going by at lightening speed. Seriously. Where did the first four months go? I started the year teaching three classes in addition to my regular job. I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking with this schedule, but you can do anything for ten weeks, right? But I also fit time in for a new passion: boxing. I have been working out a boxing gym. Love it! When I am in the ring, I feel incredibly strong. I literally have my Rocky moment! And then my trainer gets in the ring and I feel like a breathless, weak, wimp. But what a great work out!

The best part of being a survivor, is that the debates with the insurance company keep popping up (you feel the sarcasm, right?). Nothing like needing a service and having to wait six months to get it. I have been having lymphedema issues in my arm and back. I have been trying yoga lymph drainage massage while waiting for the physical therapy to be approved. I flew across country last week and wore my sleeve, but that didn’t stop my back from swelling (looks lack back fat on one side…sexy, no?). Hopefully the physical therapy will kick in next week. My oncologist also mentioned that recent studies are showing a 30% reduction in swelling with acupuncture. I am hoping that as soon as this study is published and the fields are identified I can start some acupuncture too.

I am paying attention to all of my New Year’s resolutions and this is a record for me. Honesty to be starting the fifth month of the year and still have those resolutions in sight is a personal best. In fact, this weekend is THE weekend I have been waiting for all year. I will be enjoying yoga, meditation, and natural healing with, wait for it…I’m about to name drop….here it is…Deepak Chopra. Not only Deepak, but Erin, my long time bloggy friend and sweet wonderful healer, is joining me. We finally get to hang out in person. How cool is that?

So much change, so much good, so much living in 2010.

A New Year

2010-01-06T10:31:00.000-08:00

Welcome 2010. This year so far promises to bring new dventures, new hope, new beginnings, and new energy. I am filled with more hope than ever before about the future.

My goal is to become physically and mentally stronger which will not only help in my ongoing quest to fight cancer, but it will enhance my overall health and happiness. 2009 was a tough and wacky year that brought me great personal strength and sent me down a new path that involves natural healing. I find myself at the dawn of 2010 feeling inspired to forge ahead on this path.

I started on this journey when I was frustrated how I felt physically after chemo and radiation last year. I arm was aching, I lost range of motion in my shoulder, and lymphadema (the swelling in my arm)was rearing its ugly head (or should I say ugly big fat arm). My physical therapist explained that the main lymphatic vessel is between the lungs and the diaphragm and when we practice deep, breathing (into the diaphragm) we exercise the main lymphatic vessel (from memory here; she talked to me about this while bending my arm in a pretzel). She mentioned that there is some research that supports these deep breathing exercises to help with lymphadema. If nothing else it also helped with relaxation (when you can't sleep because you aren't comfortable because your arm and shoulder hurt).

And about the time I was in physical therapy, a friend offered to send me healing energy (Reiki). I trusted her (still do!) and decided that it couldn't hurt me. I experienced something in the first session that was amazing. The combination of that and physical therapy really helped me with my shoulder and arm issues.

About this time, one of my medications (hormone therapy) was causing this itchy, ugly, scabby rash on my hands (pretty and so sexy). My doctor suggested a topical steroid, but since the natural approach was really working for me, my cousin suggested I visit a natural healer and have him do some "vial" work on me. I wasn't sure what that was, but once again, it couldn't hurt. Within two weeks after seeing him my hands cleared up (except for some scars, but I'm workiing on that!).

The natural healilng engine was really picking up speed for me. Time spent each day doing deep breathing evolved into meditation (a twofer! so efficient). My natural curiosity led me to research meditation which led me to Deepak Chopra and Primordial Sound Meditation. And that led me to yoga and Ayurveda.

And now it is 2010 and I feel great. I am full of energy and hope and a desire to be healthy. I haven't made any resolutions, but I have made promises to myself. If I can make myself healthy, happy, and whole, it will not only bring me peace, but bring peace to those around me. Understanding and embracing the whole mind body connection is the key for me this year. With that in mind, I have promised myself the following:

1. Meditate daily.
2. Practice yoga.
3. Focus on a natural diet (Ayurveda).
4. Physical exercise daily.
5. Learn and practice Reiki.

Welcome 2010! So glad you are here.

Did I just hear Santa?

2009-12-17T06:55:00.000-08:00

Christmas greetings from Romeo and Lady.

PS How adorable are they?

The Giving Tree

2009-12-16T08:09:00.000-08:00

When I was young, I remember reading The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. I remembered the story as a poignant story about being willing to give whatever you have to benefit those whom you love. Rereading the story as an adult, I am not so sure I would interpret it the same way; however, I reconnected with the story when a dear friend had a tree planted in honor of my mother.

When my mother passed away, my friend asked if she could have a tree planted in a local park in honor of my mother. It took me a few months to be able to go forward with it emotionally, but in fall 2008, a beautiful tree was planted in a very sweet neighborhood park. When my mom first moved to California she immediately wrote to her family telling them of the purple trees in California. It seemed only appropriate to request a Jacaranda tree with its lovely purple blossoms. My sisters and I have enjoyed picnics by the tree and we have visited the tree on occasions even sneaking my doggies in for a visit at a park that doesn't allow dogs (what park does not allow dogs?). Since the park is so close to my office, I frequently go there on my lunch hour and check on the tree. I feel close to mom there. It feels good to be there.

I have watched the tree grow over the last year or so. It is a beautiful little tree with five strong branches, one for each daughter. It will grow to provide shade for the children who play in the park, it will provide a beautiful burst of purple color in the late spring and summer when it blooms, and it will watch over the weddings and birthday parties and other special events that frequently happen in the park. It is in fact a giving tree, much like my mom who gave everything she had for those she loved.

On November 30, her birthday, I went by for a visit. Much to my surprise there was a beautiful blossom at the very top. Strange because Jacarandas bloom around June. You can't really see it too well on the photo from my phone's camera (try clicking it to see it larger), but it was such a special and sweet gift to see such life and color crowning the tree on her birthday.

Faith or Fear?

2009-12-04T14:59:00.000-08:00

Life as a survivor has had its challenges. After my first diagnosis, I lived in fear of recurrence. In some ways I felt like I had to go out and do a lot of things in case there was a recurrence and I wouldn't have a chance. Although saying it, it sounds like I went traveling, and sky diving, and other fabulous things. Not so much. I took on challenging projects and got involved in events that have some social benefit (Race for the Cure, Relay for Life, etc.). I tried to give to the greater good thinking in some tangled way that karma would protect me from a recurrence.

If you have been reading along in the last year, you now that is not exactly how the story went. Somehow, through powers greater than myself, I was empowered during the second trip down the cancer journey. I powered (literally) through treatment and have been working on creating the life I want without cancer. I know that cancer will always be a part of my life, but I realized that it doesn't have to be a part of my present or future. Cancer is part of past. This time around I am respectfully putting cancer in its rightful place and moving forward fearlessly.

I determined I have two choices: I can live in fear of recurrence or I can live having faith in my healing. If I can believe 100% in my healing, the fear has no place in my life. I can be afraid that the cancer will come back, or I can live and embrace the life I do have. I thought this would be easier said than done, but really the opposite is so much harder.

Living in fear is hard. It is burdensome. It robs the joy from even the simplest of pleasures. It permeates every fiber of your being and follows you like a shadow. Shedding fear takes a leap of faith: faith in your God (however you describe or call God), faith in yourself, faith in the Universe. Honestly, though, what is there to lose? I can continue to walk carrying a heavy burden or I can simply put it down and move forward without restriction.

Once you leap into fearlessness a whole new world opens before you. It's brighter -- literally there is more light and more color. You can recognize all the love and positive energy around you. You start to attract people who feel the same energy you feel. The difference is amazing.

I welcome the close of a very difficult year and the beginning of a fearless future. Who is with me?

Is That a Heart on Your Banana or .......

2009-11-12T14:11:00.000-08:00

I don't even set ou to look for these. Really.

I am going about my business and suddenly I feel the need to take a second look. There is it. A heart.

Love is everywhere.

As Breast Cancer Awareness Month Comes to A Close...

2009-10-30T12:15:00.001-07:00

I am always on the fence with breast cancer awareness month. I like that there is awareness brought to this awful disease so that women (and men!) can be proactive about their health. We all need reminders and if the sea of pink doesn't remind you, you have bigger issues than getting regular screenings. But then there are the pink haters who tell you about all the companies that make millions off the cause marketing. How many businesses would do anything that does not improve the bottom line? Hello? No company makes a donation without expecting something in return whether that is a tax break, good public perception, good employee morale, or (gasp!) profit. Many companies choose to go pink because it is good for them. Why is this shocking to some?

Now, how I support it is different. I do not purchase everything featuring the pink ribbon. I buy a product if I like or need it. If that company also supports breast cancer, then I think that is a great bonus. Do I support my local neighbor kids when they put up a lemonaid stand? Absolutely. Do I buy soup featuring a pink label? Not likely. The sodium in that stuff will kill you! When my friendly grocery checker asks if I want to donate a dollar to cancer research, I often donate. When I see pink bags of pink candy coated chocolate candies that melt in your mouth not in your hand I run from those too. Sugar? Fat? Not friends if you are fighting cancer. I also simply write a check and make donations that I know go directly to research. Or I get involved in cancer walks and relays. Never once did I think pink marketing would end cancer, but I do believe it makes us aware and reminds to get regular screenings. This is very important.

If you want to buy pink candy, socks, ties, soup, and ribbons, go for it. I won't judge you. I would suggest that if you are doing it to benefit cancer research, then be smart about it. Make sure the label states exactly how much is going to be donated. "A portion of the proceeds..." is not good enough. It should be specific, such as "20% of the proceeds" or "$5 from the sale of this item."

And I will admit, I did my own fair share of shopping this month. I bought the Brighton Power of Pink bracelet (above). I have each of their annual bracelets since they started the collection. This one is my favorite. It is covered in hearts. It was meant for me, right? And I also ran across these. I have no idea how much Master Lock will make off these products, but they do state they will donate $15,000 to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. I like them because they are cute and girlie and pink and they are great products. I would have bought a lock anyway, but since they were pink I bought two. Want one? Let me know. More importantly, do your monthly self check and schedule your mammogram already. You didn't forget, did you?

Stand By Her

2009-10-08T07:28:00.000-07:00

Living through a breast cancer diagnosis or two truly helps you understand people and how they react to certain situations. I have learned so much about people from the faithful friends and family members who won't leave your side to the scared friends who hide from cancer and you in the process. It seems the ones who have had the toughest time addressing me or breast cancer have been the men in my life. First, the issue is intimate, scary, and emotional. All things that some men have a difficult time addressing. Of all the resources available about breast cancer, few address the needs of the men supporting women with this diagnosis. Luckily, that has changed.

STAND BY HER: A Breast Cancer Guide for Men by John W. Anderson (AMACOM Books, October 2009) is an excellent resource for any man who needs help in overcoming the fears and frustrations of seeing loved ones diagnosed with breast cancer. Not only does he share his own experiences with his mother, his mother's friend, his aunt, and his wife, he also provides strategies and support for navigating the breast cancer minefield.

I don't normally endorse products on my blog, but this is a great resource. Let's speak honestly here. Breast cancer treatment is so very tough for women, especially emotionally. A very large component of treatment involves serious hormone manipulation and often times physical changes. And frankly, if men were wired to be able to handle emotions and hormones, well, how do I finish that? It is an area where men and women are wired very differently leaving it difficult for men to understand how to offer the support a woman needs as she battles breast cancer. Don't get me wrong, some men handle all this like amazing champs, but everyone involved in a cancer diagnosis could use all the support available and then some.

Yes, I recommend this book, but I am not alone. This book is also endorsed by the Komen for the Cure Foundation. I like John W. Anderson. He has seen far more than his share of breast cancer in his lifetime, but he has used that painful experience to help others. Our caretakers are truly our heroes and John demonstrates this expertly in his book.

I want to share the love. In honor of breast cancer awareness month, I have a few copies of this book. Leave a message or drop me an email (link at the left) and I will send you a copy. No charge. Really. I'd like to get as many copies of this book into the hands of people that need it. But hurry; once they are gone you will have to find it on your own.

The more advanced we become with treatment and as the survival statistics rise, please know that women make it look easier and easier to fight breast cancer. Don't let us fool you. For many us, it will be the hardest thing we ever do. Anything anyone does to help ease the burden is never forgotten.

So who wants a book? Don't be shy. Drop me a line already.

Breast Cancer Awarenss Month

2009-10-06T14:38:00.000-07:00

Before we get engulfed in a pink cloud this month, I wanted to stay true to the purpose of the month and post some important information for young women facing breast cancer. This is printed from the Young Survival Coalition web site:

Young women CAN and DO get breast cancer. While breast cancer in young women accounts for a small percentage of all breast cancer cases, the impact of this disease is widespread. There are more than 250,000 women living in the U.S. who were diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 40 or under, and approximately 10,000 young women will be diagnosed in the next year. But, despite the fact that breast cancer is the leading cause of cancer death in women ages 15 to 54.

Many young women and their doctors are unaware that they are at risk for breast cancer.

There is no effective breast cancer screening tool for women 40 and under.

Young women are often diagnosed at a later stage than their older counterparts.

There is very little research focused on issues unique to this younger population, such as fertility, pregnancy, genetic predisposition, the impact of hormonal status on the effectiveness of treatment, psycho-social and long-term survivorship issues and higher mortality rates for young women, particularly for African-Americans and Latinas.

Young women diagnosed with breast cancer often feel isolated and have little contact with peers who can relate to what they are experiencing.

As the incidence of young women with breast cancer is much lower than in older women, young women are underrepresented in many research studies.

It doesn't matter your age, the time is now. Use this month in all its pink glory to remind you each year that it is time for the annual exam. You're worth it. Really.

An End and a Beginning

2009-10-01T07:58:00.000-07:00

Treatment came and went in what now feels like the blink of an eye. In these last couple of months I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my cancer journey and how it has changed my life. After my first diagnosis in 2004, I ran, scared, half-believing I was going to be okay, and tried to pick up where my life left off before cancer. I wanted cancer to go away so I could wipe the slate clean as though it never existed, but that was rather difficult. No matter how much I crammed into my life, cancer wouldn't be squeezed out. First thee was the lengthy reconstruction process and then there was the Tamoxifen. I hated Tamoxifen. I'd like to think I don't "hate" anything, but I hated that drug. I was tired, achy, had pain in my legs and joints, sweaty hot flashes, and just general malaise. I tried to push through and move forward, but BAM!, cancer reared its ugly head again.

This time was going to be different. I was going to be a brave conquering warrior through every step. I worked out nearly every day in my fierce "Chemolicious" t-shirt and Harley Davidson do-rag (a gift of battle gear from a dear friend) to cover the blinding baldness. I made it through tedious radiation treatments and survived painful significant burns to my neck and axilla. And through it all, like many other women, I carried on with my life: working, volunteering, taking care of family( as they all took care of me). Beyond making a decision that cancer would not stop me, I made a decision to be kind to myself and nurture myself along the way. To teach myself how to do this (because you know I am a classic "do everything for others and make yourself the lat priority kind of gal"), I planted a garden. I had to learn how to care for the plants and how to help them grow and blossom. How much water did they need? How much sun? Did they need nutrients or more soil? I couldn't put it aside for later. I had to daily tend to the needs. Each day I saw progress. It became a great metaphor for taking care of myself.

Along the way, I saw reminders that I was loved and not going through this alone. Whether it was encouraging cards or visits or phone calls, random acts of kindness, or special messages sent from....well, I can't answer that. Was it from the Universe? God? My mom? An angel? The hearts that were sent in my path randomly made me feel loved and secure no matter who sent them. And they keep coming.

As I have written before, they come in all shapes and sizes. Whether it was something on the sidewalk that had my doggies' attention ...

Or making an appearance in a piece of veggie bacon...

Or yes, the ultimate of visions.....

A tortilla. Whole wheat nonetheless. But don't line up at my door to see it. After I appreciated the message of love, it made a tasty vegetarian fajita.

And for those of little faith, there were some very specific hearts as well. One by my house and one in the parking lot the day I started physical therapy.

The rigorous treatment has come to an end. My time is now focused on regaining range of motion and strengthening my arm that suffered nerve damage from surgery and further scar tissue build up and damage from radiation. I am also juggling the side effects of Lupron injections (to shut down my ovaries) and Aromasin for ongoing hormone therapy (for the next few years at least). Luckily I am responding well to physical therapy and The Great Reiki Experiment 2009 (more to come on that). I'm moving forward and trying to continue to nurture myself, growing through everything life has thrown in my path. The garden experiment has taught me well. All kinds of things are blooming and growing...

Plumeria

Mint

Limes

Horsetail Bamboo

Pink Promise Rose

My hair!

Everything is growing indeed.

I Was Robbed

2009-07-01T13:07:00.000-07:00

I really wish the title was a lead in to a great story about playing baseball, hitting what looked like a game championship wining home run only to have it snatched away by a leaping leftfielder who reached above the fence to pluck the ball and my heroic moment out of the sky. Unfortunately, there was no baseball playing and no great story. The feelings in my story are much the same though.

Five years ago today my life was irreversibly changed when my doctor walked into the room and said, “I’m afraid we didn’t get good news.” Just last year at this time I remember thinking that next year would be the year to celebrate because five is the magic number for cancer survivors. If you can make it to five years cancer free without recurrence, your odds for survival are great. I’m starting to wonder if I was ever cancer free during any of that time. I feel robbed.

Even in the shadow of recurrence last October, reaching five years is indeed something to celebrate. It just doesn’t feel like it. There is a blemish on that record and celebrating five years feels like cheating. All day long my heart has been heavy with tears easy to surface. I am proud of how I have handled the cards cancer has dealt me, but today, and only today, I hate that I have to play this game at all.

One of These Will Go Away and One Will Not (Or, The Long Post with Bad Photos from my Cell Phone)

2009-05-18T19:46:00.000-07:00

Chemo went out with a, well, not a wimper, more like a bang. It was the toughest treatment to date, but it is in the past. The only part of it that remains is anemia, hand and foot pain, and cankles. Hopefully all of those will be distant memories soon too.

After chemo ended I had a PET/CT scan. After nervously awaiting the results for four days, I was relieved to hear "all clear" from my doctor last Wednesday. No sign of cancer anywhere in my body (or no evidence of disease - NED). I could not have heard sweeter words, but rather than revel in it very long I am preparing for the next phase of treatment.

The catheter in my chest will be removed on Thursday (this is the one that will go away). With no more chemo, there is no more need. Although I don't look forward to the procedure, my skin looks forward to the lack of adhesive. It is aging my delicate decollete. I also had my radiation simulation and was tatooed (this is the one that will not go away). Although, after a shower, the mark has been reduced to the size of a freckle. I don't know what to think. I'm no longer a tattoo virgin. It seems once you start with the body art, you can't seem to stop. What is next? For now, 33 radiation treatments. I should be glowing by the time I finish on July 7th. AFter that? Perhaps more body art. Who knows?

*****

I'm not going to let this go.... The hearts -- I'm still seeing them.

My doggies and I were walking to my sister's house (which is just about four doors down from me in the same development) for coffee early one morning and it had either been a little drizzly or the sprinklers had already been on and I see this:

Pretty clear, isn't it? Also pretty remarkable since I have coffee with my sister nearly every morning at nearly the same time (usually after the gym weekdays, in my pj's on weekends) and I have never seen it before or after this incident on April 4th. It is as though someone somewhere is follow me around with a little life graffiti.

At first I found the heart thing a bit unsettling. It was as though I was hearing something in a foreign language. What did it mean? Who was sending me the message? Sheesh! Who is afraid of a heart? It's not like it was daggar or a skull or anything. Now when I see them I smile.

The most recent heart came just after me PET/CT. I had the scan on May 8th and by the next day I had a sign. A PET/CT involves an injection of radioactive sugars (as it was explained to me) which allow the detection of the metabolic signal of actively growing cancer cells in the body. I haven't been an easy "stick" as the lab folks like to tell me. I always end up with multiple attempts to access the vein followed by bruising. Saturday morning when I looked at the bruise, I saw this:

It may be hard to see it clearly on this hastily snapped crappy cell phone photo. Maybe this will help.

Why did worry for four days until I got the results? I need to believe the signs that are sent to me. Everything from the egret to the hearts have been telling that everything is going to be okay. And I belive it. 100%.

The Beat Goes On

2009-03-20T16:51:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I don't feel like I have cancer or going through treatment. And then I realize that ache in my back is a side effect and not over-exertion, though if you knew my schedule you would not rule out over-exertion. I can't decide if this feeling is good or bad. Do I need to be miserable to know that the drugs are working? I can't use the term miserable, but each treatment seems to gain in intensity just enough to make me dread the next one. The last treatment was high in the aches and pains which always pairs nicely with sleepless nights from the steroids. I guess overall, not feeling miserable certainly makes living through this a bit more bearable.

***

When things get really painful, physically or emotionally, I set the alarm on my phone for five minutes. I can do anything for five minutes. If I am achy, I know it will get better soon. I give myself five minutes to feel it and then I move on and do what I have to do. If I am feeling the emotional brunt of things, I give myself five minutes to feel sorry for myself and move on. I simply can't wallow in negativity or give in to dark feelings, but I have to allow myself time to acknowledge my feelings and then I have to let it go.

Surprisingly I developed this trick from my sister, Joyce. Whenever I don't want to clean, she always tell me to set a timer for fifteen minutes and see just how much I can do in fifteen minutes. After fifteen minutes, it seems you have gotten into a rhythm and keep cleaning. It really works whether you are cleaning house or cleaning your psyche.

***

Overheard in the Infusion Room a.k.a. Chemo Lounge

Nurse 1: The IV alarm keeps going off when he moves his arm
Nurse 2: Want me to change it?
Nurse 1: No, he doesn't have much time left.
Patient: I don't? The doctor didn't mention that to me.

(I know, not many of you will find mortality humor enjoyable, but it was a very funny moment.)

***

I'm still having the heart shape phenomena follow me. Blister on my foot...you guessed...heart shaped!

***

OMG! A very sweet, sweet bloggy friend sent me gift -- a buff! I lurve it! In fact I sleep in the buff, work out in the buff, go for walks in the buff, and more! I love to be in the buff! (What would life be without the double entendre?) It is THE one most comfortable thing I have discovered in this whole long cancer process. Thank you sweet survivor sistah!

***

I have two more treatments ahead of me. I am two-thirds, 67%, almost done. In fact in about a month I will be having my last treatment. God help me, the time can't pass soon enough. It seems to be taking forever this time around and the thought of things progressively intensifying does weigh heavy at times. But with each treatment that passes and each time I rebound from the side effects, I feel empowered. I realize how strong I am, how many amazing people are sharing this burden with me, and that together we still have plenty of fight to carry me through.

In the Shape of a Heart

2009-02-25T12:21:00.000-08:00

The last several weeks have brought highs and lows on the cancer journey. All remains relatively well with my health. I have now hit the halfway mark on chemo treatments: three down and three to go. The side effects seem to arrive earlier and earlier each time and get progressively more difficult, but I carry on knowing that each time the side effects eventually subside and my life remains relatively normal. Well, as relatively normal as life can be when you are bald.

I was recently contacted by Seth Derek Aronson who, unfortunately, knows a lot about cancer treatment and complimentary treatments as a result caring for someone who lost her battle to this disease. Seth is working on a documentary, Killing Cancer: The “Walk Through Fire” Project. You can view a trailer here.

The information on complimentary treatments on his web site truly made me re-evaluate my perspective on cancer treatment. The truth is that many complimentary treatments seem so simple and readily available and don’t seem vigorous enough because we have had traditional medicine so ingrained into our understanding of cancer treatment. One doesn’t have to replace the other. In fact, they should be added to the arsenal of traditional treatment. More important than anything I learned from his web site was the one thing that Seth wrote to me: “Remember to truly believe in your healing - doing so can make all the difference.” This has really stayed with me. In fact, I truly believe in my healing 100%. The release or the “high” (for lack of a better term) that I feel from believing in my healing must free up energy that my body can use to focus on healing and using the traditional medicine more efficiently. I have to thank Seth because it has, as he said, made all the difference thus far.

Even though I am inspired and feeling well, cancer never fails to destroy lives. My friend, Lori, a two-time survivor was just diagnosed with extensive metastases and her prognosis is not good. Each time this happens my heart breaks into a million pieces. I am so tired of watching friends fall to this disease. I am tired of this disease having any power or control in anyone’s life. What is it going to take? With the millions and billions that are thrown at cancer research, what have we missed? It is so hard to keep fighting an endless battle.

I don’t want to end on a depressing note here. I don’t allow myself to wallow in the low points. It simply doesn’t do me any good. Oddly enough, something I continue to see keeps inspiring me. You see it all started with the hat. When the hair came off I started wearing a beret with hair attached (You know, it’s a look. What can I say?). I wanted to dress up the beret so I looked for a sparkly small pin and all I could find in the size I wanted was a red heart shaped pin. It worked for me. Then, when I looked at my scalp one day, I noticed the hair (I shaved it but a fine layer remained) had worn off the top of my head in the shape of a heart. A few days later I spilled something and looked down and the stain was distinctly in the shape of a heart. Then I took a photograph and happened to get a reflection on it. Yep, you guessed it – in the shape of a heart. It has happened time and time again. And it isn’t an abstract heart shape. It is clear as can be. I think the universe is sending me a message that either I need more love in my life or that I need to be aware of the love that fills my life. Either way, it can’t be bad to reminded of love because we all know that love heals.

One Down, More to Come

2009-01-14T17:06:00.000-08:00

The first chemo is now a memory, which, thankfully, I still have until the "chemo brain" kicks in. One week out and I would say the side effects this time were manageable so far. I'm doing okay.

Things to look forward to:

Energy returning :)
Hair falling out in about another eight days or so :(
Next chemo in two more weeks :(

It's not all bad. I can handle it. Thanks for all the prayers and support. It made all the difference.

Positively Negative

2008-12-28T16:49:00.000-08:00

I have not shared any news for a while because I have had no news to share. Somehow talking (or writing) about the lack of information left me uneasy as if I would jinx myself if I said too much or verbalized how I felt about all the possible outcomes. The original plan was to wait four weeks after surgery, have a PET scan, complete my staging, and proceed with chemo. Of course plans are made to be broken, or rearranged, or designed with a plan B in mind and everything changed. In the midst of all this I was trying to wrap up the term for two classes I was teaching (yes, I know two at the same time) along with maintaining my regular job, my sanity, and my health. Thank you to everyone who left messages, sent email, or called for updates (or provided great egret information – you have convinced me -- Jan, Erin, Kathy-- it was indeed a sign!).

I was feeling fine after surgery and the post-surgery infection/seroma. In fact, I have not felt better physically in years. I was unable to complete the PET scan due to a largely unexplainable suddeen spike in blood sugar. In order to move forward with completing my staging, we opted to combine chest, abdomen, and pelvic CT scans with a bone scan. The CT scans were already completed and all negative. The only thing standing between me and a stage IV diagnosis was a bone scan. I completed the bone scan and consumed my time focusing on regulating my blood sugar which would prohibit the start of chemo until under control. I spent time walking, daily visits to the gym, walking, Pilates, walking, exercise DVD’s, walking, cleaning up an already relatively clean and sugar free diet, taking regular blood tests, and did I mention walking? It hasn’t been easy, but the numbers are dropping. Did that distract you? It almost distracted me, but the worry over the results of the bone scan kept resurfacing no matter how far I walked or how many calories I did not consume.

Finally on Christmas Eve at 3:00 p.m. as I was about to leave work (Isn’t it nice to know your public servants are there to serve you on Christmas Eve? Some of us at least.) and head over to my make a traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner for my sisters when my doctor called with the results. I didn’t quite hear what she said.

“Negative?” I said, questioning her.

“Yes, Jeannette, your bone scan was negative. You are not stage IV.”

“Negative,” I said once more trying to convince myself that I heard it correctly.

Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds and shone like a spotlight directly on me while the angels sang, the trumpets sounded, and the creatures of the forest stopped to applaud and cheer. Or at least the screenplay in my head played out that way. Seriously, can’t you picture the hyenas laughing? The meerkats standing tall and looking in my direction? The lions roaring with approval? Yes, in my head the world stood still, but it wasn’t about me, rather, it was about God’s blessings and having many, many prayers answered.

In an otherwise dreary Christmas Eve that had me melancholy and missing my mom on the very first Christmas without her, these results were my very own Christmas miracle . . . or perhaps a message from my mom letting me know she’s still watching over me. Chemo starts soon (or as soon as I can keep my blood sugar regulated). I’ll keep you posted, but for now, join me while I continue to bask in the glory of my Christmas miracle.

No Egrets

2008-11-23T12:36:00.000-08:00

The last ten days or so have been a crazy whirlwind. It started with a visit to my oncologist to set a plan of action. You know the routine…surgery, chemo, radiation, blah, blah, blah… It wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to spend an afternoon, but I’d rather move things along and leave no stone unturned rather than postpone or delay this process. My sister came along with me for moral support (she won’t let me out of her sight or drive myself to any appointments…she’s the greatest).

As we were approaching my house I saw a very large white bird (I wanted to say huge or gigantic, but didn’t want to be too dramatic) fly right in front of my house. It literally made a path in front of my house, across the door, and then it swooped up to perch on the roof of the neighbor across the street where we quickly captured it on our cell phone cameras. It looked like an egret or perhaps a crane. Either one are completely out of place in my neighborhood as there are no lakes in the nearby vicinity. I have never seen such a thing and this bizarre appearance leads me to believe it is a sign of some sort. What message do egrets bring? Perhaps it is a crane which, incidentally, is a symbol of peace.

Three days later I had surgery while my sisters and several friends ~~held vigil~~ ~~waited patiently~~ held a party in the waiting room (a cast of characters the hospital has likely never experienced). Out of eleven nodes removed, three were cancerous and quite large. My underarm feels a lot emptier. I also had a port inserted for the chemo. Based on recent scans, it appears the cancer was contained to that area and this total removal gives me a great chance at beating this once again. The chemo and radiation will only improve those odds. I’m not looking forward to it, but I know I can do this and move forward, once again, cancer free.

This recurrence certainly has made me think about the treatment choices I made the first time around. I was very aggressive to give myself the best chances at survival. Even though the cancer was small, it was extensive invasive lobular carcinoma which gave me a high contralateral recurrence rate (recurrence in the unaffected breast). I had dense dose chemo and a bilateral mastectomy. It was supposed to make my recurrence probability about 4 percent. I made those choices for all the right reasons and none of those choices made this cancer return. All I can say is ….. no egrets.

Just When I Thought it was Safe ...

2008-11-04T14:36:00.000-08:00

When I started this blog in 2004, I was on a mission to educate myself, my family, and anyone who would listen (or read) about the challenges of a breast cancer diagnosis. In my heart I always believed it would be a triumphant story with a happy ending. Then when I was “done” with treatment and all things breast cancer, it would be time to end my blog and move on with my life.

Along the way I have learned there is no “done” when it comes to cancer. It is an ugly, dark rain cloud that follows you no matter how fast you try to run away. It lurks above casting a shadow of doubt and darkness. After four years as a survivor I learned the secret to moving on was not running from the clouds, but learning to dance in the rain. There is no escaping the cloud, but you can take the wisdom you have gained, let go of the doubt and darkness so you can embrace life by defiantly dancing in spite of the rain.

So I began to move forward toward the five-year goal of survivorship. I felt myself shedding the cocoon, my arms and legs unfurling, the dance beginning, and then at a regular check-up, we found a new lump. Quite a large lump. Today I found out it is indeed cancer. No matter how hard I try to keep dancing, my feet, as well as my heart, are heavy and my arms motionless. I know the music is there, but I can’t hear it. I feel only constant drops of rain hitting with such force it pits my skin.

With slow, burdensome steps, I will continue to dance. It’s a different rhythm, familiar yet unknown, and I trod along.

Time Slips Away

2008-08-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

So where do I begin after all this time? I have tried to write, but words eluded me. Maybe they were there all along always surfacing no matter how hard I tried to submerse them time after time. The last eight months have been the most challenging and perhaps the most touching I have experienced in my lifetime.

In January, after several years of declining health and increasing medical issues, my mom was given just a couple of days to live. What followed was a poignant procession of good-byes, visits from family and friends, and one of the biggest displays of obstinance I have likely ever seen. Always stubborn, Mom decided to prove the doctor wrong and recover from immediate danger. She was determined to do two things: go back to church and hold her first great grandchild.

Just before Easter, she swore she felt well enough to go to church. Even the doctor said if she wanted to go there was no point in stopping her. On Easter Sunday she made her triumphant return to Church to be received with hugs, kisses, and well wishes from her friends. Then on Mother’s Day she held 9-day old little Anthony Joseph in her arms. It was both joyful and heartbreaking to see them together. Having met both goals, days later she slipped peacefully from this world to the next. She had a beautiful sending off, surrounded by love. It was a joyous celebration of a life well lived, dedicated to her family and service to others.

What’s left is an aching hole in my heart that seems may never heal. I still feel as though I am in slow motion, as if walking through pudding. I still want to pick up the phone and call her. I still want to see the excitement from my doggies when they hear me ask, “Who wants to go see Grandma?” I still want to feel her warm embrace or see her rosary beads expertly gliding through her fingers. I still want to feel the safety and warmth that only a mother’s love provides.

I have many happy and wonderful memories that are beginning to surface and life is getting back to routine. Maybe someday I’ll be beyond the pain and rather than tell you about her death, I’ll tell you about her life, the incredible mother and role model she was, and all the wonderful ways she always let me know I was loved.

Ti voglio bene, Mama. Ti voglio bene.

That's Amore

2008-01-30T00:43:00.000-08:00

For some reason I can’t shake the idea of life imitating art in the last few weeks. Do you remember the movie, Moonstruck? Think back twenty years…

Johnny Cammareri (played by Danny Aiello) must leave his fiancé, Loretta Castorini (played by Cher), to visit his dying mother in Sicily. He arrives to find people holding prayerful vigil over her frail body. Miraculously, the mother makes a recovery now that her son has come to visit.

After a stream of visits from family, friends, nuns, priests, puppies, and neighbors, my mother’s condition has improved for now and we are grateful for this time we have had together as a family. It has been quite a rollercoaster that seemingly has no end, but for now things are somewhat stable. Although things remain emotionally difficult, the physical and medical needs are being addressed at home.

Unfortunately, none of us have enjoyed a steamy encounter with one of the Cammareri brothers, we have felt the love from all the prayers and well wishes from friends and family both near and far. Thank you so much for your support and continued prayers.

Please Join Us

2008-01-10T12:56:00.000-08:00

These are the hands of women who have cared for each other, nurtured each other, loved each other.

These are the hands of women who have blessed each other, served each other, treated each other with respect.

These are the hands of the mother and daughters who have prayed together, played together, and stayed together.

These are the hands of the women who have worked hard to keep family bonds unbroken and have shared traditions and faith.

These are the hands of the sisters who hold their loving and courageous mother in prayer right now.

The Happiest of Holidays to All

2007-12-25T10:12:00.000-08:00

Warm Christmas Wishes from Lady & Romeo

Please Fasten Your Seat Belts and Keep Your Arms and Legs Inside the Ride at all Times

2007-11-03T09:24:00.000-07:00

For the past week I have been spending nights at the hospital with my mom. She was admitted to ICU with difficulty breathing. I have watched her sleep peacefully with what appears to be an uncomfortable and annoying breathing apparatus while her body desperately tries to heal itself. My mom is an amazingly strong and vital woman and spending time with her is always filled with blessings, no matter the circumstances. She is beginning to rebound and you can see the glimmer of her old self returning through the tubes and wires monitoring her every breath, every heart beat.

Sitting up every night I have had plenty of time to think about what it means to have lived a full life. While I can look at my mom and know what an impact she has had on the world and the many lives she has touched, it has made me think about my own life in the same regard. While I can say confidently that I am proud of the woman I am and am becoming, especially when I can see my mother's traits in my actions, I know I still have much room for growth. Of course the past few years tinged by cancer have weighed heavily on my personal development, both good and bad. After emerging from the haze of chemotherapy and the physical challenge of multiple surgeries, I made a commitment to live life fully and passionately. Sadly, I think I have failed.

I remember believing during treatment that if I kept working and kept my normal routine, no matter what I looked like temporarily, cancer was not in control. I kept my work schedule in tact and kept up with my teaching schedule throughout everything. As the months since treatment continue to grow with gathering speed, I continue to maintain everything . . . and then some . . . more classes, more activities, more conferences, more committees. . . more responsibilities to everyone outside of myself. I somehow confused living passionately with being busy. Instead of the joy of living life fully propelling me forward and manifesting itself in my actions, I feel the joy diminishing with each mounting responsibility and each moment given away under the guise of living passionately.

I have grown to understand my cancer diagnosis as a pivotal time in my life. Certainly this is understandable as cancer does bring a new reality into one’s life. I find myself judging and weighing each action I make post cancer on some grand scale in comparison to the pre-cancer person. This is exactly the person I did not want to become. I did not want cancer to be the enlightenment period of my life. I want my entire life to be my enlightenment period. I want to always be growing and evolving throughout my life and not only the period where I passed through the cancer crucible, judging everything on some pre or post basis.

Once again I find myself on the precipice of great change. This time, however, the change will be two-fold. First, as much as I don’t want to face it, my family is changing. My mother is very strong and will recover and come home from the hospital once again. But the future and what it inevitably holds, is much closer than any of us want to believe. Secondly, internal change for me must be part of the equation. This must be the time that I learn what it means to live life passionately and what it takes to find that inner joy that will resound in my actions. I have to learn the difference between being busy and being present in the moment, the difference between doing several things and embracing the things I am doing.

Somehow I think it is going to be a bumpy ride.

It is Always Hard to Say Good Bye

2007-10-31T11:39:00.000-07:00

I am saddened at the passing of one of my dearest friends, Lori. Lori was an amazing and brave young woman who faced cancer bravely and defiantly. She and her husband, Cary, left no stone unturned trying every traditional and alternative approach to fighting cancer. Although the majority of their marriage was spent battling Lori’s disease, their story is not about cancer, but about enduring, pure, unconditional love. Nothing can destroy that, not even cancer.

I will miss you, sweet Lori.

Suddenly it is October

2007-10-01T08:52:00.001-07:00

Since I live in California I am not usually tipped off to the change of months by the a change in seasons or multicolored fall leaves. I typically first notice the new month in the grocery store. Long before I see the “women’s magazines” at the check out stands featuring stories about breast cancer survivors, I will have passed the pink-labeled soup display, the pink wrapped chocolates, and the other assorted pink items. In the last two decades, the month historically associated with pumpkins has given way to the pink ribbon.

This year is no different. Sunday morning after church I stopped in to the grocery store to pick up a few things. At the check out counter, the woman scanned my items and asked if I wanted to donate to their breast cancer campaign. I looked up and saw a curtain of pink cards emblazoned with the names of loved ones. It was only October 1st and already there were a couple hundred cards backed by generous donations. How many will line the store before the month is up?

For me, breast cancer awareness month has come to symbolize community support. When I see the pink merchandise and the fundraising campaigns, I think of all the people whose lives were saved by the awareness the month generates. I am reminded of the all the women who have had the opportunity for screenings as result of the fund raising. I am overwhelmed with gratitude to all of the generous people who opened their hearts and wallets to donate to research. Most of all, I am humbled by the tiny pink ribbon that reminded me to be vigilant and to recognize the urgency when I felt that little lump three and half years ago.

So today, even if you feel bombarded with the pink power of October, make that appointment for your mammogram. You are worth it.

Where Does Your Candidate Stand?

2007-08-27T06:56:00.000-07:00

The Lance Armstrong Foundation is once again bringing the fight against cancer to the forefront of our national conscience. The Livestrong Presidential Cancer Forum will take place today and tomorrow (broadcast on MSNBC). For the first time in history, presidential hopefuls will come together to discuss their plans for a national cancer policy. The debate will be moderated by Lance Armstrong and Hardball's Chris Matthews.

Let's face it, we are still more than a year away from the election and it already feels like there have been a number of forums/debates; however, I believe this forum is important for many reasons. As I have gone through the various stages of cancer treatment and recovery, I have learned quite clearly just how political an issue it is. Everything from what drugs are available to what is covered under Medicaid or what your insurance company is required to provide for you are government funded or government mandated. Our government has made medical decisions on my behalf so it is important for me to fully understand the candidates' positions prior to casting my vote.

If you had the chance, what questions would you ask the candidates? You can explore questions posed by a panel of experts at MyBreastCancerNetwork.com. Go on, visit them and post your comments to their questions. And don't forget to tune in to MSNBC on television or webcast at 10:00 a.m. CT for the Livestrong Presidential Cancer Forum. For some background on each of the participating candidates, you can check out this article I wrote for MyBreastCancerNetwork.com.

Congratulations to the Lance Armstrong Foundation for all their efforts in creating this historic event.

An Open Letter to Rosie O’Donnell

2007-08-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Rosie,

Over the last few years a conversation you had with a friend continues to resurface and each time it does, it feels as though I've been stabbed in the heart.

During your lawsuit over your magazine, it was reported that you stated to someone who had been recently diagnosed with cancer that she was a liar and that people who lie get cancer. Since that time you have clarified that statement as follows (taken from your blog):

“I had a conversation
with a friend/co worker
about how the physical and
spiritual r connected

that the darkness is where disease
lives

all humans lie”

“but to choose darkness
is to invite illness
i believe”

It sounds reasonable on the surface on some new-age level. In fact, I may have agreed with you . . . before I myself was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 39.

I don’t claim to have never veered to the dark side, but I disagree with your interpretation of the mind-body-spirit you-reap-what-you-sow connection in relationship to illness. I believe the connection may lie in your respect for yourself, which manifests itself in your respect for your body (diet, exercise, meditation, etc.). Honestly, if it were as simple as you claim, why isn’t every murderer on death row and every child molester writhing in pain from the most torturous cancer known to man?

I understand that it seems you are saying that in some metaphysical way, illness lives in the darkness and that by inviting more darkness into our lives through our actions we are creating a greater dwelling for illness. Howver, there is still a randomness in this theory that seems to effect some (those who seemingly invite little darkness -- Dana Reeves?) and don't effect others (those who seemingly dwell in tremendous darkness -- murderers et al.).

Let’s not forget genetic predisposition either. If I test positive for a cancer gene, something I was born with, at what point did I invite darkness or is it a result of my ancestors’ darkness? There are fatal gaps in your logic, Rosie.

You have great influence, Rosie, and you do many good things for many people. However, for those of us who have had to face cancer, suffer tremendously from the treatments, undergo multiple surgical procedures, and, if we are lucky enough, forever live under the threat of it returning, you have judged us harshly. You have told us that we brought it on ourselves. How do you know this? What science or research supports this? Can I be absolved of my sins and my cancer at the same time? Sadly, the people whom you influence will perpetuate this flawed belief of yours.

I do not believe you would have told that to your mother. Nor do I believe that in the unfortunate situation that someone else close to you is diagnosed with cancer, a sister, brother, childhood friend, wife, or child, that you would say it to them. I do not even believe you would use this unfortunate rationalization on yourself if you were faced with this dreaded disease.

Sadly, you chose the people who were already suffering, going through a living hell, facing their own mortality and announced that they did it to themselves; that their cancer was their own fault. I believe you have offended anyone who has ever had cancer and the people who love them.

Best Regards,

(Somewhat) Enlightened Cancer Survivor

Chestnut Trees and Cycles of Life

2007-08-21T07:00:00.001-07:00

Many years ago when my family first moved to California, one of our relatives mailed my father a chestnut. While in transit, the chestnut sprouted. Never one to waste a thing, my father planted the little sprout in the front yard. The dry, hot California climate may not have been the best home for a chestnut tree; however, it's growth over the years has been a symbol of its indomitable spirit as well as a symbol of family history. We kept a piece of tradition and home with us as we emigrated to the US and eventually came to California. For me, a California native, it has been a link to family history that extended generations and across continents.

We have since enjoyed many picnics, celebrations, and bocce tournaments in the shade of this tree. With the many memories and emotions attached to the chestnut tree, imagine our sadness when a disease almost killed this tree a few years ago. We brought in the experts who removed the diseased portions and saved the tree. It's years may be numbered, but it still has years of life left.

Every time see this tree it forces me to recall the cycle of life. Even something that stands with such grandeur and strength must succumb to the cycle of life and give way to new life. Though while it is here it serves its purpose providing shade, security, and shelter in addition to its harvest. Eventually, it seems the disease will return, spread, and the tree will be gone.

I can't express how clearly I relate to this tree in regard to my own life cycle. When you think about it, we are the same really. All living things are part of a cycle of life and all that it implies. In recent weeks I have experienced the loss of three people to cancer, young and old alike. It seems the daily news headlines rarely skip a day without mentioning another cancer loss. I have begun to believe that perhaps cancer is a natural part of this process. Perhaps cancer was intended to be the end of the life cycle.

For centuries we've sought the Fountain of Youth, so it is no surprise we search even harder for a cure for cancer. Sometimes I have to wonder if by not allowing cancer to end my life cycle, by cheating death, is there some purpose to my days and by not tuning in to that purpose am I selfishly consuming this time? I feel like I am either about to discover or completely miss the grand message of enlightenment from my cancer experience.

For the last three years I have been determined to convince the world (and thus myself) that cancer doesn't change us. This is not true. Every experience we have changes us in some way and while I feel my life is very different now internally, I feel the the external is very much the same. The person you see in the community, my role in my family, my job, everyhting is the same. I am starting to feel as though the conflict is growing too great between the internal and the external and something is about to change. All I can hope for is that the change brings a goodness and peace and hope that carries me through the turbulence of change.

Rolling Stones

2007-08-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

The latest addition to my collection looks like a hair under 5mm. Do you know how big 5mm is? Not much if you are measuring chocolate or gold, but kidney stones? That is huge! Huge, I tell you! In case you are wondering what that looks like, follow this link (though it is a bit fuzzy). I would post the picture directly, but isn't that a bit obnoxious? It's like, "Hey! Look what I made!"

Now if I can just figure out a way to ingest lots and lots of carbon, I can start making diamond kidney stones.

Updo’s and Other Milestones

2007-07-23T09:39:00.000-07:00

For the last two weeks I have worn my hair up. First time in three years. I know this must sound like mundane drivel for some (ok, nearly all of you), but for me it is significant. I have always had longer hair and being stripped to nothing was quite the change to say the least. Slowly but surely, the pieces fall back into place.

So the other day I had an unusual experience. I was wearing a t-shirt, sweats, and running shoes (très glam!) when I popped into my local California style fruit ‘n nut grocer. I had placed my sunglasses in the front of my shirt while I perused the produce. The produce man strikes up a conversation with me while I attempt to pick out the freshest artichokes without getting pinched by them. While chatting, I see perhaps the world’s most perfect fennel bulb and head over to scoop it up. The conversation continues as I load up my mostly organic haul. With my attention no longer distracted by vegetables and melons, I look at the man and notice that he is clearly checking out the cleavage. This is the first time in two and a half years I remember this happening or perhaps acknowledge that it is even possible that anyone might care to look.

And finally, after three years of blogging and more than 200,000 hits, of all the people who have stopped by and left a comment or sent me an email, I have never met anyone like Suzy who emailed me last evening. She bears the distinction of being the first person completely lacking in compassion and class to contact me. For the record, I don’t blog so that people will feel sorry for me. I started this blog much like many others who have faced a life threatening illness so that I could keep others updated and share my experience with the 200,000 other women who will be diagnosed each year. If my experience seems trivial to you, then don’t read it. Seems like a much simpler solution than expending so much negative energy spewing venom via email.

Now, I am going out to enjoy the summer rain which is only the second time in my life I remember a summer rain in Southern California. Although it is humid in our normally dry heat climate, the rain seems cleansing today. The sticky heat, the muted sunshine, and warm rain drops are a change from the routine. Change can do us all good. Even if it causes us to put our hair up.

Results and Resolutions

2007-07-08T16:29:00.000-07:00

I had been in a state of limbo with no news to share while I had tests, saw doctors, and awaited results. I can’t believe the number of emails and messages expressing concern. Thank you, thank you, thank you for caring!

Let me first begin by updating about the “mass.” Right now, no one seems to think it is cancer or anything to worry a bout at this time. I’ve had a CT scan, an MRI (the last one I am likely to have – ever), sixteen tubes of blood tests, the mother of all urinalysis, and an aborted biopsy (called off by the radiologist). Results? Hmm, all seems to be okay, but we’ll take some pictures in a few months and keep an eye on it. Who would have ever believed that a little 2mm stone would have led to an insurance referral nightmare, an argument with my doctor, me carrying around a jug of my own urine for twenty four hours, and a kidney specialist releasing me after telling me that there is no evidence I continue to produce kidney stones despite the ongoing unbearable, yet intermittent, pain in my kidney region.

This whole episode was eerily reminiscent of my original breast cancer diagnosis exactly three years earlier. I was busy, busy planning 4th of July patriotic celebrations while having a lumpectomy and then receiving an official diagnosis on July 1, 2004. Once again I found myself facing doctor appointments and tests and visits with specialists only this time to be given inconclusive, wait and see, results. I reacted the only way I knew how: I put it all aside and focused my energy on planning an amazing 4th of July parade (see my job description under “other duties as assigned”). The lesson I learned this time around, and on my third cancerversary, is that life is too short to still feel like a patient. Moving on is long overdue.

As I write this, someone whom I know and love is experiencing a recurrence with extensive metastases after three clean years. It is funny how we both thought we made it and were cancer free, free and clear. I guess there is no such thing as free and clear after cancer and no reason or logic for recurrences. It has made me think very hard about how I have lived the last three years. If it were me instead of my friend, how would I feel about the way I lived the last three years? I’ve said before that in some ways, cancer has made me both fearless and fearful, but which has prevailed?

Perhaps the fearful part has moved me to action to fight this dreaded disease. Fundraisers, walks, reaching out to others facing cancer, volunteering in various ways, and lobbying my political representatives to action are really the foundation of my armor. Somehow, in my own mind, the more of us that make it, the stronger our team becomes and the weaker the opponent appears, right? (Please tell me I am right, alright?)

It’s the fearless part that will likely get me into trouble. There is a part of me that doesn’t fear long term consequences any longer (which is probably a good change at times for conservative little ol’ me) and part of me that doesn’t stop until I get what I am seeking or reach whatever goal lies before me. While this may sound a little on the “fierce” side as my friend Tyra would say, it all takes incredible energy. Energy to fight the beast; energy to laugh in his face by carrying on in spite of him. And really, I don’t want to spend my time and energy reacting out of fear in any form. I’d rather spend my energy acting out of love rather than reacting out of fear.

So on this, my third cancerversary, my new goal has become pretty clear. It is time to move on rather than simply talk about moving on. It is time to stop being a patient (and learn patience!). I declare this the year of love with my goal simply to live and love with abandon. To give of myself freely out of love and not out of fear. To bask in the energy of the healing power of love.

Won’t you join me?

Waiting . . .

2007-06-11T06:50:00.000-07:00

Learning to live a normal life after a cancer diagnosis is challenging. There is such a desire to pick right up after the last chemo treatment and bolt back into a familiar routine. I had to learn to pace myself, allow myself time to heal physically, and adjust to a new routine. A routine that would include regular doctor appointments with a variety of doctors, adjusting to the side effects of a medication I still must take for 3.5 more years, and ongoing lymphedema and scar tissue issues. I’m not complaining. In fact, breast cancer has introduced me to people I would never have met otherwise, helped other relationships grow, and encouraged a somewhat more focused approach to life. In some ways it has made me fearless and in other ways fearful.

Enter fearful. Three weeks ago, after an extremely successful Relay for Life event, I awoke in the middle of the night with excruciating pain. I ended up in the ER and was admitted immediately. The pain in my lower left back was so bad that I who hates pain medication found myself cheering for the nurse who brought me favorite painkiller of choice. While awaiting CT scan results, I casually said to my sister, “What if they find something else?” This is not a thought I would have ever had before breast cancer. I would have been concerned about the pain, but never about what else might be lurking there.

I was feeling a little like Carnac the Magnificent when the doctor came in proclaimed, “You have stones everywhere, but more importantly you have a mass on your adrenal gland.” Who even knew where the adrenal gland was or what it does? Without even taking the time to register what he said, I started calling to schedule the follow up while I got dressed (after successfully passing the largest kidney stone – yikes!). By the time I got through to my primary care physician’s office, it had registered. I handed the phone to my sister who didn’t skip a beat making the appointment on my behalf while the tears silently rolled down my cheeks.

My oncologist tells me the chances are low it is a breast cancer metastasis. Somewhere in the back of my mind I flash back to several other doctors telling me that what I felt in my breast was not likely breast cancer because I was too young and it didn’t quite feel like cancer, not to mention the surgeon saying it didn’t look like breast cancer when he took it out. Rather than “wait and see” I am proactively having a slew of tests including a biopsy.

Truthfully, I am at peace with whatever this mass or nodule turns out to be at this point now that I am armed with information from a very skilled nephrologist. What I am not at peace with is knowing that this is my fate. Every bump, lump, mass, or nodule will always raise alarm, will always spark a round of tests and scans, and will always bring me to a place of uncertainty and fear. Some feel that it is good to get such thorough follow up and I agree on some level; however, once you have heard the urgency from some doctors and been prayed over and bear hugged by nurses who understand the odds of surviving multiple cancer diagnoses or metastases, you will understand the desire to run in the opposite direction . . . if just for a little while . . . .to absorb the reality on your terms and then move forward with the courage and grace you have had to learn from living through a cancer diagnosis.

Relay for Life

2007-06-09T09:41:00.000-07:00

If you have ever faced a major illness or some type of crisis in your life, then you know how amazing it is to feel the support of a community of people. I believe that love, support, nurturing, and compassion do a lot to help us heal in many ways. I am very blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life who helped me get through the worst parts of my cancer experience and yet continue to support me.

The annual Relay for Life in my community has become a special event for me for many reasons. I wanted to share a few reasons why I continue to Relay.

This year was the third year I had the chance to see my friend Shelby. She is 8 years old. She had a brain tumor 4 years ago. The first year I saw her, she was in a stroller. Last year she was in a wheelchair, but could walk if each of her parents held one of her hands. This year, she was able to make a complete lap on the track walking on her own. She is a beautiful girl with gorgeous brown eyes that sparkle brighter than the stars. Her determination and her parents' dedication to her ongoing therapy give me hope.

This year my friend, Jim, walked the survivor lap with me. Exactly one year ago the same day, he was having 1/3 of his lung removed. He just had his one-year "all clear" report. He stayed the entire 24 hours with the support of his family and friends. This was a celebration of life for Jim and his many supporters.

I watched my friend, Darlene, carefully write out the names of her family and friends in whose memory she would walk. She made a sticker for each one. Her back was covered by the time she was done. I am in awe of her passion and dedication, but she is tired. She is tired of adding names to her back year after year. If love could cure, she would have cured as all long ago.

I met a woman who came to our tent. She was there with friends, family, and her 27 year old daughter who is battling a rare form of uterine cancer. Fragile and scared, it was evident she came to this event and others like it in search of hope for her daughter. When someone told her I was a cancer survivor, her eyes lit up, she hugged me tightly and whispered, "God bless you, God bless you." If for no other reason, I know I survived breast cancer for this very moment. The moment that gave this mother a little strength and perhaps a glimmer of hope that her daughter, too, could survive.

I connected with a community of people who care so deeply about one another and about winning the fight against cancer. The conversations that were heard around the track were about compassion, care, commitment, and defeating cancer. It is an emotional roller coaster of a day, but well worth it. I know that every dollar raised will be put to good use through research, early detection programs, and patient care services.

Thank you to everyone who supports Relay events in your own communities and to those who supported my team (we raised $33,000!!! this year and $60,000 total in the three years we have participated). Because of your generosity, lives are being saved and changed. Because of your dedication, the hope for a cancer-free future goes on.

Friendly Illustrations

2007-06-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

Whenever I find useful information or a good resource, I like to pass it along. My Breast Cancer Network has recently added illustrations. The topics are primarily related to reconstruction, but the comic strip style illustrations are friendly enough to share with children or other people who shy away from actual true photos or medical illustrations. One of my favorites is the piece on tissue expanders. It is the most accurate illustration I have seen so far.

My Breast Cancer Network has a lot of great resources and is a great place to connect with people. Stop by and take a look at all they have to offer.

If you Had the Power to Save Someone's Life, Would You?

2007-05-09T10:26:00.000-07:00

This was sent to me by Amanda and I couldn't wait to pass this along. I registered witht he Bone Marrow Registry the year prior to my breast cancer diagnosis. Just after finishing chemo, I received a call from them stating that I was a potential match and follow up needed to be scheduled. Unfortunately, my cancer history made me ineligible to participate and it devastated me. Please take a moment and consider joingint he registry. You just save a life. What could be better than that?

The National Marrow Donor Program, the same program that is used
to find potentially life-saving tissue donations for leukemia
patients, is holding an online drive for members in honor of Mother's
Day.

The promotion, called "Thanks, Mom," urges people to join the
marrow registry in honor of their mothers, thereby giving the gift of life
to others since your mom gave life to you. (My words-not theirs, I
am waaaaay too excited about this to be eloquent.)

The best part of the promotion is that you can join the registry
from 7 May to 21 May FOR FREE. The NMDP has received funding to
allow people to register at no cost to them (the registration fee is
usually $52, to cover the cost of the tissue-typing kit and the associated
lab costs).

It's super-easy---just go to http://www.marrow.org/ and click on the
"Thanks, Mom!" banner in the center of the page for more information.
Go through the online registration process. Then, the NMDP will send
you a tissue typing kit, which is essentially a cheek swab. You'll take
a scraping of your cells from the inside of your cheek (like
you probably did in high school biology) and that's it!

Please take a minute to consider joining the registry. Many people who are eligible for marrow or stem cell donation aren't registered in the database, meaning that there could potentially be a leukemia/lymphoma/auto-immune patient out there who will go without a transplant because their match wasn't registered.

I Only Ask Once a Year

2007-05-03T17:08:00.000-07:00

In just two weeks I will be participating in my third Relay for Life. I keep wondering, why is it this event that I choose to do year after year? In fact, many of these events (Relay, Komen Walk, Avon Walk, Revlon Walk, etc.) have become a cancer survivor’s right of passage. We come in droves to don our special honorary t-shirts and walk in circles together. Honestly, if a fortune teller would have predicted that one day I would be diagnosed with cancer and when I finished treatment I would participate in the ritual of walking a few miles with others, I would have wondered where that crackpot came up with such an idea. So why is this important to me?

When you are diagnosed with breast cancer, your life becomes a vortex that borders on spinning out of control. There are decisions to be made, insurance nuisances to address, and emotional and physical issues to manage. Everything must be laid out before you and coordinated in such a way that all the pieces can come together at the right time, if possible. Recovery is the same. It is a matter of baby steps, one step at time, moving forward and growing stronger each day.

Perhaps therein lies the analogy. The walks symbolize each day moving forward, one step at a time, growing stronger with each and every step. It is celebration, it’s a time to mourn, it is a time to challenge myself, it is a time to be proud, and it is a time to realize how far I still need to go.

We all have favorite charities and causes. This is mine. Fighting cancer is not fought alone. We all have to take up the fight. Will you join me?

Where Does the Time go?

2007-04-25T12:15:00.000-07:00

Spring is traditionally a busy, busy, busy season for me and this year is probably the busiest yet. In my own way, I take that as a victory.

Last week I found myself preparing for a special workshop that my organization only holds every few years. Three years ago I found myself preparing for the same workshop when just days before I detected a lump in my breast. Of course it took months and several tests and procedures before I finally heard the words, “You have cancer.” But instead of being in that place, I find myself with the strength and energy to handle what feels like an even more demanding schedule.

Honestly I believe it has taken me two years to shake the effects of cancer and its treatment and adjust to a new reality in my life. The most difficult part has not been how I feel personally, but how I internalize and feel about the people I have come to truly care for who are experiencing much greater struggles with cancer and recurrences. My heart aches for them. I can feel their fear. I know what goes through their mind. There is nothing I can do to help them or make it better for them or take away their fear. And I can’t do anything to take away my own fear. Somehow, or rather by the grace of God, I move forward each day trying to grab as much life as I can.

Each day I am grateful for my health and the blessings in my life. And each day I also remember others who continue to fight. I am asking that you do the same. I need all your good thoughts, healing energy, prayers, mojo, or whatever you call it to be directed at Lori and her husband Cary. Lori is an amazingly strong warrior who needs strength from everywhere she can get it to keep fighting. If you are reading this, Lori, I am dedicating my Relay laps to you. I’ll be there 24 hours and I’ll be carrying you with me in spirit.

Never take a day or any moment of any day for granted. Let’s all grab as much life as we can today.

Shameless Self Promotion

2007-03-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

For a while now I have been collaborating with a medical website by contributing articles on breast cancer from the patient’s perspective. Recently we have started a series of articles on breast cancer and the unique issues that young women face with this diagnosis. The first article in this series was an overview of this topic and the most recent article addresses infertility after treatment. This topic weighed especially heavy on my heart as evident from this piece written shortly after treatment.

I invite you to visit My Breast Cancer Network. It’s part of the Health Central Network. I am so excited that they decided to devote resources to young women and I am proud of my association with this venture. Check the site often because more information for young women will be coming soon!

I'm Burnin' Up, Burnin' Up for . . . a Visit With You?

2007-03-07T20:08:00.000-08:00

How strange to wake up with a red, hot chest. Okay, not red hot, but red and hot. No matter how many times I describe it, I can't seem to get it right. It was no different when my plastic surgeon squeeezed me in on an emergency basis.

Him (touching my chest with the back of his hand): Oooo. Hot.

Me: Well, it is one thing to admire your own work, but, really. . .

Him: Temperature, dear. Hot temperature.

Me: Oh.

So it turns out that I got some weird, delayed, unexplainable case of cellulitis. Maybe. Since I went in right away upon noticing it, the doctor was not 100% convinced. All I know is that it was hot and red and burning from the inside out. A couple days of antibiotics has brought it back to near normal and a lot less hot.

But out of the blue? Two months after surgery? Strange. But then what is normal anymore? I can handle a little heat. . . as long asI have a fan aimed down my shirt, that is.

So close to a clean get away. . .

It's All Good

2007-02-14T10:05:00.000-08:00

At the 2.5 year mark, my tumor markers are holding steady in the normal range. No sign of cancer. No cancer-related issues. See you in six months. Thank God and thank all those who have offered prayers and good thoughts.

Even though I try to believe that these check ups don't stress me, apparently I was wrong. I have a swollen right side of my face from what appears to be grinding my teeth in my sleep. I enflamed the nerves which are pressing against my sinuses which are apparently a little infected. As a wise woman once said, "It's always something."

Even still, it's a good day. A very good day.

What Are the Odds?

2007-02-14T07:27:00.000-08:00

I have done a lot of confessing over the last couple of years; however, I have yet one more confession to make. I love quiz shows. I like the challenge of trying to answer correctly questions from a variety of categories. Besides, it gives me something to do with the useless and trivial knowledge I hold onto in my head(despite my ability to maintain much else in there). I was watching the newest quiz show 1 vs. 100. For those of you who have not had the pleasure, it is a show where the contestant is asked a question along with a "mob" of 100 people. The goal is for the contestant to continue answering questions correctly while eliminating members of the mob who answer incorrectly. Of course what kind of quiz show would not include money, drama, and suspense; however, the questions do not register a high level of difficulty and are based more on pop culture. Interestingly enough, some of the mob may be of a specific trade, or may be models from a specific product line, or there may be celebrities, etc. A little something thrown in to make it interesting I suppose.

I enjoyed this show until I noticed on two occasions the way in which attention was brought to the expected probability of whether or not a person of a given trade would or should answer correctly. For example, a large number of mob members were teachers (K-12). The expectation was for the teachers to hang in there the longest providing correct answer after correct answer, because, as we know, teachers know everything, right? Not so. In fact, the group of janitors lasted longer. Imagine the shock and the shame of those teachers to be beaten by janitors. Of all people! For the record I teach only part-time and at the college level and by trade I am a government professional, but isn't that an oxymoron (did someone say moron?).

I can still hear the applause for the avid reader who made it to the final four. What a shock to see such success since he was a room service waiter. How could a room service waiter possibly know if Lindsay Lohan has had a DUI? Or if Larry King has been married more times than King Henry VIII? Really? Aren't you still finding it hard to believe that a room service waiter is an avid reader? Ugh . . .

Sure, it is kind of fun to know if a teacher can pass a quiz, right? But isn't it a sad comment on society that we are a surprised when a waiter can succeed on a game show? We are full of stereotypes whether it be gender or class or race or appearance or anything else. We tend to categorize people into boxes and make assumptions about their abilities or whether or not we will like themlong before we truly meet them. Not only does this show encourage stereotypes, it promotes stereotyping as acceptable behavior. Oh, but not completely. It wouldn't be so brash as to have a Middle Eastern mob expecting them to answer questions about making IED's or having a mob of homsexual males answer grooming questions. In fact it picks on the less broad issues, yet still the the issues that further drive communities apart and encourage classism. You know, the things that drive the ratings right up and increase revenue from commercial sponsors.

The only thing that would make me dislike this show more is to see the mob filled with breast cancer survivors in October. Or worse yet, a mob with various groups of cancer survivors. Because you know that breast cancer survivors would easily take those pesky testicular cancer survivors.

In case you were wondering, no, Lindsay Lohan surprisingly has not had a DUI and it is Larry King (7) who had more wives , though he didn't behead them like King Henry VIII (6) - at least not yet anyway.

Oops, I Didn't Mean to Spill my Coffee on You, but my Fingers Were Crossed

2007-02-07T11:48:00.000-08:00

There comes a time when words escape me. I should know the signs by now. I can’t express myself, I don’t want to talk about cancer, commercials touting “I’m ready to start my chemotherapy” make me cry, I find my jaw clenched the majority of the time, I’m a bit agitated (and not by too much caffeine), I can’t make eye contact with women with extremely short hair (even if it is a chosen style), and then I go to the lab for blood tests. Even though I had a reprieve for the last six months, I should know by now that oncology follow-ups get to me no matter how much I try to believe I am stronger than that. They never get easier. Waiting is never palatable.

I get my results next week. Fingers and toes crossed (even if it makes me drive funny and walk with a strange double limp).

I’d Like to Say “It’s a Little Nippy,” But, Like, it’s Los Angeles and it’s, Like, Sunny

2007-01-09T11:51:00.000-08:00

A few people have asked me if I will continue to blog. My response was that I planned to see this through to the end, sharing my experiences until I was finished. I have learned a couple of things. One is that this process is never over. Cancer gets in and even if you get it out, the stink of it remains. It reminds of me of someone smoking in your car. You never quite get that smell out. Sure sometimes you don’t notice it, but then one day, your senses pick it up again and it brings back the memory of someone smoking in your car.

Among the other things I’ve learned is that reconstruction truly. takes. for. ev. er. My plastic surgeon and I are so comfortable with one another that he’s asked me to be the Godmother to his grandson. Well, not quite that comfortable, but it sure feels like one of those relationships that take years to cultivate. Oh wait. It has been years. I had my first consultation with him in August of 2004. I have seen him regularly since then and more frequently than my oncologist. I could have had a much faster process if a) my doctor had office hours more than one day per week, b) my doctor didn’t travel the world educating future doctors and doing missionary work, and c) if my doctor didn’t prefer to put off to tomorrow what I would rather have done yesterday. However, I appreciate his skill, expertise, and good nature. He has done good work with me and I have proposed my challenges along the way. He has also proven to be a formidable opponent in a battle of wits. What can I say? We are a good match.

The latest accomplishment is that I had nipple reconstruction last week. I hesitated in getting them. Let’s face it, they aren’t functional in any way imaginable. Did I need a surgical procedure yet again? I’m so glad I did it. I love them. They are so cute. It is the best thing I have had done in this process. They make me feel a bit more complete and they magically turn chest lumps into breasts. You know, they are still frankenboobies and that won’t change, but they seem more boobie-ish now. And did I mention they are cute?

My doctor followed the procedure of using local tissue to create the perfect little nips. There are many approaches to this procedure such as twist and stitch or four-leaf clover, but he mentioned something about a butterfly. For the first time I wasn’t concerned with the technical aspect and didn’t pay too much attention to the details. It was completed under local anesthesia with a little sedation. I recovered quickly and felt great the rest of the day. I couldn’t ask for a smoother process until, of course, I developed an infection on one side. I am hopeful it will clear up and everything will be fine.

The moral of the story today is threefold. First, you are stuck with me blogging for a bit longer at least. Second, patience my child, have patience. Reconstruction and a caring physician are worth it psychologically. Thirdly, my new nips are smokin’.

Read more from me about nipple reconstruction here!

And Then I Saw the Piñata

2006-12-28T15:32:00.000-08:00

This is my third New Yearsy type post since I began blogging. I can’t believe how much my life has changed and yet still remained the same. Long ago, before I ever knew what blogging was, I decided I needed to carve out a place for myself in this world. I needed to make a mark on life somehow. I had finished grad school, my career was going well, and the part-time teaching was challenging and rewarding. I thought I felt good about my accomplishments, but somewhere deep down inside it didn’t seem like enough. “What would happen if I died tomorrow,” I thought to myself. “Who would ever know I existed, that I made a contribution to this world?” I began doing more, volunteering at with charitable causes, getting involved with various projects, giving everything I had within me to anyone who asked. I thought I was living passionately, but instead I was slowly dying.

And then 2004 rolled around and brought a cancer diagnosis. Suddenly life as I knew it changed. Nothing else existed except the single goal of waging a war and winning. Before the year ended, I had been through chemo, surgery, and declared cancer free. I welcomed 2005 with a vengeance as a new start. Instead I started what seemed an endless journey through reconstruction spanning the entire year. It didn’t matter though because it was a year of reconstructing as opposed to the prior year of what felt like deconstructing. I was trying to reconstruct a life post cancer, but I wasn’t sure what I was reconstructing. My life before was chaos. It was basically a flurry of responsibilities and duties and trying to find my place in this world.

By the end of 2005 I thought I figured it out. I needed to be still. I needed to understand what had transpired in my life and build the life I wanted, something that could make me proud. I tried to be still and plan rather than just jump in and do, but life post cancer kept infiltrating my quiet moments and the white noise would overtake the stillness and chaos would creep back in. When I would look deep within me, rather than find understanding and acceptance, I would see a deep, black, cavernous hole that was engulfing me from the inside out.

As 2006 has rolled on by, I have learned that life is simply a decision. At the beginning of this month I was facing a series of doctor appointments with various specialists to address the various physical ailments that may or may not have been associated with treatment or medication. On the way to the appointment I passed the former home belonging to my aunt and uncle whom have both passed away in the last couple of years. It is just down the street from my mom’s house and somehow the street seems vacant and soul-less without them there or without various family celebrations taking place there. The new family had just had their first family celebration there. As I drove past the house a flood of images came across my mind. In the trash bin set out at the street, the remnants of a piñata were visible. That piñata symbolized the changes at that house, the new family, the new celebrations, the new culture. Somehow the house had survived and once again happy memories were filling every corner. The house looked beautiful once again.

As I was discussing the results of a medical procedure with the doctor, the words she spoke were different than what I heard. She may have said, “The results look normal, but what you describe is not. Let’s keep an eye on this and have another exam in a year.” What I heard was, “You may not feel normal or trust your body, but you are going to be okay.” It was on that day that I made the decision to move on. I realized I could make a decision to be miserable or I could make a decision to be happy and truly understand what it means to live a passionate and full life. In a sense, the remnants of my own psychological piñata, as beat up as it was, lay strewn on floor as I left the office.

With that lesson, I move forward into 2007 with great hope and great joy in anticipation of the many changes that lie ahead. I’ve deconstructed, I’ve reconstructed, and now I look forward to making the decisions in my life that will bring happiness and excitement and rewarding challenges. Well, 2007, bring it on. I am ready. I am so ready.

Happy New Year to all the internets and my family and friends who continue to stop by. May you see your own piñata in the days ahead and a enjoy new year filled with great surprises!

Urgent Request

2006-12-23T13:49:00.000-08:00

This time of year we are often reminded of the goodness of people, the blessings in our lives, and all for which we are thankful. For some this may be true, but for others it is not. I just learned that one of the dearest people I have met through blogging has learned of a recurrence of her breast cancer. I am saddened beyond belief for her. Minerva fought not only to beat her breast cancer, but to regain her life and it seemed that she had accomplished both. Please, I implore you, even if you are a complete stranger or a lurker, please in the spirit of Christmas, reach out and give Minerva some love.

The Present

2006-12-18T09:09:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine recently remarked that I was raised “old country.” In my head, momentarily, I had mixed reactions. The modern career woman in me was a bit unarmed because apparently my secret was out. I was exposed for the old country girl that I am.

For the sake of clarity, let's make sure we are on the same page in respect to “old country girl.” I am not an old country girl like Barbara Mandrell (who incidentally was country when country wasn't cool). I am old country as in "from the old country." My family has roots in Italy. My father, though an American citizen, was raised in Italy. My mother's family came to the United States when her oldest sister was just a child. They were part of the big wave of European immigrants who came to the United States in the early 1900’s with my parents a part of the generation who experienced both the Great Depression and World War II. As the very last of the Baby Boomers, I was raised to turn off the lights when I left a room, to not be wasteful, to respect the institution of family, and, perhaps most important this time of year, to make traditional Italian goodies (from scratch) for the holidays. The old country in me is most prominent this time of year when nostalgia runs high. I find myself seeking out opportunities to be around people who value the same things and share the same culture, but each year it seems that opportunites to bring together old country Italian-Americans are dwindling. It seems this feeling of balancing old and new, past and future, are part of my present in many ways.

As I was decorating the Christmas tree this year, I was reminiscing about my first Christmas tree in my very first apartment. I bought my first tree without thinking about a stand, lights, or decorations. Details, details. The stand was a quick buy at the tree lot, but for the others I would have to be creative. Lucky for me I was a child of the 80’s (okay, perhaps not a child, but a young adult) and had a large selection of dangling sparkly earrings (though mostly neon colors – c’mon, it was the 80’s afterall) and filled in the rest with dried flowers, ribbons, lace, and other handmade decorations. Sometimes old country comes in handy.

As the years progressed I tried to create a designer tree with a color scheme and theme. I had collected all the decorations, made the tree skirt from a bridesmaid dress (there is a use for them after the wedding if you're crafty). Though it looked department store window beautiful, every time I looked at it I felt this distinct sadness. It finally dawned on me that nothing on the tree had special meaning. The ornaments weren't hand made and there were no fancy ornaments received as gifts. There was simply no tradition, no story. That was one of those moments when I realized the importance of tradition for this old country girl. Over the years I threw out the color scheme, the plain white lights, and the theme. I have expanded my collection of ornaments, mostly antique reflector ornaments, as well as a few special ornaments that were either made for me or given as gifts. The tree isn't complete without lots of multicolored lights and one of my old earrings just for nostalgia.

As I decorated my tree, I couldn't help but think about how time has flown sine that first tree. Each ornament from my collection tells a story of the past and the memories fill the house along with the decorations. More importantly than the past, this tree tells a story about the future. I haven't had a tree the last few years. After recovering from surgery each of the last two years a tree was the furthest thing from my mind. This year is different. This year it symbolizes the joy I have today and the hope I have for tomorrow. It is a big step in my journey, but one I have to take to continue moving forward. This year is different indeed. I don't always feel it one hundred percent, but in my heart I know that I am coming to terms with the implications of having had cancer and how it impacts my life each day. Most days I feel at peace with it and am ready to go about the business of living. Not living in the shadow of cancer, but living passionately, embracing the past, and greeting the future with a reserved yet optimistic enthusiasm. Not a bad start for an old country girl.

Up, Down, but Mostly Up

2006-11-30T18:00:00.000-08:00

The last few weeks came with its own set of highs and lows and without further delay, I bring you the last few weeks in bullets:

My mom (and her church crafting group) was honored as the donor of the year at a state developmental hospital for ten years of making and donating hand made Christmas gifts to the clients
My mom went into the hospital for pneumonia the next day
I spent four nights at the hospital with her (sheesh, they never let you sleep there)
One of my long lost friends called me while I was going to the hospital and offered to keep me company on the night shift (I told him to stay home, but the gesture was so thoughtful. Who does that?)
My mom came home from the hospital
We had a visit from my nephews John and Mark and Mark’s wife Kristin
We enjoyed a lovely and relaxing Thanksgiving holiday
My doggies were thoroughly spoiled for four days in a row
I met with my plastic surgeon and scheduled nipple reconstruction (signifying the beginning of the end of reconstruction)
My mom’s doctor proclaimed her lungs clear
I was appointed to an advisory council at a local community college
One of my dearest friends called to tell me he is flying in for a Christmas visit
Today my mom celebrates her 84th birthday

There are quite a few milestones there. I have had much for which to be thankful this season, but they all pale in comparison to the joy of celebrating my mom’s 84th year. She is an amazingly strong woman who continues to give of herself in every way possible. She is my hero, my inspiration, my friend, and one of the best huggers around. And darn it, she can still solve the word jumbles faster than I can most days!

Happy Birthday, Mom. Here’s to many, many more.

Embracing the Pink

2006-11-28T11:46:00.000-08:00

For a long time I was not part of the pink ribbon club. I have blogged about the big pink marketing machine known as breast cancer awareness, whether it comes in the form of a month or as a surprise attack throughout the year. I have shared how I struggle with the marketing aspect and that I find the month uncomfortable at times. Many of you did too and I was right there with you, even though I am indeed part of the breast cancer community. Do you understand? I. was. right. there. with. you.

This year, I tried to find peace, a middle ground so to speak. I learned about all the advances that breast cancer research lends to other cancer treatments including lung cancer, head and neck cancers, and others. This helped me to realize that the fifty cents from M&Ms resounded throughout the entire cancer community. Not such a bad deal when you consider how those fifty cents add up over time and across many vendors.

Since October I have read one too many pieces about how other cancers are slighted because they don’t get the same attention, how lung cancer is actually the number one killer among women and should get more attention, and blah blah blah, wine, wine, cry. Well now, all of my anti-pink friends who I am lovingly calling the bitchers and moaners in the blogospere, you have pushed me over the edge. Let’s examine the facts:

1. First, we are a nation obsessed with breasts. No, let me restate that. We are an international people obsessed with breasts. There is nothing sexy about lungs. Nothing sexy about your pancreas either. No one (except perhaps your doctor) will judge you or promote you or ask you out to dinner based on the appearance of your liver. Who wouldn’t want to save the breasts? Hell, I still wish I could have saved my own. There is even a line of t-shirts dedicated to the cause.

2. This is serious (any time I use stats I’m serious). According to the National Lung Cancer Partnership, 82,000 women will be diagnosed with lung cancer this year and 68,510 will die from the disease. Yes, the mortality rate is deplorable; however, according to the Komen Foundation, 212,000 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006 and 40,970 will die from this disease. While the mortality rate is lower, the rate of diagnosis is two and half times greater. And guess what? The mortality rate was MUCH higher when we weren’t raising funds for research, treatment, and early detection.

Put these two items together and what does it mean? There are a whole lot more breast cancer survivors out there to raise awareness and be the squeaky wheel. And while yes, we are alive to tell our stories, we have also been through hell. In the seventies and early eighties, mastectomy was the only way to go and everything was removed down to the chest wall muscle. Women were left visibly deformed and ravaged with no insurance benefits for reconstruction. Many of us know the lifelong side-effects of chemo, but in the early days of chemo the patients suffered even greater. Through research and clinical trials we have become smarter. Lumpectomies are performed when possible and chemo and radiation are limited in duration to what is known to be effective.

We have taken these experiences and brought them to light and the corporate community responded to our pleas for help. Sure, it helps them too, but it helps us all. If contributing to breast cancer awareness were not profitable for the vendor, it would not continue to occur. Whether you embrace the pink or not, somebody is out there buying up the Campbell’s Soup faster than you can schedule your annual mammogram.

Next time you are complaining about breast cancer awareness, remember that when you or someone you know is being treated for ovarian cancer or head & neck cancer that the drugs that are being administered were developed to fight breast cancer and through research found to be effective for other cancers as well. Next time you complain about the color pink remember that research for breast cancer resonates through the entire cancer community. Next time you complain about the barrage of products on the store shelves, remember that one of those 212,000 women diagnosed could be you or your mother or your sister or your wife. Next time you complain about how your cancer doesn’t get the same attention as my cancer, remember that all cancers are our cancers and any contribution we make to one effects us all.

And next time you complain about any of this, remember that you made me cross over to the pink side.

What's the Big Hairy Deal?

2006-11-14T17:42:00.000-08:00

A quick trip through the history books and we know as much about a woman’s hairstyle as her historical contributions. Whether it is Cleopatra’s seductive bob, Marie Antoinette’s up do, or the flowing locks of Botticelli’s Venus, a woman’s hairstyle is synonymous with her personal style and identity. What’s the big deal? It is only hair. Well at least that is what I have been telling myself for the past two years.

But can’t we tell a lot about a woman by her hairstyle? Hmmmm . . . how many Playboy Playmates have short hair (or not blonde hair for that matter)? Flash back to Three’s Company and you will know which one was the sensible one and which one was the playful one by the hairstyle. Let’s flash back even further to Gunsmoke’s Miss Kitty with her upswept saloon girl do versus the conservative hardworking Ma Ingals of Little House on the Prairie. Hairstyles reveal things quicker than Lady Godiva can cover them up.

There was only one thing on my Christmas wish list in 2004. I had finished chemo in November and was recovering from surgery in December. I was joyous from a clean pathology report, but there was still something missing. On Christmas Eve I awoke to a crown of soft, tiny grey-brown hair. An arched shadow above my eyes would give way to brand new eyebrows. Tiny little points of eyelashes were just beginning to emerge. It was indeed a Christmas miracle for Santa brought me the gift of hair growth (cue the angel trumpet blasts and the rays of light from the top of my head).

Not that I am trying to perpetuate the importance of hair, but I couldn’t help reminiscing about the hair journey. In these last two weeks I have finally felt like my hair was getting to an acceptable length and style. Not since birth have I had short hair and these past two years of awkward hair lengths and “growing out” styles have been a challenge, not to mention the changes in texture and body that have taken place. It has been yet one more thing that made me feel less like me during this cancer chronicle.

But what is it about feeling my hair brush against my neck or being able to put it up in a clip that makes me feel more me? Or is it simply being able to once again have control over how I look? I’m not sure of the answer, but I do know that losing one’s hair is a significant step in the cancer battle.

As I wrote in August 2004,

“This has been quite a week. I think I have experienced more emotions and feelings this week than in any week since beginning this journey. And oddly enough, the one thing I thought I was most prepared for was the one thing that brought me to my knees. . . Breast cancer and its treatment have an impact on the feminine aspects of a woman, though it doesn’t attack her womanhood. What is an outwardly physical sign that I am a woman? Is it my breasts? My softly curled flowing locks of hair? Is it my soft skin and nicely shaped fingernails? If my breasts are damaged, my hair erased, my nails and skin dry and flaking, am I still a woman?”

Losing my hair was a turning point. I was beginning to outwardly wear the badge of cancer. As good as wigs are nowadays, look closely enough and you can tell (yes, even on today’s pop princesses). With the exception of a daft colleague at the university who thought my new hat fetish was cute (not real perceptive, that one), my baldness was easily identifiable. What’s worse, I felt bald . . .bare . . . exposed, even when covered.

In much the same way, feeling like my hair is finally at a length I can appreciate is also a turning point of sorts. I feel like I am back. Life is becoming more comfortable to me again and I am feeling more at ease with things. Perhaps the team of specialists exploring various body parts (and not finding cancer) has given me reassurance. Perhaps its simply the passage of time dulling the cancer pangs. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the sweep of my bangs, the wispy tickling of hair against my shoulders, and the way it frames my face that lets me know that the cycle of life is still moving forward. As am I.

But what is it?

2006-11-06T11:35:00.000-08:00

Thank you to everyone who emailed me or left a comment (Thanks, Keri!) asking about the biopsy results. The biopsy came back as not cancer and not a drug reaction. Iam extremely grateful and relieved that it is not cancer related. All of the information I read on that subject was very dismal to say the least. So now, what is it? I have done exhaustive and extensive research on this issue. I have no delusions of being a doctor, but I do know I am a researcher. The doctor respectfully listened while I shared my research about the link between the horrid itchy leg rash, hormone (likely progesterone) imbalance, and thyroid condition (all worsened by the chemo and ongoing Tamoxifen). I even described how I can chart the itchiness with my cycle (peaking when the progesterone should be at its highest). When I was all done sharing my research I waited patiently for his response.

*crickets*

That is it. He simply looked at me while his mind raced feverishly through his encyclopedic dermatologic knowledge. I think even the street traffic below stopped and the earth fell totally silent (with the exception of the crickets apparently). My primary care doctor had the same reaction. It is a reaction that says, “She may have something here, but it is totally over my head” (or as we teach our students presenting their research, “That is an excellent point, but unfortunately it is outside the scope of my research.”). He paused, turned his head in such a way that the sun coming through the window glistened against his radiant and seemingly ageless skin, and told me to continue using the ointment for one more week then taper down to three times a week and then as needed to keep the condition under control. Oh, and don’t forget to moisturize. Oh ye of perfect skin, thank you for trivializing this persistent sanity challenging condition with a reminder to moisturize. Why didn't I think of that?

I know, I know, it is a lot of drama for a rash when babies are starving in India and getting HIV in Africa. I am just tired of living with it and having to hide my legs. It is one more thing keeping this cancer experience from being in the past (tsk tsk, when will I learn that it will *never* be a thing of the past?). As I told the doctor, I am seeing a primary care doctor, a dermatologist, a gynecologist, and an endocrinologist and I don’t know which one will be able to put all the pieces together and figure this out for me. Three down, one to go. My concern is that if this condition persists and we simply treat the symptoms, then I remain somewhat vulnerable since I had hormone sensitive cancer.

Anyone know a good medical researcher? At this point I’ll just settle for a good bartender.

Um, No Mamm.

2006-11-02T10:22:00.000-08:00

Fall, a time for enjoying the crisp air, giving thanks, and enjoying a veritable smorgasbord of medical professionals. While the biopsy results await me tomorrow, I did see my new gynecologist. Much to my appreciation, this father-daughter ob-gyn practice is not a happy baby office. I did not see one issue of Parenting magazine nor did I witness one pregnant woman mindlessly caressing her protruding belly. Don’t get me wrong, I love the miracle of life and appreciate the beauty of pregnant woman. I just don’t love to be tossed in the middle of it all when I am there to examine the reasons why I will never be part of that elite group.

The office was fine; the doctor was okay. I may not necessarily make a lifetime connection with this doctor, but it works for now. I was a little disappointed with the conversation during the breast exam portion.

“So, when was your last mammogram?” the doctor asked.

“In 2004 just prior to the cancer diagnosis,” I replied.

“You haven’t had another one since?” she stated in disbelief.

“No, as you can see, I no longer need them.”

“You don’t?” she said, half asking and half questioning my personal care choices, and in a somewhat accusatory tone.

There was no mistaking the scars and the implants. How could a gynecologist not know that you don’t need a mammogram after a bilateral mastectomy? Given the number of women who have breast cancer and the number of women who have prophylactic mastectomies for genetic concerns, I would assume that a practicing gynecologist might know this. I simply looked at her while she quickly examined me and said,

“Uh, no. You see, I have no mamms to gram.”

A hush fell over the room. Within moments I was off the table and picking up a referral for a pelvic ultrasound and follow-up appointment. The fun times just keeps on rolling.

Thanks, I Needed That

2006-10-18T08:22:00.000-07:00

Some things just sneak up on you and make you laugh hysterically. After a recent surge in site stats, I reviewed the referrals (or how people find this site). This one really made me laugh. I apparently come up quite high in a search for "mother daughter nude." Someone must be pretty desperate to come here looking for that.

Gee, Mom, are you up for it?

Just When You Think It's Safe to Go Back in the Doctor's Office . . .

2006-10-14T21:47:00.000-07:00

Biopsy -- Removal of a sample of tissue, which is then examined under a microscope to check for cancer cells (National Insitute of Health).

When I went into the dermatologist's office, I expected to leave with a new steroid cream or perhaps discuss alternative treatment methods. I hadn't expected he would biopsy my rash in four places. I hadn't expected the effect the word "biopsy" would have on me.

I hadn't realized what a baby I've become. I can sure bite the bullet for major surgeries and chemo treatments, but come at me with a needle and I am reduced to a lost child. Four shots, four little incisions, and some stitches later and I leave feeling like a I should have at least earned a cherry lollipop and a pat on the head. Afterall, I was a good girl. I only let out one audible gasp. Such a baby.

We all have our weaknesses. At least I'm not the only one who has faced cancer, yet can be taken down by something that would seem to pale in comparison. Just ask my friend Angie. By the way, stop by and wish her a speedy recovery from "the suds."

I get the results November 3rd. Until then, I have yet another steroid cream to try. This time I get to wear it with a saran wrap protective cover. It may not clear up the rash, but I probably won't get pregnant (ba da bum).

Interesting how I felt in my last post. I'll just have to cross my fingers and hope this doesn't knock the pendulum off kilter. Sheesh! I was finally enjoying the rhythmm.

Hope

2006-10-11T08:16:00.000-07:00

A pendulum swings from side to side, one extreme to another. Its even cadence allowing the anticipation of each movement, each shift from one side to the next. So it is with life, the shifting from one extreme to the other, from winter to spring, summer to fall, light to darkness. The rhythmic motion like a child's swing cradling us and bringing us from one season to the next.

But as with life, a force thrust upon a pendulum can jolt it, sending it unexpectedly wobbly, spiraling and bouncing wildly without steady direction. Given enough time and a safe environment, it will find its rhythm once again. The steady pace will re-emerge. Eventually, we all have the ability to find our way home.

For the first time in quite awhile, I feel surprisingly hopeful.

***crossing my fingers and squeezing my eyes shut and hoping I didn't just jinx myself by admitting it out loud.***

Today

2006-10-11T07:50:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday, Jeannette! May it be a day and year filled with joyful and peaceful moments. Thank you for blessing us, each and every day.

In the Pink or Seeing Red?

2006-10-02T11:31:00.000-07:00

A few years back, before breast cancer,while shopping at Nordstrom I noticed a bag of potpourri that had pink flower bits and smelled so fresh and pleasant that I could just imagine how delightful it would be to fill my home with that fragrance. It was $10 for a decently sized bag. As much as I wanted it, potpourri wasn’t at the top of my list that day. In setting it back down, I noticed the familiar pink ribbon insignia on a little romance card attached to the bag. The card spoke of breast cancer awareness and that it was a limited time purchase only available in October. Suddenly, purchasing potpourri had become a noble deed. It had had gone beyond a desire for home fragrance to somehow saving lives. All for a limited time and a one-time only price of $10. How could I pass up a bargain like that?

In 2004, just months after my diagnosis, breast cancer awareness month took on a different meaning for me. It wasn’t about consumerism, rather, it was about awareness. I was amazed at the shocking statistics I would stumble across while doing research that uncovered the very low numbers of women getting annual mammograms compared to the number who should be getting them based on recommended guidelines. Still a noble cause, I embraced the month and was grateful for all the advances that have come as a result of raising awareness and funds.

In 2005, I experienced some internal conflict regarding the marketing machine known as breast cancer awareness month. A part of that still exists within me. I get embarrassed talking to my friends with ovarian and other cancers who struggle for funding and awareness. I feel like the favored daughter in the midst of a family of neglected children. The attention doesn’t feel good when the people I care about are not being treated the same. It feels as if I am receiving something at the cost of others. That doesn’t change the gratitude I have for the advances made possible by breast cancer awareness month that have positively affected my diagnosis, treatment, and prognosis, but there in lies the conflict. How many bracelets/tees/pink peppermint patties/bottles of nail polish/etc. does it take to find a cure? And how many can I wear without feeling like I'm losing myself in the cause and becoming a walking billboard for consummerism (well.. except for these… after all, it is a noble cause….). Sometimes it all feels like too much and that the consumerism is exploiting the breast cancer community (but I swear I wouldn’t feel exploited wearing these).

So here we are in 2006. It turns out that purchasing the potpourri years ago didn’t protect me from breast cancer. I am, however, somehow reaching a compromise on the potpourri of feelings regarding breast cancer awareness month. As we continue to make advances in cancer research, we are finding that various drugs work for more than one type of cancer and we are working on ways to move forward and apply various therapies to various forms and stages of cancer. In many ways, the advances in breast cancer research have a ripple effect through the cancer community as a whole. Sure, I would love it if Hershey would cut a check out of the kindness of their corporate heart, but if selling pink wrapped chocolate kisses enables them to not only make the donation, but have an impact on the cancer community as a whole, then it can’t be all bad (in moderation, of course, don't forget that pesky relation between diet and cancer risk). The bottom line is that all cancers benefit from the advances in breast cancer research and treatment, much of which is funded through the generosity of our corporate sponsors.

I won’t be the first to rush out and buy pink chocolates or car decals or even the most delightfully scented potpourri. I may, however, donate my old hats to a cancer care center, or make sure that my sisters have scheduled their annual mammograms, or volunteer at the cancer care center chemo infusion room. There are plenty of people going through treatment with no support system who would love the company. Or perhaps I’ll take a day out of my busy schedule and just stop, watch the sunrise, breathe in the lovely fall air, feel the wind on my face, and be thankful that I am here to experience yet one more breast cancer awareness month.

Even if you don’t shop pink, there are still plenty of ways to make a difference this month. Who knows? It may just save your life.

Time Wounds all Heels

2006-09-26T12:08:00.000-07:00

Time may not heal, but it has allowed me to calm down since my last rant about the doctor visit. The next day, the doctor called me with lab results and they weren’t as I expected. I brace myself to expect the worst of every medical report and in my head the worst would have been cancer related. Instead, my results were more treatment related. It seems my already challenged thyroid has slowed down even more. In fact, my dosage of meds is higher than some people who have had their thyroid removed and it is still underfunctioning. Nice, huh? Off to the endocrinologist . . .

In the meantime, the increased doses of the meds has relieved some of the muscle pain in my legs and given me more energy. My doggies, who have now gone on extended walks and a couple of runs in the park, are eternally grateful. Of course, I too am grateful for not feeling like such a rundown crabby slug. The thyroid is an amazing cog in the body machine and when it isn’t working properly it is amazing how overall crappy one feels both physically and emotionally. Seriously. It also has an effect on cholesterol levels and a whole slew of other health indicators. Women are particularly susceptible to thyroid conditions and Tamoxifen can also interfere with thyroid function and/or thyroid medication. I highly recommend that anyone experiencing symptoms of thyroiditis request a simple blood test to check TSH levels at their next wellness check.

I’m also patiently awaiting trips to the dermatologist as well as the gynecologist. With an aging population and the spike in obstetrics malpractice insurance, I’m surprised there aren’t any (at least in my area on my insurance plan) plain old gynecologists who don’t practice obstetrics. It would be nice to have a doctor focus on gynecological wellness without the office being a happy baby office. I think the happy baby people should be segregated in their happy baby environments and let those of us not dealing with happy baby issues not be faced with photos of happy new babies, parenting magazines, and glowing women mindlessly rubbing their pregnant tummies. In the meantime, until a qualified doctor picks up on my great suggestion, I will visit the happy baby office and see my new gynecologist who looks like a ten year old that shouldn’t even yet know where babies come from let alone be examining those parts.

And if three referrals and a follow-up recheck weren’t enough, it is also time to see my favorite plastic surgeon soon to talk about my final reconstruction issues. Although I haven’t actively had anything done for the last ten months outside of a recheck, it sure seems like reconstruction is taking longer than puberty did. All in good time, I suppose. All in good time.

Dr. Bombay Come Right Away . . . or at Least at the Scheduled Appointment Time

2006-09-12T07:55:00.000-07:00

I have been lucky to have had excellent doctors throughout my experience. I have praised them, expressed my undying love for at least one (if not two) of them, and I have been most grateful for the role they all have played in my healing. However, throughout this process, I have had nothing but anxiety and grief from my primary care physician. I am a firm believer that most primary care physicians are great at healing slightly sick people. Once stricken a major illness, there should be a "specialty" primary care doctor to whom one can be assigned. My issues seem to be outside of original diagnosis for my oncologist, yet over the head of my primary care physician. To add more frustration to the mix, my primary care physician apparently does not own a watch.

I have struggled with some minor, troubling issues since treatment. One is this awful rash on my feet which by this point has crept up my now permanently scarred and hyperpigmented ankles and calves. Another is the persistent leg cramping as well as other issues. It was time to follow up once again with the primary care physician. It took two and one-half weeks to get an appointment. My appointment was scheduled for 4:30 p.m. When I checked in the receptionist informed me the doctor was running about an hour behind. I left to do some errands and came back in 45 minutes (any later and I would have been locked out). The doctor finally came in at 7:15 p.m. Let me repeat that, in case you missed it. I was finally seen at 7:15 p.m. for a 4:30 p.m. appointment.

I was furious, but trying to be patient because, after all, I needed this appointment. I had now waited two and one-half weeks and three hours. I was too invested to walk out or get poor treatment by being a difficult. The first thing she said was, "It is getting late for both of us." Um, whose fault is that? I was fifteen minutes early for my appointment.

I explained my list of troubling symptoms. She looked at my legs and said I needed to see a dermatologist (which is what I requested three appointments ago) and that it was likely related to the Taxol I had during chemo (which is what I stated three appointments ago). As I rattled off my other symptoms, she kept writing and checking her medical reference handheld device. At one point I stated, "It is painful here (gesturing to the troubling area) even if you apply only a little pressure." She never once laid a hand on me. Never once examined any of the other issues I addressed. She said she would take some labs and then pulled out her prescription pad and starting listing vitamins that I should take followed by, "and these are all available here." Guess what? I ALREADY TAKE THEM.

I left without my derm or lab referrals because no one was left in the front office (or back office besides me and the doctor) at 7:30 p.m. I waited and watched the mail for four days. Nothing. I call and convince them to prepare it for me to pick up. The next day I go to the lab and have fifteen tubes of blood drawn for some 30 odd tests (at least I can give her credit for gathering information). I go back for my follow up appointment and after waiting two hours I am told they don't have the results. NO RESULTS.

I am so not happy with HMOs. The HMOs limit the doctors in what they can charge for regular services and dictate what services they are willing to cover. It seems that doctors have to offer some type of cosmetic service or sell some product line in order to stay in practice. Where is the integrity though? Is it ethical for a doctor to "prescribe" a product they sell? Do I want an oral surgeon to be my Botox provider? Do I want cosmetic procedures with my annual pap? (Hmmm...is there a discount if I do a two-for-one?)

I think it is all part of a vast left wing conspiracy for our medical system to be run so poorly that we clamor and beg for socialized medicine. If my legs didn't cramp so badly I would already be on at least one knee. Even if doctors need to be entrepreneurial in order to succeed with the business end of things, it is not okay to be so far behind schedule due to your vitamin sales pitch with each patient. It's not okay not to apologize. It is not okay to not have the results in for a scheduled follow-up. It's just not okay. It certainly doesn't uphold your overly wordy mission statement posted in each exam room that includes among your objectives to do no harm and to esteem each patient. Check my blood pressure and stress levels after I have waited hours to not get results for issues that have bothered me for over a year. I do not feel esteemed. Or even respected.

Pomp and Circumstance

2006-08-28T17:26:00.000-07:00

While many are contemplating going back to school, I have just graduated. No longer am I required to make a pilgramage to to oncologisit every three months. I have graduated to six month appointments. Apparently, I am holding steady-ish on the tumor markers and all is good. Still no sign of cancer.

I am having some quality of life issues that require follow-up. One is that I am trying to adjust to Tamoxifen, but having mixed results. At times I feel good, other times I feel like I cannot tolerate one more leg cramp (today, for example it is the latter). I continue to have issues with ovulation and extreme pain. The first step is to follow up with a gynecologist (oh goodie!) and then determine how much I want my ovaries to function. I have lots of decisions to make and several appointments to schedule (such joy!).

In the end it doesn't really matter. I function just fine and can handle what I have going on now. What matters most is that I am still cancer free.

What I Won't Do for Love (or, The Poo Detective)

2006-08-22T09:24:00.000-07:00

I have learned that my relationship with my dogs is much like my real life relationships. For example, my puppy, appropriately named Romeo, wakes up all cuddly and snuggly in the morning. Typical guy, no? And within the span of a few minutes they can go from loving on you to peeing your foot. It is that simple. Even though they have been one expensive lesson after another, the most recent one taught me the biggest lesson.

For the past two years I have worn a hearing aid to compensate for moderate hearing loss in one ear. Yes, just one more thing I fall into the category of "too young to have." There is an operation that can fix it, but only temporarily, so the doctor suggested I wait until it is more severe before considering it. Anyway, I have a system of placing my hearing aid in one of two places when I take it off in the evening. No exceptions. Otherwise I would lose it or forget it the next morning.

Yes astute readers, you see where I am going with this, don't you?

So one day I can't find my hearing aid and after searching for quite sometime, decided it was better to get to work on time and half-deaf rather than late and fully hearing. On the way to work I surmise that I must have started to doze off while watching TV and took the hearing aid off and put it in my pocket. I quickly called my sister and asked her to check my hamper when she went over to my house at lunch to let the dogs out for awhile (Great sister, isn't she? Not only does she let my dogs out, she also is willing to go through my dirty clothes hamper). In return I received a photo sent to my cell phone of a small flesh-colored piece of plastic and a tiny gold hearing aid battery (she's also quite a detective). Hmmm. . .

Upon further detective work that I won't describe, we determined that indeed Romeo was the culprit. I considered the possibility of seeing if the fractured remains were still operational, but I was afraid I still wouldn’t be able to hear crap (ba-da-bum). Quite the expensive lesson. After ordering a new hearing aid ($1,000 later), I noticed that something was wrong with Romeo. He would wince when picked up and he wasn't his usual jumpy, hyper self. Oh no! Was it the hearing aid? Was it something else? Off to the vet for x-rays, treatment, prescriptions, etc.

Good news and bad news. One piece was still in there, but it looked as though it was safely moving through the system. He also injured his paw and/or neck likely while engaged in rough play with his momma, but no broken bones. So after fluids, pain injections, and anti-inflammatories, we returned home just in time for the remaining piece to safely leave his system (almost as quickly as the cash left my pocket).

As frustrating, maddening, and expensive as the whole process was, I could hardly wait to get home and play with him. I'm convinced it's my most abusive relationship to date. But who could resist this?

Trying to Get my Fix

2006-08-21T12:17:00.000-07:00

I’ve had a hard time posting lately. Sometimes I feel the need to get away from all things cancer. Of course this usually happens around check-up time, which, as I mentioned, had postponed (don’t worry, I had my labs done and face the music tomorrow). Sometimes I feel submersed in the cancer world, gasping for air. This has been one of those times.

The truth is that my diagnosis took me from being a casual supporter to being a passionate advocate for all things cancer-related. So when a friend is diagnosed with cancer, I’m there. When a co-worker finds a lump, she calls me for advice. I know how much that support means. I consider it an honor. But what happens when the friend has a terrible reaction to the chemo? Or that lump is diagnosed as cancer? Or when one of my friends in the Internet faces year three of chemo? Or year seven of chemo? Or worse yet. . .

If I haven’t introduced myself before, let me make this clear. My name is Jeannette and I am a fixer. (This is where you all shout in unison, Hi Jeannette! Welcome!) The fixer in me gets taken to task with cancer. I have never felt so powerless in any other aspect of my life. I can’t take away the nausea, the fear, or the stubborn metastasized cells that survive no matter the flood of chemotherapy. I can’t fix cancer. As hard as I try, I can only share my chemo secrets, I can only research new treatments, I can only offer my shoulder. I simply can’t fix cancer or my friends. It’s a bitch, isn’t it?

It’s one thing to offer the high five to a survivor and build uplifting Relay for Life-type events. I feel strong and it even almost makes me feel a little bit victorious. When I come face to face with reality of cancer, such as the struggle of chemo, the fatal side effects of treatment, the recurrences . . . I am reminded in a very real and tangible way of the stark and dark reality that exists.

So while I search for my “fix,” what else can I do but take the occasional break, postpone the quarterly re-check, and find as many victorious moments as possible to fill the days.

Double Digits

2006-08-03T14:17:00.000-07:00

Lucky for us the searing has heat has temporarily subsided and today we enjoyed 72 F weather. There is no place like home . . . when the weather is bearable. Of course, I'll talk about anything to avoid the subject of my next check up. It is a two year check up and if all is well I get to transition to six-month check ups after this one. I have no reason to worry. Everything is fine.

Then why is it that I already canceled my appointment and put it off one more week? I know, I know. I gave myself one more week of worry. Two years just seems so, so, I don't know, significant for whatever reason. I would rather not thinka about tumor markers and dates and exams if I don't need to. I want it to be over and it seems there is no "over."

On a brighter note, Carolyn at Brave as a Tiger, Strong as an Ox just got her new boobies or "noobies." Be sure and congratulate her. It isn't everyday a girl gets to go through puberty all over again (in like eleven hours).

While we are being Internet sociable, stop by and welcome Amanda back. She has not only started fresh in a new city, but also a new blog.

And one more. Stop by and share the love with Sandee. No particular reason today, but who couldn't use some love? Besides, I'm sure she could use a pick me up. We all could, right?

Going Home

2006-08-02T13:37:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine shared with me that her mom, "D", has stopped her chemotherapy because her liver was beginning to shut down. Her mom has been on chemo for the last several years straight and has been such a strong warrior. She's home surrounded by her family and time is winding down. "D" has always collected angels and now she will get to collect her very own wings. Please keep her and the entire family in your thoughts and prayers.

Hot, Hot, Hot

2006-07-24T16:26:00.000-07:00

Even in an air conditioned building I am wilting. That is nearly 43 C. Yikes.

I heard someone say it was hot as hell. Well, now, if that wasn't enough to scare me. I better make amends quickly because there is no way I can spend all of eternity in heat like this.

Hope you have found a way to keep cool today and aren't plagued with hot flashes and this unbearable heat.

Lights, Cancer, Action

2006-07-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

Many of us in the blogosphere have captured our breast cancer journeys in words, but imagine if a documentary was made of your experience. The Breast Cancer Diaries had its world premiere last month at the SilverDocs AFI Film Festival in Washington, D.C. According to producer and breast cancer survivor, Ann Murray Paige, whose experience is documented in the film, “Our hope is to give hope to the people who surround those diagnosed with breast cancer: to offer them insights on how to help, how to be a friend, and what it's 'like' to have cancer at a young age, with so much to live for."

I’m not sure why, but I have requested a DVD and one day when I feel the desire I know it will be a cathartic experience to view it. However, more importantly, when another friend asks me what he or she can do for a friend or family member just diagnosed with breast cancer (because it happens more often than I ever imagined it would), I will loan out this documentary so that my friend can see what is in store and determine how best to be part of the healing journey.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

2006-07-22T22:13:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks I have had the pleasure of staying with my mom while her caretaker (one of my sisters) was away. I look forward to this time each year because I enjoy the time I spend with my mom. I mentioned in the past that mom’s health was already fragile before she was diagnosed with an untreatable, yet slow growing, adenocarcinoma in her sinus. Prior to diagnosis, she had ongoing nose bleeds that we and her physicians felt were a side effect of blood thinning medication; however, with her various meds stopped, she continued to have nose bleeds that couldn’t seem to be cauterized. Finally, another trip to an ENT specialist led to a very painful biopsy that determined it was indeed cancer.

My mom took the news like a champ, but we’ve all shed some tears and have fear of what this thing inside of her will do next. As it grows, how will it manifest itself? The doctors, in fact a panel of five specialists, have informed us that the treatment is indeed worse than the disease. But somehow it all seems like a waiting game and I hate it. I wish we didn’t know it was there. I wish that each day when her nose inevitably bleeds, that she wasn’t reminded of what lurks beneath.

One day she had some packing in her nose to stop the bleeding and I had wheeled her in front of her sink to wash her hands. I had commented on how pretty her hair looked that day (thankfully we are late “grayers” in my family and her silvery hair color is just beautiful, especially for a woman of 83 years) and noticed that she didn’t say anything and tried to hurry with her task at hand. I again commented and asked her to look so she could see how lovely it looked. I watched her quickly glance in the mirror, cautious to avoid looking at her nose or the visible packing, and softly thanked me and then went about turning to grab the towel and going about her business.

That’s when it hit me. I am in so many ways like my mother and I have always been proud of that because she is such an amazing and strong woman. This was different. Perhaps this time, she was like me. When I step out of the shower or change my clothes, I am always cautious to avoid the mirror and looking at my breasts and the long red scars that cross them. Sure I look at them in clothing or in different bras, but since the first day after surgery, I have not looked at them even if I was standing nude in front of the mirror. And even though I have more than accepted my fate, I dislike being so visibly reminded. And perhaps so it is with my mother. Who needs to be reminded of cancer and all it is capable of destroying within you?

Touching, Funny, Honest

2006-07-20T17:44:00.000-07:00

Humor makes even the most difficult situations seem bearable. Miriam Engelberg channels her funny bone in this insightful illustrated book titled, Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person. She expresses through comic strips what many of us have expressed about our cancer experiences, but with her own wit and style. In one of the first comic strips people ask her which side has the cancer. I remember hearing that myself and wondering why people would ask such a question. And it reminded me of a certain conversation I had with a certain police officer about a certain seat belt that certainly wasn’t fastened when I was recovering from surgery. You know the rule: Click it or Ticket . . . or cry your way out of it in embarrassment of being forced to explain it and having the officer (with whom you have to socialize at employee Christmas luncheons and summer picnics) ask which side (as though it made a difference) and other details even though you said, “just give me the ticket.” The smile this book brings to you will make it worth the read.

Hope you find the humor in many things today.

P.S. If you like this book, you may also want to check out Mom's Cancer by Brian Fies.

Return of the Repressed

2006-07-18T11:41:00.000-07:00

Something sent me on a blog break and I’m not sure what it was. It could be that rather than documenting my life and my feelings, I’ve just been allowing myself to live in the moment. Hmmm. That sounds pretty emotionally healthy for someone who frequently feels the emotional pendulum never stops swinging. The truth is, I have been busy. Busy keeping myself busy. Busy with doggies and mommies and work, oh my. But fear not for me as catch up time has arrived. My calendar kicks into high gear around March and stays at top speed until sometime around mid-July. Then I have a breather for a couple of months where I can unpack those last few boxes and get all that nasty paperwork caught up and spend time with people I have not been able to see in awhile. Somewhere in there I should have listed having some fun. Of course, the fact that I omitted that tidbit concerns me that I am returning to my workaholic tendencies, but I digress.

Something has me in a bit of a spin today. I’m not sure if it is this icky sticky humid hot weather, the constant barrage of news of violence and devastation all over the world, or the news that Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra have parted company (but they seemed so in love on their made for TV wedding). In reality (which I frequently try to avoid), I spend nearly all of my free time with my doggies. My puppy has topped the scales at 6.1 pounds (2.8 kilos of puppy for my international friends). If my puppy were crack, he’d have a street value of nearly $4 million dollars. To me he is worth much more. He and his momma have wiggled their way into my heart faster than I knew possible. And even when I get a visit from the poo fairy in the middle of the night and I awake frustrated that we are not completely housebroken yet, I simply remember that I psychically opted for the stainguard/scotchguard option when I had the carpets cleaned pre-puppy (life can really be that simple if I allow it).

Sometimes when I come home and my puppy jumps to greet me with snuggles and kisses, I feel a little like the Grinch at the moment his heart grew three sizes. I have so much love for these doggies. It is somewhat bittersweet though. It’s a manifestation of the abundance of love and nurturing inside of me that has been just waiting to come out. It confirms for me that I would have indeed been a great mom if having children were still an option; however, it also proves to me that I can love any baby as if it were my own, even if it is a puppy.

Independence Day

2006-07-03T13:33:00.000-07:00

Two years ago I was bravely trying to keep my cancer diagnosis under wraps while I tended to the last minute details for 4th of July festivities in my community. Few people knew my secret as I lined up parade participants, greeted grand marshals, and spoke joyously to the press about freedom, patriotism, and family celebrations. My family, with heavy hearts, waited for me to return home after a morning of work that in the past has felt more like play. My nephew, Chris, and his wife Theresa, sweetly sat curbside with a bouquet of spider mums resembling fireworks, patiently waiting for me without ever once saying the word “cancer.” Although, the weight of what lie ahead seemed greater than the military tank lining up for the parade, any acknowledgement of it and I would have crumbled right there, in the middle of the street, on Independence Day, while the bands played on and children marched by, filmed for posterity by local television.

Few knew my secret that day. A lot has changed in two years. One thing that has not changed is that my community throws one of the best hometown 4th of July celebrations in the nation. Even though I seem to connect the feelings that resonate so strongly from events in 2004 with 4th of July events, I know that each year moving forward is a good year. Each year is a chance to try to make meaning of all this, my life, its purpose. Each year is an opportunity to see people smile, hear their laughter, and watch fireworks light up the sky.

In the News . . .

2006-06-20T07:28:00.000-07:00

New Breast Cancer Gene Raises Risk in Europeans

By Maggie Fox, Health and Science Correspondent

WASHINGTON, June 19 (Reuters) - Researchers have found another breast cancer gene that can greatly raise the risk of the disease in women of European heritage, according to a report published on Monday. They said the gene worked in tandem with the well-known BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes to raise the risk of breast cancer by as much as 80 percent. . . (read more)

This is the direction we need to be going. We need to do more research in connection between cancer and DNA. Did you read the story about the eleven Bradford cousins? They had their stomachs removed due to a CDH1 gene mutation that carries a stomach cancer risk of 70 - 80%.

Right now we are at a turning point. Scientists have been able to determine the link between certain genes and certain cnacers. The only option at this time is to consider prophylactic surgery making the offending body part disposable. There has to be a better quality of life for those of us born with a genetic mutation that was completely out of our control and not affected by lifestyle choices or environmental factors. The next step is to learn how to treat the gene and change those risks.

Imagine the possibilities if we put even half the cost of a war toward genetic cancer research. Where are our priorities? I hope you tell your congress members and senators where yours are. It may make all the difference.

On Reflecting and Cancerversaries

2006-06-14T14:19:00.000-07:00

The two-year anniversary of my diagnosis is quickly approaching. I can recount with vivid clarity each moment in the doctor’s office as he gave me the news. I remember feeling as though I needed to hold it together as he spoke to me. I showed no emotion. When the conversation was over I proceeded to talk to the nurse as she prepared my referral. As the stack of information I would need mounted, I could sense her hesitancy as though she were cautiously waiting for the eruption of emotions that were mysteriously hidden below the surface. I thanked her, waived as I said good-bye to the other nurse and walked out the door. It hadn’t even closed before the first tear silently fell down my cheek.

From there the memories seem to get tossed into a whirlwind. I can recall bits of phone calls blending with face-to-face conversations that appear blurred in slow motion. There are snips and bits of memories of washing dishes and caring for the hematoma that had developed at the lumpectomy incision and lying down afraid to close my eyes. I felt nothing and I felt everything. It was painful and somber. Family and friends surrounded me yet I felt alone.

Magically the rush of complex emotions and uncertainty quickly transformed into the will to face cancer head on. Days became weeks and weeks became months of appointments, procedures, prescriptions, treatments, injections, fatigue, and side-effects. Without stopping I moved straight into surgery and then onto reconstruction. I have yet to raise my head and take a breath. I’m still in fight mode and I wonder if cancer will haunt me the rest of my life the way war does for a veteran. Even when life resembles what I once knew as normal, out of nowhere a flashback brings back the feeling of devastation known only by those who have experienced the battle.

Contrary to the darker feelings I have described, the last two years have not been spent dying. Though the doubt and desolation loomed always under the surface, most of my days have been filled living: enjoying time with family, laughing like school girls with my sister, feeling the infinite support of my friends and co-workers, and meeting dynamic and supportive people both in person and in the blog world. Connecting with others who understand the cancer experience has been priceless. It’s important and even cathartic to share our stories with one another.

And even though today I might complain from time to time about the side-effects of the tamoxifen or the residual issues that will likely surface from time to time, I am grateful for my life and the joys I have each day. Last year on my first cancerversary, I was a bit melancholy and reflective. This year, I feel empowered to move forward and let go of the illness baggage giving me greater ability to embrace life fully with untethered arms. Of course that doesn’t mean that cancer won’t be part of me as I move forward. It may follow along behind trying to catch me, but at least it no longer has a firm hold trying to drag me down.

That, my friends, is quite an anniversary present. Cheers.

Such a Big Shadow for Something so Small

2006-06-12T10:11:00.000-07:00

It seems the leg cramps are not as uncommon as I thought and it may be possible that they might lessen and eventually go away according to the amazing women in a discussion group, known as Sisters in Survivorship (I think these women are amazing!). As one mentioned, she’s been having the leg cramps, but won’t let it her stop from training for her triathlon. Shame on me. I walked my dog around the park and I was complaining. Granted the puppy now runs at full speed (now nicknamed “Bullet”) and can be a challenge (or comedic) to keep up with him – all 4.3 pounds of him! The moral of the story is, I walk and it hurts; I don’t walk and it hurts. So I plan to walk and stop complaining.

I discussed it with my doctor and she wanted me to go off the tamoxifen for a couple of months to be sure it is the cause of the pain. I wasn’t sure what was worse: the thought of going back on tamoxifen and having to readjust to it all over again or suffer through the leg cramps until my body adjusts to it. I’ve opted to stay on it for at least six months and reassess at that time. For those of you playing along with the home version of this game, six months arrives on August 1st. You might want to set a reminder or note it in your palm pilot so you can be sure to come back for one heck of an exciting update at that time.

PS If you were diagnosed with breast cancer at age 40 or younger, I highly recommend you check out the Sisters in Survivorship discussion group. Highly addictive!

Tamox-a-what?

2006-06-05T12:59:00.000-07:00

My garden is blooming.

Romeo and Lady love to play in the garden.

I feel a bit better too (how could I not with all this beauty and life surrounding me?). Thanks for the comments and all the great email. The experience and encouragement from my friends in the computer make all the difference.

What to Say When There is Nothing to Say

2006-05-30T15:41:00.000-07:00

I haven’t felt like myself for a while now. At first I kept thinking it was because I had taken on too much and then there was the move and then the doggies joined me and then Relay and… and… but that is all part of life the way I live it. I have very full days and am involved in many things. It has always been this way, even through treatment. Now as I face my regular work duties and a new class beginning in a week, as well as family commitments and doggie duties, I wonder where I will get the energy to do everything and do it well. And maybe even have a little time left over for some fun or adventure.

Mentally, it feels like I am whining and being a baby because it could be so much worse right now. There is still no evidence of cancer, I am approaching my two year cancerversary, and life is generally good (especially with my adorable puppies to keep me company). There is this conflict between how I actually feel and how I think I should feel. Oddly, I feel simultaneously good and bad for finally releasing all of this.

I think it is time to re-evaluate how I tolerate tamoxifen. The fatigue, sleep disturbances, and the muscle cramps in the legs are impacting my quality of life and prohibiting a healthy lifestyle. I keep telling myself to wait until I have been on the drug for six months as that is the amount of time it takes most women to adjust to the side effects. Two more months like this seems like a tremendous challenge. I can handle the hot flashes, the discomfort, the headaches, and other assorted (and unmentionable) side effects. Not being able to take brisk, healthy walks everyday, not getting enough sleep, and the general fatigue makes me feel so unhealthy which leads to poor choices all around.

There is a big part of me that feels if I stop taking it I have failed at this portion of treatment and have not given myself every chance for a long and healthy life. Other drugs (Aromasin, Arimidex, et al) have not proven to be effective alternatives for premenopausal women (but they are great for post menopausal women). I have a call in to my doctor. It might be time to weigh the benefits of a healthier lifestyle vs. the benefits of tamoxifen.

If anyone out there has any personal experience with this topic, I’d love to hear from you.

Success

2006-05-21T19:25:00.000-07:00

I met a woman this weekend who has survived both colorectal cancer (stage III) and breast cancer (stage II). She has amazing energy and a sense of humor to match. I met a man who is battling his third occurence of cancer. Three seperate primary cancers, not metastases, and this third time does not appear to be a charm. I saw my little friend Shelby who, with a little assistance from her Dad, was walking laps on the track this year. She has had to relearn walking and talking and all of her motor skills after having a brain tumor that forced the removal of 25% of her cerebellum. I asked her to lead the flag salute from the stage at opening ceremonies. As she slowly spoke the national anthem, the respectful crowd slowed their pace to match her.

Relay for life is all about the people who join together as a community to take up the fight against cancer. And while, yes, this event is in many ways exhausting, it is also rather incredible. My sister, Joyce, assisted me in getting the survivor hospitality tent off to a good start. We welcomed the survivors and caregivers and joined them all for the opening laps. Due to a very generous donation, we provided stickers people could personalize and wear to show they were walking in honor or in memory of someone. For some, they chose to wear one sticker. For others, their shirts were covered.

The rest of the event was spent with my amazing team. There were more than 50 employees and family members from every department of my organization. Together we were the top fundraising team exceeding our goal by more than double and raising in excess of $20,000 from online and cash donations (and checks are still trickling in!). I have always said that I work with amazing people. This is just one more example of the calibur of people that have in many ways become like a second family to me. How often can you say that you spent the night with a Planning Commissioner and were served coffee by the City Manager the next morning? Does it get any better than that? (and no lawsuits . . . yet)

And moments before they announced the fundraising total at closing ceremonies, my cell phone rang. When I answered, I heard the voice of my friend Jim who had the lower lobe of his lung removed just four days earlier. He told me to get ready for next year because we will be walking together. I hope he knows we already are.

Wistful Anticipation

2006-05-19T08:26:00.001-07:00

Saturday is quickly approaching and with it comes our highly anticipated Relay for Life event. I am excited and wistful and the mix of emotions continue to swirl in my mind. I am proud to report that our team of 50 has raised $11,450 (and still counting). The event committee is trying to tie up all the loose ends and it appears we will have a magnificent event that will raise lots of money to benefit cancer research and treatment. I have even solved the whole song choice issue for opening ceremonies. The high school band and a gymnastics demo team will lead the survivor/caretaker lap around the track. It is my hope this will lend a joyous and uplifting atmosphere. The excitement is building for a wonderful event and I know that this work is good work and the tiredness I will undoubtedly feel, will be one well deserved and hard earned.

It is also a time for me to connect with people who have been a significant part of this journey. I will see my first and perhaps favorite surgeon, my medical oncologist will be speaking, the oncology team will be adjacent to my team on the field, and I will be surrounded by friends and co-workers who stood by me through very rough days. It's all good, right? So why the range of emotions?

I can't help but think of the people who won't be here this year. I wonder about the three-year old girl I met last year and whether I will see her again. I still find myself wistfully remembering Jessica and the power of her words and life. I wonder how my friend Jim is doing with recovery from yesterday's surgery that removed the lower lobe of his lung. I understand that I will always be challenged by loss as long as I am involved in the ever expanding world of cancer. I also know that I will be blessed with grace by the people I meet, the stories I hear, and friends I make.

So I neatly place my friends in the warmest corner of my heart and I concentrate on the victories and look forward to seeing people like my little friend Shelby who has survived a brain tumor and all the other hundreds of survivors I will see who are thriving and creating community and doing something positive to fight this dreaded beast.

Supporting Survivors

2006-05-17T10:01:00.000-07:00

Today is LIVESTRONG Day. While I respect the athletic and personal accomplishments of Lance Armstrong, I believe the greatest contribution to society that he may possibly make is the work that is being done by the Lance Armstrong Foundation. The purpose of LIVESTRONG Day is to raise awareness about the health policy issues facing cancer survivors. Few of us will ever be champion cyclists, but nearly half of us in the United States will face cancer in our lifetimes. The medical approach to cancer has been to eliminate it whenever possible, often at costs that impair the quality of life for survivors. The foundation is bringing people together to help each other manage the long-term effects of cancer and its treatment.

The most important lessons I have learned and the most important information I have gathered have not been from doctors and medical journals. Rather, the priceless information has been from people who have been there, had to make the same decisions, felt the side effects, experienced the fear, and watched the clock on sleepless nights. Luckily, I stumbled upon my friends in the computer that have provided wisdom, compassion, and insight. I have also found groups like the Young Survival Coalition (with great discussion boards) and the Lance Armstrong Foundation (with good information and tools) that bring people together to support one another.

Most recently, I have become involved with Breast Cancer Connections. It is part of the Healthcentral Network. The reason I became involved with this site is because of the approach. It provides resources to help you “Find, Manage, Connect”: Find answers and resources about breast cancer; Manage care, take action, and achieve goals; and Connect with a community where you can find support, get advice, and voice your opinion. It brings together the best and most useful features in one central location.

My first article to appear on the site is about adjusting to reconstruction. I welcome feedback and suggestions for the types of articles that might interest you. Most importantly, I welcome you to be part of the community. It is one more opportunity online to experience the healing and strength that comes from engaging others who have survived cancer.

Farewell Jessica

2006-05-13T07:08:00.000-07:00

My heart aches after reading the farewell from Cancer, Baby. Her real name was Jessica and she was one of the most prolific writers of the blogging generation. She wrote with an intensity that was both beautifully and painfully honest. I related all too well to her desire to have children and the pain of having cancer and its treatment steal that opportunity. She taught me how to be honest about how I felt about having had cancer and not to feel badly about not giving in to the cheerful survivor rhetoric.

It is strange how attached one can become to the many friends in the computer, but those of us who shared exchanges via blog or email with Jessica will agree that she was certainly very special. If you have yet to read her blog, I would hope that you could take some time to read the archives. She captures the raw wounds of this disease like no other.

I will miss you, Jessica. My prayers are with you and your family.

The Little Guy Who Stole My Heart

2006-05-08T08:55:00.000-07:00

Meet Romeo. We rescued each other last week. I couldn't separate him from his momma, so I was lucky enough to get her too. Her name, appropriately, is Lady (after Lady Montague). This is the best shot I have of her, though Romeo does steal the shot.

When I first brought them home from the shelter, they didn't even want to come out of the kennel, so I took the top off until they felt safe enough to come out. Now it is hard to separate us.

I read an interview with actress Fran Drescher. She said that after surviving cancer, she couldn't live alone and needed the comfort of a pet. Somehow, when you are worried about others, you worry less about yourself. After this weekend, I would have to agree.

Objects in Rear View Mirror May be Closer Than They Appear

2006-05-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

Sunday night I broke my own personal rule to never watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. I was flipping through the channels mindlessly and was caught by the mention of breast cancer. It appears the three children in the family lost both their parents with fourteen months. Their father died unexpectedly followed by their mother’s loss to breast cancer. They are living with their grandparents who needed a home that could accommodate the kids. They had local builders contribute money, they had a walk to raise money for breast cancer, and of course, there was plenty of their trademark emotional manipulation. It isn't that I am cold-hearted; rather, quite the oppsite. I'm such a sap that I have a hard time watching these shows without getting emotionally drained.

Normally I would have turned off the television, but I was drawn in, hugging my pillow, with tears quietly falling down my face. It seems that no matter how far away cancer seems in the rear view mirror, it really is right under the surface. Or perhaps it was my week to feel sorry for myself (which truly does not happen often). You know, labs, three-month check-up, blah, blah, blah. The tests come up so quickly. Luckily, after the next one, I will graduate to the six-month check-up schedule.

The good news is that everything still looks good. Outside of needing some quinine to address the leg cramps brought on by the Tamoxifen, I am doing just fine. I wanted to avoid adding another prescription (especially one that is primarily used for malaria). I tried to drink tonic water (containing quinine) every day, but it just doesn’t taste the same without the gin.

It appears I am holding steady with no sign of cancer. What more could I ask?

New Home: More than Just a Tax Deduction.

2006-04-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

It's amazing what you learn when you move. Things like, 100 boxes still look like 100 boxes even if you put them in twice as much space, having my laundry facilities upstairs puts the "high efficiency" in the high efficiency washer, and by now Ralph Lauren should have named a child after me (or at least a favorite pet). It has been such an exhaustive and transitional few weeks, but I now write to you from the comfort of my new home office in my new home in my new city in my new county. It is amazing how the new home lies in such stark contrast to the old place, just as my life at the old place lies in stark contrast to the promise the new home brings.

Long before I ever heard the words, "I'm sorry, but it's cancer," something had crept inside of me and was taking my life. I'm not sure how it happened or even when it happened, but the signs were there. I feel like I exorcised those demons (or at least donated them to Goodwill) as I packed my belongings. The part of me that stopped living in that house years ago was bid adieu as I packed up the part of me that wants to live and set off. So far, in the new home I have unpacked purpose, passion, and pride and there are still so many boxes left to open.

I went back to the old place and instead of being sentimental remembering all the great memories, it was mournful. I flashed back to the day I sat staring at my closet unable to find anything to wear the first day I would wear my wig into the office. I remembered walking through the doors after my first chemo treatment. The house felt so dark and empty. Instead of remembering that New Year's party when I rigged balloons to fall from the ceiling, I could only remember the cold, dark days of illness. Everything about it seemed dark.

As I walk through the doors of my new home, I am struck by the light coming at me from all angles. The irises and lilies are blooming in the garden. Two young girls came to my door the first day to welcome me to the neighborhood. They came back later with three friends and sang me a song. Everything about this place screams life. It is unavoidable.

As much as I am trying to figure out what "normal" life is for me post treatment/surgery and continue to struggle with the lymphadema, the skin irritation on my legs, figuring out which neckline works with my reconstructed breasts, and adjusting to the persistent discomfort of the scar tissue, I finally feel like I have in many ways moved forward into a new phase of my life. Moving on has been as much a metaphor for my mental state as it has been a physical reality.

New home, new hope.

Creating Community

2006-04-07T00:03:00.000-07:00

If you haven't taken the opportunity to check out Traveling Hope, please drop by. I have finally posted the first scanned images from the traveling journals. The entries are warm, hopeful, loving, memorable, and more than I ever anticipated. It is so different to hold the books, feel the pages, see the images in person as opposed to online. If your life has been touched by cancer, I hope you consider participating.

For those of you new to this project, Traveling Hope is a community journal project that seeks to connect those whose lives have been touched by cancer. The waiting list for journals is growing quickly and I may add more journals to keep it moving along. You can read all about the project and find answers to the frequently asked questions.

Much thanks to Greg, Amanda, and Shelley for creating the opening entries in each of the journals in circulation. The journals are currently on route to the much loved Sandee in Quebec, to Anna in Endinburgh, Scotland, and to Crystal in New Hampshire. Should I add you to the list?

Another Round, Anyone? (Or, How Many Times Can I Say "Perhaps"?)

2006-04-05T23:03:00.000-07:00

So the comments on the last post made me realize I am not the annoyed "survivor" I sometimes feel. Thank you for making me feel normal (although that's another word I am growing to dislike nearly as much as survivor). Thanks Carolyn, Kranki, Zee, Seaneen (John?), Brainhell, and Greg for your comments. I struggle at times with the notion that I need to make everyone else around me feel comfortable with cancer and how I am feeling, even at this point in the game. It is nice to know that others have the same perspective on the topic. I would like to say to Jill, the author who interviewed me, if you are still reading, I mean no disrespect. I know that you had your own life threatening experience with a chronic illness and I respect your experience as well as the chance to reflect on my own experience from a somewhat different perspective. Unfortunately, once I start thinking, everyone is in trouble. It seems I have much more to say.

I have read many times in various essays and on blogs about this concept of gifts and how "cancer has changed me for the better." There was a time when I may have understood (yet not embraced) this concept. It was right around the time I was so broken emotionally and physically by chemotherapy. I felt that with each treatment, the life was literally being drained from me, body and soul. By the time I was done, I was a shell of myself, hollow, withdrawn, and even doubtful. It may not have been so apparent to those who saw me or even those closest to me, but I felt like I was traveling in an almost eerie zombie-like state, feeling nothing but the ache of my physical form.

Once my blood counts began to recover and I was further and further from treatment, I started to feel life entering my body once again. I could almost feel the transformation evolve as if I were watching the magical colorization of a black and white photo. The sepia tones leaving the frame as the vibrant colors began emerging. Of course this physical response to the absence of chemo impacted my emotional state as well. The better I felt physically, a feeling almost of euphoria was filling my psyche. And perhaps the psychological impact of being told that the chemo had been successful prodded the body to respond in kind as well. In retrospect, clearly a mind body connection was in some transactional state that to some degree spurred on recovery.

Perhaps it is at this time that the proclamation of a gift or a changed person is announced. Perhaps the pendulum swinging from the broken physical state to a state of recovery kicks up the momentum of the emotional pendulum, which combined with the rush of hormones formerly repressed by the chemo drugs, causes an emotional response to a physical resurgence. Or are we so broken that the tiniest ray of light feels like a beacon?

Or perhaps the gift does exist, but the nagging voice in the back of the mind that randomly whispers tales of the beast waiting to pounce unannounced cynically beats down the joy of the gift. I'm no psychologist, nor do I play one on TV; however, I think it is not only overly simplistic, but could even be disrespectful to put illness on the level of a gift.

As human beings we continue to evolve with each experience. The virtuous person, as Aristotle would say, grows with each learning experience and faces each life experience as a learning experience. In fact, he might say we have a moral obligation to learn from our life experiences. So if I had been physically beaten by an assailant, recovered, and then discovered something about life, would you dare tell me that being beaten was a gift? What about the woman on welfare who lost everything in Hurricane Katrina, including her child? She was evacuated to Houston where she found a job and began a new life. Would you dare suggest that Hurricane Katrina was the best thing that happened to her? Or a gift? Or how about the couple I met at Relay for Life who met in a grief support group after they each lost their spouse to cancer. Their love is a gift, but losing their spouses? Not so much.

My point is that it is not the tragic occurrence that is the gift. Rather it is the power of the human spirit to make the best of the worst situation, the power of the mind to extract the best from a painful lesson, or simply it is a state of grace. Frankly, I will never believe that an experience that rendered me infertile, caused the loss of both my breasts, and has taken a piece of every joyful moment I have experienced since to be a gift. I will always remember fondly the gifts given me in the moments spent with friends, in the laughter that somehow graced each post-chemo recovery weekend with my sister, in the joy of creation I witnessed in each sunrise I woke to greet, in the lessons I learned about appreciating the moment and stopping to live in the moment. Lessons perhaps, gifts no. Simply, the gifts are in the living, not the living with illness.

The Who of What?

2006-04-03T23:09:00.000-07:00

This morning I agreed to be interviewed for a book dealing with life after a chronic or life-threatening illness. When the author first contacted me, I was interested in the topic. There are currently 10,000,000 cancer survivors living in the United States alone. Medically we are making advances, but we are leaving a large number of people in this weird limbo ill-equipped to maneuver the course. It's a topic that needs to be discussed.

The author was kind and friendly and agreed to send me a copy of the first chapter so I got a flavor of the book. When I read it, I wondered why I agreed to this interview. Her focus for this book is to discover the gifts of illness. Even typing the "gifts of illness" makes my stomach turn a bit. Where is the gift in all this? Is it the constant looking over my shoulder? Is it the paranoia that each ache, pain, or discomfort is something more than it seems? Is it the lymphadema? HMO headaches? Perhaps it is the aching scars? And if there is truly a gift, where is the receipt because I want my money back or at least an exchange. This is what came to mind as I read the first chapter.

But I agreed to the interview and I am nothing if not responsible. The author, Jill, called me and we began talking. She was courteous, warm, and compassionate and had her interview nicely organized. As we began to talk about the various aspects of my experience, I started to remember things and put things in perspective a bit. Her last question was about if I had the chance to go back in time and choose to go forward from the point of diagnosis not having had cancer or simply proceed as my life had unbfolded. I thought long and hard about this because it has not been easy lately and the challenges, long term side-effects from treatment, and lingering issues have provoked anger and frustration. My gut instinct was to say give me the option with no cancer.

But as our conversation evolved I realized that the cancer experience can focus or sharpen your perspective on what is truly important in life. While I can't say that I learned anything I wouldn't have learned over time, I can feel a different passion for a different kind of living. While I would never say that cancer changed me for the better, I simply made the best of it. My answer, surprisingly, was to let my life unfold as it had.

But it's still not a gift.

*The book will be out the spring of '07.

Walking With Purpose

2006-03-25T15:57:00.000-08:00

You know my story. It is not unique. Every year 1.3 million Americans will hear, "You have cancer." It will likely be the most the devastating news they hear. It certainly was for me. In a split second I felt a range of emotions from shock to anger to denial to fear. Because I was surrounded by such supportive people and dedicated medical porfessionals, I found the strength to cast aside the fear and take up the fight.

In retrospect I know that I am lucky that I had breast cancer at a time when the statistics offer hope and, in some cases, as high as a 95% survival rate. Ten years ago, my story may have had a different ending. The reason things have changed is because many people decided to do something: they raised funds and awareness, they lobbied Congress for support, they committed to research and clinical trials. Simply, they cared enough to act. As someone who has directly benefited from this commitment, how can I not take up the cause?

I’m taking action against cancer by supporting the American Cancer Society's Relay For Life® on May 20th and 21st. Relay is an overnight event that unites our community in a common effort to support the American Cancer Society’s lifesaving mission to eliminate cancer as a major health problem. The Society works every day to prevent cancer and save lives by supporting groundbreaking research, affecting public policies that protect us from cancer, and educating people on how to prevent or detect cancer early. Together, we can accelerate the progress toward a cancer-free future.

Even after my battle with cancer, I still find it difficult to ask for help. But this isn't about me. This about winning a battle that, at the current rate, will strike nearly half of us in our lifetime. My generous and supportive co-workers are once again forming a team for this event. Last year we raised $7200. This year our goal is $10,000. My personal goal is to raise $1,000. I would appreciate and be honored by your support, either through making a donation (follow this link for online donations) or forwarding this message to someone you think may support our effort. Either way, you will make a real difference in the lives of people facing cancer – and in the lives of the people who love them.

Thanks for your support. My friends in the virtual world have been a wonderful source of support and encrouagement through this journey. I will walk and I will keep walking as long as it makes a difference.

Relay For Life represents the hope that those lost to cancer will never be forgotten, that those who face cancer will be supported, and that one day cancer will be eliminated.

It Simply Must Change

2006-03-19T22:26:00.000-08:00

Growing up in the LA area, it was not unusual to hear news stories about the "Crips and the Bloods," the most notorious gangs in LA. Like many (everyone outside of a gang, I suppose) , I found gang violence shocking, appalling, and the most senseless loss of life there could be. I would cry as I was going to bed thinking about kids living life as gang members. Over the last couple of years, I have begun to realize there is a much more senseless cause of loss of life in our world: cancer.

Unlike a gang banger, someone facing cancer likely didn't volunteer for it, didn't willingly follow in a family member's footsteps, didn't develop it as a result of some lack of values, or battle it for the sake of notoriety. In fact, it is just the opposite. No one signs up for cancer willingly. The majority of cancers are not hereditary. Cancer doesn't only impact those ethically challenged (quite the contrary it seems). No one is dumb enough to believe that fighting cancer will give them some territorial advantage.

Since finding myself drafted into the cancer world, I can testify to meeting people that are humble, courageous, strong, determined, generous, compassionate, and beautiful. This is the impression that remains even though I have felt, seen, and sensed the fear and pain this disease breeds in the Petri dishes of our psyche. It seems so completely senseless that we haven't done more, fought harder to eradicate the various forms of cancer. I think Cary said it best when he compared the the entire annual budget of the National Cancer Institute to a few weeks worth of defense spending in Iraq. Senseless. Completely senseless. I'm tired of crying at night, mourning the loss of my friends to cancer.

I'm not one to complain about anything without proposing a solution or some alternative. I wish I had a solution, but I don't. It isn't going to stop me from talking about this to as many people as I know. If it is the squeaky wheel that gets the oil, then be prepared to hear some squeaking because I am done. I am angry. I am tired of such a senseless loss of life.

The American Cancer Society (whom I respect) is busily preparing for their Celebration on the Hill and while the event has merit I think they have it all wrong. Yes, I think it is important to celebrate how far we have come, but we use words like fight and battle when we talk about cancer. No one stopped in the middle of WWII to celebrate our accomplishments. If we are at war with this disease, then fight, dammit, or you won't be the last person standing. None of us will be standing.

As a public servant, my first instinct is to get the message across to legislators. Seriously, I have seen lobbyists effectively accomplish the passage of the most absurd legislation. Why is it we can save rodents from extinction, but we can't save ourselves from cancer? Why is the same cancer research budget as the previous year good enough? If we can find unbudgeted money for national defense, why can't we find money for human defense against cancer? Where the hell are our priorities? Sigmund Freud believed that all of our actions derived from one of two motivations: life instincts and death instincts. If we aren't preserving life, then we as a culture must be motivated by death instincts. A paradigm shift is long overdue. We have to change the perspective.

If you have never contacted your congress member, this is the time to introduce yourself and tell him or her what is most important to you. You better believe oil companies, tobacco companies, and other private industry folks are doing it all for the sake of their bottom line. What is our bottom line? Isn't it determined by the quality of our lives? Isn't that directly threatened by the half (yes, that is correct) of our population that will be affected by cancer?

This is my suggestion. It doesn't solve the immediate problem, but it gets us moving in a direction we need to face. Each year on your birthday, send a letter to your congress member. In fact, if you send me your birth date, I will send you a reminder email. It doesn't have to be a long letter. Tell him or her what is important to you. Let it be known you want more money for cancer research. Tell him or her you want this senseless loss of life to end. Unless we demand it, it won't happen. Actually, each year, send an additional letter on the birthday of someone you know who has lost the cancer war. If your life is like mine, sadly, you will in no time be on a first-name basis with your congress member.

Please, don't wait for Komen or ACS, or any other organization with a cancer lobbying effort in place. Your personal letter will make the difference. Let your voice be heard.

Sadly, I'm far from being off my soapbox.

Go Show Some Love. . .

2006-03-19T11:03:00.000-08:00

The one thing I can always count on is the support of the cancer blogging community (though we are all defined by so much than that). Please, please, please go show some love and support to Amanda over at cancer. it's not just an astrological sign anymore. Her husband, Eric, passed away on March 17th after battling acute lymphocytic leukemia.

Amanda has been a fearless caregiver, Eric's champion, and a strong voice for young adults battling cancer. They both went through many ups and downs on this journey, including believing until a week ago that Eric had reached the six-month-mark of remission on his second battle with leukemia. I fear in many ways, and understandably so, Amanda's spirit is crushed. Please, take a moment and offer your support and compassion.

How Well Do You Know Your Neighbors?

2006-03-14T23:04:00.000-08:00

Today I came home for lunch. There were fire and police vehicles up and down my street. It turns out someone had committed suicide. I felt so badly that someone who lived so close to me was in distress and there was nothing I could do to help.

She was 42 and diagnosed with cancer.

I don't know her story. I know that hearing about this, seeing her son being comforted by friends, reminded me of how awful this disease is and how it can kill us emotionally and spiritually before it ever gets us physically.

If I knew her and her situation, I would have been there to offer my support. I feel awful that she felt so alone and so desperate. Although I don't know the details of her situation, it breaks my heart that she was in it at all.

It couldn't help but hit close to home. I realized that if my diagnosis, my support system had been different, that could have been me. It also made realize how very lucky I am that I have come so far in such a short time. That, yes, there is great hope for a full life for me. That a rash and lymphadema are meaningless in the big picture. That I need to live and rejoice in each moment. That life, for me, is worth living and I am truly blessed.

Rest in peace, neighbor.

Transitions (or, Aftercare Blows)

2006-03-13T00:09:00.000-08:00

When cancer strikes, suddenly your focus shifts from plans for the future to simply getting through the present. Prior to my diagnosis, I was enjoying my career, beginning to develop my consulting services, and planning on purchasing a home. Throughout treatment, I focused on checking items off the list: each chemo infusion, surgery, and each agonizingly long step in the reconstruction process. With only minor reconstruction details left, much of the journey is behind me and with each day I become more comfortable thinking about the future.

This in itself is a big step in healing. Letting go of the day to day survival mode and thinking about my life in terms of the moment AND the future, can be a challenge. It is difficult to let go of the "fight" and know that it is okay to not be doing anything actively to fight cancer. With each three-month check up I cautiously begin to believe there is indeed no evidence of disease.

Of course getting through the day is also a challenge as it seems new issues continue to pop up that are a result of the chemo. The most significant one is this awful persistent itchy rash that was once contained to the top of my feet but has traveled upwards to mid-calf. I have researched and researched and talked to my oncologist, but nothing definitive has surfaced. My primary care physician is puzzled as well, but at least willing to entertain the results of my personal medical research. I am once again on steroids (a topical cream) to get the inflammation down and keep the itching at bay. It keeps the symptoms under control for now, but the problem still exists. Of course, the steroids cause hyper pigmentation so it is beginning to look like I am wearing tan socks, but what's a little physical disfigurement when you have 30 inches of incision scars.

Lymphadema has become a real issue for me. The best part is how my insurance provider responds. I have been fitted for a compression sleeve; however, my insurance has not given the final approval so three weeks later I am still waiting. I was also referred for physical therapy. Scheduling the appointment was a challenge and took three attempts. The last time they called me back to let me know they would bring in a lymphadema specialist just for me, but I would need an evening appointment. I called to confirm a few hours before the appointment and everything was scheduled just fine. I got there and was informed that they could not negotiate a cost-effective rate with the specialist, but they have someone on staff who knows how to use the equipment. I left. My doctor has put in a request for me to be treated elsewhere, but the approval has not come in yet . . . four weeks later. Something's gotta give.

These may seem trivial in comparison to going through chemo and everything else, but it is these lingering issues that impact my lifestyle and ability to move forward with my life. I am constantly juggling issues that don't get an immediate response from the doctor or insurance provider. I have to fight for everything whereas during chemo, I only need pick up the phone and anything I needed I was granted quickly. Now I have issues that the oncologist doesn't cover and the primary care physician is unprepared to address. Aftercare blows. I feel unqualified to be the one managing my care, but this, sadly, is the American healthcare system.

In the meantime, my gracious landlord who has only once raised the rent on my townhome since I moved in nearly eleven years ago, has decided it is time to move his ailing father in and me out. I had put off the house hunt upon my diagnosis; however, the convenience of living near my office and ridiculously low rent have made it comfortable to stay. Sometimes you just need that extra push to get into the housing market. In fact, I made the purchase the very next day after receiving the notice (Was I actually evicted? What regular rent-paying adult actually gets evicted?). I am officially in escrow on a home I love. It has wonderful light, great use of space, and wonderful features. The best part is that it is right around the corner (literally a few doors down) from my sister where I spent my time recuperating from treatment and surgery. I do not think it is coincidence that the place where I spent time recuperating will be part of my ongoing healing and a fresh start. It really is time to move on.

Blog Round Up

2006-03-02T16:47:00.000-08:00

Since I haven't had a lot to say lately, I thought I would send you in the direction where your visit would mean a lot. Carolyn is just beginning the breast cancer fight. Drop by Brave as A Tiger, Strong as an Ox and give her some love. She is starting chemo on Monday.

Also, when I was first diagnosed, many people came to me asking what they could do for me. I didn't know what I could do for me, let alone know what to ask of others. I recently read an article at www.healthcentral.com titled Ten Things You Can do for a Friend with Breast Cancer. It is a great list of suggestions, many of which are a gift of time and not money.

Speaking of friends with cancer, hop on over and give Minerva and Jenny a shout for completing chemo. No matter what kind of chemo, or what kind of cancer, the experience is challenging to say the least and successfully completing it is quite an accomplishment.

Speaking of accomplishments, Glori has good news. She is in partial remission and on her way to complete remission of her lung cancer. Congratulations!

I don't know if you have noticed the "Fight Cancer" button on the sidebar (scroll down a bit). It is part ofthe American Cancer Society's effort to raise awareness about cancer. Click it and check out their resources. If you'd like, there is room for you to join us. When you think about it, we all fight cancer every day.

Citius Altius Fortius

2006-02-20T21:58:00.000-08:00

I can't recall when it first began. In many ways it has always been part of my life, but the first time I can remember the eager anticipation and knowing that I was witnessing something very special was in the summer of 1972. We often spent summer evenings in the front yard under the shade of the chestnut tree, giving the house a chance to cool a bit with the evening breeze. We would sit for a couple of hours chatting with my aunt and cousins who would walk down the street from their house to ours nightly throughout the summer for this evening ritual.

Not in 1972. For two weeks, my eyes were glued to the television. Although I was not quite eight years old, I remember the excitement of the opening day. I didn't quite understand all the ceremony and symbolism, but understood them to foretell a most magical and rare event. I can still recall the feel of the carpet under my feet as I curled my toes gripping my imaginary balance beam as a young Russian girl named Olga Korbut contorted her body above it. I remember seeing the afternoon sun reflect on television screen as a young American swimmer named Mark Spitz displayed his collection of seven medals around his neck. I remember the disappointment as the events came to a close and the flame was extinguished. I spent the rest of that summer turning cartwheels and somersaults in the front yard wondering what it would be like to be an Olympian.

My enthusiasm for the Olympics has only grown over the years. I wait with anticipation counting down the days until the opening ceremony, tracking the journey of the Olympic torch, and learning about the aspirations of a select group of individuals who come together as a team to represent the United States of America. I remember vividly the excitement of the Olympic torch coming through my own home town on its final leg of the journey to Los Angeles in 1984. My cousin and I went early to save a spot for the entire family. Admittedly, we were among the first to begin lining the street and enjoyed watching the morning traffic buzz by before the street was blocked for the relay. It was over before we knew it, but the excitement only built as the games began. That Olympic torch lit a passion in me that has yet to be extinguished.

I'm far from a world class athlete. The most competitive I've been in sports came while playing on a couple of school teams in my younger days. My passion for the Olympics has not always been about sports. I enjoy the stories of the athletes and their journeys to the games as much if not more than seeing the sporting events and victories. I like learning about skating on the outside edge, or the aerodynamics of a jump, or how many bobsled tracks there are in the United States. I am drawn to the Olympic dream and the spirit of the games. I believe that the Olympic motto of "Citius. Altius. Fortius." or "Swifter. Higher. Stronger." pertains to more than a race or a routine or a relay. The Olympic movement is "a philosophy of life, exalting and combining in a balanced whole the qualities of body, will and mind" (www.olympic.org). For me, the Olympics has been about finding your inner strength, focusing all of your will and might on a single goal, and becoming the victor for having had the courage to face the experience.

We all face our own personal Olympics in our own ways. We all face things in our life that challenge body, will, and mind. For some, the Olympics may become a metaphor for their career, or getting through college, passing the bar exam, or some other personal quest. For others still, perhaps battling cancer is like pursuing a gold medal. You put up with the struggle, pain, and uncertainty in the quest to stand victorious on a platform, hands held high having achieved a personal best in defeating cancer. While no one hands you a medal, and Katie Couric doesn't rush to interview you the following morning, the victory feels as sweet as any gold medal could ever feel.

There is some tiny fraction of me that can relate to that imagery, yet every other part of my being selfishly feels that if cancer were my Olympics, then I got robbed. I want to decide the sport, select the trainer, choose the sponsors, and move forward in my quest rather than have it thrust upon me. And while I may have been a good little patient, followed orders well, and survived treatment and its ever-surfacing side-effects, it was not my skill that got me to the podium, rather, my luck. Nonetheless, that Olympic spirit, that incredible passion that the Italians have captured so brilliantly during these games, gave me a different gift.

Thank you, Torino, for helping me feel that passion again. Thank you for welcoming the world into your home and showing us the brave faces of those pursuing their dream and those who pick themselves up from a fall and try again. Thank you for allowing me to feel that it is okay to dream about the future and to dream simply for more. Citius. Altius. Fortius.

Happy Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T10:17:00.000-08:00

Love blooms everyday.

To all my friends whose lives have been touched by cancer --

I hope that no matter how ill you may feel, how sad or depressed cancer treatment or its aftermath may leave you, I hope you feel loved today. Love surrounds you when you discover it within you.

When you love life, each day is Valentine's Day.

Adjuvent Therapy and Physical Therapy, but no Psycho Therapy

2006-02-02T13:23:00.000-08:00

Why is it that the prospect of a couple of lab tests and a visit with a very nice and supportive doctor can make me want to run and hide? For some reason being roughly one year away from treatment seemed like a perfect opportunity for hidden cells to emerge and grow. Perhaps a seed of doubt had been planted in the back of my mind at the previous appointment when my tumor markers were slightly elevated, even though they were still within the normal range. Perhaps it is just normal at this point in the process to be apprehensive about lab results. Apprehensive? Who am I kidding? I had to reschedule my appointment because I chose to avoid the lab. For some reason it spooked me this time, but the scolding I received from the doctor's office pushed me into the lab. Unfortunately, or in this case fortunately, guilt will always work with me.

All that worry was for naught. My most recent three-month check-up brought good news. Everything is stable and there remains no sign of cancer. A couple of new issues emerged. First of all, my hormones rebounded and I am not postmenopausal. This is a good sign for me, except it means in starting my adjuvant therapy, the drug of choice is tamoxifen.

Tamoxifen has been proven to reduce the chance of recurrence in women with estrogen sensitive breast cancer. This medication is recommended for five years (no benefit has been shown in women who have taken the drug for longer periods). The side effects are fabulous, often mimicking menopausal symptoms (how lucky am I that I will likely experience menopause three times in my life?), as well as headaches, insomnia, and a whole host of issues involving the lady parts. In addition, there is a slightly increased risk of blood clots and uterine cancer. On the bright side, it may reduce my cholesterol and provide general cardio benefits. I am experimenting with taking it at night right now, hoping that most of the side effects will pass while I (don’t) sleep. So far, we are getting along okay. Or perhaps I can’t really remember, since I am so drowsy from lack of sleep.

I am also experiencing mild lymphedema in my arm so I will also be off to physical therapy and then fitted for a compression sleeve to be used when flying. It doesn’t seem too bad at this point, but since I will need to fly to meetings in northern California on a regular basis, we decided to get the sleeve and use it as a preventative measure. Better to be safe than sorry, right? I hate the image of landing in Sacramento and driving to the State Capitol with my arm bulging through my blouse or jacket akin to the Incredible Hulk. Oh wait, it won’t turn green too, will it? Yikes!

I realize with these issues I really don’t have anything to complain about. While sitting in the waiting room, I overheard conversations between patients anticipating chemo appointments. One gentleman, a triathlete, was talking about his treatment causing the skin on his feet and hands to dry and crack so badly that all he can do is use superglue to seal the cracks. His fingers are so numb he can no longer use them. His pain seemed tremendous. I watched a young woman similar to my age come into the office for what appeared to be the first time. As she heard the same conversation, she visibly appeared to shrink back further and further into the corner. I wanted to reach out and hug her. I wanted to tell her that she would get through it and she didn't need to be so afraid. But I could not do it. While it would be nice to say that, it really is a crapshoot in the long run, isn't it? Who am I to know what her outcome may be? I made eye contact and smiled knowingly, hoping she understood my silent support.

It was as if it were my first appointment all over again when fear entered me as soon as I entered the office. I kept looking around and listening to people and feeling that I didn't fit in any longer. It seems so far away in the past and not truly a part of my present. But then this lies in direct conflict to the swirl of cancer reminders and feelings in my head every moment of every day. Perhaps emotionally, as well as physically, I am at some sort of crossroad. A place where the future is no longer considered in weeks and measured by time between doctor visits. Rather, a place where the future is stretching out before me and measured by aspirations, even though cancer is still clearly within sight.

In Which I Ask for Your Help (or, Look at What a Sucker She Is!)

2006-01-20T21:36:00.000-08:00

I remember the big adjustment I went through when chemo was over and I was healing from surgery. I felt as if I had put down my weapons and was no longer armed for battle. I waited for signs of the enemy, looked in all the nooks and crannies, and no sign. Surely he was hiding, weapons drawn, and ready to aim. There was nothing I could do. I had fired off all my ammo and either I got him or he would recover only to conquer me once and for all.

This feeling is not uncommon for anyone who has faced cancer and experienced the wrath of treatment. I decided I would feel as though I were being proactive by continuing to raise awareness, and when possible, raising funds for research. One way I chose to do this is through the American Cancer Society Relay for Life. Last year I was a team captain of a very successful first-time team of my co-workers that raised over $7,000 as well as raising a whole lot of spirits and awareness. It was an awesome event for me on many levels last year and I look forward to this year's event.

At the first planning meeting the co-chairs kept saying that there were two committee chair slots that needed to be filled. One of the positions didn't seem so burdensome so I made an offer*. After all, most of the work would be done up front and not at the event, so what was the harm, right? Here is a loose interpretation of the conversation that ensued after I offered my help:

Me: I offer to chair Committee X.

Nice Coordinator Lady (NCL): Oh, this other nice lady from the local college just volunteered for that; however, we still have the Survivor Chair position open and you don't have to be a survivor to be chair.

Me: How can you chair if you didn't survive?

NCL: No, you don't have to have had cancer.

Me: Oh. (Hmm. I guess I don't have the post-chemo look any longer. Cool.) That probably isn't a good fit because I really dislike most of the survivor stuff anyway. I'm not into the applause and special recognition. Asking me to chair that would be torture.

NCL: You'd be surprised how many people feel the same way.

Me: No, no really. I'll just stay as a team captain and help out wherever else you need me.

NCL: If you are Survivor Chair, it's your show and you can do whatever you want. It's your show.

Me: You mean I could have "co-survivors" join the opening lap, and I could move the start line closer to the stage, and I could make sure that all day not one stinking person sings "Wind Beneath My Wings" or some such ilk intended as "inspirational" songs? I could use other songs not intended to force you to tears?

NCL: It's your show. You will reach the survivors who feel the way you do.

Me: You have a deal.

For those of you not familiar with Relay for Life, it is a 24-hour event that unites community in the fight against cancer. It is a celebration of life as well as an opportunity to remember those who have lost their lives to cancer. The event starts with the first lap by the survivors and then each team has at least one team member on the track at all times during the event.

I will admit I had a hard time walking around the field while others applauded. I felt I had to do it because I wrangled other survivors into it and they wanted to walk with me (guilt goes very far with me). I just kept thinking why are you people applauding me? This cannot be the most noteworthy thing in my life. I work hard, I'm dedicated, I volunteer for many organizations, and you applaud because I drew the lucky lotto number and got cancer?

And then there were the songs! Oh gosh, the songs. There was a selection of songs played by a DJ and then there were some talented local singers who came by to sing a few songs. My Heart Will Go On, Hero, Angel, I Made it Through The Rain, Let me be Your Hero Baby . . . Was crying a requirement at this event? Don't get me wrong about this. I love this event, but give us music to make us groove so we can walk those laps with a little energy. This was just daytime stuff. At night there was a moving and emotional ceremony with a bagpiper leading us all around the track lit only by the luminaries. Crying was required and it certainly happened. You had to be made of stone to avoid it at this point, but it had its place in a very therapeutic sense.

So I'm changing the show a little. We will open the kick-off lap by having survivors invite their caregivers (also known in some circles as "Co-survivors") to join them (where would be without them?). The music has to rock, but not be cliche (No Destiny's Child "Survivor" or the tired "I will Survive" or the theme from Rocky). The survivor's booth will have great goodie bags for survivors of all ages as well as other things yet to be determined. There will not be one cliche thing in that booth. Not a one.

So this is where I need your help, oh wise Internets. What song should I request for the kick-off? I have received two suggestions so far: Jesus Walks (Kanye West) and Celebration (Kool and the Gang). I want non-cliche songs that will serve the mission of the event (a celebration of life), but not force the tears. Any ideas? No idea, unless it involves Celine Dion, will be ridiculed. I promise.

Celebrating The In-Between Times

2006-01-12T15:35:00.000-08:00

I was trying to think of reasons to postpone my three-month labs (tumor markers and such) as well as a one-year post mastectomy chest x-ray recommended by my oncology surgeon. It isn't that I am afraid of needles or dislike x-rays. Throughout diagnosis and treatment, I grew to dislike the waiting . . . and the . . . waiting . . . and in some cases, the results. I could use the excuse of business travel, or *cough* a mysterious flu, or oops! is it that time already? can I reschedule? In reality, postponing it only postpones reality and if I have learned nothing else, I have learned there is no escape from reality.

I just dislike the big milestones . . . every three months, every six months, once a year. It feels like I get a mini life lease for three months that will hopefully be renewed at the end of the term. I get so focused on the next tests that I forget to enjoy the actual time in-between. Just as I was sorting through these feelings, I received my Daily OM email. Sometimes these emails are messages I need to hear and other times not. Amazingly, this was one I needed to hear and I can't say it any better myself . With complete credit to Daily OM, I am reposting it here (emphasis added). Enjoy.

The Joy Of Being
Celebrating The In-Between Times

While celebrations are intended to honor life's more momentous occasions, much of real life tends to happen during the in-between times. While moving from one moment in time to the next is seldom considered a significant occurrence, it is during those in-between times that we are most in tune with life's most profound, albeit simple joys. Between birth and death, triumph and sorrow, beginnings and endings, we enjoy innumerable experiences that often happen unnoticed. These times are just as worthy of celebration.

The in-between times are seldom about landmark moments. How you choose to celebrate them or which moments you choose to celebrate is up to you. You may want to celebrate the simple facts that you are alive and that every day is a chance to spend time with the people you care about or do the work that you love. Then again, when you look at the good that exists in your life, many reasons for celebrating the in-between times may become clear: a cup of your favorite tea, a beautiful sunrise, a good book, and the smell of fresh air can be reasons for celebration.

Celebrating the in-between times can be as easy as paying special attention to them when they do happen, rather than taking them for granted. It's your focus of attention that can turn an in-between time into a celebration. You can also pay homage to the in-between times by slowing down and allowing yourself time to look around and allow your heart and mind to take in all of your life's wonders. Far too often, we can let those simple moments of awe pass us by. The in-between times are when life happens to us between the pauses that we take to honor our milestones occasions. Without the in-between times, there would be no big moments to celebrate.

Where in the World . . . ?

2006-01-09T22:10:00.000-08:00

I decided to take to the open road and have a break. A couple of days of not worrying about upcoming blood tests and tumor markers. Throw caution to the wind and take a gamble on life. There it was, stretched out before me. Oh sure, it's no Paris, no Tuscan villa, no New York City . . . but it sure seemed like it was all those rolled into one. One smoky, loud, bright, raucus version, that is.

I wasn't even day dreaming of dollar signs or mingling in the hip party scene (even she was there too). I kept wondering if all that smoke would affect my upcoming chest x-ray and lab work. Yep, I can totally leave the cancer behind me. Right.

P.S. Please go give your best healing wishes to Cancer, Baby. She could use them right now.

Friends for the Journey . . .

2006-01-04T12:45:00.000-08:00

I'm always amazed by the virtual community of bloggers. We get to know one another's stories, get a glimpse of one another's lives, and, especially those of us united around the cancer theme, grow to virtually care for one another. Like the people that exist in our physical world, blogger friends appear, touch our lives, and eventually move on.

One of my favorite bloggers has decided it is time to put his site to rest for now. I am saddened for selfish reasons, but I am glad that he recognizes the importance of moving forward with his life. Greg at California Hammonds has given all of us who have visited his site a bold, honest, and deeply moving view of his wife's courageous battle with breast cancer. Greg chronicled their story before, during, and after cancer entered their lives. He has generously shared his life and in doing so helped so many to heal and yet others to understand how this battle impacts the lives of everyone it touches. Greg is a very talented writer who is able to express himself in a way that is best described as poetic.

If you have ever been to California Hammonds, be sure to stop by and tell Greg thanks for giving such a gift to the virtual community. Best wishes always to you and your girls, Greg.

Welcoming the Stillness

2005-12-30T23:00:00.000-08:00

Today I was asked if I'd do it all over again. The question was in reference to the bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction. While the conversation went on with me justifying my choices, my mind wandered off to view from a distance the past two years.

2004 will always be the year I found out I had breast cancer. I will not remember 2004 as the year Wangari Maathai of Kenya was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, or Spain was rocked by a terrorist attack, or Paul Hamm found himself in the middle of an Olympic gold medal controversy in Greece, or Martha Stewart was sentenced to prison, or the Boston Red Sox finally became world champs, or even the year that Ashlee Simpson launched her Autobiography. It will remain simply the year I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was in fact a year of deconstructing, if you will. A year of destroying cancer and salvaging a life.

2005 has been different. In many ways, especially physically, it has been a year of reconstructing. A year of reconstructing my body and my life as a person who has battled cancer. Reconstructing my body has been easier than reconstructing my psyche. Though I still have physical details to finish which seem to go on ad nauseum, at least there is a check list to complete in order to be declared as physically whole as they can make me. There will be a time when Dr. Fabulous proclaims me complete from a plastic surgery perspective. I'm still looking for the check list to complete my mental health wholeness. Even at times when I feel my strongest, the reality-plagued thoughts rear their ugliness and leave me feeling broken in a way that seems can never be made whole again. Then I take a breath and move forward. Somehow.

Unlike 2004, a year focused on battling cancer, 2005 has allowed me to appreciate the world that exists beyond myself and appreciate a broader existence. Even with the chaos of my life, 2005 will not simply be remembered as my year of reconstructing. I will also remember it as the year the love of my life, Bono, was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, the nation demonstrated its compassion and generosity in the wake of hurricanes Katrina et al, a new Pope was chosen, a new Tour de France record was established by Lance Armstrong, a new Supreme Court Justice was appointed, and after a little-noticed break, the National Hockey League returned. All of these portend hope and new beginnings and propel me into 2006 with new goals and desires.

I hereby declare 2006 as the year of stillness. In 2006 there will be no deconstructing, reconstructing, or forced growth thrust upon me. I have been so focused on battling cancer, looking for signs of recurrence, and rebuilding my body that life has been happening around me. I plan to be still, embrace each moment, and make each one count. I want to feel what is all around me, experience the moment, and savor the journey. I can't do that without being still and present.

I welcome the stillness in 2006 and, with it, I welcome life. Care to join me?

Cindy Brady, the Homeless, and Christmas Miracles

2005-12-28T18:05:00.000-08:00

Just a few days before Christmas I found myself blue and weepy. In fact, I wrote, “. . . it would take a Christmas miracle to stop the tears from falling.” It was difficult to truly verbalize how I was feeling and the multitude of conflicting emotions. Part of me wished I could just sit on Santa’s lap and tell him the wishes of my heart so that on Christmas morning it could all be better. Isn’t that how all the Christmas television specials are resolved? Didn’t Cindy Brady ask Santa for her mommy’s voice to come back so she could sing on Christmas morning? Lo and behold, wasn’t that Carol Brady singing a solo on Christmas morning even though she had been suffering from laryngitis for days?

Somehow, even I, the self-confessed recovering television junkie, knew that it would indeed take a real Christmas miracle and not a made-for-TV-scripted moment. Sure, I would go to church and sing carols of glad tidings and share special moments with my family exchanging presents and sharing in our many traditions. And while I take great comfort in the traditions and festivities, it still felt like simple motions barely concealing a crumbling heart.

On Christmas morning after attending Mass with my family, I sped off to Pasadena to join friends volunteering with a homeless shelter. A friend of mine convinced me that getting out of my own head might be just what I needed to shake the blues. He had volunteered with this shelter in the past and promised me I would not soon forget the experience. The shelter sponsors a holiday celebration in the park complete with Christmas dinner, entertainment, and Christmas presents for the children. Yes, even Christmas presents for the children who come from homeless families (I have to repeat this to myself because even the concept of homeless families and children is so far from my reality that I cannot seem to truly grasp it).

Continuing to detach myself emotionally, I began to help Santa distribute presents to the children. At first it was difficult trying to figure out what types of toys would be most appropriate for the kids. Nearly everyone was happy, excited, and thrilled with the generous presents that had been donated from the community. I was on task, focused on getting the children's ages and selecting presents, and moving the process right along as if robotic. And that is when I saw her.

She had brown hair pulled back into two pony tails on either side of her head. She was a tiny girl, the top of her head barely reaching her mother's hip. She shyly stood as close to her mother as possible, one arm looped around momma's thigh, clutching the polaroid of her on Santa's lap just given to her moments before by one of Santa's "elves."

I heard someone say “girl age 3” and I reached down to select a couple of books, a stuffed animal, and the sweetest “real baby” baby doll complete with accessories hoping she would like the selection. As I turned to hand them to the little girl, her big brown eyes got even bigger, her smile lit up the park, and she looked at the box with the baby doll and looked at me and looked back down as if she didn’t believe it was hers to take with her. I gave it to her and she looked up at her smiling mother with tears in her eyes nodding her approval. She gently took the box and, if it were possible, her smile grew even bigger, more electric. I never heard her speak, but I watched her walk off with her mother, alternating between looking at her new baby doll and smiling up at her mother.

I could tell several more stories of little girls getting Barbie Princesses and little boys excited about new Legos. Christmas in the park was a lovely day. The sun broke through the early morning fog, the food appeared plentiful, and the camaraderie was joyous. For many people, including the many volunteers, there was indeed a Christmas miracle. And while on this morning it didn’t take place in a manger, or get scripted in a sitcom, it was evident in the big brown eyes of a joyous little girl who at this very moment is likely hugging tightly her brand new baby doll.

Sometimes, you just need to break away from your own reality to appreciate everything about the life you have and miracles that take place in your own life everyday.