Video interview about my book

Hello Readers,

I continue to have little to comment on here, as my world is still shaken apart by my daughter's death.

But I ventured out into the social world last weekend and attended a fund raiser for breast cancer awareness. Someone coaxed me out of the noisy bar and into the parking lot to conduct a short interview. Click here to see the interview (it's the second screen down on the page, so you need to scroll down just a bit).

Thanks for hanging in with me. There is no news to report on my health. When there is (or when I get up the ambition to promote the book), I'll tell you first.

I hope you find joy in your holiday season. I'm just anxious for it to be over with.

Penny

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Nothing to say

I continue to have nothing to offer here. I'll get back to it, I'm sure, but for now, nothing really matters. I hope you'll cut me a break for a while.

Anything I have to say goes here.

I'll be back here when I can.

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Just keep going here

It's almost more than I can manage to write on one blog.

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The first full day

Go here...

My other blog

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My inspiration, my beautiful girl

My daughter died today. She was 25.

She was my inspiration to fight my breast cancer. I did it so she'd have me around for a long time. And now she is gone.

She will continue to inspire me to every greatness I might achieve.

But not today. Not right now.

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We're making money for the cause!

I got my first royalty check in the mail today, and am I every excited. It’s for $32.37… granted that’s not a lot of money but it’s a great beginning.

Proceeds of all my online sales go as a donation to a local pharmacy that provides wigs and prosthetic devises to women, and my donation will help those who have little or no insurance to buy the personal care items they need.

Proceeds for the sales I’m making on my own are being put into additional book inventory, so I can keep a supply on hand and take care of local interest.

I expect that to pick up in the near future, as I’ve started marketing efforts. I have press releases out to local media with promises of interviews and well-placed stories. I’ve got a connection at a radio station in Lawrence and hope to go on-the-air for a live interview. And I’m sending a book to Oprah. Can’t hurt!

So, buy-buy-buy! Help me make a BIG donation to the cause.
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On being thoughtless

One of the good things about the passing of time is that it puts another day between me and my breast cancer. It feels and sounds terrible selfish to say that but it's an honest statement about how I feel.

Dave and I went to a find raiser last night for our new friend Laurie, who is battling a brain tumor. She had an MRI recently that shows no evidence of her tumor, and that's wonderful news. She's filled with optimism and hope, and has a strong network of family and friends helping her along her sally. I'm convinced that that kind of support is key to recovery.

Laurie made a note on her Facebook page yesterday that she hates having "chemo brain." It's hard to explain what that is... you're disconnected and out-of-sync. Forgetful and slow. That's what I remember about it; it may affect people differently. Sounds simple and perhaps even routine, like an ordinary bad day.

But chemo brain is different because it becomes the new normal. It's not like the morning you drank the night away. It doesn't go away with a couple of Tylenol and nap. Chemo Brain makes it hard to get into a rhythm and to keep that rhythm going. Because it hangs on, you get used to it in an uncomfortable way. You start to grow concerned that this is the way you will always be. Your new normal is something that isn't what you used to be at all, nothing you'd choose. The harder you to try to fight to get back to being yourself, the more comfortable chemo brain gets to living in your world.

I used to worry that I'd never be "Me" again and that frightened the hell out of me. I couldn't imagine how my family could love me, my friends like me, my colleagues respect me if I changed into someone I didn't want to be because of the poison that was running through my blood stream. I was turning into someone I didn't know and didn't want to know. I wanted to badly to be "Normal Me" again that I'd have given up almost anything God might have asked.

I mention all of this because someone posted back to Laurie's lament, "But it's funny to the rest of us."

Funny? That remark bothered the complete hell out of me. I wouldn't say it on Laurie's Facebook page, but that shows such a lack of respect. That someone would find amusement in her cancer is a reaction I can't get my mind around. And apparently it wasn't just the writer finding humor... who are "the rest of us?"

I joke about my cancer, but it's OK for me to do it because it's mine. I earned the right to joke about it because I'm a proud, card-carrying member of The Chemo Brain Club. I sometimes voice an affirmative about something and give the reason as "Why not, it won't make my hair fall out!" I've even blamed something silly I did on the lingering influence of chemo brain.

It's OK for me to do these things because I've been there. If you haven't then you can't. My blog, my rules, but come on, think about it... it's decent and courteous NOT to make fun of people who have cancer.

Maybe the person who made the remark earned the right to make jokes about chemo brain the way I did, and the way Laurie is earning her membership card right now. But I rather doubt it. I think instead the writer is one of those there-in-the-moment kinds of people who makes time to think about Laurie when it's convenient to do so.

It's these thoughtless moments that make it OK for other people to continue the thoughtlessness and foster insensitivity. I'm not asking you to embrace it the way I do, I'm just asking you to do what your mother (should have) taught you to do... if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

Put another way, if you can't show a little support, shut the hell up and get out of the way. We're fighting cancer and you're name isn't on the invitation list. We'll talk to you later. Maybe.

I don't want to rant on this any more. I want to forget one person's classless unkindness and move on.

On another cancer note, I'm going to Maine on Wednesday to spend the day with another friend who is in treatment with a brain tumor. She is having a very difficult time. She's been robbed of the lost the sight in one eye and is hopeful that her treatment will stop the tumor from stealing the sight in the other. When I spoke to her last week she sounded so tired... not just physically, but mentally--as if just talking and focusing on out conversation was a supreme effort. Talk about chemo brain.

She and her husband were given a week in Key West as a get-away, and they are there now. I'll call them tomorrow and confirm their return plans and get the time and location for her Wednesday treatment. It's going to be a difficult day and I'll be honest and tell you that my head isn't looking forward to it. But I also know that my heart knows it's the right thing to do and that my hart wouldn't have it any other way.

It's the little things that people did for me that helped my head find its way back from my cancer experience. It was the small gestures and the kind words that I placed on top of the foundation of love and support that my family worked so hard to build. It takes something as simple as a smile and a gentle touch of a hand. It takes listening. That doesn't mean agreeing, just listening--that is so important. And sometimes in just takes being there, in the same room or the same space. Just being there and letting the togetherness fill the space in place of talk and voices.

No one earning a membership card to the Chemo Brain Club needs ridicule disguised as friendship.

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A new me!

I'm looking and feeling different today. I have a breast form for my bra. It fills me up enough that I don't look lopsided any more.

Funny thing is, I didn't think I needed the help. Like so many other aspects of my disease, treatment, and recovery, getting a little help in the image department didn't seem important. This is what it is and I am what I've become. So what if the right side lags behind the left in size? I'm still me, right?

I thought so, and I thought everything was good the way it was.

At my last visit with my surgeon, I joked with him that he ruined me for bra shopping. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to buy a bra that fits?" I asked in a mock accusing tone. He pulled out his prescription pad and wrote me a script for 5 mastectomy bras, all the while apologizing for not having done so sooner.

"You're entitled to one of these every year," he said.

Earlier this week, the Pretty Girl and I went to Lady Grace in Danvers and spent an hour with a wonderful woman named Suzanne. She measured me for a bra to fit my left (full) breast, disappeared, and came back with a form to fill the gap on the right.

It's pure magic. Fits perfectly. Makes me even. Makes me very happy! The form is made of silicone, feels like real skin, and has a built in nipple. It comes with a two-year warranty. Pretty damn cool.

Turns out that everything wasn't fine. I wasn't fine with my appearance, and in a way that bothers the hell out of me. There's this sense that--to hell with you and yours if I'm not good enough the way I am.

But I'm also growing wiser as I age and live with breast cancer as a part of my life (granted now it is in the past, but it's still part of what I've become). The wise side of me is trying to understand and accept that it's OK to be humbled by all of this, and it's OK not to be a rock all the time. Not that I'm weak, far from that, but it's OK to let it overwhelm me now and again.

That's what happened this week. Once again the breast cancer became something to deal with, not hide from. I let it take front stage and be the point of discussion. And this time I got to walk away from it feeling better about myself and the way I look.

A win-win.

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The book is a hit!

I've had amazing feedback on the book. The comments that mean the most to me came from my mother, who never read my blog. She just couldn't bring herself to face it and I never pushed or asked her why. I figured she'd get into it when the moment was right. I guess being healthy and publishing the story brought her to that moment.

She said she particularly liked my use of humor. I know I laughed out loud a couple of times when I read it. I've always hid behind humor and used it to defuse tension. Perhaps it wasn't always appropriate, but I am what I am.

My cousin Melissa is taking part in a breast cancer walk tomorrow (Sunday, Oct 18) in Manchester NH. She's been participating in this event for 25 years and in honor of her mother, Natalie, who died in 1985. That's the aunt I refer to along the way when I talk about my family history (my aunt Nat and her mother, my grandmother, Ruth).

Melissa called the other day and asked for as many copies of the book as I had to give her. She's taking them to the walk tomorrow. We'll see whether it sparks any more sales.

It fills my heart to know that the book is touching people, whether they've faced this themselves or love someone else who has gone through it. Every story reminds me of my good fortune to have gone through it and come to the other side in good health.

(On a side note, I heard a radiation therapy professional refer to patients "cured" through therapy. I'm not sure I'll ever believe that the words "cancer" and "cure" can fit it the same sentence. I'll hope, however, that it really happens--and happens soon.)

I'm having breakfast tomorrow with Tanya and Debbie, my Sistas. We're overdue to be together. I'll post a photo.

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Good news on the BC front

Found this in the newspaper this morning:

LOS ANGELES - US breast cancer deaths have declined about 2 percent a year since 1990, according to the American Cancer Society.

Its report estimates 192,370 women will be diagnosed with the disease in 2009 and 40,170 will die from it. Only lung cancer accounts for more cancer deaths in women.

Death rates in black women have started to fall at the same rate as those for Caucasians, but remain 40 percent higher.

Based on the latest data, survival rates for women with breast cancer are:

■ 89 percent at five years after diagnosis
■ 82 percent after 10 years
■ 75 percent after 15 years

I like what I read. Anything that's positive is a good thing. Among the positive lately is good news for my friend Elaine.

I'm getting nice feedback on the book. It's exciting and its humbling.

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THE BOOK IS HERE!

My book is officially available at www.lulu.com (click for a direct link to the page) and will soon be on Amazon.com.

I'd love to come an do a reading for your group! Drop me a comment and let's talk!


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Another extraordinary woman

I met someone special yesterday, a beautiful baby girl named Grace.

She was baptized at church yesterday and our minister invited me to “receive” her on behalf of the congregation. When he concluded the ceremony he walked up the center aisle with Grace, stopping along the way to show her to the congregation. I was standing at the back of the sanctuary at the top of the aisle and he handed her to me. I walked back down the aisle with Grace and the minister, then stood with her family while the minister said another prayer. Then he turned to me and said, “OK, you have to giver her back now.”

Laughter. Wonderful laughter.

Every child is special. But this one is a little more so, I dare say. Her mother, Laurie, has been diagnosed with Ewings sarcoma and is putting up the fight of her life. She should be enjoying motherhood. Instead she’s having chemo, and lots of it. She says she feels good but she’s tired. I’m not surprised.

She wrote last night and thanked me for taking part in the service. She says she reads my blog and look up to me and admires my strength. She closes her signature with a quote from the blog:

"This isn’t easy. Not one bit. But we make it through because we are strong and we’re so worth the fight."

It’s not easy. For some it’s harder than it is for others. You know how I feel about my fight. Laurie’s, I imagine, is harder than I ever thought mine might ever be. I hope Laurie will be a lucky fighter, like I was. Like I am.

So this morning I’m thinking about Laurie and Grace. When she’s older Grace will be very proud of her mother. Right now they just deserve to have time to be together like all mothers and daughter should have. Time to do everything or nothing at all, whatever the spirit wants the day to be. Carefree and in the moments. Without chemo, drugs, doctor, worry and dread.

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Excellent news for a Cancer Sister

My friend Gail (my Gail with the brain tumor) got wonderful news today. Here is the message her husband sent:

"Gail had an MRI this morning at Dana Farber in Boston. Scan showed about 50% reduction in tumor from last scan 8 weeks ago. Same reduction both in temporal lobe (original tumor location) and in vicinity of optical nerve (where last scan showed tumor had spread).

"This is better than average result for patients like Gail who begin taking Avastin after recurrent tumor growth. FDA recently approved Avastin for recurrent brain tumors based on studies showing 26% of such patients having 50% or more reduction. Gail is pleased that she is in the group with such good results! We are all greatly relieved..."

Isn't that fabulous news? I'm so excited for Gail and her family. When you're walking the fine line, you look for every bit of good news. It carries you forward with a momentum that I just can't explain. You have to go there to understand.

Whatever. It's great news and that's the only thing that matters.

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A very difficult day for a BC sister

I got an email today from a friend of a friend who is going through a tough time with her breast cancer treatments. It’s an important mail to share. My response follows.

She wrote…

I haven't reached out prior to this because, for the most part, I've been doing fine....this weekend I've hit a wall. All weekend my stomach has been upset in anticipation of my first 4 hour Taxol treatment Tuesday (I've had 4 Adriomycin & Cytoxin doses thus far which were about 2 hours and now we are switching), and my husband just pointed out that it's not until next Monday that I have my chemo! this week is just a blooddraw to check my numbers....I'm feeling like a kid who doesn't want to go to the Dr's, I think if I was the one driving I'd be late constantly because I dread it so much...it's so much so that even though I don't get nauseous with the chemo meds, I actually get nauseous the day or 2 prior to chemo..it's all psychological but I can't seem to control it....and I actually have not had it that rough at all. My numbers have been great, I haven't experienced nausea or vomiting..all I've had to contend with really is heartburn and the hair loss...and I still have some hair (although I look like an old lady in need of her perm and tease!)

I'm just dreading the 4 hour treatments so much that I want to cry sometimes, and it's really not rational because they keep telling me how the AC was so much worse and if I made it through that the Taxol will be a piece of cake...Everyone says just focus on the positive, think good thoughts...I've been so positive all through this and I'm nosediving all of a sudden and I feel as though I should be soaring because I am halfway through and it's suppose to be an easier medicine but just can't get those wings to open and thus instead of soaring I'm nosediving.....

*********************

And I responded:

I'm glad you wrote. Sounds like you're having a just awful horrible time and I'm so sorry.

I think it's everyone's job to tell you how great you're doing and how the next step will be easier. It's their job to ell you to be positive and to think good thoughts... when all you really want to do it tell them all to go to hell. Am I right?

This isn't easy and it isn't a piece of cake. It's hard and it's difficult and it's no fun at all. You know it, and I know it and deep down inside a lot of the people who are telling you to be positive... well, they know it too. But being positive and upbeat is what they are supposed to do. It's their way of getting themselves through what you are going through. You have the hard job, enduring the treatment, watching y our physician shelf change, losing your hair and your appetite, feeling off balance and just not like yourself. Their job is hard too, because all they can do is stand by and watch all these crappy things happen to you and there is nothing they can do to stop or change it, so they put on the cheery face and try to be positive and happy.

I did the same two drugs, A & C, four treatments, three weeks apart for the first three and then two weeks between treatment three and four. That last one was MISERABLE! My treatments took about 3 to 4 hours at a time. I didn't do Taxol (I think that's a drug given to women who have no yet gone through menopause, but I could be wrong...) So, you're waking a path I didn't have to go down. I can't relate exactly to the Taxol, but I hear you LOUD AND CLEAR on how hard this is and I understand how much you really don't want to continue. But you really have to, and I know you know that.

Seriously, I'd ask your doc if there is something you can take before your treatment that will relax you a bit. Seriously... My doc told me the offer was on the table, if I ever needed anything to get into and through treatment.

Here is one other thing. You say you are nosediving. Don't beat yourself up over that. You are entitled to have low points. You can't expect to be on top of your game all the time. You need to allow yourself the time and opportunity to withdraw and just be inside your own head for a little while.

My advice would be to NOT focus on the feeling of nosediving versus soaring. Can you give it another name? Maybe instead, think of it as having strong days and not-so-strong days. Great days and not-so-good days. It's a game of words, and certainly the rotten days are just that... rotten. But call them something that's not so daunting. How about if you call a good day by your favorite dessert name, like, "Today is apple pie!" and call a bad day by something you really don't like as a dessert, like, 'Today sucks like green jello."

It's word games, but they help you over the hump.

One more thing... and this is really important. When I was at your point in treatment (just done with my four A & Cs), I was worried (truly) about my mental health. I felt like I was off my game, a step or two behind everything, not sharp, not focused. Do you know what I mean? I was SO worried that I was never going to get back to being myself, that I would always feel out of touch and fuzzy.

That didn't happen. I got myself back. I got back my focus and my clarity. I honestly feel stronger and more collected that ever. Really, I mean that. I am NOT just saying this to help you over a rough patch. It happened for me. It will happen for you.

This uncomfortable place you find yourself in is normal and natural and to be expected. The most important thing you can do right now is accept that it's OK and normal. The next most important thing for you to do is to reach out and ask for some help getting through it. You took the first step when you wrote to me for some help. Now you need to take another step and call your medical team. Ask your doc or your nurse at the oncology center for some guidance on what you can take to help you relax as you get ready for your next treatment. Call them tomorrow.

And stay in touch with me. I'm really glad you wrote.

********************

This isn’t easy. Not one bit. But we make it through because we are strong and we’re so worth the fight.

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Save 10%

How cool is this? My publishing house sent me a coupon code worth 10% off any purchase on their Web site! When my book is ready I'll share and you'll be able to save a whole $1.29 (I anticipate a price of $12.95, wicked cheap, I'm sure you'll agree).

And on a side note, a portion of the proceeds will benefit the Winchester Hospital Breast Care Center. I am going to ask that any donations be used to provide mammograms for women who do not have insurance coverage.

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The Journey is now A Book

Well, I did it. I've published my breast cancer sally book.

I hot "go" on the publisher's Web site last night and ordered a printer proof. I'll have it in about a week and will mark up and changes I want to make, and then release it for distribution.

It will be available through places such as Amazon.com and for book stores to purchase for sale.

This is an exciting moment. I'll keep you advised when it's available.

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Change is good

Good morning!

I'm changing things up here on the blog. I'm starting a new writing adventure and turning this site into what it was always meant to be--a chronicle of my breast cancer journey.

Every day I take another step away from the label of "patient" and it feels so good to be walking in that direction.

But at the same time, I'm finding new challenges that keep me inside the cancer circle. I'm becoming a resource for patients and families who crave information and guidance. It's flattering to be thought of this way, and I'm making other life changes that will allow me to be the resource I couldn't find when I started my own difficult journey.

So... look for musing and information you need in a new place, at pennywrites.wordpress.com. Over the next few weeks I will pick through this blog and delete posts that aren't related to the cancer journey. I'll pick up some of the best stuff I have here and transfer it over to the new place.

I hope you'll bookmark me twice. I've loved every minute of what this has been to this point. The cancer journey is ready to be published as a book. All I need to do it hit "go" and I'll be a published author.

Maybe taking this step will be the incentive I need to make that dream a reality.

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My friend Alice

It’s too late to call Alice and say hello. It’s too late to say goodbye.

My friend Alice O’Reilly, a most extraordinary lady, died last week. She was gifted leader in her community, her church, and at Holy Family Hospital in Methuen, an institution she loved with all her heart. Many people looked to Alice for guidance and encouragement and she was generous with both.

I met Alice when I was a reporter for the Eagle-Tribune and continued a telephone and card relationship with her after I left the newspaper. I made lots of promises to visit her over these last nine years and never followed through on one of them.

Life got in the way. There were things that needed to be done, whether real or perceived, and I never made the time to keep Alice closer to my heart. I spoke with her not too long ago and we talked about making a lunch date. It never happened.

I was in Washington DC last week when I stumbled across her obituary on the Boston Globe Web site. It took my breath away to read it and made me truly ashamed that I let a wonderful friendship slip away without knowing more about what was happening in my friend’s life.

I’ve since learned that she was seriously ill for some time. “I had no idea, she never said anything,” I said to the person who shared details of her death. “She wouldn’t have told you,” he said to me, “that wasn’t Alice’s way.”

I missed countless opportunities to keep Alice more an active part of my life. All I can be now is terribly sorry.


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On a related note, sort of, I let the entire summer go by and never kept a promise of a dinner date with my nephew Tom. He drove back to college yesterday, back to RIT in Rochester, NY. More opportunities lost… but a correction I’ll be able to make, if he’ll let me.

So, goodbye to Alice, who will always be in my heart. And a promise I promise I’ll keep to Tom the next time he has time for me.


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Happy Anniversary to Me!

Two years ago today I had my second breast cancer surgery. That led to the finding that it had spread to my lymph node. And that led to the decision to go into chemotherapy treatment. And that led to (among other things) going bald and coming back grey.

Considering the alternative, I wouldn't have missed a moment of it.

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Power to the Patient

I had an appointment with one of my breast cancer doctors today (I'm on a follow up plan with three docs--surgeon, oncologist, and radiologist, that involve appointments every three to six months. It's part of the plan and I'm good with that schedule.)

It's not unusual for two of my three docs to run late; I've had to wait has much as two hours for the oncologist... I don't appreciate being made to wait, who does? But you do what you have to do when you're in this boat.

So there I was this morning, doing a slow burn. I had a mental intervention and decided that I wasn't going to take it. I was the first appointment of the day and he was 30 minutes late.

When the medical assistant took me to the exam room, I asked her if the doc was in the building (I've learned through experience that asking if the doc is running late is useless, I ask if the doc is in the building).

She said he was not, and I asked her to find out when he'd be there. Actually I told her to go find out. She came back and said someone had him on the phone and that he'd be with me in 10 minutes. I told her, "Go tell whoever he's talking to to tell him that if he's not here in 15 minutes that I am leaving, with my copayment, and that I will expect a call from him with the name of the surgeon he will turn me over to, because I will be through with him."

She came back, having delivered the message. I apologized to her for speaking the way I had. I told her I knew it was not her fault and that I'd had no right to speak to her the way I had. She was gracious and so very kind. She deserved better than I'd given her. She smiled and said, "Don't apologize. This happens all the time."

He walked in a few moments later. And I gave him an earful. I never raised my voice and I did not get emotional. I spoke in an even tone.. and I let him have it.

I told him that, over the course of our nearly 2 1/2 year relationship, he has been late for every appointment. EVERY appointment. I have been on time or early for every appointment. I have done everything he has ever asked of me so that I could get and stay healthy. I said I was offended of his lack of respect for me as his patient (really, I said that!). I told him that I wanted him to understand how upset I was and that if he could not tell me when to make an appointment that he might be better able to make on time, I wanted him to give me the name of another doc and that I would take my "business" elsewhere.

I shocked the hell out of him. He was genuinely stunned. And very apologetic. He has laughed off some of my comments in the past, and I've never appreciated that, but I always took it. Respect for the doc and all that B.S.

I think it was calling him on his lack of respect that made him really get it.

Until the next time, I'm afraid. I honestly don't expect things to ever get better, but I wasn't going to smile on the outside and steam on the inside. Not again. I know there are emergencies but I expect and deserve some consideration and an apology when things fall off track.

Why do we let people in positions of power push us around like that? Doctors do this all the time... and it's so frustrating, particularly when you spend as much time at medical appointments as I've spent in the last two-plus years.

We all need to learn to speak up, but we need to be sure we speak to the people who have the power to make something work.

If you're ticked at your doc, don't lash out at the medical assistant or the receptionist. It's not their fault that the doc double books or runs late. These good people are the ones who bear the weight of our fussing and complaining. Be good to them.

Disclaimer: OK, I'm the mother of a medical assistant, a hard working, wonderful health care professional who has taken her share of crap from patients over the last couple of years. She helps me be a strong patient. I think she'd echo what I've said here. If you've got something to say, say it to the doc.

Stand up for yourself. Be your own advocate. Give hell when it needs to be given but do it with respect. Your health care needs to be about you and your needs.

You have the power. Use it.

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A special "Dad" message

Please take a moment and go to PeaceBang's site and read her wonderful Father's Day tribute to her Dad.

If your is here, I hope told him how much he means to you.


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Two Years... Fifteen Years

It was two years ago today that I got my breast cancer diagnosis. My, time goes so quickly when you are busy living it.

If I had to go back, I wouldn't do anything differently and that's a really good feeling—believing I did everything I could have done and did it right. Only the passing of more time will tell for sure.

And today is Father's Day! It was 15 years ago today my Dad had his last Father's Day. I hope he knew I offered heartfelt wishes and all my love on that day. And every day.

Share some Father's Day love today with someone special.

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I got great news today

It’s been a while since we walked down Breast Cancer Lane, but hell, let’s head that way now.

I got great, great news today. I underwent testing three weeks ago to see if I carry a gene mutation for hereditary breast and ovarian cancer.

I do not carry the gene. Most importantly—my daughter doesn’t have it.

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If you’ve following breast cancer news, you may have heard of the BRACA1 and BRACA2 genes. These gene mutations significantly raise your chances of developing breast and/or ovarian cancer. The routine “fix” for a positive test it to have a double mastectomy and ovaries removed. In other words, get rid of those places where cancer might develop.

Dramatic, eh??

With the history of breast cancer in my family (my maternal aunt and maternal grandmother), my doctors and PJ’s doctors have urged that I get tested. If I came back positive, she would be tested.

Since I came back negative, she doesn’t need to worry about it. She continues to have slightly elevated chance of developing breast cancer (somewhere in an early blog entry I mentioned her “chances.”) because I had it, but her chances are significantly lower than they’d be if she tested positive.

If I’d been positive, I probably would have waited until the breast cancer returned (if it returned…) and then had surgery. But young women who have the bad gene generally get on with having babies and then have the surgeries.

If I’d been positive, there’s a chance PJ might come back negative. It’s nicer knowing she doesn’t have to

I’m grateful that we don’t have to think about this, particularly for PJ. It would be a terrible burden to carry until she was ready to take action. And she’d wonder if she’d pass it along to her children.

All along this interesting sally I have said that I’m lucky. Lucky to have found it early enough, before it had a chance to do serious harm. Lucky to have rebounded. Lucky to have such a wonderful network of family and friends. Lucky, lucky, lucky.

Lucky again today. What great news!

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Happy Mother's Day

My baby and me. We walked the lake in Wakefield, went out for iced coffee, did a WalMart run, and it was all very wonderful.

It doesn't get much better than this!

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Back on the prayer list

My friend Gail (not my Gail of "...and Chuck" fame, my other Gail) needs to go back on your prayer list.

Apparently her brain cancer is making an unwanted return. Her current course of treatment is not working and it appears that a small nodule left from her original surgery is growing. Her Boston doctors offered a treatment plan, which was endorsed by Duke Medical. She and her family explored more options and have opted for surgery at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles this coming week, to be followed by possible participation in a clinical trial fora new cancer vaccine.

Please save a prayer for Gail and her family. Wouldn't it be amazingly wonderful if there really is a vaccine??

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Hello Amy!

Hello Amy,

I saw your Aunt Laura this evening (she's my husband's nutrition counselor). She said you and your mother have been reading this blog. I hope you've found an entry or two that make you laugh, give you some insight, or maybe just reinforced for you that the way you're feeling or the things you're thinking about are usual and customary for someone who is fighting the fight.

Amy, I hope you'll call me if you ever want to talk. I don't have mystical insight, I don't know the answers to all of the questions. I just know what it's like to be where you are right now.

The most important thing I learned on my journey was that the hard part of my journey came to an end. There was a very real moment in time when I stopped sliding down and started climbing again. And on the days when you feel low and sad and as unhappy as you can imagine you could ever be, I hope that in some small place in your heart you know that you'll start climbing again.

The fatigue will easy. Your hair will grow back. The aches in your bones will disappear. Until that day comes there are some things you need to do.

Nap when you are tired. Ponder when your mind needs to be busy. Take yourself for a walk when you have the energy. Find someone to listen when you need to talk. Find someone who will sit with you and be silent when you need quiet company. Insist on being left alone when you need solitude. Cry if you need to. It's OK.

Refuse to spend time with people who give you nothing but negative energy. Tell them to take their war stories and go away. Tell them you don't have the time, energy, or interest. People like that aren't really your friends.

Most important is to laugh when you can. Take notes (start a blog!) so you can remember these days and these feelings. Believe me, you won't remember the little things when the calendar puts enough time between today and months down the road.

I started my blog because I didn't want to forget any of the feelings. I want to be able to go back and read the entries. They remind me about how far I've come and they make me understand how uniquely personal this thing really is.

Cancer doesn't define me, Amy. It's not what I am. It's part of my past, just a part, and it's not what you are. You are Amy first, wonderful and stronger than something that's just that... something. It's not what makes you Amy.

So, give me a call if you ever want to talk.

Always remember, you're beautiful.

Penny

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Palm Sunday

As my brother so aptly announced this morning on Facebook, "Hosanna!" To which I replied, "In the Highest!"

Palm Sunday, the day that celebrates Jesus' arrived in Jerusalem in the week before his death. Holy Week... Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter. Today commemorates the spreading of palms and clothing in Jesus' path as He entered Jerusalem prior to His crucifixion.

I'm not much of a church goer. I have my own version of faith in my head and in my heart. I'm comfortable with what I feel, what moves me, and what keeps me going. I love the Easter season, the message and the music, and the feeling of hope it gives me.

My father quoted a bible verse when I tested his answers to questions I'd ask. It was always a simple exchange. I'd ask when the rain would stop, or whether he thought the Red Sox would beat the Yankees. Whatever... it never anything life threatening. He'd answer, and I'd ask "Really?" or "Are you sure?" And he would reply, "If it were not so I would have told you."

That expression comes from Jesus, during the Last Supper, telling his disciples that he was going before them to prepare a place for them in Heaven. "In my father's house there are many rooms. If it were not so I would have told you." (There are many variations, depends on which version of The Bible you read, but you get the idea.)

From the religious point of view, this is my favorite time of the year. Charlton Heston (who shares my birthday...) stars in the classic "The Ten Commandments," and it will be on television sometime this week. It's a fabulous (if not long) movie... he bickers with Yul Brenner (the nasty Rameses II), denies Ann Baxter (as that trashy Egyptian princess Nefertiri), parts the waters, delivers God's rules, and looks amazing strutting around in chains.

Enjoy Holy Week, in whatever fashion it moves you. Maybe it's just another string of days linked by weekends. Maybe you'll spend time in thought or prayer.

I will spend a little time in wonder about whether my father's new dwelling place really has many rooms and if in fact he has gone ahead to prepare one for me. He didn't say as much before he left, but I'm going to hedge that he did. Indeed.

After all, if it were not so, he'd have told me.

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Mary Poppins

That's me, "practically perfect in every way."

Saw four docs in four days and got checked out top to bottom (and everyplace in between). All of the numbers are great (blood pressure, cholesterol, glucose, you name it, we checked it all), and the cancer marker in my blood is the lowest it's ever been. Things are just dandy.

The only thing left to do is have a colonoscopy, and that's scheduled for May 1. More on that another time.

In keeping with the Mary Poppins theme, I leave you with Dick Van Dyke and the Dancing Penguins. Go ahead, it's only five minutes...

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Good news, good news, bad news

Good news #1: Saw my radiologist today and I've graduated to the "You Don't Have To Come Back For 12 Months" plan. And my blood pressure was 110 over 60.

Good news #2: It's the first day of spring and the first batch of crocuses have come up in the garden. Time to get out there with the rake and clean the beds of dead leaves.


Bad news: Guess whose car failed Massachusetts inspection? Hello Nassar Ford and new tie rods (whatever those are...) I won't have a car tomorrow, so I'll be raking...

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St. Patrick's Day, Southie style

Everyone is a little Irish on the day of the St Patrick's Day Parade in South Boston. It's a tradition that's been going on for years, attended by hundreds of thousands (no kidding) of people. And this year I was one. The pretty Girl took her momma to a Southie house party... beer pong, jello shots, the works. I had a complete blast, and I can't wait to see if I'm invited back next year!

Here are some pics...

Me and PJ

PJ and and her friend Mike


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The Sisters

I had breakfast with The Sisters this morning. Tanya surprised Debbie and me very special picture of the three of us (photos from our previous breakfast last fall).


We're just a trio of kick-ass breast cancer survivors. I think we all got past it enough to be OK with the word "Survivor". For a while, we all hated it. It's hard to explain why. If you've been there, perhaps you know. Cancer overtakes you and makes a place in every aspect of your life. It is how you are identified. It is what everyone thinks of first when they think of you. It is the subject that begins every conversation. Or so it seems. You have to remind people that there is more to you than that battle. It's part of what you are, not everything.

You need to get past it, away from it. Then you can look back at it and be a little more OK with where you've been. At least that's how it was for me. It's good to be just me again.

Look as us. It wouldn't DARE come back.

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Saturday's list of things to do

• Log on to take an online anatomy and physiology course, then
• Take the online medical terminology course
• Take the five-hour practice test for the five-hour certification exam that I have to take on Friday to (hopefully) earn my certified professional coder credential
• And then, study, study, study!

I'll see you on the other side!

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Good news, everybody!

(I need an audio clip of "Futurama" Professor Farnsworth to say that for me.)

Had a diagnostic mammogram this morning... it was NEGATIVE. I followed that with a six-month check in with my surgeon, and he says everything looks great. I don't need to see him again until August. I see the oncologist and radiologist in the next few weeks for similar,periodic check ins, and anticipate nothing but more good reports.

And the good news continues.... Dave was diagnosed a diabetic three weeks ago. What a shock and a blow and a heart breaker for him. But in this short span of time, though, his blood sugar down from 259 (awful) to 138 (nearing normal), he's changed his eating habits (had made friends with salads and oatmeal), and is feeling a whole lot better than he had been (he'd been complaining of fatigue, poor sleep, constant thirst, among other things—all symptoms we didn't think to tie to diabetes).

So he's on his way to getting this under control. It's along road, we know. It's not going to disappear in a matter of weeks, we know. While he's missing things like Chinese food and ice cream, he knows those things will come back, in moderation, some day soon.

So, it's been good news all around today. OK, we had snow and sleet and that sucks big time, but the rest of the day has been sunny and bright.

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My Dad

My dad died 14 years ago today and, as chance would have it, at just about this time of day.

I've missed him terribly through the years. He missed a lot of wonderful moments in our lives (the adventures, the accomplishments, watching his granddaughter grow into a beautiful young woman) and missed some moments that I'm frankly glad to know he wasn't around to witness (my breast cancer is the first thing that comes to mind).

Whatever. Good moments or bad, we can't have him back.

One of the hardest things about losing him was that point in time when it became normal that he was no longer here. That moment was a shock and it hurt almost as much as losing him.

So, I'm thinking about him today, as I do most days. I still miss him and I'd have liked nothing more today than to have laughed with him over something. I'll just go ahead an laugh and pretend he's laughing with me.

Here's a photo of me and my dad, taken in about 1990 at the farm in Nobleboro, ME. It's one of my very favorites because of the look on his face. That look told me that he loved me and it was enough for me just to see it.


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Christmas pictures

Finally got some Christmas Day photos from my brother in law:

My Mother with Her Children


Me and Dave and PJ (I love my t-shirt, a gift last year from my brother at my height of baldness... "Life is Crap" with the character tangled in the holiday lights...!)


PJ and her Uncle Ted and Aunt Kelly



Me with my Sibs

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