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.