The Dad

When my hair was growing back after cancer treatment and I had just teeny tiny little bits of fuzz covering my head, 4-year-old Joey said, “People might think you’re the dad!” Same guy who told me while I was hospitalized for chemo complications and was wearing a mask and a hat, “You look like an alien.”

That boy just always knows what to say!

Snapfish PinkGives Gift Card Giveaway

Pink Hope Encouragement Card

Snapfish says you can create personalized gifts for your family and friends while you raise breast cancer awareness. It’s simple. Just visit, and for every PinkGives product you purchase, Snapfish will donate 30 percent of the proceeds (up to $25,000) to Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

Also, Snapfish members can showcase their support by sending a note to about their involvement in the breast cancer cause – could be participation in a local Susan G. Komen race or organizing a fundraising campaign or related party – for a chance to receive Snapfish-funded support as an official photo sponsor for their event. Snapfish will select four winners and will donate up to $1,500 to each event.

That’s pretty cool.

So is this: Snapfish is giving away a $50 gift card to one of YOU through a giveaway HERE.

Also simple.

  • Leave a comment and tell us how you’ll spend your Snapfish bucks.
  • Leave your comment no later than 5PM ET on Tuesday, October 25, 2011.
  • 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 via
  • One winner will receive one gift card in the amount of $50.
  • Winners will be notified by email, so make sure to check next week to find out if you’ve won!


Bald Isn’t Bad Forever

If cancer ever forces you to lose your hair, you will probably be devastated, like I was.

But, in time, you might like the benefits of bald.

Like no shampoo; no hair drying, curling, flattening; and no time at all to get ready in the morning. (No shaving or eyebrow tweezing either.)

Not that you won’t love it when your hair returns, but bald isn’t the worst thing forever. Just in the beginning.

Radiation Follow-Up — Ready, Set, Wait

Today, I spent two hours in a radiation oncology clinic (staring at the same ‘ol boring exam room table) in order to spend maybe 15 minutes with the doctor. I’d write all about it here, but I sorta already did all my venting on Facebook. Here’s how it went:

Antsy. 42 minutes waiting to see doctor. Makes me mad every time.

Go say something. That’s SO RUDE! Imagine if I left my clients waiting that long? RUDE RUDE RUDE!

Exactly! Basically shouts that my time is not valuable, and it is!

I always take it as a big EFFF YOU! So rude.

Thinking of you….

Residents have been in. Now waiting on doc. It’s neverending.

They also obviously do not understand, or care, that the nervousness just gets worse the longer we have to sit there and dream up our own prognoses!! They can be such JERKS!!

Another doctor of mine
You must love coming to see me!

I KNOW it is annoying but PLEASE keep in mind there are times where a seriously ill pt comes into a office and needs immediate care or even needs to be transferred right away to the hospital. If it were your own mother who needed the care you may feel THANKFUL! Also, please let your M.D. know. There is also the event where he may have been double booked by office staff and not knowing it. Keep in mind Monday’s and Friday’s are your busiest days to have a appointment. I am sorry you are having to wait Jacki. I hope you get a clean bill of health. I am THANKFUL! Mine is the way he is! He takes such great care of his patients and his family! We are blessed!

I *do* love coming to see you, because you don’t make me wait … anymore! I wonder what you have written next to my name on the schedule — something like, “Don’t make this girl wait or she’ll freak out!” — ?? My appointment did end well, though — Doctor says I look perfect. Just took 2 hours to get that info.!

Oh, I do understand all of that, Jen, and I’m sure I’ve been the time-consuming patient at times. But over the course of almost seven years of cancer care, I’ve mostly waited and waited and waited — 4 hours was tops — and because I’ve been to places that have a slick system, it always bothers me. My husband gets his care at the VA Hospital, and he never waits! Of course, there are exceptions, but the norm should be that patients get in when they are scheduled. OK, moving on …

Radiation Follow-Up Coming Up

Four times a year, I report for some sort of cancer follow-up. Tomorrow, my radiation oncologist weighs in. (I had planned to post a photo of what radiation did to my skin, but I can’t do it. It’s too gross, and it sorta makes me cry.)

Bondi Band Pink Ribbon Headband Giveaway

One giveaway wraps up (Nicole won the Creative Memories goodies), and another begins. This time, the Bondi Band headband I so adore.

Check out the awesomeness over at, then imagine yourself wearing a slick, snazzy band around your head. Yours, if you win, will have a pink ribbon displayed front and center. Just like mine.

So, here’s the deal:

  • Leave a comment and tell us how your pink ribbon headband will come in handy.
  • Leave your comment no later than 5PM ET on Monday, October 17, 2011.
  • 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 via
  • One winner will receive one pink ribbon headband (value: $8).
  • Winners will be notified by email, so make sure to check next week to find out if you’ve won!

Her First Mammogram

My friend Heather wrote a story about her first mammogram, and, in the name of breast cancer awareness, she is donating it to me so I can publish it for you. Her words follow, and see that photo to the right? That’s her — the girl I first met when we were something like 25 years old, and, now, we’re something like 40.

Oh, and the “cancer-surviving friend” in the story — that’s me!

My First Mammogram

Heather Dilatush

I just had my second mammogram. I really don’t mind going to the doctor or dentist – I like staying on top of my health, but I did skip last year’s mammogram and I think I know why.

Two years ago, I went for my first “mammo.” People will probably not believe this, but I wasn’t nervous or worried about the pain that sometimes accompanies getting “squished.” I figured that if it hurt, I would take some deep breaths and get through it. As my cancer-surviving friend said, getting squished may hurt, but cancer hurts more.

But first, let me put that time in a little context. I was getting my mammo at the start of a new school year. Although I was heading into my sixth year of teaching, I was thrown into teaching photography. I am a skilled artist, but I confess, I am not a photographer. I don’t even have a background in photography. Zippo, ziltch, nadda. So I was about to learn in front of 16-year-olds. I know, fun, right? It was one of the few times in my life when I felt like I didn’t know which end was up. Everybody kept telling me I was a great art teacher and I would be good. But like all teachers, I like to know my stuff really, super double extra well so that I can teach the hell out of it. Where do you start when you don’t know anything? And another confession: I have no passion for it. I appreciate it; my partner is a great photographer, my dad had a darkroom in our basement, but that particular artform does almost nothing for me. It makes no sense, I know.

So like a good 39-year-old, I went in for my mammogram and was greeted and fondled by a very nice woman. I got squished, and it was fine. She said that sometimes people have to come in a second time, but that 80% of the time it is just to get some better shots. I thought that made sense. And I remember thinking I could never do her job. I am scared to death of my new position, but I could never work as a technician. Sometimes you have to smile at the patient knowing that something is abnormal in those images.

I got the call that I needed to come in for some more images. This time, I was more nervous because I had been trying all week to plan lessons for something I had no clue about. When my students’ film doesn’t come out, why doesn’t it? And if you have ever shot photography, is it me or is learning aperture a little tricky? Oh, and darkroom chemicals, how do those work? I felt like a fraud. Also that week, when I went into our finance office to order some supplies, I looked at Cheryl’s desk full of purchase orders, mounds of paperwork-filled columns and numbers and stuff, and said, “I could never do your job.” She said chuckling, “well, I could never be a teacher, so we’re even.”

I was feeling so scattered that when I showed up for the second mammogram, I realized I had forgotten my wallet when I went to get my money for the co-pay. They took me anyway, and when I was in the room with the technician, she said, “I will let you know that this is not going to be very pleasant.” Ugh, okay. I thought to myself, just breath, it’s all you can do. She was right. It was not pleasant. But it still wasn’t really the worst pain I have ever experienced. I used it as a time to practice breathing.

But it still happened. I panicked. I realized that she was trying to get a particular shot. There was an area of my breast that she kept squeezing the heck out of. I closed my eyes and thought about my breathing. I assume she had no idea that I was concerned. I went back to the dressing room to get dressed and was on the verge of tears. Just as I finished pulling my shirt over my head, a woman with a beautiful, warm face and handshake said in a run-on sentence, “Hi Heather, I am Doctor Bryant we will see you next year everything is fine.” When she left, I thought, I could NEVER do HER job. I went out to my car and wept. I was both relieved and upset about the upcoming year. Somehow I would get through it. Maybe I would use it as a year to breath.

Port Support

My sister and Danny were with me the day I had my port removed. That surgery signified the end of cancer — the means by which all drugs entered my body was taken away. I worried I’d need one again at some point, and maybe I should just leave it there. But I have not required anything of the sort, and that boy in the photo is now 8 years old!

Horrible Hair Day

To end the trauma of my hair shedding in clumps on my pillow, in the shower, every time I brushed it, I put it in four ponytails and cut it all off. Then Joey and I buzzed the rest until I was bald. It was one of the worst days of my life.

Abbey’s Hope

Abbey’s Aunt Shauna is surviving breast cancer, and Abbey, trying to to raise funds to donate to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation, has created the limited edition “Hope” necklace for her jewelry line, Sprightly So. The necklace sells for $20, and 50% of the profits will be donated to BCRF. Interested? Know someone who might me? Spread the word, won’t you please?

Abbey’s got lots of other pretty stuff in her shop — take a tour when you can!

College, Cancer, and Years Gone By

Had John asked me on our first date at Leonardo’s in Gainesville, Fla. what I thought I’d be doing in 10 years, I never would have said, “fighting cancer.” But that’s what I ended up doing, with him (and two little boys) by my side.

It’s been 17 years since John and I first got to know each other at Leo’s, and last night, we reminisced about it over garlic rolls, at the very same table where we sat all those years ago. Didn’t seem all that different. Well, except for Joey and Danny scrounging our food and the fact that we look way old in the hip hangout still populated by spunky college students.