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Procrastinators Unite! Photo Cards — Printed, Addressed, Mailed w/ FREE STAMPS for $0.25

Dec17
cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties young kids mother motherhood mom 30s Christmas

My Boys — Christmas Card Photo

Still need to order your holiday photo cards, greeting cards or invitations?  Here’s an amazing deal:

Place your order before 11:59 p.m. ET on 12/17 and you will not only receive FREE Standard Shipping (through USPS), but you will also receive 70% off your photo card order.  AND, like I did, you could choose to have CardStore.com address, stamp (with a 1st class stamp!) and mail your cards on your behalf for no charge (THE STAMP IS EVEN FREE)!!!

This is a PHENOMENAL deal!  I ended up paying $0.24 each for my 4″ x 8″ holiday photo cards — printed, addressed and stamped!  All for less than the cost of a 1st class stamp (did I mention that the stamp was free?)!

Of course I did order a “value” design (because “Value” is my middle name — well, not really!) and didn’t have the 1,000 card choice options I’m accustomed to each year, but for $13 for 55 photo cards, stamped and mailed, I didn’t mind.  And even if you choose to class it up a bit more with a Signature or Premium card, this is still a terrific deal!

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties young kids mother 30s

Not really our holiday card — but a quick mock-up! Our personalized text is missing and the pic is pixelated in this one.

My cards were also so cheap because I ordered 55 and received a quantity discount.  I’m not sure how many cards push you into the “quantity” range — and I’m too tired to test it.  But the prices are still low, even without an added discount.  The drawback?  They say that the cards should reach my recipients on or before 12/22.  A little late by most people’s standards, but still before Christmas.  And had I found the deal and ordered sooner, this would have been a non-issue.  But I’m so exhausted all the time & we just got our tree this week & didn’t take our traditional “under the tree” photo until Thursday, so I’m trying not to chastise myself too much!

Celebrating Kwanzaa?  Their Kwanzaa card selection is also governed by the same deals.  Season’s Greetings cards, too.

And, hey, these are such a great deal that you could make New Year’s cards or invitations and be an early bird with them!

Here’s the breakdown of my order: 

55 “Value Design” 4″ x 8″ photo cards (flat)

  •  Each card is Printed, Addressed (my return address and the recipient’s address), Stamped (FREE) and Mailed to my individual recipients!

Cost:

Cards:  $1.09 each  LESS  quantity discount   LESS   70% off ALL Holiday Photo Cards, Greeting Cards or Invitations  =  $0.24 each!

Stamps:  $0.00

Shipping:  $0.00

Grand Total:  $13.03 including 55 stamps!

So, design away!  Just be sure to place your order before 11:59 p.m. ET Monday night to take advantage of all of the discounts.  I’ll include some links below to help you get started.

P.S.  They even include a fancy schmancy Excel spreadsheet template you can use if you don’t want to individually add addresses on their web site.  Login, go to “All You” and click “Address Book.”  Fill in your addresses and when you are ready to order your cards, just import the spreadsheet and, voila, you’ll see all of your addresses there.

P.P.S. I am in NO way affiliated with CardStore.com.  I just found them this morning and am using them for the very first time (in lieu of spending more and ordering from “big-box” stores like I usually do).

P.P.P.S.

The 70% off Holiday Cards code:  CCP2147 — Be sure to enter it at checkout!!!  Expires 12/17 11:59 p.m. ET

Free Standard Shipping or Free Stamps code — There isn’t one, just order by 12/31

Christmas Value cards link:  http://www.cardstore.com/shop/christmas/cards/bargain

Kwanzaa cards link (No “value” option):   http://www.cardstore.com/shop/kwanzaa

New Year’s cards link:  http://www.cardstore.com/shop/new-years

Season’s Greetings Value cards link:  http://www.cardstore.com/shop/seasons-greetings/bargain

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Happy Holidays!

Weekly Photo Challenge: Changing Seasons

Dec12

A collection of photos for the changing seasons:

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer winter photo challenge changing seasons illness

Fall Becomes Winter
“Winter Through the Window”

cancerinmythirties.wordpress breast cancer weekly photo challenge changing seasons swan

Winter Becomes Spring

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer breast cancer changing seasons beach bald

Spring Becomes Summer

cancerinmythirties.wordpress breast cancer weekly photo challenge changing seasons leaves stoneybrook park autumn

Summer Becomes Fall

If you would like to take part in the challenge, please visit:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/12/07/weekly-photo-challenge-changing-seasons/

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/category/photo-challenges/

Thank you!

$50 Straws AND How Cancer Changes Everything

Dec8
cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer mastectomy hospital port

A different day. A different place. In a less hospitally-looking reclining chair at the Cancer Center.

This will probably seem like an odd post, but I’m going to present a snippet of my afternoon from two different perspectives for no other reason than “just because.”  Thanks for indulging me.

Scenario 1:

Across the room, a girl sits in a recliner with a small table beside her.  She is sipping a large cup of tea.  The tea bag tag dangles gently over the edge of her cup. The girl stares off into the distance and a smile crosses her lips.  What is she thinking about?  Perhaps she is remembering a lover from her college days?  Maybe she is picturing a basket of puppies?

Wait… judging from a frame most would describe as thin and a belly that is unmistakably large and rounded, it’s clear that she must be pregnant — she must be thinking of the baby growing in her womb.  Yes.

Her eyes light up as she thinks of the “baby duckling yellow” paint color she and her husband chose for the baby’s room this morning.  “It’s not too masculine, not too feminine, and it will be easy to paint over if we decide to change it when the baby gets a bit older.”  She bites her lip as she wonders how she is going to wait for the next three months to meet her new baby.  She has slipped her calendar out of her purse and is making a list of baby names now.  It’s the same list she and her husband have been coming up with every night before bed.  But she thinks she might have a revelation and “the one” might pop into her head today.

She continues her list.

She is mostly alone as she relaxes in the large open room filled with beds and curtains and chairs just like hers.  Mostly.  She has a number of visitors over the course of the next hour.  Each one stops by to chat briefly with her.  She laughs and talks with them individually.  And then her visitors move on, one by one.

She continues to sip on her unusually large cup of hot tea. Her final visitor is dressed in white and bears the name of her grandmother.  Her hands are full, but with what?  It’s hard to say.  The visitor dressed in white sits across from the girl and then leans toward her for an unusually long time.  She holds what looks like a long, shiny pin or needle in her hand.  Odd.  But when she stands up to walk away, her hands are empty and she and the girl are both smiling.  She now has something pinned to her chest — a flower perhaps?

Just as her name is called she looks at her list.  She is clearly pleased with her accomplishment and is excited to share this new name with her husband.  It was her grandmother’s name.

She slides gracefully out of the chair (well, as gracefully as a pregnant woman can) to meet the woman who beckoned her.  They walk happily down the hall together and slip into a room nearby.  The door closes behind them.

When they emerge, they are smiling and walking again.  The girl is stroking her belly, as if to comfort the baby inside.  She returns to her chair as the lady in white brings her a cocktail with one of those cute little paper umbrellas poking out from the rim of the glass. She relaxes for a bit longer before rising from her comfy chair, bidding adieu to her friends and walking out to greet her waiting husband.

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cancer in my thirties cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer 30s cartoon

Cartoon Credit: chibird.tumblr.com

Scenario 2:

I am sitting in a large, sterile room.  Across the way, I see a girl…or a woman, really.  She looks biologically young, but I can tell she has been weathered by experience.  Something tells me that she probably still thinks of herself as a girl in the quiet morning hours when everyone else is asleep.  So I will indulge her and call her “a girl.”  It’s the least I can do.

The woman, uh, girl, is sitting in a reclining hospital chair.  Beside her is a small table where alcohol swabs and some medical paraphernalia sit. She holds a large, lidded Styrofoam cup, the largest one I have ever seen, in her hands.  Dangling on the side of the cup I see a tea bag tag.  She looks at the bit of wisdom the tag has to dispense, rolls her eyes, and takes a sip from her straw.  Odd that she is drinking hot tea through a straw.  Maybe she’s one of those women who don’t want to stain their teeth so they drink their tea and coffee through straws?

Just then a nurse walks over to her and asks her to sign a form stating that she understands the risk of drinking this tea.  WTF?

Well, it’s not your average tea.  It’s tea that has been infused with a radiocontrast agent.  Is it radioactive tea?

The girl stares off into the distance and a smile crosses her lips.  She is thinking of a sandy beach in a warm place far away.  “If this is more cancer,” she thinks, “I am moving to that beach.”

She puts her hand on her protruding belly and secretly hopes one of the nurses will ask her if she is pregnant when she signs the next consent form.  It’s an odd thing to hope for, almost masochistic, really.  She pictures what she would say in response to the question.  “Of course I’m not pregnant.  I’ve been gutted.  Every part that makes me a woman (except the “V” one) has been stolen from me.  I am empty inside.  Dead inside.  And, oh, this?  It’s edema.  My belly is swollen with fluid.  No baby.  I’m here to see if it’s cancer in here, not a baby.  My fate was sealed at 33 when those lumps in my breast were written off as nothing.”

Of course no one asks her if she is pregnant.  They all know the answer.  They all know why she is here.

And she wouldn’t have the guts to say what’s on her mind, anyway.  She wouldn’t want to hurt or bewilder anyone.  She wouldn’t want to ruin anyone’s day.  So she thinks about what she would really say.  “Nope, just fluid.”

She snaps out of her daydream when a second nurse asks to see the port in her chest.  They’ll need it later.

She slips her calendar out of her purse and tries to recall the appointments she has scheduled for next week.  Her fuzzy chemobrain has made it impossible for her to remember much these days.  She soon finds herself drawing seagulls and starfish in the margins.  “Oh, to have my toes in the sand right now and to be anywhere other than here,” she dreams.

She shifts gears and makes a list of everything she needs to do when she leaves.  Her 3rd graders — twin boys — will be waiting for her.  It will be dinnertime.

She is mostly alone as she sits in the large open hospital room filled with curtains on tracks and not rods, hospital beds and hospital reclining chairs just like hers.  Mostly alone.  A number of nurses stop over to check on her progress with “the drink” or to ask her to sign a form.  She smiles and makes small talk with each of them.  And then her visitors move on, one by one.  She continues to sip on her unusually large cup of hot tea.  Through a straw.   That’s probably so she doesn’t spill the giant cup of lukewarm possibly radioactive tea on herself.

Her final visitor is dressed in white and bears the name of her long deceased grandmother.  Nancy.  Her Nanna was one of her most favorite people in the world.  She watched her die a painful death from cancer when she was 8 through 9 years old. “My kids are 8, too,” she thinks.

The nurse sets up a tray with everything she needs to access the girl’s port.

She holds a long shiny needle and asks if the girl likes to hold her breath or if she applied the EMLA cream in advance to make it hurt less.

The girl laughs, “No, no need.  Just go ahead.”  She has been poked and cut so many times it’s not even funny.

The needle punctures her upper right chest skin and enters her port.  Now they will be able to push the intravenous radiocontrast agent through her chest.

The nurse dresses her port with a tegaderm and gauze.  With the little yellow butterfly clip sticking against the transparent tegaderm, it almost looks as though the girl has a flower pinned to her chest.  An ugly flower, but a flower nonetheless.

Just as her name is called, she looks at her list.  She is already tired, but smiles at the thought of being able to sit down with her kids when she is done.

She drags her body from the chair to meet the woman who beckoned her.  They walk quietly down the hall together and slip into a room nearby.  The door closes behind them.

When they emerge, they are smiling faint smiles and walking again.  The girl is doing that thing she does — looking dizzy and as though she is going to hit the deck.  She strokes her sore belly.  The nurse asks her to lie down until she feels better and says that people who receive the contrast through their ports need to wait 10 minutes for observation before they can leave anyway.  The nurse brings the girl a drink.  This time it’s plain cola.  Nothing added.  The nurse puts a bendy straw in the Coke.  The straw wrapper bears the name of a famous medical supplier.  “Yikes, a straw from a medical company!  It probably cost $50,” she thinks.

When her 10 minutes is up, she is so ready to leave that she walks out in her disposable drawstring hospital pants and stuffs her slacks in her bag.  It’s time to go home.

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So I was sitting in one of those recliner-type hospital chairs drinking oral contrast in preparation for my CT scan when I started thinking about perspective.  Of course the “girl” above is me…

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Thanks for reading… Your comments and “Likes” brighten my life…

Grateful Am I…

Dec1

oopherectomy hysterectomy breast cancer cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com 30s incision liver lab

After not posting for a week, I thought I would put my concerns about poor liver function tests, leg and abdominal edema, and the words of the medical professionals who urged me to “get myself to the Emergency Room” this week aside and return with a post focused on gratitude.

A fellow blogger has honored my little blog with an “Illuminating Blogger Award” and I’d like to take a minute to acknowledge how thankful I am.

Many thanks to http://theretiringsort.com/!

breast cancer in my thirties cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com 30s

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The rules for accepting the award are as follows:

  • Leave a comment on the original award site
  • Share a random fact about yourself:  My dream job would involve saving sea turtles.
  • Choose 5 bloggers to pass the torch to. Here they are:

***

1.  http://bornbyariver.wordpress.com

2.  http://travelgardeneat.com/

3.  http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com/

4.  http://keepingitrealmom.com/

5.  http://clanmother.com/

Thank you, “The Retiring Sort!”  Thank you to the bloggers listed above (whose blogs brighten my days).  And thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and follow my blog!

Oh No, I’ve Been Robbed! Did Cancer Steal My Compassion?

Nov19
cancer in my thirties young 30s hospital

Cartoon by Robert and Donna Trussel http://donnatrussell.com/cancer-cartoons/

So I spent Thursday night through Friday morning in the E.R. with one of my sons.  I was reluctant to go in, but his 106.2 degree fever and listlessness made it necessary.  Though no one likes the emergency room, I have a developed a particular and overwhelming distaste for the whole hospital scene.  And, sadly, this hospital overnight prompted me to realize how “jaded” I’ve become when it comes to the severity of symptoms and illnesses in general.  Call it another side effect of being a cancer patient.

What I am afraid to admit out loud — and even really hesitant to share in this, my somewhat anonymous blog, is that I am beginning to wonder if cancer is interfering with my ability to be the kind of parent and person I want to be (and the kind of parent/person I used to be).

While procedures and blood draws and surgeries and medications and side effects and…(well, you get the picture) have become the norm for me, they are not the norm for everyone.  And, fortunately, they are not the norm for my children.  But I sometimes lose sight of the fact that everyone hasn’t spent what amounts to months (when you add up all of my time as an inpatient and outpatient since my cancer diagnosis in April 2010) in hospitals and cancer centers for surgeries, life-threatening infections, chemo, radiation, appointments, monoclonal antibody infusions, port blood draws, tests and procedures.  Or that not everyone is waiting to find out if that lesion in their brain is malignant or if their liver function and lab values are so poor because the cancer may have metastasized to a vital organ.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s funny medical cartoons I see my new perspective reflected in my everyday life.  Someone will tell me about a symptom they’re experiencing or about their cold or papercut and I try to be supportive and kind.  In my mind, though, I sometimes find myself wandering off to thoughts of how upsetting it might be for them if they had to have their breasts cut off and their lymph nodes dug out, if they faced each day with a constant headache, if they had to manage life with lymphedema, or if they lived their lives with unrelenting neuropathy (a leftover gem from the chemo) that gets so bad that it interferes with their ability to concentrate/type/hold a glass.

Or when I hear a pregnant woman my age talking about heartburn or swollen ankles and I am consoling on the outside, but inside I am thinking about how the large masses in my pelvis and ovaries prompted two painful surgeries and the loss of what remained of all but one of my female parts (in case you are wondering, it rhymes with bagina).  And then I drift off to a mental picture of the baby girl I will never get to hold in my arms because:

a.) You need a uterus to have a baby — and ovaries and Fallopian tubes and a cervix lend something to the process, too.  But all of these things filled my gynecologic oncologist’s specimen jars and were sent off to a lab and probably a garbage bin somewhere.

b.) Who would allow someone with my medical history to adopt a baby?  As much as I would love to be here to raise a new little baby, let’s face it, I am clearly a flight risk.

I thought of a “c”.

c.)  I know surrogacy has gained popularity.  But that’s not even an option for me because my eggs were stolen.  Okay, they weren’t stolen.  But it feels like they were.

And I have that heartburn and those swollen ankles (and legs), too.  Two years of chemo and Herceptin messed up my kidneys and made edema a big problem for me.  And I have my dusty bottle of Nexium for my acid reflux disease, but I stopped taking it because I take so many pills that I’d rather look at those pretty purple capsules than ingest them.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s funny medical cartoons

Cartoon Credit: Robert & Donna Trussel
http://donnatrussell.com/cancer-cartoons/

The bottom line is, even though I want to feel sorry for you because you have a cold, inside I am dreaming of what it would be like if a runny nose and congestion were my biggest medical problems.  Not so deep down I am wishing I could just take some NyQuil, hop into bed, and wake up the next day and be all better.

This is NOT me.  This is NOT who I am.  I am was a kind and thoughtful person before cancer left my spirit beaten and bruised.  Even if I felt like I like was dying, I would put your illness ahead of mine.  I would comfort and take care of you.  I would ask what I could do to be there for YOU.  Even if I had just had surgery myself, I would gladly and altruistically chop vegetables and brown chicken for your homemade chicken soup.  And I would do it without a second thought.

Though my ovaries weren’t technically stolen, I feel like the deeply compassionate person I used to be was.

While this isn’t great news for most of the people in my life, it is worse news for my twin 3rd graders.  I fear that there will come a time when I devalue their medical experiences, their illnesses, their scrapes and bruises, their throat cultures and their trips to the doctor for a flu shot or a blood draw, or the sessions with the nebulizer to that help with their asthma.  And that’s just not good.

cancerinmythirties@yahoo.com breast cancer thirties 30s mom hugging roo baby hysterectomy death dyingSo I am trying my best to undo some of what the cancer has done.  I am making a conscious effort to put the severity of some of my experiences aside to look at things as they are for other people and to avoid comparisons.  I am trying to give my boys the special hugs they need for their scraped knees and to talk them through their fears of having blood drawn or shots given.  And, as was the case this week, I am putting my own exhaustion and pain and sickness aside (as much as I can, anyway) to care for these boys who need me.  Case in point — even though my brain shouted, “Don’t do it!” because I am leukopenic and neutropenic, I climbed into my son’s hospital bed to cuddle with him because he was worried about what was going to happen to him… While I can’t guarantee that it always will, my heart won this time.

I am really trying to do what counts for my kids.  But I may still look at you with envy when you tell me you have a cold.

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*Special thanks to Donna & Robert Trussell for allowing me to use their fantastic cartoons*

PLEASE stop eating PLASTIC!

Nov16
cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s young plastic

Please Try a Sandwich Instead!

After hearing yet another “young” person’s cancer story, I feel absolutely compelled to write this post.  It’s too late for me to prevent my cancer, but it may not be too late for you or your mother, sister, daughter, friend, wife, husband, son, father, aunt…

I am writing today to urge you to limit your intake of the harmful chemicals found in plastic.  Because the dangers of plastic use have been largely ignored by the powers that be, you probably ingest more chemicals than you even realize each and every day.

As a breast cancer patient diagnosed in my early thirties, I am literally sick cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer plastic mastectomy bpa fda garbageover this.  I am actually quite surprised that I haven’t posted about this topic sooner because it is something I think about every day.  Until I was aware of the danger (at some point after my cancer diagnosis), I ate and drank from plastic packaging at least as much as the average consumer.  I used plastic water bottles and those plastic travel coffee mugs all the time.  I left water bottles in the hot car and drank from them without a thought.  I consumed soups and other foods from cans, used plastic food storage containers, plastic wrap and plastic bags, and I didn’t think twice about handling store receipts coated with BPA (bisphenol A, a hormone-disrupting chemical often found in plastics and register receipts and linked to cancer, obesity, heart disease and other diseases).

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer awareness pink ribbon mastectomy illnessCan I blame my cancer on my exposure to the chemicals in plastics and other products?  No, probably not entirely.  But do I think this played a role in encouraging my illness?  Yes, definitely.  As a young person with no family history and no risk factors for breast cancer, I feel pretty justified in pinning some of the blame on an environmental cause, especially since I am in a segment of the population that has seen an increase in breast cancer rates since plastic use became so widespread.

Plastic is EVERYWHERE.  Food, drinks and personal care items like lotions and cosmetics are packaged in plastic more often than not.  This makes chemical exposure almost inevitable.  I have tried to eliminate plastic from my life (and from my children’s lives) but have determined that this would be far too costly and time consuming for tired ol’ me.  In the world we live in today, plastic exposure is virtually unavoidable.  So I have refocused my energy on limiting our plastic use.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer plastic landfill mastectomy bpa fda

Some of my favorite ways of reducing our plastic exposure:

-We drink from glasses and mugs whenever possible.  I have recycled most of the kiddie cups that once filled the shelves of my

cupboard (and I wish I could take back the years I used plastic sippy cups for the kids).  We make a concerted effort to use non-plastic drinking vessels now.

-I reuse my empty glass Snapple bottles.  I fill them with water (and other beverages) and carry them in lieu of a plastic water bottle.  I  usually keep one or two with me and have a couple in the fridge so I can just grab them and go.  Of course you can do this with any glass bottle.  Not only will you be making a healthier choice for yourself, but you’ll also be making a good choice for the environment.

-We store food in glass and never in plastic.  At first this was really difficult because I just had a few glass storage containers.  cancerinmythirities.wordpress.com breast cancer plastic bpa glassI made makeshift containers by putting plates on top of bowls as lids — not a good use of space!  But I have since asked for Pyrex for Christmas and birthdays and my little collection is growing.

-We have reduced our use of canned foods.  BPA is often found in the lining of food and baby formula cans.

-I avoid leaving cosmetics, lotions and other liquids packaged in plastic in the car.  You may have heard the warning about not leaving water bottles in the car for the same reason — heating plastic encourages the release of toxic chemicals.

-We don’t use “steam in the bag” foods like frozen vegetables.

-Whenever glass is available (for food, beverages, personal care products), I’ll choose it over plastic, even if it costs a little bit more.  We are on a REALLY tight budget, but I think it’s worth it. cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer plastic carcinogens chemicals Unfortunately, though, it’s not usually a choice — glass is often hard to find.  Even the organic hormone-free milk at my grocery store comes in a plastic container!

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Why am I publishing a post like this?  It is not because I’m having a bad day and need to vent (that’s just a coincidence!).  It is not because I am trying to blame someone for the hell I have been through in the past few years.  It is because I want to save someone else from the pain and the loss I have experienced and will likely continue to experience.  It is because I want to save YOU.

While I realize you may not be able to nix plastic from your life entirely, I hope you will please do your best to cut out as much plastic exposure as possible.

And PLEASE ask your friends and family and everyone you care about to do cancerinmythirties.wordpress.org breast cancer squirrel nuts plastic carcinogen bpa fda mastectomythe same.  If you are worried about sounding like an alarmist or a nutcase or a conspiracy theorist, take comfort in the fact that there is enough evidence to support the cancer – plastic link to validate your plight.

You can also consider joining an email writing campaign to urge companies to use safer packaging.  Or sign a petition urging the FDA to ban the use of packaging that contains carcinogens.  Here’s one asking the FDA to ban BPA, a carcinogen found in cash register receipts, in many of the plastics we eat and drink from, and in the bodies of more than 80% of Americans!  It will just take a minute and could make a big difference:

http://www.change.org/petitions/fda-get-cancer-causing-chemicals-out-of-all-food-packaging-now

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I googled “breast cancer plastic” and at the top of the list of search results (other than images of plastic ‘breast cancer awareness’ items — that’s another blog post!), I found an article that was featured on one of my favorite go-to sites for breast cancer information and support — breastcancer.org.  While I love bc.org and think the article is great for creating awareness, I do disagree with one section.  It lists “safe” plastics, but based on my research, it seems there may be no truly “safe” plastics.  Plastic = Chemicals.  Right now the focus is on BPA which was long considered “safe” by the FDA (we’re talking half a century here!).  I believe it’s just a matter of time before more of these chemicals are studied and deemed carcinogenic.  In the meantime, here is the breastcancer.org article:

http://www.breastcancer.org/risk/factors/plastic

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cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer plastic turtle mastectomy bpa fda

Of course I hope you will share this post with everyone you know and I hope you will work to reduce your chemical consumption.  But I know that’s a lofty dream in today’s world.  So, please do whatever you can.  Whether you do one of these things or all of them, know that I am proud of you.  

If we can prevent even one more person from getting sick, we’ve done something good.

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If you have an idea for a way to reduce plastic use, please share it with us!   Thanks!

Follea’s Breast Cancer Wig Giveaway

Nov13
cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com

Me During Taxol — just before beginning radiation — January 2011. This is a wig! I had a shiny bald head underneath this lovely hair.

The post below was left as a comment on my blog.  I wanted to share it with all of my followers who have cancer — or who know someone who is receiving treatment.  Share your story (or your friend’s, sister’s, daughter’s, mother’s, wife’s, etc. story) and you could win a lovely new wig or sleep cap…

I won’t enter myself because I have hair now, but I hope you will consider entering…

Best wishes!  🙂

And thank you to Follea, Lisa Elia and Candice Cousins for sharing this info!

———————————————–

Deadline for Submissions 11/18: Follea’s Breast Cancer Wig Giveaway – 6 Winners Will be Selected

Dear Cancer in My Thirties,

We believe you and your followers may be interested in Follea’s Breast Cancer Wig Giveaway on Facebook. Participants who share their inspirational story will have the chance to win a Gripper-2 wig, a beautiful Tres Chic wig or a super-soft bamboo sleep cap. To view the Follea video “A Woman’s Spirit is Unbreakable: A Tribute for Breast Cancer Awareness Month”, visit
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhD75zYz92M.

Here are the Follea Breast Cancer Wig Giveaway instructions, which can also be viewed at http://www.facebook.com/follea:

1. There are two different ways that a woman with breast cancer can be submitted for a chance to win these prizes:

• A woman with breast cancer can create and submit a short video about her journey with breast cancer, how it has affected her life, and how she is dealing with it.

• A friend or family member of a woman with breast cancer can submit a video about how their loved one who has cancer inspires them.

2. Submit video by Sunday, November 18, 2012 at 11:59 pm PST.

3. All winners, including grand prize, second place and third place winners, will be determined based on the number of votes a contestant receives, in comparison to their competitors. Voting closes Friday, December 14, 2012, at 11:59 pm PST. :

• The grand prize winner will receive her choice of either Follea’s Gripper-2 Sport or the Gripper-2 Cool, from Follea’s innovative and luxurious 2012 Gripper-2 Collection. The winner will select from one of five standard sizes and available standard color and length specifications.

• five second place winners will receive one of Follea’s beautiful, short-style, premium European-hair Tres Chic MM6 wigs.

• 50 third place winners will receive one of Follea’s super-soft bamboo sleep caps.

4. Follea will announce the winners on December 17, 2012 at 12:00 pm PST.
Also, every Friday through December 14, Follea will conduct a random drawing of all of the contestants’ names, giving all participants the chance to win one of Follea’s bamboo sleep caps every week.
About Follea: The company’s 2012 collection includes wigs and hairpieces that are specially designed for women with little to no hair such as the Gripper collection, which is light, breathable and stays securely in place with affixed medical grade silicone tabs. Follea has ICARe representatives and ICARe salons around the world, so women can get hands-on help choosing just the right wig or extensions to suit their needs.
Would you like to receive any additional information?
Best regards,
Lisa Elia
Lisa Elia PR
310-479-0216

Weekly Photo Challenge: Renewal — Confessions of a Former Mermaid

Nov10
cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer ocean hawaii photo mastectomy sick

One of my most favorite places in the world
cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com

The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge subject for this week is renewal.  The word can mean different things to different people.  But for me, one word comes to mind — SEA.

Perhaps I was a mermaid or a sea turtle in another life?  Or perhaps my love of the water is a genetic trait passed down for generations by my English and Scottish ancestors, much like my blue eyes and my dimples?

breast cancer mastectomy hawaii beauty ocean sea

Regardless of how difficult life can be and how sick I have felt at different points along this rocky road since the cancer diagnosis, there is always one place where I feel safe and healthy and whole again.  There is one place where I feel renewed.  And that is in the ocean.

Pools are lovely.  And the lake is okay.  But the sense of relief I feel when I walk into the ocean or into Florida’s warm gulf waters just doesn’t compare.  It is as if I am home again.  Let me swim in lovely warm sea water and I feel refreshed and renewed and ready to face the world again.

Unfortunately, I don’t have many opportunities to visit the water and I live in a region that is cold half of the year.  And the bathtub just doesn’t cut it!  So I live for our trips to the sea and hold fast to all of the memories I’ve made in the water… And I dream of the next time I will be able to immerse myself in Florida’s warm blue oasis.

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breast cancer bilateral mastectomy hawaii seaIt was almost 2 years ago when I was shifting treatments from Taxol (chemotherapy) to radiation.  I had a 10-day break in between, so we cashed in our credit card miles and flew to Hawaii.  I was terribly sick from 9 months of treatment.  I had a shiny bald head and was swollen from the steroids and kidney trouble.  And it hadn’t been that long since my mastectomy.  I was a disaster.  But the trip was a dream come true.  How fortunate I felt to be able to dip my toes into Hawaii’s alluring waters.  It was a little too chilly for swimming for my fragile body for most of the trip, but just having the opportunity to absorb so much beauty was incredibly uplifting and replenishing for my mind and soul.  Here are some of the photos from that unforgettable vacation.

breast cancer thirties young bilateral mastectomy hawaii ocean sea bald

Thanks for reading!

breast cancer thirties bilateral mastectomy hawaii plane ocean

breast cancer thirties bilateral mastectomy hawaii plane ocean kailua lanai

breast cancer thirties bilateral mastectomy hawaii plane ocean

breast cancer thirties bilateral mastectomy hawaii plane ocean sea turtle mom

Sea Turtle

To participate in the Weekly Photo Challenge:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/11/08/weekly-photo-challenge-renewal/

dailypost.wordpress.com/category/photo-challenges/

what my 8~year old son has to say…

Nov9

One of my sons asked if he could post something on my blog.  He wrote the title and what follows here all by himself!

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breast cancer mom kids boys mattie dog lymphedema mastectomy

From my 8-year-old son:

Cancer is a jerk of course every one nows.

my mom has CANCER  its bad because my mom can not do that much stuff.

I WANT TO DOODOO on cancer  🙂

I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT.

thank you for following my mom readers

Weekly Photo Challenge: Geometry

Nov4

Geometry in Glass:

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s young mastectomy

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cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s young mastectomy

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/category/photo-challenges/

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/11/02/weekly-photo-challenge-geometry/

revelation from a chilly gray day: I am Cancer’s Bitch

Nov4
cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancerinmythirties breast cancer infertility baby hysterectomy

my lovely niece & me — the summer before my diagnosis

–

I waited a lifetime for you

but I guess it wasn’t long enough

I think of the babies I’ve lost

and wonder if you were one of them

I’m missing the baby girl

I always thought I’d have

–

Saw two pink lines last year

My heart soared but my stomach twisted

The hormones that sustain pregnancy

give cancer cells fuel, too

I didn’t care

I wanted you

Even if it meant more sickness for me

–

“I guess it’s one last chance,” she said.

“Stupid move,” he said.

Doctors.

–

But I was never meant to hold you in my arms.

Was it the Tamoxifen?  Was it my lack of health?  Was it the weekly Herceptin infusions?  or the steroids?  or the other meds they prescribed?  Or was it just a cruel twist of fate?

As quickly as it began, it was over — and you were gone

Then they found the masses in my pelvis

and the surgeries took my hope of ever seeing you away

and reminded me that I am Cancer’s bitch

–

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancerinmythirties breast cancer infertility baby hysterectomy

Unfortunately for my big dog, my little dog rules the roost just as this cat does!

–

I’ve forgotten where I first heard a young person describe someone else as their bitch, but I’ve heard the reference a few times — and I never thought I’d use it.  But it seems fitting here.  I sometimes feel that despite my efforts and success with being positive and despite the hell I’ve put my body through, cancer often finds a way to remind me that “it” isn’t really up to me.  And I know this feeling is shared by other cancer patients/survivors.  Cancer is bigger than me.  It is bigger than all of us.

*From wiki.answers.com (because I always look for reliable sources and because if it is written on the internet, it must be true! ha ha):  “If you are “someone’s bitch”  it means they can tell you what to do and you have to listen and do what they say when they say it.”

DP Challenge: I Wish I Were… Going to Live to See My Kids Grow Up

Nov2

 

breast cancer thirties 30s motherhood death dying

I’m a little late to the party, but I just discovered The Daily Post and the blog’s weekly challenge for bloggers.

This week’s challenge is to finish this sentence:  “I Wish I Were…”

Thirty years ago I would have said, “I wish I were a farmer or a doctor or a scientist.” Twenty years ago I would have said, “I wish I were destined for greatness.”  Ten years ago I would have said, “I wish I were someone who could change the world in a positive and enduring way.”

Today I would say, “I wish I were going to live long enough to see my twins turn eighteen.”

Of course I know it is still possible.  “They” say anything is possible.  I just don’t think it is very likely.  No, I’m not one of the women on those TLC shows about ladies who have their first baby at age 70.  And, no, I’m not someone who believes in the Mayan Calendar doomsday prediction for next month.

I am just a mom in her thirties who was diagnosed with Her2 positive Stage IIIc breast cancer when her little boys were in kindergarten.  I now realize that to these young boys, I am a doctor, a farmer and a scientist.  To these little boys, I am great.  And if I can just stick around long enough to help them grow, I will be changing the world in the most positive and enduring way possible…

breast cancer thirties babies 30s death dying love

*If you’d like to take the challenge yourself: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/10/29/weekly-writing-challenge-i-wish-i-were/

FREE Kids Meal at OUTBACK plus FREE Steak Dinner for your next visit!

Oct31

Today’s The Day to visit Outback Steakhouse for you free kid’s meal and free steak dinner coupon. Happy Halloween!

WANT to MAKE HALLOWEEN 

SPOOKTACULAR for   

THE whole FAMILY?

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[And get a free steak dinner for your next date night?]

—

Help your little ghosts and goblins fill their tummies before the Trick-or-Treating begins on Halloween!

ON HALLOWEEN:  Get a FREE kids meal with an adult entree purchase…

*Don’t feel like dining in?  This offer is also valid for CURBSIDE take-away!*

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But there’s a special TREAT if you dine in…  Hidden in the beverage book on your table, you will find a “You Have Found the Treat” picture.  

TELL your server — and you will get a FREE STEAK DINNER good for your next Outback Steakhouse visit!

—

The Fine Print:

Free Kids Meal valid at participating Outback Steakhouse restaurants with purchase of adult entree on October 31, 2012 only — while supplies last.  Kids Meal is for children ages 10 and under.  Offer not valid in conjunction with any other discount or offer and has no cash value.  Valid for curbside take-away and dine in.

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*If you want to see more posts like this one,

please LIKE it below!*

About My Brain

Oct28

brain lesion cancer breast metastasis

So I fell down the stairs again today.  I hit my head pretty hard.  And I managed to land on a section of my back that was already hurting quite a bit.

This reminded me that I never posted a “brain update” after my last oncologist entry earlier this month.  I guess I didn’t really forget to write about it, I just didn’t because I didn’t know what to say after my appointment with the neurologist the next day.

I’m still not really sure what to say.  When I arrived at the neurologist’s office, I took a seat in the waiting room with a double-sided questionnaire about my symptoms.  I pretended to fill it out, but I was just sitting there lost in thought.  I had just filled the same paper out a couple of weeks prior and my answers probably hadn’t changed, so I thought the time would be best spent staring off into the distance, clipboard on my lap and pen in my hand.

I only had a few minutes of quiet before my neurologist walked out into the big waiting room, purse on her arm.  She said ‘hi’ and said she’d be back for me as she walked out of the door.  The nurse came out moments later and took me back to the vitals station and proceeded to take my blood pressure, etc.  Before he finished, my doctor was back.  She said she’d take it from there.  She walked me back to the scale, took my purse and coat, and I stepped up to be weighed.  We then walked back to the room.  She carried my purse, her purse and my coat and chatted with me during our short walk.  She set our open purses down on her desk and I took a seat next to her.  She told me she was glad I came in because she wanted to show me my MRI so I could see “IT” for myself.

We chatted as though we were girlfriends out having a coffee date and as though we were discussing our husbands, kids, dogs, and the piles of laundry waiting for us at home.  The only difference was that the coffees were waters, the table was an exam table, and we weren’t talking about what we were making for dinner.  We were talking about the lesion in my brain.

She showed me my brain MRI.  There was the lesion.  And then the same area on my MRI from about 8 months ago.  No lesion.

Not really coffee shop conversation.

—

When I asked if it was a metastasis, she said that it may not be malignant.  She said that they typically see a lot of “mass effect” with malignant tumors.  (*Mass effect is damage to the brain due to the bulk of a tumor, the blockage of fluid, and/or excess accumulation of fluid within the skull.)  She said that this ‘mass effect’ was lacking on my MRI.  I asked, “Could the mass effect be lacking because it is such a new lesion?”  Maybe.  “But it could also be because it is something benign?”  Yes, definitely a possibility.  Looking at the lesion’s shape, I wondered, “Could it be because I swallowed a small grape and it went the wrong way and lodged in my brain?” But I figured that was pretty unlikely!

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com brain cancer lesion thalamus breast cancer

The thalamus is the red area

The kicker (well, one of them!) is that it is deep in my brain — within the thalamus.  Not an easy place to access for biopsies, etc.  So no easy way to know for sure what it is.  My neurologist feels the best way to proceed is to wait a couple of months and repeat the MRI.  If it is malignant, we should expect changes.  If I have an increase of symptoms, it sounds like we can do it sooner.

Then there’s also that abnormal EEG that prompted the MRI.  So I don’t really know what to think.  On the one hand, I feel sick to my stomach because the cancer may have metastasized to my brain.  But on the other hand, I’m really hopeful that it hasn’t.  And at this point, I guess I should feel pretty grateful that it’s only a maybe and not a definite.

Cancer is the gift that keeps on giving…

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In case you were wondering what the thalamus does:

**”The thalamus has multiple functions. It may be thought of as a kind of switchboard of information. It is generally believed to act as a relay between a variety of subcortical areas and the cerebral cortex. In particular, every sensory system (with the exception of the olfactory system) includes a thalamic nucleus that receives sensory signals and sends them to the associated primary cortical area. The thalamus is believed to both process sensory information as well as relay it—each of the primary sensory relay areas receives strong “back projections” from the cerebral cortex.

The thalamus also plays an important role in regulating states of sleep and wakefulness.[9] Thalamic nuclei have strong reciprocal connections with the cerebral cortex, forming thalamo-cortico-thalamic circuits that are believed to be involved with consciousness. The thalamus plays a major role in regulating arousal, the level of awareness, and activity. Damage to the thalamus can lead to permanent coma.”

* Information from: http://www.mayfieldclinic.com/PE-BrainTumor.htm

** Information from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thalamus

How the Hell Did I Get Here?

Oct26

breast cancer is not my friend

I just learned that a friend of mine is expecting.  She is a wonderful person and such a good mom.  And I am so happy that things are falling into place for her and that she is going to welcome a new baby into her family…

So why am I so sad?

Other friends have been pregnant since the chemo made pregnancy questionable… and since a radical hysterectomy and oopherectomy made it impossible.  I see pregnant people and babies all the time.  My oncologist is even on leave to have her baby right now.  These things have made me a little sad… but just a little.

So why is this news bringing this non-crier to the verge of tears?

It’s as if it has finally just sunk in that this part of my life is over.  I will never have another pregnancy.  I will never have a “normal” pregnancy (my twin pregnancy was far from normal and my others ended in miscarriage)…  I will never have the little girl I waited my whole life for…  This is real and there is nothing I can do to change it…  Sure, I could adopt — if anyone would be willing to adopt to someone with my medical history.  Not likely!  Cancer has taken one more hugely important thing from me… and it hurts… it hurts almost as much as the surgeries did…

There are times when I can’t believe this is my life, when I feel that I’m SO far from where I expected to be…  There are times in the haziness of the night when I think “this” is a dream and that I will wake up to my “real” life in the morning.

Too Young for Breast Cancer -- Can't Have a Baby

Maybe that’s just the chemo-brain or the Percocet or the brain lesion talking?

Or maybe this is just how I cope with loss?

—

—

—

I know where I have been…  

I know where I am…  

But for the first time in my life, I don’t have an  f-ing  clue as to where I am going…

I HATE CANCER…

Holding my sweet little nephew… October 2010

I Want Out… Right?

Oct22

As we were driving home the other night, I kept replaying the gas station scene from The Bridges of Madison County in my head.  You know, the one where Meryl Streep’s character is sitting in the car while her husband is pumping the gas.  She sees Robert Redford, the man who has asked her to run away with him.  Redford is also the man with whom she has had an affair and with whom she could have a completely different life.  She reaches for the door handle, almost prepared to pull it and to run out on her life to begin anew.  Almost. She can’t do it.  With tears in her eyes — because she knows what she is giving up — her hand drops from the handle when her husband returns to the car and they drive away.

It has been a long time since I last saw the movie and there were parts of it I didn’t agree with like, um, the adultery…  But that scene in the movie has stayed with me.  For me, though, Robert Redford would not represent a man I’ve slept with (because there haven’t been any since my husband), but he would represent an opportunity for a new beginning, a different life.

This is an odd topic for me to write about because I would never have expressed these thoughts before.  It’s kind of comical, almost like I expect angry black crows to fall out of the sky and to begin attacking me or that I think a fiery explosion might wipe  my whole family out in an instant, simply because I’ve allowed myself to wonder what it would be like to have a life that isn’t so difficult and, dare I say it, painful.

I never had these thought before.  I grew up in poverty and was teased for it right up until high school started.  I experienced important and traumatic losses at early age.  I grew up without a Dad — after living with a Dad who was abusive and drunk most of the time.  And blah, blah, blah…  The point is, I have never been a stranger to struggle or compromise or death or pain or loss.  But I never questioned my life or my choices or how other people’s choices affected my life.  I never looked at any of it with regret or disdain.  It was my life, for better or worse.  If there was something I didn’t like about it, I would work hard to change it.

I didn’t have any real regrets…  Until I was in the midst of a chemo combo that made me feel like I was inches from death.  I was so sick and needed to be nurtured and cared for and needed a partner to hold my hand — or, at the very least, someone who didn’t feel the urge to fight and argue with me or the kids all the time.  And then when I had the bilateral mastectomy and the hysterectomy, I tried to pretend these surgeries didn’t bother me and that I could roll with the punches.  And I did.  I just handled the pain and the immense sense of loss that accompanied losing these body parts, especially to cancer and especially at such a young age.  But inside I longed for a spouse who would hug me and tell me that I was still pretty, still a woman.  I needed someone to tell me that he loved me.  I kept thinking that for years I had weathered all of the ups and downs of our marriage, his deceit, his mood swings and so much more — and all I really wanted were a few kind words and to be hugged.  But I guess some things are just too much to ask for…

So as we drove home the other night and I thought about how stressful the previous 36 hours had been because of his bad temper and his unpredictable mood swings, I looked at the door handle and thought, “I am done with living this way and I want out.”  I wanted out with all of my heart…well, almost all of my heart.

But I couldn’t do it.  Especially when the only place I wanted to run to (other than Hawaii) was my home… to change the locks.  Now it would be just plain silly to jump out of my home-bound car to run home.  Right?

So I am still here…

With the same locks…

With the same husband…

Thinking about what it would be like to be dealing with cancer if I weren’t married to someone who was rooting for the cancer to win instead of me.

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National No Bra Day and Breast Cancer Awareness Month — OR — Please Put That Pink Can of Soup Down & Put Your Bra Back On

Oct13

National No Bra Day Breast Cancer Awareness

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***10/9/2013:  I have been completely overwhelmed by the number of visitors this post has received in the past few days (over 130,000 at last count!).  I am not sure who first shared it — or who continues to share it — but I want to THANK YOU all for visiting, reading, and sharing it.  I think the realities of breast cancer are so often trivialized and “pinkified” so I am sincerely grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read or share my blog.  I am sorry to say that my story is just one of many, but with your help, we may just be able to do something to change that.  Please feel free to leave me a comment or to share your own story below — or send an email: cancerinmythirties@yahoo.com.   Thank you all. ***

Peter Griffin / Family Guy “What Grinds My Gears” Episode

———

I am not a ranter by any means and I have been pretty quiet about “Pinktober” and what has come to be known as “Pinkwashing” in breast cancer circles, but seeing October 13th advertised as “National No Bra Day” and as a “fun” way to support people with breast cancer has pushed me over the edge.

Are you kidding me?  How on earth could a day where girls and women are encouraged to post and share photos of their braless breasts and to walk around with their nipples poking through their shirts be “supportive” for women who are living with or who have died from breast cancer, or who have managed to ‘complete’ the arduous treatments and disfiguring surgeries required to put them into remission?

I think the answer is simple.  It is not.

Like so many women–and men–who have faced this disease, I have lost my breasts to cancer.  Though I had a terrific surgeon, it was a physically and emotionally disfiguring surgery.

The cancer had gone so deep and was so extensive on my left side that it was at first inoperable.  Even after months of chemo, my surgeon took as much tissue and skin as possible and went deep into my axilla (underarm area).  The cancer had metastasized to my lymph nodes and had invaded them to such a degree that they broke open to allow the cancer cells to go beyond the walls of the nodes.  Because of how invasive the surgery was and of how much nerve damage, etc. resulted, it was not only extremely painful then, but continues to be a source of pain and phantom sensations that affect my entire upper torso even today.

I required over a year of physical therapy just to be able to raise my arms again and I still don’t have full function or range of motion.  And, because of pain, swelling, conspicuous compression sleeves and gloves, I am constantly reminded of the lymphedema that resulted from the surgery and loss of my lymph nodes.  Oh, and the life-threatening infections that forced a couple of hospitalizations and four months of massive doses of antibiotics this summer (almost 2 years after my original surgery), are also a little reminder of some of the things that the bilateral mastectomy and lymph node surgeries have left me with.  And there is so much more…

So the thought of seeing bra-less women flaunting two body parts that I have lost to cancer — more than I already see this on a regular day — does not feel all that supportive.  In fact, it feels quite the opposite.

I think of myself as an open-minded person.  I do my best not to judge others or their beliefs and ideals.  I have a pretty good sense of humor and am usually the first to poke fun at myself.  And I make light of breast cancer and my struggles, treatments and their side effects, lack of breasts, fear of death, etc. fairly frequently.  It is how I cope.  But, given what I have been through, I think I have earned the right to joke and make light of how this terrible disease has affected me.  But if you haven’t been there or taken care of someone who has been there, then you should think twice before you publicize a day that jokes about putting the first body parts we usually lose to this disease “out there” on display even more conspicuously and then labeling it as an activity that helps our ’cause’.

We live in a society that makes a huge hoopla about breast cancer while at the very same time trivializing the seriousness of the disease.  How can we be so contradictory?

While I am beyond thrilled that breast cancer is no longer a taboo issue and that people are talking about it, the commercialism has gotten out of hand.  There is nothing pink and rosy about breast cancer, yet it has been pink-washed to death.  It is a serious disease that kills.

And while I do think we need more awareness and education (about metastatic disease, about how young women CAN develop breast cancer, about how women (young and not so young) DO die from this disease, about the importance of research, etc.), I don’t think we need the kind of awareness that buying a jar of salsa with a pink ribbon on it brings.  While I hardly ever see “awareness” products addressing the topics above, I can’t go anywhere without seeing pink products.  Heck, I just have to look out of my front window to see giant pink garbage totes.  The stores are filled with pink as companies try to make a buck off breast cancer.  If you look carefully at these products, you’ll find that some of them don’t even donate a cent to breast cancer awareness, support, research, etc.  And oftentimes those that do make a very minimal donation — and not always to organizations/programs where the money is well spent. Case in point — during a recent trip to my grocery store’s pink breast cancer section, I found (after reading the small print) that the maximum per item donation to the breast cancer “cause” was $0.35. An abysmal $0.35 for a $25.00 plastic coffee mug!  And, guess what, once that $0.35 reaches “the cause,” a portion of it is lost to overhead, salaries and advertising costs.

One of the most unfortunate issues here is that well-meaning people are willing to buy pink products, even pay a little extra, because they think they are helping to do something to “cure” breast cancer or to provide “hope” to breast cancer patients.  Why is this sad?  Because those dollars spent on pink key chains, pink beer koozies, pink boxes of crackers and pink plastic water bottles could be going to fund research into metastatic disease, better (and less harmful) treatments, the elusive “cure” and, dare I say it, PREVENTION.

My intention is not to offend or to hurt the feelings of anyone who is genuinely trying to help, but I think it is important for you to know the truth.  So please put your bra back on, put down those pink garbage bags (unless you really like pink that much!), that pink “awareness” pepper spray keychain, and that pink breast cancer “awareness” vibrator and dildo (yes, I’m blushing and yes, these are real things that their merchandisers say will “help you raise breast cancer awareness” — though they are shipped discretely in plain, unmarked boxes so no one knows what you purchased) and send a few dollars to an organization that devotes their fundraising dollars to research.  You just have to do a bit of homework or read the labels on those pink items to see where your money is actually going.  [There are pink products out there that do help to fund research, etc. — they seem to be in the vast minority, but they do exist.]

And, if you don’t like homework, here are a few great organizations — there are many others, but these are some of my favorites:

*** Metavivor.org ***:  [A terrific organization…]  From support groups to funding vital research, our programs sustain the power of hope.  Passionately committed patients ourselves, we rally public attention to the urgent needs of the metastatic breast cancer (MBC) community, help patients find strength through support and purpose, and make EVERY dollar count as we work with researchers to regain longevity with quality of life.

*** http://www.standup2cancer.org/ ***:  [Another great one — and it’s not just for breast cancer.  Note that your donation will NOT be BREAST CANCER-specific, but will be directed toward multiple cancers. Since you are reading a breast cancer-specific post I know this may or may not be in line with your philanthropic goals, but if it is, SU2C is an excellent choice.]  “Our mission is to fund collaborative, translational cancer research to bring treatments from the bench to the bedside faster, and save lives now.”  Since Stand Up To Cancer was founded in May 2008, we have granted $161 Million Dollars to ten Dream Teams of scientists and researchers, one international translational research team and 26 high-risk, high-reward Innovative Research Grants.  100% of public funds go directly into research grants. A portion of the funds that are raised from major donations and third-party fundraising go towards administrative expenses and overhead.

Other Important Organizations:

***A number of people diagnosed in my age bracket have emailed or commented about how Young Survival Coalition (YSC) has helped them.  This organization is the premier global organization dedicated to the critical issues unique to young women who are diagnosed with breast cancer. Founded in 1998, YSC’s mission is to serve the roughly 13,000 under 40 (often an under-recognized contingent of the breast cancer population) who are diagnosed with breast cancer each year.

YSC helps these young women by providing support and health information to see them from diagnosis to long-term survivorship. The nonprofit tackles issues specific to this population, like early menopause, effects on fertility, more aggressive cancers and lower survival rates. From YSC, “compared to older women, young women generally face more aggressive cancers and lower survival rates. More and more evidence tells us that breast cancer before age 40 differs biologically from the cancer faced by older women.”  Thus, the organization also advocates for increased studies on young women with breast cancer. YSC offers resources, connections and outreach so women feel supported, empowered and hopeful.

***If you are interested in making a difference for through an organization specifically targeting Inflammatory Breast Cancer, I recommend http://www.theibcnetwork.org/:  Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC) is a rare and highly fatal form of breast cancer that is not typically discovered by mammogram and often occurs prior to standard breast cancer screening age recommendations. Our all volunteer board is focused on education and funding research for this 200 year old orphaned form of breast cancer. No Lump Still Cancer.

…or consider a group that helps cancer patients and their families cope with their illness.  For example:

CancerIsAJerk.org  — This is a charity my dear friend jme set up to help families touched by cancer.  You can make a financial donation  or  if you’d like to have a tangible something to wear to show your support, you can purchase a “Cancer Is a Jerk” t-shirts with all proceeds going to help actual families touched by cancer.  You can also contact jme through the charity if you’d like to sell shirts as a fundraiser with all proceeds going to benefit cancer family applicants in general OR designate a specific family of your choosing.

And don’t underestimate the value of local organizations.  My local Breast Cancer Coalition is a perfect example.  The Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester‘s mission is to make the eradication of breast cancer a priority through education and advocacy; to empower women and men to participate fully in decisions relating to breast cancer; to provide support to those coping with a breast cancer diagnosis; and to focus research into the causes, prevention, treatment and cure of breast cancer.

Also local for me is The Karen Carson Crane Foundation.  Founded by Karen’s siblings after she died of breast cancer, the mission of the Karen Carson Crane Foundation (“the KCC Foundation”) is to provide support and financial assistance for individuals affected by breast cancer; to encourage breast cancer patients to have the strength, courage and passion to overcome their disease; to support local organizations that assist breast cancer patients; and to donate a portion of its fundraising dollars to organizations that research and promote alternative cancer treatment methods.  

There are many other great organizations and groups out there — these are just a few.

And if you can’t help with a financial donation, consider volunteering your time or talents.  Perhaps to local cancer patients — bringing a meal or knitting a chemo cap or scarf, or sending a cozy blanket are examples of ways to show your support.   I remember when a small box of craft supplies was left on my doorstep when I was first going through chemo — what a gift that was — my kids loved it and it kept them occupied for a little while when I was really ill!  Or consider volunteering (or providing non-financial support) at/for a local cancer center, hospital oncology floor, or for an organization that helps cancer patients and/or their families. [If you need help with finding a place to volunteer, etc in your area, please email me with your town/city name & I will do my best to help…].  There are many ways to show your support that don’t require $$.

—

And, of course, don’t forget to go for your regular mammograms and to feel your breasts when you can (and report any changes to your doctor) because doing these things IS important.  It — what I can loosely call a self-breast exam (but which was really just washing myself in the shower) — is how I found my own lumps, about 17 years before I was due for my first mammogram (according to the recommended screening age back in 2009).  If I had ignored my lumps and waited for that first screening mammogram, I can safely say I would have been long dead!  So please pay attention to your body and your breasts.  While the vast majority of lumps are benign, I still believe it’s always best to bring your breast changes to the attention of your doctor.  Thanks for reading…

I will leave you with a picture that I believe is my best advertisement for Breast Cancer Awareness Month:

Me -- 5 Days post bilateral mastectomy and complete ALND (Axillary Lymph Node Dissection)
Me — 5 Days post bilateral mastectomy and complete ALND (Axillary Lymph Node Dissection)

Side note:  The ACTUAL National No Bra Day is July 9th annually.  Someone had the great idea to do a braless day during October — Breast Cancer Awareness Month — to support “the cause.”  Adding insult to injury, the day they chose — October 13th — is actually the one day out of the whole year designated for Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness.  Sadly, I’ve seen far more No Bra Day awareness advertising circulating around the web than I have Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day info.

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And P.S. — because it seems that clarification is needed for some — this post is NOT about a woman’s choice to wear a bra or not wear a bra.  Those comments miss the boat completely.  And I do not need a lecture on the merits of going braless.  Wear a bra.  Don’t wear a bra.  That is your choice.  Just don’t choose to not wear a bra on one specific day and call it an effort to benefit breast cancer patients or to advance breast cancer research.  Raising BREAST AWARENESS you may be, but you are not “supporting BREAST CANCER” by leaving your bra at home.

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 10/10/13:  This post was written a year ago on National No Bra Day.  Please visit my latest Breast Cancer Awareness posts here (National No Bra Day: An Update) and here (Is It Really “All About the Titties” on National No Bra Day (a.k.a. Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day?). And thank you all for your support and amazing comments!

4 Months…

Oct10

So I saw my oncologist today for my 6-week check-up.  I was expecting it to be a nice little ‘here’s what’s happening’ and ‘goodbye & congrats’ session.  It pretty much was. I went through a rundown of my symptoms and she asked me questions and updated my profile in her computer.

Then she told me she had seen my abnormal EEG results and asked what my neurologist was doing as a ‘next step’.  I told her about the MRI I had at the end of last week and said that I had an appointment with the neurologist tomorrow and that I expected to discuss the results with her then.  Since my oncologist and neurologist share a hospital and a computer system, she was able to pull up a 1 sentence blurb taken from the full report.

It mentioned a brain lesion.  But I guess that could mean a few different things — and that it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a brain met (metastasis).  But thinking of this in the context of the abnormal EEG, my mind can’t help but “go there.”  For more detail, I’ll have to wait for tomorrow’s appointment.  I kind of wish she hadn’t brought it up.  But I’m sure she wanted to see what the preliminary report had to say at least.  You see, she was headed out on maternity leave after my appointment today and I won’t see her again until February.

So we finished the appointment with a quick exam and a discussion of who will be covering me and what her plans are for me during her leave.

I hugged her, told her (honestly) how happy I was for her, and handed her a card and a wrapped box containing a lovely little pink dress, a dress I had actually purchased for the baby girl I was hoping to have before all of this began.  Of course I did not share this last bit of information with her.  Nor did I not mention that she had become a part of my routine and that I am grateful for her role in killing my cancer.  And I certainly did not tell her that I will miss her while she was away.

And I did not mention the “what if” that crept into my consciousness as we hugged and I realized that I would not be seeing her for 1/3 of a year.  But I knew it was there.

I thought about a couple of women I had come to “know” through their posts about breast cancer.  They both learned that their cancers had returned a couple of months ago.  But they were still hopeful.

And now they are gone.  They died.  A few months ago they thought they were doing fine.  And mere weeks later, they are gone.

I wish I could say these lovely women were the first people I had heard of this happening to.  The first people who have had their cancers return or progress this quickly or aggressively.  But, sadly, I cannot.  Not at all.  You just never know with this disease.

I try not to think about the possibility of this happening in the context of my own life/death.  And most of the time I don’t.

But I am only human.  And at times like these, at times when I hear of sudden losses and the fragility of life hits me like a slap in the face, or when I can’t help but wonder if maybe that nagging pain or that headache that won’t go away is “something,” it is difficult not to let these thoughts creep in in the quiet space of a dark night.

As I walked out to schedule my next appointment, not with the oncologist I had come to trust and rely upon, but with one of her colleagues, I thought about how much could change in the 4 months she would be gone.

Of course a great deal will be changing for her.  She will be bringing a new life into this world, expanding her family, and doing and experiencing all of the things that are associated with that.

And I… Well, I will be trying not to die.

Happy Waving Guy

Oct4

Easter Cupcakes 2012

Coming home from an oncology appointment one day, we were driving down the busy main street of our town and I noticed a man walking by the road.  He kept a good pace and carried his head high.  He was tall and slender with a shiny bald head, but the first thing I noticed about him was his smile.  He bore a gigantic grin, one reminiscent of Alice’s Cheshire cat, and he waved to us as we drove past.  My return wave was a reflex.  I looked at my hand and could feel a smile pulling up the corners of my mouth.  Here I was waving at this strange man who was obviously a crackpot.  And I’m sure that I, waving and smiling with my shiny bald chemo head, looked like a bit of a crackpot, too.

The weeks went by, and after each appointment or long day of chemo, I looked for “Happy Waving Guy” (as I affectionately named him).  And I almost always saw him.  I began to wonder who this man was and if he spent his days walking back and forth down the road cheering up the passersby.  You see, it wasn’t just me he waved at.  It was EVERYONE.  Every car that passed along the busy road would get a smile and a wave.  And, to my surprise, it wasn’t just me who returned the wave.  It appeared that most everyone returned his wave or honked their horn or did something of that sort.

It came to be that I expected to see him after a crappy day at the Cancer Center  or the hospital.  I expected his smile and happy wave to give me a little lift.  So one day when I was terribly sick and felt like I couldn’t make it through one more treatment, we pulled into the parking lot “Happy Waving Guy” was walking by and I shouted to him.  I remember thinking, “Who’s the nutcase now?”  But I didn’t care.  I wanted to meet this man and to thank him.

He was so pleased that we stopped and that I was grateful for what he was doing.  He was out there every day, walking and waving and smiling, and trying to bring a bit of happiness to everyone who passed.  He wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t a crackpot.  He was a humanitarian.  He said that not everyone was as fond of his activity, but that the people who were made it worthwhile.

It has been 2 years now since I first met “Happy Waving Guy” a.k.a. Bill.  He continues to elicit smiles from many of the people who drive by him on his daily walks.  We keep in touch via email and he has shared a copy of his book with me and has even invited us into his home.

I believe it was one of my kids — they don’t hold anything back! — who asked him if he was always happy.  While I don’t recall his words exactly, his response went something to the tune of ‘if you act like you are happy, you may just get there’.  I know I’m paraphrasing and I may have it all wrong, but there is a lesson in there.  If you exude positive energy, some of it is bound to stick — or to come back to you, at least.

I try my best to live by this philosophy and recently read the post of another cancer patient who is trying to do the same, so I know I’m not alone in my desire to be happy despite the pitfalls of life on this slippery slope.  As I await the results of the MRI I just had, I am trying to be positive and have vowed to continue to do my best to see the joy in each day, come what may.  Of course having a positive attitude doesn’t always help or work, and some days I think the theory is a load of crap.  But most days I think it is certainly worth it to try.  At the very least, it doesn’t usually make things worse — and some days that’s good enough!

Cancer and Cockroaches

Sep23

So I have been having these dizzy/fainting spells and an episode or two that looked like seizures.  My neurologist wanted to do an MRI when I saw her last week, but I told her I didn’t think it was necessary.  So she opted for an EEG.

I had the EEG early Thursday morning.  It was pretty simple.  They scrubbed areas of my scalp and affixed leads.  Then they wrapped my head up with a gauze bandage to ensure that the leads wouldn’t move during the test.

I lay down in a hospital bed while they tested me with a strobe light, had me do a hyperventilation test, and then waited as I tried to fall asleep.

When I was finished, one of the technicians tried to wipe the blue gel out of my hair.  She told me that I could go to clean it out in the bathroom since my husband and son (home from school because he had a stomach bug) were coming to pick me up and we were going on to other appointments.  I opted to just skip the freshening up and walked out to the car to find my hair sticking up in places, with a visible sticky blue gel helping to create a familiar look for me–“the disheveled patient”.

The person conducting the EEG wished me good luck with everything and said the results would be forwarded to my neurologist next week and that she would likely call me after that.

I assumed the test results would be fine–and that I wouldn’t hear from my doctor until my next appointment with her in a couple of weeks.

But when I saw the hospital’s number in the Caller ID and then heard her message on Friday, I wondered how she had gotten the results so quickly.  She said that she had my results and that she would try to call again.  So I called her office, let her know that I would be home for the next hour (before heading to the cardiologist).  They didn’t expect her to get back to me that day since it was already late in the afternoon, so when she called back 10 minutes later, I was a bit concerned–though the bigger part of me still thought she would say everything was fine.

When the neurologist told me they found an abnormality on my EEG, it didn’t sink in right away.  She didn’t go into too much detail, but she said that they found “something” in my left temporal lobe.  Especially given my cancer history, it is troubling.  The concern is that the cancer has spread to my brain.  She said that she would order an MRI with contrast–and that I couldn’t object this time.

If this is metastasis to the brain, I will be so ticked off.  I made a deal with the cancer in the beginning.  Stay away from the brain and… well, I forget what the cancer was supposed to get out of the deal.  This arrangement reminded me of when I moved into my dorm room during my first semester at the University.  It was a school filled with many well-off kids (though I was there solely because of scholarships and students loans), so you can imagine my shock when I saw a couple of cockroaches emerge from my roommate’s television during that first week.  It wasn’t long before they took hold in the room.  I was dismayed, but made a “deal” with them.  “You can have the rest of the room, but stay off my bed and my desk,” I pleaded with them.

Things were going okay as I waited out the days until the exterminator was supposed to come to our dorm room.  Everything changed when I came home after a late night at the chemistry lab.  There they were on my desk, even on the phone, and darting through my photo frames.  It was ridiculous, but I was angry because the roaches had violated our agreement.  I called and requested that the exterminator come sooner and when that didn’t work, I actually moved to a new room where I never saw another roach.

I wish it were that simple with cancer…  That I could just move down the hall and never have to worry about it again…  Alas, it is not that simple.

Spread to the brain has been one of my biggest fears since my diagnosis 2 1/2 years ago.  I watched my grandmother die a painful death from brain cancer when I was a little girl and the experience scarred me for life.  She was one of the most special people in the world to me and she died when I was just 9 — a year older than my twin boys.

One of my biggest fears since that traumatic period in my youth was that I, too, would develop brain cancer and suffer the same fate as my grandmother.  Of course, if this is actually a tumor, it is likely a spread of my breast cancer and not a tumor that originated in the brain like my grandmother’s was presumed to be.  But the effects would be essentially the same, especially given it’s location in the left temporal lobe.  If my children have to watch me suffer in the way that my grandmother did, I think I would have to rethink my plan of fighting until the end.  I don’t think I could leave them with with the same images and experiences that have haunted me my entire life–because I know how it will end.

I hope it’s just a mistake and I hope I won’t have to worry about that…

 

*If you like this post, please visit this link & click “Boost” on my page. Thank you.  http://www.breastcancerblogs.org/blog/24423/cancer-in-my-thirties *

April 13, 2010 a.m. – Today is the Day

Jul11

I have my appointment at the breast center this morning.

My sons’ birthdays are tomorrow.  (They are twins.)  I am thinking about a dear friend who died 2 days before the boys’ first birthdays, so five years ago yesterday.  She treated me as a daughter throughout my awkward younger years and until her death.  Her actual daughter was one of my two very best friends, so she often shuffled us from here to there and picked us up from school when we needed a ride.  This was almost every day for a time because her daughter and I ‘stayed after’ for numerous clubs and activities and sometimes just for a chance encounter with the boy we both liked.  [I am smiling as I recall this last bit and how silly we were!]  She never complained about having me in her home or minivan so often.  She said she enjoyed talking to me.  And I felt the same way.  She became close friends with my mother—they were the same age and both warmhearted gardening Englishwomen with gardening English mothers who were displaced from their homelands.  We remained very close.  I even lived with her for a year when I left college.  Oddly enough, the first house I bought was a side-split almost identical to hers–and just around the corner from her–and was a place where she planted some of the lovely lilies she bred.

She was diagnosed with breast cancer in her 40’s.  She was forever changed by it.  And not in the good way people sometimes talk about, but in a way that makes my heart ache for her.  It was painful and traumatic.  And at her young age, isolating, I’m sure.

We should have been celebrating together at my sons’ first birthday party as planned that Saturday five years ago.  Instead, I was at her funeral.

I glanced at some of the silk ribbons hanging on the closet door on my way downstairs this morning.  She had earned the awards for her prize-winning rabbits.  I could hear myself asking her to help me handle whatever happened today.

April 9, 2010—Life is Like a Box of Chocolate Cupcakes

Jul6

My appointment is all set.  I have mixed emotions about it, but probably not for the reasons you are thinking.  The top and bottom of it?  I am quite fortunate to be seeing a doctor who founded an internationally recognized breast care center.  But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit concerned because I will be seeing the founder of an internationally recognized breast care center.

There are a number of doctors in the center, so why her?  Maybe I have misheard, but as I understand it, this world-renowned pioneer in the field of breast cancer detection doesn’t see just any random patient (unless there is “news” to deliver) because her schedule does not allow for it.  So I find my mind wandering as I ponder why she would see little old—well, “fairly young” me—someone with no family history or risk factors for breast cancer, and someone with NO health insurance.  Would I be paired with ‘the best of the best’ if this wasn’t something serious?  Or maybe she will be reviewing my mammogram because they need someone who can say with absolute certainty that what I’m dealing with is something benign?

It is hard to keep my mind from wandering to a dark place of ‘what-ifs’.  But I am “blessed” with the ability to second guess myself and to downplay the significance of things concerning my health, etc., so the ‘what-ifs’ quickly melt into thoughts about how everything is fine, how I will be wasting this important doctor’s time, and how the clinic I went to has gone to so much trouble to make arrangements with Cancer Services and with the breast care center—and how all of this is for naught.  I suppose that since this dismissal of my own symptoms will lead to less worrying and dwelling, I’ve found an upside to having lower than average self-esteem.  Ha-ha.

I will do my best to be patient.  I will be seeing her first thing on Tuesday morning.  Today is Friday…  It will be a long weekend, but my boys will keep me busy as we gear up for their birthdays on Wednesday.  They have some fun ideas for cakes they would like, so I’ll probably do a trial run to see what I can come up with for their party next weekend…

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a photo or two of some chocolate cupcakes I made for a fundraiser.  You can’t tell, but they were supersized (and very chocolaty).  I’ll admit that not all of them made it into the boxes!  Thanks for reading…

April 7, 2010 — Pink Bunny Cupcakes & Good Samaritans

Jul4

This Sunday we celebrated Easter.  I’ve often heard it referred to as a time of renewal.  I think I will remember Easter this year as a time when my faith in human beings was renewed.

On Monday I called to the breast center where I had the mammogram a few years ago and told them that I was having trouble getting a referral for my breast lumps.  My call was transferred until I reached a woman who told me that I could go to a local health clinic that helps uninsured and underinsured people receive basic medical care.  For just $5 – $15, I could receive a manual breast exam.  I immediately called and scheduled the appointment.

I just returned home after a whirlwind visit to the health clinic.  First off, I have to say that it is staffed by remarkable people.  They squeezed me in at the end of the day, so I was the only patient when I arrived.  With no wait, I was brought back to be examined.  It wasn’t long before I was told that I would need a diagnostic appointment at a breast center.

Sensing my concern, the nurse told me that they would find a way to help me with the fees.  Fortunately, there are programs to help women in need receive free mammograms.  Unfortunately, these programs don’t exist—at least in our area—for women under 40.

They told me not to worry, though, and said they would do what they could to help me get taken care of.  The rest of my appointment was spent signing papers and waiting as they assembled and faxed paperwork to a program—Cancer Services (formerly the Women’s Health Partnership)—that pays for diagnostic exams for uninsured men and women with (suspected?) breast, cervical or prostate cancer.  They said that because of my age, they would need to complete extra paperwork, affidavit(s), etc. and then get them sent over right away to make a plea for help with the diagnostic appointment.

It was after 5 p.m. and they were working collectively and without complaint to coordinate everything for me.  How surprising it was not to hear “call back tomorrow” or “we’re closed” or “we can’t help you”.  I didn’t even have to ask and here they were doing their best to rally for me.  So refreshing and heartwarming, especially after the past week.

When I left, they hugged me and said they would do their best to help get me in to the breast care center where I had been seen for my past lumps.  So now I wait…  But I am waiting with a renewed faith in the medical community—or at least in the volunteer medical community.

[Because I love baking and decorating cakes and cupcakes, I thought I would leave you with some photos of the cupcakes I brought to Easter at my sister’s on Sunday…  Thanks for reading…]

April 3, 2010 – They Don’t Have a Frequent Flier Card for This

Jul2

K & the Easter eggs

Companies and business with “loyalty programs” seem to abound these days.  Purchase 11 large pizzas and get your 12th for free.  Pay full price for 10 haircuts and get the 11th free.  Fill up your gas tank 5 times and get a discount off your 6th fill-up.  Fly x amount of miles and earn a free airline ticket.  Buy 12 donuts and get your 13th free.  These businesses are encouraging loyalty and rewarding you for your repeat business.  The concept makes a great deal of sense—both the business and the patron benefit.  I wish my gynecologist’s office worked the same way.

I’ve been looking for a way to get a screening at least partially covered.  I started with my OB/Gyn’s office.  They said they would charge me full price for an office visit and a breast exam.  I explained my insurance situation and explained that I had already had a manual breast exam less than a year ago and that this was for the same lumps, now larger.  It didn’t help.

So I asked if there was any way I could speak with my doctor and maybe just get a referral to have a mammogram or an ultrasound—I figured this would at least eliminate one charge.  She told me that I could not and said that I would have to come in for a breast exam before I could get a referral.  She  added that the facility where I would have those services performed would charge me a separate fee for their exam.

I assume that if I go in and spend a couple hundred dollars, I could hear the “You’re too young” explanation again, but judging by how much the lumps and my breast itself have grown, I believe I would be sent to the breast center.  Then I would also have the burden of paying for that (much more expensive) visit.  When I asked the office’s gatekeeper if she knew of any resources for obtaining assistance with diagnostic visits, she said there weren’t any the office was aware of.  I told her, ‘thanks anyway’ and said that I would pass on the office visit and on getting the manual breast exam because paying full price out of pocket would be too much for me.  She said okay and added a “Good luck to you.”  That was the end of the conversation.

I hung up, feeling defeated.  Now, it is not that I expected them to give me a free office visit.  I understand that the doctors need to be paid and that the facility has an electricity bill.  But I have been a loyal patient for a long time.  I had good insurance before, so it’s likely that my doctor and her staff have been fairly compensated for any services performed on me in the past.  I have been here many times over the years for my regular check-ups and for issues I’ve had along the way—like multiple bouts with mastitis while I was nursing.  And I was seen there and in the hospital quite a few times during my twin pregnancy—at least until the doctors collectively decided I was too ‘high risk’ to continue with their group and moved me over to the perinatology group at the hospital.  But after my babies were born, it was their office I faithfully returned to.

I have shared moments of joy and sadness, hugs and tears with my doctor.  I encouraged all of the women in my family to change gynecologists and move over to this practice, for goodness sakes!  I have been a very loyal patient.  Shouldn’t that count for something?  Though I don’t expect a free visit, I thought the office might offer some kind of discount or just refer me directly to the breast imaging center to save the expense of an office visit and manual breast exam.

After regrouping, I began calling organizations like Planned Parenthood.  They were friendly enough, but no one was able to assist me with getting a mammogram or ultrasound at a discounted rate.  Or with getting the referral I need so the breast center will see me.  There ARE programs out there to help, but not for someone “as young as me.”

I will still pursue this, but it is Saturday now, so it will have to wait until Monday.

In the meantime, today we are headed to an Easter egg hunt or two with my boys and with my sister, brother-in-law, and my niece and nephew.  This should be a nice distraction.  My little ones are so excited to spend the morning with their cousins.  I guess they aren’t exactly little ones anymore.  They are 5, so they aren’t that young, but since they are only in the 2nd and 3rd percentile for height and weight, they are still physically small.  But something tells me that even if they were 6’3”, they would still be my little boys.

I am looking forward to a special day with the kids.  But in the back of my mind I am concerned.  What will I do if this really is something?  And by something, I mean “the big C.”  Having no insurance makes you feel like a leper of sorts.  A leper with cancer, now who is going to take that on?  I’m trying not to get ahead of myself.  These are likely just benign lumps—statistically, they should be “nothing”, so I am probably okay.

But what if I’m not?  They don’t have a frequent flier card for this.  If my own doctor won’t work with me when I have a true medical problem, why would a doctor who doesn’t know me?

April 1, 2010 – Only One Pink Line

Jun29

My breast has been leaking fluid—now enough to wet the inside of my bra cup.  At first I wasn’t too alarmed, but the amount is increasing.  I did buy three more pregnancy tests from the dollar store, just to be sure.  I took the final test this morning.  When I saw only one pink line again, my heart sank.

If I’m not pregnant, there is definitely something wrong.  The fluid is translucent and pale yellow/brown.  If I squeeze my breast a little, more emerges.  There seems to be no end to it.  This can’t be normal.  Could it be an infection?  I know it’s not.  I’ve had plenty of antibiotics for bronchitis and sinus infections in the past year and they haven’t affected the breast at all.  And I have been feeling really ill and fatigued for months.  I’ve lost almost 15 pounds without changing my eating habits.  This can’t be good.

I’m scared now, but I haven’t told anyone what is going on.  Why haven’t I cared enough about myself to get this checked out again?  If this were happening to anyone else, I would say, “WTF (and I don’t swear… well, not that much anyway…), it is not nothing.  You are NOT too young.  Get yourself to a doctor.  I’ll take you right now.  The money is not important.”  Why haven’t I done this for myself?

Hopefully it is nothing and I’ll feel silly when this is all over with.

But I know it’s not nothing…

March 29, 2010 — I Wish “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant”

Jun28

For the past 6, 7, 8 months—I forget how long, exactly?—I’ve had this feeling that reminds me of when I breastfed my twins.  It is like the “let-down” feeling you experience when nursing.  I have been joking for months that I’m actually pregnant and just don’t know it and that I will end up on that show about women who are pregnant and don’t realize it until the babies pop out onto their shoe, or in their pants, or in the restroom at a fast food restaurant.  The breast feeling has been so consistent that I’ve actually taken multiple negative pregnancy tests.  But they have been negative for women on the show, too, so that’s no guarantee.

All kidding aside, I am becoming quite concerned about this unpleasant feeling.  In the past month or so (I’ve lost track of time, but I think it has been well over a month) it has become constant.  When you are nursing, you have a break from this tingly, consuming feeling.  But it is not letting up.  I feel it ALL of the time.  I think there is something wrong.  My gut tells me that giving birth to a surprise baby in my bathtub would be the best case scenario right now.

You may be asking why haven’t I been back to the doctor?  If you are, I applaud you.  This would be my first question to you.  It is a logical question and would have been my first step a couple of years ago.

So, why haven’t I been back to the doctor?

I don’t have health insurance.  After my husband was let go suddenly from the company he worked for for a decade, we lost the policy we had for years.  I was able to secure coverage for our 5 year old twins, but my husband and I have no coverage now.  I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our family financially, but I think it’s time for me to see a doctor…

March 25, 2010

Jun28

I’ve had these lumps in my left breast since last year.  They were small when I first felt them, but now they are not only much larger, but clearly visible when you look at my breast.  It has been so long since I actually felt my breast (I know, I know!  I’ll explain why in a minute) that I was shocked to feel how much bigger they had gotten.

It was last summer when I told my doctor about them.  She felt them, said that they “did not feel like cancer” or “like anything to worry about” and she sent me on my way.  She said that at my age, the likelihood that they were anything was remote.  Since I’d had lumps in the other breast a few years before and she had sent me for my first mammogram back then (at 29) and they had turned out to be benign, I didn’t push it.  After all, out of all the cancers in my family history, breast cancer was not on the list.

But as I put my shirt back on after my exam last summer, I heard the words, “This will come back to haunt you,” very clearly.  I heard them so clearly that it was as if someone was speaking the words to me.  But I did not listen.

This was when I stopped doing breast self exams.  Since these were not my first lumps and since the others had been evaluated and were benign, I figured that I obviously did not know what I was looking for.  If she could feel these new lumps and could identify them as nothing to worry about by touch alone, then I obviously didn’t know what I was feeling.  I decided that doing self exams would only alert me to more benign lumps and take more of my doctor’s time.  I felt silly even bringing these new lumps to the attention of my doctor last year.  I didn’t want to seem like a hypochondriac.  Women my age don’t develop breast cancer and I don’t have a family history.  At least that’s what I thought back then…

But now that the lumps are so much larger, I have a bad feeling.  And I’ve recently learned that women my age DO develop breast cancer and that a lack of family history DOES NOT make you immune.

Still, I waver between being concerned and thinking my concern is silly…

March 5, 2010

Jun28

Sweet Mattie

 

*Though today is June 28, 2012 and it has been more than two years since I received my breast cancer diagnosis, I believe the early days of this story are important, so I will do my best to recount them based on my notes.  Welcome…and thank you for reading…*   

 

So, today is the anniversary of Mattie’s death.  Mattie was my miniature schnauzer, my first baby, my closest confidant.  She was 10 ¾ and was with me most of my adult life.  Through jobs, four homes, births, deaths and everything in between, she was by my side.

I came home a year ago today and she wasn’t quite acting like herself.  And when I went into the bathroom, she lay on my feet and looked up at me.  Her gums were white–a sign of blood loss.  Her breathing quickly became labored and everything went downhill from there.  The rest of the night was a nightmare.  I called the vet, scooped her up, and we rushed off to the veterinary emergency hospital.  Almost $700 and just a few short hours later, I would walk out of the hospital not with my vibrant and beautiful dog panting in my arms, but with a small cardboard casket containing the body of my special girl.

Unbeknownst to me, Mattie had cancer.  Hemangiosarcoma, to be exact.  Her spleen had ruptured and she was bleeding to death.  Our only options were to let her die or consent to a  surgery costing thousands of dollars in which they would attempt to stop the bleeding and save her life temporarily so she could undergo chemo.  Before discovering this last chemo detail, I quickly said yes to the surgery, even though I knew that paying for her surgery (they required instant payment) would mean we would lose our home.  I had to try to save her.  It was only after I called my mother and told her what was happening that she encouraged me to ask whether the surgery would even save her life and what this cancer diagnosis would mean for her.

It was after this conversation that I asked what Mattie’s prognosis was.  The news wasn’t good.  She had a large tumor in/on her spleen.  Once these malignancies rupture, it is very difficult to control the bleeding.  They told me that they probably wouldn’t be able to save her because she had lost so much blood, and that if they did, she would require hospitalization and chemotherapy, likely for the remainder of her life.  Even with those measures, she would only have a month, at best.  I was shocked and devastated.  Did I want them to attempt the surgery and bankrupt our family so that she might have a chance to survive and be put through terrible cancer treatments until she succumbed to the disease?  Or did I want to let her continue to bleed to death until she was gone that night?  Or did I want to euthanize her and end her pain?

It was one of the worst decisions I had ever faced.  Horrible options, no happy ending.  After questioning them repeatedly about her chances for survival and about her prognosis if, by some miracle, she made it through the surgery, I made a decision.  With a heavy heart, I told them that I would let them put her to sleep.  They brought her out to me.  She was clearly suffering.  She was too weak to lift her head or to bark, her favorite pastime.  I knew she didn’t have much time even if I didn’t choose to put her down.

They told me to say my goodbyes.  I told my little boys that Mattie was very sick.  They asked if she was going to die and I said, ‘yes’.  They were just 4 years old, but they knew that Cancer was bad, and they knew that when you were very sick, you could die. I was unclear as to what their understanding of death was at the time, but I thought it was important for them to be able to say goodbye to her.  I didn’t want them to look back one day and wonder why I hadn’t let them see the special family member they had spent their whole lives with before she died.  I also thought it was important for Mattie to hear their voices and know that they were there with her.

After lots of hugging and tears and “I love you’s”, I asked my husband to take the boys out so they wouldn’t be there for her last moments.  They had wrapped Mattie in blankets and said that she would likely urinate and defecate when she died, so I might want to position her accordingly.  Through tears I said that this was the last thing on my mind and I held her close so she could feel my warmth.  They injected the medications into her and I was filled with a sense of panic.  I told her how much I loved her and how I would always be with her and how sorry I was that I couldn’t have saved her from cancer or from death.  It was horrible.  I told her it was okay to go and that I didn’t want her to suffer anymore.  She went peacefully and I sat, shaking and sobbing.  I had tried desperately to hold it all in until she was gone so I wouldn’t scare her.  I was successful at waiting, but when I let the emotions go, it was overwhelming.

As I carried her cardboard casket into the house that night, I could barely make it through the door before I set it down and removed the lid.  I lay down next to the box on one of the two blankets she had been wrapped in when they euthanized her.  I stroked her soft white fur and told her how sorry I was and cried until I couldn’t cry any more.  I felt like a shell of the self I had been that morning.  I felt as though I had lost myself and that I’d never be whole again.  Even a year later, I still can’t believe she is gone.  Or that she died in such a sudden and unforgiving way.

I still remember that night with such pain and sadness and guilt.  It was not the first time I had lost I someone I loved desperately to cancer.  And I knew it wouldn’t be the last.  I hated the disease.  I hated cancer.

And, at 32 years old, I had it growing inside of me, too.  I just didn’t know it yet.*

[*And, to be fair, I still didn’t know it for sure on March 5, 2010]

Yep, I’m a Cancer Patient

Jun26

As you’ve probably assumed from the title of my blog, I am a cancer patient.  I first found the lumps when I was 33.  I was diagnosed exactly a month after my 34th birthday.

It sounds so simple when I say it like this.  But this experience has been anything but simple.

I know there people out there who have faced cancer and who have claimed that they were grateful for the disease.  I’ve even heard it referred to as “a blessing” by a select few.

I will tell you right now that I will never be one of those people.  Ever.  From my first real encounter with the disease (as a child watching her grandmother suffer and waste away from brain cancer), I knew that I hated cancer and that I could never see it as a blessing.

That being said, I cannot say that facing my own cancer and dealing with the aftermath of my diagnosis has been all bad.  Yes, the disease itself and the treatments, side effects, surgeries, fear, complications, etc. have been pretty awful.   I could downplay how rotten these things have been, and I certainly have done this plenty in my “real life” to make it seem like I’m fine and like it hasn’t been as bad as it has at times.  But I won’t do that here.  I don’t think trivializing these elements of my experience will do anyone any good, so I will do my best to be honest with you.

What I mean by “not all bad” is that I know there are amazing people I have met or gotten to know better and experiences I have had that I wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t heard those horrible words two years ago.  And that my children are better AND worse off because of my diagnosis.  Better because they have been embraced by people who love them and who will be there for them if I happen to not be here one day.  And worse because, well, having a mother with cancer is really crappy for a kid on so many levels.  And because they might have to bury me when they are still children — and there’s just no way to put a positive spin on that one.

One day I will tell you about some of the incredible people who’ve touched my life along the way.  About the amazing people who have rallied around me (and my boys) when we’ve needed support.  About the friendships that have been strengthened by cancer, and the relationships that didn’t survive.  About my sons’ best preschool friend and his parents, who went above and beyond for us.  About my children’s kindergarten teachers and a classroom full of parents who showed up on my doorstep with dinner for my kids or who took them to Chuck E. Cheese when I was too sick from chemo to do it myself.  About a school and a school district that came together to make sure my “little” ones had presents under the Christmas tree and that we never ran out of toilet paper when I was struggling to manage these things on my own.  And about nurses who’ve been my caretakers and my friends.  And people who made me feel like I’m not alone despite what could easily be an extremely isolating and lonely experience.

I will also tell you about tragic losses.  And despair.  And fear.  And sleepless nights.  And hot flashes.  And night sweats.  And dreams shattered.  And about how this disease has changed me.  About doctors who have been wonderful.  And doctors who have failed me.  I will tell you about my treatments.  About serious infections.  About what it’s like to be a young woman who takes pills that suck the hormones out of her body.  About what it is like to lose almost all of the parts that make you female by the age of 35.  And what this does to your body and your self-esteem.    About where the cancer was.  About how I found it.  And why it took months for me to have that crucial mammogram.

And one day I will tell you about my life “before” cancer.  About the people who helped to shape me.  About my family and my oldest, dearest friends.  About the things that made me “me” before this disease.  About the things that still make me “me.”

And so much more…

This is my story, for better or worse.  I plan to make it an honest account of what it is like to be given a life-threatening diagnosis at an age when your own death shouldn’t feel so imminent.

At the time of this first writing, I feel that I have so much left to share with my children and so much more to teach them.  So, more than anything, what you are reading is meant to provide a written record of my life for my children and a way for me to help them know and remember me and our story if, one day, I am not here to share in their lives.  But a part of me hopes it will be more than that and that maybe it will bring someone who is going through something similar a sense of comfort or a bit of virtual support.  Or that maybe it will serve as a cautionary tale and that someone, somewhere might pick up the phone and schedule that appointment they’ve been putting off.

For whatever reason you are here, I am grateful that you are.  Thanks so much for reading…