I love being right!!!

Pardon me while I gloat...  I do so love to be right. 

I've been telling all my Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC) friends and myself that the current survival statistics don't apply to us (those diagnosed since 2001).  Why?  Well because back in the day the doctors used to treat IBC just like every other breast cancer out there instead of the nasty variety it really is.  Typical treatment used to be diagnosis, mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiation.  All of this followed relatively quickly by recurrence.  Lovely. 

According to the National Cancer Institute, women diagnosed with IBC between 1998-2001had a 5-year relative survival rate of 40% (it used to be 25%!) compared to roughly 87% for other breast cancers.  But that was before neoadjuvant chemotherapy.  Neoadjuvant is chemo given before surgery.  This type of treatment makes all the difference in the world to an IBC patient! 

Inflammatory breast cancer's symptoms, which are listed below, cause the breast to grow really large, really quickly.  In my own experience my affected breast grew to near double the size of the other (which was no small size to begin with) within about 2 months time.  Also, it's quite the non-specific cancer cell - more of a general inflammation not an actual tumor.  All this makes it very difficult, if not impossible, to get clean borders during a mastectomy.  So the nasty little cells would come back to visit quickly and were not please about being uncerimoniously evicted in the first place.

Here are general symptoms of IBC:

• A breast that appears discolored (red, purple, pink or bruised);
• A tender, firm and enlarged breast (sometimes overnight);
• A warm feeling in the breast (or may feel hot/warm to the touch);
• Persistent itching of the breast (not relieved with cream or salve);
• Shooting or stabbing pain;
• Ridged or dimpled skin texture, similar to an orange peel;
• Thickened areas of breast tissue;
• Enlarged lymph nodes under the arm, above/below the collarbone;
• Flattening or retraction of the nipple;
• Swollen or crusted skin on the nipple;
• Change in color of the skin around the nipple (areola)

If you want a great visual go to Lemonland.

Good thing for us IBC patients that neoadjuvant treatment is the new and improved way of doing business because it has increased our 5 year survival rate.  This is where me being right comes in.  According to the Mayo Clinic neoadjuvant therapy combined with surgery, radiation and more chemotherapy has increased IBC survival to 50% at the five year mark.  Best of all, nearly 1/3 are alive 20 years after diagnosis!!!
Plus, general breast cancer mortality has dropped 2% a year since 1990. 

We are making strides, folks!!!  Large strides! 

I intend to be here twenty years from now, beating the internet-at-large about the head and neck until each and every one out there knows about Inflammatory Breast Cancer and why it's so insidious.  Or... until it's completely wiped out, which ever comes first!

Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer

Semantics

It has been a momentus week so far.  Yesterday I finally reached the end of my third year of Cancer Freedom!  That's just an awkward way of saying it's been three years since I finished treatment for Inflammatory Breast Cancer.  Today I had my Well-Check with my Oncologist and was given a Clean Bill of Health.  Bloodwork results are normal.  My overall health is normal.  I am hideously normal - probably the only one in my family that is - and couldn't be happier about it!!!

These checkup visits are becoming rather mundane these days.  Dr. Villa walks into the exam room.  We hug.  She gives me my lab results before we even sit down just to get it out of the way.  Then she asks after the kids and Daddy-O before we get on to how I've been feeling.  Ultimately, we always manage to fit in some sort of small philosophical discussion in.  Today's topic was Remission.

This word has been bothering me for quite a while now.  Every time I read WhyMommy's posts on Mothers With Cancer or Toddler Planet I cringe at the mention of her being in "remission".  I've asked WhyMommy before why it is she refers to herself that way.  Wouldn't you know it...  It's because that's what her doctor told her. 

Here is my problem with remission - it sounds like a temporary state of affairs.  Remission makes me feel like the other shoe could drop at any moment.  It feels like a close cousin to that other re word - recurrence.
So I brought up WhyMommy and her annoying status of "in remission".  Turns out I am "in remission", too!
And here I thought I was "cancer-free."  Surprise! Surprise!  And not the good kind either.

After a moment or two of discussion I realized that it all comes down to semantics.

Dr. Villa glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, head cocked to the side.  "You don't think you're cured, do you?"

Uh... not anymore...  Actually, I've never thought I was.  I've always referred to myself as Cancer-Free and didn't delve any deeper than that.  Turns out that no doctor (the "worth their salt" was implied) would ever mention cured until the 5 year mark.  Yeah.  I knew that.

So, just to be clear, here is the definition of Remission as taken straight from Dictionary.com.

Medicine/Medical.

a.	a temporary or permanent decrease or subsidence of manifestations of a disease.

b.	a period during which such a decrease or subsidence occurs: The patient's leukemia was in remission.

Note: The term remission is often used in speaking of sufferers from leukemia or other cancers whose symptoms lessen or disappear. In such a case, the disease is said to be “in remission.” The period of remission may last only briefly or may extend over several months or years.

 I still think it sounds pretty ominous to me!  But I guess I'll forgive all doctors in general - just this once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other completely unrelated news, Ben sent his first love letter over the weekend.  Via email.  (It's the wave of the future, folks.  I hear it's really catching on!) 

He is only nine. years. old!  We're talking about a single digit age!  Sheesh!  I thought I had at least another year or two. 

At the risk of completely alienating him in the future, I am sharing his email with you because I am so touched by the damned sweetness of the whole thing.  And also the horror!

''Hay Olivia,don't tell anybody this it's a seacret'',Ok here i go ''i LOVE YOU Olivia''.

Plus, did you notice there were not boxes to check?  No question of reciprocation?  Just a lot of putting himself out there like that.  Wow! Times sure have changed since I was a kid!

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...

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!

It's hard to believe that was nearly 3 years ago...

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

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

Happy Birthday to me!

This is what the modern-day, 43 year old, double mastected, two and one half year cancer thriver looks like!

I passed all my tests with flying colors. My bones scans were very bony. My CT was quite unremarkable. And my wonderful oncologist said I am just going to live forever. Forever. It has a nice ring to it. Well, perhaps not forever. I wouldn't want to outlive my bladder control, after all...

Some of my friends tip-toe around my age or suggest that I might be 39 this year with a conspiratorial wink. "Oh, no you don't!", I think to myself, "I earned this age! There was a time not long ago I didn't think I'd live to see it!" Besides, 39 was when I was diagnosed.

You can keep 39!!!!!

I'll take 43, and 44, and 50, and 60... any day!!!!!

Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

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.

Family and friends

What a busy, busy week I have had. I've been away at a class for a week (one more to go) in Port Hueneme, CA. That's just south of Ventura for all you map types. The class, Contracting for Intermediate Mission Support, is sometimes kicking my butt. It's been a long, loooong time since I've had to pay this kind of attention to things. And the learning! Gah! It's exhausting. Also, exhilarating! I'd enjoy it more if it weren't for the pressure of tests and passing the class and all that stuff.

Over the weekend (can you believe I got a whole weekend without children???) I went to visit my family out in the Inland Empire. My Grammy had to have a pacemaker put in last week and my Grandpa is still in a rehab facility after his stroke in December. He just turned 90 years old last week. I stayed at my Aunt's house. On Saturday I went out to see my Grandparents.


Aging is difficult. It's hard to watch from the outside. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for the individual. Transitions are never easy.

On my way back to school I stopped and had lunch with Mary Beth Volpini who also blogs over at Mothers With Cancer.


Mary Beth is every bit a charming and genuine in person as she is online. It was so wonderful to finally meet another of the wonderful MWC women. I wish I could meet each and every one. But now I've met Susan and Mary Beth... Two down, twenty-one to go.

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:

• 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?????

After regailing her with my many and varied tales of forgetful woe, Dr. Villa came to the shocking conclusion that I am doing too much multi-tasking. Put another way, if I put too many balls in the air one is bound to fall every now and then. Plus, I am getting older.

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.

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.

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.)

1. Tomorrow I will "go to the beach and play."
2. I wish that I "was rich and famous."
3. I worry about "my little brother."
4. I hope "I will never die in a 100 years."
5. My father "is going fishing today."
6. In school I "learn about science."
7. It isn't nice to "be a bully to other kids."
8. 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

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

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.

Why I am celebrating this October

Am I celebrating because today is my first boyfriend's birthday? (Happy Birthday, Troy!)

Nope. I got over that looooong ago. Strange though, that I still remember his birthday every single year. It's been 38 years for cripe's sake. (What kind of word is "cripe", anyway? I think I need a better vocabulary.) But, I digress.

Am I celebrating because it's the Federal Government's Fiscal New Year and I hardly have any work to do? You betcha! Yet, still not the reason I'm posting.

Is it because my Candidate O'Choice, Barak Obama, has widened his lead over McCain and his less-than-qualified VP pick to a whopping 14%?

Oh, no. There will be no celebrating yet. I hear there is a little thing called the Bradley Effect (when voters are too ashamed to tell opinion pollsters how they really feel) and I'm not going to tempt the fates. But if it wasn't for that little anomaly possibility... I'd be doing the happy dance all over the place.

No. I am celebrating because I have just received a clean bill of health from my oncologist!

Two Years. No cancer. No Evidence of Disease. Blood work all normal.

Triple Negative Inflammatory Breast Cancer. On Breastcancer.org, Dr. Gabriel Hortobagyi, F.A.C.P says that with current neo-adjuvant treatments for IBC, "about one in three patients with inflammatory breast cancer will survive five years, and the great majority of those who do are probably cured of their inflammatory breast cancer. (here's the good part) Most of the recurrences of inflammatory breast cancer have been very early, within the first couple of years."

Dr. Thomas Buchholz, also on Breastcancer.org, agrees. "It is true that if IBC were to recur, it tends to reoccur earlier compared to non-IBC breast cancer. For example, non-IBC breast cancer can even recur a decade after treatment. This would be very, very unusual for patients with IBC."

What do you think? Is that enough reason to celebrate this October?

October 2006 - Mexico


Today.
Two Years Cancer Free and counting...

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.

"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

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...

Because Daddy-O is a complete dork

I am irritated with Daddy-O. I went grocery shopping last night and spent, well, an ungodly amount of money, as per usual. We had discussed having BBQd chicken for dinner. But because it was already late I also bought fixin's for burgers which are so much quicker. We agreed to have BBQ Chicken the next night - tonight. I had bought two picnic (bulk) packs of drumsticks and thighs which I break down into two meals each. I marinate them before I freeze them so they are already prepped when I take them out of the freezer. Since it was late I gave Daddy-O the bulk packs of chicken to put in the garage refrigerator until I had a chance to break them down today.

At dinner time I went to grab them. They were sitting snuggly in the freezer. Still in bulk. Still unmarinated. Not ready for BBQing.

The pizza was delicious.

In order to NOT take my irritation out on my husband who was obviously not paying attention when I was speaking to him, I will instead, post evidence of his dorkiness for all the world to see. Because he also does not read my blog as my words have very little meaning to him. (I only believe this a little bit).

For your viewing pleasure:


Exhibit One:
The dork on the left is Squatter Dog and the one on the right is Daddy-O. The following pictures are from their July trip to Yosemite. Don't ask me to explain any of them because I can't even begin to...


Exhibit Two:


Exhibit Three:
I believe this would be posed...


Exhibit Four:
This is the whole crew: (r to l) Daddy-O, nameless friend, Gary, Squat, Mark. Otherwise known as The Marmots.



OK. No more dorkiness. Here are the spectacular photos taken on their trip.

Daddy-O tying his fly line.

Beautiful! Taken by Mark.


One of my favorites! Two marmots enjoying the view!


What I say to Daddy-O if he sees these pictures on the Internet!


Dragonflies!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a completely different weekend...

This is Ben's first lake fish. He caught it completely by himself. It's a big mouth bass. It took us a while to convince Danny that his brother hadn't caught a "bat", however. Apparently, someone needs to learn to enunciate.


And that concludes our photographic presentation. Thanks for viewing.

How to be happy in spite of it all, part 1

Just after I returned to work after breast cancer treatment, a co-worker paid me an incredible compliment. She told me that I had handled my diagnosis and treatment with (I am paraphrasing here with all the accuracy Chemo-Brain permits) incredible grace and, well, I can't remember what else, but it was good. The general idea was that I had a wonderfully positive attitude that continued to astound those around me.

I pshawed her, of course. Because, there was nothing graceful about my actions nor reactions. Nothing heroic. Nothing brave. At least I didn't think so. I was just doing what I had always done during trying times. What I had watched my mother do before me. And my grandmother before her. I put on a happy face.

Sounds simple doesn't it? Or maybe you're thinking simplistic is more like it. Well, you're probably right. When others began asking me exactly how I stayed so positive in the face of a daunting cancer diagnosis and 90% recurrence risk, right on the heals of my finding out my infant was born blind, well, I couldn't explain it. At least not in terms of usable information. It's just something I'd been raised doing. I didn't know quite how to explain the process.

Then I found The Bounce Back Book, by Karen Salmansohn a few weeks ago. It's a short little self-help book, more along the lines of a pocket manual than a book, but it certainly clarified things for me. Salmansohn has a knack for doing exactly what I could not; break down the process of having and maintaining a positive attitude.

In her book, Salmansohn offers 75 tips for "thriving in the face of adversity, setbacks, and losses." Many of these tips are a bit redundant, merely rewording the same advice to fit a slightly different situation. Sometimes that's what it takes, however, for understanding to register. Hearing something many, many different ways. I don't mean for this to be a book review, yet if I had a friend going through a rough patch and looking for a way to fight negativity, I'd consider sending The Bounce Back Book. We could all learn a bit from it's pages.

For my purposes here, I will tell you what I took away from this book. That is, I will share with you those behaviors (as identified by Salmansohn) that I have practiced over the years and feel contributed to my success in overcoming the more negative crap life has thrown my way.

The Formula
Each of us has a genetic tendency toward optimism or pessimism, according to The Happiness Project in the U.K. This, however, only accounts for about 50% of our personal happiness equation. The rest is all about what you do and the choices you make. Dr. Jonathan Haidt even came up with a fancy, schmancy formula to become happier. And he's a Positive Psychologist, or a positive psychologist (I'm not sure which-but I think it might make a difference) so he ought to know.

H = S + C + V

H = happiness level C = current conditions

S = set point for happiness V = voluntary activities

I happen to think Dr. Haidt is on to something.

Family
About that genetic predisposition towards happiness, or not. I guess I must have it. We're real Nietzsche people in my family, "What does not kill us, makes us stronger." And boy, oh, boy, have we been getting stronger in my lifetime. I've always remembered my Mom laughing off the bad times. She always found the humor in life when I was growing up and still does to this day.

Humor saved the day when I was fourteen years old, sitting in the front row in front of my Father's casket with the rest of my family at his funeral. As you can imagine, it had been a stressful few days after he'd died, no matter how expected his death was. We, as a family, have always turned to humor in times of stress. True to form, when we noticed that the florist's shop had placed an arrangement directly in front of my Mom's chair that was completely bug-eaten, we just couldn't stop the giggles. I'm sure the entire congregation behind us thought we were sobbing uncontrollably, in reality, we were shaking from trying not to laugh out loud.

We're sort of wacked, I know. But that outlook has served us well, over the years. In general, we try to always see the humor in a situation. One of my very first comments after my cancer diagnosis, which came close to Christmas 2005, was that I wouldn't have to worry about what I ate over the holidays because I was starting the Chemo Diet come January!! Woohoo! Holidays, here I come!

My family could have focused on the loss of my dad, instead we chose to break an overwhelming situation down into more manageable pieces. We focused on the insect-riddled flowers to get through the funeral.

Similarly, I chose to see the diet-free holiday season as a silver lining instead of the dark cloud that was a cancer diagnosis. The cloud hadn't blown away and my dad was still gone but my outlook on the world was much more positive for my efforts.

Cross posted at Mothers with Cancer