I'm going to walk. I've been doing it most of my life so how hard can it really be? I walk on my breaks at work (when I remember to take them). I walk with the kids if they beg me long enough. I walk across parking lots on my way to one store or another. Easy peasy.
On July 10th and 11th I'll be walking with a purpose. I'll be in San Francisco walking the walk... the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer! It's a mere 39 miles across the City By The Bay. Thirty. Nine. You heard me! Ack!!!!!
I am excited to get started! I'm going to train! I'm going to work hard. I'm going to raise tons of money for a great cause!!! I'm going to do my part to ensure that no one else has to lose their parts ever again!!!!
I hope I can make it. I hope I can raise enough money. $1800 is a lot of money! I'm thinking of forming a team. Maybe Team Mothers with Cancer or Team Class of 84! Maybe something else entirely.
Will you walk with me? Will you help fight the good fight? Will you walk for Andrea Collins-Smith, Cancer Visa, and One Mother With Cancer who lost their battles against the beast? Will you donate for the many, many moms over at Mothers With Cancer that have been victimized by breast cancer?
Will you walk for me?
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
My cross to bear...
Dr. Wendy Harpham of On Healthy Survivorship poses a great question to cancer survivors last week. She wants to know which stage of cancer was the most challenging? Diagnosis? Beginning treatment? Ending treatment? Some time in the middle?
For Dr. Harpham it was those limbo days between initial diagnosis and treatment beginning. I know what she means. For me, it seemed an exceptionally long time. I was diagnosed on December 22, 2005 - the Thursday just before Christmas. Most every healthcare professional was heading out of town. Certainly no one wanted to take on a new patient over the holidays. Consequently, I didn't meet with my new Oncologist until January 3, 2006 and began chemo the next day.
Those 13 days were beyond horrible. There was a cancer inside me thriving at my expense. It seemed to grow bigger every day! I could feel it. I swear, I could hear it whisper dark promises of an early death and motherless children.
What bittersweet Holidays that year. Daddy-O and I had agreed not to tell anyone about my diagnosis until after New Year's. Why ruin everyone's Christmas? The end result, however, was a great burden on our hearts that we couldn't share with our friends and family. Each seasonal tradition was painful beyond belief. Who would search with loving dedication for just the right gift from Santa? Who would listen to their babbling, aimless words and sift from them their heart's desire? Would I ever read The Night Before Christmas to my little boys again? Would I ever see their eyes alight with the wonder that is Christmas morning ever again?
The day I began chemotherapy was the. best. day. of the next 10 months. No more being hostage to fate! No more victim! At last I was fighting back!
Still, I don't think that was the most trying time for me... My toughest day was the day I truly started losing my hair and made the decision to shave the rest off. Until that day I had not really felt ill despite my first round of chemo. Until that day cancer had seemed vague and ephemeral; death had been theoretical.
Roughly two weeks after my first chemotherapy treatment my hair began coming loose from my scalp. Initially, it was funny. It's really the strangest thing. It doesn't fall out all over the place. I didn't wake up with a scalp on my pillow. All the hairs still look firmly attached but they're not. It's like they're all held on with Post-It glue. One little tug and it comes away in your fingers without so much as a "pip" to indicate the separation. It's kind of amusing in a hey-look-at-my-cool-new-party-trick sort of way. A couple of mornings later and it's not so funny anymore. I won't bore you with the details again.
Losing my hair took me out of the closet. I became a walking Poster Girl for chemotherapy. Every time I looked in the mirror I was confronted with my mortality. The baldness literally stripped me bare. I couldn't walk through the store without drawing stares. My son would beg me to take off my hat to show his friends my bald head.
With my hair went my vanity, my anonimity and my delusion that I would live forever. Looking back I feel very, very blessed.
Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer.
For Dr. Harpham it was those limbo days between initial diagnosis and treatment beginning. I know what she means. For me, it seemed an exceptionally long time. I was diagnosed on December 22, 2005 - the Thursday just before Christmas. Most every healthcare professional was heading out of town. Certainly no one wanted to take on a new patient over the holidays. Consequently, I didn't meet with my new Oncologist until January 3, 2006 and began chemo the next day.
Those 13 days were beyond horrible. There was a cancer inside me thriving at my expense. It seemed to grow bigger every day! I could feel it. I swear, I could hear it whisper dark promises of an early death and motherless children.
What bittersweet Holidays that year. Daddy-O and I had agreed not to tell anyone about my diagnosis until after New Year's. Why ruin everyone's Christmas? The end result, however, was a great burden on our hearts that we couldn't share with our friends and family. Each seasonal tradition was painful beyond belief. Who would search with loving dedication for just the right gift from Santa? Who would listen to their babbling, aimless words and sift from them their heart's desire? Would I ever read The Night Before Christmas to my little boys again? Would I ever see their eyes alight with the wonder that is Christmas morning ever again?
The day I began chemotherapy was the. best. day. of the next 10 months. No more being hostage to fate! No more victim! At last I was fighting back!
Still, I don't think that was the most trying time for me... My toughest day was the day I truly started losing my hair and made the decision to shave the rest off. Until that day I had not really felt ill despite my first round of chemo. Until that day cancer had seemed vague and ephemeral; death had been theoretical.
Roughly two weeks after my first chemotherapy treatment my hair began coming loose from my scalp. Initially, it was funny. It's really the strangest thing. It doesn't fall out all over the place. I didn't wake up with a scalp on my pillow. All the hairs still look firmly attached but they're not. It's like they're all held on with Post-It glue. One little tug and it comes away in your fingers without so much as a "pip" to indicate the separation. It's kind of amusing in a hey-look-at-my-cool-new-party-trick sort of way. A couple of mornings later and it's not so funny anymore. I won't bore you with the details again.
Losing my hair took me out of the closet. I became a walking Poster Girl for chemotherapy. Every time I looked in the mirror I was confronted with my mortality. The baldness literally stripped me bare. I couldn't walk through the store without drawing stares. My son would beg me to take off my hat to show his friends my bald head.
With my hair went my vanity, my anonimity and my delusion that I would live forever. Looking back I feel very, very blessed.
Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Benefit or Burden
I love October. Suddenly the bright spotlight of the media is shown on stories that normally don't rate for their lack of warm fuzziness.
Take the Welsh's from Ohio, for instance... Both wife and husband are in their 60s and are undergoing Breast Cancer treatment. Both. Of. Them.
This is a subject near and dear to my heart as my boys have a significantly increased risk of developing breast cancer because I and my mother both carry the BRCA2 genetic mutation. By significantly, I mean about 80 times that of other men!!! This equates to about a 1 in 14 lifetime chance of breast cancer. BRCA2 also increases the risk of other cancers: prostate, pancreatic and stomach cancers as well as melanoma. Did they hit the genetic jackpot or what!? The BRCA2 gene DOUBLES a man's chances of developing prostate cancer and melanoma! My boys have a 1 in 3 chance of prostate cancer before they turn 65! All of these cancers will rear their ugly heads earlier than typical in a BRCA2 man.
I have long been an advocate of Knowledge Is Power! It's only when we hide medical histories and facts in the dark because of embarrassment or fear that these awful diseases get the upper hand. That being said, knowing my boys could be victims of genetic Russian Roulette, I have a decision to make. Should I get them genetically tested?
My quandary is this: genetic testing would arm all of us with the power of knowledge. We could gird our sons against cancer with more frequent screenings at much younger ages. Even enroll them in test programs aimed at prevention. However, by equipping ourselves with this information we also make the results available to insurance companies. If I test the boys as children in order to afford them the best possible chance at survival, do I label them with a giant red flag that will prevent them from ever getting health insurance? Will it cause them employment issues in the future?
It's such a tight rope to walk; future benefit or burden? What would you do?
Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
Take the Welsh's from Ohio, for instance... Both wife and husband are in their 60s and are undergoing Breast Cancer treatment. Both. Of. Them.
This is a subject near and dear to my heart as my boys have a significantly increased risk of developing breast cancer because I and my mother both carry the BRCA2 genetic mutation. By significantly, I mean about 80 times that of other men!!! This equates to about a 1 in 14 lifetime chance of breast cancer. BRCA2 also increases the risk of other cancers: prostate, pancreatic and stomach cancers as well as melanoma. Did they hit the genetic jackpot or what!? The BRCA2 gene DOUBLES a man's chances of developing prostate cancer and melanoma! My boys have a 1 in 3 chance of prostate cancer before they turn 65! All of these cancers will rear their ugly heads earlier than typical in a BRCA2 man.
I have long been an advocate of Knowledge Is Power! It's only when we hide medical histories and facts in the dark because of embarrassment or fear that these awful diseases get the upper hand. That being said, knowing my boys could be victims of genetic Russian Roulette, I have a decision to make. Should I get them genetically tested?
My quandary is this: genetic testing would arm all of us with the power of knowledge. We could gird our sons against cancer with more frequent screenings at much younger ages. Even enroll them in test programs aimed at prevention. However, by equipping ourselves with this information we also make the results available to insurance companies. If I test the boys as children in order to afford them the best possible chance at survival, do I label them with a giant red flag that will prevent them from ever getting health insurance? Will it cause them employment issues in the future?
It's such a tight rope to walk; future benefit or burden? What would you do?
Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Putting on the Pink
Ironically, Danny first refused to nurse on my right breast in October 2005-- my first sign of cancer. It's appropriate that I ended my breast cancer treatments nearly three years ago during Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
It took me only five weeks to realize that something was wrong with my body. The last normal weeks of my life. It took another four weeks for a breast exam, mammogram, ultrasound, surgical appointments, fine needle aspiration and finally, a core needle biopsy, before my diagnosis on December 22. Merry Christmas. Nine weeks. And life is never the same again. Nine. Short. Weeks. And every month since has been Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
So I'm putting on the pink for the month of October. I hope it helps even one woman do a self-exam!
In the meantime, however, I have a website to share with you. It's called The Urban Dictionary. It is a dictionary of slang. Like Wikipedia, Urban Dictionary is publicly defined site. As a parent I find this site extremely useful. As an ex-kid I find it irresistibly entertaining! In that light I offer you a few of my recently found favorite slang words. See if you can figure out which one I submitted...
Cybercondriac: An individual that reads symptoms of illnesses on the net and begins to believe they're sick.
Half your age plus seven: A dividing-line / rule, whereby one may not make a Romantic/erotic/sexual move toward someone who is not at least half one's age, plus seven more years. Ha! My co-worker is forever quoting this rule. He swears that since he is 30 it is ok for him to date women that are 22. Makes perfect sense until you reverse it. By this calculation at 43 I should be able to date a man twice my age less 7 years. That's 72 years old!!!!! Gah!
Restless Lip Syndrom: When a person keeps interrupting a conversation and can't keep their mouth shut. Hee... I know a few who suffer from this.
Sticker Paralysis: The effect caused by having a really awesome sticker and no appropriate place to use it. General symptoms include keeping the sticker in a drawer and never actually using it. Sometimes resulting in affixation remorse.
Nipple Envy: What a woman feels when she sees another woman's nipple erection and hasn't completed her post-mastectomy reconstruction. I so suffer from this!!!!!
Pisshap: A mishap involving urine, usually after a mass amount of alcohol has been consumed. This one has worked its way into my every day conversation!!!!! And that's kind of sad...
It took me only five weeks to realize that something was wrong with my body. The last normal weeks of my life. It took another four weeks for a breast exam, mammogram, ultrasound, surgical appointments, fine needle aspiration and finally, a core needle biopsy, before my diagnosis on December 22. Merry Christmas. Nine weeks. And life is never the same again. Nine. Short. Weeks. And every month since has been Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
So I'm putting on the pink for the month of October. I hope it helps even one woman do a self-exam!
In the meantime, however, I have a website to share with you. It's called The Urban Dictionary. It is a dictionary of slang. Like Wikipedia, Urban Dictionary is publicly defined site. As a parent I find this site extremely useful. As an ex-kid I find it irresistibly entertaining! In that light I offer you a few of my recently found favorite slang words. See if you can figure out which one I submitted...
Cybercondriac: An individual that reads symptoms of illnesses on the net and begins to believe they're sick.
Half your age plus seven: A dividing-line / rule, whereby one may not make a Romantic/erotic/sexual move toward someone who is not at least half one's age, plus seven more years. Ha! My co-worker is forever quoting this rule. He swears that since he is 30 it is ok for him to date women that are 22. Makes perfect sense until you reverse it. By this calculation at 43 I should be able to date a man twice my age less 7 years. That's 72 years old!!!!! Gah!
Restless Lip Syndrom: When a person keeps interrupting a conversation and can't keep their mouth shut. Hee... I know a few who suffer from this.
Sticker Paralysis: The effect caused by having a really awesome sticker and no appropriate place to use it. General symptoms include keeping the sticker in a drawer and never actually using it. Sometimes resulting in affixation remorse.
Nipple Envy: What a woman feels when she sees another woman's nipple erection and hasn't completed her post-mastectomy reconstruction. I so suffer from this!!!!!
Pisshap: A mishap involving urine, usually after a mass amount of alcohol has been consumed. This one has worked its way into my every day conversation!!!!! And that's kind of sad...
Friday, August 14, 2009
My journey through baldness
I was looking through some old pictures the other night and ran across some from my Year of Cancer. I thought it might be interesting to post the photographic tale of that time...
January 21, 2006
My newly shaved head.
Over my shoulder you can see the wig I bought ahead of time and never wore.
February 5, 2006
The first picture of my bald head.
February 12, 2006
I was still working in this picture and
was picking the boys up from WonderSitter's house.
February 20, 2006
This was taken when I went home for my step-dad's funeral.
I had recently gone on disability and you can see
the affect the steroids are having on my weight...
In a few short months my Mom would also be diagnosed with Breast Cancer.
May 6, 2006
Me and my big steroid Moon-Face went to Vegas
to meet my bff from Maryland.
End of May 2006
My first dinner sitting up at the dinner table after
my single mastectomy.
I had been off chemo for about 6 weeks.
My head was developing a nice 5 o'clock shadow.
August 1, 2006
We took Ben to Disneyland for his 6th birthday.
I was half way through radiation and had been taking Xeloda for 2 months.
The wonderful tan is courtesy of one of Xeloda's side effects: sun sensitivity.
I used a wheelchair in the park as much as possible.
By the end of this weekend my feet had peeled in huge chunks many layers deep
and my underarm was sloughing off it's radiation-damaged skin leaving a
disgusting, green, oozy patch of tissue in it's place.
Daddy-O thinks this was my lowest point physically.
September 13, 2006
I was firmly in what I jokingly called "The Dyke Days".
Everywhere I went the looks of sympathy for a cancer patient
became questionable looks that may or may not have disapproved
of my presumed lifestyle choice. Ha!
My Mom was just entering her Chemo Poster Child phase.
October 3, 2006
Mike and I in Mexico. I felt like I had soooo much hair!
Only 17 more days until I am done with all my chemo!!!
November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving Day
One Month Survivor with many, many reasons to give thanks!
January 21, 2006My newly shaved head.
Over my shoulder you can see the wig I bought ahead of time and never wore.
February 5, 2006The first picture of my bald head.
February 12, 2006I was still working in this picture and
was picking the boys up from WonderSitter's house.
February 20, 2006This was taken when I went home for my step-dad's funeral.
I had recently gone on disability and you can see
the affect the steroids are having on my weight...
In a few short months my Mom would also be diagnosed with Breast Cancer.
May 6, 2006Me and my big steroid Moon-Face went to Vegas
to meet my bff from Maryland.
End of May 2006My first dinner sitting up at the dinner table after
my single mastectomy.
I had been off chemo for about 6 weeks.
My head was developing a nice 5 o'clock shadow.
August 1, 2006We took Ben to Disneyland for his 6th birthday.
I was half way through radiation and had been taking Xeloda for 2 months.
The wonderful tan is courtesy of one of Xeloda's side effects: sun sensitivity.
I used a wheelchair in the park as much as possible.
By the end of this weekend my feet had peeled in huge chunks many layers deep
and my underarm was sloughing off it's radiation-damaged skin leaving a
disgusting, green, oozy patch of tissue in it's place.
Daddy-O thinks this was my lowest point physically.
September 13, 2006I was firmly in what I jokingly called "The Dyke Days".
Everywhere I went the looks of sympathy for a cancer patient
became questionable looks that may or may not have disapproved
of my presumed lifestyle choice. Ha!
My Mom was just entering her Chemo Poster Child phase.
October 3, 2006Mike and I in Mexico. I felt like I had soooo much hair!
Only 17 more days until I am done with all my chemo!!!
November 23, 2006Thanksgiving Day
One Month Survivor with many, many reasons to give thanks!
It's hard to believe that was nearly 3 years ago...
Monday, August 10, 2009
Well, that was disconcerting...
I just finished watching an episode of Mystery Diagnosis. Not my usual TV fare but this one was about Inflammatory Breast Cancer, or as they called it: "The Breasts That Changed Color."
The show told the story of Amanda Nixon who at 27 years young found her breast hardening and changing colors shortly after breast reduction surgery. This is a new twist on the typical IBC tale. The vast majority of IBC patients are either pregnant or nursing when misdiagnosed with mastitis.
Four years later Amanda is cancer-free and very active in the fight against IBC. She has beaten the odds... so far.
I've never really heard hard statistics on the IBC mortality rate. I just knew it was very high. Well, tonight I heard the official stats. A mere 40% of IBC victims are alive 5 years after diagnosis. Only 30% by 10 years. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Here are some more numbers for you. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Of those women, one in ten will be under age 40. Cancer in younger women is typically more aggressive than other cancers.
Although those numbers are frightening, as an IBC survivor I have them embedded in my psyche. What I found disconcerting is that there is not standardized triage for breast cancer patients.
My oncologist was all over the IBC diagnosis. Even when I was in denial. I foolishly decided I didn't have IBC because there was no clinical proof. Like I can just decide that something is or isn't so and have the world fall into line. It's laughable, really. Or maybe just naive.
Amanda Nixon's doctor had no idea that the eggplant colored breast he was looking at was IBC. Don't they have a checklist or something???? I mean, really. Anyone with internet access can Google "breast discoloration" and find literally hundreds of thousands of sights referencing Inflammatory Breast Cancer!
My own mother was sent to a surgeon for a lumpectomy but NEVER REFERRED TO AN ONCOLOGIST. At least not until I badgered her and she badgered the surgeon and she finally fired him for dragging his feet on the referral. Gee, it turns out she is BRCA 2 positive just. like. me. Seeing an oncologist changed her entire course of treatment.
WHY isn't every woman diagnosed with Breast Cancer referred to an oncologist - even if it's just for an evaluation?
WHY isn't there an intake "symptom checklist" for Breast Cancer patients that can be fed into a database or something?
WHY, in the age of the internet, is there such a wide range of knowledge, awareness and approach to Inflammatory Breast Cancer? For cripes sake, some doctors are still doing surgery first before chemo!!!!
And why are some of us blessed enough to be here three, four, even ten years later when others don't last out the year?
Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
The show told the story of Amanda Nixon who at 27 years young found her breast hardening and changing colors shortly after breast reduction surgery. This is a new twist on the typical IBC tale. The vast majority of IBC patients are either pregnant or nursing when misdiagnosed with mastitis.
Four years later Amanda is cancer-free and very active in the fight against IBC. She has beaten the odds... so far.
I've never really heard hard statistics on the IBC mortality rate. I just knew it was very high. Well, tonight I heard the official stats. A mere 40% of IBC victims are alive 5 years after diagnosis. Only 30% by 10 years. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Here are some more numbers for you. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Of those women, one in ten will be under age 40. Cancer in younger women is typically more aggressive than other cancers.
Although those numbers are frightening, as an IBC survivor I have them embedded in my psyche. What I found disconcerting is that there is not standardized triage for breast cancer patients.
My oncologist was all over the IBC diagnosis. Even when I was in denial. I foolishly decided I didn't have IBC because there was no clinical proof. Like I can just decide that something is or isn't so and have the world fall into line. It's laughable, really. Or maybe just naive.
Amanda Nixon's doctor had no idea that the eggplant colored breast he was looking at was IBC. Don't they have a checklist or something???? I mean, really. Anyone with internet access can Google "breast discoloration" and find literally hundreds of thousands of sights referencing Inflammatory Breast Cancer!
My own mother was sent to a surgeon for a lumpectomy but NEVER REFERRED TO AN ONCOLOGIST. At least not until I badgered her and she badgered the surgeon and she finally fired him for dragging his feet on the referral. Gee, it turns out she is BRCA 2 positive just. like. me. Seeing an oncologist changed her entire course of treatment.
WHY isn't every woman diagnosed with Breast Cancer referred to an oncologist - even if it's just for an evaluation?
WHY isn't there an intake "symptom checklist" for Breast Cancer patients that can be fed into a database or something?
WHY, in the age of the internet, is there such a wide range of knowledge, awareness and approach to Inflammatory Breast Cancer? For cripes sake, some doctors are still doing surgery first before chemo!!!!
And why are some of us blessed enough to be here three, four, even ten years later when others don't last out the year?
Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
Sunday, July 19, 2009
O'Cedar wants to make someone's life easier
If your life has been touched by breast cancer you'll want to read this. If your mother, sister, best friend or daughter has breast cancer you'll want to pass this on.
O'Cedar is donating $1,000 to fulfill the wishes of 15 women who's lives have been forever changed by the ugliness that is breast cancer.
Read about all the details here then send me a link so I can be sure and vote for you over and over and over again.
Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer
O'Cedar is donating $1,000 to fulfill the wishes of 15 women who's lives have been forever changed by the ugliness that is breast cancer.
Read about all the details here then send me a link so I can be sure and vote for you over and over and over again.
Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
999
That's how many days I've been cancer free. Nine hundred ninety nine days. I've had 23,976 minutes - healthy minutes - with my family and friends that I wasn't sure I'd ever have.
Tomorrow I mark 1,000 days of bonus life. Can I say how much I love that without jinxing it?
I saw Dr. Villa, my oncologist, today for my 999 day checkup. It was my eleventh 3-month appointment over the last two years, 8 months and 25 days. Actually, I forgot I even had an appointment today until I looked at the calendar this morning. I've been very busy. But I choose to look at my forgetfulness as a very, very good sign.
It means I've been feeling so healthy that there has been no reason for the insidious paranoia that haunts and torments all cancer survivors. It means cancer is not the focus of my life anymore. Is there any better news than that? I wasn't sure I'd ever see this day.
Is this what it means to be a survivor? Not a date on a calendar. Not five years. Not a countdown from date of diagnosis or surgery or end of treatment? Perhaps, it's just a feeling, instead. Survivorship. Surviving in body, mind and spirit. A true return to normal.
I hope so, anyway.
Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer
Tomorrow I mark 1,000 days of bonus life. Can I say how much I love that without jinxing it?
I saw Dr. Villa, my oncologist, today for my 999 day checkup. It was my eleventh 3-month appointment over the last two years, 8 months and 25 days. Actually, I forgot I even had an appointment today until I looked at the calendar this morning. I've been very busy. But I choose to look at my forgetfulness as a very, very good sign.
It means I've been feeling so healthy that there has been no reason for the insidious paranoia that haunts and torments all cancer survivors. It means cancer is not the focus of my life anymore. Is there any better news than that? I wasn't sure I'd ever see this day.
Is this what it means to be a survivor? Not a date on a calendar. Not five years. Not a countdown from date of diagnosis or surgery or end of treatment? Perhaps, it's just a feeling, instead. Survivorship. Surviving in body, mind and spirit. A true return to normal.
I hope so, anyway.
Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Ob la di, ob la da
I have not blogging much at all of late. There's a lot of good in that and a fair amount of bad as well. I've been busy as a one-armed paper hanger. Work is backed up. I'm rarely away from my desk. I'm not taking my breaks or walking like I should so my weight is creeping upwards ever so slowly. Of course, all that busy at work makes my days fly by, too. When I get home there is a whole other life that gets crammed into the few hours between 4:00 pm and 8:00 when the kids go to bed. There's Little League practice twice a week and now games twice a week as well. Therapy for Danny once a week. The ever present laundry and my FaceBook addiction. And filling every spare minute in between is my photography passion.
That's the good stuff. I've been too busy living life to spend much time blogging about it. On the negative side, I'm coming up on my 25,000 mile (2.5 year) check up. As always, I start worrying out of the blue. This time my location of concern is my right hip. It has been hurting for a couple of months now. But the last few weeks it's become so sore that it wakes me at night and I can barely walk up stairs. So this check up, I get a bonus bone scan!
Tomorrow is my chest/abdomen/pelvic CT. Thursday is my bone scan. Then I have to wait until the 14th (!) before I see my oncologist for the results. I'll never make it. I haven't even had the scans yet and I want to call for the results already. Yet, I hope I don't here from her office before my appointment, know what I mean????
Of course, when everything turns out to be just fine I will have made it two and a half years beyond treatment for Inflammatory Breast Cancer. THAT will be a post in and of itself.
In sadder news, Mothers With Cancer lost another of it's own this week. Alabama Pink (Manda) of Whoa, Camel! fame has lost her battle with leukemia. She leaves behind a beautiful 3 year old son, Alastair and the love of her life, Adrian. You can read about her passing on Adrian's blog Rainbows! Puppies! Leukemia. Say a little prayer today for Manda's family.
That's the good stuff. I've been too busy living life to spend much time blogging about it. On the negative side, I'm coming up on my 25,000 mile (2.5 year) check up. As always, I start worrying out of the blue. This time my location of concern is my right hip. It has been hurting for a couple of months now. But the last few weeks it's become so sore that it wakes me at night and I can barely walk up stairs. So this check up, I get a bonus bone scan!
Tomorrow is my chest/abdomen/pelvic CT. Thursday is my bone scan. Then I have to wait until the 14th (!) before I see my oncologist for the results. I'll never make it. I haven't even had the scans yet and I want to call for the results already. Yet, I hope I don't here from her office before my appointment, know what I mean????
Of course, when everything turns out to be just fine I will have made it two and a half years beyond treatment for Inflammatory Breast Cancer. THAT will be a post in and of itself.
In sadder news, Mothers With Cancer lost another of it's own this week. Alabama Pink (Manda) of Whoa, Camel! fame has lost her battle with leukemia. She leaves behind a beautiful 3 year old son, Alastair and the love of her life, Adrian. You can read about her passing on Adrian's blog Rainbows! Puppies! Leukemia. Say a little prayer today for Manda's family.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Put on a happy face
I have to wonder about myself sometimes. Do I even know myself at all?
I had my three month visit with my oncologist today. This time I actually went in with a well-thought (yet hastily-scrawled) out list of concerns to discuss. But first, the important news... all my blood work was perfect! No indications that there is any cancer on the horizon. Amen!
Rarely do I have lists for my doctors. I usually breeze in all sunshine and smiles making the best of even the worst of situations with a few notable exceptions. I was decidedly unsunny when I arrived at the Emergency Room with a ruptured fallopian tube. Once Daddy-O and Ben got there the whole episode became fairly foggy, but I do have a vague recollection of thrashing around on the table in pain, sure I was about to die and praying out loud for God to save me or at least not take me in front of my son. Or when I bawled my eyes out pregnant with Danny at my regular doctor's office because I'd had undiagnosed bronchial asthma for months and was so physically stressed from just. not. breathing. that I couldn't maintain anymore! Otherwise, I might have one off-the-cuff question or two but that's it.
Today's list read something like this:
No worries about he painful sternum. I don't know why I shouldn't worry. She didn't say. I didn't ask. I'm ok with that.
Same thing with the ginormous bruise (which is really a mere shadow of it's former self) that has been on my arm since August. No worries. Eh.
I worried that I might be having a bit of depression (even though I don't feel like I'm depressed) as indicated by my waking tired after a full nights sleep, constant low energy, etc. etc. Those are the same symptoms I had the last time I didn't feel depressed after I had my miscarriage. Turns out I actually was. Huh. Who knew? So I thought I'd ask. But my Dr. V gets the big bucks for a reason. Her first question was if I'd been excercising, which I haven't. See asthma reference above which is triggered by cold. The virus I got in early December flared up the asthma and it's been too cold and/or windy for me to get outside and walk until this week. So no excercise for me. Click! 100 watts glaring at me. That accounts for both symptoms. See. I knew I wasn't depressed.
But apparently, I am a bitch.
I'm finding this harder and harder to deny. Though, in my defense, I do live with three testosterone-ridden humans and suffer with immeasurable provocation. Still, I do sometimes step out of myself in mid-rant and raise an eyebrow at my own hostility. At any rate, she is going to increase the dosage of my Effexor and see if that helps with my break-through hot flashes and these apparent nasty mood swings.
Daddy-O is lucky to have her as an ally.
As well as all that went, I left my appointment feeling less than satisfied.
We normally hug and gush and smile after leisurely minutes of familiar catching up. Today was more formal and doctor / patient like. She looked fairly sober as I left. No hug. No emotional fireworks display for the wonderful bloodwork and continued victory over cancer. I walked out feeling like a burden. *sigh*
Now I can't help but wonder if I am always so positive and upbeat because that is the way I've always been or because I crave approval.
I had my three month visit with my oncologist today. This time I actually went in with a well-thought (yet hastily-scrawled) out list of concerns to discuss. But first, the important news... all my blood work was perfect! No indications that there is any cancer on the horizon. Amen!
Rarely do I have lists for my doctors. I usually breeze in all sunshine and smiles making the best of even the worst of situations with a few notable exceptions. I was decidedly unsunny when I arrived at the Emergency Room with a ruptured fallopian tube. Once Daddy-O and Ben got there the whole episode became fairly foggy, but I do have a vague recollection of thrashing around on the table in pain, sure I was about to die and praying out loud for God to save me or at least not take me in front of my son. Or when I bawled my eyes out pregnant with Danny at my regular doctor's office because I'd had undiagnosed bronchial asthma for months and was so physically stressed from just. not. breathing. that I couldn't maintain anymore! Otherwise, I might have one off-the-cuff question or two but that's it.
Today's list read something like this:
- Forgetfulness!!! Chemo-brain or old age?
- Still painful sternum
- Big bruise on arm since August!
- Wake up still tired. Low energy? Depression?
- Daddy-O says I'm a bitch... asks if meds can be increased... please?????
No worries about he painful sternum. I don't know why I shouldn't worry. She didn't say. I didn't ask. I'm ok with that.
Same thing with the ginormous bruise (which is really a mere shadow of it's former self) that has been on my arm since August. No worries. Eh.
I worried that I might be having a bit of depression (even though I don't feel like I'm depressed) as indicated by my waking tired after a full nights sleep, constant low energy, etc. etc. Those are the same symptoms I had the last time I didn't feel depressed after I had my miscarriage. Turns out I actually was. Huh. Who knew? So I thought I'd ask. But my Dr. V gets the big bucks for a reason. Her first question was if I'd been excercising, which I haven't. See asthma reference above which is triggered by cold. The virus I got in early December flared up the asthma and it's been too cold and/or windy for me to get outside and walk until this week. So no excercise for me. Click! 100 watts glaring at me. That accounts for both symptoms. See. I knew I wasn't depressed.
But apparently, I am a bitch.
I'm finding this harder and harder to deny. Though, in my defense, I do live with three testosterone-ridden humans and suffer with immeasurable provocation. Still, I do sometimes step out of myself in mid-rant and raise an eyebrow at my own hostility. At any rate, she is going to increase the dosage of my Effexor and see if that helps with my break-through hot flashes and these apparent nasty mood swings.
Daddy-O is lucky to have her as an ally.
As well as all that went, I left my appointment feeling less than satisfied.
We normally hug and gush and smile after leisurely minutes of familiar catching up. Today was more formal and doctor / patient like. She looked fairly sober as I left. No hug. No emotional fireworks display for the wonderful bloodwork and continued victory over cancer. I walked out feeling like a burden. *sigh*
Now I can't help but wonder if I am always so positive and upbeat because that is the way I've always been or because I crave approval.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Journey's the thing
Three years ago yesterday my whole world stopped. For a split second anyway. Before it was thrust into a strange slow-motion, fast-forward kaleidoscope of cancer treatment and regrets for a future with my children that might never be.
Is there and other phrase that has the same effect as "it's cancer"? What powerful, life-changing words those are. Normally I would think news of a close friend or relative's diagnosis would be worse than your own. But after careful consideration, I think it's far, far worse if it is oneself. Particularly, if you happen to be the mother of young children.
When I heard the words for the first time my heart stopped. Confirmation. My worst fear. I cried.
Was I crying for myself? The prospect of death. The stress of all the medical tests. The relief of finally knowing. The fear of an unknown future.
Was I crying for my kids? Losing their mother at such young ages (that was the only end I could see for them). The confusion and pain they would feel because of me. The scars they would always carry. How those scars would change their lives.
Was I crying for my mother? Hearing that one of your children may die (not a certainty in her context for some reason). Bearing powerless witness as the child you created fights for survival. The pain that would cause - the unnecessary burden.
All those thoughts rushed through my head at once, scorching a path as they passed. Quickly in and out. Shock left in their wake. Mental paralysis. Yet my fingers started typing. As the doctor's voice relayed test numbers and statistics through the phone to some walled-off portion of my brain, I tapped off an email to co-workers. "It's cancer." Even in shock I knew it would be less painful to type than to speak those dreaded words.
I don't know how long that call lasted, but there was a tight wall of support behind me as I put the phone in its cradle. I couldn't turn around. I felt marked. Marked for death. An object of pity. Not strong. Weak - in constitution and capability. A failure. I ran away from their concern like a coward .
~~~~~
All through my treatment, I never successfully shook those initial feelings of failure and weakness. I'd failed to remain healthy. I'd failed as a wife; cashing in the vows from our marriage. In sickness and health. Till death do us part. I'd failed as a mother. Would I see my boys grown? Would I leave Danny with a father stretched too thin from providing and filling both parental roles to adequately see to his therapies and education?
Yet I survived.
Chemotherapy made me realize what strength is... and that I have it. It gave me time to work through that onus of weakness and failure. Time to realize that God's plan was perfect - even for my children. Even if it means that they may have to live without me someday. It gave me time to appreciate my husband for the man that he is and not the one I sometimes wish he was. And to be grateful for those in my life that have always been there for me, and even more that stepped out of shadows and into my life. Mostly, it gave me time to acknowledge my life, my loves and my future... in all its incarnations.
I am so pleased to be here three years and one day later. I am proud of the journey I've made. I am grateful that I have been able to walk my boys through a difficult time and prepare them for others in the future. More grateful still that those future tragedies just might not include their mother.
When I look back at that afternoon in December 2005 I see myself consumed with fear. Today I have replaced that fear with power and action. Daddy-O still refuses to mention the "C" word by name, choosing instead to simply reference his worry from time to time, knowing I'll know exactly what he means. As for me, I talk about it often - stripping cancer's power and making it my own.
I am more than a Breast Cancer Survivor - I am a Thriver.
Is there and other phrase that has the same effect as "it's cancer"? What powerful, life-changing words those are. Normally I would think news of a close friend or relative's diagnosis would be worse than your own. But after careful consideration, I think it's far, far worse if it is oneself. Particularly, if you happen to be the mother of young children.
When I heard the words for the first time my heart stopped. Confirmation. My worst fear. I cried.
Was I crying for myself? The prospect of death. The stress of all the medical tests. The relief of finally knowing. The fear of an unknown future.
Was I crying for my kids? Losing their mother at such young ages (that was the only end I could see for them). The confusion and pain they would feel because of me. The scars they would always carry. How those scars would change their lives.
Was I crying for my mother? Hearing that one of your children may die (not a certainty in her context for some reason). Bearing powerless witness as the child you created fights for survival. The pain that would cause - the unnecessary burden.
All those thoughts rushed through my head at once, scorching a path as they passed. Quickly in and out. Shock left in their wake. Mental paralysis. Yet my fingers started typing. As the doctor's voice relayed test numbers and statistics through the phone to some walled-off portion of my brain, I tapped off an email to co-workers. "It's cancer." Even in shock I knew it would be less painful to type than to speak those dreaded words.
I don't know how long that call lasted, but there was a tight wall of support behind me as I put the phone in its cradle. I couldn't turn around. I felt marked. Marked for death. An object of pity. Not strong. Weak - in constitution and capability. A failure. I ran away from their concern like a coward .
~~~~~
All through my treatment, I never successfully shook those initial feelings of failure and weakness. I'd failed to remain healthy. I'd failed as a wife; cashing in the vows from our marriage. In sickness and health. Till death do us part. I'd failed as a mother. Would I see my boys grown? Would I leave Danny with a father stretched too thin from providing and filling both parental roles to adequately see to his therapies and education?
Yet I survived.
Chemotherapy made me realize what strength is... and that I have it. It gave me time to work through that onus of weakness and failure. Time to realize that God's plan was perfect - even for my children. Even if it means that they may have to live without me someday. It gave me time to appreciate my husband for the man that he is and not the one I sometimes wish he was. And to be grateful for those in my life that have always been there for me, and even more that stepped out of shadows and into my life. Mostly, it gave me time to acknowledge my life, my loves and my future... in all its incarnations.
I am so pleased to be here three years and one day later. I am proud of the journey I've made. I am grateful that I have been able to walk my boys through a difficult time and prepare them for others in the future. More grateful still that those future tragedies just might not include their mother.
When I look back at that afternoon in December 2005 I see myself consumed with fear. Today I have replaced that fear with power and action. Daddy-O still refuses to mention the "C" word by name, choosing instead to simply reference his worry from time to time, knowing I'll know exactly what he means. As for me, I talk about it often - stripping cancer's power and making it my own.
I am more than a Breast Cancer Survivor - I am a Thriver.
Friday, December 19, 2008
People's HealthBlogger Awards
A few weeks ago I thought it might be a good idea to enter Mothers With Cancer in the People's HealthBlogger Awards. The Awards are for any bloggers who write primarily about health or healthy living topics. That's certainly MWC! Plus, the Awards are sponsored or invented or made up... (whatever) by a website that is forever sending me all sorts of email invitations that I quite rudely delete and ignore. A little more visibility with our target audience would be nice compensation for the probable carpal tunnel I'll eventually get in my Delete Finger.
Anyway, that great idea was a few weeks ago (I think). But, as I've been discovering, my mind is as water tight as a leaky dinghy at best... and a collander at worst. So I applied and promptly forgot all about it. That's me. Memory like a steel trap! At least that used to be the case. *sigh*
Frankly, I've been a bit worried about my memory issues of late. I can't seem to remember anything anymore. This isn't the run of the mill Chemo Brain. On Wednesday Ben had an appointment with Dr. Flaton at 10:30. I saw it on the kitchen calendar that morning. I left Daddy-O a note reminding him to let the school know I'd be picking Ben up. I told Ben about the appointment. I even remembered to grab the medication evaluation paperwork from the bookcase. Next thing I know, my cell phone is ringing and it's Dr. Flaton's office calling to ask if we were keepingour appointment. It was 10:45! Gah!
The day before I discussed with Wonder Sitter keeping Danny home from preschool the next day. I agreed to call his therapists & let them know not to show up. I couldn't even remember that long enough for the 3 block drive home. I did finally remember it 24 hours later as I was driving home from our office Christmas party. I am not going to go into the dozens of messages and reminders I have forgotten to give Daddy-O.
Of course, I worry about breast cancer metastasis to the brain. At least that's what I worry about when I remember there is something to worry about. Directly after the thought of mets enters my head I hear a resounding "Pshaw!" bouncing around between my ears. I guess I don't really believe I have a brain metastasis. It's just that I have always had a near perfect memory - particularly for daily minutia. It's frustrating to completely forget entire appointments and conversations. I imagine it's much like being a man...
Just in case someone Googles brain mets looking for some useful information and got my drivel instead, I will include a list of the 7 Typical Signs or Symptoms of Brain or Spinal Metastisis.
In any patient previously diagnosed with cancer, the following should raise the suspicion for a brain tumor:
Anyway, that great idea was a few weeks ago (I think). But, as I've been discovering, my mind is as water tight as a leaky dinghy at best... and a collander at worst. So I applied and promptly forgot all about it. That's me. Memory like a steel trap! At least that used to be the case. *sigh*
Frankly, I've been a bit worried about my memory issues of late. I can't seem to remember anything anymore. This isn't the run of the mill Chemo Brain. On Wednesday Ben had an appointment with Dr. Flaton at 10:30. I saw it on the kitchen calendar that morning. I left Daddy-O a note reminding him to let the school know I'd be picking Ben up. I told Ben about the appointment. I even remembered to grab the medication evaluation paperwork from the bookcase. Next thing I know, my cell phone is ringing and it's Dr. Flaton's office calling to ask if we were keepingour appointment. It was 10:45! Gah!
The day before I discussed with Wonder Sitter keeping Danny home from preschool the next day. I agreed to call his therapists & let them know not to show up. I couldn't even remember that long enough for the 3 block drive home. I did finally remember it 24 hours later as I was driving home from our office Christmas party. I am not going to go into the dozens of messages and reminders I have forgotten to give Daddy-O.
Of course, I worry about breast cancer metastasis to the brain. At least that's what I worry about when I remember there is something to worry about. Directly after the thought of mets enters my head I hear a resounding "Pshaw!" bouncing around between my ears. I guess I don't really believe I have a brain metastasis. It's just that I have always had a near perfect memory - particularly for daily minutia. It's frustrating to completely forget entire appointments and conversations. I imagine it's much like being a man...
Just in case someone Googles brain mets looking for some useful information and got my drivel instead, I will include a list of the 7 Typical Signs or Symptoms of Brain or Spinal Metastisis.
In any patient previously diagnosed with cancer, the following should raise the suspicion for a brain tumor:
- A persistent headache with or without vomiting.
- Seizures (Change in type or frequency )
- Double vision, mental changes, speech difficulty.
- Stroke (brain hemorrhage). Certain brain metastases, such as melanoma, renal carcinoma, and choriocarcinoma bleed easily.
- Confusion
- Any numbness, arm or leg weakness, back pain, difficulty walking.
- Loss of control of bowel or bladder.
Numbers 6,7 are more common with spinal metastases.
Fortunately, I'm just forgetful (probably getting old) and a hypochodriac as the only symptom I can lay claim to is "mental changes". If I can remember long enough I'll say a little thank you for that during my prayers tonight.
In the meantime, click on the handy little button on the right and give a vote for MWC.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
A Life Sentence
If you'll remember back a bit, I posted an excerpt from Ben's Sentence Completion List. This was an assignment from Dr. Flaton, the pediatric ADD specialist. As a very special treat for you today, I will post the remainder of Ben's sentences. And perhaps a comment or two if you are very, very good readers. Just a reminder, Ben is 8 years old.
1. I would like to be a scientist.
2. My mother loves chocolate martinis. (ack! choke! cough! While technically true, this was not high on my list of things I wanted the doctor to know.)
3. I cannot have a cell phone. (This is so true. But I am considering wrist watch walkie talkies with a mile and a half range.)
4. If I only had a cell phone I'd love my Mom and Dad. (Boy! They learn early don't they? The answer is still "NO!")
5. Girls _____________________ (He had no reply to that. I find that comforting on so many levels.)
6. I am ashamed of Danny having attitude. (Note that he's not ashamed of his own behavior. This answer is totally worthy of a presidential candidate!)
7. I am afraid of nothing. (Yeah, that's what I was afraid of...)
8. I like Pokemon cards.
9. I don't like summer school.
10. I love my Mom, Dad and Danny.
11. Boys are my friends.
12. Mother should do nothing. (I am not exactly sure how to take that... but I like it.)
13. There are times when I am bored.
14. I hate bullies.
15. It makes me sad to watch a kid being bullied.
16. My home is small.
17. Father should do nothing. (again with that?)
18. People think that I am stupid. (What!? After much teeth gnashing and hand wringing it turns out there is a snotty 2nd grader that asks him things like "what is 1000 x 200?" When Ben doesn't know the answer he tells him he's stupid. Grrrrr!)
19. Sometimes I think about skateboarding and fishing and surfing.
20. Nobody knows that I have ADD. (I can't decide if it's wonderful or really sad that he doesn't get that people know he's ADD...)
21. The best thing that ever happened to me was riding a horse.
22. The worst thing that ever happened to me was breaking my wrist the first time.
So, I guess we haven't completely ruined our kid. Except for being outed about the chocolate martini addiction and the small house it's all good.
Did anyone notice what didn't make the list anywhere?????
CANCER.
That's right. No cancer anywhere.
No, "worst thing that ever happened to me was mom getting cancer..."
No, "mom should buy a wig..."
No, "afraid my mom will die..."
Just normal, every day eight-year-old boy stuff: science, surfing, cell phones and Pokemon cards. Thank you, Lord!
Cross posted to Mothers with Cancer
1. I would like to be a scientist.
2. My mother loves chocolate martinis. (ack! choke! cough! While technically true, this was not high on my list of things I wanted the doctor to know.)
3. I cannot have a cell phone. (This is so true. But I am considering wrist watch walkie talkies with a mile and a half range.)
4. If I only had a cell phone I'd love my Mom and Dad. (Boy! They learn early don't they? The answer is still "NO!")
5. Girls _____________________ (He had no reply to that. I find that comforting on so many levels.)
6. I am ashamed of Danny having attitude. (Note that he's not ashamed of his own behavior. This answer is totally worthy of a presidential candidate!)
7. I am afraid of nothing. (Yeah, that's what I was afraid of...)
8. I like Pokemon cards.
9. I don't like summer school.
10. I love my Mom, Dad and Danny.
11. Boys are my friends.
12. Mother should do nothing. (I am not exactly sure how to take that... but I like it.)
13. There are times when I am bored.
14. I hate bullies.
15. It makes me sad to watch a kid being bullied.
16. My home is small.
17. Father should do nothing. (again with that?)
18. People think that I am stupid. (What!? After much teeth gnashing and hand wringing it turns out there is a snotty 2nd grader that asks him things like "what is 1000 x 200?" When Ben doesn't know the answer he tells him he's stupid. Grrrrr!)
19. Sometimes I think about skateboarding and fishing and surfing.
20. Nobody knows that I have ADD. (I can't decide if it's wonderful or really sad that he doesn't get that people know he's ADD...)
21. The best thing that ever happened to me was riding a horse.
22. The worst thing that ever happened to me was breaking my wrist the first time.
So, I guess we haven't completely ruined our kid. Except for being outed about the chocolate martini addiction and the small house it's all good.
Did anyone notice what didn't make the list anywhere?????
CANCER.
That's right. No cancer anywhere.
No, "worst thing that ever happened to me was mom getting cancer..."
No, "mom should buy a wig..."
No, "afraid my mom will die..."
Just normal, every day eight-year-old boy stuff: science, surfing, cell phones and Pokemon cards. Thank you, Lord!
Cross posted to Mothers with Cancer
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Imaginary friends, clinical trials and the joys of poop
I've had a bunch of things to share with you, none of which seemed worthy of a whole post in and of themselves. So today will be a Tapas Topic day, in that the subjects will be small and plentiful yet not enough to make a post.
Tapa numero uno
First there is this new site called BreastCancerTrials.Org that lets you enter your health history, then matches you up with any clinical trials you might qualify for. All for free. How cool is that? Well, not cooler than not actually having cancer... but still pretty nifty.
I entered my information. Since I am currently cancer-free, am not undergoing any treatments and do not take Herceptin or any other receptor-positive treatments (praise God for all that), I only qualify for two trials, neither of which I am interested in at the moment. The first, categorized as Supportive, was on treating vaginal dryness for women with breast cancer. Um, yeah. No thanks. The second is Preventative in nature and one I would be interested in if it were closer to me. It is on diet and exercise to prevent breast cancer or a recurrence. So interested in that. Unfortunately, the nearest research site is Houston, TX. But that doesn't mean YOU won't have better luck so go fill out your own health history and see what pops up.
Tapa numero dos
And did I tell you that Danny has an imaginary friend. Yep. It's official. Absolutely no one knows who Brenden is - ergo, he must only exist in D's imagination - unless he suddenly grew a social life I don't know about. (And how unfair would that be since I don't have one?) I guess Brenden has been hanging around in conversation for about 5 or 6 weeks now. I actually thought he was a real kid. Danny talks about him the same way he talks about everyone else, in the third person, in question format, as if he interacts with them on a daily basis. (i.e. "Does Alayna clap at the soccer game?") I just assumed Brenden was one of the boys in his new preschool class. When I finally got around to asking, turns out he's not.
I've never known anyone that actually had an imaginary friend. Intellectually I know there is nothing wrong with it but I guess I've still always thought there was just a little something off about those kids. And that's not to say there isn't something a just a little off about Danny either... However, this article I found from the Seattle Post - Intelligencer Reporter was comforting nonetheless.
Tapa numero tres
For those of you sick to death of politics, please skip this tapa. Actually, this might fall more under the confession category than anything else. I voted "yes" on Proposition 8 - the ban on gay marriage. Weeks ago, actually. And now I wish I could take back my vote. I have never had an issue with civil unions or any of the other rights or privileges that come along with such a legal status. My single objection has always been with calling a same-sex partnership a marriage. How hypocritical of me. Who am I to deny equality to any segment of society? The worst of it is that I knew it was hypocritical and discriminatory when I cast the vote. And still I did it! I voted with my emotions and not my intellect. Gah! I hope it is overturned - again.
Tapa numero quatro
I promise this one is lighter by far. We've been seeing an ADD specialist for Ben, Dr. Flaton. I really, really like working with her. She's already given me great insight into what it must be like to be ADHD... helped me see things from Ben's viewpoint. At any rate, she gave Ben a bunch of questions to answer before our next appointment. They are haaard questions. At least I thought so. I guess they could be perfectly simple also. The few that Ben completed I thought were answered very well. (spelling has been corrected because I couldn't stand it.)
Tapa numero cinco
Yesterday was our last soccer obligation for the season. It was an entire tournament day. We love soccer and have had a wonderful season - even though we haven't won a single game. Well, before yesterday. We actually won the very last game of the season. 4-0. Woohoo! The boys were thrilled! Here is a picture of Ben celebrating with Coach Daddy-O.
Tapa numero uno
First there is this new site called BreastCancerTrials.Org that lets you enter your health history, then matches you up with any clinical trials you might qualify for. All for free. How cool is that? Well, not cooler than not actually having cancer... but still pretty nifty.
I entered my information. Since I am currently cancer-free, am not undergoing any treatments and do not take Herceptin or any other receptor-positive treatments (praise God for all that), I only qualify for two trials, neither of which I am interested in at the moment. The first, categorized as Supportive, was on treating vaginal dryness for women with breast cancer. Um, yeah. No thanks. The second is Preventative in nature and one I would be interested in if it were closer to me. It is on diet and exercise to prevent breast cancer or a recurrence. So interested in that. Unfortunately, the nearest research site is Houston, TX. But that doesn't mean YOU won't have better luck so go fill out your own health history and see what pops up.
Tapa numero dos
And did I tell you that Danny has an imaginary friend. Yep. It's official. Absolutely no one knows who Brenden is - ergo, he must only exist in D's imagination - unless he suddenly grew a social life I don't know about. (And how unfair would that be since I don't have one?) I guess Brenden has been hanging around in conversation for about 5 or 6 weeks now. I actually thought he was a real kid. Danny talks about him the same way he talks about everyone else, in the third person, in question format, as if he interacts with them on a daily basis. (i.e. "Does Alayna clap at the soccer game?") I just assumed Brenden was one of the boys in his new preschool class. When I finally got around to asking, turns out he's not.
I've never known anyone that actually had an imaginary friend. Intellectually I know there is nothing wrong with it but I guess I've still always thought there was just a little something off about those kids. And that's not to say there isn't something a just a little off about Danny either... However, this article I found from the Seattle Post - Intelligencer Reporter was comforting nonetheless.
Tapa numero tres
For those of you sick to death of politics, please skip this tapa. Actually, this might fall more under the confession category than anything else. I voted "yes" on Proposition 8 - the ban on gay marriage. Weeks ago, actually. And now I wish I could take back my vote. I have never had an issue with civil unions or any of the other rights or privileges that come along with such a legal status. My single objection has always been with calling a same-sex partnership a marriage. How hypocritical of me. Who am I to deny equality to any segment of society? The worst of it is that I knew it was hypocritical and discriminatory when I cast the vote. And still I did it! I voted with my emotions and not my intellect. Gah! I hope it is overturned - again.
Tapa numero quatro
I promise this one is lighter by far. We've been seeing an ADD specialist for Ben, Dr. Flaton. I really, really like working with her. She's already given me great insight into what it must be like to be ADHD... helped me see things from Ben's viewpoint. At any rate, she gave Ben a bunch of questions to answer before our next appointment. They are haaard questions. At least I thought so. I guess they could be perfectly simple also. The few that Ben completed I thought were answered very well. (spelling has been corrected because I couldn't stand it.)
- Tomorrow I will "go to the beach and play."
- I wish that I "was rich and famous."
- I worry about "my little brother."
- I hope "I will never die in a 100 years."
- My father "is going fishing today."
- In school I "learn about science."
- It isn't nice to "be a bully to other kids."
- My teacher "is nice and kind."
Tapa numero cinco
Yesterday was our last soccer obligation for the season. It was an entire tournament day. We love soccer and have had a wonderful season - even though we haven't won a single game. Well, before yesterday. We actually won the very last game of the season. 4-0. Woohoo! The boys were thrilled! Here is a picture of Ben celebrating with Coach Daddy-O.
Sweet, huh? Oh course, that's not the real story here. Danny and I sat on the sidelines the whole day. We had a great time cheering an clapping for Ben's team.
Unfortunately, Danny had an accident in his pants because the port-a-potties were so far away.
Fortunately, I had thought ahead and put him in a pull-up before we left the house.
Unfortunately, I had already removed all kid stuff from my van in preparation for Daddy-O's fishing trip so I didn't have any wipes or other pull-ups. Yikes! It was only 10 AM.
Fortunately, one of the other mom's had everything I needed. Day saved. After lunch there was another small accident before we made it to the outhouse.
Unfortunately, this time there was diarrhea involved. Ack! Still no supplies and now day-saving mom had taken her diaper bag to lunch.
Fortunately, Danny doesn't mind going commando.
Unfortunately, the diarrhea wasn't an isolated incident.
Fortunately, he was wearing very dark, thick pants and there wasn't very much of it... that second time.
Unfortunately, there was also a third time.
All I can say is that my youngest son is such a trooper. He was swooped up, rushed home, stripped, thrown in a bath, scrubbed within an inch of his life, brusquely dried & redressed then back at the soccer fields within 30 minutes. Surely a record.
Portions cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
Friday, October 31, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
New and Improved! Now even better than before!
That’s me. New and Improved.
The obvious, of course, is that experts have worked hard to remove all cancer from my body. As a result, I am now Cancer Free. And we all know that the less ingredients something contains the more it is worth. Today, however, I received an unexpected upgrade.
This afternoon I had my optometrist appointment. The first one in a little over two years. I hadn’t really remembered much from my last appointment. My main goal is always to get my contact prescription refilled and get on with my life. But that particular year, 2006, I was in the midst of breast cancer treatment. I had just finished 8 rounds of dose dense chemotherapy, had just had my first single mastectomy and was regaining my strength in anticipation of 6 months of oral chemo in concert with 6 weeks of radiation therapy. In short, I had other things on my mind than my eyes. So I was a bit nonplussed when Dr. E asked if my cataract had been bothering me.
I didn’t even remember I had a cataract. Once he said it, though, it all did sound vaguely familiar. Something about a very small developing cataract that we were going to keep an eye on…
At any rate, Dr. E settled in to begin my exam. “Let’s get a look at that fading near vision.” He says as he hands me a card with impossibly small letters on it. As he logged my results in my chart it was his turn to look a bit confused. It seems my near vision is better now than it was two years ago. I reminded him that I had been in the midst of chemo last time and under a significant amount of stress to boot. Perhaps that had effected my eyesight. He was skeptical. “Maybe… but that has never been my experience.”
Whatever, I know what stress can do. A bit of blurred vision is the least of the possibilities.
Then he moved on to “get a look at that cataract”. Only he couldn’t find it. You read it correctly. He looked and he looked. He used about three different lights and all but crawled inside my eyeball his own self. Seems I no longer have a small developing cataract.
Dr. E is such a jovial man. It was wonderful to see him all but scratch his head and smile while he said that it just must have been the chemotherapy because there certainly wasn’t any cataract now. He declared me “Too perfect. More perfect than last time.” and sent me on my way.
A little over two years ago I had Inflammatory Breast Cancer, a small cataract, fading near vision, and cough-variant asthma. Today I am cancer free, cataract free, have perfect near vision and no asthma issues to speak of. I’m a advertiser’s dream!
More importantly, I am blessed beyond measure.
Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
God's Country
We just came home from Yosemite. It's the first time I've ever been there. Man, did God ever work overtime on that place! He certainly out did himself.
Words really can't express how beautiful the park is so I will just give you a glimpse of my photos from Saturday.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Pretty In Pink
You may have noticed the blog renovation... If you guessed that the new color scheme is all in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month then you must spend too much time reading blogs, talking to me or sitting in an oncologist's office. Or maybe all of the above...
You will be bombarded this month by pink ribbons, media stories on breast cancer tragedies and triumphs and products on every aisle in every store asking you to contribute to the cause, finding a cure. That's all wonderful. The publicity is needed - welcomed, in fact.
Just don't let it stop there. Please don't sit on your couch watching a news story about a young mother losing her battle with Breast Cancer and cry into your tissue. Then turn off the TV and think it can never happen to you.
I was 39 when I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. I had an 8 month old baby. My mother was diagnosed 6 months after I was. My friend, also a young mother, had two different kinds of Breast Cancer at the same time.
If you do nothing else, do your self breast exams. Know your body. If you detect a change at all, go see your doctor. It's so much better to leave the doctor's office feeling foolish for worrying... then to leave in shock with those words ringing in your ears. Breast Cancer.
You will be bombarded this month by pink ribbons, media stories on breast cancer tragedies and triumphs and products on every aisle in every store asking you to contribute to the cause, finding a cure. That's all wonderful. The publicity is needed - welcomed, in fact.
Just don't let it stop there. Please don't sit on your couch watching a news story about a young mother losing her battle with Breast Cancer and cry into your tissue. Then turn off the TV and think it can never happen to you.
I was 39 when I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. I had an 8 month old baby. My mother was diagnosed 6 months after I was. My friend, also a young mother, had two different kinds of Breast Cancer at the same time.
If you do nothing else, do your self breast exams. Know your body. If you detect a change at all, go see your doctor. It's so much better to leave the doctor's office feeling foolish for worrying... then to leave in shock with those words ringing in your ears. Breast Cancer.
Monday, September 29, 2008
"I Feel Good" (cue James Brown)
I wasn't a blogger when I had cancer. Mostly I think that's a bad thing. It would have been interesting to read back over my posts from those first days after diagnosis - to hear the shell-shock in my words. Or those days of chemo and radiation and pure exhaustion. But other days, I feel that it's all for the best to have those memories locked up inside me in a place that only I will ever see. Overall I am an extremely positive person, but there were some fairly desolate hours during treatment.
All of that only makes me more aware of how far I've come. How good things are these days.
I have always had a strong constitution yet the year or so before my cancer diagnosis (when I was pregnant with Danny) I was plagued by irritating physical issues. I wasn't sick, per se. I was, however, very "run down". I developed a cough that wouldn't go away and eventually made it so difficult to catch my breath that I found myself spending New Years Day 2005 in the Emergency Room. This was not my first trip there either. I'd been twice before for the same thing. I would just cough to the point of (wetting myself) and not being able to get any oxygen. The very act of talking was almost more than I could handle at times. Those of you who know me understand how torturous that was. The long and short of it was Cough Variant (Bronchial) Asthma irritated by my pregnancy. Those were bleak days. Hey... maybe that's why chemo wasn't so difficult for me. At least I could breath.
So... the point I'm trying to make is this...
Here it is, our End of Fiscal Year at work, and I've been working my tail off. I worked 58 hours last week and 56 the week before (including weekends). I go home and have visitation with my boys (that's what it feels like these days), order in some dinner and collapse on the couch until everyone under 4' tall is asleep and I can finally go to bed myself. Then it all starts over again the next day. And yet, I feel wonderful. Exhilarated. Tired, to be sure, but good.
I can breathe. That's always a great thing. I'm not so short tempered as to be a shrieking harridan with my husband and kids. Shamefully, this has not always been the case in the past. And I have enough energy to go to and enjoy Ben's soccer games, surf the internet and manage my fantasy football team.
It's funny how we tend to lose sight of our blessings - like good health and abundant energy - in the midst of our work-a-day world. Those all important things that we take for granted until they are pulled from us. Today I am counting my blessings.
Side note: I just got a sad call from Daddy-O. All male members of my household are home sick today. Laid low by head colds.
Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
All of that only makes me more aware of how far I've come. How good things are these days.
I have always had a strong constitution yet the year or so before my cancer diagnosis (when I was pregnant with Danny) I was plagued by irritating physical issues. I wasn't sick, per se. I was, however, very "run down". I developed a cough that wouldn't go away and eventually made it so difficult to catch my breath that I found myself spending New Years Day 2005 in the Emergency Room. This was not my first trip there either. I'd been twice before for the same thing. I would just cough to the point of (wetting myself) and not being able to get any oxygen. The very act of talking was almost more than I could handle at times. Those of you who know me understand how torturous that was. The long and short of it was Cough Variant (Bronchial) Asthma irritated by my pregnancy. Those were bleak days. Hey...
So... the point I'm trying to make is this...
Here it is, our End of Fiscal Year at work, and I've been working my tail off. I worked 58 hours last week and 56 the week before (including weekends). I go home and have visitation with my boys (that's what it feels like these days), order in some dinner and collapse on the couch until everyone under 4' tall is asleep and I can finally go to bed myself. Then it all starts over again the next day. And yet, I feel wonderful. Exhilarated. Tired, to be sure, but good.
I can breathe. That's always a great thing. I'm not so short tempered as to be a shrieking harridan with my husband and kids. Shamefully, this has not always been the case in the past. And I have enough energy to go to and enjoy Ben's soccer games, surf the internet and manage my fantasy football team.
It's funny how we tend to lose sight of our blessings - like good health and abundant energy - in the midst of our work-a-day world. Those all important things that we take for granted until they are pulled from us. Today I am counting my blessings.
Side note: I just got a sad call from Daddy-O. All male members of my household are home sick today. Laid low by head colds.
Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer
Monday, September 22, 2008
Countdown
It's that time of year again. The end of fiscal year. The time of year that all Federal Government Contracting employees work until the money is alllllll gone. Day and night. Weekdays. Weekends. Did I mention we don't get overtime? One of the great ironies of Federal employment is that we do not fall under federal labor laws. Instead, we get "comp time", an hour off for an hour worked.
At any rate, In just 8 short days, I will get my life back. Just in time for October, aka National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Working towards my new focus, bringing Breast Cancer out of the shadows and into the light, I will be hosting a fund raiser for Young Survival Coalition.
I thought about doing a walk, or (gulp) a run... But any one that knows me would recognize that as a pipe dream. So I decided to go with what I know. Beverages. Namely, the adult kind. And it just so happens that YSC is sponsoring a Drink Pink, Think Pink campaign. So, I am going to throw a Pink Cocktail Party!
I'm just so excited. The very thought of a pretty pink Pomegranate Martini just might get me through the next eight days...
At any rate, In just 8 short days, I will get my life back. Just in time for October, aka National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Working towards my new focus, bringing Breast Cancer out of the shadows and into the light, I will be hosting a fund raiser for Young Survival Coalition.
I thought about doing a walk, or (gulp) a run... But any one that knows me would recognize that as a pipe dream. So I decided to go with what I know. Beverages. Namely, the adult kind. And it just so happens that YSC is sponsoring a Drink Pink, Think Pink campaign. So, I am going to throw a Pink Cocktail Party!
I'm just so excited. The very thought of a pretty pink Pomegranate Martini just might get me through the next eight days...
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