Plagarism with permission

I am participating in a plagarism campaign this morning. WhyMommy isn't feeling so well after her first round of Chemo. In hopes of easing her ills I'm going to give her a dose of the only medicine I can. I am going to spread the word about Inflammatory Breast Cancer in the hopes that no one else will be caught with their guard down as she and I were. Here is her post, copied verbatim at her request, nay, her demand.

WhyMommy, pull yourself up by the bootstraps, Honey. You've got a long way to go yet.

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We hear a lot about breast cancer these days. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetimes, and there are millions living with it in the U.S. today alone. But did you know that there is more than one type of breast cancer?
I didn’t. I thought that breast cancer was all the same. I figured that if I did my monthly breast self-exams, and found no lump, I’d be fine.
Oops. It turns out that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Six weeks ago, I went to my OB/GYN because my breast felt funny. It was red, hot, inflamed, and the skin looked…funny. But there was no lump, so I wasn’t worried. I should have been. After a round of antibiotics didn’t clear up the inflammation, my doctor sent me to a breast specialist and did a skin punch biopsy. That test showed that I have inflammatory breast cancer, a very aggressive cancer that can be deadly.
Inflammatory breast cancer is often misdiagnosed as mastitis because many doctors have never seen it before and consider it rare. “Rare” or not, there are over 100,000 women in the U.S. with this cancer right now; only half will survive five years. Please call your OB/GYN if you experience several of the following symptoms in your breast, or any unusual changes: redness, rapid increase in size of one breast, persistent itching of breast or nipple, thickening of breast tissue, stabbing pain, soreness, swelling under the arm, dimpling or ridging (for example, when you take your bra off, the bra marks stay – for a while), flattening or retracting of the nipple, or a texture that looks or feels like an orange (called peau d’orange). Ask if your GYN is familiar with inflammatory breast cancer, and tell her that you’re concerned and want to come in to rule it out.
There is more than one kind of breast cancer. Inflammatory breast cancer is the most aggressive form of breast cancer out there, and early detection is critical. It’s not usually detected by mammogram. It does not usually present with a lump. It may be overlooked with all of the changes that our breasts undergo during the years when we’re pregnant and/or nursing our little ones. It’s important not to miss this one.
Inflammatory breast cancer is detected by women and their doctors who notice a change in one of their breasts. If you notice a change, call your doctor today. Tell her about it. Tell her that you have a friend with this disease, and it’s trying to kill her. Now you know what I wish I had known before six weeks ago.
You don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer.

P.S. Feel free to steal this post too. I’d be happy for anyone in the blogosphere to take it and put it on their site, no questions asked. Dress it up, dress it down, let it run around the place barefoot. I don’t care. But I want the word to get out. I don’t want another young mom — or old man — or anyone in between — to have to stare at this thing on their chest and wonder, is it mastitis? Is it a rash? Am I overreacting? This cancer moves FAST, and early detection and treatment is critical for survival.
Thank you.

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I just had a thought. I know. How unusual for me, right. Ha! Anyway. Perhaps it's no accident that they call it a "round" of chemo. Is it a coincidence that there is an allusion to boxing? Going a round in a ring? After all, chemo patients are in a fight for thier lives. WhyMommy, let this round stay in your corner.

The sound of silence

I just finished the last Harry Potter book. J.K. Rowling does not disappoint. What does disappoint, however, is not having anyone to discuss the book with. In the weeks before The Deathly Hallows release everyone was a twitter with talk of Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling. Then the whole world fell silent. I will wait for the silence to lift like everyone else I guess. <insert heavy sigh here>

Nature vs. Nurture

Was I wondering if it was a good idea to medicate my child? Daddy-O certainly was. He was a skeptic, for sure! Well, not anymore. No, sir-ee, Bob! Life is different around the house these days.

B took his first Focalin pill like an old pro. Well, he did fumble a bit. Dropped it into his glass of milk, fetched it out and swallowed it real quick like. After that it was quite anti-climactic. I was trying not to stare at him, you know, looking for obvious signs of change. I'm not really sure what I expected to see. A small floating halo perhaps, a simple set of angel wings would have been a nice touch... at the very least an angelic expression. Nope. Nada. There was just alot of typical Saturday morning behavior with the cartoon watching and the underwear wearing and the waffle eating. Even when I asked him to get dressed for his play date there were no floating flowers or flying birds trailing behind as he run-hopped into his room. Just business as usual. Disappointing to say the least.

The revelation came later in the day. There is a boy in our neighborhood. He's young - only 5 - but he's big and adopted, not that that has any bearing on this. The doctors estimate he will be about 6'5"+. He is much bigger than B who will be 7 on Friday. And he, through no fault of his own (well, mostly), is a terror. He is the victim of over-liberal parenting. He is never, ever, ever disciplined. He drops in the middle of the street in temper tantrums no less than 5 or 6 times a day, he hits his parents, calls his dad a "fucker", etc., and will yell across the street at B that he hates him and he's not his friend whenever it's time for B to come in from playing. I strongly disapprove of him and believe, in my humble parenting opinion, he needs a good spanking followed by an even better hug. Unfortunately, he is the only child even close to B's age in the neighborhood. We'll call him Bob.

So, B is out playing with his authorized play date when Bob comes knocking at the door with his mother asking to play. Since the boys are in an empty field next door I can't exactly keep Bob out, now, can I? So, off he goes to play with the other two boys. Every parent know that 3 kids and a play date go together like, well, 3 tits and a bra. Someone's always gonna be left out. So I didn't let too much time pass before I went to the window to check on things. When I poked my head out there was no sign on Bob. B said they had sent him home. "Were you mean to him?" I asked, doing my best impression of someone who wouldn't have drug Bob home by his ear her own self. "Well! He stole my stuff!" And B had a point. Bob had, indeed, tried to steal B's precious stash of sticks / swords & guns just a few days earlier. So I explained that just because he had someone else to play with at the moment didn't mean he could treat Bob shabbily and soon he would be alone again and knocking on Bob's door. Then what would he do if Bob still had hurt feelings and didn't want to play with him? "I think you better go right over there and apologize. Tell him you'll be glad to play later when your friend is gone."

To my utter shock and amazement he did it. There was no yelling or "But, Moming!". No arms crossed over his chest and proclamations of Bob's obvious wrongness. No "I don't care if he won't play with me!" (because, honestly, they're both stuck with each other). No threats from me to send home the play date. No nothing. Kind of a Mom let-down actually. He just said, "OK.", walked across the street, calmly apologized and came home. When I came to, I ran into the other room and called Daddy-O to share the good news. The rest of the day passed completely uneventfully until his meds wore off at 7:30pm. The moment he reverted to normal was so glaringly obvious. Daddy-O and I looked at each other in amazement. It really isn't us. It's him.

We know we're good parents. We discipline without over-doing it. We love our kids. We spoil them. We live for them. And deep inside we can't help but wonder how much of B's over-the-top behavior is our parenting and how much is his internal power source. Nature vs. Nurture, so to speak. I suppose it's the nature of the parenting beast to doubt yourself. But I swear to you... in that moment when Daddy-O and I exchanged looks across the room all our unspoken insecurities and feelings of failure were laid bare and wiped away in the space of a sigh. It's him. It's B. And we can help him.

And the award goes to...

Awww. WhyMommy thinks I rock. And just for yappin' my trap and talking about me. Me. Me. Me. Always Me. Well, and my kids, and Norrie's Disease and life and that damn Inflammatory Breast Cancer that sneaks up on you when you're just trying to be the best Mama Milk Cow you can be. IBC is the chameleon of the breast cancer world. It masquerades as mastitis or engorged breasts from weaning. It's cancer tissue on Polyjuice Potion - pretending to be a normal breast. (I can work a Harry Potter reference into any conversation. Ha!) Ahh. But I digress, because WhyMommy thinks I rock she gave my this lovely little piece of bling.






Have you ever seen anything so pretty and pink? I might wear it all day long. Do you think I could make earrings out of it? Perhaps a necklace would be better? One of those little dogtaggy like things.

So I get to pass this on to five of my favorite Rockin' Girl Bloggers. Wow. The sheer power. Hmmm.

Well, first I will go with Bossy because I want to be her when I grow up. OK. You caught me. I don't really want to be her... I just want to be her BiFF. The i is for internet in case I was too subtle for you. Bah. Bossy is the quirky laugh in my each and every day. I heart her third person little self. Bossy, please take your bling.

Next I must cheat and choose the same rockin' Chickie twice. Kristin of Mominatrix and Motherhood Uncensored touches the deepest truths of mommyhood without pulling any punches. Bling-A-Ling.

And Kim at LawMom who is doing the unthinkable. Somehow she is managing children, law school AND chemotherapy all at the same time!!! Holy multi-tasking, Batman! Oragami that bling into a crown and wear it all day, Kim.

And finally, Amalah. Because she was the very, very first Rockin' Girl Blogger I ever read. And she cracks me up every day. Plus she has the cutest son ever! Amalah, like you need more bling... but here it is anyway.

Smooches to all of you. You make my days lighter.

To medicate or not to medicate? That is the question.

Genetics or self-fullfilling prophesy? Sign of the over-medicating times or proactive parenting? All boy or Energizer Bunny doing speedballs?

I come from a rather large disfunctional family on my Mom's side. My Dad's side was disfunctional also, so much so as to be almost non-existant. But I digress. My maternal family is peppered with tasty morsels who are sweet and tender-hearted on the inside yet (at least in their younger years) quite rough, bitter-tasting and hard-to-swallow on the outside. They were classic cases of ADHD long before ADHD was fashionable or even diagnosed. My sister, my nephew, and my oldest uncle are some of these relatives. They happen to be some of my favorite relatives. My sister, not always so.

As a child my sister was incorrigable - at least to me & my friends. She was a horror in school. Her grades showed it. She had a miserable time of it. She was the sweetest, most caring person you'd ever come across, yet most of the time impossible to be around. My uncle was the same, so I hear. His doctor nicknamed him Boo, short for Bubonic Plague (so says family lore).

I tell you all of this because yesterday I took B to his pediatrician to talk about his borderline positive result on the Conners test for ADD. Daddy-O & I have been asking B's teachers since he started preschool at a little over 2 years of age, if they thought he was ADD. Mostly this was because if there were a bunch of boys running in tight little circles, B was running in 10 tight circles around the other boys' 1 tight circle. It has always been exhausting to just watch him. All his teachers have assured us that B was just "all boy" and we took much comfort in that. Still do, in fact. And, believe me, he is ALL BOY. Except for pink being his favorite color, that is. So, at the end of the school year, when his wonderful first year teacher commented on how easily distracted B is and what a hard, hard week he'd had I knew it was time to take it to his pediatrician.

So, Daddy-O, Mello (our wonder sitter) and Mrs. F all filled out the Conner's test & sent it to the pediatrician. And let me tell you something. After looking at our respective scoring, B behaves way better for Mrs. F & Mello than he does for Daddy-O & I. I think that's probably how you want it as a parent but I still think we're getting a raw deal here.

Daddy-O has been fairly adamant about not wanting B on meds. I am in complete agreement. Except. Except if it will help him concentrate better in class. Except if it will help him follow directions better. Except if it will help him not get frustrated or over-zealous when he plays and alienate his friends. Except if it will keep him from going down the paths that I watched my sister and nephew go down. Except.

Well, the doctor appointment couldn't have gone any better considering what we were there for. While WonderDoc, B & I discussed if and when B was distracted or lost focus and how that made him feel, B also busied himself tearing holes in the paper covering of the examining table. Two holes which he eventually pushed his legs through as if he was a legless boy laying on the table. As we moved on to social ramifications of ADD, B progressed to shredding said paper covering into strips - the entire paper covering. By the time we had agreed on a low-dose med, B had the paper covering tied all over his body in headbands, belt, bandana, sash and even had his ankles and wrist hog-tied at one point. He was a walking, talking ADD action figure.

I did ask about possible homeopathic alternatives. Herbal remedies. Non-medicinal therapies. WonderDoc, whom I absolutely, completely, unequivocably trust, said that really none of them work for very long. What will work, he says, is the lowest possible dose of a long acting med. So, we try it.

Starting this weekend, we try 10mg of Focalin XR. Anyone out there have any feedback on this med? I'll keep you posted on how it goes for us.

Jiggity, Jig

So here is the much awaited post-vacation post.

Ahh. We had so. much. Fun. That's with a capital "f" there, folks. Also, lots of work. Plus some more fun. And there was water. And some flies. And mosquitos. And Family. Also with a capital "f"... but the good kind. Did I mention the work part? There was lots of that. Parties for 120 people don't just throw themselves ya know.

So here's the history 'cuz I'm just realizing I didn't tell you anything, really. So. My mom turned 60 on Monday. This is my mom.

She's awesome. She is also a breast cancer survivor. She was diagnosed 5 months after me with, what I like to refer to as, the garden-variety breast cancer most women get around her age (we're both positive for the BRCA 2 mutation). Not to sound dismissive or imply that it's any less scary/life threatening, it's just not the breast-cancer-on-steroids that I managed to attract. Three months prior to her diagnosis her boyfriend of 22 years passed away after an extended illness and hospice care. I tell you this only to set the stage for how well deserved and looked forward to this birthday bash has been.

Her big request of the family (other than they be there) was that we go rafting down the Sacramento River the day before the party. She'd always wanted to and had never done it.

So we did. And what a blast it was! First, let me say that we did not bring enough beer. Also, I don't know why we spent so much time paddling... the river was actually flowing the very same way we wanted to go. And it's much stronger than us and does not get blisters.

See Daddy-O paddle very hard because he is man and he is steering the raft (lest we run straight into the bridge piling just like the other raft carrying the less capable members of the family)

And this fine looking couple are my grandparents. They got to ride for free. No paddling for them. Humph.

Well, sort of for free. The did get a big fat snootful of the river right off the bat from B's big ol' blasting Water Cannon!

We did the evening trip because it would be cooler. Good choice! Plus the river was simply beautiful!

The very next day we had a big fat party with tons of people and we roasted a poor little pig. Here's what he looked like before we roasted him. Please don't look if you're faint of heart.





And here's what he looked like when he was all crispy brown and ready to eat. Mmmmmm.



Mom liked the shirt I made her. I tried to order it from the Save the Ta-Tas site but they didn't make it in her size. Sorry for the thieving, Ta-ta Savers. I'll buy extra shirts for myself just to make up for it.



But most of all. All her friends and family turned out to wish her happy birthday AND MANY, MANY MORE. And that's what really counts. Well, that and the $1800 everyone gave her towards a cruise to Alaska... that counts just a little too.

Don't Worry Be Happy

I have to appologize to Kate of Sweet/Salty. This was supposed to be an email to her inspired by this post. But as I wrote it I realized that many of my two or less readers probably need to hear these words again. We all need to be reminded of them every now and again - including me after I've spent two very long 9 hour days trapped in a car with my husband and two small children.


Daddy-O and I have spent the better part of the last 2+ years fending off undeserved compliments as to how "wonderful" we've handled the trials in our life. Words like "strength" and "grace", "awe-inspiring" and "amazing" are bandied about by people who have no real concept of their meaning. Many ask how we've managed to keep such positive attitudes through all of our dealings with D's blindness and many surgeries, then my cancer diagnosis and treatment. Daddy-O and I just tell them the simple yet horrible truth. If you have ever spent any time at all in the children's hospital or cancer ward you realize that we have nothing to complain about. We are the lucky ones. There are parents out there that have to deal with all sorts of unimaginable scenarios on a daily basis in their households. Hell, there are parents that haven't seen the inside of their houses in months and months because they sleep sitting up in a hospital recliner waiting for their child to moan and stir in his sleep.

We, Daddy-O and I, are so blessed to have our two boys. Both of them. Even when we bitch. Even when we whine. They are our lives. And we're so very lucky to have each other. We certainly couldn't do it alone. D & B are happy, social, well adjusted boys who are smart and healthy. What's to handle? A bit of a vision problem? A little cancer? Humph! We'll rock the house with that!


Just look at my family! In this picture you'll find: 2 breast cancer survivors, a hemophiliac, and a blind boy. Can you pick them out? Which one of us looks to be suffering?

On the rocks

What'd I do this weekend?

Hmmm? Me? Oh. I mucked out B's room. Mucked? Well, yes, there was a rake involved. And smelly stuff.

What's that? Oh, I had to use a rake because B is a proud possessor of the Portuguese Packrat gene. The mucking had to happen while he's still at Nana's house.

Let me explain a little something about my oldest son. He's never met a stick or rock that he did not find irresistible. They call to him with the siren's song that has lured little boys to the rocky shores of parental disapproval for centuries. No rock is too large or cementish. Every pebble looks like an acorn or an eye or a piece of corn. Each and every broken branch is a sword or a walking stick. Driftwood is a pistol, rifle or pirate's knife. Yesterday I must have collected 6 pounds of rocks and sticks from B's room. And I left the pretty ones.

While rocks and sticks are a constant in B's room - evenly scattered throughout - he has special hiding places for the things he knows we'll really disapprove of. He has a step stool with a storage area in the top. When I bought it I envisioned books in it. Or maybe a bunch of those small army men that I'm constantly picking up all over the place. What did I find instead? A stash of Fruit By The Foot papers - no fruit, just papers. He never wants to throw them away because they still smell good.

There were the expected candy wrappers under the nightstand, dirty socks behind the dresser but under the bed... ugh... it just makes me shiver. The underside of his bed was chosen as the resting place of a particularly special find. Behind the child-size folding table and chairs, nestled amid the clean clothes, a forgotten shoe, broken crayons, an assortment of D's balls and blocks and other little boy nesting materials, lay an intact mussel. Yes, like a clam - only a mussel. It was completely whole. Thankfully! I'm sure that's the only reason I hadn't smelled it already.

I have to take the blame for B's bad cleaning habits. He cleans his room most weekends and does a good job at first glance. Obviously, I need to do a bit more than glance. I seem to have forgotten what nastiness a child can hide under a bed. I seem to recall some moldy fruit or some such from my own childhood.

We pick B up this weekend. At least I know the room will stay clean until then.

Stripes are in

Today was a day of firsts in our family. D had his first shower. He doesn't look too sure about the whole process, now, does he?

But he warmed up to it fairly quickly. All my boys are water babies at heart.

It's all good in the end. He even cried when he had to get out.


And yesterday I bought D's first pair of these at the Gap.

So now I only have one very important question...





Has anyone seen my baby anywhere?

And where did this little boy come from?

Gooooooo Team!!!

You know, the whole time I was going thru my cancer treatments, all the carefully restricted research I did on the internet didn't get me a single young woman currently undergoing treatment for Inflammatory Breast Cancer. I found the IBC Support site that had wonderful patient stories. Stories that made me feel not so alone and gave me great hope. But none of the posts were recent. I was, frankly, afraid to wonder why there were no current posts... afraid to wonder where those women are today.

I found other sites that had bulletin boards of women currently undergoing breast cancer treatment - none with IBC, but still. I tried to post there but found the women to be pretty negative as a whole and certainly didn't need any more of THAT in my life when I was struggling day to day to stay positive. I felt very alone in my little IBC corner of the world knowing that the general breast cancer statistics didn't apply to me and my Over-Achieving Breast Cancer.

Now, I'm 8 1/2 months beyond treatment. A survivor, so to speak. And I am very conflicted for having found a young mother begining treatment for IBC. WhyMommy from Toddler Planet has just been diagnosed with IBC. She has two boys, a 5 month old a 2 1/2 year old. She needs everyone's support and prayers for healing and strength right now. If you want to lend support to WhyMommy and her family visit Canape and join Team WhyMommy!

Over My Dead Body

It's nice to know that I'll be worth something besides the value of my life insurance when I'm gone... How much is your dead body worth? Click on the picture and find out. Let me know in my comments section. I really need to know if I'm being penalized for the whole cancer thing...

edited to add: I've removed the link to the cadaver counter because it's all well and good to make fun of my own mortality... but it seemed a bit inappropriate in light of WhyMommy's issues.