my Breast Cancer blog

2004, age 34 — this is my story
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Sick of stress

Posted on 2/19/2009 By

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Stress can make you sick. Cancer sick, I don’t know. But I suspect lingering stress can cause disease. Which is exactly why I don’t want it bottling up in my body. It has been, though, and I must find a way to release it. Because I want absolutely no part of sick.

Way back during my chemo days, I saw a counselor in the Psych Clinic in Shands Hospital. ‘Psych Clinic’ sounds so, um, mental, doesn’t it? Not sure I like that. But stress is mental. It weighs on the mind and travels through the body and if you’re like me, makes you a little bit crazy and a whole lot frazzled. It happens to me when my plate is too full. Like now. There are kid demands. And work demands. And guys who have been working in my house for nearly a week, installing granite countertops, jack hammering tile off my floors, replacing it with pretty hard wood and stirring it up all sorts of dust. There’s anxiety about how often and how much I exercise, pressure to volunteer at the school carnival, a pending trip to see snow and I think you get my point. Stress.

I’m trying to calm down, breathe deeply and employ the strategies my counselor Lindsay taught me all those years ago. One of my favorites, which I’ve been forgetting lately, is asking myself this question: What’s the worst thing that can happen? What’s the worst thing that can happen because dust covers my furniture? Well, it needs cleaning, that’s all. The worst thing that can happen if I don’t exercise today? I guess I burn a few less calories. I don’t volunteer for the carnival? The committee must find someone else. The point is, if it’s not a life or death scenario, well, then, it’s really not worth the stress. I need to remember that. And if I can’t, I can at least remember 8-year-old Joey’s words of wisdom: It could always be worse. Because, you know, it could be.

Photo by dinghyman on flickr

Dog Walking – and Other Life Ambitions

Posted on 2/11/2009 By

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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.

My second born

Posted on 2/4/2009 By

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And because first borns get all the attention, I simply must honor my second born.

1. WAS YOUR SECOND PREGNANCY PLANNED? Yes.

2. WERE YOU MARRIED AT THE TIME? Yes.

3. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS? Mostly joy. But I felt a bit sorry for Joey for the transition he would have to make. Then a friend told me the best gift I could give Joey is a sibling, and I felt better.

4. WAS ABORTION AN OPTION FOR YOU? No.

5. HOW OLD WERE YOU? 33, almost 34.

6. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT? Home pregnancy test.

7. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST? Husband John.

8. DID YOU WANT TO FIND OUT THE SEX? No. The first baby was surprise, and I loved the suspense.

9. DUE DATE? 5.26.03

10. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS? Not really.

11. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE? I can’t remember.

12. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST? My weight, for the second time.

13. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CHILD’S SEX? Male.

14. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE SEX OF WHAT YOU WERE GETTING? Nope.

15. HOW MANY POUNDS DID YOU GAIN? 42

16. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER? No.

17. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW? N/A

18.DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY? No. Just a repeat of the first delivery — a big baby who had a hard time emerging.

19. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH? North Florida Regional Medical Center in Gainesville, FL

20. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOR? About 15.

21. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? Husband John. Mom showed up later. Mother-in-law stayed with big brother Joey.

23. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION? Natural, with epidural.

24. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN? Yes.

25. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH? 10 pounds, 2 ounces

26. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN? 5.30.03

27. WHAT DID YOU NAME YOUR CHILD? Daniel John Donaldson. We call him Danny.

28. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY? 5

My first born

Posted on 2/3/2009 By

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This is for all you mommies out there, about your firstborn. Just copy, paste and share your story.

1. WAS YOUR FIRST PREGNANCY PLANNED? Yes.

2. WERE YOU MARRIED AT THE TIME? Yes.

3. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS? Relief, happiness and anxiety. Had a miscarriage previously and wanted so badly to get pregnant again. Also feared miscarrying again. But I didn’t.

4. WAS ABORTION AN OPTION FOR YOU? No.

5. HOW OLD WERE YOU? 30.

6. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT? Home pregnancy test.

7. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST? Husband John.

8. DID YOU WANT TO FIND OUT THE SEX? I did, but John didn’t so I gave him the gift of surprise.

9. DUE DATE? 12.30.00

10. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS? No.

11. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE? Caesar salad and a cold beer in a frosty mug, because I didn’t allow myself either while pregnant.

12. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST? My weight.

13. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CHILD’S SEX? Male.

14. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE SEX? Nope.

15. HOW MANY POUNDS DID YOU GAIN? 50

16. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER? Yes.

17. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW? I knew.

18.DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY? Not until the delivery day, when the big boy was struggling to come out and the doctor realized after 2.5 hours of pushing that he was HUGE. It all worked out — thanks to a big episiotomy and a vacuum.

19. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH? Halifax Hospital in Daytona Beach, FL

20. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOR? Oh, about 16.

21. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? Husband John. Met there by my mom, sister and Mother-in-law.

23. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION? Natural, with epidural.

24. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN? Yes.

25. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH? 10 pounds, 9 ounces

26. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN? 1.3.01

27. WHAT DID YOU NAME YOUR CHILD? Joseph Christopher Donaldson. We call him Joey.

28. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY? 8

For the love of movies and boats

Posted on 1/31/2009 By

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We’ve been seeing a lot of movies here lately. There’s Bedtime Stories. And that Despereaux one. And Paul Bart: Mall Cop. Just recently, we saw Hotel for Dogs. My favorite is Bedtime Stories. My boys are all about the dogs.

The other day while driving home from the Regal cinemas, I told Joey and Danny that I hope we can still see movies together when they are grown up and living on their own. “Can I still visit when I don’t live with you anymore?” asked Joey. “Of course you can,” I told him. “I’d be sad if you didn’t.”  And then he started dreaming of his life away from home.

“I’ve been thinking,” 8-year-old Joey said, “that when I grow up, I’d like to live on a boat. A boat like Forrest Gump had. A shrimp boat. I’ll catch fish too and sell them.” I asked 5-year-old Danny where he wants to live. “In your neighborhood,” he told me.

“Actually, I might have a condo,” Joey shared. “I’ll dock my boat and still live in it, but I’ll go to the condo for food. Do you want to come stay with me, Danny?”

“I definitely want to have kids,” Danny responded.

“You might not want to live near mom,” suggested Joey. “Pick a place where you can have fun. Like you can go on the boat, swim and fish.”

And then the focus shifted to video games. We were almost home, after all, and my Wii-fiends began plotting their next activity. Mario Kart is a favorite. Danny always chooses to steer a car. Joey: A motorcycle. If only there were a boat.

Photo of “The Jenny” (from Forrest Gump) courtesy of {{Brent}} on flickr

25 Things About Me

Posted on 1/29/2009 By

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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!

Posted on 1/9/2009 By

3 Comments

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.

Operation Skin Cancer

Posted on 1/6/2009 By

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I know, it’s gross. Or maybe you don’t think it’s gross, I don’t know. Regardless, I publish this picture as a simple reminder that careless sun bathing during teenage and young adult years can cause this to happen to you, like it did me. Heck, reckless sun-seeking behavior during childhood and old age can do it too. And it doesn’t need to be sun bathing. Running outdoors, walking your dog outdoors, tossing a football outdoors (hey, that reminds me: Go Gators!), anything that keeps you in the scorching rays without sunscreen or other cover-up gear for more than, say, 15 minutes is downright dangerous. Go ahead and enjoy your 15 unprotected minutes each day (this is your best bet for soaking up a good dose of vitamin D), but otherwise, be warned, my friends. Or you could look like this.

Silver lining, navy glasses

Posted on 1/5/2009 By

4 Comments

I like to find the silver lining in all things, if I can. Take my eyes, for example. My vision is utterly horrible, aways has been, ever since something like the first grade. For a long time, my eyesight got worse and worse, which means my glasses got thicker and thicker, which means I normally wear contacts all. the. time. Because my glasses never look trendy or even remotely stylish. They just look thick. The silver lining: My eye doctor recently told me about this new type of glass and all these techniques available for making it look less like a Coke bottle. So I got new glasses. In a pretty navy frame. Just picked them up today. And here they are.

My new glasses are not totally free of thickness. The thick is still there, it’s just not as bad as it could be. Makes sense. My vision is 20/400, after all, which, if you’re not clear on the meaning of this, translates as follows: What a person with perfect vision can see from 400 feet, I can’t see until I’m 20 feet away. I’m something like technically blind, except I can see figures and shadows. Hold up some fingers, though, and unless I’m wearing contacts or my sporty new specs, I’ll have no idea how many are standing tall. A guess is all I can make.

I’m guessing right now that I’m going to like wearing my new glasses for more than getting to and from the bathroom at night. Not just because I think they rock. But because my 5-year-old Danny has told me several times since I put them on, “You look so cute.” I don’t care that 8-year-old Joey said, “They make your eyeballs look really small.” I’m sticking with Danny. He delivered just the silver lining I was looking for.

Skin Cancer Be Gone

Posted on 1/5/2009 By

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I’m not sure what I expeceted when I reported for my skin cancer surgery this morning. I mean, how bad could it be? The spot on my arm was small, after all. Really small.

The surgery wasn’t bad, really, it just wasn’t what I had in mind. Here’s how it went: Technician girl got me all set up on a reclining chair-type thing. Head back. Feet up. Towel across my tummy. Affected arm on towel. Doctor comes in. Technician girl shoots numbing stuff into my arm, all around the cancer spot. No pain, just a few pin pricks. Doctor explains that while the cancerous spot is a circle, she will make a cut like a football to make suturing easier (same thing my tummy tuck doc did too). Problem with this is that it makes the incision lots bigger, longer. This is one thing I did not anticipate. I also didn’t anticipate feeling the doctor cut my skin. “I can feel that,” I told her. Technician gave me a few more numbing shots. “I can still feel that,” I shared. More shots. Finally, I felt nothing more.

I have no idea what the doctor did, really, because I didn’t look. I never can look when a doctor does something to me. It makes me queasy and dizzy and well, the same way I feel when I don’t look.

“I feel dizzy,” I told the doctor, as she tugged her stitches back and forth through my skin and black spots flashed before my eyes. She reclined my chair even more, told me in five minutes I’d feel better. It took a bit longer than five, and a glass of water, before I could make my way to the reception desk to pay for the pleasure of this surgery. Armed with written instructions, some bandages, an ointment and an appointment card (stiches come out in two weeks), I was on my way. And here I am at home, with an almost entirely numb left arm and hand, feeling pretty certain I’m going to have one beauty of a scar when this thing heals up. Yea, not what I expected. But hey, in the words of Joey, my new 8-year-old: “Things could be worse.” Indeed, they could.

Ode to Joe

Posted on 1/3/2009 By

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My mom and sister weren’t sure I could ever have a baby. I don’t mean physically have a baby. I mean mentally have a baby. Too much of a whiner, I guess, to hack the pain involved. I surprised them both on that January 3 day, back in 2001, when I pushed out a 10 pound, 9 ounce baby boy with the aid of a heavy-duty epidural and the powerful suck of a vacuum. When Joey emerged, heavy as a sack of rocks and appearing more like a two-month-old than a newborn, all was well with the world. I had done it. I’d had a baby. I didn’t even whine. Score one for me. Joey didn’t fare so well. He turned out to be, well, a whiner.

Joey whined for much of his early life. He just was not a happy boy. He fussed, complained, demanded and generally traveled against the grain. It was a challenging few years and sometimes, I find myself looking back at home videos to remember his few happy baby and toddler moments. My theory is that Joey never wanted to be a little kid. He was a big boy, after all (22 pounds by the time he hit six months). Maybe he wanted to act his size before his body would allow for it.

Joey hit his stride by the time he was five. My shy, difficult boy turned social and easy-going by the end of kindergarten. In first grade, he was independent and spirited. Now in second grade, my guy walks himself to class, works hard, gets good grades, is well-liked by his peers and rarely puts up a fight. Now, it’s not that he doesn’t argue with his brother, bump heads with me about homework and lobby for a later bedtime and more candy. It’s just that his behavior now is manageable. It’s typical eight-year-old stuff, not over-the-top little-boy madness.

Today, Joey is eight. And I am so in awe of this boy, who has both worn me out and warmed my heart. I remember a pediatrician once telling me his personality at three months would be his personality for life. I just need to learn to cope, and teach him to cope, the good doc told me. But it didn’t happen that way. Just as I was learning to find peace with my tempermental small kid, this beautiful and confident bigger boy emerged. A boy who rarely whines, always tells me he loves me and is so surprised when we tell him stories about his years of discontent.

I think Joey was meant to be eight. The age fits him perfectly. All is well with the world. And I have absolutely nothing to whine about.

Happy Birthday, Joey. I love you, too.

Skin cancer, indeed

Posted on 1/2/2009 By

3 Comments

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

Posted on 1/2/2009 By

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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.


Hair by cancer

Posted on 12/27/2008 By

9 Comments

First, my hair was blond. Then it was gone. It grew back dark and curly. Now it is less curly (but only entirely straight when I flat iron it). And it’s lighter (without the assistance of any chemicals), like it’s going back to its original color. Funny what cancer did to my hair. And how I like it better now than ever before.

It could be skin cancer

Posted on 12/26/2008 By

5 Comments

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.

Ho, Ho, Ho

Posted on 12/24/2008 By

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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.

Bump

Posted on 12/19/2008 By

1 Comment

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.

Saving Second Base

Posted on 12/17/2008 By

5 Comments

Of all the cutesy cancer slogans out there, this is my favorite: Save Second Base. I like it because that’s what I’m doing, saving my own personal second base with every self-exam, clinical exam, mammogram, ultrasound, MRI, morsel of healthy food that passes through my lips and with every mile I run.

Check out these clever quips I’m borrowing from the spunky survivor over at Melon Wars. Go visit and see her whole list. These are a just a few of my faves.

  • Eyebrows Are So Last Year
  • Bald is the New Black
  • I Have Cancer – Cancer Doesn’t Have Me
  • Chemo – Breakfast of Champions
  • Nice Try Cancer, But I’m Still Here
  • Does This Shirt Make My Head Look Bald?
  • Bald Chicks Rule
  • I’m Confused. Wait Maybe I’m Not.
  • I Pay My Oncologist Big Bucks for This Hair Style
  • Friends Don’t Let Friends Fight Cancer Alone
  • Fight Like A Girl
  • Unbeknownst to the Mosquito, I Just Had Chemo
  • One Day Pink Will Just Be for Princesses. Let’s Find A Cure.
  • Breast Cancer Isn’t for Sissies
  • Fighting Cancer and Still Fabulous

Got any you’d like to share? Please do.

Like that Santa Baby bra pictured above. It came from this blog right here.

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