Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
Friday, July 30th, 2010

Happy family, fighting cancer
She has two little girls, a really great boyfriend, a job she loves, and a bunch of loving friends and family.
She also has breast cancer.
Tina is just 33 years old, and she is embarking on the fight of her life.
It all started just two weeks ago, and already, she’s navigating the maze of mammogram, ultrasound, biopsy, MRI, meetings with surgeons, and more. She’s asking lots of questions, shopping for wigs, and figuring out the madness that, sadly, so many women must encounter. The good news: she’s doing it all with a spunky attitude, and a whole lot of support.
Ah, support — it’s what makes her most emotional, she told me.
I understand.
The love and concern that pours out of people is nothing short of overwhelming. In part, I think it’s what helps us survive such a dreaded disease. Writes Tina on her Facebook page:
Just wanted to thank all my friends and family for showing your support with all the pink ribbons and encouraging words. I have such an amazing support system.
The pink ribbons? Her friends are using them as their Facebook profile pictures, and so Tina’s page is like a quilt of pink, nuzzling her and keeping her secure on her journey.
My prediction: Tina is going to be just fine. Even better if we all send our well wishes her way!
Tags: Tina
Posted in Awareness, Family, Kids, Survivors | 9 Comments »
Thursday, May 20th, 2010
My friend Lexi over at Jeans Cream asked me to write a guest post for her blog and I did. It published today. Here it is: http://bit.ly/9BOMdJ
Tags: guest post, Jean's Cream, move forward
Posted in Awareness, Chemotherapy, Counseling, Diagnosis, Diet, Exercise, Family, My story, Radiation, Surgery, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Friday, April 16th, 2010

The following post is a reprint from Braving Boys.
I’m soft. I know this. And I’m OK with it. But it kind of goes against the grain of what John tries to teach the boys. Example: the other day, while at a lake for some fishing, Joey and Danny started whining about sunscreen. They hate it, especially the kind that sprays, because it gets in their eyes. So, we do our best to slather faces without blinding them, but as it always turns out, they are gun-shy and get all worked up about the event.
John is sick of it.
“You guys need to get hard,” he told them.
“Here’s how I do it,” he declared, then pretty much sprayed the stuff directly into his own baby blues to prove his point.
Explanation: John is a Marine, and he’s encountered some rough living. There was a period of time in boot camp when he was so hungry, he’d eat from sugar packets in the mess hall to fill the void in his gut. He hiked until his feet bled, marched until he couldn’t see straight, and for months on end, he was worn down and challenged to the core. He’s hard. He can spray sunscreen in his eyes.
Getting hard is good. It’s preparation for life’s tough times. It’s why Joey should eat fish, even though he doesn’t like it — because maybe, one day, fish will be the only thing available. It’s why learning to defend yourself is key, because when you’ve got to fight for your life, you’ll be ready.
I get it.
It’s just not me.
- I don’t like sunscreen in my eyes either. Bug spray is yucky, too.
- I do like fish, but I don’t like Chinese food, and heaven help me if, one day, it’s the only thing available.
- I don’t want to camp — I like running water and cozy beds too much — and I don’t want to climb a rock wall or a mountain or jump from a plane, a cliff, or anything, really.
- I am hesitant to play a “real” game of football with Joey, because he weighs 90 pounds and his power is pretty amazing.
- I shy away from “real” games of basketball, too, because I’ve had few balls smack me right in the face, and ouch!, that really hurts. (I am up for a mean game of catch or P-I-G, however).
Don’t get me wrong. I can be tough. I’ve white water rafted, parasailed, driven a jet ski, completed a few ropes courses, traveled Europe all by myself, run a 1/2 marathon, pushed two large babies from my body and fought breast cancer.
Still, soft is my fall-back.
This worries me, and sometimes I fear my boys will come to know me as the wimpy mom. It’s why I choose to engage in some battles. Will I ski down a snow-covered mountain when we finally take a ski vacation? No. But I am fully prepared to let the waves knock the crap out of me during our next beach trip. I’m also on board this year for a very long road trip (in one cramped mini-van), even though my better judgment says, “Don’t do it.” And this summer, I’ll take on one-too-many roller coasters with my little theme-park thrill seekers, even though these rides give me a throbbing head and wobbly knees.
It’s a good thing there’s a John and a Jacki in our family. It’s like we’re the anchors supporting our family tree. John is at the top (of course, he climbed up there), I’m at the bottom (because I don’t want to climb up there), and Joey and Danny are right in between, observing the qualities that define their parents and deciding which ones to embrace.

My wish is that Joey and Danny do get hard. I hope they also realize that, at times, it’s OK to be soft. Because really, I’m convinced there’s value in both.
Tags: braving-boys
Posted in Family, Kids, My story, Survivors | No Comments »
Saturday, November 21st, 2009

Kelly
This is my cousin Kelly. She was 5 years old here, and she died just three weeks before her 8th birthday. This month marks 30 years since her passing from leukemia, and that means had she survived her disease, she would have been almost 38 years old.
Nowadays, many kids survive cancer. According to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, just 4 percent of children survived acute lymphoblastic leukemia (cancer of the blood) in 1962. Today, about 94 percent conquer the disease. That’s a pretty impressive improvement — I just wish Kelly, who was diagnosed at 14 months, could have benefited from the better statistic. But she didn’t, because she fought cancer in the 1970s. And that’s just plain crappy.
So, I write this post to honor Kelly who, sadly, didn’t get a fair shot at life. Those almost-eight years sure were cherished, though. Says her brave and strong mom of the time they spent together: “I am so grateful to have had those years with her. She will live in my heart forever.”
I honor you, too, Sandy, and all the moms and dads who have loved and lost (you know who you are). I’m not sure how you go on after such tragedies, but I admire you completely for so gracefully doing it.
Tags: acute lymphoblastic leukemia, Kelly, luekemia, St. Jude Children's Research Hospital
Posted in Awareness, Family | 5 Comments »
Tuesday, August 25th, 2009

Rose on chemo day
Reader Jessica shared that she was left speechless after seeing the photos of 44 women and their breast cancer scars. Ditto for me. And after spending some time touring Jessica’s Strength of a Rose blog last night, I realize I’m at a loss for words again.
You see, Jessica lost her 54-year-old mother Rose to breast cancer seven months ago, and this is her space for telling a story of love, loss and healing. It’s a powerful journey — with a passage from Rose, posts from Jessica and photos that capture family and cancer in ways both beautiful and raw. Truly touching.
And if you really want to be inspired, hop on over to The Rose Run, and check out Jessica’s efforts to raise cash for the cure. The first run scored more than $10,000, and the next one is scheduled for July 17, 2010 in Petersburg, Michigan. Now, you might not be able to participate in this local event, but stay tuned, because you could be a virtual runner.
Tags: Jessica, Rose, strength-of-a-rose, the-rose-run
Posted in Awareness, Death & dying, Family | 2 Comments »
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009
Writer Abigail Thomas offers in her book “Thinking About Memoir” the following writing exercise: Write two pages (one post) in which a child comforts an adult.
That’s easy.
The child was Joey. The adult was me. And it happened in February, 2005, one day after I realized my hair was shedding from my scalp faster than I could say chemotherapy. It had been 13 days since my second treatment with the toxic breast cancer drugs Adriamycin and Cytoxan, and not a rubber band nor a hat could hold my wisps in place. My scalp was sore, each hair still attached to my head hung with a weight that was nearly unbearable, and it had become abundantly clear that the moment had arrived: It was time to shave my head.
“Don’t worry, mom, you’re not going to die,” announced my almost 4-year-old boy, who was taking his turn shaving away the last of my chemo-stricken hair. “It’s only a haircut,” he assured me.
Whether he knew it or not, Joey was absolutely right. It was only a haircut. I didn’t die. And while some of his comments during my years fighting breast cancer weren’t as comforting — “You look like an alien,” he revealed while visiting me in the hospital in March of that same year — this is the one that still brings tears to my eyes, because, well, it was innocent, it was real and most of all, it was damn comforting.

The child, almost 4 years old
The adult, 34 years old
This post can also be found at Braving Boys.
Tags: abagail-thomas, adriamycin, bald, Chemotherapy, cytoxan, hair, haircut, scalp, thinking-about-memoir
Posted in Chemotherapy, Family, Hair loss, Kids, Resources | 2 Comments »
Sunday, June 28th, 2009
I started blogging about breast cancer the day I learned it had invaded my body. But I’ve never routinely blogged about my children — invaders of another sort. I’ve been braving cancer for a little more than four years, but I’ve been braving boys for more than eight. Seems only fitting I document the beautiful and boisterous ways of Joey and Danny. Come see me over at Braving Boys — I’ve only just begun, but if you follow me, I promise to keep you entertained.
Tags: braving-boys
Posted in Family, Kids, My story | 1 Comment »
Friday, May 15th, 2009
See those two little boys? They are mine. The one on the right is Joey, and he was not quite 4 years old when I found out I had breast cancer. Now he’s 8. Danny, the guy next to him, was only 18 months old. He turns 6 in two weeks. The girls belong to my sister. Jordan is on the left, and she was only a few months old when she started sitting with me during chemo treatments. She’s 4. And her sister, Tori, well, she knows nothing of the disease at all, and hopefully never will. She turns 2 the day after Danny turns 6.


Tags: breast-cancer, chemo, disease
Posted in Family, Kids | 2 Comments »
Friday, April 3rd, 2009


Susan, a mother of four and breast cancer survivor for two years and three months, says, “My college daughter, Kait, created this intaglio ink print (etched on a metal plate) during my treatment in 2007. She never titled it, but to me it is what breast cancer looks like. This print is of our special vacation place, Lakeside, Ohio on Lake Erie. I feel it represents hope, love, comfort and sadness. The picture of myself and my sister (volunteering at the Race for the Cure) ”looks like breast cancer,” because we, as patients, get through the treatment with support from those special people around us.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Tags: what-breast-cancer-looks-like
Posted in Awareness, Family, Inspiration, Kids, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | 1 Comment »
Thursday, April 2nd, 2009

The first time they accessed my port for chemo. My chest is pretty flat because they haven’t filled my expanders with saline yet.

My sister cutting my hair. This was soooooo hard. My boys were watching. Very emotional time for me.

The finished shave. It felt really weird.

A big hug from 3 of my boys. They were very supportive, even though it was very traumatic for them, having to watch my head being shaved.

Post chemo. You can see that I’ve lost most of my eyebrows and lashes. My face is a little puffy from the steroids they put me on during chemo. This was a good day – I was waiting at the airport for my son to get off the plane – he was returning after 2 years on an LDS mission in Japan.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Tags: what-breast-cancer-looks-like
Posted in Awareness, Chemotherapy, Family, Hair loss, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | No Comments »
Thursday, March 26th, 2009

Sherri Jo says, “Until I had breast cancer, I never fully realized what wonderful family and friends I have and how much I am loved. The outpouring of love and support I received was truly amazing. Every few days there was a card in my mailbox, flowers at my door, or something wonderful to cheer me on. People found such unique and creative ways to show their support for me and it made such a difference in my ability to cope with all the stress. One of my most favorite memories came from friends at my sailing club. On a particular race day when they knew I would be present, all of the sailors flew a pink ribbon on the back of their boat in my honor! What a site – to see 30 plus sailboats flying pink – just for me! I felt loved and celebrated and certain that I would survive the fight against breast cancer. Never underestimate what a simple show of support can do to lift a person’s spirits.
My husband instigated the whole event so he got a few extra starts in his halo. I am a lucky woman to have such wonderful people in my life.”
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Tags: boat, breast-cancer, cope, Family, friends, love, pink-ribbons, sailing-club, Sherri-jo, stress, support
Posted in Awareness, Family, Gratitude, Hospitalization, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | 1 Comment »
Wednesday, March 25th, 2009



Lisa says, “My mom is on her second fight with breast cancer. She was diagnosed this last time near Mother’s Day and I was getting married in September. Last June she had a bilateral mastectomy, then 18 weeks of chemo, and then 30 treatments of radiation. During her first appointment with the oncologist she told her doctors to do what they needed to do, but she was going to my wedding (in Vegas) in September. I offered to change the wedding and she didn’t want me to do that. It was right in the middle of her chemo and she said it was a goal she set in her mind to get to that point. She went and got her chemo treatment that morning before we jumped in the car to go. She had all her instructions and whatnot in case she needed to go to a hospital out of town. Nothing was going to stop her … through out everything she kept the most positive attitude. She is amazing.
My day was so wonderful and special. I married a fabulous guy, but also a lot of that was b/c my mom was able to be there. She is the rock in my family and I was so blessed that she was able to attend.”
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Tags: breast-cancer, chemo, lisa, married, maryjoe, oncologist, treatment, wedding
Posted in Awareness, Chemotherapy, Family, Hair loss, Inspiration, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | 1 Comment »
Tuesday, March 24th, 2009




Tracy says, “I decided to shave my head before my hair started falling out. I asked my family and some friends to come with me so that I wouldn’t lose my nerve. It was an extremely emotional day for everyone as you can see from the picture of my husband and children. But what I found out in the end is that I still looked like me when I looked in the mirror and once I accepted it, my family did the same. One of my favorite pictures of all time is the picture of my newly shorn head with the hands of my husband, my mother and my two children on it. I think it shows strength and acceptance and that has been the story of my breast cancer journey. Strength from family and friends, strength of my own and acceptance that these are the cards we were dealt. I have recounted the entire head-shaving day on my own blog and find that it is one of my favorite entries.”
To read more about Tracy and her inspiring journey, visit her blog here.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Tags: bald, hair, tracy
Posted in Chemotherapy, Family, Hair loss, Inspiration, Kids, Resources, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | 2 Comments »
Saturday, March 14th, 2009

Today, I shampooed, conditioned and combed my old wig. It sits drying on my bathroom counter. When it’s all done and pretty, I’ll mail it off to my friend Carmen, who just the other day had her first chemotherapy for breast cancer.
This is not Carmen’s first experience with chemo, and it’s not the first time I’ve sent her my wig. This is her second dance with the breast demon, you see, and so she’s had chemo before, she’s lost her hair before and she’s worn my wig before. She’s not happy she must do it all again. I’m not either. I am happy to help, though, and that’s why I’m eager to get my hair to her, so she can be ready when everything comes tumbling from her scalp for the second time. Hopefully, for the last time.
Dear Carmen,
Best wishes to you. I know life must seem crappy and uncertain right now, but there is one thing you should know for sure: You will look so much better wearing this wig the that styrofoam head wearing it right now. Your eyes are more sparkly, your skin is more radiant and your nose is so much prettier (what the heck happened to that thing?). You are beautiful, my friend — hair, no hair or fake hair. And when you get all your new parts, you will be one hot momma.
Hang in there, Carmen — your battle might be new, but your fierceness is not. Fight with all your might, and you will again emerge from the darkness. And remember these words, because if cancer ever invades my body again, I want you to throw them right back at me.
All my love,
Jacki
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Family, Hair loss, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Wednesday, February 11th, 2009

The following article was previously published in Gainesville Parenting Magazine.
Danny wants to be a dog walker when he grows up. He’s had a bit of practice walking his Nana’s dogs and is pretty sure this career path suits him well. If it doesn’t pan out, he has another option.
“When I grow up, I want to be a football guy,” 5-year-old Danny told his daddy the other day. If he ever asks me for guidance, I’ll push him in the doggie direction. It may not be as glamorous a job as football, but it’s got to be easier on the body. Should Danny opt for football, though, and end up needing medical attention, his brother Joey can respond.
Joey wants to be a doctor. He sprang his decision on me one day while we were walking through the parking deck at North Florida Regional Medical Center. We happened to be on the level where doctors park their cars, and we were admiring all the fancy vehicles when it clicked for 7-year-old Joey: If doctors have nice cars and nice cars cost lots of money, then doctors must be rich. On the spot, he named his future profession. He will be a doctor—or a “blogger.”
“I don’t want a job,” Joey declared recently while strolling around the yard. “I want to be a blogger, like mommy.”
I guess blogging—and all the other writing I do—doesn’t seem like much of a job to a kid who just knows his mom is with him all the time. That’s precisely why it’s such an ideal endeavor for me. I get to stay home with my kiddos, write when they are in school, and then seem completely unemployed when they return home. Still, I have a job. Joey will realize this some day, when he figures out the ways of the world. For now, I’ll let him bask in the simplicity of life, until his lease on this gift runs out.
There’s something so innocent and basic about how children approach life, something that makes it easy to dream of walking dogs and fixing bodies one minute and playing football and blogging the next. Wouldn’t it be grand if adult minds could arrive, if only for a moment, at the very place where kids imaginations run wild—the place where everything seems to make perfect sense.
After Joey announced his plans to become a doctor and just before a school drop-off one morning, I noticed a slick, sporty little car driving next to our worn and tattered mini-van.
“Look at that nice car,” I commented to my boys. Looking in the direction of the woman driving this cool ride, Joey said with absolute certainty: “She’s a doctor.”
Yep, life is simple for little ones. And how fun it is to be the mom of two of the greatest dreamers around—and to have a job that allows me the time to marvel at the wonder of my glorious guys.
Posted in Chemotherapy, Family, Inspiration, Kids, My story, Resources, Side effects, Survivors | 2 Comments »
Tuesday, February 10th, 2009
There you are, plugging along with your day, happy as can be and fully expecting that nothing can disrupt your groove. All the while, something deadly is growing inside your breast and even though you do your self-exams, perhaps even get mammograms, you have no idea it’s there. But it is. And it continues to grow, sometimes for as long as eight to 10 years before it can be detected. And then the day arrives when it appears, maybe underneath your fingertips in the shower, maybe in a annual exam, maybe in the form of dimpling skin or nipples that suddenly invert, maybe after your infant refuses to breastfeed because it becomes apparent that something is wrong. But there it is. The tumor. The mass. The cancer. And it wrecks the day. Totally and completely wrecks the day. To be honest, cancer wrecks many days. But the first cancer day really sucks.
My friend’s sister-in-law just had her first cancer day. And so I wrote her an e-mail and said this:
Breast cancer is both a horrible and wonderful disease. It might be hard to believe the wonderful part at this moment and I can tell you for sure that in my early days with the disease, there was absolutely no bright side. Now, however, I have this head full of hair I like better than ever, I have a writing career that was born from cancer, I have a deeper love and appreciation for my family and friends, I worry and stress less (well, sometimes) and I have met some of the most glorious survivors who assure me I am not alone.
It’s my somewhat standard message to those new to the disease. And I mean every word of it. Cancer can be horrible, especially on that first day. But the days do get better. They can even return to happy. And then you get back to plugging along, happy as can be. Am I fully expecting nothing can disrupt my groove? No, not anymore. I am prepared for the ball to drop at any moment. I don’t think it will. But I’m ready.
Photo courtesy of ~Merete on flickr
Posted in Chemotherapy, Family, Inspiration, My story | 2 Comments »
Thursday, January 29th, 2009

1) I have two beautiful boys who made big entrances into the world: One was 10 pounds, 9 ounces and the other was 10 pounds, 2 ounces. No C-sections. Just lots of drugs, lots of a pushing, a vacuum and two whopper episiotomies.
2) My big boys left me with big tummy skin. Five years after the second baby arrived, I had a tummy tuck. I must say it was one of the best moves I’ve ever made. Something about sitting down and not having a roll of skin flop over the top of my pants is quite liberating.
3) My biggest boy (Joey, he’s 8 years old) won’t stop growing. The kid wears my same shoe size, is something like four feet nine and weighs well into the 80s. His doc thinks he may be six feet six when he “grows up.”
4) A tummy tuck is not the only surgery I’ve had. Before kids, I had a breast reduction and lost 4 pounds of dense, heavy tissue. I went from a 34 DDD to a 34 C. Another great move.
5) My reduction may have saved my life, because 8 years later, a cancerous tumor showed up in my left breast. Had all that tissue not been removed, the mass could have been buried deep inside, detectable perhaps only at a late stage.
6) My breast cancer was caught early (I found it while taking a shower). It was stage I, with no spread to lymph nodes. Still, it was aggressive and so my treatment was quite harsh.
7) Being bald was the toughest thing I’ve ever had to endure.
8) I am a licensed cosmetologist. Thought I didn’t want to go to college, so I did a vocational program in high school. Then realized I did want to go to college and spent the next seven years there.
9) I got my undergrad degree from Kent State University and my grad degree from the University of Florida.
10) I was born in Ohio and lived the majority of my years there. Yet Florida seems more like home, maybe because my mom and sister live here.
11) Someone I know thinks my mom, sister and I look exactly alike. I guess that means I look 62 or my mom looks like she’s in her 30s. I’m going with the latter.
12) For 30-some years, my sister and I were never told we looked alike. Then my hair grew back brown instead of the blonde it had always been, and it’s like we’re twins or something.
13) I have very poor vision. What someone with perfect eyesight can see from 400 feet, I can only see from 20 feet. I hid my glasses in my bedroom closet for the whole year I was in first grade. Wonder if that made things worse.
14) It took me 37 years to learn how to eat well. I figure a healthy lifestyle is my key to surviving cancer so no red meat, alcohol or sweets for me. I only drink water (although not enough, I’m pretty sure) and try to consume lots of fruits and veggies. I watch calories and fat but sometimes go overboard on the bad carbs. I just can’t resist restaurant bread.
15) I’ve been known to exercise obsessively (to maintain my weight and stay healthy too) but am sad to report that I’m just not feeling the motivation lately. Burnout, maybe.
16) I’m a neat freak but not a clean freak. I don’t clean once a week or anything, just when I notice the dust piling up. But everything must be in place at all times.
17) I traveled to Europe just after graduating from high school and for the whole month I was away, I wanted to be home. I never want to go back.
18) I hate to travel. I hate packing, driving or flying long distances, living out of suitcases. I was miserable on a flight to Hawaii many years ago, and while traveling from Ohio to Florida as a kid, I could will myself to sleep for almost the entire drive.
19) My boys have never seen snow but can’t wait to see it. And I can’t imagine ever getting them to a snowy location, because it will require travel.
20) My boys want a baby sister. I don’t want another baby.
21) I miss my grandma, who died three weeks after my second guy was born.
22) I love candles and silence.
23) I love when my boys are really happy. My heart breaks when they are really sad.
24) I have been married for 13 years. John remembers exactly what I was wearing the day we met. I remember that he complimented me on my cute toes.
25) I’ve worked at a hair salon, a yogurt + tanning salon, as an RA at Kent State and a judicial officer at UF, as a college administrator, a preschool assistant teacher and as a server of booze at Blossom Music Center in Ohio. My favorite jobs, though, without question: Mommy and writer.
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Diet, Exercise, Family, Inspiration, Kids, My story, Resources, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors | 3 Comments »
Wednesday, December 24th, 2008
For all you Santa-believers out there, the big guy is almost here. Are you ready? We are.
Our tree is up, decorated and sparkling with white lights. A few wrapped gifts sit underneath, tempting two little boys who want to know so badly what’s packaged inside. Our gas fireplace is roaring (even though Florida temps will reach the 70s today), and we have our kids fully confused about how exactly Santa will enter our house without a chimney.
We’re all abuzz here about what the jolly old guy will deliver. Will it be a Wii, Ben 10 toys, a pirate castle? We’re also wondering what will happen if we catch Santa in our house. “What if I wake up and see Santa here?” 7-year-old Joey asked. “He’ll probably just tell you to go back to bed,” was my response. Good enough? I’m not sure.
I’m not really sold on the whole Santa story. I know it’s all in good fun, but I wonder when we’ll be found out, what we’ll say to explain our sketchy stories. Today, it doesn’t matter. Today, it’s all about the countdown to Santa and gifts and family and fun. It’s exciting indeed.
Posted in Family, Kids, My story, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Friday, December 19th, 2008
Last night while John was reading the boys’ favorite Goosebumps book, 5-year-old Danny curled up in my lap (I love that), tugged at my shirt and asked, “Where’s that thing, where you had that bump?” I knew just what he meant. He wondered where to find the area where a port once poked up from underneath my skin. (My port lived near my collarbone for almost two years so that chemotherapy drugs had easy access to my veins.) I pointed to the area, now marked by a very faint scar about two inches long.
“Oh,” he said, and then returned his attention to the story about a boy who became a wax figure in a museum.
Danny doesn’t have much memory of breast cancer. A “thing” and a “bump” pretty much sum up his recollection of a disease that entered his life when he was just 18 months old. It seemed sad way back then to have a baby and cancer at the same time. Now, it seems a blessing. He doesn’t have a clue really. And that’s just how I think it should be.
Posted in Chemotherapy, Family, Inspiration, Kids, My story, Port, Resources, Side effects, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Friday, December 12th, 2008

Just before Joey turned one, we snapped our very first holiday photo and mailed it off to family and friends. That was, gosh, seven years ago. Six photos followed, and now we have a collection of shots that capture our boys, and sometimes all four of us, at very specific moments in time.
Above is this year’s photo, taken on a whim at Lake Alice on The University of Florida campus. Below, two of my favorites from years past.


Posted in Family, Kids, My story, Survivors | 1 Comment »