It's all about the hair

As October rolls to a close I found this blog, Abreast in the World, from another blog on another blog and so on and so on... Well, you know the drill. This post about losing your hair to chemo I found particularly enjoyable. I especially liked the poem.

There once was a woman who woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and noticed she had only three hairs on her head.

"Well," she said, "I think I'll braid my hair today." So she did and she had a wonderful day.

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and saw that she had only two hairs on her head.

"Hmmm," she said, "I think I'll part my hair down the middle today." So she did and she had a grand day.

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that she had only one hair on her head.

"Well," she said, "Today I'm going to wear my hair in a pony tail." So she did and she had a fun, fun day.

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that there wasn't a single hair on her head.

"YEAH!" she exclaimed, "I don't have to fix my hair today!"

Attitude is everything.

Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

After today I'm setting aside my pink ribbon for some candy, pumkins and goblins in adorable costumes. After that I'm all about the season. But first things first. I only have a day and a half to teach D how to say "Trick or Treat".

Loosing weight the old fashioned way

As you might have guessed from my lovely ticker above , I have been dieting. More to the point, I began seeing an obesity doctor at the Najarian Center to try to get control of my out of control body. Between the pregnancy weight I'd gained from D, all the weight I'd put on during chemotherapy, then going into full-blown menopause... well, lets just say my skinny jeans hadn't seen the light of day for quite a while.



I know lots of people going to the Center. They are having varying degrees of success. Actually, lots of weight loss success followed by varying degrees of maintenance success. There are drugs involved. Yeah! I readily admit this was the initial attraction. I have never been a dieter but I have been very into quick fixes and having things come easily. What can I say, such has always been my life. I didn't realize there was going to be a big mean old DIET I was going to have to follow too. Not really part of the bargain, as I saw it.



So, they laid out this ridiculously low carb, high protein diet. Well, I explained immediately that I absolutely would not follow a diet THAT low carb. Only because I would gain all the weight back when I went off the diet. However, I would greatly reduce my carb intake and modify my diet to a realistic / livable level. I fully expected them to refuse to treat me. Many of these doctors are pretty particular that way. But, hey, they went for it and said I'd only loose as much as I followed the program. And here I am, 4 months in, and 23 lbs. lighter. I am pleased with my slow but steady loss. I am eating a diet I feel I can maintain for the rest of my life without feeling too deprived. I may not be losing as fast as some of the others but I bet I keep it off longer.



On the other hand... if it doesn't work out the way I expect, I have plan B in my back pocket.

Plan B

The sky bleeds closer to home than before

This is a picture of our sunset shrouded in smoke some 250 miles away from the wildfires burning in southern California. It was taken by Stefanie Henderson. There are some other awesome ones over the ocean here. Amidst such devastation comes such beauty.

Edited to add
I spoke too soon about my family being safe from the wildfires. I thought everyone had moved from the mountain areas long ago. I had forgotten about Mel. He lives in Running Springs near Lake Arrowhead. The last I had heard Running Springs was completely surrounded by fire, all 5100 residence had been evacuated and they didn't know if the town would even survive. Mel is a bus driver. He was at work when the fire broke out. They wouldn't let him back to his home, of course. All he has left are his car and uniform. Thankfully, he, unlike many others, is insured. He'll be alright. It just brings everything really close to home.

In and out and up and down and uh oh

I've been solo parenting all week while Daddy-O enjoys the solitude of fly fishing on the Trinity River. I must say it's been going remarkably well considering half the state is on fire (thankfully not the half Daddy-O is in) and the smoke induced in yours truly an asthma attack / allergic reaction the likes of which I've never experienced before. Otherwise, the kids have been great and things are going well.

Well, there was this one thing. After I put D to bed the other night he began his nightly Party In My Crib routine. This usually involves a lot of jumping and screaming in glee and the throwing of bottles across the room. After a few minutes I heard his door knob turn and his sweet little voice say "Open da door." as he stepped out into the hall. I had forgotten to put the side of his crib up and he had climbed out of his crib. !!! WTF? So part of me was all proud of my little blind boy for making it out of his crib, clear across his room to his door, opening it & walking to the living room without a hitch. The other part of me was screaming all sorts of denials that I'm not ready for a big boy bed or dealing with a toddler that can't be contained when & where I wish!!! Ahhhhhhh! My life is over!

Then tonight it got worse. Tonight the boys took a shower together as usual. B was being helpful and dried D off when they got out then put him in his room. I heard D jumping on his trampoline while I was finishing up an email. Pretty soon D was calling out to me those magic words every parent loves to hear, "Mama, I got poopies." When I walked in his room my heart sank. I freaked out. I didn't quite know what had happened. There D was, standing buck naked in his crib, with the side down. And he had poopies. Lots of poopies. And he'd been jumping alright but not on his trampoline.

Of course, my first reaction was to get mad at B. But he swears he didn't put him in there. D must have climbed into his crib. I ask you, what kind of sick child climbs into his crib? Then poops? Then jumps in it and squishes it between his freshly showered toes and all over his laundered blankets? And just for good measure (and I'm guessing because he didn't like how it felt between his toes) wipes it on the inside wall of is crib and lets if fall down between the mattress & the frame?

And the more important question here is how am I going to make Daddy-O make it up to me when he finally gets home?

Name them one by one

I believe that this afternoon at 6:00 pm est WhyMommy will be on Fox5 news talking about Inflammatory Breast Cancer at this link. It's not up yet so I hope I've got it right. She will also be live blogging on Toddler Planet so go check it out.

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In completely un-cancer-related news... Holy Hell, the whole damn state's afire! Seriously, folks, it's bad. Very bad. Thank the good Lord my family (grandparents, aunts, uncles & cousins) are all on the back side of the fire line. Once the winds shift the fire will burn in their direction but there will be no fuel so it should be over relatively quickly by that point. They are not in any danger this time. But there have been plenty of wildfire seasons that have seen me white knuckled with the radio tuned to AM news all day waiting for fire updates.

I cannot fathom 1300+ families without homes... and more to come before it's over, I'm sure. And arson. Arson. Does human depravity have no limits?

So, I count my blessings today.

I am blessed to have such a sympathetic sounding board among my internet friends. My blessings include well-paying jobs for both Daddy-O and myself and a healthy dose of debt to remind us not to spend too much. I am blessed with my health when other's find theirs failing. And I am blessed with my small house seemingly so overcrowded with toys, people, possessions and love when so many have lost so much. What makes you feel blessed?

Oh, to be 18 again and know what I know now...

Our paper ran a story this morning about Cassie Bustos, a student attending the local university who had breast cancer at 18. EIGHTEEN, people! I can't even imagine! I don't want to imagine. I don't want to imagine being Cassie. Hell, I don't even want to imagine being her mother and I'm probably closer to her age.

Eighteen should be about college and cars and dating and friends and petty dramas. Eighteen should be about discovering who you are or more importantly, are not. Eighteen should be a time for enlightenment, for developing your political and social views. Eighteen should be when you forge friendships through common experience that will last throughout your lifetime.

What eighteen most assuredly should not be is sitting in a chemotherapy chair with an IV drip or having a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery for breast cancer. Eighteen certainly should not be facing your own mortality at the dawn of your life. Eighteen should not be facing a life of dating and sexual encounters, inherently fraught with insecurities, with the added baggage of reconstruction scars.

But to be eighteen with the knowledge that life is transitory and precious... that the small stuff is exactly that, small... Hmmmmm...

Crime and punishment

I know it's hard to find good help these days... I myself have gone through my fair share of house cleaners trying to find one that actually keeps showing up on a regular basis. Now, stop it. It's not like that at all. Just quit with all the eye-rolling. I work full time, have two kids and have a husband who's idea of helping out around the house is commenting that the piles of clutter have gotten taller than the children. And it can be haaaaaard spending my only days off scrubbing toilets and tubs - not to mention being a slave to the wood floors and those damnable fornicating dust bunnies. So we have a wonderful lady who comes twice a month to do the dirty work. That frees me up to do the "special projects" like muck out the kid's rooms or forget to clean the refrigerator (again). Besides, it was a gift from Daddy-O and I'm worth it. Right? Anyway, back to my point.

So, I was thinking, that I actually went through 3 cleaning ladies before we found our Lisa. The previous 3, well, I'm really not sure what happened with them. The first one was a young girl (early 20s). She looked at the place, gave us a price, scheduled a day & never showed. Not once. Hmph. Kids. Cleaner #2 was an hispanic lady that came highly recommended. She cleaned for us for about 2 months then got deported. I hate it when that happens. It took months to find cleaner # 3. Months in which I had to clean my own damn house. Cleaner #3 was another hispanic woman that Daddy-O knew from a restaurant he frequents. She came often. He tipped well. She had a key to the house. She always complained that our house did not need to be cleaned. One day she quit coming . Daddy-O actually had to hunt her down to get our house key back. It was several years before Daddy-O found Lisa. I'm never letting her go. You can't make me. She folds my toilet paper into little pointy tips like in the hotels. She cleans my microwave. She empties my diaper pail, for Heaven's sake.

At any rate, I went to great lengths to get my house cleaned. But I don't think I would ever go this far...

"I'm gonna LIVE!"

That's what Jo (a uterine cancer survivor) & I always say to one another after we've had a check up with our oncologist. Followed by a big, well deserved hug, of course.

So I saw my oncologist today and it appears I am going to live to see another day. I must admit the last few weeks have had me in a nervous tug-o-war deciding whether to call her early & have her schedule a PET scan. There is just something about the milestone appointments that make every ache, twinge & cough seem to be a portent of recurrent cancerous doom. First I felt a fullness under my arm, then I was convinced there was swollen lymph nodes, next thing you know I had one foot on the banana peel and one in the chemo ward. It's a slippery slope of fear and dread that I try to climb with a rope composed of faith. Some days my rope is stronger than others.

But today, today I made it to the top of the slope.

It was my forth 3 month appointment post treatment. For those of you keeping score, that means that at the end of this week I am officially a One Year Breast Cancer Survivor. My lungs sound great. There is not one thing in my blood work that is abnormal. The fullness and bumps under my arm is just the feeling beginning to return and normal muscle striations. In short, I'm looking good!

My PET scan is being scheduled for next month. And tho I do feel great after getting a clean bill of health today I'll feel greatly relieved to know that there are no microscopic troublemakers loitering around my insides anywhere. And in the meantime, I'M GONNA LIVE! and a big hug to everyone.

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In other news... While I was visiting Mama C in Maryland I also had the privilege of meeting this lovely lady and her family at the Smithsonian Natural History Museum.
I am astounded by the greater community of the internet. Both Mama C and WhyMommy would never have crossed my radar were it not for blogs and bulletin boards.

Should I be thanking Al Gore or something???

Because terrorists are known for their toiletries

I've only just regained my ability to be civil regarding the entire airline industry after returning from Maryland on Friday (sorry Killer Boob). You'd think I hadn't flown in eons... but really, I just went to Mexico last October. That's a whole other country, folks. They don't even speak our language or anything. And I had to get a passport. And yet, I still managed to make it all the way there and back (thank you very much) with out so much as one confiscated toiletry item. But some how, I could not even make it out of our teeny, tiny little airport without my poor bags being manhandled by the security personnel.

In the airline's defense, I did have a moment of blatant disregard for the rules and threw the entire tube of my Crest Whitening Expressions Vanilla Mint toothpaste into my carry on. I can't help it. I love the stuff. I just wasn't thinking. Same with my Mary K face cleanser. Just didn't think about it being over 4 oz. However, I did spend the time to go shopping for those handy-dandy little empty travel containers for shampoo & such just so I could bring my other toiletries. The airline website clearly stated "Travel size liquids, aerosols and gels are allowed in carry-on baggage if they are in containers that are 3.4 oz (100ml) or smaller." Well, nowhere in the greater central coast could I find travel containers less than 4 oz in size. So, I filled them half full. Which, got them all thrown away by the friendly flight security folks.

The shampoo is no big deal. But my contact solution and saline for sensitive eyes is hard to find. I showed the Nazi-ette that the bottles were clearly only half filled so as to be under 3.4 oz. Apparently it's the size of the container not the amount in them that matters. She had the nerve to tell me I should have packed it in my suitcase. Like I'm going to trust them not to lose my luggage. Humph.

So, when I got to Mama C's house I found that my well-packed (expensive) hair mousse had been broken in my suitcase. Thankfully, just the nozzle snapped off and was still usable - and a bit annoying.

Fast forward to my return flight when I checked my carry-on. Once I got home I discovered a varied assortment of toiletry carnage. The previously maimed mousse was fatally wounded - cap and nozzle ring crushed. My Big Sexy Hairspray for my small hoping-to-be-sexy hair is also capless from here on out. I have a tray of daily pill organizers that were shattered. All my meds were free-floating in my luggage. All my make up in my Kaboodle was completely pulverized. I'm not talking about blusher being broken into a few chunks here... I'm talking about turning my make up case into an urn... the final resting place for too many dollars worth of Mary K blush, eye shadow, pressed powder and loose powder (now looser still).

Maybe I'll ship ahead next time.

Calling All Prayer Warriors

Prayer Warriors here is your mission should you choose to accept it. Please pay a visit to WhyMommy over at Toddler Planet & offer some encouragement. She's suffered a bit of a treatment setback & could use some cheering up.

The Good, the bad & the awesome

There was a time in my life when being right was the only thing that mattered to me. Nowadays, I am afraid to be right more often than not. How ironic. Well, yesterday was no exception.

After a year. YES, a whole year, I managed to get D back to see his eye specialist in Bakersfield. We were supposed to go back last January but I had my DIEP flap surgery & then weekly trips to UCLA for post-op follow-ups. Then implant expansion visits - all of which had to take place on Thursdays. Thursdays are the only days that Dr. Tawansy (D's specialist) does clinics in Bakersfield). You can see why it just never worked out. Plus D's eyes seemed so quiet and weren't giving him any problems... that is, until a month or so ago.

About 6 weeks ago he began pressing his left eye quite a bit and pulling on his eye lashes. The eye pressing is pretty common for vision impaired kids. Press on your own eyes. Go ahead. Do it right now. See the spots and lights? Well blind kids can see them too. And that's the only thing they can see. So you can understand the attraction in eye pressing for them. It can become almost like a masturbation thing for them. (NOTE: this is my personal take on things not the official party line). So I wasn't so much worried about the eye poking / pressing but I had also noticed that his left eye had seemed to have shrunk a bit, quite a bit it by my estimation.

One of the major characteristics of Norrie's Disease is small eyes. But at times I think I can see beyond the corner of D's eyelid to behind his eye. I'm no expert here, but I don't really think you're supposed to be able to do that. Think of your eyes as place holders for your eye sockets. If your eyes are too small the eye sockets don't grow properly and thus your skull can grow improperly also. Eventually, your skull can become misshapen causing all sorts of other issues. One of the things they do to stop this is make schleral shells. So I made it a priority to take him in.

Well, thankfully, I was wrong. His eyes (both of them, though the left a bit more than the right) have shrunk all right. Not near as much as I feared. And they are still quiet. By "quiet" Dr. Tawansy means that the pressure in his eyes caused from scar tissue built up inside is not high. There is no inflamation or anything else wrong. He is not concerned with his sockets so there is no reason for us to consider shells, though the Dr did say they may keep his fingers out of his eyes. And he took D off his meds for glaucoma. Ha! All in all, a very, very good appointment. And best of all, Dr. Tawansy is very interested in going to the Norrie's conference in Boston in July 08. Yeah!

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In other not so good news, I found out last night that an acquaintance of mine has had a recurrence of her breast cancer. She is the first person I've personally known with breast cancer. I remember her losing her hair (she's a hairdresser - how tortuous for her), having 2 lumpectomies because they didn't get it all the first time and finally a mastectomy for the same reason. She had the TRAM Flap reconstruction surgery which went very badly for her and her entire abdomen herniated. But since then, maybe 3 years ago, she's been well.

In December she was complaining of needing glasses so she made an appointment with the eye doctor who found a tumor behind her eye. It was metastasized breast cancer. They did radiation and chemo and now the tumor is gone. But as we know... once cancer metastasizes it is incurable. I feel sick for her. She was like me. She was open about her cancer. She would talk freely about it. Now, she doesn't speak of it at all. She is trying to come to grips with the knowledge that she will die with this disease and from it. What savings she has will be spent on her treatment of it and her healthy days will be spent waiting for it's return. She has told her doctors that she does not want to know how much time they think she has. She only wants to know what treatments they think she needs and what the side effects will be. Then she will decide whether or not she will do it. That is very much what I would do, I think.

She is living my biggest fear. What do you say to people when you have metastatic disease and they ask how your treatment is going? Do you say something like, "fine... today." or "good. But I'll still die." No wonder she doesn't want to talk about it. What is there really to say? At that point isn't it best to just live your life for every moment you can suck out of it?

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Enough depression. Better news. Here's a focalin update on B. Today I took him to school. I was still talking to another mom outside when his class walked by in a line. He was so focused on what he was doing (paying attention to the teacher !!!) that he didn't even see me standing 2 feet from him. What a different child he is now. He is incredible!