Merry Christmas

Christmas is family time. Wishing you lots of memory making moments during this holiday season!

Friends celebrate the good times and hold hands during the scary parts -- quote by me!

We only get one day at a time, right?
I'm trying to keep my thoughts attuned to the day, or at least not allow them to run a muck, chasing whatever's waiting for me around the bend.
I have a first C-monster check up after Christmas. I can't think about that. It's too scary.
I did everything I could do. I beat it back, got it out of me. It's gone. It must be gone. Please, keep it gone. It's my only Christmas wish.
Obsessive thoughts.
Thank God I have terrific people in my life. Family and really amazing friends, wonderful people to celebrate the triumphs and hold hands during the scary parts. Heck, I have a lizard in a Santa suit. How lucky can a girl be?
And my favorite people, my two kiddos will be home Saturday. I can't wait. I even like the way they smell! It will be so good to spend Christmas together as a family. I'm going to hug and smell them for two weeks!
I hope you have people you want and need in your life with you at Christmas time. Just having people that we love so desperately in this big world is a blessing, whether you can be together or not.
Thanks, Universe!
Sandra, our lizard, pictured above. Photo credit: Kay Becker. "Christmas Makes Me Smile." Copyright reserved.

Making More Moments

Ever since the C-Monster took a shot at me, I feel I must wring every moment out of every moment.
But I wasted Monday. The temperature was -30 (yea, MINUS 30), so I canceled my day plans and used the day to recover from weekend birthday celebration. I slept, watched TV and read more of Tom Wayman's newest work of fiction, Woodstock Rising.
Big hugs to Kevin and Rachel, our more-like-family-than-friends who spent the weekend with us and drank all of our wine!
I did not waste the day of my big FIVE-O. While I slept, a Chinook slipped over the western Rockies, like a warm blanket, a wonderful and welcome gift from Mom Nature. I went out to lunch, shopped and then out to dinner--a perfect day!
Huge thanks to my family and friends for celebrating with me.
I have so many things I want to do! I want to write at least one book, take more writing classes, go dog sledding, visit Hawaii, Mexico, Alaska, Vancouver.
I want to do it all.
First, holidays at home.
Are you making the most of your moments?

Mammogram Madness

Yesterday I heard a young, 40-something woman say, "I like getting my annual mammogram because once it's done, I'm cleared and don't have to worry about it (breast cancer) again until next year."
Buyer beware!
The media talking heads are not reporting what's most important about this new mammogram study: many young women have dense breast tissue and Mammogram, even with new digital capability, does not image dense (young) breast tissue well.
Don't take my word for it--ask a radiologist and/or ask your doctor.
One of the objectives of breast cancer awareness is to recruit women to be their own advocates for their breast health. We accomplish this by performing regular breast self check and asking questions of health care professionals.
Here's a few things I never knew that are very important to breast health:
1) If a health care professional tells you, "your breasts are dense," ask them what that means and how it affects your imaging quality and risk.
2) Feel your boobies! Get familiar with them. They're your girls--protect them!
3) Did you know that most breast cancers occur in the left breast? Yea, me neither.
4) Did you know that the area from your armpit south to your nipple is a kind of "hurricane zone" for cancer?
Everyone is different, but in my case, I found the lump myself. And I kept checking it for about two weeks to see if there was any change. There wasn't. I told my best friend knowing she'd make me get it checked (I'm a coward). I wish I'd trusted my instincts rather than waiting two weeks.
My doctor sent me for a mammogram. I marked the area in two places, as directed, with a metallic button on a tiny band aid. The mammogram could NOT "see" the 2 cm tumor.
They sent me for an ultra-sound. It took a while for the techs to find it. See? Guess where it was? Yes, left breast, hurricane zone.
According to my after-surgery pathology report, I had "very dense breast tissue."
I wish the people at the breast centers that I used SINCE I WAS FORTY had explained what this density means or, even better, I wish I'd asked more questions.
The best thing that will come out of this controversy is awareness. Be careful out there and protect your girls!

Key to Free

How do I move forward?
This question is, apparently, common among survivors. Support agencies offer various methods which allow the survivor to express emotions via expressionist arts, meditation, Yoga.
During my new cancer survivor's Yoga class, the instructor introduced the last pose as "corpse pose" and everyone laughed. It's the very thing we're all trying to avoid!
One might think that after chemo, surgery and radiation, the cured patient will embrace life, run through fields of flowers, pursue excruciatingly passionate endeavors. I want go, do, see everything, as fast as I can, but I'm stuck. I'm too weighted with emotions. I have to sort through what the hell just happened to me.
I worry that I'm wasting precious time.
Treatment is its own journey. I marched through it like a good soldier, "don't think, just do what must be done."
So here I am in this space between journeys where one must accept what's happened before they can move forward. I can rest here, but I'm restless. I miss feeling free. I never feel free. I wake up every morning and think, "ok, this really happened to me."
This must be the space of healing. There is much to do here. Hopefully I can learn to be more care free. Eventually I'll find the key which will unlock the door to my next journey.

Healing

Survivorship requires healing, healing the body, mind and spirit.
I've been thinking about what I might need to heal and realizing that it's an ongoing process. Eventually, the physical scars will become less noticeable. Skin recovers, hair grows back.
(As you can see in this pic, my hair came back!)
I must be strong like the bear.
The most important healing must occur in the mind. Thoughts must detach from the negative power of the illness. I want a disciplined mind, positive thoughts. I've written about feeling empowered, the importance of being your own best friend, self-kindness--but healing is where the rubber meets the road. It's the gateway to successful survivorship.
I'm becoming an affirmations junkie.
I'm working to live outside the C Monster's intimidating shadow.
Those of us who have battled the C Monster know the mind must become a mighty fortress. The battles require strategy, finesse. An army of Thoughts fight the lurking C Monster. Wizardly powers defy the monster's energy and cast spells which provide divine protection. This wizardly power is fed by prayers.
At the same time, getting out of your head is refreshing. Time spent in the natural world is how I worship. Spending time with those who appreciate our cathedrals of wildness inspire me. I imagine the spirit of the largest and tiniest natural beings ... a grizzly bear ... a village of native grasses.
This week I'm grateful to Canada's poet Tom Wayman and the lyrical straight shooter Sid Marty for supporting, writing about and appreciating the natural world.
Off to explore and heal!
image from www.siec.k12.in.us/cannelton/animalsunite/grizzly marked as Eastern Slopes Grizzly Bears Project image -- grizzly bear enthusiasts can Google Dr. Stephen Herrero, Charlie Russell and Sid Marty for profound insights

Pink Enough?

Geez. Has everything turned pink? I've seen pink hammers, pens, pink-dyed white chocolate covered strawberries, socks, toilet scrubbers--I'm pinked out.
I've finished all the treatment for breast cancer just in time for thirty one days of breast cancer awareness--I'm chronically aware.
I know, I know, this month of awareness will save lives and gains research dollars. I'm grateful. But are we hyper-aware, or is it just me?
I will admit, since my diagnosis, I've become a compulsive-handwashing-or-germ-gel-cleansing-internal checking (please let my blood counts be normal!)-external-checking-(oh my god! Is that lump on my thigh? Please let it be a fatty tumor, not a TUMOR!!)-hypochondriac.
Here's the problem. We are hyper pro-active on prevention and detection, but no one tells us what to do, how to handle the diagnosis until it's too late.
It's a kick in the gut. It's a "someone else take the wheel" moment.
Are we more aware or are we more afraid? We're training women to be good detectives, but once caught, what's next?
What do you do if it happens to you? How do we prepare women for the possibility of a breast cancer diagnosis?

unpacking your bags for survivorship

Two days after my radiation treatment completed, I boarded a plane for Canada! Within a week, we are moved in: pets, furnishings, cars, all in one place. And my kids will be here this weekend! Yea!
This is DAY ELEVEN of my survivorship, I am cancer-free, one of the girls in pink, just in time for Breast Cancer Awareness month. It was great see so many celebrations all over North America, particularly NFL players sporting pink for the cause.
Even more special, my friends Robin and Glenda honored me by running the Komen Race for the Cure in Houston, Texas! Texas friends kick ass! I wish I could have participated here, but radiation leaves you with a whole new kind of jet lag.
And, after 28 days of treatments, I have to fight the impulse to crawl into my microwave oven every morning! Too, I'm trying to relax, get off my worry-g0-round and enjoy the people I love.
Onward!
(above pic, Survivors' Flags from Susan G. Komen Houston Race for the Cure website)

Hats, er, Wigs Off!

I've chucked the wig!
What a relief! No more worries about a heavy wind's impromptu unveiling. Too, there was that time in Talbot's dressing room when I removed my shirt and launched the flying hairball into the next stall. Fortunately, no one was hurt.
Even though my wig looked cool, my self image split. With the wig I had a hair style so chic women asked where I got it cut, without the wig, my hair reminded me of Eddie Munster.

What's a girl to do?
I was thrilled that my hair is back, but it looked bad. My true identity nagged for an unveiling. How can I walk the survivor's path if I'm hiding under this facade?
Survivors are bold.
Fortunately, my hair stylist friend, a.k.a. miracle worker, gave me a short, edgy look, a fashionable, brave boy cut. I'm surviving in style!
Sharon Stone, move over!

Patriot Day

Honoring and remembering those who gave their lives eight years ago today and those who actively and honorably serve our country.

Off My Chest!

Has anyone, Democrat or Republican, ever called a sitting president a liar during a presidential address to the joint session and the nation?!
What really frosts me (having had a full day to thaw) is not the effects of radiation, but the absolute disrespect and lack of decorum displayed by this unworthy elected Republican representative out of South Carolina.
I know good things come from South Carolina. My favorite 4-star hails from this good state and is honored by S.C.'s aviation hall of fame. Can't blame the state--this is a show of lack of personal integrity, plain bad character.
Has he no filter?
What really chaps my hide is that Rep. Joe Wilson's accusation is WRONG! (See Time Magazine's fact checker). Was he awake when he read this draft-in-progress reform initiative? Duh!
I'd like to join Major General Paul Eaton's (see Huffington Post online) assertion that this outburst is "a breach of protocol" by Wilson, a retired Army Reserve and National Guard colonel! If Wilson's still cashing his government/taxpayer provided Army retirement checks, then he'd damned well better observe proper protocol in the presence of the Commander in Chief.
And now I've got that off my chest!

Only 12 McGriddles to Go!

My radiation oncology nurse told me that I need to add more protein to my diet, that ideally an a.m. egg would boost my cell production and help my body endure radiation treatment. Well, for me, eggs equal a monster stomach ache that lasts for hours.
I must have been a chicken in a former life.
Weirdly, I can eat McDonald's scrambled eggs , so long as it is tucked inside a biscuit or muffin. I'm convinced the eggs are processed in some magical way which eliminates the chicken DNA to which one of my former lives objects.
Not a fast food fan. Dashboard dining? No thanks. But the McGriddle sandwich is really yummy. And, I get my shot of recommended protein. Problem solved, right?
Well, not exactly.
According to McDonald's website's nutrition information, that tasty McGriddle contains 420 cals, 1110g sodium (oh my God! Can you say, "water retention?!"), 18g fat and other stuff I don't want to think about.
Only 12 McGriddles to go!

Things We Do for Love

Upon walking into the room for my first radiation treatment, I did that thing my dogs do. No, I didn't pee on the floor. I froze. All four feet (2 arms, 2 legs in my case) dug in.
"I can't do this."
The techs offered some comfort, but their words were static noise interfering with my my fear frequency.
"I have to ... no, I can't do this."
I mentally revisit a conversation with my oncologist where she said, "if you don't do the radiation, you'll leave "cure" on the table."
I can't believe I have to do this.
The techs are coaxing me forward, "you can do this. It's easy. You'll get used to it."
Hold it! I have to get under the high tech fry-o-matic?! I'm still afraid of tanning beds!!
I tanned for my wedding. I had to. My husband was working in Houston (where it's 100 degrees every day) and I was working in Pennsylvania (where it rains every day). I didn't want to be the Great White North bride with the fresh-off-the-golf-course tanned groom in our wedding pictures.
The tanning bed was hot, light tube lined coffin that made frequent cracking noises. I never could close it all the way - too creepy. I hated every tanning minute, but I endured it because I wanted great wedding pictures.
Now I'm hoping for a different picture.
I want this moment: A pretty lady on the beach, standing in the shallow water, her arms reach as she calls, "come here baby, come to grandma." A diapered chubby cherub toddles toward her, his bright smile a pure delight, as he high steps over the cold water to that nurturing heart, to be wrapped in love."
I step forward and position myself on the radiation table.

Heat Wave

The August heat sizzles on my head slowing my thoughts. I want to follow my dogs' lead, go for a morning stroll and snoozeaway the day.
I'm following my own lead.
A Hemingway junkie, this week I read The Old Man and the Sea, and I'm still digesting the story. Via this book, Hemingway won a Nobel prize for his influence on narrative voice. At the end of his life, the old man goes fishing. He says he has no luck, but he has precision. He catches the biggest fish ever, too big for his boat, and the sharks tear all the meat from it before he can get it home. So, he didn't get the money for the meat. What did he get out of an ordeal that nearly killed him? A great fish story.
Precision is what I need from my radiation treatments. And a little luck. A great story would be nice, too.

Time Off for Bad Behavior?

Radiation. An element that you can't touch, taste, smell or see, yet we're all scared of it.
It's a dreaded thing.
I told my radiation oncologist, "I grew up near Three Mile Island ... what do you say we shave off a few of these treatments and call it even?"
She said, "Thanks for playing."
"What about the near melt down in '78?" (I was living in Florida at the time, but it was worth a try).
"Hmmph."
"OK, I stand really close to my microwave oven and I'm pretty sure that one time my lead apron fell off during dental x-rays."
"No deal."
Crap.
It's amazes me that any of my generation is still around. As kids, we didn't wear seat belts (and most cars had metal dash boards-- that leaves a mark!). There were no bike helmets. We gave kids a lift on our bike handle bars. I had "clackers," two glass balls suspended on a string that one could hit together. Station wagons, the mini-van of the 60's-70's: how many of us fought to ride in the way back of the that car (no seats)? Neighborhood kids rode their bikes--behind the mosquito spray truck!
But, we had fun! We left the house in the morning and didn't come home until dark! Unless we were hungry. We got into mischief and caused trouble.
I had a bountiful childhood, a life without limits!
Too, I'm glad I didn't have to carry a cell phone with me when I walked the eight blocks to the community pool or went swimming in the lake at Mt. Gretna.
Scary things consisted of "B" horror films, like "Die Monster Die," the Comet, the roller coaster at Hershey Park and the old abandoned farmhouse that my cousins swore was haunted.
Our kids are sheltered. There's more things to fear; parents can't let their kids roam. Too much to worry about.
At the same time, we are, all of us insulated, thinking if we eat the right foods, work out at the gym, drink alcohol in moderation, pass on the smoking, drive the speed limit, buy one of those hang upside-down things, that nothing bad will happen to us.
But life comes without a seat belt.
Life owes us nothing.
So, during each treatment I'll think of childhood walks in the farmer's field, hoping the electric fence wasn't working, riding my bike beyond the limits (sans helmet), driving my '65 VW, no seatbelts, windows down, hair flying, engine in the back driving me forward.

Here Comes My 19th Nervous Breakdown

Rule #1 for cancer patients (and survivors): Eliminate ALL unnecessary stress in your life.

This is funny because dealing with cancer is STRESSFUL!
I have never cried so much and so often in my life. I'm sure I have Liz Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, beat in total gallons of tears and snot expended during a life crisis! (by the way if you ever have the chance to see her--go!).
So, I do not recommend anyone have their home, their foundation and security, sold, it's contents boxed up when you are still trying to get your land legs post cancer surgery ... unless it's for a damned good reason.
What is my damned good reason? We are moving to Canada.
So when I think I'm about to melt down, I think of the Canadian Rockies' powerful presence. When my stomach turns upside down, I think of our wonderful Canadian friends. When I'm completely overwhelmed, I think of bears, grizzlies, enjoying this year's bountiful crop of berries. Yes, bears eat berries, a caloric necessity for them, a linguistic treat for nerdy writers like me. Like the grizzlies of the Canadian Rockies, the lush mountain meadows' bumble bees have plush, furry coats!
My cherished Canadian friend, Pamela, has become an expert in her kayak, so my goal is to recover 100% of my left arm so that I can give it a try. I'll have to be a back-seater with Pat for a while before I fly solo.
OK, maybe I'm flunking rule #1.
My emotions are riding roller-coaster rails. But here's the thing: I'm trying to manage stress in a positive way. And I cry a lot.
Let's face it: life is stressful. Buddha said, "Life is suffering." Wisdom comes in learning to choose the response that is healthy for you. And all that crying clears your tear ducts and sends your soul through the rinse cycle.
Tissue please!

(Grizzly bear picture taken by Charlie Russell, naturalist and North America's leading bear expert. This bear is called "Spirit Bear." Please Google grizzlies and the intrepid Mr. Charlie Russell.)

Healing Thoughts

I've been thinking about what it takes to survive and struggling with some of the cornerstones, like positive attitude and focusing on healing.
I have to admit I'm more Eeyore than Tigger, though I have my Tigger moments. But I've wasted a lot of time waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We're all living under a shoe filled cloud.
In my case, the other shoe already dropped and it wasn't a Manolo Blahnik stiletto - it was cancer.
Post-surgery, my oncologist is sure this ugly shoe is out of my body. I am officially a survivor. Too, my DNA pool is much better than thought earlier: I tested negative for the BRCA1 and 2 gene mutations. Whew!
Now I have make that transition from doom to hope.
Too, I have to undergo more treatment to be sure the ugly shoe stays gone.
I have all the post-surgery aches and pains and these uncomfortable expanders in my chest wall (ouch), will help me retain my female form
But right now they feel as comfortable as margarine tub lids.
I'm meditating on the good things in my life: my unbelievably loving and supportive husband and kids, friends and family who are standing by me through this journey, and my kick-ass medical team (the much appreciated privilege of having good health care).
Like Eeyore, I'm a work in progress. It's ironic that this little grey donkey wears a pink ribbon on his tail.

SQUIRM

I gave this blog its name because it's perfect for a rant about breasts. Throughout sixteen weeks of chemo, I was secretly hoping for a lumpectomy since my tumor size is small and response to chemo has been A+. But I'm not getting that break (not that lumpectomies are a piece of cake). I'm in for full demo and reno. Both breasts.
medical staff: "We want to be able to say "cure.""
me: squirm
medical staff: "It's the best option. Otherwise you'll be under constant surveillance."
me: squirm
medical staff (now exasperated): "It's only fifteen extra minutes in the O.R."
me: squirm
I'm not ready for this!
Too, I've been trying to "prepare my mind for surgery," a series of basic relaxation methods which I'm supposed to learn and then put to use when I get scared (which is all the time). I'm listening to tapes which teach deep relaxation, but all I can do is picture my body on a metal table with my eyes X'd out! Then I read that picturing your body on a metal table with your eyes X'd out is not optimal for the pre-surgery mind.
squirm
Still, I keep reminding my catastrophic thoughts that I've made a choice which offers the best outcome -- I'm reaching for optimum health. My medical team is #1! Dammit, I'm going for cure (imagine crowd cheering)!
Yes, bilateral mastectomies. squirm.

Whining

I can't conceive a better place to spill a few pre-surgery tears than the Napa Valley. Growing up in farm country, I'm attuned to the vibrant energy in the growing grapes, the tending of the vines and hopes for a bountiful harvest. So much green under brilliant blue skies!
And the food - I gained five pounds! Too, I learned a new appreciation for champagne (the bubbles settle my wiggly stomach).
I did more wine sniffing than tasting, and was the designated driver for the love of my life. No complaints. For a few days I was Mustang Sally driving a fast convertible (yes, my hair stayed on!).
Memorable moment? We shared the most delicious plum, courtesy of Mr. Ramirez at his fruit stand along the Silverado Trail. Truly fabulous!
I did a lot of living in the moment and celebrating real love.

Oh Canada!

We are making a trip to visit Calgary friends and the gorgeous Canadian Rockies. Being in the presence of these majestic mountains gives me strength. Their peaks, beautifully sculpted and glacier scarred, are the strongest survivors. Maybe we are all timeless.

Chi-Chi-Chi-Chia!

I'm a Chia Pet!
Two weeks ago, my hair started to hurt. What hair? A bit of my hair survived eight rounds of chemo, but not enough hair to sport the
G. I. Jane look.
The sensitivity was annoying and I attributed it to another weird Taxol side effect.
Wrong!
My hair's coming back in true Chia Pet fashion. Except it's not green and leafy. Oh, and the doggy pictured here has way more "hair" than me.
Do you know how many famous Chia Pets there are? My head will join the ranks of icons like Homer Simpson and even President Obama!
My family is enjoying watching their Chia Pet's hair grow. Too, I have my own secret formula that I spray on my head and "watch it grow!"

Drowning In My Gene Pool

Let's say you woke up this morning and remembered, "Hey! I have distant family members who are of Jewish heritage." You might think, "How fascinating!"
Or, in my case, after drilling down on the details of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene, the response might be, "@%*#*!!! I might be at risk for both breast and ovarian cancer!"

I'm drowning in my gene pool!

My old friends, Anxiety and Obsession, keep me company while I wait at least two weeks for the scheduling and results of a blood test for these mutated genes.

These genes cause 7 to 10% of all breast cancers and are a high risk for ovarian cancer. They are inherited from both mother and father. My gene inheritance comes via my father's father, the source of the Baer in me.

It's just one more thing to add to my pile of worries.

What really bugs me, besides the complete lack of control and uncertainty, is that if I have either of these mutated genes, my kids do too. It will add the specter of medical surveillance to their lives.

It also ramps up my rant. I can't believe the lack of information sharing from our medical professionals! This information has been available since 1995!! I've never had a medical professional make inquiry. Why?

When breast cancer organizations talk about awareness, it means more than the gentle reminder to get your annual breast exam. They are the source of essential information.
Information is power.

Boobs Be Gone

Back to the hard place. I wasn't serious when I titled this blog. I've been in denial about the possibility of a bilateral mastectomy. My skillful surgeon recommends I consider this approach which will increase my chances for a cure.
It's taken a week to put my emotional response into words. My moods were as unpredictable as a sudden storm.

Another Taxol treatment followed my surgeon's sobering news. The treatment went well, but two days later, the steroids wore off and I felt physically and emotionally flat. I walked the dogs in spite of total exhaustion. I made myself go out every day. I can't let the process beat me.
I went for a massage. Massage is the one thing that helps me through the hard places. Massage heals my body and refreshes my spirit. My thanks to the girls at the best spa in Maine, Rejuvinations, especially to Liz for her gracious support and love.
I'm adjusting, accepting the next step, and remembering my awesome medical team: a rockin' oncologist with a professional, perky nursing staff, an exceptional surgeon with matching staff (thanks, Betsy!), and my BFF Jami in the treatment center.
Special thanks to Kay for coming home this weekend just because I asked (read: whined) and for our shoe-fest at Macy's, to Pat for the calls and texts all weekend and the best T-shirt ever and to my son Matt for being here for me.
And then there's my soul sister, Claudette. Caring, sincere, affectionate, she helps me process the hard stuff with empathy and seriously wicked humor!
New, perky, cancer-free boobs are in my future, "size B happy."

Wiggly

My partner in purchased lovely locks, 80's rocker, Kevin: you're the only one who truly understands the merits and the pitfalls of wearable hair.

Texas Chicks Reunion

Texas, home of my favorite BFFs! I spent nearly a week catching up with the my Texas Chicks. As our children grew up, our friendships increased exponentially during our time spent in the greatest neighborhood in the world. Together, we put on block parties, volleyball tournaments, chili cook-offs, Santa visits and parades for our kids. We truly are forever friends. I am grateful to each of them for their infusion of love and support.
We had so much fun, a week spent out on the town!
Robin and I had lunch with a Texas senator, Rachel and I found buried treasure and the three of us spent a happy hour in River Oaks. Pat and I enjoyed the company of our fabulous friends and the best barbeque in Texas at the infamous Boot Restaurant.
I want to thank our friends Liz Ann & Keith, Teri & Steve, Wendi & Greg, Rachel, Robin, Joey & Ellen, and Chris for making the night so memorable.
I recharged at Wendi's beautiful home where I met Tony the Toyger, Snoopy and my old friend Buddy. Even better, I hugged Colton, Connor and Alexa. Wendi and Greg, thanks for your constant friendship and warm hospitality.
Texas Chicks slumber party? Yes, Ma'am. The Texas Chicks went out on the town and then spent the night at Robin's fabulous uptown home. Robin, Wendi, Rachel and, yes! my BFF Diane completed the inner circle. The wee hours conversation was entertaining. Robin, thanks for everything!
We spent the last day of our visit with Kevin and Rachel, our first Houston friends. Enjoyed hugging Ryan, petting Sadie and talking by phone with my kindred creative spirit, Kristin.
What a blast! I'm ready to move back to Houston!

The Men in My Life

I spend a lot of time writing about the women in my life. I grew up with my mother, grandmother and great grandmother - four generations of women in one house! Too, I write a column for Woman Magazine www.womannewspapers.com But, it's time to talk about the men in my life.
I have an amazing son. He's a charmer, a comic, the baby of the family. He's sensitive, but strong. Ladies, I've raised the perfect man! He's a hard-working and dedicated athlete, a great student, a loving soul. His personality most matches mine, though we are a contrast on body size. He's over six feet tall and built like an offensive lineman (his football position) and very handsome. While his Dad travels, Matt's the best room dog (roommate). He's met my oncologist and taken me for treatment. He fetches me a water bottle, blanket or anything else I need when I'm down for the count. He is the best son in the world.
My son got the amazing gene from my husband's DNA. Pat is my rock, my mountain. He is strong, protective of his family, and bold in the world. He's lived the "for better or worse" and the "in sickness and health" parts of our original vows. He's athletic and handsome. He's a force in my life and his presence makes my heart happy.
Then there is my Uncle Bob. He filled in the empty space my father left for both my mother and me. Uncle Bob is fearless. He's survived at least three heart attacks, heart surgeries, a stroke and six wild nieces and nephews. When we were kids, he'd take all of us to his boat docked on the Chesapeake Bay. Summer trips to Uncle Bob's boat are forever part of the stories my cousins and I revisit, some of our favorite childhood memories.

Transcendence

1. During yesterday's Easter services, I thought about goodness and the incredibly powerful energy of prayer, how prayer and meditation permeates all religions. I imagined the many prayers that have been sent my way by the caring and compassionate people in my life. I feel grateful to the point of overflowing (read: tears) for my family's and friends' prayers, and those of the houses of worship to which they belong where I am included on their lists. I add my prayers for the people that I care about who are suffering or stressed and hope that these healing messages are then lifted, carried by a spirited wind.

(pictured: prayer flags)

All You Need Is Love!

Thanks to my first rate medical staff, especially my BFF nurse Jami, I made it through the first Taxol chemo treatment, no problem! Yea! Patrick was there the whole time and together we watched the Taxol drip come down the line, holding hands and having faith that there would be no adverse reaction. There was none. The support and prayers of family and friends, surround and protect me.
An unexpected bonus was the treatment included so much benadryl, I went to Margaritaville for a couple of hours, a real thrill since (a) I can't drink and (b) I don't get out enough!
Then, my soul sister, Claudette, did a drive-by to visit and brought me my favorite rootbeer (my beer of choice). I suffer from separation anxiety when she's not around!
Love is the best companion for life's journeys.

My Estrogen is Missing!

I never saw it coming. Here I am, trying to be a good little blogger, kind and respectful of others, believing in Karma and, you won't believe this: someone took my estrogen! Why do bad things happen to good people?!
And I missed the red flags along the way.
I didn't read my breast cancer textbook. Too scary. And I didn't like its cover, little vulnerable peach roses across it. What? I have cancer and you want me to think of cut flowers, already on their way to demise? I want Medusa, the feminists' symbol of female fury on that breast cancer textbook's cover!
My oncologist, diva that she is, tops my list of suspects. When we met, she said, "your estrogen is a pain in my axx." I liked her instantly. But I thought she was going to wait to shut off the estrogen faucet until after surgery, some time off in that distant future, the one that I can't think about right now.
And I was wrong.
The book, Your Breast Cancer Treatment Handbook, written by oncology nurse Judy Kneece, describes chemo induced menopause as PMS symptoms, "increased moodiness, tearfulness, nervousness, and outbursts of anger," as common occurrences except that PMS is temporary. According to the textbook, chemo throws you into an "emotional limbo that remains day after day because the hormones do not return to reverse the withdrawal." Yes, I am pissed off!
Let's see now ... that makes me psycho cancer bitch any time, any where for undetermined duration. Be forewarned.
This is why my husband travels.

'C' is for Change

The 'c' word cancer entered my life mid-January when my family doctor read me the radiologist's report. I heard "invasive carcinoma, hormone receptive."
My doc's exam room is blue and there's a picture, a boat tethered to a lake house porch. An Adirondack chair sits on the porch, a lap blanket thrown over its arm invites calm and rest. This serene image stood in stark contrast to the chaos in my soul. For that moment of time, Salvadore Dali's "Explosion" painting moved from surrealism to reality.
Change is the cancer effect. It brings both the ripple in the pond and the landslide. I'm changing in many ways. It's as though I've lost a filter between me and the outside world. My emotions hover on my skin, easily accessible, visible and vulnerable.
The other variable of change is accepting what cannot be changed. It's the hard place. Surgery looms. Will I ever get my life back on track, and which track is that?
And, after the treatment, will I feel like a whole woman or half? Even with physical reconstruction, will my self image remain whole or will I feel as splintered as a cubist painting?
Courage is the thing that I find most illusive. I see it in my very admirable USAF Thunderbirds friend Jack who bravely battles prostate cancer against the odds. What I've learned so far is that courage is showing up for the things that are scary, unpleasant or confrontational. Your spine will take you there.
It's also about showing up for the people you love. Being in the moment. Really listening to them. It's about having compassion for the people in your life who are also suffering. Compassion may be the most important 'c' word of all.

One Really Good Thing

I applied for and was awarded a fellowship to attend an invigorating spring writing retreat tucked away in a beautiful, spiritual place on the coast of Maine. I am so thankful to Maine Writers and Publishers Association and the Davis Family Foundation for believing in and investing in my writing. Maine Writers and Publishers is the most encouraging, inspiring group of writer advocates! I am eternally grateful for this once in a lifetime opportunity. I wish all of my readers one really good thing today.

Phase I Treatment Success!

To all the people in my life who are supporting me in many different ways, thank you. Without you, I couldn't have made it through phase I of the treatment protocol. The journey continues, but this is an important milestone.
Today's A/C treatment went well and the chemo is doing its job! Yea!
I'm grateful to my family and friends including my doctor and her unbelievably supportive staff.

Last Jumbo Chemo Treatment Jitters

It's Monday morning and I'm feeling great. I've had a great week and weekend. Wednesday, my friend Judy and I enjoyed a fashionista night at Talbot's spring collection showcase event. I left with a fabulous sun dress (on sale) despite local temps in the 30's and 40's! I imagine walking on the beach, barefoot, wearing the dress, carrying my sandals, feeling the sun on my shoulders and back.
I'll take this image with me to this afternoon's unpleasant chemo treatment.
Friday, my daughter came home from school for a visit. Yea! I love her company and hearing about her remarkably busy life. Each time I see her, I'm again reminded of how strikingly beautiful she is with her pretty dark hair. She's so smart, full of life and energy and boundless enthusiasm. Both of my kids are terrific.
I'm running out of feel good time. By this afternoon, I'll be shot down, exhausted, feeling awful--for the last damned time. Today is my last round of a load of the chemo drugs that make me feel like I've over-partied with Keith Richards. Only worse. Ugh.
The chemo is working and my oncologist is a diva!
Thanks for sharing this feel good moment with me while it lasts.

Never Going Back Again

The Fleetwood Mac concert experience still resonates as I go about my altered life. The refrain, "never going back again," sings to me.
So much of living with cancer and its treatment is processing, trying to make sense of why this is happening.
Is this really happening?
When I was initially diagnosed, I couldn't sleep, my brain churning out thoughts, trying to make sense, find balance, invent a solution, brace myself. Alcohol helped, but not much. I'd stepped onto an eerie path. The door closed and locked behind me. You cannot see the next step, only hope that it is there. It's this uncertain landscape that redefines my humanity.
This is where they keep the epiphanies.
I'll never be the Debra that I was before this happened.
While playing with the dogs, watching the birds at the feeder or looking for the first crocus, I am with her, but she is fading, her edges less defined.
Will I like this woman who waits for me at the end of this journey?
(pictured: Salvadore Dali's "Woman at the Window")

Rock On Gold Dust Woman

The side effects of chemo treatment did not stop me from attending Fleetwood Mac's Unleashed Hits Tour in Boston, Wednesday night. My BFF, Claudette, and I struck out on a girls road trip. Fleetwood Mac is amazing! I'm a long-time Stevie Nicks fan, but this performance was my first opportunity to see her in person. Stevie rocked "Gold Dust Woman" and Lindsey Buckingham's excellent guitar playing breathed fire into the tribal "Tusk." "Landslide" has been a long-time favorite song of mine. Stevie sang it soulfully, her voice giving the words power and deeper meaning. The whole experience was truly spiritual. In addition to great food (The Palm), 'Dette and I managed to sneak in a little shopping at Copley, too!
(pictured: Stevie Nicks singing at TD Bank's Garden Center, Boston)

It's All Attitude

I wore my cowboy boots to big guns treatment round #3, or Dante's third circle of hell. I have one more adrea/cytoxin treatment to go and then I switch to something a bit more tolerable. I've been told by a marathon runner that it's the 3/4 point in the race where runners really start to break down. It's where the rubber meets the road--you are committed or you fall behind. It's all mental. My body is tired, but I have to double up on positive thoughts and tell myself--I can do this. It's hard.
But, you know what? I'm learning to be my own best friend. I haven't done enough of this in the past. I've spent too much time doubting my abilities, a "perfectionista," operating from a place of fear, rather than power. Now, when I look back, I wonder how I accomplished so much while listening to a mantra of negative thoughts.
I've been really hard on myself.
Over the past couple of years, through working a high visibility, but stressful, event and with the help of therapy (yes, these two things are related), I learned to put less value on this internal negative dialogue that so many of us listen to, and start discounting its worth. Negative thoughts are not helpful. I try to place less importance on them. My therapist told me: "these are just thoughts. They may stay with you for a time, but remember, they are just thoughts." It's a work in progress. Too, it takes courage but is the definition of empowerment.
As women, our aim should be to operate from a place of power, not fear.
I try not to let fearful or insecure thoughts stand in my way. They'll prevent me from living my vibrant life. So, kick-ass friends, get out there, take chances. Live a juicy life!

Running with the Wolves

It's been 14 days since my last chemo treatment and I feel like me again, minus endurance and my usual exuberant energy. I feel good, good enough to go dancing!
I imagine myself running the treadmill, hiking a mountain trail, riding my road bike along Maine's rocky shores. I want to run with the wolves, all night, to drink and party.
I want to run wild.
Limits
I have no reserve energy. At the cellular level, I'm running a marathon. I'm a fan on the sidelines, cheering my body on, amazed by its ability to fall behind and then make a great comeback. I am my body's biggest fan and supporter.
In that role, I honor my soul's dwelling by eating the most healthy food I can (except for the occasional pizza and yesterday's delicious Junior Whopper w/Cheese). I don't drink any alcohol. OK, last night I had two sips of Claudette's red wine. I praised Bacchas for the wine's delicious, if forbidden, taste and ask forgiveness for this small sin.
End of the Road
I'll take my third chemo treatment tomorrow. There will be no running, only the dream of moving effortlessly, gracefully, always forward on the path to wellness. And then there will be dancing.

"That'll do Wig, that'll do."

My daughter's home from college (yea!) and together we restyled my long haired wig on its kind of creepy mannequin head. The wig is looking fabulous and I'm getting much better at styling it.
But it's taking on a life of its own ... in a way that worries my daughter about my mental health:
"Her hair looks better if it's smooth and soft looking."
"Mom, it's a wig, not a she."
"Yes, but, I'm going to put hot rollers in her hair and see how she looks."
"Mom, you called it a she again."
"She looks good with her hair half-up, half-down with this pretty claw clip, don't you think?"
"Mom!"
When I was a kid, I had the Crissie doll, the one with the hair that you could make long or short by turning a wheel mounted in her back (you could get her hair out faster if you just yanked on the pony tail at the top of her head, rather than that tedious wheel). And I had the head and shoulders Barbie doll which came with brush, comb, rollers and makeup. Oh, I might as well 'fess up that my mom was a career hair stylist; I'm working my DNA-inspired inner hair dresser!
My wigs are my new friends.

Too Much Reality

Too much trauma this week. My "hair" appointment was emotional. I admire the take charge women who shave their heads with a my-bald-head-is-beautiful and a kiss-my-ass-if-it-makes-you-uncomfortable attitude. But I feel shorn.
Losing my hair was a grievous process. Half gone by Tuesday morning, it was falling out everywhere. My dogs laughed at me: I was shedding!
To fit into my new hair, I had to give what was left of the old. The process: brush, scalp massage and then the clipper's evil buzz takes the rest. My kick-ass friend Valerie held my hands through that moment. I left Madeleine's with the big, sexy, Texas hair of my dreams, but I'd lost my hair and a basic recognition of myself.
Psychologists say babies recognize themselves as separate beings before language in the "mirror moment." It's when we develop our self-awareness, our self-image. I identified strongly with my hair in my mirror moment--I know this for sure!
What is true beauty? Can I still feel pretty without my locks? This is the journey of authenticity. The women survivors of breast cancer whom I've met radiate a glowing confidence. I think this redefinition of what beauty truly must be is one of the underpinnings of that power.

A Chemo-Induced "Rape of the Lock"

Even Alexander Pope's genius invented militia of light spirits could not prevent the loss of my locks any more than it could that of Belinda from losing half her hair to the evil intentions of a suitor and a jealous coquette. (literature nerds check here: http://www.luminarium.org/eightlit/pope/popebib.php ).
I took my second chemo treatment Friday and noticed the small locks that were falling when I washed my hair. I was able to style my hair as usual, with less volume. Saturday, it was hands off the top of the hair while I curled the bottom, using hairspray more as adhesive than styling aid.
Sunday afternoon, while watching a movie, I noticed my collar forming an additional collar--of hair! My hair! Instant tears. Meltdown time.
It's not just the hair; it's the "in your face" confirmation that, yes, this cancer thing is real; you're a chemo patient. This is really happening.
And, I'm still traumatized from the Pixie cut my mom gave me when I was five!
Today I'm allowing myself some space to grieve the loss of my locks.
Tomorrow morning, new, big sexy hair from Madeleine's in the new, beautiful Sullivan Center, Saco, Maine http://www.sullivancenterofmaine.com/.
I'm confident that by the time I leave there, Ken, hair magician, and Tammy Ahearn, breast cancer survivor and owner of this wonderful resource for women, will help me through this transition with their support and humor.
My hair loss is another right of passage on this journey to beating cancer. I salute all the women on this path who have redefined beauty. I'm thinking especially of my fabulous Texas friends Teri and Theresa.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I'm very attached to my hair. Our roots are deep. My hair and I have experienced the highest highs (thanks to Super Powered hairsprays) and the lowest lows (the '80's, need I say more?). I've never had perfect hair. Mine is fine and it takes a strong will and honed blow-drying skills to get it to poof and curl, but I love its style. Its curly, fringe hugs my neck and tickles my shoulders, reminding me at every turn that I am a flirty feline.
But my hair's days are numbered.
Tomorrow I'll take my second chemo treatment and the experts predict that by Tuesday, I'll look like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.
Take my breasts; leave my hair!
I can't prepare myself for this moment. I don't think anyone can.
All I could do was launch Plan B: The Emergency Hair Back-up system (EHB). Girls, I bought the hair of my dreams: Big Sexy Hair. It's thick with long, loose curls. It's beautiful.
And creepy. There's a mannequin head clamped to my bath vanity. She's wearing the EHB until I need it.

I Feel Bad About My Breast

Just when I’ve pulled my life to a place where I’m feeling empowered, inspired and positive, I find the one thing none of us ever wants to find. I call my best friend, Claudette.
“I found a lump.”
“Come over and let me feel it.”
“What do you think?” (My BFF is also a nurse practitioner).
“Call your doc right now.”
A mammogram, ultrasound, and one biopsy later, I’m diagnosed with lobular invasive carcinoma, the second most common kind of breast cancer, my left breast gone bad, left lymph nodes behaving badly, probably Stage II.
Three martinis will not make this “girl, interrupted” moment go away - I tried.
My breast cancer is curable, but the road to remission is a long, tough journey: sixteen weeks of chemo, then surgery, reconstruction, and radiation.
I change my ring tone to the Bee Gees’ classic “Stayin’ Alive.”
The next step is a series of eerie, intimidating diagnostic tests. I want to run away, but can feel my doctor’s footprint on my behind to get all the tests done.
A couple of the tests make you radioactive! I thought about how cool it would be to be eight years old again, telling my school friends that I’m radioactive. It doesn’t make you glow in the dark—I checked.
The MRI is easy – the after-pictures suck. This is NOT your best look, lying face down, boobs hanging through two square holes. Seeing a few of the images, I imagine the radiologists asking each other, “Holstein?” “No. Definitely a Guernsey.”
I still don’t believe I have breast cancer. No family history, healthy lifestyle – except when I was three, I used to chew on my great grandma’s lead-painted windowsills. Geez, it’s not even breast cancer awareness month! Isn’t this an October thing?
Cancel bikini wax.
“Breast cancer is an epidemic,” says my oncologist (I have an oncologist!). “I’m seeing eight to ten new patients every week.”
Girls, we need to be talking about breast cancer more than once a year. I don’t think I understood the word, epidemic, until the cancer invaded my left breast.
Now the message is close to my heart.
My daisy chain of kick-ass girl friends is here, holding me and helping me. This undeniable strength between women, a chain of love, an invincible bond, growing exponentially faster than any cancer, fills my heart.
My daughter, Kay, loving and courageous, shows her support with lots of notes, phone calls and weekend visits home from college. My mom is hat shopping for me as I write this!
Together, my family and friends have formed a formidable team, already supporting my journey in lots of life affirming ways. The amazing thing is that I’m making new friends, too, among girls who have already done this journey, survivors, and those who are still in the fight. I thought illness would isolate me, instead I’m making more connections.
I’ve already ordered custom-made big sexy hair, and a second, edgy, 80’s rock chick version for tough days when I might want to sing “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”
Yes, my life is interrupted. Cancer treatment makes me tired. It gives me some bad days and a renewed appreciation for good days.
I am determined to meet this tough challenge with spunk and my bad attitude. My kick-ass girlfriends will get me the rest of the way. And, I am empowered and inspired by the love and support of all the people in my life.
Note to self: wear cowboy boots to next chemo.