Archive for the ‘My story’ Category

Either I’m Fine or I’m Sick

Wednesday, November 18th, 2009

Another MRI.
Quick this time around.
Answered some questions.
Filled out some forms.

Blue gown and underwear.
IV in arm.
Beeping and screeching.
Kelly Clarkson in my ears.

8 minutes on my back.
20 on my belly.
Boobs through holes in table.
Someone snapping pictures.

“Pretty,” she called the pics.
I was still and didn’t move.
The real answer comes tomorrow:
Everything is fine, or maybe it’s not.

Relaxing at home.
Not worried, really.
Either I’m fine, or I’m sick.
I know the drill.

5 years looming on horizon.
Will I make it free and clear?
I think so.
Will let you know.

Flashback: November 18, 2004

Wednesday, November 18th, 2009
pfala, Flickr

pfala, Flickr

I went to my OB/GYN on November 18. My doctor felt the lump but was confident it was nothing to worry about. It moved around easily, there was no discharge from my nipple, I did not feel any pain: all signs that it was benign. But it’s routine to get a mammogram for any mass so I got one the next day.

Flashback: November 16, 2004

Monday, November 16th, 2009
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Remembering 2004

I felt a lump in my left breast while taking a shower. I have always been aware of what my breasts feel like. I have a lot of dense tissue — so dense that the surgeon who performed my breast reduction (in 1996) had trouble separating the tissue to take some out and leave some in. My breasts always seem lumpy to me, and I never knew if I’d be able to tell the difference between normal and abnormal tissue. I once had a mammogram because of something I felt. It all turned out fine. It was just the dense tissue. All of my annual GYN visits have revealed nothing abnormal. But I’ve always been aware and curious, which is why I found something in the shower. I knew it was not normal. It was hard, and it felt like a small, frozen green pea. It moved around, and for the first few days, I had a hard time locating it. Once I became obsessed with it, I could find it immediately.

Live Like You Were Dying

Wednesday, November 11th, 2009

Five years ago on this very day, I was two weeks from learning I had breast cancer. There I was, plugging along nicely in life, attending playgroups with a 3-year-old and an 18-month-old, investigating preschool programs, thinking the worst of my existence was a frustrating run at potty training and an inconsistent nap schedule. Ha!

There’s no better case for cherishing the day than realizing something devastating might be lurking around the corner. It happens to people every day. Everything is fine, then BAM! — Cancer. Now, I completely hope it doesn’t happen to you (although if it does, I am confident you can totally handle it, because I did, and I’m a pretty accomplished whiner), but just in case, I suggest you really do live each day as if it’s your last, just like country singer Tim McGraw sings:

Live Like You Were Dying

He said: “I was in my early forties,
“With a lot of life before me,
“An’ a moment came that stopped me on a dime.
“I spent most of the next days,
“Looking at the x-rays,
“An’ talking ’bout the options an’ talkin’ ‘bout sweet time.”
I asked him when it sank in,
That this might really be the real end?
How’s it hit you when you get that kind of news?
Man whatcha do?

An’ he said: “I went sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing,
“I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu.
“And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,
“And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying.”
An’ he said: “Some day, I hope you get the chance,
“To live like you were dyin’.”

He said “I was finally the husband,
“That most the time I wasn’t.
“An’ I became a friend a friend would like to have.
“And all of a sudden goin’ fishin’,
“Wasn’t such an imposition,
“And I went three times that year I lost my Dad.
“Well, I finally read the Good Book,
“And I took a good long hard look,
“At what I’d do if I could do it all again,
“And then:

“I went sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing,
“I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu.
“And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,
“And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying.”
An’ he said: “Some day, I hope you get the chance,
“To live like you were dyin’.”

Like tomorrow was a gift,
And you got eternity,
To think about what you’d do with it.
An’ what did you do with it?
An’ what can I do with it?
An’ what would I do with it?

“Sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing,
“I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu.
“And then I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,
“And I watched Blue Eagle as it was flyin’.”
An’ he said: “Some day, I hope you get the chance,
“To live like you were dyin’.”

“To live like you were dyin’.”
“To live like you were dyin’.”
“To live like you were dyin’.”
“To live like you were dyin’.”

I Quit

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009
crazy boys

Where I'd rather be!

I quit my job, the one where I’ve been writing and editing for the website That’s Fit. It’s a bold move, I know, but in order to practice what I preach, I had to do it. You see, I tell people all the time — especially cancer survivors — that stress can really muck up the body, and anyone who’s been given a second chance at life (like me) should really try to stay as healthy as possible.

So here I’ve been, working way too many hours and virtually drowning in my workload. In theory, the job was ideal: Work in the morning while my boys are in school, spend care-free afternoons and evenings together and then do a little more work after putting them to bed. Essentially, my children would be totally not affected by my work. I’d still be a stay-at-home mom, with a little job on the side. Gosh, that would have been nice. But it didn’t happen that way. I mean, it started out OK, but then my job turned into a completely different monster. That chatty diet and fitness blog that allowed for flexible mommy schedules morphed into something much more deadline-driven. It’s turning into a newsroom, which is great for folks who like newsrooms, but frankly, there’s someplace I’d rather be.

I’d rather be playing in the front yard, watching my boys hunt for bugs, instead of on the porch steps, balancing a laptop on my legs and peeking at them in between e-mails and edits. I want to be volunteering in their classrooms and going on field trips, not picking and choosing what I can do because I’ll feel guilty if I take too much time off. I want to be watching Joey play baseball without my cell phone beeping in the bleachers, and when Danny says, “Mom, look at this!” I want to go running, instead of responding with my canned, “in a minute.” I mostly want to look back years from now and know I soaked up every second of Joey and Danny. I want no regrets. And at the pace I’d been keeping, regrets were inevitable.

This has not been an easy decision to make. For one, I’d gotten pretty greedy about the money that was rolling into our bank account — it’s allowed for a nice cushion, a lot of out-to-eats and a few pricey weekend vacations. Plus, I really, really like writing and editing, and I’ve met some great people whose paths I won’t cross as often as I’d like. And honestly, the time I’m getting back by quitting my job is going to be too much — I like a schedule, a purpose, some responsibility. That’s why I’ll search for something else. Not sure what, but I’ll find something that better suits my needs. First, though, I think I’ll read a book (for pleasure!) and attend my kids’ school functions, update some scrapbooks and let my insides settle down for a bit. Then maybe I’ll take 8-year-old Joey’s advice: “Just get a job at a car dealership and be done with it,” he said after spotting me upset about my job one day. He’s all about cars and shoes lately, so maybe he’s onto something, who knows. What I do know is that he’s aware that my job has gotten out of hand, and that’s reason enough to bid farewell to the stress of it all.

So, goodbye That’s Fit.

And, hello happier me.

Straight Talk on Chemo Hair

Friday, October 9th, 2009
straight hair

Photo courtesy of Jordan Pfaff, almost 5 years old

I’ve never really liked the curly hair I got post-chemo. Now, it’s not as curly as when it first sprouted, but it’s definitely wavy and full, and on a humid Florida day (that would be, like, seven days a week, mostly year-round), it grows really big. Thank goodness for the flat iron, because I use my pretty pink one every. single. day. no. exceptions. (Well, except for that one day I let my locks go natural and Joey greeted me after school with an enthusiastic, “What happened to your hair?”)

OK, so I overuse my flat iron, and the crazy-hot heat is damaging my hair for sure. So realizing my strands really needed a break, I had this hair-straightening procedure done two weeks ago. Here’s how it worked: My hair stylist washed my hair and dried it, rubbed and combed in this solution, dried it again and then flat ironed it all over. For three days — OMG, three days — I could not wash my hair (ewww!), supposedly so the magic could lock itself in and straighten my hair for up to four months. And now that I’ve been washing and conditioning my hair for a bit (with special no-salt products), I’m here to tell you what I think about what cost me $150 (plus tip, plus $30-ish for products).

The Coppola Keratin Complex Smoothing Therapy seems to have some merit. It has not worked miracles, and I still have a sort-of bend in my hair, and it’s not immune to the effects of weather, but my hair is smoother and straighter now than it was pre-expensive treatment. I can blow-dry it and leave it as is, if I’m OK with a tiny bit of fluff, or I can dry it and pass through a couple of times with the flat iron — which is what I’ve been doing. My ideal scenario would have been to pack away the iron entirely, but my hair is just not as poker straight as I’d dreamed it would be, so I use it a little — much less than before, though, so that’s a good thing.

When four months is up, or whenenver the effects wear off, I’m not sure I’ll do this again. Truth be told, the no-shampooing thing was really hard, mostly because I like to exercise and sweat every day (so hair washing really is a daily necessity for me) and also because my hair got heavier and greasier by the day, and that just basically grossed me out. I guess if after three days I was rewarded with perfectly super-straight hair, I’d take the plunge and empty my wallet again, but it’s just not. It’s an improvement. Just not dead-on straight — you know, like the hair I had pre-cancer, the hair I permed non-stop because I was sure I wanted curls forever. Well, I was wrong. I don’t.

Dear Doctor

Monday, October 5th, 2009
waiting toes

Waiting, 10.5.09

Dear Dr. Lynch,

You don’t know this, but tears fill my eyes every time I drive to see you. It happens as I head east on Archer Road, right as that big Shands hospital comes into sight and just before I plant my feet in your waiting room and begin contemplating the reason you and I know each other. These are not sad tears, though. They are “Gosh, I am so glad I fell into your hands” tears. They are simply my body’s way of conveying what words cannot.

Thank you, my friend, for rescuing me from the doctor who told me to toughen up when my blood counts numbered 700, for telling me Taxol was not the drug for me (I knew it wasn’t!), for signing me up for the hopefully-life-saving Herceptin, for fielding my endless questions and worries, for helping fund my run (your name on a pink ribbon, October 24), for giving me another clean bill of health today and for so much more.

See, words just can’t sum it all up.

It’s happening again.

Tears.

In good health (yours and mine),

Jacki

Cancer: No, Pulse: Low

Friday, September 4th, 2009
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Keeping a Pulse on Cancer

My body is free of cancer, at least as far as my radiation oncologist can tell from a clinical exam — just had a follow-up visit this morning, and I appear to be A-OK, which is great news and all, but even better at the moment is what I learned about my resting pulse (or heart rate).

Right after I was weighed and my blood pressure was taken, my heart rate clocked in at 47. “Oh My Goodness, 47?” said the nurse. “That’s really low.” I guess I knew this, I’m always pretty low, but her surprise threw me for a minute. “Is that OK?” I asked. She told me it’s just fine and asked if I’m a runner. I told her that I am. I mean, I’m not a marathoner or anything, in fact, a 5K is pretty much tops for me. But I do run, and walk, and make often-lazy attempts at push-ups, planks and other body-weight exercises. I guess it all adds up.

“Fit people usually have low resting heart rates,” the nurse told me. I took that as a compliment. Then I came home and found this on Pat Croce’s website:

One of the greatest barometers of your fitness status—that is, your ability to expend energy—is your resting pulse rate. The lower your pulse rate (also referred to as your heart rate), the less energy you expend doing menial tasks and the more energy you keep stored for other activities. Ironically, the best way to lower you resting heart rate is to exercise or engage in physical activity.

On average, the American Heart beats about 70 to 80 times a minute. The active or athletic heart beats around 60 bpm. And the highly trained athletic heart beats in the range of 40 to 50 bpm. For example, it has been reported that Tiger Woods has a resting pulse rate in the low 50’s and my friend Tour de France champion Lance Armstrong—who wrote the Forward for my book 110%—was monitored in the low 40’s. I’m proud to say that my resting pulse rate is in the high 40’s.

Hmmm, “highly trained athletic heart” — not sure about that, but it sure is motivating to know my heart is seemingly healthy. Makes me want to go out for a run. Tomorrow.

This Is the Shower

Saturday, July 25th, 2009

shower-jd-072509

This is the shower where I found a lump in my breast.

Where were you when yours was found?

Braving Boys

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.

Look Good … Feel Better

Friday, May 22nd, 2009

nancy_both

The toughest part of my dance with breast cancer was losing my hair. Seems crazy, doesn’t it, that a tumor was living in my body, threatening to take my entire life away, and I was worried about my hair. Yea, crazy. I know that now that I’m alive, probably because the same drugs that left me bald also wiped out a treacherous disease. Still, it’s heartbreaking to lose a headful of hair. Even Farrah Fawcett, who is courageously fighting her own cancer battle, hung onto her famous hair for as long as she could, only succumbing recently to the toxic hair-stealing chemotherapy drugs.

The reality of cancer treatment is that many people will lose their hair. And lots of them, like me, will determine it a tragedy. That’s why the Look Good … Feel Better (LGFB) program exists — to help women face the challenge of a lifetime. LGFB (organized by the American Cancer Society) offers workshops to help cancer survivors feel better. I attended one, and I learned how to draw on eyebrows (yes, chemo takes those too), apply make-up on blotchy skin and cover my head with wigs and scarves. I went home with my very own cosmetic kit, matched to my skin tone, and I met a whole bunch of women walking in shoes that were much like mine. LGFB also offers one-on-one consultations, self-help materials and a 24/7 toll free information and help line — 1-800-395-LOOK.

Take advantage of LGFB if you can. And suggest it to any loved ones who might need it. And do you know of any survivors who deserve to win a trip to NYC (you, maybe)? Check out this contest. LGFB is celebrating its 20th anniversary by searching for five Women of Hope they can pamper with a complimentary make-over and a trip to the annual DreamBall, a black-tie gala and the program’s largest annual fundraiser.

By the way, that’s Nancy up top. She’s a LGFB participant. Doesn’t she look good?

Happy Mother’s Day!

Sunday, May 10th, 2009

the power of songHere I sit in a chemo chair in February 2005, getting dosed with the toxic drugs that are hopefully saving my life, while my mom sits nearby, holding my baby niece Jordan. This lovely man toured the infusion center on this Friday, singing a personalized song to each patient in my similar predicament. He sang about me, my mom and Jordan — the two girls who sat with me for every chemo session. Click on the photo to start video.

Thanks, mom.
I love you.
Happy Mother’s Day.

Bald

Thursday, May 7th, 2009

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I haven’t been watching much of “Grey’s Anatomy” lately, but I do know that Katerine Hiegl’s character Izzie Stevens has cancer, so when I caught tonight’s episode, I was somewhat prepared for the storyline. What I wasn’t prepared for was my reaction to the end of the show, when Izzie pulls fistfuls of hair from her head.

She cried.

I cried.

I cried big, sobbing tears, because even though I am almost five years removed from that same helpless, hopeless feeling, it was still there, right in the pit of my stomach, waiting to be called up.

My cancer memories are vivid. Every one of them. But nothing is as vivid as the feeling that suffocated me the day my hair started falling out, when it washed from my head in the shower and gathered in the drain, and wound around my brush, and then covered my pillowcase when I woke up the next morning.

“That was the worst,” I told my husband as “Grey’s Anatomy” ended tonight and Izzie sat in a hospital bed with a completely bald head. “You survived it,” John said. Yes, I did. But I’ll never forget it.

Countdown to Mother’s Day – May 7, 2009

Thursday, May 7th, 2009

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Are these not the cutest flip flops ever? They’d make a pretty nifty Mother’s Day gift, wouldn’t they? I’m thinking so. In fact, I know how comfy these Havaianas Fit cuties are — my sister won a silver pair in a giveaway recently, and she passed them on to me (she’d just bought herself some silver sandals and was feeling generous) — and so I can promise mom will love them. Well, maybe not promise. But chances are, she’ll feel pretty sporty and summery in her very own pair. All you need to do is shell out $30 bucks (she’s worth it, right?) and order a pair for mommy dearest. Pick from pink, white, black, silver or gold. Hey, get a  pair for yourself while you’re at it.

Fine

Monday, April 20th, 2009

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At 8 a.m. this morning, I arrived at the oncology clinic at Shands Hospital in Gainesville, FL for a six-month breast cancer follow-up. I sat in a nearly empty waiting room for a short time, then was moved to an exam room, where I had my blood drawn (ouch!), my weight checked (good news), my blood pressure taken (low, but good) and my temperature taken (98.3). Then met with my lovely Dr. who checked my boobs, my lymph nodes, my belly and my breathing.

Everything was just fine.

And then I drove away. And it’s been a glorious day ever since.

Every Six Months

Friday, April 17th, 2009

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You’d think the days would get easier after four whole years. But still, nearly 1,600 days after my breast cancer diagnosis, it still makes me nervous to sit in an exam room every six months, in my pretty blue gown, waiting for my oncologist to reveal whether or not he feels anything suspicious in my breasts and other body parts, whether or not he finds anything wacky in my blood work and whether or not he’ll report that I am still healthy and apparently cancer-free.

The days don’t get easier, because even though my chances of survival increase with each year that passes, there are still people out there who are re-diagnosed after the exact amount of time that has elapsed for me. A woman who visited our garage sale a few weeks ago told me that on the very day she celebrated five years of survival, she was told her breast cancer had returned and was spreading. She was given three to five years to live. Crap. I haven’t even made it for five years. Clearly, this could happen to me.

Will my oncologist tell me on Monday at 8 a.m. that my cancer is back? I really don’t think so. But I really don’t know, either. And that’s why I’m nervous.

Photo courtesy of daveparker on flickr

Have Hope

Friday, April 10th, 2009

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When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Joey was almost four, and Danny was 18 months old. Now Joey is eight, and Danny is almost six. And I’m still alive. How’s that for hope?

Pink for the Sink

Saturday, April 4th, 2009

41jy4ciww7l_sl500_aa280_Every time I look down into my kitchen sink, I see this breast cancer strainer drain. A mommy friend gave it to me, way back when I was knee deep in chemotherapy, not a hair on my head. This momma was one of many who dropped by meals for me and my boys, and along with the food she delivered on her assigned night, she brought me this.

If you’re looking for a simple, yet meaningful and not-so-expensive gift for someone touched by breast cancer, this just might fit the bill. Click right here to purchase your very own.

Photo by: Amazon.com


Fight Pink

Saturday, March 21st, 2009

If fighting breast cancer is on your mind, you’ve got to go see my friend Stacy and her fabulous “Fight Pink” site. Here it is — take a look and you’ll find that it’s filled with all sorts of good information and inspiration.

Want to know about the seven deadly health sins women make. Stacy’s got the dirt. Motivated by survivor stories. Check out this library of leading ladies. Need some scoop on breast cancer events and campaigns? Here you go.

Get ready. Get set. Now fight.

Photo courtesy of “Fight Pink”

Weighing on my mind

Friday, March 20th, 2009

I admit it, I’m concerned about my weight. Not worried about it, just concerned about in a way that makes me work at keeping it right where it is. But I don’t exercise and eat right (yesterday doesn’t count) for weight reasons alone. I also do it for my overall health, which really is a bigger concern for me than the numbers that stare up at me from my scale each day.

A healthy lifestyle as it relates to cancer prevention gets a lot of press. It’s pretty much a fact nowadays that by eating certain foods, ditching all the junk and working up a good sweat most days of the week, we can ward off all sorts of disease. Simple stuff. Also pretty high pressure.

Now that I’ve had cancer, I know that the way I live my life can quite possibly keep me from getting it again. So I do my best. But when I cheat and eat that plate of chicken nachos or skip a day (or week or month) on the workout circuit, I feel guilty, as if I’m rejecting the medicine that can keep me well. It’s a weird mix of motivation and burden. Knowing I have the key to a long, healthy life makes me want to eat veggies for all of time. But knowing I have the key to a long, healthy life makes me feel like I’m doing myself a major disservice when I steal fries of my kids’ dinner plates.

I know, I’m human, and I can’t be perfect all that time. Still, it weighs on my mind. Which is why today, I walked for 3.5 miles, and tomorrow, I plan to lift a few weights. A fruit salad is on the menu for breakfast this morning, and I’m recommitting to a ban on most packaged foods. It’s the least I can do to ensure I’m here for the long haul.

Photo courtesy of Pink Sherbet Photography on flickr