Archive for the ‘Side effects’ Category

Pray for Emily

Wednesday, July 28th, 2010

Emily's Cancer Blog :: Pray for EmilyShe is only 16.

And she’s fighting leukemia.

If prayer is a part of your life, please say one for Emily.

This morning I had the realization that I am pumping poison into my own body.
Poison that can cause hair loss, sickness, joint pain, kidney problems, blood clots, bruising, chest pain, mouth sores, eye problems and much more.

All of this is in order to save my life.
My precious little life.

I’m just a kid who has not even begun to experience all that there is.
I’m waiting.
Waiting to explore, experience and live. LIFE. My life.

Sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it. It’s not. It’s my reality. Mine and thousands of people like me. Which is the saddest thing.

That’s why this blog is so amazing to me.
Knowing that I have hundreds of people fighting with me, every step of the way is just incredible.

So lets keep on fighting!

Hair Loss: How Did You Handle It?

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010
Photo: "passamanerie", Flickr

Photo: "passamanerie", Flickr

It’s got to be one of the hardest things about cancer — hair loss! And I know my friend is hating the idea of being bald, just like most of us do, but still, she is handling it with such grace. Her technique: she cut her very long hair very short in anticipation of the big fallout. I like her approach, which is so totally different than mine.

I kept my very long hair around until the very last moment. I think I wanted so badly to not lose it, that I fought back by making not one single preparation. Silly me. The docs and nurses and every other breast cancer survivor I’d met told me it would happen, plus pretty much exactly when it would happen (about day 11-16 after the first chemo treatment), and still, I crossed my fingers tight and hoped like mad that I’d be the exception. And on the day of my second chemo dose (day 14), I wore a hat on my head to hold each hair in its place — it was starting to fall out in clumps, wash away in the shower, and it was pulling so hard on my head it hurt — when I should have accepted the inevitable and surrendered. I did surrender that night — cut off three ponytails, and handed the clippers to my husband and 4-year-old, who shaved while I cried — but only because I could no longer hold onto the hair I so desperately did not want to lose.

My friend has accepted the inevitable, and I love that about her!

How did you handle your hair loss?

Grateful, plus the Curse of Cancer Treatment

Friday, June 18th, 2010
Photo: LaserGuided, Flickr

Photo: LaserGuided, Flickr

I’m a grateful girl. Really, I am. In fact, I can’t even put into clear and concise words how very thankful I am for the breast cancer treatments that have kept me alive for five years. If I even try to put my thoughts into words, I promise you tears will stream down my cheeks. I’m about to turn 40 on Sunday, and WOW, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to that age, what with birthday No. 34 followed by such fear and uncertainty.

Just so we’re clear: I am so. very. happy. to be alive and writing this. I’m simply amazed by what medicine has done for me.

I’m amazed by what medicine is doing to me, too. Five years later, and it finds a way to make me a little bit miserable. Right now, actually, a lot miserable.

I’m covered in red, itchy, drive-me-crazy bumps on my shoulders, chest, back, and areas around my armpits. It happens every year, and it’s called something like UV Recall. Years after treatment, the sun reacts with my skin and the poisonous drugs, and the remnants of radiation, and sunscreen (I’m not sure about what order this all follows or if it’s one or several of these factors), and my skin pays the ultimate price. You’d think I’d have figured it out after all this time, but I haven’t, because sometimes (like last year at the beach), nothing bad happens. I find a sunscreen for sensitive skin, lather it from head to toe, and I’m just fine, maybe even a tiny bit tan, which is a treat for a fair-skinned gal like me. Other times (like this year at the beach), I find a sunscreen for sensitive skin, and, well, the bumps begin — just a few here and there, then some more, until they’ve climbed all over my body, making me more and more wacky by the day.

“Are you not so happy?” Danny asked me today.

Gosh, how I’m trying to be happy, plodding along through these summer days like everything is fine. But it’s not. I’m itchy and scratchy, showers hurt my skin, clothing bothers it, too, the Florida heat (it’s been like 100 degrees here lately) agitates every inch of me, and well, no, Danny, I am not so happy. (Add head cold to the equation, and you might imagine how poorly I really feel.)

The end is near, I know. The bumps will dry up and slowly disappear, and I will do what I always do — slink into the shadows at the pool, sit under an umbrella at the ocean, hide under the bimini of a boat. It’s no fun to be the mom always seeking shade and avoiding fun in the sun. I guess that’s why, year after year, I keep trying to jump waves, and find sea shells along the seashore, and splash in the pool — because I want to think cancer treatment won’t keep plaguing me. But it does, and it probably always will. And that’s just how it is. The very thing allowing me the pleasure of birthdays is torturing me, too.

OK, I’m getting a grip here. This skin ordeal is short-lived. It will consume about a week of my life (couple more days to go), and then I’ll move on. Maybe I’ll even be free and clear by Sunday, when I blow out 40 candles and celebrate another year of life.

See, I’m grateful. Really, I am.

Note: If you caught this post just as it published, you got a glimpse of what I look like. But the photo I put up at first has been taken down. It’s just too icky, and while it’s definitely educational, I decided to shield you from the yuck. And me, too. Looking at the mess in the mirror is enough. Online is just too much. And so I give you: flowers, pretty flowers.

Cancer Survivor Rebecca Needs Your Vote!

Wednesday, June 9th, 2010
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Vote right now! And thank you!

My new two-time-cancer-surviving friend Rebecca needs your vote. You see, she is trying to get a charity called Hair 4 You off the ground. It’s a great one, and the goal is that it will provide free wigs for kids and teens with medical hair loss. In order to make it all happen, though, Hair 4 You needs to become an official non-profit 501(3)c, which means Rebecca needs some funds.

No, she doesn’t want your money, just your vote (voting is absolutely free and requires only an email address and password).

So, can you pretty please stop by the Pepsi Refresh Challenge website and cast your vote for this 24-year-old, who would really love to win a $25,000 prize. Imagine what she could do to brighten the worlds of young people who just want to feel normal. And hey, you can vote once every day, so start now, then keep voting through June 30.

Rebecca thanks you.

I do, too.

Also, you should consider becoming a Facebook fan of Hair 4 You. This way, you’ll get updates on how Rebecca’s cause is coming along.

Time Heals My Wounds

Thursday, May 27th, 2010
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Photo: tanakawho, Flickr

Time may not heal all wounds, but in my case, it definitely blurs them. Let’s talk chemo, that horrible thing from which most of my breast cancer wounds developed.

For each of my four dose-dense infusions of adriamycin and cytoxan, my sister delivered lunch to the pink pretend-leather recliner I called home for hours at a time. There was a yummy gyro, a delish tuna sandwich, a great turkey sub, and I can’t remember the fourth one — which is exactly my point: I can’t remember. Time has erased my memory of the food that so repulsed me I couldn’t eat it for years. Years!

It’s been five years since my chemotherapy ended. And just now have I realized that the thought of these foods does not make me want to vomit. They actually sound pretty appetizing.

All it took was time. The same time that has allowed my hair to grow back, my surgery and port scars to fade, and my fear of recurrence to morph into something almost unrecognizable.

Yes, my wounds have healed — not completely and entirely, but mostly.

I love that.

Surviving Cancer — and Its Side Effects

Monday, March 22nd, 2010
Oncology: a branch of medicine that deals with tumors (cancer).

Oncology: a branch of medicine that deals with tumors (cancer).

I went for another cancer check-up this morning, the first since my 5-year cancerversary. Mostly, everything is A-OK — so well, in fact, that I now get to see my favorite doctor once a year instead of every six months.

But with the happy hooplah of surviving cancer for a good amount of time comes the fact that I need to start thinking about surviving the side effects of cancer for a good amount of time. There are certain issues that come with life after cancer. For me, it’s mostly heart stuff.

Three things that might affect my heart: the chemo drug Adriamycin (I had four doses), radiation (it was delivered right on top of my heart) and Herceptin (the wonder drug I received for one year). All three of these life-savers can compromise heart function over time. “You should be so lucky to get heart disease in 20 years,” someone once told me, “because it means you will have survived cancer for 20 years.” Yea, that doesn’t make me feel so relieved. In fact, it’s apparently cause for a consultation.

Someone is going to contact me soon to discuss survivorship issues, says my doc, and this person will notify my primary physician of potential concerns, too, so he can monitor me appropriately. I’m not overly concerned about this, really. I’m basically just thankful to be alive, with a heart that today is very strong. For now, that’s just enough.

Second Opinions Matter

Friday, March 19th, 2010
Photo: cjc4454, Flickr

Photo: cjc4454, Flickr

My darkest hour arrived while I was cooped up in a hospital room with chemo-induced fever and other mystery symptoms. I was bald and bloated and beyond hope when a well-respected attending oncologist swung by my room with a crowd of med students and announced it could be another cancer causing my illness. Probably leukemia or lymphoma. A bone marrow biopsy would determine my fate, this doc told me, just before he casually strolled away from my despair and moved onto his next patient.

It wasn’t a biopsy that greeted me a few days later. It was a new doc, starting a new rotation.  A second cancer wasn’t even on his radar. Rather, he was convinced my dose-dense chemo (given every two weeks instead of three) was to blame. Nothing some heavy-duty meds couldn’t fix.

A few days later, I was home, healthy, and once again, hopeful.

That was five years ago, and it was not the first time I was misguided by a well-meaning doctor, which brings me to this very important medical conclusion:

Second opinions matter.

I’m living proof.

Jeans Cream Soothes Radiation Skin: Giveaway

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010
jeanscream.com

jeanscream.com

My skin did pretty well during radiation. For weeks, nothing at all happened, and then at the very end of my 30+ days of treatment, a mild burn showed up. No blistering, though, or peeling, or anything else that made me horribly uncomfortable.

You (or those you know who are getting zapped) might not fare so well. Lucky you (actually two of you!), because right here, right now, you can enter to win a free tube of Jeans Cream. It’s a natural and revolutionary product that soothes and protects skin with high-potency vitamins and botanical extracts. And it’s not made by just anyone — creator and founder Jean is a two-time breast cancer survivor, and so she knows first-hand that this stuff really works.

Jeans Cream is good for more than just radiation-affected skin, it can effectively treat eczema, sunburn, diabetes-related skin issues, contact dermatitis, wound care, and you can even use it for daily moisturizing.

What are you waiting for? Leave a comment, and you just might score this valuable gift!

  • Leave a comment and share why you need this cream!
  • Leave your comment no later than 5PM ET on Wednesday, February 10, 2010.
  • You may enter only once.
  • Open to legal residents of the 50 United States, and the District of Columbia, who are 18 and older.
  • One winner will be selected in a random drawing.
  • Two winners will receive one 7-ounce tube each of Jeans Cream (valued at $45 per tube).
  • Winners will be notified by email, so make sure to check next week to find out if you’ve won!

Cancer Books – 6 of the Best

Sunday, April 5th, 2009

What Breast Cancer Looks Like – Tracy

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.

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

Have wig, will send it

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

Fighting Cancer

Friday, February 27th, 2009

I’m still fighting cancer. Sort of. It’s my hair, actually. It’s the hair cancer gave me that causes me to resist. It’s the curl, which really is more like a wave, that makes me plug in my flat iron each morning and straighten every bend and turn in my once poker-straight, once very blond hair.

Yesterday, I let my brownish, curly-ish hair go. I shampooed it, dried it and let every strand do as it pleased. I was OK with it at first. Then I went out to lunch, saw my reflection in the glass door of my favorite Heavenly Ham restaurant and realized I’m a straight-hair kind of girl. Flat looks better on me. Full and fluffy looks better on other people.

I couldn’t wait to get home. First, though, I had to get my boys from school. Joey’s first words when he spotted me waiting for him outside the front doors: “What happened to your hair?” Then I greeted Danny. “Why is your hair curly?” he said in the car after tracking me with his eyes for a while. “I just did it differently,” I told him. “Do you like it?” Joey piped in: “It’s not my favorite.”

It’s not my favorite either. Damn cancer. Why must it give me curly hair? Sure, it’s better than no hair. It’s just not ideal hair. Which is why I fight it. Today, the flat iron comes out again.

Photo courtesy of kaboodle.com

Dog Walking – and Other Life Ambitions

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.

25 Things About Me

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.

Ouch!

Friday, January 9th, 2009

Chemo was bad. The next worst thing about breast cancer, though, was this nasty allergic reaction I had to the tape/latex used during my surgery to remove the tumor that threatened my life. What started as a few red bumps grew into quite a mess of blistery yuck. It burned and itched, made my skin crawl and sent me nearly over the edge. My surgeon (and a dermatologist he pulled into the case) had never before seen anything like it, and they hadn’t a clue what to do about it. They gave me Xanax to get me through.

The reaction happened again, in response to an antibiotic I received while hospitalized for low blood counts. And now, it’s happened again.

Tegaderm tape could be the trigger of this allergy. Well, either that or latex. So I always list both as allergies when asked by medical professionals. I’m sure it’s on my chart at the dermatologist office, but somehow I was sent home after my skin cancer surgery on Monday with bandages containing, oops, latex (there they are, pictured above, apparently “ouchless”). Sure enough, I slapped them on my arm, covered my stitches and then 12 hours later discovered the mistake I’d made. A mess of blistery yuck. It burns and itches, makes my skin crawl and is sending me nearly over the edge.

Double check. That’s what I’ve got to do from now on. No more assuming that someone else is going to look out for my best interests, that someone else is going to actually read my patient paperwork for a listing of my allergies. Nope. It’s all on me. Well, all over me, right now. Which is proof that no one can take better of me than me.

Skin cancer, indeed

Friday, January 2nd, 2009

It’s skin cancer, that little red spot on my arm that I watched and watched and watched. It must have taken me months to get my butt into the office of my dermatologist. What’s wrong with me? I know what’s wrong: Even after having a serious form of cancer, I still believe the darn disease isn’t going to happen to me. A red patch on my arm? Probably nothing. So I plug along, until it hits me that the thing isn’t going away, that its changing shape and color is probably a sign of something I don’t want. Cancer.

I think I knew the day of my biopsy what the outcome would be. And my phone call this morning confirmed it. Basal cell skin cancer. Bummer. It’s not a big, scary deal, though. Most skin cancers are of this variety and are largely curable.

I’m headed to have this cancer removed on Monday. A doctor will dig deep and remove everything she can. And I won’t have it anymore. And then hopefully, I will learn my lesson and report to her office for anything else that looks remotely suspicious. That’s my plan, anyway.

I love you, a little bit

Friday, January 2nd, 2009

Danny recently made his Nanny a thank-you card for the Christmas gifts she gave him. He drew pictures of her favorite things—a butterfly, a flower, a swimming pool, a rainbow, an alligator, a snail and a wolf (a cat is what he intended, but he said he couldn’t draw one). When I told him I really liked the snail, he announced that he would make me something. “It’s a secret,” he said. “Don’t look.”

I didn’t look. But I couldn’t help but notice the fit he threw when he messed up on his masterpiece. Crayons went flying. Scissors hit the floor. Groans and moans filled the room. I was mad. I told him his behavior was not appropriate, that he needed to calm down and start again. He eventually did. I praised his ability to recover and told him, “I love you, Danny.”

“I love you, too,” he said. “A little bit.”

I’m OK with this. I know Danny loves me more than he lets on. He proved it by making me four perfect snails, one for each person in our family (”This one is daddy, this one is you, this one is me when I was a baby and this one is Joey when he was two”). He put them in brown lunch bag, folded it over, taped it closed and asked how to spell “Jacki.” I told him. He wrote it down. And then he presented me with his gift.

“It doesn’t matter if the letters are backwards,” he declared while handing over the bag. No it doesn’t. A backwards “J” works just fine for me.

My four little snails, drawn with orange marker and cut out in kindergarten fashion, sit next to me at this very moment. They are beautiful. And so is Danny. I really love that guy. A lot.


It could be skin cancer

Friday, December 26th, 2008

I went to the dermatologist on Monday for a suspicious something on my arm. It’s a small, red patch of skin that appears to change in size and color. Seemed time to have it checked out, so off I went with two little boys in tow to an exam room where a nurse numbed and a physician assistant removed a slice of skin for biopsy. Then the PA said, “It could be skin cancer.”

“Cancer?” said 7-year-old Joey. “That would be your second cancer. What was your first one again?”

I told him my first was breast cancer and that he shouldn’t worry since most skin cancers are pretty easy to fix. The PA jumped in, confirming that yes, indeed, skin cancer is usually no big deal. Sometimes, it’s removed with the biopsy alone, she said.

And so that is my hope, that if it is skin cancer that lives on my arm, it’s the kind that is a cinch to eradicate. Well, my hope is that it’s not skin cancer at all because, really, one cancer is enough. No seconds for me, thank you.

Bump

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.