Weekly Photo Challenge: In The Background

Taken from The Daily Post’s Challenge Page — “In the Background: The places that we pass through day after day, or even once in a lifetime, leave in their small way, echoes and traces of themselves upon us. But so often when taking self portraits or pictures of friends, the places themselves become a soft blurred mush of indistinct semi-nothingness, the limelight stolen by our smiling faces. In today’s challenge, let’s turn the tables.” 

For The Daily Post’s Photo Challenge this week, Pick asked that we take a photograph of ourselves or someone else as the lesser part of a scene, making the background or foreground the center of attention.

This may not have been exactly what he had in mind, but here are my photos:

The first image came about because I was taking a photo of the boys whilst sitting on a large rocking bench swing at the park yesterday.  My little mini doxie was positioned strategically in my lap.  Until she decided she wanted to be a part of the photo.  The original image captured just the top of her head and her eyebrows.  So I repositioned her (against her will!) to shoot this picture.

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Nobody puts Ginger in the Corner

I told the boys I would take individual photos of them, so I was in the midst of photographing W (in the tie-dye shirt) when M decided it was his turn to be in the limelight.  So he jumped in front of the camera in what I think was a rapper pose?

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I’m calling this one “Yo Mama” because that’s what came out of my sweet little boy’s mouth when he popped up in front of the camera!

And this last one has nothing to do with the theme.  I just thought I would show you how silly my kids are.  They crack me up often.  Since I like to think I am hilariously funny, I can only assume they get their wit and comedic timing from me.   😉

I’m just going to call this photo “Yikes,” for obvious reasons.  I haven’t a clue as to where they’ve seen a pose like this before!  [Mental Note:  Fix the lock on my bedroom door!]

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Thanks for visiting!  If you’d like to participate in the challenge, just click here:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/05/24/weekly-photo-challenge-in-the-background/

Palliative Care at 30-Something : What Does it Mean? (Part II)

This is a long overdue post, so I will have to backdate it…  I’ve actually been back two times since!

Photo Credit: pcdsys.com

Photo Credit: pcdsys.com

See Part I here.

Part II:  [April 13, 2013]

First Visit:

So I had my first visit with Palliative Care a few days ago. This Palliative Care department has been touted as a great group. They are located in the Cancer Center at the largest and most lauded hospital in our region, so I had high hopes.  I was both nervous and excited about the appointment because I had also heard the director of the department speak at a breast cancer conference a year or so ago.  It was a refreshing talk and I figured that if everyone shared his attitude, this was going to be an informative appointment at the very least.  And, at most, it could change my life in some way.

It got off to a slow start.  The specialist took a good look at my medical record — every last bit of it is available through the hospital’s online database.  Then he asked a series of questions to ascertain what my life quality is like these days.  We discussed the ‘why’ behind my oncologist’s referral.  He did a physical exam and then talked with me about a treatment plan.

Before you read on, I will let you in a little secret.  I used to be what my past doctors referred to as “medication non-compliant.”  I did not (do not) like to take drugs — especially painkillers — unless I REALLY needed to.  And I would just go off pills just because I didn’t want to take them anymore [despite those yellow and black warning labels that said scary things like, “Do not discontinue abruptly,” or “Do not skip a dose of this medication.  Serious complications could occur.”]  I may have pretended to be a good patient, but I was not.

This newsflash may be a little/lot surprising when you look at the list of medications I am currently — and dutifully — taking.  Since the two hospitals and the independent cancer center I go to all share the same electronic charting database (e-Record), a complete list of all of my meds is available in my virtual chart.  And every time I sit down with any of my doctors, that list of meds is reviewed and I am asked if I am taking everything as prescribed and a box is ticked to indicate my answer for each. There is nowhere to hide.  And they print this list for me every time I walk out the door, so it’s easy for me to just whip it out to count the number of prescriptions I’m on.

The back corner of my kitchen counter...

The back corner of my kitchen counter…

21.  I just counted 21 different prescriptions.  That is a lot of pill bottles for someone who doesn’t like to take drugs. And a lot of pill bottles to open a few times per day. But life has changed in every way in the past three years.  Taking pills I don’t want to take is just par for the course. But I still haven’t given in to the painkillers entirely.  I say that I take them as prescribed.  But I don’t.  And I’m sure my oncologist has figured that out.  If I took the percocet as prescribed, the 180 pills she writes for each month would only be enough to get me through 2 weeks.  But somehow I always manage to stretch them all the way to our next visit… I’m sure she’s noticed that.

So when I decided that I would be completely honest and tell these doctors what I actually take, I figured it would be a painful appointment. But it wasn’t. Dr. H thought that continuing with the Percocet (Oxycodone) I finally surrendered to taking two summers ago was a good plan.  But he said that it would be important for me to begin taking the dose actually prescribed. He also said that rather than waiting until the last possible moment to take a dose, I should be on a regular schedule of every 4-6 hours.  The premise is that keeping your pain under control is a much healthier way to live than chasing the pain and poorly managing it.  It is apparently much easier to keep pain under control than it is to get it under control. But I knew all this from the countless times it had been explained to me in appointments, after surgeries, in the hospitals, etc.  This was just the first time I was really prepared to listen.

Dr. H also asked that we increase my Neurontin (Gabapentin) prescription from 300 mg to 600 mg per dose. 3 times per day and at bedtime.  This would help with my nerve pain and issues (left over from Taxol chemotherapy and a left-sided radical mastectomy — I did have both breasts removed, but the mastectomy on the right side was far less invasive).  It might also help with the hot flashes and energy-sucking night sweats I have been experiencing since an emergency hysterectomy / salpingo-oopherectomy last year at the age of 35. Dr. H said that we would do this for a few weeks until I had adjusted and then we could increase.  He also said that when I returned, we would discuss the addition of methadone or morphine to the schedule.

Whoa.  What was that?  Methadone or morphine?  Really?  From what I’ve heard of this group, it’s difficult to get drugs out of them, so I have to say that hearing this was a bit of a shocker.  Dr. H stepped out to get the Director of the group.  I figured Dr. Q would set the record straight and take the morphine and methadone off the table.  I mean, I am 30-something years old, I shouldn’t be preparing for a life on these drugs, right?

Photo Credit: Stinkin-Thinkin.com

Photo Credit: Stinkin-Thinkin.com

Then my doctor’s boss came in, reviewed my chart, and gave his take on what the treatment plan would be.  It matched up identically.  Even the morphine/methadone part.  They seem to feel it is time for this and that there is no point in suffering needlessly anymore.  That was a sobering thing to hear.  I will have to do some research for next time because all I know of methadone has to do with recovering heroin addicts lining up to get their methadone so they can cope with the drug withdrawal. I’m hoping they have something a little different in mind for me?!

In the meantime, I am going to work on getting on the prescribed schedule and on being a decent patient!  Something tells me that I may have to add a column with my name to the sticker chart I keep to help the boys behave.  Maybe if I take all my meds as prescribed I can get a Hot Wheels car, too!

Weekly Photo Challenge: Escape = The Sea

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It is safe to say that the Weekly Photo Challenge topic for this week called my name.

ESCAPE means different things for different people.  But if you know me — either through this blog or in “real life” — you know that my favorite escape is almost always water-related.

Here are my photos for this week (all taken during a holiday in Puerto Rico):

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As always, thank you for visiting.  And if you’d like to participate in the challenge, just click here:

The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenges

Harmonic Convergence

A really important read…

The Sarcastic Boob

When the planets align in the breast cancer universe things get interesting.  It has been an unprecedented four-five weeks.  The first planet to get into position was that of oral arguments delivered to the Supreme Court of the United States on the legality of the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office’s practice of granting patents on human genes.  The next two planets to align were the publication of Peggy Orenstein’s game changing New York Times article “Our Feel-Good War on Breast Cancer” and the news that Nancy G. Brinker™ received a 64% pay raise.  The fourth planet to line up was the announcement that a Reader’s Digest poll named Brinker™ one of America’s most trusted celebrities (a list that includes Pat Sayjak, Clarence Thomas, and Rachel Ray).  The fifth planet to assume its position was the death of breast cancer advocate Barbara Brenner.  And the sixth and final planet–with rings and…

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Mistaken for the Bride of Frankenstein — Part II

[May 6, 2013]

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So I had the Mohs Microsurgery / Chemosurgery last Tuesday morning.  I was grateful for all of the kind comments on Mistaken for the Bride of Frankenstein and Skin Cancer, Too?  Really?!  You really gave me the courage to face another surgery and another type of cancer.  Of course this surgery was nothing compared to the others and this cancer was just a bump in the road, but I think I would have continued to push this surgery out even further if it weren’t for all of you.

I have been meaning to post about what the experience was like, but it was such a difficult week that I just couldn’t manage it.  And then I thought the Frank and Nancy post was much more important. I will begin with what has happened to my face since the surgery.  Quite simply, my face has swollen beyond recognition.  I wish I were exaggerating.  On a positive note, they say it will get better — but that it will take a week or two to do so.  I’ll take it — I’m just glad this won’t be permanent!  And so are the kids, who looked horrified when they saw me this morning and told me that it was getting worse! Back to the procedure.

As you know, I was quite nervous about this one!  Fortunately, my lovely friend jme was here and she not only made me feel better about going, but she got the boys ready for school so we could leave at 7:40 a.m. for the hospital.

H (husband) dropped me off in the hospital loop and I made my way up to the Mohs Surgery Department.  I haven’t mentioned it before (this is another post I haven’t gotten to!), but we have had a photojournalism student (Jennifer) following us around for the past couple of months to document our lives as a family dealing with the effects of cancer.  Jennifer met me just outside the doors and began taking photos as I walked to the check-in desk and made my way to the waiting area. H met us in the waiting area about 10 minutes later.  He promptly found a magazine and took a seat.  When they came to collect me to prep me for the surgery and asked if I would like to bring someone back with me for this part since I had skipped out of the pre-op / question-answering appointment, H didn’t look up from his magazine.  Apparently, reading about the life and times of Billie Joe (Green Day’s frontman) was more riveting than what was about to happen to my face and asking questions about the cancer growing on my forehead.  Normally this wouldn’t bother me.  But this morning it did because I was so unenthusiastic about the surgery that I think I was visibly shaken.  So when Jennifer asked if she could follow me back, I did not object.

We were taken to a large, bright room with a special chair — it looked like one of the birthing chairs from Star Trek: The Next Generation — positioned in its center.  Jennifer asked the nurse if she would be allowed to take photographs, so the nurse left to see if the surgeon would allow this.  When she came back with an “okay” for photographing everything but the surgery, the prep began.

A second nurse arrived, and after asking me some questions and cleaning my forehead, they began injecting my forehead to anesthetize the area. After massaging the anesthetic in, waiting, and testing the area to see if it was truly numb, the nurses left to get the surgeon.

When Dr. B arrived, he discussed the procedure, used a black marker to outline the area he’d be cutting, and described what my scar would look like. Then he asked if I had any questions.  At jme’s urging, I asked if he could make my scar look like Harry Potter’s.  He smiled, said yes, and walked out, promising to return when my prep was finished. After he left, the nurses draped my head with sterile cloths, rechecked the numbness of the area, and asked Jennifer to leave.

When Dr. B returned, he looked at my online chart and said that he thought it was safe to say that I had been through a lot.  So he then assured me that he would do his best to get as much as he could in the first round so he wouldn’t have to put me through anything more than necessary.  I thanked him and then tried to go to my happy place as I felt the cold instruments touch my head. I’m not sure how much time passed before he said that he needed the cautery.  I asked if I had forgotten to mention that I was on blood thinners.  Yes, I had.  I could smell burning flesh.

Then he continued, and cauterized more because I continued to bleed. And eventually he was done.  He cauterized some more, and then they put a pressure bandage on my head, and escorted me to the waiting area so we could see if he had taken enough to get clean margins.

While I waited, my surgeon, who is uniquely qualified to double as a pathologist, looked at slides of the tissue he had taken to determine whether he was able to get clean margins. As I waited, before and after my surgery, I watched as a nurse came to the waiting area to tell several other patients their results.  My surgeon had managed to get clean margins for each of them.

As I read an issue of Coastal Living, I couldn’t help but notice that I was the youngest patient in the packed waiting room.  By far.  I think I could safely say that most of the people there were double my age.  This fact wasn’t lost on Dr. B, either.  He told me that it is not uncommon for people to develop skin cancer.  It’s just fairly unusual to develop it at my age.

Now it was my turn to get my results.  I was told that he had also gotten clean margins for me.

The nurses brought me back to the surgical room.  They asked Jennifer not to follow. They whipped out the needles to numb me again.  When this was done, Dr. B came back in, reiterated that he had managed to get clean margins around the cancer.  Then they draped me with blue sterile cloths again.  And Dr. B undid my pressure bandage and began cauterizing me again.  Then he started to stitch me up.

When he was through, he apologized for everything I was going through and wished me well.  He told me that I had a much higher risk of developing future skin cancers and asked me to schedule a full skin check in 6 months.  He said that I would always need to do this now and that I would need to be more vigilant about checking myself and being protected in the sun.  I neglected to tell him that being more vigilant would require staying indoors entirely, even in our grey city.

After he walked out, one of the nurses asked if I’d like to see it.  Of course I did!

She handed me the mirror and “That’s big!” was the first thing I said.  Dr. B could have made a nice Harry Potter scar and it would have been the same length!  The nurses reassured me that it wouldn’t be that noticeable one day and they wrapped me up with a pressure bandage and went over the care instructions.

It wasn’t long before I was finished and had an appointment scheduled to remove my stitches in a week (tomorrow).  I was there about 5 hours, but it didn’t feel like it.  It really wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated.  And I am glad that I did it.

Or at least I was until the swelling began.  It began to appear on Day 3.  By that evening I was so swollen that even H thought I should call the surgeon’s office after hours.  When I did, they gave me a few instructions and scheduled me to come back to the hospital in the morning.

At the hospital I was told that the swelling was a result of an excessive amount of bleeding.  My surgeon said this was pretty unusual.  He seemed to feel that my “young” age and skin were partially to blame.  He said that it would get worse before it would get better and that it would soon look bruised (and give me a set of black eyes).  Lovely!

Weekly Photo Challenge: From Above

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The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge for this week asks participants to take a photo or photos from above.

Here are my selections, taken from a trip to Hawaii that feels as though it was a lifetime ago now!

I hope you enjoy viewing them as much as I enjoyed taking them…Okay, half as much (it was Hawaii, after all!)

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If you’d like to participate in the challenge, just click on the link below.

Weekly Photo Challenge: From Above

And, as always, thank you for visiting!

Pirate Treasure and Minecraft TNT

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Every year, my twin sons choose a something they’d each like me to capture in a cake.  This year, W chose a pirate treasure chest and M chose a block of TNT from Minecraft (a video game).

I’d love to share the cakes with you — along with just a handful of my favorite memories from their birthday parties (a kid party for 17 of their closest friends! and a family party)…

I’m hoping that a birthday party post will be coming soon?…

Until then, thanks for visiting!

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Brinker Stinker: A Reminder of What Susan G. Komen is Not About . . .

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This blogging thing can sometimes feel like a burden. It seems that I never know how to begin or finish a post anymore. I want to write, probably need to write, and most definitely I feel a responsibility to write. Especially when it has been the kind of week this past week has been in the breast cancer community.

In the past week, two of my friends have had cancer return and a third friend, who has been living with metastatic breast cancer for some time, is now dealing with very severe health problems due to her treatment (to put it mildly, she is in a great deal of pain). This is part of the world of breast cancer. It is not the pink bowed version of things that the Susan G. Komen Foundation sells (mammograms and early detection equal a cure, etc.). Well, clearly mammograms and early detection do…

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An Update on Frank and Nancy

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Do you remember Man of Science, Man of Faith, a story about my friends Frank and Nancy?

Frank was diagnosed with a recurrence of his cancer last month.  He was given 3 months to live.

It hasn’t been a month yet.

Three weeks ago, Frank and Nancy were still kind of hopeful.  Even I am not quite sure what I mean by this.  Maybe just that they believed Frank had some good time left and that he would surpass the three month expiration date he’d been given?

Exactly three weeks ago (a couple of days after learning about Frank’s updated diagnosis), I stood in my kitchen chopping vegetables and browning chicken for homemade chicken soup.  I was making it for Frank.   When the people I care about are sick and I feel helpless, I am compelled to make chicken soup and bring food.  I certainly felt helpless when I heard about Frank’s stomach metastasis, so out came the big soup pot.

A few hours later, when the soup was finished and packaged in big, blue glass bowls, I walked next door to Frank and Nancy’s house.  I dragged my husband along so he could deliver the large bag of organic fruits and vegetables I had picked up at the grocery store for Frank and Nancy.

I knew that Nancy would understand my response to her husband’s illness.  I knew this because she has showed up on my doorstep with food a number of times since my diagnosis.

Nancy accepted the big red bag full of produce.  But she did not want me to leave the soup.  She said that three families from her church had dropped off three different kinds of soup that weekend.

I insisted that Nancy keep the soup.  I said that they didn’t need to eat it, but that I had made it just for them, so they could freeze it or toss it, but I wanted them to have it.  I needed them to accept it.  I’m usually not this forceful, so I surprised myself with my insistence.  But they had to take it, for my sake, because I had to help in some small way.

A couple of hours later, Nancy called me to tell me that she hadn’t wanted to say anything, but Frank was only eating soft foods.  She said that he had tried the other soups but couldn’t eat them (or didn’t want to).  She told me that he tried mine and enjoyed it, including the soft vegetables and mushrooms it contained.  She said that he had even managed to finish a bowl.  She was so happy that she had to call.  And I was so touched that I felt a hard lump develop in my throat.

So two weeks ago when Nancy said that the soup was gone and she asked me to make more, I was delighted.  I was just getting over pneumonia and was so tired that it took me most of the day (with rests in between!), but I was honored that Nancy had asked.

This time I decided to roast a whole chicken.  I stood in the kitchen dressing the chicken, thinking about poor Frank and Nancy.  As I placed rosemary sprigs and a freshly cut lemon into the chicken, I recalled that day two summers ago.  Nancy had arranged a surprise 50th birthday party for Frank.  As I rubbed the herbed butter I had just made onto the chicken and under it’s breast skin, I remember how excited Nancy was.  She wanted everything to be perfect.

Nancy even went so far as to plan the party in a large and lovely space in the new town hall building — in another town a half hour away.  She didn’t want him to suspect.  She told Frank that the party he was going to was a graduation party for a girl they knew.

I was now chopping vegetables, placing them in the roasting pan beneath the chicken, and dousing them with olive oil and salt and pepper.

When Frank walked into the party room, we were all there.  His closest family and friends.  Nancy had even flown Frank’s brother and sister in from out of state.  So when he walked in and saw the fake graduation girl and noticed his own friends and family behind her, I think he was just as shocked as when everyone shouted “Surprise!”

I opened the oven and slid the roasting pan in.  It was time to start working on the soup now.

Frank was clearly surprised.  So surprised and touched that he wept.  Frank is a very tall man, so to see this tall man with a commanding presence stop in his tracks and begin crying was a moving sight.

I filled a large pot with water, chicken stock and salt and pepper, and I began washing and chopping more vegetables.

It was a great day filled with smiling and laughter.  Genuine happiness.  Nancy had done a beautiful thing for Frank.  Though she didn’t have a lot of money to spend, she made the party seem like she had a large budget to work with.  She worked hard on this day and she asked people to pitch in where they could.  She knew it was an important day.

It would come to be more important than she ever could have realized.

I gently dropped vegetables into the pot and added a touch of olive oil and seasoning to the stock.  Soon I would take the golden brown chicken from the oven and add juicy chunks of chicken and tender, roasted vegetables to the stockpot.  And then I would walk next door to Frank and Nancy’s house with my pot and with the hope that Frank would be able to eat my humble offering.

That was two weeks ago.

One week ago, Nancy said that Frank was now only able to drink the broth.

And things got progressively worse this week.  I remember hearing the distress in Nancy’s voice whenever we talked.  She was tired from worry and from caring for Frank around the clock.

And when Frank and Nancy’s son came over in need of a ride to school on a couple of the mornings (because he had missed the bus so he could help his mom take care of his dad), he was noticeably quiet.

Nancy was having trouble keeping Frank hydrated.  She was using a syringe to wet his lips and mouth.  I took Pedialyte popsicles over so she could melt them down and replenish some of his electrolytes.  But we knew they wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

Despite her vigilance, Frank had also developed a bedsore.  Nancy said that the nurses had’t been caring for it, so I took a special cream over that would help to soothe it and form a barrier.  But I was afraid that it would get infected and I knew that it must be causing pain.

Early Thursday morning, the phone rang when it was still dark outside.  It was Nancy.  She said that Frank was unresponsive and that he had wet himself.  I tried to conceal how upset I was to hear this, but it was no use.  I talked to Nancy for a little while and told her I would bring some adult diapers over.  They had given me these when I was hospitalized for my hysterectomy last year and had been hemorrhaging and pads were not enough.  I was sad when I realized that I had no idea back then that they would be going to Frank.

Frank came around again that morning and was able to talk to Nancy and his kids, but I knew that these things were signs that he would be gone soon.  My guess was that day.  Frank and Nancy’s son came over for a ride to school after he helped his mom clean and diaper his dad.  He was visibly shaken.  It was heartbreaking.  He is a good kid and a good son.  I was upset that he had to experience this.  His prom was the next night and instead of worrying about what kind of corsage to get his date like his friends, he was worrying about losing his father to cancer.

The day went on and night came.  At 2 a.m., the phone rang.  I knew it was Nancy.  I picked up the phone and heard a small voice on the other end.  It was Nancy telling me that Frank had just passed.  She sounded both upset and relieved.  His pain had ended and his suffering was over.

Cancer claimed another life.

Frank was just 51.  He is survived by his loving wife, son, daughter, brand new (5-month-old) granddaughter, and a large group of friends and family who loved him.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Culture

The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge topic for this week is Culture.

These photos miss the mark a bit, but I like them just the same.  I hope you don’t mind!  They were taken in Old San Juan and San Juan, Puerto Rico on my bucket list adventure.

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Travel Theme: Light

As you probably know, this has been a rough week. So in lieu of writing about everything that’s happened tonight, I’m going to keep it “light” — pun intended — and just do a couple of photo challenge posts.

This post marks my first response to Where’s My Backpack’s weekly travel challenges.  If you haven’t visited wheresmybackpack.com, I urge you to take a look.  Ailsa’s blog is a treat to visit.

Without further ado, here is my photo selection:
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These photos were taken in Puerto Rico on our last night — it was a night filled with happy memories of the kids, so I especially love these photos.
Thanks for visiting!

Mistaken for the Bride of Frankenstein

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Photo Credit: frankensteinhalloweencostume.com

You may recall a post I wrote last month about skin cancer and learning that I have been growing said cancer on my forehead: Skin Cancer, Too?  Really?!

Well, despite my attempts to delay the surgery I need to (hopefully) eliminate this cancer, the day of this unpleasant event is now upon me.

In a few short hours I will be headed to the hospital for chemosurgery / Mohs micrographic surgery with our area’s only chemosurgeon.

And I am biting my nails.  They’ve told me that I should plan to be there for anywhere from half the day to the entire day.  They won’t know how long until the surgery is underway and they can see how extensive the cancer is — and what will be required to close the area up.

Apparently I am supposed to be comforted by the fact that my surgeon is excellent at doing reconstruction and skin grafts.  Let me assure you that I am not.  I would rather have not known that he may need to exercise these talents with me.

I don’t know why I am so concerned about this surgery.  I’ve had more than my fair share of surgeries and procedures.  And most of them were far more invasive than what I expect this one to be.  I’ve been cut into so many times that if I lifted my shirt, you might mistake me for the bride of Frankenstein.

So this shouldn’t be a big deal in comparison, right?  (Well, that’s what I’m telling myself at least.)

And it’s for a good cause.  I am actively growing cancer on my head — I can see it growing from week to week — so I should want to get rid of it.

But I am still scared.

Maybe it’s because I’m a bleeder?  And I’m on a blood-thinning regimen.  Just the biopsies required to get this diagnosis were a clear sign that bleeding will be an issue for me.

Maybe it’s because they’ll have a scalpel touching my head and I don’t yet know how deep they’ll have to cut?

Maybe it’s because I’ll be awake and I’d much rather be asleep?

Or maybe it’s just because I am so tired of cancer and side effects and surgeries and procedures and my body is weathered and worn out.  And I just want to feel like a regular thirty-something-year-old with regular thirty-something-year-old problems.

Or maybe it’s just because no one likes surgery — big or small — and I am only human.  (Of course if I lift my shirt, you may think otherwise!)

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Photo Credit: mubi.com

Weekly Photo Challenge: Up

The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge topic for this week is “UP.”

These photos were taken during a Fall trip to visit my dear friend Jin.  We traveled through NYC on the way home — the perfect place for “UP” photos.
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If you’d like to take part in a challenge yourself, just click on one of the links below.

~Thanks for visiting!~

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

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/04/19/weekly-photo-challenge-up-2/

my suns blog

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image

[A Title & Post Written by My Son, M — all by himself!]

My mom has cancer.shes bin acting really tired.but I understand because she

has cancer.

I like watching movies with her and all that…

AND I love  going on vacation too.

my favorite place to go

 is florida.

sometimes I want my mom to play video games with me but she says shes to tired to play.I miss the old days.  🙂

And Tonight We Danced…

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breast cancer thirties 30s 30's cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com dancing kids twins

Tonight we danced…
You and you and I…
***
We danced in the living room, between chairs
and beneath shiny blue paper stars and an off-white sky
***
Some days I wonder when it will all end
Some nights I lie awake knowing it can’t last
And fearing the day when you will no longer have a Mom
***
But for now, for tonight,
You are mine
And I am yours
***
For tonight your giggles will echo as you step on my toes
And we will dance and twirl ’til our heart’s content
You and you and I…

Guest Post by Susan Vento, Wife of the Late Bruce Vento

Hello Loyal Readers,

I hope you will all take a moment to read the story below — and then go one step further and sign the petition that follows.

When Susan Vento, wife of the late Bruce Vento, a former U.S. House Representative, contacted me to ask for help with this important campaign, I had to take a few minutes out of my day to sign the petition and post her story.

I hope you will also take the time to read her moving story and sign the petition.

Thank you all — I am so fortunate to be a part of such a wonderful & supportive blogging community.

———

My name is Susan Vento, and I am writing to you about a cause that is very close to my heart. On October 10th 2000 my husband, Bruce Vento, passed away. He was serving as a congressman for the state of Minnesota when he was diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma, a very rare cancer that is caused by asbestos exposure and kills 90-95% of its victims. Please read my post below to learn more about my personal story.

I Support Victims’ Rights: My Family’s Fight Against Cancer & Unfair Legislation

It was on a Saturday––January 29th, 2000 to be exact––that mesothelioma entered our lives. “Asbestos,” they told us, the name of the killer that would eventually take my husband’s life nine months later.

Like any story, I would like to start at the beginning because only then can you understand the meaning of the ending. My husband, Bruce, grew up on St. Paul’s East Side, the second of eight children in a second generation Italian-German family. He attended the University of Wisconsin-River Falls, working construction to put himself through college. He then went on to teach junior-high science in the Minneapolis Public School system and later was elected to the Minnesota House of Representatives in 1970, representing East Side St. Paul families. In 1976, he was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives from Minnesota’s Fourth Congressional District, where he served his constituents in the Fourth District up until his death, just barely 60.

He and I first met while Bruce was lobbying in Washington D.C. in 1980. Four years later, I started doing volunteer work in support of his re-election campaigns. Like Bruce, I was an educator, and I believed in his impact. He supported working men and women, our public schools, and those who are poor and homeless, those who do not typically have a voice in the political process. Little did I know that our love story would start in those campaign rooms, working together for a future we both believed in.

Our first date wasn’t until mid-April of 1995, where he took me out to a comedy club. I was 40 at the time, and hadn’t been dating much because I was more focused on work than anything personal in my life. It sparked the start of my life’s great love, one that I thought would last a lifetime.

In early January of 2000, Bruce left on a Congressional trip to Europe. Each night he called to check in, he kept talking about a shortness of breath and lower back pain. The morning after he returned to Washington, D.C., he went to the House physician, who immediately had him go to the hospital nearby.  They drew a significant amount of fluid from Bruce’s lung for testing.  The following afternoon, he received the call: he had lung cancer. I met him at the airport here in the Twin Cities that night, and we spent the weekend having the conversations you have when you’ve received news like this.  Bruce and I had his sons and their spouses over to share the news with them, and then we went to tell his parents––a most difficult conversation.

The following week, we went to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. After testing, Bruce’s doctor shared with us that he had mesothelioma. It was caused by asbestos exposure, which happened during Bruce’s construction work back in college. We had never heard of this disease let alone knew how to spell it. While the doctors took Bruce for additional tests, I spent a couple of hours in the hospital library, desperately searching for any kind of information I could find on this vicious cancer. Little was available at the time, so I came up with less information than I had hoped.

It was on Valentines Day that the surgeons removed Bruce’s lung, half of his diaphragm, and lymph nodes. When the toxicology reports came back, we found out that the cancer had spread to his lymph nodes. In April, he began several rounds of chemotherapy, followed by five weeks of radiation. All the while, Bruce continued serving his people from Washington. He never stopped fighting for that cause, that same vision that brought us together.

Since Bruce’s death, I have been a part of several efforts both in Washington as well as here in Minnesota to advocate for patients and their families. Too often, the corporate interests hold court and control the outcomes on much of the legislation being enacted, especially when it comes to issues like asbestos and mesothelioma. The opportunity to share Bruce’s story has been both healing and empowering. So many only know the word “mesothelioma” from the late-night cable advertisements and have not yet experienced it in their own lives.

I’ve met so many patients and families and have learned so much from their experiences. The “small world” connections have been stunning––Bruce’s nurse during his radiation was diagnosed with mesothelioma after his death and later died. My former teaching partner’s father died of mesothelioma, as did a former staff member from my elementary school.  The candidate who challenged Bruce in his last three, successful re-election bids for the U.S. House was diagnosed following Bruce’s death and died a few months after.

I’m doing this to honor Bruce’s legacy as well as to do what I can to help other patients and families protect their legal and constitutional rights. The Asbestos Cancer Victims’ Rights Campaign (ACVRC) is committed to providing a voice for patients and their families as Congress debates and makes decisions regarding legislation that would seriously erode our rights. While awareness and information surrounding mesothelioma has improved in the last thirteen years, we need to continue raising our voices. Starting with signing our petition, I encourage you to join our effort in whatever way you can.  With your help, we can take a stand. Together, we can work towards building a better tomorrow and truly make a lasting difference.

___________

There is something YOU can do to help. Recently, asbestos companies have been using their political influence to introduce a new bill. It is called the “Furthering Asbestos Claim Transparency Act” (FACT Act), and it will delay, and in some cases, deny justice and badly needed compensation to people suffering from asbestos-related diseases. I am a spokesperson for the Asbestos Cancer Victims’ Rights Campaign (www.cancervictimsrights.org). The ACVRC is a national campaign dedicated to protecting the rights of cancer victims and their families.  I hope that you will join our fight to defeat this unfair legislation. Here are a couple of simple steps you can take to make a difference:

1.    Sign the petition to stop legislation that threatens cancer victims!

Go to www.CancerVictimsRights.org/take-action/sign-the-petition/ and follow the instructions to sign the petition at the bottom of the page.

2.    Spread the word!

Share your thoughts on our cause and the protection of cancer victims’ rights with your blog audience. Place a link to our petition on your blog to allow your readers to sign and showcase their public support – every signature matters!

Thank you so much! Together we can truly make a difference!

Weekly Photo Challenge: Change

This week’s Daily Post Photo Challenge topic is change.  

There are few days as representative of change in a woman’s life as her wedding day.  These photos are from my lovely sister’s wedding.

 

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's wedding young bride

The Beautiful Bride & Groom

 

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's wedding young

A rainy wedding day… Two of my sisters & me…

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's wedding young

The Wedding Cake

 

As always, thank you for visiting.

If you would like to participate in a photo challenge, just click one of the links below:   

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/04/12/weekly-photo-challenge-change/

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

Daily Post: The Satisfaction of a List — Things I’m Afraid I Won’t Get to Do Before I Die

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My Boys

The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt for today is: The Satisfaction of a List.
You are asked to make a list, any list, and share it with your readers.

Though I don’t usually manage to churn out responses to the Daily Writing Challenges, this one caught my eye because I am a lister and I love lists.

The list I’m sharing with you:

20 45 Things I’m Afraid I Won’t Get to Do Before I Die:

  1. Watch my kids go off to Fourth Grade
  2. Put my toes in the ocean again
  3. Dance with my sons at their weddings in 15 years or so
  4. Have my overdue eye exam — and get stylish new glasses
  5. Hold a new baby
  6. Be my youngest sister’s matron of honor (she’s 20)
  7. Get a new puppy
  8. Hold my grandchildren
  9. Finish the next season of The Walking Dead
  10. See Mumford & Sons in concert
  11. Have the option to opt out of going to my 10-year college reunion (because I don’t feel like going, not because I’m dead)
  12. Visit my family’s homeland (England/Scotland)
  13. Celebrate my sons’ 10th birthdays
  14. Publish my novel
  15. Finish writing said novel
  16. Publish a children’s book
  17. Use my teaching degree
  18. See some of my dearest friends again — jme, Jin, Loren, Sue, Sheri, Gil
  19. Make it to another winter (and I hate winter)
  20. Watch my children graduate from (and start!) high school
  21. See the love of my life again
  22. Experience what it’s like to have hormones again (or go a day without being hot and drenched from night/day sweats one minute and then shivering cold the next)
  23. Shed tears as I pack my kids up for college
  24. Shed tears as I wave my kids off to middle school
  25. See my mother happy
  26. Get divorced
  27. Be with someone who truly cares for me & who will miss me when I’m gone
  28. Listen to a lot more music
  29. Learn to play piano
  30. Live a day where money doesn’t keep me from doing the things I want to do for my kids
  31. Travel more
  32. Start a new job
  33. Hear that there is a cure/vaccine for cancer
  34. Show my kids the world
  35. Fall asleep snuggled next to my kids and my dogs more
  36. Experience a pain-free day
  37. Remember what it’s like to have energy
  38. To stress out about doing next year’s taxes
  39. Turn 40
  40. Turn 50
  41. Turn 60
  42. Turn 70
  43. Grow old
  44. To let go of everything that is holding me back…
  45. To say that I truly lived — and mean it…

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s young bilateral mastectomy death loss grief

If you’d like to respond to a Daily Post Daily Prompt, just click one of the links below.

The Daily Post

The Daily Post: Satisfaction of a List

Man of Science, Man of Faith

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's faith science church cat scan belief death

If you were a Lost fan and saw every episode (as I did), you might recall an episode titled “Man of Science, Man of Faith,” (S2, E1).

It was the first episode of season 2 and the episode where Jack, a surgeon, meets his future wife.  She is brought into the E.R. after a devastating car accident that leaves her paralyzed.  Jack plans to operate but tells her that the possibility of regaining function is almost nonexistent.  Jack’s father, a senior surgeon, witnesses this exchange and chastises his son for squelching his patient’s hope.  Jack barks that her spine is crushed and that any hope he’d be giving her would be false hope.  He performs the surgery to the best of his ability, but she is so damaged that he believes she is still paralyzed and that he was unable to fix her.  When he goes back to apologize and tell her she will never have feeling below her waist, she begins wiggling her toes.  Jack, who was previously only a man of science, realizes that science and faith merged to create a miracle.

My friend Nancy has known about my cancer since the beginning.  She watched me barely make it through harsh chemos.  She visited when I was giving myself daily injections of Neupogen as my white blood cell counts plummeted.  She came to say goodbye on the eves of major surgeries.  She brought dinners over to feed my children when I had I.V. bags full of fluid running into the Powerport in my chest and was vomiting so much that I could barely hold my head up.

She watched me spiral downward into a deep well of cancer.  And then she watched me slowly claw my way up to the surface again.

And somewhere in the midst of this, she came to my door with both fear and hope in her eyes.  She told me that her husband, Frank, had something show up on his CAT scan.

I knew that Frank’s hadn’t been feeling well.  I knew that he didn’t look well.  And when I last saw him, the yellow tint in his eyes did not go unnoticed.

She said that he was scheduled for surgery, but that God was good and that he would be fine.

As you may have guessed, Nancy is very religious and is outwardly so.  She has no qualms about sharing her beliefs.

Nor does she have any trouble with telling others to have hope and faith.  She has done this with me many times since my diagnosis.  She has even gone so far as to tell me in a roundabout way that when I am not doing well, it is because I am not trusting in God and not being faithful enough.

It is always a difficult thing for me to hear, especially during the times when I have felt my worst.  I’d be lying if I said the idea that I am responsible for the cancer for any reason is a tough pill to swallow.

But I listen and nod my head because I know Nancy is not saying these things to hurt my feelings.  I know she says them because her faith is so strong that she can’t see these situations from any other angle.

Frank’s surgery revealed a small tumor.  It was malignant.  They also found a small amount of cancer in one lymph node.  The good news was that the surgeon managed to get clean margins.

I was noticeably concerned, but Nancy reminded me that God is good and that the cancer was small and her husband would be fine.

Frank is a doctor and a man of the cloth.  Frank is both a man of science and a man of faith.  Usually.

When Frank started chemo, Nancy did her best to make healthy foods that Frank could tolerate.  She took care of him and they prayed together regularly.  They both had faith that everything would be fine.

Frank had a really difficult time with chemo and eventually decided that he’d had enough because it was making him so sick.  They repeated his scans and everything looked good.  So they both said “God is good” and made the decision to stop the chemo.  Frank was so sick from the chemo that he and Nancy thought it wasn’t worth continuing, especially when his scans were good and he had God protecting him.

I was reeling over this decision.  I insisted that Frank should continue to pray, but that he should also consider finishing the chemo.  I repeated that he would be horribly sick during chemo, but that he would feel better when it ended.  I said that it would be worth it in the end because it would give him the best shot at life.  I pleaded with them then — and many times since.

But they insisted that they were going to let God take care of it.  He didn’t need the harsh chemo.  He just needed to be faithful.

So time passed.  His scans were still good.  I insisted that he go back and finish, though.  But my friends told me that it wasn’t worth the side effects and that God was healing him.

And then he didn’t feel well.  He was having trouble eating.  He didn’t look good.  He was losing weight.

A few weeks later, Nancy said Frank had collapsed and they were going to the hospital for dehydration.  It was the second time in a month.

I suggested that she look into home I.V. hydration so he could avoid these hospital stays.  And I also pleaded with her to reconsider the chemo decision.  She said that it wasn’t open for discussion.  Frank did not want to get sicker with chemo and she wasn’t going to push it.  She still insisted that he would be fine.

He had to go back into the hospital last week.  Again for dehydration.  But this time the scan revealed something.  But she didn’t tell me about it.

She called tonight during dinner.  She asked about the times when I had home hydration because the hospital was giving her a hard time.  They told her that he would need to enroll in hospice and sign a DNR before they would start home I.V. hydration and was this what I had to do?

I told her that it wasn’t at all.  I signed a few forms at the Cancer Center and then a few more when the delivery truck and my nurse showed up at the door.  But it wasn’t hospice related.  And there was no DNR to sign.

The conversation haunted me.  Then I learned that Frank was no longer going upstairs.  Nancy was giving him sponge baths in the living room.  And a hospital bed had just been delivered.

I was sick to my stomach because I had been through this with loved ones before and I knew what it meant.

Nancy said that the latest scan revealed that the cancer had metastasized to his stomach.  That he has 3 months to live.  3 months.

They are scared.  And rightfully so.

And my heart aches for them because I love them both and I don’t want this disease to take Nancy’s husband.

I do believe in God and I do believe in the power of prayer.  But I also believe that modern medicine exists for a reason.

I  wish they could have found a way to balance medicine and faith.  I wish he had finished the chemo.  And I’m sure they do, too.

 

Palliative Care at 30-Something. What Does it Mean?

Palliative Care Integration Model cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's death dying hospice

Palliative Care Integration Model
Image Credit: University of Alabama School of Medicine

If you’re like me (until fairly recently, anyway), when you hear the words “Palliative Care,” you think HOSPICE.

Hospice is a scary word in the cancer world.  At least that’s been my experience.  In Cancerland, nothing comes after hospice.  That’s it.  Game over.

So when you are a 30-something-year-old and you hear your oncologist tell you that she wants you to see a Palliative Care specialist, your heart might skip a beat.  I know mine did.

For me, I think it is because I was there as my grandparents went through cancer and treatments and eventually ended up on their deathbeds.  I was there when hospice began for them.  And the fact that the start of hospice coincided with the start of their palliative care was not lost on me.  So it’s only natural for me to associate one with the other, right?

Things were different years ago.  My grandmother suffered with her shiny bald head marked with surgery scars and radiation tattoos and burns from the treatment for her brain cancer.  She suffered with no relief until her poor shiny, wounded head lost its luster.  She suffered until hospice started.

The hospice folks came into her home, set up a hospital bed in the dining room, and they began her palliative care, finally, with some heavy duty drugs.  But she suffered until that point.  And even afterward because the pain control wasn’t great.  It was almost a relief when she slipped into a coma and finally died because it was so painful to watch her suffer and to hear her moan in her sleep when we knew that all hope was lost.

My grandfather’s scenario was different.  I’ve blocked out the length of time he actually suffered with lung cancer.  I was there, so I should know.  But it is too difficult to remember how long the cancer actually took to kill him.

What was different about his experience?  When he was ready for hospice, they didn’t come to us.  We moved him to a hospice.  This was where his palliative care began.

But it only lasted for a day.  We moved him to the lovely hospice home, they started him on morphine and gave me special swabs to keep his cracked lips moist.  The volunteers were warm and comforting and did their best to keep my grandfather pain free.  He died that night.

So it’s likely that my ideas about palliative care and hospice are rooted in my experiences.  I learned that palliative care was end-of-life care. But this is not true.  At least not anymore. So what is it, exactly?

From the Cancer Center’s brochure:  

Palliative Care is medical care focused on relief of the pain, symptoms and stress of serious illness.  The goal is to help people live comfortably and to provide the best possible quality of life for patients.

Patients struggling with the uncertainty of serious illness need comprehensive care and support.  They need to know they aren’t alone.

What Can You Expect from Palliative Care?

  • Relief from distressing symptoms such as pain, shortness of breath, fatigue, loss of appetite, difficulty sleeping
  • Improved ability to carry on with your life
  • Improved ability to tolerate medical treatment
  • Better understanding of your medical condition and medical choices

***

Doesn’t sound so bad.  Sounds good, actually.  So I’m far less apprehensive (and maybe a little excited?) about my appointment at 8:30 this morning.  And I feel pretty lucky to be going to the Cancer Center at the best hospital in our area to meet with a specialist on their team.  Of course I’d feel luckier to not be 30-something and in need of their services, but I’ll take what I can get at this point.

I will let you know how it goes…  Though Percocet (Oxycodone) has been a faithful friend for a long while now, I’m hoping there might be something that works a little/lot better — and that’s less liver toxic — in my future.

We shall see…  Good night…

Weekly Photo Challenge: Color

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s color weekly photo challenge daily post

I love The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge theme for this week — Color.

Though you’d never surmise it from my clothing (my wardrobe consists primarily of 3 hues (if you can call them that!) — brown, grey and black)), I love color.

I have a difficult time imagining a world without it.  I have often thought that of all the senses to lose, I would likely miss sight the most.  Of course losing the ability to taste during chemo made me question the theory I developed during my dismal ‘what if’ game.  But, in the end, I reverted to my original thought — that it would be more upsetting to live in a world without color.

Its presence lift our spirits.  Its absence brings us down.  It is powerful and beautiful.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s color weekly photo challenge daily post
As always, thank you for visiting.

If you would like to participate in this week’s photo challenge, please click on one of the links below:

Weekly Photo Challenge: Color

The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenges

Weekly Photo Challenge: A Day in My Life

Though this wasn’t compiled in time for The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge last week, I did pull together the images for this purpose, so I will post with this title:

Weekly Photo Challenge: A Day in My Life — School Break

I hope you enjoy the photos.  And I hope those of you with children home on winter break are managing / enjoying the time!

Thanks for visiting, always!

The Night I Lied to You

farm barn sepia breast cancer thirties 30s memories

 

Alright, technically I didn’t lie.  But I may as well have.

Do you remember that night?  It had been a muggy summer day.  But when you pulled up in your car at dusk, it was as if the humidity was sucked from the air, leaving a perfect July night in its wake.

I met you downstairs and we got in your car and drove.  And drove.  For hours with no destination in mind. I don’t think the destination was as important as the distance we put between your little car and our ‘real’ lives.

Into the city, out to the outlying rural towns.  On highways and country roads.  As the mixed tapes we made for each hummed in the background, we talked and talked.  We always talked like this, soaking up each and every drop of our time together.  It was as if we had never spoken before and had to learn everything about each other in one night.  And it was like this every time.

We drove into the starry night.  The music played on with professions of love and stories about loss and visions of star-crossed lovers escaping into the night together.

That is what we were.  Star-crossed lovers, you and I.

We drove through so many little towns that night, asking so many questions of one another.  We were playful and serious, thoughtful and direct.

A casual observer would think we held nothing back when we talked.  But we held the most important thing back.  You knew it.  I knew it.  We both knew that we both knew it.

But tonight was different.  I knew it would be different when we drove through that farm town.  We had already made our way through a handful that looked just the same.  But this place was different. As we drove down that dark road, your headlights piercing the darkness, raindrops began to fall.  We had just been talking about what you would do if you found out I was getting married.  Would you show up and tell me not to go through with it and ask me to run away with you?  Or would you watch me give my life to another?  Or would you stay away?

Though thoughts of marriage were far from my mind, of course I knew the wedding you were talking about was to your former best friend.  A guy who didn’t treat me very well.  A guy who you no longer seemed to care for.  Yet, he was the guy I was seeing.  He was away now.  Gone for a month on vacation with his parents.

And I had time to think about where my life was headed.  I was only 21.  I was independent and strong.  Bright and educated.  I was moving up the ranks at work, making a name for myself.  I had just gotten another raise.  I could have had a bright future ahead of me, but I was considering a move from the apartment I shared with a roommate to a place with the guy who didn’t treat me so well (we’ll use an acronym for him going forward — GWDTMSW).

And you and I were here, in your car, feeling as though we couldn’t get our timing right.  You were seeing someone or I was seeing someone.  Or both.  But we loved each other and had no trouble expressing our feelings in lengthy letters over the years.

But out of respect for GWDTMSW, we danced around the giant pink elephant in the car.  In fact, out of the corner of my eye I could see that pink elephant waving at me from the backseat.  But I ignored him.

And we drove.  Into a little micro-climate in this small town.  A fleeting rainstorm.  Heavy drops of fresh rain pelted the car as you told me it would be too much for you to bear.  You could never sit back and watch me marry another.  You would let me make my decision, but if it wasn’t you standing up there taking my hand, you would not be there.  I gulped as I considered the prospect.

The heavy rain gave way to a sprinkle.  And just then, this desolate country road was filled with frogs.  Little bits of green hopped in front of the car.  There were hundreds of them.  They extended as far as the reach of your headlights.

I made you stop the car immediately, lest we not squash a single one. It was an incredible sight.  Magical, really.

I jumped out of the car to scoop one up, just as I would have when I was 8 years old.  I was filled with glee as I held that slimy little friend in my hand.  And you were grinning, too.   Happy that I was happy.

I forget how long we waited for the frogs to clear.  Shooing them to the edge of the road was slow but rewarding work.  You inched your way through the thinning crowd and I walked ahead and kept clearing.  We lost some of Kermit’s brethren along the way, but the losses were unavoidable.

Afterward, we reluctantly decided to drive back to my apartment in the city.  We both knew the night would end when we reached my driveway.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s memories

It still took time.  These were the days before GPS and we only vaguely knew where we were.  And we traveled roads neither of us had traveled before.

But I felt more found than lost.

We found our way together.  As we pulled up to that disheveled former mansion turned apartment building, you asked if I wanted to take a walk.   The area was divided into two parts.  Bad and good.  My apartment was a few hundred feet from the invisible divider.  On the bad side.  So we abandoned the car and made our way to the ‘good’ side.

We walked on the tree-lined streets, each dotted with lovely cottage-likes homes and large historic mansions made of stone or plaster.   We walked close enough for our arms to brush against each other occasionally.  You made a comment about how the people in their cars were probably wondering why you weren’t holding my hand.  And you said that you would if I would let you.  But I didn’t.  I wanted to, but I couldn’t.  Because I was loyal to GWDTMSW.

As we came up on East Avenue again, you stopped and turned to me.  And this was where you asked me to marry you.  You knew I was the one.  You had been in love with me for years.  And I loved you, too.  I knew you were the love of my life.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's memories

I remember my response as though it were yesterday.  “Yes, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”

What kind of response is that to a marriage proposal?  It is the kind of response you give when you know that something or someone will get in the way.  It is the kind of response you give when you don’t want to lie, despite how much you’d like to simply say, “Yes.” It is the kind of response you give when the bad things you have experienced in your life have so warped you that you are afraid to just choose happiness.

We continued on our stroll.  Dawn would be breaking soon.

——–

Happy Easter and Happy Passover

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's Easter

I know I have been M.I.A. lately and I have a lot of catching up to do — replying to comments, visiting my favorite blogs, etc.  So I will say hello again by wishing you all a very happy Easter or Passover.  Warmest wishes to you and yours — and I will be visiting your blogs again soon!

I’ll leave you with some Easter photos…  You may remember the pink bunny cupcakes from one of my original posts: Pink Bunny Cupcakes and Good Samaritans.  And the new photos are of the boys hunting for Easter eggs in the living room this afternoon.

Cheers!

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's Easter

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's Easter egg hunt

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's Easter

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's Easter

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's Easter

Easter Cupcakes 2012

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's Easter

K & the Easter eggs

This story (which you may have already read here) was written in response to The Green’s Study’s “Worst Job I Ever Had” Contest.
I am grateful to Michelle at The Green Study for awarding me an Honorable Mention (including a donation made in my name to The Red Cross, a lovely mug, postcard, and a feature spot on her blog today). I am honored that she could look past its disturbing nature and thought it worthy of a prize! 🙂
Be sure to check out the other winning entries — along with Michelle’s blog (TheGreenStudy.com) — it’s terrific! Thanks!

The Green Study

canstockphoto4598050An Honorable Mention from The Green Study “Worst Job I Ever Had” contest goes toLeisha at cancerinmythirties for a job where the Ick Factor seemed age inappropriate.

She was sent one The Green Study Coffee Mug, a cheesy postcard from Minneapolis and I made a $25 donation to her local Red Cross chapter.

The Worst Job I Ever Had — OR — A Hairy Guy & an Old White House

by Leisha at cancerinmythirties

I was eleven years old.  I’ll give you a minute to picture an eleven-year old. At 11, you are just a kid.  So much to learn.  So many mistakes to make.  You still need someone to look after you.

But we needed the money. So I placed an ad in the newspaper:

Summer Babysitter/Mother’s Helper:  Responsible 11-year-old girl available to care for your child(ren).  CPR-certified.  3 years experience.  References. Light housekeeping/cooking if needed.

I received…

View original post 676 more words

Weekly Photo Challenge: Lunchtime — It’s My Birthday

My entry for The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge topic, Lunchtime, is a celebration of the lovely desserts I received for my birthday last week.  While my lunch fare included more than sugary goodness, I am focusing on the best part of the meal here.

I hope you enjoy my photo tribute to the birthday goodies — and flowers — I received from some of my favorite people!

If you would like to participate in a photo challenge:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/03/15/photo-challenge-lunchtime/

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

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Skin Cancer Too? Really?!

Photo Credit: nation.com.pk

So the week before last I had some biopsies done.  I had postponed this followup visit to the dermatologist for, oh, about a year and a half.  Yep, I know.  But I’m sure you get it.

The previous two visits had ended with biopsies, some rather large and deep.  The results were mixed — some of my sacrificed moles were fine, others had pre-cancerous cells.

When my first 6-month followup came around, I canceled because, well, I was tired.  I had just finished radiation and was getting weekly infusions of Herceptin that my body wasn’t reacting well to.  And I was spending plenty of time at the hospital and Cancer Center. I just couldn’t deal with one more thing.  Then I just never bothered to reschedule.

So last month I finally picked up the phone and called.  Fast forward to my appointment.  They did a quick once-over, saw some areas of concern, and then scheduled me to come in for biopsies the following week.  I reluctantly but dutifully returned and got a bit nervous when there were two doctors, a nurse, and a tray of scalpels in the room.

It was less involved than it had been on previous occasions.  I was on my side when they took the mole that was on the fringe of my chest radiation field.  After cutting it out, the doctor stitched it up quickly, but I could feel the blood dripping down my back.  They scrambled to get it cleaned up as I mentioned that I was on aspirin therapy so I was a bleeder.

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Photo Credit: dermnetnz.org

They then moved to the lesion on my forehead.  This was the one that had concerned me for months.  It didn’t look like much, but every time I washed my face, even gently, it bled.  I thought this was odd and it was really what had inspired me to schedule the appointment.  The three doctors I saw the first week agreed and mumbled something to each other about act-something keratosis turning into cancer.  And then the two new doctors on biopsy day were mumbling the same thing to each other after looking at it with their special little scope-y things.  The the one turned to me and said it was likely actinic keratosis that became cancer, but I didn’t pay much attention.  I couldn’t have skin cancer, too.

When they got to my head, the numbing needles didn’t really do their job.  Thankfully it didn’t take too long.  But they couldn’t stop the bleeding.  Pressure wasn’t working, so the nurse passed aluminum nitrate (I thought they used to use silver nitrate?) to the doctors and they were finally able to stop it.  They taped me up and sent me home with an appointment card to have my stitches removed and receive my results in a week (last week).

I returned last week and was told that the area on my head is skin cancer.  They said that I would need to schedule my surgery with the Mohs or chemosurgeon at the hospital.  They asked me to head over there to schedule it in person.  Since I had the biopsies done at the hospital, this meant walking across the hall to the Mohs surgery department and the sole surgeon in our area who is trained to perform this type of surgery.

But that was still too long a walk for me at that moment, so I skipped out and went home.  I still haven’t scheduled the surgery.

I try to avoid feeling sorry for myself or dwelling on things that I can’t change.  But, really?  I mean it sounds like this one isn’t that big a deal, especially in comparison to the breast cancer, but I was a bit incredulous when they first told me.

I began wondering about statistics.  “What are the chances of having been diagnosed with two distinct types of cancer before the age of 37?”  I consulted the internet and still don’t know because I was sidetracked by the search results.  Turns out that it is not really understood why someone in this age bracket would develop one cancer, let alone two.

Well, I’ll just have to do my best to avoid a third.

P.S. Please do something for me.  Schedule a skin cancer screening — it’s quick and easy.  And you aren’t too young!

*** I am very sorry to say that a couple of months after I wrote this post, my little sister was diagnosed with MELANOMA, the deadliest form of skin cancer.  So I’d like to reiterate the “p.s.” above.  If you notice something that isn’t normal for you, be it a breast change, an odd-looking mole, or some other concerning symptom, please get it checked out.  It’s important, you are important, and you are not too young for cancer.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Lost in the Details

The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge topic for this week is: Lost in the Details.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s hydrangea flowers blue

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s hydrangea flowers blue

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s corning museum of glass lost in the details young

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s corning museum of glass lost in the details young

To participate in this week’s photo challenge, please visit:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/03/01/weekly-photo-challenge-lost-in-the-details/

or

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

Thanks for visiting!

Iced Coffee for a Quarter! — OR — Why I Haven’t Slept in a Week

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's iced coffee burger king young freebies hot deals

photocredit: firstcoastnews.com

Of course I’m trying to be humorous with my title — the coffee isn’t the reason why I haven’t slept, but it hasn’t helped!  It’s too good — and cheap! — to resist!

To get your 25 cent iced coffee, just visit a participating Burger King (I think most are participating — I’ve only found 1 in our area that isn’t).  Ask if they have the small iced coffees for a quarter.  If so, choose from these flavors — unflavored, mocha, vanilla or caramel.  (The ad says no flavors included, but my BKs have given flavors every time without question.)

http://www.bk.com/en/us/fresh-offers/index.html

As far as I can tell, there is no quantity limit.  To test this — and to get a bigger cup of coffee — we’ve ordered 4 at a time.  That’s $1 for 4 iced coffees!

All of the flavors are pretty good.  I would recommend mocha — I think it’s delicious, smooth and creamy, kind of like a cold hot chocolate.  But for a quarter each, you can try them all!

Now through March 10th.

Enjoy!

Weekly Photo Challenge: Forward — Boys at the Beach

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's beach kids forward

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's beach kids forward young

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's beach kids forward young

If you would like to participate in The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/02/22/forward/

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

Thanks for visiting!

The Worst Job I Ever Had — Or — A Hairy Guy and an Old White House

*Written in response to The Green Study’s “Worst Job I Ever Had” contest.  If you’d like to enter, just follow the link to her post.  Thanks for reading!*

—–

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's worst job ever young mastectomy

Photo Credit: HowardOwens.com

I was eleven years old.  I’ll give you a minute to picture an eleven-year old.

At 11, you are just a kid.  So much to learn.  So many mistakes to make.  You still need someone to look after you.

But we needed the money.

So I placed an ad in the newspaper:

Summer Babysitter/Mother’s Helper:  Responsible 11-year-old girl available to care for your child(ren).  CPR-certified.  3 years experience.  References. Light housekeeping/cooking if needed. 

I received a number of calls.  I’m not sure that all of the men who called actually had children.  But that’s another story!

Anyway, I had been babysitting for my younger sister for years and had branched out to babysitting for friends, neighbors, friends of friends/neighbors since turning 8.  Think about that for a minute.  I have eight-year-olds.  Two of them, in fact.  And I cannot picture leaving them alone for 20 minutes.  I cannot picture them cooking.  Or cleaning.  Or caring for other people’s children!

But I did all of these things at the tender age of 8.  So, by 11, I was an old pro.

Of all the calls I received, the most appealing came from a woman who said she’d need me Saturdays and most weekdays and that I could start that Saturday.

Why was it the most appealing?

1.)  I could walk to the house.  We did not have a car, so proximity was important.

2.)  She had a two-month-old son — and I loved babies.

So I said yes.  And I walked there on Saturday morning, arriving early because I was a very responsible eleven-year-old.

But I was not prepared for what I would find or for what this job would be.

I had passed the house many times on the school bus.  It was a weathered old white house in poor repair.  The lawn was littered with bits and pieces from at least a few vehicles.  And there, in the long gravel driveway, was a run-down old truck with a skull and crossbones bumper sticker on the back window and a pair of panties hanging on the rear-view mirror.

But I was not one to judge.  I grew up quite poor.  Owning an old white house and a run-down old pick-up truck (with or without the panties) would have been a dream come true for us.

When I knocked on the front door that first day, a tall, hairy guy motioned me inside.  He looked me up and down and gave me a smile and a wink I had seen before.  Then his wife swooped in, red lipstick-stained cigarette dangling from her mouth.  She handed her infant to me with as much care as you’d expect from a football player tossing a football.  “Here are the other two,” she said, pointing to Jimmy, age 7, and Cassie, age 4.

And with that, the man and woman left, promising to be back “later.”

In the months that ensued, “later” meant anywhere from 2 to 10 hours.  I never knew.  Sometimes the couple would leave and go to an unnamed place.  Sometimes their bandmates would come and they would all go out to the old barn in the back to play while I looked after the kids all day.  And sometimes it meant that the mother would leave me home with the children and the hairy man.  And on those days, he often wore only a pair of boxers and said he enjoyed watching me bathe the kids.  Yes, hairy guy was a weirdo!

And the kids, oh, the poor kids.  I fell in love with 4-year-old Cassie and 8-week-old Joe.  They were sweet and cuddly and needed to be nurtured.

And, to my dismay, 7-year-old Jimmy fell in love with me.  I learned this when he took me back to the old weeping willow he called his treehouse and attempted to kiss and handcuff me to a tattered backseat his dad had dragged in there from his old car.  Of course a discussion about boundaries ensued.

And yet I returned.  All summer long.  And on the days when their parents came home drunk and/or stoned, I stayed late without pay and walked home in the dark.  Those kids needed me.

And I will never forget them — or the worst job I ever had.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Kiss ~ a Wedding, an Elephant, a Gorilla and a Boy

I know I have been M.I.A. this week and that I’m barely squeaking this week’s Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge entry in, but here is my submission for the challenge topic: Kiss.

Thanks so much for visiting.  And if you’d like to participate in a Weekly Photo Challenge, just click on the links at the bottom of this page.

May your life be filled with kisses…

cancerinmythirties,wordpress,com m gorilla cancer thirties 30s 30's weekly photo challenge kiss breast

My Son & His New Friend

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's kiss elephant mom baby

A Mom and Her Baby

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's kiss wedding day

My Beautiful Sister and Her New Husband on Their Wedding Day

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/02/15/weekly-photo-challenge-kiss/

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

Happy Valentine’s Day

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com valentine's day breast cancer thirties 30's 30s young

I thought I would take a minute to wish you all a very happy Valentine’s Day.

I was unable to eat and drink today because of a test I needed to fast for.  So when H and my sons came to pick me up from the hospital at 4 this afternoon (and I was cleared to eat & drink again), I was both hungry and thrilled.

I had big plans for the evening with my two Valentines (my twin sons).  But I was too tired to follow through.  I could barely keep my head up at the dinner table.  It wasn’t long before I needed to retreat to the coziness of the couch and my thick blanket and loyal dogs.

I thought my boys would be disappointed — they usually are when I need to lie down.  But they amazed me by understanding my exhaustion.  They thanked me for making their special Valentine cards (I stayed up all night last night crafting Valentines for them and for their teachers) and for the little gifts I made for them.

And then they brought me the gift they made for me.  They found an unused box and filled it with 2 new rolls of Scotch tape, a giraffe-shaped soap dispenser, and some special things from around the house (seashells, bits of coral, a photo of a sea turtle).  They then decorated sheets of copier paper and wrote “To Mom” and “Love, Us” on them.  They wrapped the box in their creations and topped it with an old Christmas bow.

They were grinning from ear to ear when they presented me with their box.  They were taking a rare reprieve from bickering with one another, so I knew this was important!

Struggling to keep my eyes open, and soaking wet and shivering from alternating hot flashes and night sweats that are really day sweats (thank you, radical hysterectomy and Tamoxifen!), I thought I was letting my kids down.  But when they presented me with that special box, I knew I was wrong.  They were happy to have me as their valentine, whatever my condition.  And I realized how lucky I was.

Their squabbling soon resumed and we had to get the homework show on the road, but I still felt like a lucky girl.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s young twins valentine's day flowers

Tonight I realized that I have two very special valentines.

I hope that you, too, have a special person/child/dog/cat/friend/goldfish in your life.  Good night & warmest wishes, dear readers…

***Reblogging this post because I think it is full of terrific info.
I have been meaning to write a Lymphedema and Cellulitis post since I started this blog, but Denise beat me to it — and I think her post is GREAT, so I’m just going to reblog hers.
I think the section on cellulitis is especially important. I had my first run-in with cellulitis at the end of last may when we were on vacation & I had no out of state coverage. I didn’t know what it was — I thought it was a terrible and painful sunburn (that only appeared on my lymphedema arm (an arm that was fully covered and couldn’t possibly have gotten burned!)). And it did almost kill me. I had to seek emergency care on vacation — and when we got off the plane at home, I had to go straight to the emergency room at the hospital (where I remained for much of the next few weeks). It took multiple hospitalizations, a ton of antibiotics, and a wonderful infectious disease specialist to get it under control — even still, it was September before it was finally considered “controlled.” I just had it again a few weeks ago (on vacation!), but knew what I was looking at this time, so I immediately started on the emergency antibiotics I brought with me, and I came out of it unscathed this time.
Special thanks to Denise! You are doing everyone a GREAT service by posting about LE and especially cellulitis. I hope everyone who has had lymph nodes removed (or who loves someone who has had lymph node surgeries) takes the time to read this!
~L @ CancerInMyThirties

LymphedivablogWhen the title of this Blog Post entered your Inbox, let’s face it, your heart did not go pitter patter with excitement.  Please try to stick it out!!!  You will learn something and I will attempt to give you a few laughs along the way!   You and your Lymphatic System have something in common–   misunderstood and under appreciated. There are 500 to 700 lymph nodes in the body. Who would think if you have one or a few of those removed, in my case 14, it could cause so much trouble?

My Lymphedema was under control until I picked up those 3 plastic bags of groceries with my impacted arm and then my POOF of Lymphedema came back with a vengeance. Now you cannot yell at me because admit it, you have done it and later regretted it even if you have no chance of Lymphedema.  Who wants to…

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Home

This week’s Daily Post Photo Challenge subject is:  Home

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/02/08/photo-challenge-home/

These images represent HOME for me…  Thank you for taking the time to visit…

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s twins winter home

My Boys

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's twins fishing home

Fishing in the Living Room

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancer thirties 30s 30's twins dog mattie carole allison

My Aunt & Cousin with My Boys & Our Miniature Schnauzer, Mattie

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancer thirties 30s 30's twins dog

My Mom & Aunt

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancer thirties 30s 30's twins dog young

My Mom & Mattie & the Boys

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancer thirties 30s 30's twins dog young

Mattie in the Window

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancer thirties 30s 30's twins dog young

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com cancer thirties 30s 30's twins dog young

If you would like to participate in The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenges, click here:

Weekly Photo Challenge

Daily Prompt: Childhood Revisited — Dirty Memories

Written in response to The Daily Post Challenge

Daily Prompt: Childhood Revisited

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's sexual abuse childhood

Photo Credit: creepypasta.wikia.com

Dirty Memories

Chubby little fingers grip a wooden banister

He leads her toward a strange basement

She is scared

And for good reason

They reach the bottom and he takes her aside

This is where it happens

Again

Her young mind can’t wrap itself around this

And for good reason

No three-year-old should understand this

But she will one day

He finishes

And leads her back upstairs

She does what she is told

She follows

He is her dad, after all

He takes her to the pony rides on the way home

This will wash the dirty memories away

That’s what he thinks, at least

But he is wrong

I will always have the dirty memories

If you’d like to respond to a Daily Post Daily Prompt, click here:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/category/daily-prompts/

Weekly Photo Challenge: Unique

The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge for this week: Unique

I hope you enjoy my photo choices.  To participate in the Weekly Photo Challenge:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/02/01/photo-challenge-unique/

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

 

A Lone Coconut on the Beach

 

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A Lone Boy Beneath the Setting Sun (one of my sons!)

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I found this zoo’s fake flamingo enclosure to be rather unique.  It’s not often that you see a display of faux animals at an animal park!

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Thanks for visiting!

“Give me back my peanut butter!” — OR — “My 1st Bucket List Adventure: Part I”

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's young plane airline airliner

Thank you to everyone who cheered me on as I embarked on my first “bucket list” adventure.  I am glad to finally tell you that our intended mystery destination was… Puerto Rico.  Visiting this lovely place has been a dream of mine for many years.  Why?

#1:  Thanks to photos and travel shows I formed this picture in my mind of a beautiful island filled with old world charm and beautiful beaches.

#2:  I have always wanted to visit a Caribbean isle.  Our passports expired long ago and P.R. is one of only two Caribbean destinations (that I’m aware of) that doesn’t require them from U.S. Citizens.  Since it’s the cheapest of the two to reach, it was an easy choice.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's young puerto rico vacation kids twins beachThere were other reasons, but these were the big ones.  All in all, we were looking for a relaxing tropical vacation.

But this was hardly what we found…  And when I say we, I am referring to my twin 8-year-olds, my husband, and my dear friend, jme.  Jme and I grew up together (she was Jamie back them).  We’ve experienced many milestones together.  And we’ve experienced some significant losses together.  And you may recall that when jme first learned that I had the disease that played a role in her mother’s death, her reaction involved getting on a plane and flying clear across the country to show up on my doorstep.  She is the kind of friend you would feel lucky to have — if you were one of the rare few fortunate enough to know someone like her.  Anyway, she flew across the country again a few weeks ago, but this time it was to say a quick hello to her family before getting on a plane (a bunch of planes, actually!) to seize the day and make some memories with me and my sons.

I’m getting side-tracked already!  Okay, enough backstory…

The First Uh-Oh.

We left the house at an ungodly hour for this region.  Okay, 4 a.m. is probably an ungodly hour anywhere.  But in western N.Y. in mid-January when it is as cold as it is dark, you get the sense that you are violating some unwritten law by being outside at this hour.  It just feels wrong.  Especially when you haven’t slept a wink in a couple of days.

But I was excited and determined.  I had been waiting for this for most of my life.  So my husband (I’ll refer to him as “H” for husband from now on)…  Crap, where was I?  Oh, yes, so H dropped us off and drove off to park our minivan at an economy parking lot nearby.  And we went about the business of checking in for our flights, begging for seats near one another, printing our boarding passes, checking our bags, and ensuring that they were free (thanks to a credit card perk) at the counter.  This shouldn’t have been a big deal, but when 5 people are booked under 5 separate reservations (this is a requirement for getting the huge travel discounts that we do), it is.  No big deal.  Still excited.  Let’s get to security.

Photo Credit:  huffingtonpost.com

Photo Credit: huffingtonpost.com

After taking our shoes off and putting all of our belongings in buckets on the conveyor belt, I was told that in lieu of a traditional walk through the metal detector, I would need to stand in the full-body X-ray scanner.  Not one to speak up or slow a line down, I reluctantly said that I would rather not.  I was asked if I was refusing the security measure.  So I explained that I had had enough radiation in my lifetime to grow a tail and start glowing and, thus, I was leery of the X-ray scanner if another option was available.  I told him that I would prefer the pat down option.

This is not me in the scanner.Photo Credit:  http://www.aetherczar.com

This is not me in the scanner.  I wish I had her butt, though!
Photo Credit:  www.aetherczar.com

The T.S.A. agent was rather smug and made me feel as though I was I causing a major problem.  He set me off to the side and told me that I would have to wait for someone to come to give me a pat-down — and did I want to reconsider in lieu of being a giant P.I.T.A.?

I told him I’d wait for the pat-down.

When the patter-downer arrived, she asked if I would like to have it done out in the open or if we should go to a private room.  I jokingly said that I’d had enough surgeries to make my dignity a non-issue and told her to go ahead right there.  She smiled and began.  It was my first pat-down and not a big deal.  It did take much longer than I expected, especially given that I normally walk through the metal detector and that’s it — quick and simple.

I passed, of course, but my jar of peanut butter didn’t fare so well.  It didn’t cross my mind that the sealed jar of organic peanut butter I brought to make everyone’s sandwiches with during the long day of travel wouldn’t make it through security.  Alas, it did not.  And my inconvenienced T.S.A. agent friend seemed all too happy to confiscate it.  Since I would much rather airport security be more cautious than less, I happily sacrificed my jar of contraband in the interest of national security.

We finally redressed (coats, sweaters, hats, shoes) and made our way to the gate, still with 5 minutes to spare before boarding.  It was about 15 minutes after we were supposed to board when I started to get a bit nervous.  We were on a tight timeline.  You see, to do this trip on a shoestring budget, we had to book two separate itineraries with two different airlines — and do it all through a 3rd party website.  In hindsight, it was a bit crazy.  But it was the only way — and it should have worked out.

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30s 30's young twins winter

We began boarding at about 5:45 a.m., toting our carry on bags out of the warmth of the airport and into the bitter cold and darkness that surrounded the little plane that waited to carry us to New York’s J.F.K.  We shivered as we inched up the plane’s steps and found our seats at the back of the plane.

And we waited.  And waited.  When the pilot announced that we were experiencing mechanical issues and that we wouldn’t be leaving until they were taken care of, I wasn’t surprised.  “These things happen,” I thought.

The surprise came when he later returned to the intercom and announced that they were unable to fix the problem and that we were to collect our things and leave his aircraft while further repair attempts were made.

“What??”  I didn’t understand.  “Why can’t we just wait here while they fix it?  It’s going to take longer to get off and get back on.”

cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com breast cancer thirties 30's 30s peanut butter

Photo Credit:  komu.com

I really didn’t understand — until we were told that we could rebook our flights at the gate.  Uh oh.  We didn’t have enough padding in our schedule to account for this much of a delay.

So we reversed the boarding process and walked the steps down the plane and the steps back up into the airport.  At the gate we were told that we could form a line and the gate attendant would attempt to find alternative flights for everyone.  H immediately took off.  He left the secure area to go out to the main ticket counters at the airport entrance to see what could be done there.  So while jme and the boys sat patiently, I stood in gate counter line with a bunch of other passengers and tried to figure out how to get us to Tampa, Florida in time for our JetBlue flights that afternoon.  I knew that if we missed our flight out of Tampa, our trip would not happen.

It still seemed possible to get to Florida.  But it wasn’t.

——

There’s more to come… I just know that if I break without posting this first installment, it will be harder for me to carve out the time to finish it later.  And I know it’s not that riveting a story to warrant a cliffhanger, so thank you for indulging me!

Reblogging a post from c4yw.wordpress.com (the official blog of the Annual Conference for Women Affected by Breast Cancer). As another young woman with breast cancer, I have touched on the dangers of BPA and other chemicals linked to cancer a number of times in my blog. This post was written by Emily, a 10 year survivor who is educating others about environmental links to (breast) cancer.
Thank you, Emily — and thank you C4YW!
~L of cancerinmythirties.wordpress.com

C4YW

C4YW is just a few weeks away, and we are excited  to see all of the strong, thriving young women who are planning to attend! Today the C4YW Blog is happy to introduce Emily Cousins, another young woman working hard to better herself and other survivors for her first entry! Check back  as Emily shares with us her insights on the studies of the environment and breast cancer. Be sure to visit the website and register for this year’s event in Seattle!

Emily Cousins

I was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 32 years old and in the ninth-month of my first pregnancy. I urged my doctors to give me aggressive treatment because I wanted to live for my new baby. Since then, I have religiously done follow up exams, had screenings, and undergone biopsies. Now, 10 years later, I am considering removing my ovaries to reduce the amount of estrogen…

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