My Left Breast

Sh*t Girls Say to Girls with Breast Cancer

2012-03-01T20:06:00.001-05:00

Fell. On. The. Floor. Laughing.

I just had to post. Things were getting too serious around here. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

And by the way, people said almost all of these things to me!

"Is it the bad kind?"

Happy Thursday.

My father

2012-02-26T16:26:00.001-05:00

You know that song, "Beautiful Boy" by John Lennon where he sings the line "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans?" Well that's what the first two months of 2012 have been like for me. I was expecting to take a lot of time writing about the fact that I was facing two major landmarks: my 2 year anniversary of discovering that I had breast cancer, and my 1 year anniversary of my last and final reconstructive surgery.

But then, life happened. In January my daughter had a concussion from a snowboarding accident, my mother in law had some worrisome health issues, 2 of my best friends had pretty scary car accidents, another of my best friends had a health scare and the whole family came down with the very annoying hacking cough/cold that's been going around.

And then, my dad died.

I took some time before I decided to write about it, because I'm still figuring out how it makes me feel, now that both of my parents are gone. Do I feel like an orphan? No, I still feel like they're around, teaching me life lessons, although perhaps not in the way either of us would have anticipated.

I remember the week they moved out of their last real home in North Carolina, and traveled down to Georgia where they first stayed for about 6 months in an Assisted Living home, promptly decided it wasn't for them, and then moved in with my oldest sister (who is a saint for letting them live with her) for the next 6 years.

The few days before they moved out of their home in North Carolina were busy, with my dad doing his very best to not only cull down all their belonging's to fit into the 2 rooms they would have in their new home, but also to responsibly dispose of all the rest of their life's belongings through donations to various local nonprofit organizations. As they drove off in their car on the way to Georgia with my oldest sister, I waved goodbye and then turned back to the house in North Carolina, now almost empty of all evidence of their life there. My dad had done such a good job of getting rid of everything, but as the movers were finishing up with all of their loading, I went out to the garage and my mouth fell open. The one room in the house that my dad had forgotten about was the garage, and it was full of memories; old Christmas trees and ornaments, his complete and extensive set of metal garden and house tools, my mother's old walker from before she became bedridden, boxes and boxes of items all neatly labeled and stacked in orderly fashion on the shelves in the garage.

I had a very clear and distinct realization that material things are quite meaningless. All of my parents possessions had just been reduced to trash and I was about to put the rest of the stuff from the garage out on the front curb, hoping that someone would come by and claim the things that were still useful.

Last month, after the funeral service, my sisters and I went into my Dad's rooms in my sister's home. He had a suite of rooms; a bedroom, sitting room and bathroom. Everything was very neat and orderly, my dad was very German and very organized. There were so few things left of his 87 years of life - a few desk drawers of orderly files, a small closet and a chest of drawers with a few well organized and neatly folded clothes, his books and computer, some religious articles, photo albums and pictures of the family on the dressers and bookshelves.

And then I found his ashtray. A funny thing to bring back such a strong rush of memories. I took a deep breath as I lifted it and held it to my nose, fully expecting to smell the ashes from the ground out butts of his old Chesterfield cigarettes, but of course, he'd cleaned it so thoroughly since he'd stopped smoking in the 1970's that there was nothing there but my very strong memories. I had forgotten about this ashtray, but it's the one thing he kept after all those years, so it must have held a lot of memories for him, too. I don't really know much about it, but he must have gotten it during the Second World War, because it's from Augsburg Germany and is imprinted with "7th Inf. Division and 5th Inf. Regiment."

You can see the copper symbol in the center. That's where he would stub out his cigarettes and that's the spot that I can remember had that strong smell, which for some reason I would love to be able to smell again, now, even though I hate cigarette smoke.

Knowing what we all know now, about how bad cigarette smoking is for you, I really should hate this ashtray, but I have to say, it's the one thing that makes my dad seem real, that still reminds me of his physical presence. I'm glad he kept it.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

2012-01-13T12:02:00.002-05:00

I love books.

I just finished reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer. I wanted to read it before the movie came out so that I could have that experience without being colored by the visual intensity that I know the movie will offer.

It's beautiful and sad and poignant and all the things you would expect of a book about the enormity of 9/11/01, and more. He has a very unusual writing style and I know a lot of critics don't like his technique (he includes lots of images and has a sort of picture book embedded within the novel) but it seems to me that all of these elements only support the experience of the story that Safran Foer recounts. If you aren't already aware, it's a story about a young 8 year old boy whose father dies in the 9/11 WTC attack. But there's so much more than that, in this book. It's about the big issues in life: how to live fully, what it means to be a parent, what it means to be a child, love, regret, death, acceptance. And if you love New York, it is in some ways, also a love story about NYC.

When I finished it last night, I cried because I was so sad that I was done. There are not too many books that do that for me anymore and this one did. I encourage you to read it before the movie comes out, as there is a depth and richness to the book that can never be captured in a 2 hour movie, even if it's well done.

“Why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.” - Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Christmas 2011 in the City

2011-12-24T13:55:00.000-05:00

The Tree in Rockefeller Center

Angels in Manhattan

Lights dripping off the building

Bendel's window

Happy Holidays to all!

Getting into the season

2011-12-21T21:32:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas - 2011

What a difference a year can make.

The tree is up, the house is decorated and most of the presents have been bought. Wrapping will be done over the next few days, then we're off to the city on Friday for our annual visit to see the tree. Before you know it, it will be Christmas Eve, then Christmas.

Last year on our annual trip into the city I was still in the middle of my breast reconstruction and my back was killing me from the surgery and the expansion process. What a miserable day that was. I felt like Debbie Downer - in addition to how badly I felt physically, I had just started taking the first month of my 5 years of Tamoxifen and became very depressed, an unanticipated side effect of many aromatase inhibitors. I was trying very hard to be happy, but happy I was NOT. The whole holiday season last year was pretty miserable.

Fast forward to today. My current state of mind: peaceful, calm, joyful, anticipatory and grateful.

This week I made the leap and registered to attend the National Breast Cancer Coalition Summit in Washington DC, in May. They're the group that has a proclamation to end breast cancer by 2020. It feels like 2012 is going to be a good year. I sense new things on the horizon, don't know what they will be, but something's coming....something good.

Happy Holiday's. Hang out with your family, relax, don't worry about the gifts, sleep a lot, don't go to malls, watch a lot of funny movies, read some good books and enjoy the season.

"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen." - Author unknown, attributed to a 7-year-old named Bobby

Letting go

2011-12-01T14:37:00.001-05:00

Today I donated my wig from last years chemo days to a local group that refurbishes wigs for cancer patients going through chemo. The wig has been meandering around my bedroom for a while. When I first stopped wearing it back in the spring as my hair started to come back in I kept it in its box on top of my dresser for a while, feeling somehow reticent to put it away quite yet. Then I packed it up and stored it in a nice shiny bag in the back of my closet, along with a bunch of hats I used to wear last year when I was bald. I would see the wig box every now and then and wonder what to do with it. I even took it out once in the summer, and put it on just to see how it felt now that I have hair, but was so freaked out by the memories of chemo that flooded back as I looked in the mirror that I quickly pulled it off and stored it back in its box.

I had kind of a love-hate relationship with my wig. In some ways I was so happy to be able to go out incognito when I wore it, because when it was on not everyone would immediately know I had BC. But on the other hand, the damn thing itched and was so hot during all my hot flashes from the chemo that I really couldn't stand it by the end. And then it took so long for my hair to grow back in and I was so anxious to just get on with my life that I started to see the wig as a symbol of my BC and started to really loathe the sight of it.

I didn't know what to do with the darn thing. I'm not the kind of person who likes to throw perfectly good things away; I'm a believer in recycling and re-purposing things that are perfectly useful for someone out there. So, I held onto it.

And then last week, my friend Andra (a fellow BC survivor who helped me through so much last year) sent me an email about a local group she was working with and on the spur of the moment I sent them a message asking if they could use my wig. They said yes, they'd love to take it.

Today I dropped it off and it was pretty uneventful. The woman thanked me, took it, said it was in good shape and that was that. I had somehow expected something more momentous after all the angst I had been feeling, but I really just felt good that it was out of my house and would be useful to someone else.

Done. Moved on with that part of my life. A nice feeling. And of course, I had to celebrate in my now traditional post BC landmark fashion, by stopping off for a cup of Dunkin' Donuts (decaf these days 'cause the Tamoxifen gives me such crazy hot flashes which are exacerbated even more by caffeine).

"Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go." - Herman Hesse

Aruba, here we come

2011-11-02T16:53:00.000-04:00

I'm kind of embarrassed to say that we're going on yet another vacation again this Saturday. This time we're going to Aruba. It's just been a plethora of vacations this year and given the snow we had last weekend, I'm so glad we're going somewhere warm and relaxing again because it's been a whirlwind of a week.

Last Saturday the snow hit and a lot of our friends had no power, so we hosted a bunch of kids at our place for much of the weekend. Then there was Halloween, and of course, we had a whole passel of kids here for that. Then the High school was closed for the last 2 days 'cause of all the homes with power outages, and we had a bunch of kids here every day just hanging out, taking showers and sleeping over because their homes were too cold.

Chris (black one on left) and his friends in their Halloween Morph costumes

And, of course, in the midst of all that, I'm still sitting here at my desk working full time! So it's been a little hairy, but fun. Now, with the vacation coming up, I'm starting to freak out about all the things we need to get done before we leave, so I'm glad the High School was finally open today so I can have the house to myself again.

I grew up in a house where we weren't very comfortable inviting friends over to hang out, and we rarely had friends sleep over. We just weren't that kind of family. I don't think my husbands family was really that big on sleepovers either. I think that's why we've both consciously created a home where the kids feel comfortable bringing lots of friends around. We might have gone a little too far. Not a weekend goes by that we don't have at least 1 and often several kids sleeping over. And now that they're teenagers, some days it feels like they've kind of taken over (they're all so big and their presences are so much larger than they were when they were younger).

Whenever we have sleepovers, the basement gets quite a workout. Recently, I found a large hole in the basement wall the day after a sleepover. Hmmm.....seems my son created that hole with his shoulder during a basement football game. The day after sleepovers the room is always a big mess, full of dozens of soda cans, lots of empty cookie containers, half eaten pizza slices, nerf balls, blankets, random pillows, shirts, socks and who knows what else.

But I wouldn't change it for the world. At least I know where they are and I get to know their friends. Life is so vivid and all consuming when you have kids around. I've been bemoaning the fact that I never have time to myself for years, but now I have this scary feeling that before I know it, they're going to be grown, off to college and out the door for good and then I'll be here by myself wondering what to do with my life. So lately I've been trying to figure out what the next phase of my life is going to be. I'll keep you posted.

"Nothing is secure but life, transition, the energizing spirit." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

2011-10-29T15:50:00.000-04:00

My 93 year old mother-in-law attributes the crazy weather we've been having lately to the NASA space program. "Ever since they sent those astronauts up there, things have been crazy around here, weather wise." Her theory is that they did something to the atmosphere when they sent those rockets up there. You never know, she might have a point. All I can say is, this is pretty unusual weather for October 29th.

“The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.”

― E.E. Cummings

Lucky to be living in Hunterdon County

2011-10-15T09:51:00.000-04:00

This morning I got up at 6:45 to take my daughter to her PSAT's. How quickly these last 15 years have gone by, I can't quite believe that she'll be going to college in less than 3 years. But rather than dwell on that rather frightening thought, I decided to take advantage of being up so early to take Tucker for a walk. I'm so lucky to live in Hunterdon County. The leaves are absolutely beautiful this year, a pleasant side effect from all that horrible rain and cold weather we had late summer and into the fall. This morning, the air is crisp and clear, the sky is blue and the fall leaves are at their most brilliant.

Some of the best foliage we've had in years due to all that rain.

I believe I would call this "a riot of colors."

Tucker, of course, was in his glory. Not only does he get to smell all those moldy leaves, but there's always the ever cheerful red fire hydrant, his favorite spot.

A fiery red and orange lone leaf.

Fall has always been one of my favorite times of the year. I love the leaves changing, the crispness of the air, the end of the humidity of summer (although not so sure about that this year, with all this rain!) and the fact that we're getting close to the holidays. This year I will have even more to celebrate, as it's my first Fall and Christmas season post BC. I hope everyone else is enjoying it too. Plus, it's my birthday month :) Happy Birthday to all my fellow Libra friends out there.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. ~George Eliot

Dense Breasts - What You Should Know

2011-10-14T20:44:00.000-04:00

Here's another article on this whole dense breasts issue. Governor Jerry Brown of California just vetoed a bill that would have made it mandatory in California that women would have to be told if they have been found to have dense breasts. Apparently he thought the bill needed to be reworded, because it could cause too much "unnecessary anxiety" for patient. Are you kidding? What makes it even crazier is that he vetoed this during October, breast cancer awareness month. Talk about ridiculously bad timing.

How in the world can anyone think that it's not necessary to tell women that they have dense breasts? Why does the medical community think it will cause too much "unnecessary anxiety" in women to hear that they have dense breasts? Women with dense breasts need to be aware so that they can be even more careful about doing self exams, getting annual mammograms and asking for additional options (ultrasound or MRI) if they have any suspicious or unusual mammogram results.

It causes me unnecessary anxiety to think that people in the medical community think women are too weak to handle the truth about their own bodies. All of the women I know would rather know their risks and deal with them in a straightforward fashion, than hide under a rock because they're too scared to know the truth.

Next time you get your annual mammogram, ask the radiologist if you have dense breasts. It should be noted on your report, but may not be, so ask the question. If you do have dense breasts, it doesn't mean you have or will get breast cancer. It simply means that because dense breasts have less fatty tissue and more non-fatty tissue, it's harder for mammograms to detect breast cancer in them. Breastcancer.org is a wonderful resource that suggests that women with dense breasts develop a personal screening plan with their physician, which should include:

Monthly breast self exams
A yearly breast exam by your doctor
A digital mammogram every year starting at age 40

You and your doctor may also decide to include MRI and ultrasound of the breast in your personal screening plan if you have any unusual or suspicious mammogram results.

I hope that all of you women out there are scheduling your annual mammograms!

RIP Steve Jobs

2011-10-06T08:46:00.000-04:00

“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important … There is no reason not to follow your heart.” - Steve Jobs

The first thing I thought of last night when I heard of his passing was the fact that all the money in the world is worth nothing without your health. I think he sure had his priorities right, we all know that he resigned from APPLE a few months ago, and I understand he was surrounded by family and friends at the end. An interesting man who certainly made his mark on the world. We will all miss him and the many ways he has shaped our world.

The New York City High Line

2011-09-19T19:59:00.000-04:00

On Sunday I went into the City to walk The High Line with friends. Somehow I must have missed it's opening. I started to hear about it sometime last year, snippets here and there of people who'd said they'd been, articles about it in the NY Times. I've been wanting to walk it for a few months now, and this Sunday turned out to be the perfect day with sunny and crisp, fall-like weather. For any of you who haven't been, The High Line is an old abandoned railroad trestle that spans the West side of New York City from 20th & 10th Avenue all the way down to Gansevoort in the old meat packing district. The tracks were out of use for years and it had gotten all over-run and had become pretty much an eyesore. Now it's been transformed into this beautiful walking path all along the West side. The natural plantings are amazing; very wild and yet it's clear there was a lot of planning that went into them. The train tracks are still there, among the flowers and plantings (see above) and the whole walk way is an interesting mix of metal train tracks, stone, wood and natural plantings.

There are clever places to sit all along the walk, most of them appear to be made from reclaimed and recycled materials. It would be fun to come back in the summer and sunbathe on one of these chaise lounges, below.

It's really embedded right into the West side, right there among all the buildings, and you can get close up to some that you'd never even notice if not for the walkway. Some are quite beautiful like the one below with beautifully colored windows and then the one that's built right over the walkway, under that.

The flowers were so wild and colorful, plus some of them smelled so delicious. It's totally transformed that area of NY. It used to be so ugly on the West side, not much going on. Now with the High Line, the area is totally revitalized and alive with energy.

Just the thing for an early fall day in NYC. Hope you get a chance to visit on your next trip into the City.

"I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright." -- Henry David Thoreau

Chris's latest craze

2011-09-17T20:07:00.000-04:00

Have you heard of the youtube phenomenon called planking? It's my 13 year old son's latest obsession. Apparently they run around the school and do group plankings, like the one above (oh yeah, that's in the school bathroom). Then the lead says "migrate" and they all go somewhere else to plank.

Well, I suppose it's better than doing drugs or drinking. Except........I just searched it on youtube and of course, the very first reference that pops up is "Planking exercise kills Australian man." Hmm......maybe I'd better take that back.

Having kids this age is kind of scary, but also hugely entertaining. The lingo is so different than what we used when we were teens (we, being anyone over 40). When somebody does something that we would say is uncool, my kids say "That was so awkward." Pretty much anything that Mike or I do these days is deemed awkward by my kids. And then there's "random." They use that a lot, too. For example, if I change the topic mid-stream in a conversation, my daughter will rather haughtily look at me and mutter "That was so random," which I suppose it was, but come on, cut me some slack kid.

Today I let her drive my car. She hasn't quite gotten her permit yet, but is in Driver's Ed and will turn 16 in a few months and I've been wanting to let her try driving for a while, so on a whim this afternoon, I took her to a parking lot and let her drive around for about 10 minutes. I have a feeling it was probably illegal, but I've been wanting to test her out and see how responsible she can be and she actually did ok. She was pretty giddy with excitement and said "I'm not gonna' kid you, I feel pretty boss," which was her interesting way of saying it was fun.

Later on, we went to get her a graphing calculator (whatever the heck that's for, did we have these things in high school?!) and on the way home, I had to take a detour because one of the bridges was still down after all the flooding and we wound up going on a circuitous route along the banks of a beautiful river. It was so peaceful and beautiful, one of those little mini-moments that you don't expect but that turn out to be a lovely surprise. It was so nice to share it with her. They're growing up so fast, I want to hold on to the moments I can. I'm so grateful that I can.

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. -- Elizabeth Stone

Coping Tools to Get Through a Breast Cancer Diagnosis

2011-09-15T21:52:00.001-04:00

Lately I've been renewing friendships with people I haven't seen in a few years, or just seeing people I haven't seen since pre-BC, and one of the things that they often ask is "How did you manage to get through last year?" And I've actually been wondering the same thing lately, as I get absorbed into the very busy life I lead as a wife, mother, consultant, friend, homeowner, etc. There are so many things to do and so much to keep up with, how did I actually manage during the whole year of BC?

The truth is that I actually had a strategy. I made some very conscious decisions about how to cope with it very early on in the process, because it was so overwhelming at times.  I knew that if I didn't handle it dispassionately and logically I'd either go crazy, lose my family or lose my health (not in any particular order). So, being the Libra/balancing pragmatist that I am, here are the coping tools that helped me through the entire 16 months or so of my journey.

1. Focus on one step at a time. Once I realized I was going to have to go full hog and have lots of chemo, the mastectomy and reconstruction, I knew I had to deal with one daunting task at a time or I simply would not be able to handle it. So I focused on each procedure and then broke each one into manageable chunks of time. For example: My chemo was pretty overwhelming. I had to have 4 treatments of Adriamycin and Cytoxan (A/C); once every 3 weeks. Then I had to have 12 weekly treatments of Taxol, for a total of 5 1/2 months and 16 infusions. I just couldn't wrap my head around that, so I focused on getting through little landmarks. First, I focused on getting through the A/C which I knew would be the worst. Then I set up mini-goals for my progress. I was 25% through my Taxol, 50% of the way through it, 75% of the way, etc. Otherwise, I just could not face the sheer number of treatments in front of me.

2. Celebrate the little wins, whenever you can. In addition to setting these mini-goals I mentioned above, I also celebrated them when they were completed. I planned little trips or visits with friends during the "good" weeks in between my treatments. My daughter and I walked in the Revlon Run/Walk the week after my 2nd A/C chemo; I took a little mini-weekend trip with her and 2 of my close friends after my 5th Taxol to celebrate that I was 50% of the way there; my sisters and another very close friend came to stay with me in between the treatments and surgeries.

3. Rely on your friends. I did NOT try to be brave. I relied on my friends for a lot last year, and it is astonishing to me how much they did for me. There was nothing they wouldn't do - they listened, they fed me, they laid in bed and watched TV with me when I had no energy to do anything, they made me laugh, they helped me shave my head when my hair started falling out, they reviewed the status of my breasts and never once told me I looked like Frankenstein (and believe me, I DID for a while there), they told me I was strong enough to get through it all and they made me feel like I was a normal, functioning human-being despite the horrible chemicals and procedures I was experiencing.

4. Don't sweat the small stuff.   I was pretty tired most of the year and after a few months just decided that I was going to have to let things fall to the side. The house was pretty much a mess all year, but I just let it be ok and that was a big relief.

5.  Keep friends updated via Caringbridge.org. Fairly early on, after I realized how long this whole escapade was going to be, I took the advice of a friend and started posting updates about what was going on, at Caringbridge.org, a wonderful site that allows people with long-term health concerns to keep family and friends updated. It was too exhausting to call everyone with the details, so I would post frequently and everyone was kept updated without me having to make lots of individual calls.

6. Find a place to let yourself let loose and cry. The only time I really felt good was when I was in the shower. The hot water made my muscles and joints feel better and the fact that I was completely alone in there was a relief. Often when I needed to cry, I would just let it all rip while I was in there where no one could hear me, and no one would ask what was wrong. I'd do that really ugly crying -- howling and raging, with all that snorg and stuff pouring out of my nose and eyes. And then the warm water would wash it all away and I'd step out feeling refreshed and clear! It sounds gross, but it was actually kind of great, because afterwards I'd feel so renewed.

7.  Ask your insurance company to assign a dedicated case worker. The bills were endless and really hard to keep track of. I called my insurance company and told them I wanted a case worker and believe it or not, they assigned me one. She was very helpful and I honestly never had a problem with any of the bills, as long as the doctor was within my network.

8. Get a second opinion. I was worried about insulting my doctors, but on the other hand.....these are my breasts we were talking about! AND, my life. So I did my research, got second opinions and switched doctors a few times during the process.

9. Don't watch medical TV shows! I just couldn't watch a lot of shows that I used to love. Any show that focused on blood, or medicine or anything too visceral just threw me off. I used to love House, True Blood and In Treatment. The ambiguity of the diagnoses on House scared the heck out of me and made my mind go places I didn't want it to go. And True Blood, well let's just say vampires are not the thing to be focused on when you're spending all that time with an IV needle in your arm. And In Treatment, well, as much as I love Gabriel Byrne, it was all just way too sad for my state of mind last year.

10. Eat whatever you want. During chemo, my theory was that whatever I wanted to eat was just fine, given the fact that I was so nauseaous that I didn't want to eat anything. For me, that turned out to be Haagen Dazs ice cream, brown rice and bagels. Who needs to worry about trying to eat vegetables when you're going through all that craziness!

Now that I'm looking this list over, I can't really say if it will help anyone else or not, as it all feels very personal. But whether it does or not, if you're a breast cancer patient, please trust in yourself and your own ability to get through this.  There is light at the end of the tunnel.

To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one's family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one's own mind. If a man can control his mind he can find the way to Enlightenment, and all wisdom and virtue will naturally come to him. -- Buddha

New York City after 9/11

2011-09-11T18:47:00.000-04:00

My parents at Ellis Island, with the pre-9/11 New York City skyline behind them.

The thing I most remember about life after 9/11 was the immense absence of the Towers. New York is such a crowded city, every where you look is packed with buildings, people, activity. Every space is used up, there's never any open unused area, especially downtown. What was so noticeable after 9/11 was this massive gaping hole where the towers used to be. It was so odd to see such a large empty space, almost un-natural, like a huge wound that hadn't healed.

I've always loved New York City. My parents took us in all the time as kids; we went to Broadway plays, museums, Central Park, Battery Park, the Cloisters, the Met. Later when I was in college, my dorm room faced the skyline of New York and one of my favorite past-times was to sit at night and
watch the twinking necklace created by the lights of the skyline. The Twin towers were the brightest of all the jewels on the skyline and were the focal point that gave me my bearings and helped me
figure out where I was going.

I had a meeting in the City, the week after 9/11, and I'll never forget the tone and emotion that was so present that day. It was as if this vibrant, arrogant city had been struck down and toppled by the enormity of what had happened. As I walked through Penn Station, the walls were plastered from floor to ceiling with pictures of missing people as their families desperately tried to find them. Outside as I made my way through the city, the buildings and scaffolds were also filled with pictures of the missing and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of loss. There was a feeling of holiness, like I was walking on hallowed ground. Everyone was gentler, people were quiet and subdued, the streets were somber and sad.

An empty Skyline without the Towers

Later that fall, I went downtown to Ground Zero to visit St. Paul's Chapel and once again I was struck by the stark and visceral outpouring of grief and emotion. Every single spec of space on the iron fence surrounding the chapel was filled with images, cards, posters, banners from people all over the world who wanted to share their grief and respect for the victims and, it seemed to me, for the City. It was both beautiful and terrible.

I watched a bit of the NYC 9/11 memorial ceremonies today, but had to turn it off after an hour or so; it was just too sad and I felt a familiar tug that was drawing me back in to the sadness and regret. I'm glad they've finally filled that big gaping hole and from what I could see on TV, it seemed to satisfy all the families of those who were lost. I'm looking forward to visiting it soon.

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. -- Anatole France

One Year Anniversary of The End of My Chemo

2011-08-20T21:46:00.000-04:00

It's almost a year since I completed my chemotherapy and it feels like such a landmark. In some ways, it seems like 2010 never happened, and in other ways it seems to have made an indelible mark on my life.

It's been a year full of transitions and re-establishing my life. It took a while for all of us (the kids and Mike & I) to get back our footing. I hadn't actually realized how much I'd been out of it and not-present last year, but in April of this year, as I started to get my strength back, I began to realize how weak I had become during 2010. I started to realize how much I can usually accomplish in a day, how strong I used to feel pre-BC as my strength began to come back to me.

There have been a lot of good things happening to get me back to my old self and I haven't updated this in a while, so here goes with what's been going on in my life. I was reminded by a friend that some of what I'm going through is relevant to other BC survivors, so if you're reading this after a diagnosis, I hope this helps you realize that there will be a light at the end of the tunnel.

1. I started physical therapy in June and it had an immediate positive impact. The 3 separate surgeries I had made both of my arms tight and weak and I had lost a lot of upper body mobility. I had been asking my doctors about arranging for physical therapy since my last surgery in February. I was pretty persistent in asking them each to prescribe it, and thought that either my plastic surgeon or breast surgeon would have arranged for it, but neither of them thought it was necessary, so I finally just hounded my oncologist and he wrote me a prescription in April. Within 2 sessions, I could move my right arm without any pain, and am gradually starting to build the strength in both my right and left arms. My wonderful new PT gave me a series of simple exercises to do both during the session, and at home and it's been a huge relief to see the positive results. I was kind of scared that I was going to be stuck with limited mobility for life, and it was really gratifying to see such positive results so quickly. So if no one prescribes it for you - ASK. You're entitled to it, and based on my experience it will help tremendously in getting you back to "normal."

2. My hair is back. Not just the hair on top of my head, but my eyelashes and eyebrows, too. The relief that this physical manifestation of health brings to me can not truly be understood by anyone who hasn't gone through it. It's not just vanity, it's that I can walk around as my true self, without looking sick. I don't need any hats, wigs or caps to hide the lack of hair. I don't have to worry about getting a sun burn on my bald head. I don't have to try and figure out how to create fake eyebrows and eyelashes with eye pencils and shadows. I can just present my self to the world as I am, without artifice. Such a wonderful thing.

3. I'm getting used to my implants. They're still a little uncomfortable, but I'm less worried about them, and more confident that they'll just stay as they are and not pop out or move around or do something crazy. My PT helped with that, also. She told me I need to create new muscle memory to de-anesthetize my chest and get more used to them. So I'm exercising more, using my upper body more and just getting used to the new, slightly uncomfortable implants. One plus - they look really nice in a bathing suit.

4. My kids and I have slowly but surely re-established our parent/child relationship(s). Last summer and through most of the fall & winter I was very weak, tired all the time and slept a lot. We didn't go on a family vacation and I could barely muster enough strength to get out of bed, let alone play any kind of active role in their lives. This year we've already gone on two vacations, I've been very busy all summer hosting sleepovers, pool parties, driving the two of them hither and yon and just basically re-establishing my role as mom and caretaker. It's been a huge relief to feel like I'm playing an active role in their lives again and it took a bit of time to get it right, but we're back on track.

5. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I've had a quiet, but important shift in priorities. Life has become a whole lot simpler for me, in the last 6 months. Small things matter more and I don't worry as much. I find a lot of peace and joy in very little things, like having my morning cup of tea while looking out the window at the beautiful birds, and occasional chipmunks, in our backyard. I'm happy to sit in the family room reading, while Mike & Chris watch endless games of baseball/football/basketball/golf on TV, happy just to be sitting in the same room with them while I enjoy my latest book. I'm oddly happy to be able to vacuum and do laundry - two things that I couldn't do for almost all of last year because of all the surgeries and the chemo (and by the way, I HATE cleaning, so this isn't a 50's housewife kind of thing). I'm happy to be able to drive my kids all over the place, remembering that last year I didn't have the energy, and knowing that soon they'll both be old enough to drive themselves so I'd better relish the time I have now, as it will soon be over. I finally learned to cut my losses sooner. If someone or something isn't adding value to my life, I let it go, in a gently appropriate way. I rarely get angry. I have a lot more patience. I have a lot more compassion. And I'm relaxing a lot more.

Next Wednesday is another landmark - my 3rd quarterly oncology checkup at the cancer center. It'll be interesting to go back and see all of the nurses. I dread the bloodwork, but will be grateful that this time I can leave soon afterwards, instead of sitting there for the 3-4 hours it used to take to get my chemo drip. I am so glad all of that is behind me.

“Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful.” - Buddha

Happy 4th of July

2011-07-04T22:32:00.000-04:00

I guess it doesn't get much more American than this - a night time baseball game on the 4th of July. We won. The sky was beautiful.

"Life without liberty is like a body without spirit." -- Kahlil Gibran

Cleaning for a Reason

2011-06-24T17:30:00.007-04:00

There are several wonderful national resources available to anyone going through the stress of breast cancer. One of the things that was toughest for me was that I had so little energy and every task seemed so daunting. The smallest task seemed so large and overwhelming. And, while you're sick you want your home to be a safe and clean haven that's free from germs and other toxins, while you're in the midst of all the madness of treatments. Here's a resource to help with cleaning your home during chemo. http://www.cleaningforareason.org/

Cleaning for a Reason provides FREE housecleaning - once a month for 4 months while you're undergoing treatment (they'll help with any form of cancer, not just breast cancer). All you have to do is sign up and have your doctor fax a note confirming your treatment, all the details are on the site noted above. Cleaning for a Reason will have a participating maid service in your zip code area arrange for the service. This organization serves the entire USA and currently has 500+ partners to help women going through any kind of cancer treatment. If you, or anyone you know, is going through BC, pass the word and let them know that there are resources available to help them out.

Under the best of circumstances, cleaning your house is annoying. During chemo or radiation, it's overwhelming. Pass it along.

Breast Density Law

2011-06-23T22:24:00.000-04:00

I have a Google daily word search set up for “breast cancer” and review a page full of articles each day, looking for news in breast cancer research. Today I was surprised to see this article: “Texas Governor signs breast density law,” which immediately drew my attention.

Texas Governor Rick Perry signed a bill into law last week that requires breast density risks to be specifically spelled out in mammography results that are mailed out to women after their mammogram. The bill (Texas Act HB 2101) has been named “Henda’s law” for a woman named Henda Salmeron (she has her own blog, click on her name to visit, she’s pretty amazing), who was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer after a mammogram didn’t pick up her tumor because of the density of her breasts. Upon researching this, it turns out that two other states have similar laws – California and Connecticut. Why every state doesn’t have this law is beyond me, as it seems like it should be mandatory to tell women something this important about their breast health.

I’ve received mammogram reports for years, and they’ve never once mentioned that I had dense breasts. And in fact, I never knew until I was diagnosed with breast cancer, that I had them. If I had known, I could possibly have prevented one of my three surgeries, the lumpectomy. If I’d known that I had dense breasts, I would have just pressed my doctors to go directly to an MRI, after I found my 1st lump, to be sure that there was just the one. Click here if you want to revisit the details of what happened after my lumpectomy.

I can’t believe that I am continuing to find more information about this. I have been researching this for the past year, and continue to be amazed at how much information is out there, yet so many women (even someone like me who has spent an inordinate amount of time researching it for the past year) still don’t know some of the very basic information. I just found out about a 501c3 non-profit organization called Are You Dense, which focuses on educating women about dense breast tissue and its role in the early detection of breast cancer. According to Are You Dense, the association between the likelihood of breast cancer and tissue density is well established in the medical community. Here are some really startling statistics about dense breasts and its link to breast cancer incidence:

2/3 of pre-menopausal women and 1/4 of post-menopausal women have dense breast tissue.
A 2007 study published in the New England Journal of Medicine found that breast density increases cancer risk by as much as four to six times
Mammography alone fails to detect 35 percent of cancers in women with dense breasts.
A May 2010 national survey conducted by Harris Interactive found that 95 percent of women ages 40+ do not know their breast density and nearly 90 percent did not know it increases the risk of developing breast cancer.

Click here for a fact sheet about dense breasts from Are You Dense. However, after you review this, I will remind you that while this organization promotes getting additional ultrasounds when you have a “suspicious” mammogram, in my instance the ultrasound didn’t find my second small lump, either. It wasn’t until I had an MRI that they found it, as it was very tiny and didn’t show up in the ultrasound OR the mammogram.

Please don't think I'm telling you not to get your annual mammograms. I am actually encouraging you to be your own advocate: Get your annual mammogram and ask the radiologist if you have dense breasts. If you do, be aware of your options and be proactive. During this entire experience, I've never had a physician deny me of a procedure when I requested it (which surprised me). I wasn't always TOLD of my options, but once I found out my options (often on my own) and asked for a specific procedure, my surgeons, oncologists and radiologists always agreed to them.

Another very informative site I often frequent is www.breastcancer.org and they recommend women with dense breasts have their own "personal screening plan." They specifically recommend your personal screening plan includes MRI and ultrasound to detect any cancer as early as possible. I've found them to be one of the best sites to go to for information.

Hope this helps any of you out there looking for more information about dense breasts.

Happy Father's Day

2011-06-19T18:42:00.001-04:00

My dad was so handsome when I was growing up. He was very tall and skinny with jet black hair. When I was a little girl, I idolized him, he was my hero. My mom and I had a contentious relationship, fraught with a lot of tension and my dad helped me out by defending me from my moms wrath.

Here's a picture of us in front of the cherry trees in Warinanco Park in Elizabeth, New Jersey, where we lived until I was about 6. My parents used to take the 4 of us there each spring and take pictures in front of the cherry blossoms as they bloomed. We'd wear our Sunday dresses with black patent leather shoes.

When I was young, my dad seemed so tall - like a giant. He was about 6' 1" and when we were little, he'd let us stand on his hand and he'd lift us up 'til we could touch the ceiling. I remember thinking he was so tall and so strong.

I have 2 older sisters and a younger brother. It was always "the girls and Eddie." My dad was a very involved father, for that era. He would give us baths and brush our hair afterwards. We all had that crazy, wavy hair that you can see in the picture above, so brushing out our curly hair was quite a process. For some reason, he and my mom always brushed our hair 100 times; he said you had to do it that way - it was good for your hair. I remember sitting in the chair in the family room, watching the Ed Sullivan show and waiting my turn for my 100 brushes, after he was done with Sue and Mary-Kate's hair. The room would be all steamy and warm from the baths we'd just had, and my mother would be ironing my dads shirts while he brushed our hair.

Then we'd watch whatever crazy act was on Ed Sullivan that night. Remember how they used to have whole shows with nutty acts like Jose Jimenez & Topo Gigo and the spinning plates (with the Tarantella music)? How funny to think that we used to watch that show every single Sunday night. It was our favorite. I remember watching The Beatles in their US debut. There were only 7 channels, that I recall - 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11 and 13. And we had to get up to change the channels manually, and the TV was black & white. It seems like another world to me, now.

Back in those days, everybody smoked, and my dad and mom were no exception. He smoked Camels. I'm pretty sure they were the unfiltered ones. My mom smoked menthols, can't remember the brand. Yuck. They stopped when everyone started to realize how bad smoking was for you. I can still picture them smoking their cigarettes, which is so odd, if you knew my parents. They were both very healthy and very concerned about eating well, so the thought of them smoking is just so odd, but that's what they all did in the 60's and 70's.

Now my dad is 87 and my mom passed away 2 years ago, so he's pretty lonely. They were married over 50 years. It's unfathomable to me that they could have been together that long. He still has a full head of hair, but now it's perfectly white. He's still 6' 1" but not quite as skinny. He had bypass heart surgery last year (all those Camels) and it was kind of touch and go there for a while, but he's made of good, strong German stock (as he and my mother would say) and is doing okay.

Happy Father's Day, Tony. Hope you're having a good one.

Ending Breast Cancer: The Breast Cancer Deadline 2020

2011-06-14T17:30:00.000-04:00

There are a lot of non-profit organizations that focus on breast cancer. Most organizations promote early detection and awareness, or new and more effective treatment options. The organization that I've found to be the most focused on prevention and a cure, vs. treatment is The National Breast Cancer Coalition.

The National Breast Cancer Coalition (NBCC) was started in 1991 and is a non profit dedicated to something very different from many of the other breast cancer non-profits out there - their primary goal is to end breast cancer. NBCC is very adamant about the fact that we need to find a cure; not simply more ways to treat BC, or find it, but to END IT. NBCC recently published a study called: Ending Breast Cancer: A Baseline Status Report: Breast Cancer Deadline 2020. The entire study can be read by clicking here. I know it's long, but this is a must read for anyone who has a strong interest in breast cancer. I strongly recommend reading it. The information they've collected is fascinating and worth taking the time to read.

If you can't find the time to read the entire study, please take a moment to read the Executive Summary of the study by clicking here. In it you'll see that they've developed a comprehensive plan to end breast cancer by January 1st, 2020. In less than ten years. Now that's what I'm talking about.

Whenever I speak with anyone who works in the health care industry in cancer research, I always ask them why no one has been able to find a cure for cancer, and they all just look at me as if I'm out of my mind, and incredibly naive. OK, so I'm not a scientist or a doctor, but why isn't the healthcare industry spending more time and money on trying to find a cure for cancer than all the money that's put into finding new drugs to treat it?

Here is a direct quote from the NBCC Study Executive summary:

"What does the end of breast cancer mean? Knowing how to prevent it and knowing how to prevent people from dying of it. While the majority of breast cancer research is focused on finding the next treatment drug, we are focused on two issues:
1. The causes and prevention of breast cancer metastasis
2. How to prevent the disease from developing in the first instance.

We now have the tools, information, resources and wisdom to create a global strategy to end breast cancer, and setting a deadline is the essential first step. Our understanding of the biology, etiology and genetics of breast cancer has increased dramatically. New disciplines have shed light on the process of innovation and how organizational systems evolve. And of course our capacity to gather, synthesize and analyze information is beyond anything even conceivable 20 years ago. By leveraging all available resources in a collaborative and rapid research process, it will be possible to catalyze the development of innovative ideas that will ultimately end breast cancer. The goal is not to create better tools to identify breast cancer, or better mechanisms for managing it. The goal is to take what is already known and build upon that knowledge for the sole purpose of ending the disease."

I don't know about you, but that's a goal I'm willing to support. I have a 15 year old daughter. I really don't want her (or any of her 15 year old girlfriends) to have to experience the type of year I had last year.

Ok, I'll get off my soap-box now. But, please read it and if you can, make a donation so that all of our daughters can live in a world without breast cancer.

The Visiting Ducks

2011-06-02T21:53:00.000-04:00

This week we had some visitors to our pool. Two ducks, a male and female, were swimming around in there last night. I was so pleased, I felt honored - they looked so sweet and somehow graceful (for ducks) as they swam effortlessly across the pool and back.

In case you haven't heard, we had quite a pool experience last year. You can read about it here if you want all the details, but here's the shortened version:

Last summer when I was sick, I decided I wanted to put in a built-in pool. We started sometime in June and things went along pretty smoothly until about August, when the pool company forgot to get a permit....RIGHT BEFORE THEY POURED THE CONCRETE. And the problem is that what needed to be inspected was the electrical wire that goes UNDER the concrete. And they poured the concrete anyway and then of course, there was no way to inspect said wiring, other than by removing the concrete.

Oh yeah.

The worst part was, we'd already paid for everything since it was almost done, and so all fall and winter long, our lawyer sent letters to the pool company trying to make sure they were going to finish what they'd started.

Well, it's now a year later and we're still not done, but progress has been made. Two weeks ago, the masons crew came and jackhammered up all the previously done concrete. Oh, that was lovely. And loud. Then they relaid the wiring (which, by the way, was always in there anyway, just hadn't been inspected in time prior to pouring concrete). And last week the pool inspector came out to see it and we passed inspection and got our "approved" sticker. Tomorrow, the mason is coming to pour the new concrete, and the fence goes up Tuesday. We're getting there.

On the left is what it looked like last year. On the right is the mess we have right now. Since the pool isn't going to be cleaned until all the new concrete is poured, it's all green and looks kind of moldy and nasty in there.

And the funny thing is that none of this pool nonsense is bothering me, this year. I find the whole thing to be kind of hilarious and par for the course, it doesn't seem like the end of the world, the way it would have in the past. I mean, after all, it's not breast cancer, y'know!? So really, who cares as long as it gets fixed in time for the summer, right? Plus, why in the world would I complain - it is after all - a built in pool! I realize of course, that we're very fortunate to be able to put in a pool, so the idea of complaining seems ridiculously arrogant.

So that's the state of the pool. And I suppose that because it's so rocky and messy out there, and kind of looks like a moldy, rocky pond, these 2 local ducks seem to think it's a natural home for themselves and keep visiting. As I said, I'm really pleased about the visitors, but my husband isn't too happy with them. He seems to think they're going to pollute the pool (it's so damn polluted right now, what could they possibly do to make it worse, but I suppose he does have a point) and keeps shooing them away. Please don't tell him that my daughter and I actually fed them bread last night, or he'll go ballistic.

In transition

2011-05-20T14:41:00.000-04:00

Lately, I've been in a bit of a conundrum about what to write on here. Because I started this blog to chronicle my experience with breast cancer. And these days, I actually forget, for hours at a time, that I had breast cancer last year. I wake up often, with no thought of breast cancer, but with thoughts about the day ahead and what I plan to accomplish.

It seems almost unreal that last year at this time, I was going through chemotherapy. I feel so normal, so regular, so back to the way life was, and I worry that I haven't learned the lesson that last year was supposed to have taught me. As if that's what it was, a lesson, rather than the random physical occurrence that it actually was.

In some ways, I'm re-learning how to live my life now that I'm not sick anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm actually almost blissfully happy these days. I wake up happy, I'm ridiculously happy for no reason at all during much of the day, the most mundane things amuse and delight me, I happily sing songs in chorus with my IPod during the day when I'm putting away the dishes from the dishwasher or vacuuming the family room. I bound out of bed, make sandwiches for the kids for school, get them out the door, jump in the shower, attack my work each day with tons of energy, visit clients, run errands, read books, watch movies, take walks, clean, weed and do all the things I didn't have the energy to do last year. But what is my purpose, what am I going to write about?

I'm being patient with this process. I think it will just take time to unfold. I guess I'm in transition. I would like to just BE, for a while. Just relish the day. Just enjoy my health, my kids, my home.

It may mean that I won't be on here as often. So bear with me. And I'll be back to you when things come to mind that seem important enough to write about.

"Nothing is secure but life, transition, the energizing spirit." Ralph Waldo Emerson

Big doings in Clinton

2011-05-14T16:38:00.000-04:00

I live in a very tiny little town in Hunterdon County. I always say it's like living in a modern day version of Mayberry RFD (yes, that dates me, remember Andy and Opie?) and it's a great place to live, but sort of retro and often feels like we live in the 1950s.

SO, the big doings around here this month is that the local Shop Rite is re-modeling, and expanding into 2 additional storefronts so that it will be a lot larger. It's taking a while and in the meantime, everything is moved all around and there are incorrect signs so no one can find anything, and carts are bumping into each other, people are wandering around looking puzzled and there is general mass confusion every time I walk in there. A normal Shop Rite visit on the weekend used to take me 45 minutes for a full weeks shopping. Now.....it takes me almost 2 hours and the visit is filled with drama.

Everyone in the store is highly indignant about the whole thing. No one can find a thing. They've moved stuff all over the place and it's like finding things in a maze now and the locals are NOT happy. I personally think the whole hubbub is hilarious!

It's turned a normal, mundane weekly grocery shopping trip into a big social thing. Today as I wandered around trying to find the Ice Cream (some things never change), I came upon 2 couples in their early 40's discussing their dismay at their total inability to find anything in the store since the re-arranging. I heard one of the wives say, "I mean, we've been coming here for 10 years, and everything was always in the same place, and now we can't find anything. I think they did it on purpose to make us buy more things." The 4 of them looked like they had been standing there talking for a while, and were still there when I found my Haagen Daz vanilla ice cream gallon, and left to go search for the bread aisle. Every aisle offers a new opportunity to converse with some other stranger and ponder about your respective inability to find things. Wasn't the pasta down this aisle last week? Who decided to put the cat food across from the candy?

The amount of planning behind this thing is akin to the storming of Normandy. There are store personnel roaming all around trying to be helpful, directing people, giving out maps with lists of where things are. Food is stacked everywhere, stuff seems to move from one aisle to the next, and then to another the next week, for no apparent reason. There are announcements over the loud speaker, telling shoppers that the management is sorry for the inconvenience and thanking all of us for our patience.

I'm finding the whole thing immensely amusing. For some reason it isn't bothering me at all. I find stuff like this doesn't get to me these post BC days - I'm actually loving it and the fact that my funny little bucolic town is so flummoxed by it just makes me smile at human kind. Where else but in America, would we all be so annoyed at a store for giving us more choices? Enjoy your weekend.

"Change alone is eternal, perpetual, immortal." - Arthur Schopenhauer

Mother's Day 2011

2011-05-08T17:22:00.001-04:00

What a nice Mother's Day. Kyra and I cooked all my favorites together and we had a delicious family brunch. I decided to use my mother's good China which she gave me years ago, in honor of her on this beautiful Mother's Day.

My uncle (my mom's brother) gave the complete set to her as a wedding present, so many years ago. He was stationed overseas during the war and bought her the full set with 12 place settings and all the serving platters as his wedding gift. It was a huge luxury back then, and I don't think my parents would have been able to afford them if he hadn't made this extravagant gift. They have an engraving on the back: Fukagama, Arita, Hand Painted, with a little symbol of Mt. Fuji (I tried to take a picture of it, but it came out too blurry).

I always loved these dishes when we were growing up, and when I got old enough to have my own place, my mother gave the set to me. They have very ornate, hand painted gold filigree around the edges - so unlike my current lifestyle, but I love them. They've held up over the years, and very few have broken, since they came to live with me.

Last year at this time, I had just had Chemo #3, my hair had just come out and I was wearing a wig. I looked at pictures from that day and I was so thin. They always say you can never be too rich, or too thin, but they're wrong. I was way too thin and looked really weak.

So....what a celebration today is! Not only am I done with all that, but I'm strong and healthy and feel like my old self. I've been wig free for months and my hair is slowly but surely coming back. Happy Mother's Day!

Cancun Memories

2011-04-26T18:13:00.000-04:00

Yup, those are my toes. Cancun was beautiful, the weather was phenomenal and the ocean there is gorgeous.

It started out a little shakily. US Air overbooked the flight and, you guessed it, we got bumped. It was kind of a nightmare but I'm over it now and don't want to relive the madness, so suffice to say............

Jet Blue to the rescue! They're my new favorite airline and got us out on the next day, on a 7:15 a.m. flight.

And the rest of the trip was great. Everyone rested, lots of sun was had (a few of us got sunburns - the kids don't listen to Mom anymore now that they're teens and neglected to re-apply after going in the ocean), lots of good food was eaten and we all went on a Zip Line through the jungle. Oh, how I wish that we had been able to use our cameras, but they were off limits (I guess too many flew out of pockets as people whizzed through the air, in the past). I was WAY out of my comfort zone, but managed to do all 15 or so of them.

Here's the hotel infinity pool at dusk. So beautiful and serene.

Now back to the real world as I try to catch up on work, but wanted to share a few pictures. I'm off on another trip (business this time) so this will be short. More to come this weekend. XO

Cancun bound

2011-04-16T12:55:00.000-04:00

We haven't gone on a family vacation since November 2009. I just realized that, yesterday. I knew it had been a while, but didn't realize it was THAT long. My diagnosis was in Feb. 2010, so we missed that whole year because of treatments and surgeries. Tomorrow we leave for Cancun! I. CAN. NOT. WAIT.

The 10 day forecast for Cancun is 85-87 degrees every day. It says partly cloudy, but in my mind, that just means it's not going to rain.

The 10 day forecast in NJ is cold, rainy and blustery. Kind of how it's been for the last 3 or 4 months. I am so glad we're not going to be here.

I will NOT be bringing my laptop and am officially closing up shop as of today, so you won't hear from me again until we get back, but I promise to post pictures on my return. Stay dry, if you're here in NJ. If you're also lucky enough to be taking a Spring break vacation, enjoy yourselves. Best, Claudia

What to give to someone who's diagnosed with cancer

2011-04-14T20:58:00.000-04:00

I never used to know what to do when someone got sick. I'd be afraid to bring it up to them, afraid to ask them about it, afraid to offer help. Worried that I'd intrude.

When I was diagnosed, I was so afraid to talk about it at first, but then as I got more used to the idea and started to let people know, I started to get mail every day.

Each day brought a new card, a new present, a little surprise. Over time, I began to call these little gifts my talismans. (Definition: A talisman (from Arabic طلسم Tilasm, ultimately from Greek telesma or from the Greek word "telein" which means "to initiate into the mysteries") is an amulet or other object considered to possess supernatural or magical powers.)

I got a lot of cards! Most were pretty funny, who knew how great Get Well cards are these days?

I got a lot of pretty, dangly earrings (to try and deflect notice from my bald head, I suppose!)

This beautiful pendant whose chain was long enough for me to hold in my hand during chemo.

Many beautiful bracelets. This one has one single pink bead with a ribbon (see it?)

Lots of beautiful pink ribbon pins and bracelets.

This little Buddha fit nicely in my hand, and came to the hospital with me for my mastectomy.

This stone came with me that day, too. Needed things to hold in my hand to ground me.

Here's where I'm storing them so that nothing happens to any of these treasures.

So, if you're wondering what to do for someone who's ill, or sick or going through some type of trauma, my reco is to send them little things in the mail. Send a card, send a newspaper article, send them a funny book, a magazine, almost any little symbol of normalcy. One friend used to send me a "Chemo fun kit" that I would get each Thursday before my Friday session. It would be filled with People magazine, or Glamour or Oprah magazine.....easy reading to help me get through the treatment. It always made me laugh, because it reminded me so much of her. All these little talismans made a world of difference for me last year.

Thanks to all my friends who took care of me last year. There are no better friends in the world.

Tucker

2011-04-13T20:47:00.000-04:00

I was going to write about some of the talismans that helped me through this last year - little symbols and gifts that different people gave me over the year to shore me up and show their support. These talismans mean a lot to me, and I want to acknowledge how much they helped me during the year. But tonight, just as I set about taking pictures of each one so that I can post them, my camera ran out of juice......so instead, I'll do something about Tucker, the family dog. Maybe tomorrow, once I get the camera battery charged, I'll do the talisman blog.

But today is all about Tucker. Tucker was a big support during the last year; it's interesting how much solace an animal can provide. First let me say, I was NEVER a dog person until I broke down to the kids demands 4 years ago and got Tucker. I didn't grow up with a pet, because my mother used to say she wouldn't let us get a dog, since with 4 kids, she had enough animals in the house (nice, eh?). Now I'm a confirmed dog person, so scary. Please don't let me turn into one of those people who wears a shirt that says "I love my Pembroke Welsh Corgi." Holy smokes.

This is in honor of Tucker because #1, I happen to have recently taken (and already uploaded) a picture of him (handy what with the camera not working and all), and #2, he is after all, about the most entertaining and quirky dog you'll ever meet. And #3, he was absolutely by my side every day during this whole year, sitting with his soulful eyes looking sorrowfully at me, worried about how slowly I was moving and probably wondering why I wasn't taking him out on very many walks. Tucker is a 4 year old Pembroke Welsh Corgi (the same type of dog that the royal family has, if you've seen The Kings Speech) who is very smart and exceedingly loyal. He really loves me. I feed him, walk him, get him up in the morning, know which bark means he's hungry vs. which bark means he wants to go out......in other words, I'm his mother.

This last year he would follow me around the house solicitously, watching my every move. During chemo or after surgery, when I was too sick to get up, he'd run upstairs and lay on the bed next to me, keeping me company all day long, sleeping while I slept. The two of us spent a lot of time together, last year and he kept me good company, with no demands, while I got sicker and sicker, then healed to become healthier and stronger. Wo'man's best friend indeed.

Pretty cute, isn't he?

A trip down memory lane to the cancer center

2011-04-08T19:58:00.002-04:00

Today I had my 2nd routine check up with my oncologist at the hospital. It was my first trip to the cancer center since I've finished all of my surgeries, and it turned into a very emotional visit.

In some ways, it was just like my old chemo routine from the summer.

1. First stop is for blood work (yuck). The nurses were so kind, they all seemed to be honestly happy to see me, and happy to see that I'm doing well after the summer of chemo.
2. I hadn't realized they were going to draw blood, (thought it was going to be just a finger stick) and when they took out the rubber to tie my arm off, I cringed, but it barely hurt - these nurses are soooo good at this. They have to go in my hands these days, 'cause my arm veins are still kind of messed up from the chemo. I had a flash back when the nurse pulled out the curly tape they use to keep you from bruising (in pretty and breast-cancer-appropriate pink).

3. My blood counts were all very good, the nurses were happy (so was I).
4. Went down the hall to meet with my oncologist, Dr. B. I was bemoaning the side effects of the Tamoxifen and he said, "That's good, that means it's working, and doing its job." That put a new perspective on things for me, I hadn't actually thought of it that way before. Tamoxifen reduces recurrence of breast cancer by 50%. So....goodbye to complaining about hot flashes. I guess it's a small inconvenience when I consider the benefits.
5. He talked to me for a while, asked how my fingers and toes were doing. Last summer my finger and toenails were all curly and discolored and wacked out from the Taxol. So bad, in fact, that on my last day of chemo, he told one of the interns that mine were "the worst he'd ever seen" which was kind of a surprise to me. I knew they were bad, but hadn't realized they were quite THAT bad. I told him they were back to normal and he seemed very relieved.

And then I went down the hall further to the back of the center, where all the cancer patients are sitting on comfy lounge chairs, while getting their chemo. It was eerie in some ways. The thing that struck me the most was how crowded it was. Every seat, every room, was filled. Fridays were always the busiest days.

I had brought a plate of brownies and chocolate chip cookies for the nurses. Such a measly gift to offer to these women who saved my life; who were my angels during chemo. I saw my favorite nurse, who gave me a big hug and asked, "How did my surgeries go, how were my fingers and toes, so nice that your hair was coming back in." She kept looking at me really intently and seemed so happy that I was doing so well. I guess it must be sad for them; I'm sure many people don't get better, and those that do, probably don't want to come back and see them.

Then I surprised myself and burst into tears. I kept trying to tell them all how much I appreciated what they had done for me, but the words weren't actually coming out the way I wanted them to. I think they understood.

Then after that, I went to see my Guardian Angel, Pam Vlahakis, the Hunterdon Medical Center Breast Cancer Coordinator. Pam is an astounding woman who can move mountains for "her" breast cancer patients. She's got a beautiful southern accent, but make no mistake, this lady is a steel magnolia. I feel lucky to have had her "on my side" through this process. In the beginning of my journey, she helped me get a speedy appointment with the best breast cancer surgeon in NJ. Later she helped me get a 2nd opinion with the best breast cancer surgeon at Fox Chase Women's Cancer Center in PA. She helped me very diplomatically and gently, but swiftly, switch oncologists (when the first one wasn't quite fitting me to a T) and she always made me laugh throughout. And to top it all off, she's beautiful and bright and energetic and just plain fun to be around (which is quite a feat for someone who's only reason for being in your life is because you have cancer). It was good to see her again today. And, always the good nurse, she reminded me not to let my newly created breasts get too much sun, on our trip to Cancun, because that new skin will burn badly. Love her.

After all that, I got in my car and drove home. I cried for a bit and then jumped back into my busy world by stopping off for a Dunkin' Donuts coffee and some Boston creme donuts. Yum.

I'm in love with my new iPhone

2011-04-07T20:40:00.001-04:00

I got an iPhone and I think I'm in love. I've fallen hook, line and sinker for this thing. Here's a picture.

I've been thinking about getting one for about a year, but was waiting for the Verizon version. I got it last Saturday and have been playing around with it ever since. It's so freaking cool. Steve Jobs is such a genius. I've never felt this way about a piece of technology, but it truly feels like it will transform my life. And I haven't even had any coffee today, so am not just buzzing on caffeine.

The Apps are amazing, there are so many categories of things to choose from and the graphics are beautiful. I found a Quotes App which lets you scroll through thousands of quotes and I'm going to be regaling you with my favorites over the next few weeks. Here's today's:

"Unless you try to do something beyond what you have already mastered, you will never grow." - Ralph Emerson.

Another genius. How simple. How profound.

Soy and breast cancer

2011-04-06T21:45:00.001-04:00

Boy have I been busy. I'm trying to find that happy balance where I have time to do what I like (like writing this blog) and keeping my clients happy. Lately the clients have been winning out. But, we're Cancun bound for Spring break with the kids, so there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I promise I'll post pictures.

Found this article about Soy and breast cancer from the LA Times - click to read the entire article here. The article is about a recent study which shows that there may not be any negative effects from soy, for women with ER positive bc, like myself. The study included over 18,000 women diagnosed with invasive bc who showed no statistical difference with regard to recurrence of the cancer, or death, when they ate a lot of soy and soy based products. Since I'm now on Tamoxifen, and it causes the craziest of hot flashes, I have been trying all sorts of homeopathic things to help manage them, but NOT soy because my oncologist told me it "mimics" estrogen and there is no real definitive understanding of how it impacts bc in women who are ER positive. Soy is supposed to be very beneficial in reducing hot flashes. This study seems to indicate that there might not be any downside, so when I see my oncologist this Friday (for my 2nd visit back since I finished my chemo in August), I'll ask him about it. In the meantime, I'll stick to my black cohosh.

I'm trying to come up with something wonderful to bring to the nurses at the cancer center. They were so amazing and compassionate. I actually find myself missing them. So odd, considering the fact that they were sticking me with needles and infusing me with toxic chemicals each time I saw them. But they were great - funny, warm, serious when they needed to be and just generally focused on making the whole process as easy for me and all the rest of us, as they could.

Maybe I'll bring them food. I'm open to suggestions, if any of you have any good ideas please share! There are a lot of them - about 10 in total. They're all trying to stay in shape, so cake and chocolates (my personal faves) aren't at the top of the list. Maybe I'll get ambitious and bake them something healthy.

Hope everyone's doing well. We had a sunny day on Tuesday and I hear it might be sunny tomorrow. I am craving Spring.

How to survive a breast MRI

2011-04-01T15:00:00.001-04:00

I’ve had several people ask me about how to get through having a breast MRI done, so here are my suggestions on how to prepare for one. I’m really claustrophobic, so you can imagine my concern when the MRI technician told me that the procedure takes 45 minutes (yup, that’s how long it takes to do both breasts). Here are my recos on how to get through it without hyperventilating and having a nervous breakdown:

It's 45 minutes long if you’re getting both breasts checked, so wear socks to keep your feet warm
Don’t wear any metal jewelry. They kept asking me if I had any body piercings (come on, do I really look like I would have a belly button ring??) or metal parts in my body.
You have to lay face-down on a cushioned bench-like table which has 2 holes in it where you put your boobs (no, I’m not kidding).
The technician will try to get you as comfortable as possible, ‘cause you need to lay still, but she’ll move your arms and boobs around until they’re in the right position and once you’re in it, don’t move.
They do the films with and without dye to get a better visual, so you’ll be getting a needle with dye inserted halfway through (I hate needles). It feels cold when they inject the dye, very odd sensation.
Ask all your questions before they start because once you’re in there, there’s no getting out.
If they have them, ask them to put the headphones with music on you (you’ll be lying down with your arms in a weird position and won’t be able to do it yourself).
You can’t really hear the music that well, because the machine is REALLY loud and bangs incessantly the whole time, but with the headphones on, you can count how many songs have played to gauge how long it’s been. It was about 13 songs for the 45 minutes.
I had them play "Coffee house music" from Sirius radio and it was nice when I could hear it over the din of the banging machine.
As noted above the machine is REALLY loud and bangs incessantly the whole time, so just be aware of that going in or it'll scare the heck out of you when it first starts. I actually thought the machine had broken until I realized it was going to continue.
Practice deep breathing techniques to calm yourself down when it first starts, so you don't move around and mess up the films.
Pee before you go in, because once you’re in there there’s no getting out; make a pit stop before you get on the table.

It wasn’t as bad as I expected. They had a little mirror in front of me, which slanted out towards the room so that I could see the technician in her windowed room in front of me which calmed me down, ‘cause I knew that if I had a complete meltdown, I could get her attention by waving around or screaming and she’d see me. None of these things happened. It was fine and I wasn’t really as scared as I thought I'd be.

By the way, they told me they would give me a Valium if I was really nervous. I passed, figured I’d need more like a Vicodin or Quaalude to get me through it if I was really going to have a bad reaction. :-)

More about dense breasts

2011-03-31T13:23:00.000-04:00

It turns out that I’ve had people viewing my blog for information on how to deal with their own breast cancer situations. Since that was the whole point of this blog, I’m pleased, although a bit surprised that it must actually be showing up in google searches. Cool.

One of the things that’s brought people to the site are the blogs I’ve done on dense breasts, so this posting will go into more detail about this specific characteristic. Because my own breasts were very dense, I’ve had a more convoluted process with my own breast cancer diagnosis and hope that I can share information with others that can help them navigate the process and perhaps avoid additional surgeries.

Finding the tumor early is always the tricky thing with BC. Obviously, the earlier you find it, the better. The first tumor I found was very easy to distinguish – it was in the top quadrant of my left breast and I found it myself when I brushed against it one night. It was clearly defined, and I knew right away that it wasn’t normal – it was about an inch long and a half inch wide. My breast cancer surgeon easily did a needle biopsy on the lump (as easy as it can be to have a needle stuck in your boob, but compared to some of the other procedures, it was a walk in the park) and the pathology report quickly confirmed her diagnosis of breast cancer about 3 days later. She thought, based on its size and the fact that she didn't believe there was lymph node involvement, that it was Stage 2.

A lumpectomy was recommended, due to the Stage and initial biopsy report. The surgery was scheduled for a week later, and it was pretty straightforward with no particular complications other than the general discomfort of any surgery. My BC surgeon told us that she had removed the entire mass, with clean margins all around, and that the tumor was under 2 cm. Clean margins are good, small size is good and confirmation of no lymph node involvement is even better as it means that it’s very unlikely that the cancer has traveled to other organs.

My pathology report indicated that the tumor was actually Stage 1 (not Stage 2) invasive lobular carcinoma, no lymph node involvement and a pretty good prognosis for the future. This was great news and my husband and I were doing the happy dance when we left her office the week after surgery, when we reviewed the final pathology results with her.

THEN…..about 3 weeks after my lumpectomy, the team of my breast surgeon, radiologist and oncologist met to do a post-op review of my case. The radiologist questioned my breast surgeon on the fact that she had only removed one lump, when the mammogram films clearly showed 2 smallish tumors right next to each other which appeared to be connected by a thin tissue. My BC surgeon called my cell (doctors always seem to call you on your cell when you’re driving, with the most important information that you really would like to write down but can’t ‘cause you’re driving) to tell me that because of my dense breasts which makes my mammo films tough to read, she wanted to have an MRI done just to be 100% sure that she had removed everything. I wasn’t really too worried, other than being scared of the MRI because I was sure everything had been removed.

I’ll talk about how to get through an MRI in my next posting (this one’s getting really long!). It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected…..

BUT…the veritable shit hit the fan afterwards because….the MRI showed that the 1st tumor was indeed completely removed. HOWEVER, there was a 2nd tiny little tumor down in the lower left quadrant of my breast that no one had ever found. Not during the physical exams I had by the 5 different doctors and radiologists, not during the very comprehensive mammogram or the very comprehensive ultrasound I had done for the first tumor, and not during any of the self exams I had been doing obsessively since finding the first. And it’s all because of my dense breasts.

An MRI is very sensitive and apparently it often shows false positives for a lump, so after the MRI, I had to do another ultrasound. The ultrasound confirmed that it was indeed, a lump and that it did indeed, look questionable. They recommended a Core Needle Biopsy (more on that for another posting) which confirmed that it was another cancerous tumor.

And that meant, because it was in a whole other section of my breast, that I had to have a mastectomy. I'm not really complaining. I'm just trying to give others insights into how to be sure that they don't have to have more than one surgery. I wound up having to have 3 all together, and why have 3 if/when you can reduce that number by being aware. I think in retrospect, I would have demanded an MRI as soon as they found the first lump if I knew that it was an option, and especially now that I know what I know about dense breasts. Dense breasts are almost impossible to read in a mammogram. You can't really see through the dense areas of your breast so tumors can be hidden and can be missed very easily. An MRI picks up everything. MRI's costs a lot more than Mammograms (@$3,000) which is why they're not as readily accessible as mammograms.

So, if you have dense breasts and there are questionable results on a mammography, ask your doctor if he/she thinks it warrants an MRI. And push for it, if your gut tells you to.

New "Epigenetics" research

2011-03-24T21:51:00.000-04:00

Since my diagnosis and treatment(s), I've become obsessed with reading about breast cancer as well as cancer, in general. As a layman, I find most of what I'm reading goes right over my head, and often I find I can only grasp about 25% of what I read but....the more I read, the more things sink in, so I'm going to stick with it.

It seems to me that the most important and valuable new cancer research is being done in the area of genetics. There's a new story in Bloomberg Businessweek about "epigenetics" research being conducted, which scientists believe may help identify when breast cancer will spread. Of course, that's one of the scariest things to deal with when you find you have breast cancer, whether or not it will, or has already spread to other organs in your body. And, according to my oncologist, it may not show up in the blood work they now conduct on me every quarter, and in fact, the primary way they would actually notice if my BC had spread was if I showed any physical manifestation such as achiness, swelling or pain. Well. As we all know, once cancer gets to that point, it's probably pretty far along, well beyond Stage 1 or 2. And now that I've gone through all that chemo and the surgeries, I sure don't like the notion that something could still be growing in my system, and there's really no testing they can do to find it, unless it becomes more obvious.

This new research apparently helps identify how aggressive a particular cancer is, and whether or not it is likely to mestastasize. Apparently they've identified two varieties of what scientists call "epigenetic signatures" which seem to distinguish more aggressive cancers from less aggressive ones. Click here to read the entire article.

As I read this and other articles about news in cancer and breast cancer each day (I set up a handy Google search for "breast cancer news" which is delivered to my inbox each day), I am still dumbstruck by how much we still don't know about cancer in general. If you'd like to start to educate yourself, I highly recommend two books: The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer by Siddhartha Mukherjee. This book is absolutely fascinating. Mukherjee is an oncologist, but this book reads like a novel. It's epic in its scope - starting out with the first indications of when cancer was first noted in Egypt up to present day. I could not put this book down, and it is exceedingly well written as well as relatively "easy" to get through for a layman.

The next is The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot, another work of non-fiction that reads like a compelling novel. Henrietta Lacks was an African American mother of five, from Baltimore, MD who died at the age of 30 from a particularly virulent form of cervical cancer. Cells from her tumor were taken without her, or her families consent, and recreated in medical labs all over the world to be used in medical testing and research that has helped almost every type of breakthrough in modern medical history - from polio vaccines and cancer research to cloning, gene testing, etc. for the past 60 years. And no one ever asked or received permission from her family.

Henrietta's cells were named Hela, and apparently Hela cells were and are still being used, by almost anyone involved in any type of cellular research. I feel this odd relationship to her, because I am quite sure that the Chemotherapy protocol that I went through was undoubtedly generated by research done using Hela cells. So in many ways, I owe her my life.

I'm still not really sure where all of this reading and research will lead me, but I'm fascinated by cancer and have decided to "take it on" the way I like to take on any subject I'm highly interested and intrigued by (like my past obsessions with Africa colonialism and China's history) so will be doing a lot of reading and researching. I have a vested interest. I have a 15 year old daughter, and I certainly don't want her to have to go through any of this when she gets older.

Chris's New TrueHoops Video

2011-03-16T17:33:00.000-04:00

It's here! The new TrueHoops video by my son, the movie director, is finally ready. I love the golf shots, and the shot off the swing. Took them over 2 months. He's going full force on his youtube channel and has over 30,000 views and 2,200 subscribers. Enjoy!

My hot flash solution

2011-03-12T16:00:00.002-05:00

I found something that relieves the hot flashes and night sweats I get from the Tamoxifen. Actually, they started with chemo and then just got worse once I began to take Tamoxifen. I'm almost afraid to put this in writing, but it's been 12 days now and I really notice a difference. It's a natural supplement that contains Black Cohosh, called Remifemin. Because I'm estrogen positive, my oncologist told me that I can't take any type of soy, because apparently soy acts too much like real estrogen in your body. There aren't a whole lot of other non-hormonal options, and these hot flashes are wicked!

There have been days when I'm walking down the frozen food aisle at the local Shop Rite and have literally put my head inside the freezer door because I've had a hot flash and feel like I'm going to burst into flames. I don't even look around to see if there's anyone there, I'm so blatant about it, I just stick my head right in there and try to cool off. I must look like such a wacko.

Now, I'm nothing if not persistent, so I've been reading and researching about natural, non hormonal supplements that I can take that will help with this. There's a great little health food store in town (The Sunflower Seed) and the woman there is extremely knowledgeable about supplements. She recommended Remifemin. I started it, thinking it was probably a long shot - chemo induced hot flashes are really extreme, and apparently so are those brought on by Tamoxifen.

It's now been 12 days and I've begun to notice a change. The main difference so far, is that while I still have hot flashes & night sweats, they are way less extreme, and pretty manageable with this stuff. The label says you start to see a difference at 2 weeks and then feel the most impact at 8 weeks, so if this is how much it's helping now, I can only hope that by the time the summer hits, I'll be practically hot flash free.

Just wanted to share the good news for anyone else going through this who doesn't want to (or can't) take anything hormonal, or can't take soy based products. Remifemin is available over the counter and you can get it at health food stores or online (see link above) and is taken twice a day (20 mg). It costs about $32.00 for a box that lasts for 2 months and so I also explored just using plain old Black Cohosh supplements, which are much cheaper. However, the woman at the health food store told me that I should be careful when buying natural supplements, as many of them use a soy based solution. Remifemin doesn't and she said that it also contains a very refined black cohosh which is more readily absorbed and more effective. The company has also conducted over 15 clinical studies (most supplement and vitamin manufacturers don't) to quantify it's results.

All I can say is that it's working for me. Let me know if any of you try it and we can compare notes on its effectiveness.

Part 2 on Reconstruction

2011-03-07T16:00:00.015-05:00

For my reconstruction, I elected to do the Expanders with Implants. And here's where I can tell you details, since I went through it myself. It's kind of gross, so if you're feeling squeamish, skip the next few paragraphs. Ok, you've been forewarned.

My breast surgeon and my plastic surgeon both conducted this surgery together so that I only had to have one operation. Make sure your surgeons respect each other and are willing to get along if you want them to do this together. Ask them. Believe me, they'll tell you what they think of each others work.

Gross part alert.

After my breast surgeon performed the mastectomy, my plastic surgeon began the expansion process. He first cut both of my pectoral muscles in half, attached a section of Alloderm (a new skin graft product that is taken from cadavers - yikes) at the bottom of each to create a "pocket" for the expanders and then put the expanders into the pockets, and filled them with 200 cc's of saline. The expanders are made out of a thick plastic that is expandable over time; it needs to be thick and fairly solid, in order to stretch your skin out so that over time it will be big enough to put a soft implant in. Over the next several weeks time, my PS continued to add more saline (increments of 50 cc's at a time are my reco - don't let them do more at one time or you'll have terrible back pain) until I was comfortable with the size. Three months after my initial surgery (on Feb. 14), my PS went back in and removed the expanders and replaced them with soft Mentor silicone implants.

Saline vs. silicone was a big decision. I had expected to do saline based on the concerns I'd heard about silicone from many years ago, but every single doctor, surgeon and plastic surgeon I spoke with said that silicone is much better and very safe. After the scare about 20 years ago, the implant companies re-engineered the silicone implants so that they can not leak, no matter what you do. I've seen videos and had it demoed for me and feel very confident that there is no concern with silicone. Of course, make your own decision and do the research, but I was surprised at this, so wanted to let you know. I've also heard that saline feels very heavy and can actually break and thus deflate more easily than silicone (wouldn't that be odd!?). After the final surgery, they gave me 2 little cards that I am supposed to carry with me which explain the exact make and model of implants that I have. I can't imagine what I'd ever need them for and sure hope I never have cause to use them, but if you want to see them, I'll be happy to share. Wonder if I need to whip them out at an airport when I'm getting body scanned - I'll find out on my next flight and will let you know.

And yes, sadly, they had to remove my nipples because they could become cancerous over time. That was very hard for me to deal with, because it makes your breasts look so different and odd. But as my sister Sue, so aptly put it, "Oh so what, now you just have Barbie boobs," and you know, that's really what they look like. So now, the 60 million dollar question is whether or not I plan on getting nipples created. That's a whole other deal, and in fact entails 2 more hospital out-patient procedures. For now, I plan to just relax and enjoy the fact that I'm done with the really hard surgeries, and decide about nipples later.

I've actually had several women say that they're jealous, because I won't ever have the dreaded saggy breasts to worry about. Kind of a crazy thing if you consider what I had to go through to get them, but that's how nutty we are as a society when it comes to breasts. If you see me, feel free to sneak a look, I won't be insulted as I totally understand your curiosity.

My take on reconstruction

2011-03-05T07:40:00.000-05:00

It's been 2 1/2 weeks and I've been out and about, seeing a lot of friends and being more social than I'd been immediately post surgery, as I'm feeling much better. And, just about every single time I see someone, the inevitable happens. They ask how I'm doing and then.....their eyes just cannot help themselves from sneaking a look at my new breasts. It's kind of funny, and I just wish everyone could get it over with and be blatant about it, because to be very clear, I completely understand why you would want to see what they look like. A mastectomy is a strange procedure, and people don't usually have experience with it, so it's natural to wonder what the results will look like.

So for the record, they look completely normal with clothes on, and you wouldn't know that I've had reconstruction if I didn't tell you (so why don't I keep my mouth shut, you might ask!). Well, first of all, I'm kind of fascinated with the whole thing, but I've also had quite a few people ask me about the procedure and how it all works, so I'm going to explain it in detail because it may be helpful for anyone else who is going through this process. There's a lot of confusion about reconstruction and most people don't really have much awareness of how it all works. I know I didn't.

I found the entire reconstruction process to be very daunting, almost harder to figure out than the actual breast cancer treatment itself. I had no idea how complicated these procedures were, and had no idea which to choose. I would actually suggest making a chart or decision tree of options and review it with your surgeon(s) and even oncologist. I had lots of friends set me up with phone calls with their friends who'd had reconstruction and they all shared their insights (thank you to every one who so honestly shared their experiences with me, it proved to be soooo helpful). Now that I'm all done, I've regained my sense of humour about it, and can laugh about my perky new boobs, but when it first started, I was horrified and couldn't find anything humorous about any of it.

There are 3 types of breast reconstruction currently widely available: Tram Flap reconstruction; Latissimus Dorsi reconstruction and Expander with Implant reconstruction. One thing to consider when deciding on 1 of these 3 treatment options is whether or not you need to have radiation treatment. Radiation dramatically impedes your skins ability to stretch, and so you may not be a viable candidate for expanders if you have it (I didn't need radiation because we knew we were doing a mastectomy after the chemo).

Since there's so much information to share, I'm going to break this into 2 posts, and for today will just give an overview of the 2 options that I DIDN'T choose - Tram Flap and Lattisimus Dorsi Flap.

Tram Flap
In Tram Flap, they remove abdominal tissue and fat, and bring it up under your stomach skin, to create new breasts out of it, under your own chest skin. Lots of women told me they thought this would be great, "It's like getting a tummy tuck for free," yadda yadda. I have a feeling that this procedure would actually look and feel very natural, as it's creating new breasts out of your own existing skin and muscle so would feel the most natural. However, women who've had it, have told me that they lost use of their stomach and abdomen muscles and I personally felt that the fact that it creates an additional surgical site (breasts and stomach), as well as the fact that my stomach muscles would be compromised, ruled this option out. I also don't have enough extra fat there to create 2 breasts, so they'd probably have had to put implants in afterwards anyway. One of my favorite sites, http://www.breastcancer.org/, has some helpful information, click here if you're interested in more detail about Tram Flap.

Latissimus Dorsi Reconstruction
The Latissimus Dorsi procedure uses the latissimus dorsi muscles from your back (which are directly behind your breasts) and brings them around, under your skin to the front of your chest. I decided not to do this procedure, because again, it entails additional surgical sites (in this case 3 sites) and I have heard that your back muscles become somewhat compromised afterwards, which I didn't want to have to deal with. I also heard that you often have to use implants in addition with this procedure as well. Bottom line, if you're lean, these 2 procedures are not going to be good options if you're doing a bilateral mastectomy, because you simply won't have enough muscle/tissue to create 2 breasts. Click here for more info about Latissimus Dorsi from http://www.breastcancer.org/.

Next post will be about the procedure that I chose, Expanders with implants.

New study about lymph node removal for breast cancer treatment

2011-02-24T12:53:00.000-05:00

What a year it has been. I'm so glad it's over. As of February 14th, my final surgery is behind me, and I'm starting to get that it's really all over and done with. The combination of the surgery along with that flu or whatever it was that I got the week prior to surgery, really knocked me out for the entire week, but now, once again, my very strong body has bounced back and I am thrilled to feel like a human being again. The new implants are kind of weird. They still feel a little strange, but they look very similar to what I looked like before, which is reassuring. I'm recovering quickly this time, and feel stronger every day. The difference in knowing that this is my last of the many procedures, is quite pronounced. For one of the first times in my life, I have a profound sense of peace and contentment in my life.

I want to share some new information that has recently been published about the removal of lymph nodes during breast cancer surgery. This new study published in the February 9th issue of Journal of the American Medical Association, found no difference in survival rates for patients who had axillary lymph node dissection and those who had sentinel lymph node dissection. Click here if you'd like to read the entire article.

It continues to surprise me how much we really don't know about breast cancer. For many years, the standard of care has been that if there was evidence of cancer found to be present in the lymph nodes, they would be removed (various numbers of nodes, depending on how many had cancer present in them). Mine were not cancerous, so they only removed 3 (it's been standard procedure to remove the sentinel lymph node during surgery, to check to see if has cancer cells; if it has, they most likely have traveled elsewhere to other nodes and potentially other parts of the body). If cancer is found in the sentinel lymph node during surgery, your surgeon will most likely then remove other lymph nodes in the surrounding area and may even remove all of the lymph nodes if they appear to be cancerous. Before I had this surgery, I didn't even know what my lymph nodes did, or why they were important. Now I know that they are extremely important because they help filter and process blood and fluids throughout your body, and when removed, they can cause a very annoying side effect called Lymphedema.

Also, when the surgeon removes the lymph nodes, they may have to move around or shift around, and sometimes even cut, a nerve in your arm that is in the pathway of the nodes. When they do this, it impacts your arms mobility and can cause tightness or pain in that arm. Even with only 3 of mine removed, I still find that the removal of the lymph nodes has been one of the most annoying and chronic side effects of the entire breast cancer process, and I've heard the same thing from many other women I've spoken with about their own recovery.

In my case, I have had constant tightness in my left armpit and shoulder and numbness in my left hand since the original lumpectomy last February 2010. Many other women who have their lymph nodes removed, suffer from Lymphedema (swelling and numbness of the arm) which can become a pretty difficult and chronic problem. Also, once you have lymph nodes removed, you need to really nurse that particular arm - no blood work, no needles, no blood pressure cuff, etc., should be done on that arm ever again. It caused additional concerns for me when I had chemo, because it left me with only one useful chemo injection arm which caused some scarring and just generally messed up the veins in my right arm.

So this new information is very relevant for other women who may one day have to go through a lumpectomy or breast cancer surgery. ASK YOUR DOCTOR before they do the procedure, whether or not they plan to remove your sentinel lymph node. Also please have a discussion with them prior to surgery about the positive vs. negative side effects of removing any of your lymph nodes. If I didn't have to have mine removed, it would have made a big difference in my long term side effects and recovery.

Once again, another reason why you have to be your own advocate, remain informed and ask questions during any medical process.

I hope all of you are doing well. Spring is right around the corner and all is well with the world!

It's over! Woo hoo!

2011-02-14T18:18:00.001-05:00

Surgery is over and I'm home and feeling great! And in true Claudia fashion, to make it all just that much more dramatic, last Wednesday night I got slammed with what sure felt like the flu (although I got the flu shot) - fever, chills, hacking cough, stuffy nose, aches & pains - YIKES. I literallly took to my bed for FOUR WHOLE DAYS, willing my body to get healthy enough to still have this surgery on Monday. As those of you who I called know, I did NOT take this like a trooper, but was panic stricken and absolutely distraught over the possibility that they wouldn't let me go through the surgery 'cause of the fever/coughing.

I called my surgeon who said that if I didn't have a fever, and if the anesthesiologist cleared me for breathing (since my nose was sooo stuffed up), that I would still be able to do it. He said "Let's assume it's a go, and when you get here, it will really be up to the anesthesiologist." So I got myself up this morning, and lo and behold, my nose was cleared for the first time since Wednesday night! According to my thermometer, I had a fever (slight) but I just figured I'm not tellin' anyone and so Mike and I went to the hospital and kept our fingers crossed. I kept my mouth tightly closed so I wouldn't breathe in and set off a coughing fit and before you knew it, they had me in the pre-op prep area with an IV in (they still hadn't taken my temperature yet) and so far no one seemed to notice a thing. I figured once the IV was in, they'd be less likely to cancel, so was glad that things were moving in the right direction. I must confess, when I got ready this morning I actually put on under eye concealer and some tinted moisturizer on my face, so that I wouldn't look so pale and sick - I'm not joking. And it seemed to do the trick, 'cause no one seemed to notice that just yesterday I was a fevered mess, hacking & spewing yellow/green stuff out of my mouth and nose (nice visual, eh?).

The anesthesiologist came in and said I was fine as long as I could breathe and had no fever. I got really nervous about the fever, but the nurse came in and did that quick scan on your forehead thingy that they do now, and said I was ok and we were off to the races!

By 10:45 I was on the table, where the Anesthesiologist put a mask on my face and the next thing I remember I was in the post op room asking "What time is it?" to which they replied 2:00. (It's still always so weird to me how that time gets completely lost - where did those 4 hours go??) They asked me how my pain was, and I said it was hardly even noticeable, like a modest 2 or 3. Let me tell you, these Surgi-Care centers are really like well oiled machines. Once they knew I was ok, they were ready to get me out of there pronto. I stayed in post op for about another half hour, then they brought me to a room where Mike came in and within another 20 minutes, they had the IV out, my directions in hand, told me to get dressed and we were out the door, and on our way home by 3:05!

And, just to add a little more complexity to an already nutty morning, when I woke up our son Chris this morning, it turns out he had a sore throat. So.....Mike called his mom to come watch Chris, called and made him a drs. appointment while I was in surgery, and right now he's taking him to get tested for strep. It never rains but it pours. And let me tell you, that man is a saint after the last week of hacking & spewing that I put him through (not to mention the fact that he had to spend his Valentine's Day in the hospital).

OMG - big sigh of relief - what a day, what a crazy last few days. If I would just listen to my own advice and realize that I should just let the universe unfold - right??! But NO, I have to go into panic mode and freak myself out. And it's all fine. The new implants feel more comfortable than the expanders already, which is saying something when you consider that I just had surgery, and yet they're not that sore at all. It's just about one year post my original lumpectomy on Feb. 18, 2010. What a long year. I think the reason I was even more upset than usual was that somehow it just seemed important to me, to have this done, one full year after the first procedure. And now it's done and I am truly able to start getting back to normal. Halleluiah. It's kind of hard to tell what these babies are gonna' look like until a few days from now, and to be perfectly honest - I DON'T CARE! I'm just so glad it's all done and I can be comfortable again.

So, not your typical Valentine's Day posting, but who ever said I was normal? Happy Valentine's Day to all of my friends. Lots of love to everyone. I for one, am so happy for today!

The story about The Cloisters

2011-02-04T16:00:00.000-05:00

When I was a young child, I always thought my mom was angry most of her life because she didn't want us, wished she hadn't had kids, didn't like being a mom. Then, when she passed away 5 years ago, I had the chance to read some of her old journals (she made an entry every single day for most of her life) and began to understand that in actuality, she embraced motherhood and her kids with a huge amount of enthusiasm. In her early entries, she was giddily happy about having kids and a family, and wrote long entries about how wonderful it was to be a mother and how happy she was, being married with kids. It wasn't until the MS hit her in her mid-30's that my mom started to become the rather complicated woman I knew, growing up.

When he diagnosed her with Muptiple Sclerosis in her mid 30's, my mom's doctor told her that she must never gain weight, because one day the MS would cause her to become bed-ridden. He told her that the disease was progressive and that she would gradually lose the ability to care for herself, let alone for her family. What a horrible thing to have looming over you, especially when you had 4 young children all under the age of 10 to care for (my brother came along 5 years after I was born).

Here we were at what looks like my first Christmas. Look how stylish her shoes were. My mother was a BIG shoe fanatic.

When she told me on my 31st birthday that she had something to tell me that she'd been hiding from all of us, including my dad, the very first thing I said to her after she told me about the MS was, "That's why you wouldn't go with us that day at The Cloisters in New York."

My mom was a big history and religious buff. So, you can imagine my surprise and confusion the day the whole family went on a special visit to The Cloisters, when as we got out of the car, she proceeded to pull out her book (she was a big reader, and always had a book with her), sit herself on a nearby park bench and announce, "You all go on without me, I'm going to stay here and read my book." I was dumbstruck, and couldn't figure out why she always seemed to withhold herself from us, and especially from something which she had seemed so excited about. I mean, this was the holy grail of family trips for the Schmidt family - religion, history, education and literature, all rolled into one - and for no apparent reason, my mom was refusing to join in with the rest of us.

At dinner that night so many years later, she nodded and said, "Claudia, I could never have made it up all those steps with my MS." The disease made it very hard for her to walk for long distances, and stairs were always a big challenge. If you've been to NYC to see the very beautiful and historic Cloisters, you'll know that there is a very windy, steep staircase up the side of the hill that they are poised upon. My Dad couldn't find a parking spot up top, and so parked the car on the street down below, at the foot of the stairs. When my mom saw the staircase, instead of asking my Dad to drive back up and drop her off at the door of the museum, she just sat herself down on a bench to read her book, rather than tell us the truth about having MS. Such a small thing, if she'd only been able to ask for help, we all would have jumped to support her. She had a hard, and lonely life, I think. We all would have loved to have been able to help her if she'd only been willing to share her "weakness," which is what I think she considered it to be.

My mom passed away 5 years ago. During this year, as I went through the various stages of my breast cancer journey, I would think about how glad I am that she's not physically here to have to deal with this. If she were here in body, she would only feel helpless and unable to help me, since she couldn't travel at the end of her life, and was, in fact bed-ridden those last two years. But since she's not here in body, I feel like she's more able to see what's actually going on, in spirit. I'm not a particularly religious person, although I consider myself to be very spiritual. My theory is that my mom can see or know what's going on with me, in its totality, from where ever the heck she is in her current form. So, she can see all the physical difficulties I had this year, but could also see my spirit and strength throughout, and has that sense of knowing that I'm able to handle it. Mary was a strong woman. She raised 4 strong kids, and I'm proud to be one of them.

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Memories of snow days past....

2011-02-02T14:27:00.002-05:00

All of this snow has me thinking about when we were kids, because it sure seemed like we had a lot of snow days back then. In particular, I remember one Easter Sunday when I must have been about 12 or 13, when we had a huge snowstorm that hit the East coast with about 2 feet of snow. I grew up in a very religious Catholic household, and neither snow nor sleet, nor hail were going to keep my parents from performing their Sunday duties of getting us all out the door and off to church that morning. After all, it was Easter Sunday, one of the days everyone (even the semi-lapsed Catholics) went to Church. And believe me, we weren't semi-lapsed, we went EVERY Sunday to Church, without fail. My parents were very staunch Catholics.

I remember my mother making sure we all got bundled up in our snowboots, hats, mittens, all-weather coats with hoods and out the door to walk the mile trek to St. Agnes Church. All of us went; the 4 kids, my mom and dad, trudging our way through an insane amount of unplowed snow. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was still blizzarding down upon us for the entire walk. It was kind of fun, in a Nanook of the North, Survivalist kind of way. My mom was so pleased that we could show such a wonderful example of Christianity and good Catholic faith (she was, after all, Scottish, and religion was very near and dear to her heart, as was perseverance over insurmountable odds). We finally arrived at the Church, looking like Eskimos, and dripping snow all over, but quite pleased with ourselves and our religious fervor.

The priest that day, Father Lutz (amazing how I can remember so many of these religious details), gave a rather condescending sermon in which he remarked that, while it was nice that the very few of us who made it to church showed up, it was completely unneccessary, given the weather conditions. WELL....my mother was completely disgusted! She was soooo annoyed at him, and couldn't believe he would dismiss our valiant efforts to show our faith by our struggle to Mass through all of this snow, only to be so summarily dismissed.

My mother was quite a woman. Here's a picture of her (with "the girls") when she was in her early 30's. This was clearly from an earlier Easter Sunday, note the hats. That's me, Baby Huey, on the right; Mary-Kate and Sue are on the left. She made all of our clothes herself.

She had Multiple Sclerosis for much of her adult life, and in her very stoic way, never even told anyone about it until I was in my 30's. No one. Not my Dad, not her parents, not us, not her best friend(s). No one. Kept it all in, kept it all to herself for about 20 years. I still cannot quite fathom that, given the year I've been through. She lived in this state of panic and limbo that I've lived in, for over 20 years, never sharing the fear or anxiety with anyone, not even my dad, her life partner, until she was in her 50's. And me, I shout it from the highest mountaintops. I'm so out there, constantly telling everyone how indignant I am about this very annoying and horrible disease that's been hoisted upon me, while she kept it all in.

So, let me post these pictures of today's ice storm for posterity. It's the least I can do, in honor of the memories that the snow has brought me today.

Losin' the wig

2011-01-31T19:30:00.001-05:00

Last week I decided to stop wearing my wig, and start going out with my "real" hair. After chemo, my hair came in completely silver, in addition to being so curly that it looks kind of like a very short Afro. So I decided to dye it myself on that snow day last week; after all, how hard could it be since since it's so short? I used L'Oreal Preference (shameless product plug) which was really easy and came out exactly the way it looked on the box, plus saved me about $60 bucks vs. having it done at the salon.

Whoa nelly. It looks really wacky, but I have to say, I kind of like it. It's taking a really long time to grow in, only about half an inch since my last chemo at the end of August. I expected it to be longer by now. Think Susan Powter (Stop the Insanity - remember her with that short, silvery white crewcut) except with brown hair. Kind of a startling sight. But this is me, now.

I went on a business trip last Friday and went wig free in public for the first time (outside of at home and with a few very select and close friends). Took a train trip in and out of DC and I have to admit, I got a few odd looks as I walked through the train cars looking for a seat, but all in all, I consider myself to be "out" now. It's REALLY short and sort of sticks out all over (not in a fashionable or funky way, believe me), but it's soooo nice not to have that itchy wig on anymore and it's very freeing to finally go out without it.

The thing is, everyone loved my wig so much, that through the entire year people would say, "You don't look sick at all, you look so great, the wig is gorgeous!" Well, the reason I looked so healthy and didn't seem sick, was because of this very nice, thick, shiny wig I've been wearing. And frankly, I've been a little worried that once people see me without it, they're going to be shocked, and finally realize just how sick I actually was. I hate to be thought of as weak especially now, when I feel really healthy and strong.

It's weird how much the whole hair thing bothered me and how long it's taking me to be okay with it. I think it's good for me, forcing me to let go of some of my vanity. During the weekend, I went out and about sans wig, running errands. I would forget all about it; after all, the wig was the oddity, the thing that was new for me, but every now and then I'd catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or in the car window and would be a bit surprised at the crazy-haired woman looking back at me.

People who see me try to be nice and say things like, "Oh, once you put a little hair product in it, it'll be okay," or "Why don't you put a little product in it?" to which I reply, "Believe me, there's lots of hair product in this 'do, this is the best I can make it look, 'cause there's just not enough of it yet!" It's kind of a lesson in humility. Who can worry about how they look, when they just look this wacky? Here are two pictures: Top one is me now, bottom one is me with the wig about 3 months ago. I'm getting used to it. Wasn't it Shakespeare who said "Vanity, they name is woman?" And by the way, that's Tucker with me. He's crazy about me no matter what kind of hairdo I sport, I'm the food provider!

Snow days

2011-01-27T11:30:00.006-05:00

I'm learning a lot of life lessons from all the snow we're having on the East coast this winter. The kids have already had about 5 snow days and it's only January. I'm starting to just give in to it and let myself get caught up in the kids excitment about whether or not school will be delayed, or better yet (for them) closed. The house simmers with anticipation as they both spend inordinate amounts of time online looking at weather patterns, texting & facebooking their friends while debating the potential amounts of snow, the likelihood of a day off, their level of certainty about the fact that they'll get a snow day....for sure.

In addition to surrendering to the whole snow thing, I'm learning how to trust that the universe will rise up to support me. I tend to worry a lot (understatement of the year) and Tuesday, as soon as the weather gurus started predicting Wednesday's wintery mess, I started obsessing about how to get the kids picked up and transported home in the event of a school closing, since I'd be 45 minutes away and not in any position to come back and get them. I spent quite a bit of useless time worrying about the snow, what to do, how to handle, what if school closed, what if it didn't, who could I call to pick them up, etc. I finally got myself so exhausted with all that worrying, that I just went to bed, and figured I'd work it out in the morning.

And then.....Tuesday night at about 11:00, after about a half hour of bleary, blissful, Ambien induced sleep, I woke up to see my 13 year old son standing next to our bed telling me that there was a beeping sound coming from somewhere in the nether regions of the house. So Mike and I got up and roamed around the house trying to search out which of the many fire alarms had run out of batteries, thus setting off the annoying beeping which woke up my son. Turns out it's the one in the basement and man, was it LOUD. As Mike went to change the batteries, I meandered my sleepy way back upstairs and crawled back into our comfy bed, only to have Mike come up a few minutes later and announce that as he was changing the battery, he noticed that the hot water heater was broken and leaking water (lots of water) all over the basement floor. Darn.

Lots of sleepy discussion ensued as we tried to figure out what to do. Eventually we both decided to go back to bed, and call a plumber in the morning. And Mike agreed that he would stay home the next day to handle getting it fixed.

And there you are. The universe rose up to support me. 'Cause now I could go to my all-day, 45 minute away, client meeting and Mike was home already when the kids schools DID, in fact, close early. As I drove to the meeting, I thought, "Why can't I just let the universe unfold? Why do I have to worry so much?" Because it always does.

Yup, learning a lot of good life lessons from this snow. Plus, you have to admit, it's really pretty. And P.S. Yes, they did get today off. Woo hoo.

The intangible side effects of breast cancer

2011-01-25T18:00:00.000-05:00

The intangibles are endless.

I found deep reserves of strength that I never knew I had.
I had to have 16 chemo treatments. Driving in the car, on the way to the hospital, I'd start mentally preparing myself for that days drip. The nurses get you in, settle you into a chair, find a vein, hook you up and then you sit there for about 3 or 4 hours, as the chemo slowly drips into your system. It's not really that terrible or painful (other than finding a usable vein), but the process becomes wearing, or at least it did on me. Over time, I began to realize that I had reserves of strength that I would never have imagined. In the car on the way, I'd start to do deep breathing, and focus myself, mentally prepare myself so that I could deal with it. One thing I was conscious of, was how people around me would react. I didn't want to frighten my kids or Mike. I didn't want the nurse(s) who were treating me, to worry too much. I wanted them to know that I was ok, and that I knew they were doing their best to make this as easy for me as possible. They do this every day; stick needles into patients veins and administer IV drips of toxic chemicals for hours, always with smiles and compassion and humor. I could never do what they do. I wanted them to know that I appreciated them, and that I was strong enough that they didn't have to worry about me.

I found a far deeper sense of compassion for others going through physical or emotional pain, than I ever felt before.
I’ve always been pretty stalwart; it’s my German/Irish/Catholic upbringing. When someone got sick in our family when I was growing up, it was always pretty much: let’s get on with it, don’t slouch about, just get better and no complaints. Since this process has taken so long, I’ve had a taste of what chronic illness must feel like. I don’t think that I’ll ever look at it the same way again. Chronic illness leads to depression. There’s no question in my mind. A few years ago, I read a book called Autobiography of a Face, by Lucy Grealy, a young Irish poet. She had jaw cancer as a young child and had to have her face reconstructed through multiple painful and mostly unsuccessful surgeries. She lived her life in chronic pain and became addicted to OxyContin and codeine, and eventually died of an overdose at 39. When I read it a few years ago, I was so un-empathetic. After this year, I think I have a glimpse of how terribly difficult her life was, and I can understand her despair. I only had a year of this, she lived with it for 30 years.

I deepened my relationship with my children.
This last year they've seen my weakness, as well as my strength. I'm more honest with them. I share my fears more openly with them, but also my joy and my optimism. I don't look for, or even expect the "big moments," the aha's. I've learned to relish the teeniest little moment with them: how excited they are to get a snow day; the intimacy of when they share one of their favorite new youtube videos with me; the little tidbits of school gossip they share with me; the discussion with my teen son when he actuallly took my advice about what to use to get rid of his first zit outbreak (Neutrogena, of course). Wasn't it John Lennon who said "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." And I'm trying to notice life happening, instead of being busy making those other plans.

There are so many more intangibles. These are enough for today.

There are some good side effects....

2011-01-23T15:43:00.000-05:00

I decided to list the positive side effects of the whole chemo process, 'cause I've sure been complaining about all of the negatives. Believe it or not, there are some good things, too.

1. I now have the hardest, most unbreakable fingernails you'll ever see. For some reason, the Taxol made my fingernails really strong. I can barely even clip them, and not one nail has broken in 5 months. Before chemo, I had really thin nails and they broke all the time. So I'm kind of thrilled with the whole strong nail thing I've got goin', now.

2. My hair is incredibly soft. OK, it looks really strange, but it feels really soft. I had thought that by now, it would be longer, but it's taking forever to grow out. It looks like sheeps wool, very curly in whorls around my head. My 15 year old daughter loves to rub it, and thinks its cool.

3. I actually think my eyesight might have gotten a little bit better. I've always been extremely nearsighted. During chemo, my eyes got weird, and my vision was often blurry. Now, 5 months post chemo, my vision appears to be clearer, and I think my far sightedness is better. Who knows, but I DO know that I don't need to wear my glasses to watch TV anymore. On the other hand, I need my reading glasses even more.....

4. For the entire summer I was going through chemo, I never had to shave my legs once. Huge time saver, I loved that.

Hmmm....well, I thought I was going to have a whole lot more to list, but now that I'm at number 4, I'm drawing a blank. I guess there aren't really all that many benefits to chemo!? I could go all maudlin on you and say "I've got a renewed sense of joy in life," and all that jazz, but I was trying to be very tangible about physical stuff. Next time I'll tell you about all the intangibles.

Surgery date is set

2011-01-21T15:42:00.000-05:00

My surgery is scheduled. The date is rather ironic - February 14th. Yes, while many of you will be celebrating Valentine's Day with chocolates, flowers and wine, Mike and I will be romantically celebrating with breast swap surgery. They'll remove the hard plastic expanders and replace them with soft and hopefully comfortable, implants.

It's amazing to me how you can get used to just about anything, if you really have to. I've had to sort of jerry rig a system to allow me to exist with these crazy, hard things inside of me. At first, I felt really guilty about taking drugs to help me through this, but I really don't know how else to manage. I take Ambien every night to sleep. There's no way I can sleep other wise and so I just gave in and now I take it every night. On days when I would get expanded, I'd arrange my night so that I had no driving to do, and take a Vicodin to relax me until bed time. After that, I'd be fine with just 2 Aleve for a few days, and lo and behold after a week, I would realize I didn't even need Aleve, until the next expansion. There were five in all and now I'm done until surgery. Once surgery is done, I'll start to wean myself off the Ambien, but for now, this is just how life has to be.

In the meantime, I'm estatic that the surgery is scheduled and I'm done with the expansions. Each expansion procedure got less scary, as I became more used to it, but I would still dread them, because it entails needles and saline and pressure and backpain. So I'm very glad that they're done.

On to the state of my boobs. They look surprisingly natural under clothes. Naked is a whole other discussion, but let's face it, no one except Mike and I (and the occasional doctor) will be seeing the girls without clothes on, so it's really not relevant for the rest of the world. My plastic surgeon is really good, and I'm so lucky that I found a good one within my benefits network. The cost to date for all of the procedures (including reconstruction) is up to about $240,000 and there's still this next surgery to include. It's an outpatient procedure, but it will probably add at least another $20,000+ to the cost. Please let that health care bill pass so that everyone has access to health care benefits.

There is definitely one great plus to this whole thing. I will never need to wear a bra again in my life, 'cause these babies look way better than mine did even back when I was a teenager! It's going to be nice to wear skinny T's in the summer, with no worries about bra straps, and think how cool I can be in the summer, without a bra. Given the hot flashes from the Tamoxifen, that's a big plus.

My son the movie director

2011-01-11T15:10:00.000-05:00

I am the proud mother of a future movie director. My son Chris, has been making videos since he was 10 or 11. Neither Mike or I have any idea how to make movies, so this is all Chris, he just decided to figure it out on his own one day. His latest one is posted on a new youtube account that he created the day he turned 13. He and his buddies worked on the shots for this one throughout this summer and fall. He posted it on December 18th, and has over 13,000 views so far. Pretty impressive, eh? All the shots are for real, it's not trick photography or fancy editing. He even knows how to promote it on his facebook page. It's uncanny how technically savvy he is.

Now, he and his friends are hard at work on a new one. This time he's using a slingshot he recently bought (with his own money) to slingshot basketballs into the hoop in our backyard, and at various community centers in the area. Here's a picture I took on Sunday. (Can you tell I'm just figuring out how to post videos and pictures on here?)

Keeps him busy, that's for sure. Gotta love the energy.

Dense Breasts

2011-01-06T23:12:00.000-05:00

If you haven't been exposed to the TED site, I would recommend you visit it. It's fascinating. TED is a small nonprofit devoted to Ideas Worth Spreading. It started out (in 1984) as a conference bringing together people from three worlds: Technology, Entertainment, Design. Now, there are 2 conferences a year and they post short videos from them on youtube. You can find them easily by googling "TED videos." They were started by a guy named Richard Saul Wurman, a very interesting character, who I met in person a few years ago when I worked at J&J.

I now subscribe to TED on facebook, so that I get their newest videos automatically sent to me and the one below is so remarkably relevant to me that I just have to post it for you to view. This woman, Dr. Deborah Rhodes, developed a new tool for tumor detection that's 3 times as effective as traditional mammograms for women with dense breast tissue.

Ever since I started having mammograms, I've always been chastised about how dense my breasts are...."you have such dense breasts....your breasts are so dense, it's hard to read the films"...me and my annoying dense breasts. I never actually realized how important that was, or exactly what it meant. I thought they were just bemoaning the fact that they couldn't really get a clear picture on my mammogram. I had no idea that it made finding tumors in my breast almost impossible. So impossible that even after a very thorough mammogram, an ultrasound and several physical exams, no one found the second lump in my breast until many weeks later, after I'd had my initial lumpectomy and almost randomly, by chance. Weeks after my lumpectomy, my surgeon and radiologist were discussing the case and the radiologist mentioned the possibility of a second tumor. My surgeon ordered an MRI and that's when the 2nd, very small tumor was found. This is why I had to have 2 surgeries; the original lumpectomy and then later the mastectomy. Since then a lot of the women I've talked to told me that they've also been told that they have dense breasts and they've had difficulties with mammograms but never quite understood what it meant.

I'm going to try and figure out how to get involved in making this option more readily available. I don't know exactly how, or what that looks like, but I'm very interested in spreading awareness about this. It would have made a big difference in my specific case if it had been available and I can only imagine the huge impact it could make for other women if it becomes widely available. Please share this with your friends. The more actively women push for this option, the sooner it will be made available. Maybe it won't help this generation, but it sure better be an option for our daughters.

Second chances

2011-01-04T21:14:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else my age think that the song "I wanna be a Billionaire" by Travis McCoy expresses the exact opposite sentiment of the artists we (baby boomers) grew up with? When I was in college, musicians were singing about peace, love and understanding (and sex, drugs and rock 'n roll) but none of them expressed any interest in financial gain. It's so odd to have a musician say he wants to be on the cover of Forbes magazine. When I was that age, the very LAST thing we wanted was traditional success.

OK, just had to get that off my chest after hearing it in the car about a zillion times today, as I carted my kids around to their various activities.

The other day I was watching (for the bajillionith time) Titanic, one of my favorite movies, (and yes, it is as sappy as they come, but I just love it and cannot get enough of that young Leonardo DiCaprio). Remember the very corny scene towards the end, where Rose is in the ocean on that handy raft thingy they found, promising Jack that she'll make it and go on to live a long, full life? While watching it the other day, I had this very strong and intense thought that I had been given a second chance, too, just like Rose and anyone else who might have survived the Titanic. OK, I know that's about the corniest thing you can ever even imagine, but I seriously feel that way - that I've been given a second chance. And then the next day, while taking Tucker (our 3 year old Pembroke Welsh Corgi, more about him in other postings to come) for his walk, I started to think about what I would want to do with this second chance I've been given and it occurred to me that all I ever really seem to do in my life is work or chores. Seriously. That seems to really be all I ever do. So.....I decided to figure out a way to squeeze some fun into my life.

And one of the things I also decided was that this blog had started to become a daunting chore, because I'd decided it had to be "serious" and cancer worthy, and full of tips and hints. Well, to be quite honest, I don't really have that many tips or hints on what to do if you find you have cancer. I mean, who the heck am I to tell you how to take care of an exceedingly terrifying illness? If there's one thing I've learned about cancer, it's that no one really has any clear cut answers, so what kind of advice can I give people? I'm more than willing to lend an ear and try to offer my input, but I sure don't have any pithy advice or knowledge.

So, this blog is going to be just me writing about whatever strikes me. Hopefully, sometimes it will be funny, and I'll bet that often it will have references to my year of living with cancer, but I don't want to JUST focus on that, 'cause I'm getting ready to move on from this year. So if that's something you would be interested in, I'd be thrilled. If not, I'll try not to be disappointed and I won't hold it against you.

Now, back to injecting some fun into my life. I found that I don't really have any grandiose ideas. I don't want to change the world, I just want to be around people I care about. I want to see my sisters and brother and dad more. I want to be out in nature more. I want to travel, I want to take road trips. I want to bring Tucker along, because he makes me live in the moment (what with the constant peeing on every tree we pass). I bought myself a little Canon Elf camera. Because I'd like to start taking pictures again, like I used to, back when we still used film to take pictures (god how old I sound). I had a very nice Olympus zoom lens camera with all sorts of manual apertures and such, and was pretty good at it. I stopped when the new digital cameras came out, and haven't really been doing any photography in years, and am now ready to start it up again. I'm also going to put strong and unbending parameters around my work hours. No more 24/7 accessibility anymore. I'm going to shut down shop at 5 and no meetings on Fridays. And sometime during the spring, I'm going to go up in a hot air balloon with or without anyone in my family (they all claim to have a fear of heights, one of the few things I'm NOT afraid of!)

On the health front, I'm just about done with the expansion process and whoa nelly, is this one of the most bizarre experiences that I've ever gone through. I have to wait until mid-February (3 months post surgery) to have my next surgery, where my PS will replace the expander with soft implants which HAVE to be more comfortable than what I have in here now. We're going to Cancun in April for spring break, so I'm anxious to get the surgery scheduled. And, once that's done, I will be home free for at least a while! I cannot wait to get these babies out of there and have something normal-ish instead. That's enough for today. XO Claudia

The year in books

2010-12-27T16:12:00.003-05:00

Because I'm such a reader, and because I was forced to just sit and relax so much this year, I read a lot of books. Here's my list of the best of what I read this year (in no particular order):

1. Cutting for Stone, by Abraham Verghese. All my favorite things rolled up in one book - Africa, history, medicine, well created characters and a riveting and moving story. A must read, if you're a reader.
2, 3 & 4. The Millenium Trilogy , by Stieg Larsson. While these were not the best written novels, they are very interesting, different, controversial and I just loved Lisbeth.
5. The Help , by Kathryn Stockett. A moving, and very honest look at the dynamics between African American maids/nannies and their employers in the 60's. I think the lessons cross over into today's world, as well.
6. Just Kids, by Patti Smith. I was always fascinated by both Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe. Saw her in concert in college, and saw one of his very controversial shows in the 90's. This is one of the sweetest, best written memoirs I've ever read. She comes across as a gentle, loyal, loving and passionate artist, which surprised me, given her stage persona where she comes across as a wild animal. One of my favorite reads of the year.
7. Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. Horrifying, yet fascinating, I couldn't put it down. Made me cringe, yet seemed very honest and real. It is not for the faint hearted.
8. Every Last One: A Novel, by Anna Quindlen. An unusual story for Quindlen. As a mother, I could relate. She beautifully captures the mundanity of daily family life, while also showing the beauty and joy that lies in that very mundanity, which is only really realized until after it's been snatched away.
9. Room: A Novel, by Emma Donoghue. Another very dark and disturbing novel. Yet, the story of the deep love between the mother and the boy was quite moving and uplifting.
10. The Emperor of all Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, by Siddartha Mukherjee. Right now I'm slogging through this very intense book which reads like a mystery novel. The author is an oncologist who literally traces cancer's "life" from Egyptian times through today. The thing that shocks me the most is how little we still know about the disease, and how so many of the discoveries occurred in such a random way.

Next on the list: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloots and Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption, which are both supposed to be amazing.

I see a pattern. Stories of shock, horror, the unthinkable, redemption, love and perseverance were my favorites this year. Sort of sums up 2010 for me. Support the economy and go buy some books at your favorite local book store in 2011. Much love, Claudia

Post Christmas bliss

2010-12-26T15:48:00.000-05:00

Today is the day after Christmas and I think it's my favorite day of the year. All of the anticipation and anxiety associated with gift giving is over, and lo and behold, everyone seems happy with what they got. Everyone behaved yesterday and we all had a great, if haphazard dinner. I just couldn't get it all together so we didn't get food on the table until 7:30 which was just fine this year. Lots of wine was consumed and everyone was grateful that we were together.

Today is the day after so there's a ton of leftovers and lots of desserts. The house is full of kids and it's snowing like crazy out there. The girls are watching "Scarface" ("Say hello to my leetle friend") and the boys are watching the game. I'm cleaning out closets (literally) and cooking snacks for the gang. I love this. I feel useful. And starting around Tuesday, I've been feeling better. I think the Tamoxifen is leveling out. And I guess I'm getting used to the expanders. I feel like a human being again and it's a relief.

The kids bought me all sorts of back massager thingy's from Brookstone, because my back has been killing me from this expansion process. So now I'm the proud owner of a lower-back seat massager, a neck massager and a portable upper body massager (not kidding, I must have really been complaining about my back ALOT!). They work remarkably well and I can just see myself next week, sitting in my chair working on my computer, with the chair massager going. It's a beautiful thing.

I saw my BC surgeon on Christmas eve and she gave me wonderful news. The pathology report from the mastectomy showed that there was no evidence of any tumor left in my entire left breast (the one that had the 2 tumors). I had been worried that we never removed the tiny little one in the bottom quadrant and just went right to chemo. I was always a little worried that it could still be active, and throwing off cancer cells that might go off into other areas of my body, so the news that it was completely eradicated, is reassuring. She also said that it means that the chemotherapy was extremely effective in my case. She said that sometimes when women have larger size tumors (Stage 3 and beyond) and they're afraid to operate until its smaller, they try to shrink them first with chemo. If the chemo is successful in shrinking the tumor (apparently not all tumors react that way to chemo) then the long term success rate for these women is better. So the fact that mine was decimated by the chemo is very encouraging for the future.

The boys are outside setting up for yet another basketball video. The minute it started snowing, Chris started talking about doing a snow/basketball video and they're planning on doing shots from his bedroom into the hoop in the backyard. Should be hilarious, what with all the snow flying about. If I can figure out how, I'll put his latest video up on here one of these days. My son, the movie director.

My only tip for today is to Go with the flow. Relax and enjoy your family. I know I'm gratefully enjoying mine. Much love and Merry Christmas, Claudia

Holidays

2010-12-22T11:05:00.000-05:00

The holidays are here. I've been on a roller coaster ride. Turns out Tamoxifen (which I will be taking for the next 5 years) wreaks havoc with your hormones and makes you very moody. DUH. I had sort of forgotten that in the midst of focusing on the other, more concerning side effects, such as heart attack/strokes and uterine cancer. I woke up the day after my first day of Tamoxifen (Dec. 6th) crying, and have been pretty much crying at the drop of a hat ever since.

I'm taking Tamoxifen, because my breast cancer was estrogen positive (ER+), and Tamoxifen stops your body from producing estrogen which in essence "feeds" the cancer (if there's any still in there). So, by taking Tamoxifen for 5 years, I will "starve" any potential cancer cells still lurking in my body somewhere. That, in and of itself, completely freaks me out: the notion of some random cancer cells still lurking around in my body. I had approached this whole thing with the idea that because it was Stage 1 and there were no lymph nodes involved, that there was not, and would never be any other cancer in my body as it had not metastasized and was unlikely to. But then when you are given a course of treatment of a drug that you will take for 5 years, just to be on the safe side, it makes you reconsider. Plus, the hormone imbalance is making me so emotional, that I've been very focused on the negative and not my usual/normal positive outlook.

Hence, I haven't been blogging. I can't stand all the negative stuff I'm thinking, and am not interested in sharing it with you guys, either. But, the Tamoxifen seems to be leveling out a bit, and I'm feeling more like myself today.

I'm puzzled about what to say about my breast cancer. Am I cured? Do I speak of it in the past tense? Am I a survivor? It's a puzzle. Not sure when you decide to state what you are. I think I will take a plunge and be proactive and decide to say I am a cancer survivor, because I need some control over what's going on with my life and I'll be damned if I'm going to let this disease own me.

I was talking to a friend the other day, telling her how freaked out I am by the mastectomy scars. She had such a great take on it. She said "But it's your badge of courage, how cool is that?" and I really want to start to feel that way. Right now, I'm falling into a lot of negative thoughts about the whole thing, and would like to start pro-actively taking it on so that I can break through and feel like myself again.

No tips or hints from me today, guys. I'm just hanging in there and trying to crawl out of my funk, plus all this holiday cheer is driving me nuts, as I'm not feeling particularly celebratory these days. More later. I promise to get my MOJO back. Much love, Claudia

How I figured out my chemo treatment regimen

2010-12-03T11:00:00.010-05:00

Tip#10: Be an active participant in your treatment decisions. Research everything online before you commit to anything. Before all of this, I had very little knowledge about chemo. My only vague understanding of it was that chemo filled your entire body with toxins in the hopes of ferreting out & killing the cancer cells. That was about all I knew, and frankly, I was extremely negative about it. I often said that I thought it seemed like killing a mosquito with a bomb.

But then my oncologist said, "You have a 24% chance of distant recurrence," at which point I asked, "What does distant recurrence mean?" and he said, "Distant recurrence means that there's a 24% chance that the cancer will spread to other organs in your body." Hmmmmmmm.....that's a horse of a different color. Then he said that the only time they can actually kill the other cells that might have migrated into other areas of my body is right now, this one time, and that breast cancer that migrates to another organ is not curable. Another long pause. Then we started talking about regimens, and I began to slowly realize that I was in for a long and scary ride.

He originally recommended a very aggressive course of treatment called ACT (Adriamycin, Cytoxan and Taxotere - all 3 together for 6 treatments every 3 weeks) but I decided that I wasn't willing to do something quite that toxic, and was just plain scared that I couldn't handle all 3 of those very toxic drugs in my body at one time. So he suggested the series I decided to go with, which is a newer regimen that is just as effective as ACT but much more tolerable: 4 bi-weekly treatments of AC (Adriamycin & Cytoxan combined together) and then 12 weekly treatments of Taxol. Although it's a little longer (5 1/2 months vs 4 1/2) I ultimately think it was the right decision for me and my body handled it pretty well.

There's a site called www.chemoregimen.com where you can go and click on your particular type of cancer, then search through the various chemo regimens available for it, and read through them for details. There are even links to actual clinical studies and results. I didn't fully grasp all of it, but it listed the drugs in each regimen, what their side effects were, % of people that experienced each of the various side effects, and the success rates. It was a piece of the puzzle that I found very helpful.

I knew that it was important that I got along well with my oncologist because I realized I'd be spending a lot of time with him. I actually switched mine before I started treatments, cause my first one wasn't explaining things very clearly and I wanted to be more involved than I think he expected. I really like mine, he's helpful, empathetic, works with me as if we're true partners and has a good sense of humor. Believe me, after all my hair had fallen out, my finger nails had turned black and sore, my toenails were starting to fall out and I was exhausted all the time, it was nice to have an oncologist who could make me laugh once in a while.

Today is the first time after surgery that my plastic surgeon starts the expansion process. He filled me with 200 cc's during the surgery and today he's putting in 50 more, yikes. I'll fill you in on how it feels. I'm thinking it's going to be really uncomfortable, but keeping my fingers crossed that it's only like that fora day or two. Enjoy the weekend. Much love, Claudia

How to read a pathology report

2010-12-02T19:35:00.000-05:00

Tip #9: Know and understand your Pathology report. Ask for a copy to keep in your files, and become familiar with it. Your pathology report is one of the most important documents you'll receive as it drives all of your treatment options. If you're like me, you probably never saw one before, let alone know what it means, so you'll need to do a bit of research and become familiar with it. The information contained in your pathology report is very important to know and to remember, and there are some suggestions I have for how to keep this information handy. There are several things that are critical to know and remember:

1. Is your cancer invasive or non-invasive?
2. What's the size of your tumor (in centimeters)
3. What's the grade of your tumor (Grade 1, 2 or 3)
4. Hormone receptors: Is your cancer estrogen or progresterone positive or negative?
5. Is it HER2 positive or negative (or borderline)?
6. What is the Lymph node status: Positive (which means there is cancer in the lymph nodes. If positive, how many are engaged) or Negative (no cancer in the lymph nodes).
7. Is your cancer Ductal, Lobular or Inflammatory?

Genentech, in partnership with www.breastcancer.org (which is my favorite bc website), distributes a 3"x9" card-stock checklist covering all of these point, with boxes for you to fill in your specific information, which I received early on at one of my discussions with the Breast care coordinator at Hunterdon Medical Center (my BFF Pamela, but more on her later). I filled it out after talking to my surgeon, and then began to bring it with me to every subsequent appointment because invariably someone would ask me about one of the above points, and in the beginning, I couldn't even remember them, let alone understand what they meant.

The way I absorbed the information on my pathology report was to have my doctor(s) explain it to me very carefully while I wrote things down. Then I went online and read about each of the different points. Then I read some brochures which explained the different details further, and then I read some studies, and then I read some books and then I went back online, until I actually began to have a sense of what was "good" or "bad" about my own results. Everything you need is on the web, search and you will find it. Some times I would have to read studies 3 or 4 times before I could really absorb the information, but eventually I felt I had a pretty good grasp of things from my research.

My pathology was: Stage 1 invasive lobular cancer, no lymph node engagement, ER and PR positive, HER2 negative and Grade 3. Everyone kept saying how good it was to be Stage 1, how great it was to have no lymph nodes engaged and that it was good to be ER and PR positive and HER2 negative. But, I kept seeing that Grade 3 and from my research, I knew that wasn't a great thing. It's a scale of 1 to 3, and 3 is the most aggressive. Most people react to the stage of your cancer, but the grade seems to be very important too, as it shows how agressively and quickly your particular cancer is growing. I also knew from my reading, that lobular breast cancer is less frequent but a bit more aggressive than ductal, so that also concerned me.

My point is, that when you know what your pathology report means, you have more information to help you make an informed decision in partnership with your oncologist and surgeon. And at the end of the day, YOU need to be your own "project manager" of this process, since no one really knows all of the specifics other than you.

Next, I'll go into the different chemo regimens and how to decide which is right for you, in partnership with your oncologist. Enough for today.

Back to work

2010-11-29T14:12:00.001-05:00

Weirdly enough, I'm so glad to be back to work today, 2 weeks post surgery, right on target. I hate to slug around and need to feel productive, so this is a good thing.

However, work aside, I just need to say, that there are really NO viable or shall I say palatable options to breast reconstruction. (Nice segue, eh?) Yes, it's gross to have to talk about this, but I have to, 'cause it's what I'm going through. I elected to get expanders and eventually implants, 'cause it seemed like the easiest route to take, but these damn expanders are so uncomfortable! It's like wearing an iron vest. In case you're wondering about the process, here goes. It's creepy. They have to put the expander, and ultimately the implants, behind your chest muscle, or apparently it won't stay in place. And so they gradually expand the skin and muscle by adding saline over several weeks and it is not a fun process.

I'm living for Vicodin every 6 hours and taking Ambien to sleep (without it, I doubt I'd sleep at all). Me, "Miss Drug Free, only put healthy things in my body" and here I feel like a drug addict. My 14 year old daughter tells me "Oh yeah, Vicodin, I think that's what Eminem was addicted to." Oh, how lovely, what a nice thing to have in common with an angry, white, homophobic, rap star. (Who, by the way, I happen to love.)

A pet peeve of mine, bear with me. Every time I talk to my plastic surgeon about the expansion, and what I want to look like, I say things like "I'd like to be the way I was before, a small B cup, nothing too big." Originally he said, "OK, that will probably be about 300-325cc's" (this is the lingo they use for size of implants). Well, now that we're really here, and the expanders are in, every time we discuss this, he says things like, "Well, when we get to about 350cc's"....and then the last time I saw him on Friday, he said, "When we are at about 400cc's," at which point I practically fell over, because I don't want to have huge breasts! And, clearly, he (being a man) thinks I do. The funny thing is, that when I ask Mike if he's got a preference (I actually said, "This is your only chance, Buddy, if you want 'em bigger, let me know now") he said, "Do whatever you want, I'm cool." Thank goodness. Because to be perfectly honest, in addition to the fact that I don't really want big boobs, the expansion process is really uncomfortable and the smaller I go, the less expansion I have to deal with.

TIP#8: Do a lot of research online. Call friends and ask about people who've gone through something similar. You'll be better prepared, and you'll know what you're in for. BUT, pace yourself, as it can get overwhelming. I would usually only allow myself to spend about an hour reading through other peoples experiences; the details are disturbing at times, and often not even relevant to what I experienced.

OK, that's enough boob talk for even me today. XO Claudia

Musings about the procedure

2010-11-26T18:21:00.000-05:00

Since it's a long weekend, and because I really can't do very much around the house because of the whole surgery and all, I'm finding myself with a lot of time on my hands and I figure why not write? So, here goes.

Surgery was at 7:30 a.m. so we had to get up at 4:00 a.m. to get there by 6. That worked out just fine, 'cause I was so bleary eyed that I couldn't really get too nervous, plus I'm generally ravenously hungry every minute of the day and since you can't eat from midnight til after surgery, the less time I had to deal with not eating, the better. The hospital was like a well oiled machine, from the minute I walked in things were quickly and efficiently being handled. They got me into my pre-op room, into my gown, got my IV in, my 2 OR nurses came in and introduced themselves (a nice touch, I thought!) my surgeons came in (there were 2, my Breast Cancer specialist and my Plastic surgeon), filled out some more paperwork, the Anesthesiologist came in to check a few things (loved him) and before I could get too nervous, they were wheeling me into the OR.

Quick aside: I really need to acknowledge how much I admire my BC surgeon. Her name is Dr. Susan McManus and she was the one my OBGYN referred me to back on February 1st when the radiologist first mentioned the cancer word. He said that she was one of the best BC surgeons in NJ and I consider myself lucky that she took me on as a patient. She's very strong and direct, but somehow on top of that, manages to be extremely compassionate. It seems to me that she has nerves of steel, and I feel supremely comfortable with whatever decisions she would make on my behalf, which was a good feeling to have going into this major of a surgery. And right before the surgery she actually came over and hugged me! It was so sweet, and so out of character. Last surgery (my lumpectomy in February), she was all business, so this was completely unexpected and I felt sort of honored......what a wacko I am that I was so touched. She probably did it 'cause she felt so badly for me, but whatever, it made my day.

The anesthesiologist (no, I'm not quite sure how to spell that....) was with me as we went to the OR and I talked to him a bit, asked if he would be there the whole time, to which he replied yes, which was of course very reassuring. The last thing I remember after getting onto the table was when the nurses noticed that I still had my underwear on and said that I should take them off (for some reason I hate taking my underpants off during surgery, always try to sneak them through). So here I am, wrangling my underpants off in the OR for all to see and the last thing I actually remember is the OR nurse showing them to me in a little plastic baggie, telling me that they'd store them there and give them to my husband.....AS IF I WAS WORRIED ABOUT MY UNDERPANTS GETTING LOST!!! As if I had nothing more pressing to worry about!

Next thing I recall was opening my eyes in the post OR room and seeing a very nice nurse who kept asking, "Do you have any pain?" to which I of course, said, "YES!" and she seemed very alarmed and surprised. I told her it felt like I had a huge rock pressed on my chest, and said something to the effect that I felt like what I would imagine it would feel like to have just had open heart surgery. I have a feeling she interpreted that to mean that I thought I was having a heart attack, 'cause they apparently kept me there for 2 hours trying to regulate the pain. Surgery was over at 11:00 and they didn't bring me out of there 'til about 1:00 by which time my husband and sister-in-law were a nervous wreck, 'cause it took so long. Here they are wheeling me down the aisle towards them, and my sister-in-law is crying and I'm waving and smiling as if I'm as happy as can be. Of course, I still had drugs coursing through my system and a pain pump, so was feeling just dandy.

Then we hung out in the room for a while. The thing I was most worried about was that I would have a bad reaction to the anesthesia which would make me throw up (yes, I'm a weirdo about stomach stuff, clearly) and so after about an hour when I was still feeling ok, I asked the room nurse if I was out of the woods, stomach wise and she said that I probably was. So....I sent Mike off to go get me something to eat! Yes, I'm not ashamed to announce that 2 1/2 hours after this horrible, creepy surgery I was hungry and wanted to chow down. I was smart enough to ask for something innocuous like yogurt but, yes, I was starving. I also had incredible dry mouth and was drinking tons of water but felt pretty good, considering what had just happened.

TIP# 7: Be very aware of your pain relief options. Don't be brave and try to tough it out. If an automatic pain pump is an option, ask them to order it for you. The pain pump delivers one of the "cains" (ie. novocain, lidocaine) to the exact surgery incision site, and is NOT systemic, so drugs aren't pumping through your system and you're able to move around more easily, with little or no pain. I didn't have to do anything, this thing worked on its own, nothing manual at all, it just distributed the exact amount of drug for the first 5 days. On top of that, the doctor prescribed Vicodin every 6 hours. By about 6:00 that night, I was asking them to increase it to every 4 hours as I was still feeling discomfort and they did. You have to be vigilant about your own pain. From my perspective, the less pain I'm feeling, the better and quicker I'll heal. The entire time I was there, I had to remind them every 4 hours that it was time for another dose. It's not that they're ignoring you, it's just not as top of mind for them as it is for you, so keep on top of your pain meds and let them know when it's time for the next one.

For some reason, the nurses are very keen on you getting up to pee. Once you do that, they seem to be supremely happy and feel that you're well on the road to recovery. Since I can pretty much pee on demand, 24/7, I knew that wouldn't be a problem and promptly got up to pee after about 2 hours, what with all the IV drip and water I was drinking. HOWEVER, it was really scary getting up and having to walk. My chest hurt, my back hurt, I was scared to move and was generally worried about whether or not I could stand and walk to the bathroom. But I did and it was fine. The nurses measured how much I peed, and were thrilled beyond belief and recorded it on some chart (so weird). I was really surprised at the amount of range of motion in my arms. I could move my arms up and back and around, it was literally just my chest area that was uncomfortable. Go figure. All along I had worried that my arms would be stuck to my sides, and here I was moving them up and over and all about.

The rest of the time was pretty basic. Mike stayed overnight to help in case I needed anything and believe me, I kept him busy. On my pre-op day, I had asked them to get him a bed/cot to sleep on and so they arranged a recliner chair which literally went flat and was a sleeper cot kind of arrangement. In fact, he slept so well, that the next morning when my PS came in to see me, he was smiling (I would say smirking, actually) as he glanced over at Mike on his recliner, snoring away, with his pillows all smooshed around his head. I couldn't figure out why he was laughing, until I happened to glance at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was 9:00 in the morning. Yup, that's my Mike - the world's best sleeper. he can sleep through pretty much anything.

Tomorrow I'll get into how the week has been going. Now off to enjoy some of yesterday's turkey, that my sister-in-law so nicely sent home for me. Much love, Claudia

A day of thanks

2010-11-25T15:52:00.000-05:00

So it's Thanksgiving 2010 and I'm trying to figure out what I'm most thankful for this year. It's complicated, because there's a lot I'm NOT thankful for this year, and I can't be dishonest about that. But today is a day of thanks, so I guess I'll focus on the good stuff. Today's TIP #6: Be grateful with what you have in your life. What you have right now is just what you're supposed to have, be happy with it and don't expect for something else. Be here now, this is what you're supposed to be doing. The biggest mistake would be if you didn't learn from it. .

Most of all, I'm thankful for my kids. I didn't have kids until I was 39 and 41 respectively, and it completely transformed my life. It felt like I literally fell in love with them when they were born. It's not what I had expected, it was way more intense and way more obsessive. I would daydream about them when I wasn't with them, I would wonder what they were doing (come on, they were infants, 60% of the time they were sleeping and the rest of the time they were eating, pooping, gazing at their hands and babbling, but yes, I wondered what they were doing!). As they grew and started to develop their own personas, I fell in love all over again. They both have such strong and developed personalities. Both are astounding to me, I'm so impressed at how self-confident they are, how sure of themselves they are, how smart, how funny, how quirky, how happy. During this whole crazy year of breast cancer, friends always ask "How are the kids doing?" and I have to say, they are doing just fine. During the worst of the chemo, they would bring me right back to reality. Kids at their age are so self-absorbed (it's their right, they're SUPPOSED to be self absorbed at this age) and their constant demands for rides to their friends houses, for sleepovers, for $20.00, for food, for attention.....pulled me out of some of my worst funks during chemo.

They're curious about the illness which makes it easier for me. If they'd been all scared and hesitant to discuss, it would have been harder, but since they wanted to know, I told them details. My favorite conversations were the discussions about losing my hair. They were both really into it - they thought it would be so cool and kept telling me that I should wear "cool hats" although I never really figured out where I was supposed to find said "cool hats." Then one time when Chris and I were alone in the car after my first chemo was done but my hair had not yet come out, he said to me, "Maybe you'll be the 1 in a million who doesn't lose her hair," and I knew that he knew what we were all in for. It was pretty much the sweetest thing he'd ever said to me, 'cause he really meant it, and in that sweet, optimistic 12 1/2 year old way, thought that maybe we'd avoid it. I didn't pull any punches, just told him as kindly but firmly as I could, that it was all going to come out, but that I was prepared and it would be fine. And it was.

The other thing I'm most thankful for this year, are friends and family. I have the best friends. They all make me laugh. They let me cry. They listen. They bring me home-cooked meals that are way better than anything I can cook, and send me flowers, cards and chocolates. They each, in their own way, deal with my medical procedures. Some of them want explicit details, some just want the topline, but all of them ask, listen and encourage me.

And last of all, today I'm thankful that my almost 13 year old son (b'day is in December) is feeling a bit better. He's been up since 2:00 a.m. last night, throwing up with a fever of 101. It sort of messed up our family day and so only Kyra and Mike were able to go to the family dinner (I can't drive 'cause of the Vicodin and one of us has to stay w/Chris), but when they all come home, we're going to watch ELF together and laugh ourselves silly (Buddy the Elf, what's your favorite color?)! I'm thankful that I felt good enough myself, that at 2:00 a.m, when he announced that he was throwing up, I could get up and help him. Poor kid. Also grateful that I found some Ginger Ale in the house, since water just seems to come back up. Wow, a plethora of gratitude today.

I'm recuperating nicely and getting used to this crazy expander in my chest (feels like a metal vise is over my ribs) and will just have to have patience until it's out in February when they can swap it for the real implants. It's a pretty creepy procedure and I'm still not sure how much I want to go into detail on here, but I'm okay today. So......Happy Thanksgiving. We'll probably get our Christmas tree this weekend. Enjoy the time with family, eat lots of turkey and stuffing and sleep well. Much love, Claudia

The Pool saga updated

2010-11-13T14:51:00.000-05:00

The pool saga is almost resolved. For those of you who followed me on caringbridge.org, you'll recall the whole pool dilemna. After my first chemo, I came home one day and decided we were going to put in a pool. And no, I had not yet seen The Big C with Laura Linney (if any of you watch it, turns out the main character did the exact same thing when she found out she had cancer, must be the thing to do). Anyway, I decided that life was short and I wanted a pool and cost be damned, after all why am I always working like a banshee if not to acquire things like a pool that will bring the family together, encourage the kids friends to come over, have lots of parties, bond as a family, create a community, etc. Lots of reasons to have a pool.

Now if you know me, you will realize that this is not the kind of thing I do. I grew up with parents who weathered the "Great Depression" and I am always worried about money, I never think we should spend it, I obsessively save for the kids college funds and our retirement and in general I am a nervous maniac about money. So a big investment like a pool which has no real purpose other than to have fun, is not something I do. But......CANCER....you know?! Let's have a little fun, let's seize the day, let's make each moment count....and all that jazz. So, we put in a pool.

Or shall I say, it's now November, and we are still putting in a pool. We hit a few snags. Understatement of the summer. The pool company forgot to get one of the permits, which wouldn't normally be such a big deal, but the one they forgot to get is the one that you have to get right before they POUR THE CONCRETE! So once it was poured, and the very nice, but very concerned Clinton Town pool inspector (seriously, he's a doll) called and told me we had failed the inspection, we were all up the veritable creek without a paddle. The Mikester was not happy (neither was I, but I was so weak from chemo at this point that I had no energy for anger, so was just sad and frustrated). There were long discussions about suing the pool company, about canceling the whole thing and starting all over from scratch with another pool company, of taking them to small claims court, of firing off missives from lawyers, lots of pacing around the pool obsessing about what to do, etc. And all I wanted to do was get the thing fixed so we could swim in it sometime in the near future, for crying out loud. My two kids had gone from saying that the pool was "Off the hizzy," to saying "Do you think we'll be able to swim in it next year?" with these looks that only 12 & 14 year olds can make that signal, "We knew it was too good to be true." Well, yesterday the pool guys came over and had lots of serious discussions with the Mikester about how to fix this dilemna without digging up the whole freakin' thing and it seems that we have come to a very palatable solution.

Which brings us to Tip #5: There is a solution to every problem, just hang in there and eventually you will all find a resolution. When I had my discussions about reconstruction with my original Plastic surgeon who was out of my insurance network, and it turned out that the cost for my new breasts was going to be the cost of a rather nice little car, I cried for about an hour, smashed the car steering wheel, screamed a bit, then went home and called the Insurance company, my breast surgeon, the hospital breast care coordinator and a bunch of other people and found a wonderful Plastic surgeon who happens to be IN NETWORK who does fabulous work and so it all worked out. He's the guy who's going to be doing the work next Monday. And by the way, the pictures of his work looks better to me than the pictures of the original guy who was out of network.

Ok, so it's a stretch, but there are parallels to be made in everything if you just keep an open mind. So those are my words of wisdom for this beautiful, unseasonably warm spring-like day. Much love, Claudia

Countdown

2010-11-10T20:07:00.000-05:00

Feeling a lot better. Doing what I do when I'm nervous, which is working like a crazy women, 12-14 hour days this week. I'm trying to get all my client work in good shape for when I'm out.

I can really lose myself in my work. It's not really a tip I would recommend to others so I won't list it as #4, but it sure works for me. I just obsessively work from the minute I get up til the moment I fall into bed. It sure wreaks havoc on my neck and shoulders, though.

Tip #4: Let people help out. Today my 90 ish year old mother in law (you can't imagine how healthy this woman is at her age, it's AMAZING) volunteered to come over to our house at 5:00 a.m. (!) the morning of surgery so she could be here to make sure the kids get up and off to school, fed and relatively fully clothed. I started to protest that it was too early, that she didn't have to, that I was planning on arranging for them to stay over at friends the night before, and then stopped and said, "That would be fabulous, thanks," and sighed a huge sigh of relief. That was the last on my list of things to handle, so I'm now officially done with getting family things arranged for next week. What the hell, she seems to want to help and lord knows it will be a huge help to me, even though it seems a lot to expect of a 90+ year old.

Food is coming, friends will be here to take care of me, cleaning lady is coming twice, kids know what to do, lists of things Mike has to do are being made, dog will be walked, cat will be fed. Once I finish a few more things for work tomorrow, I will be done with all the prep for the next 2 weeks. For a control freak like me, the thought of being unable to do things for 2 whole weeks and letting it all go, seems like a free fall and is kind of exciting in a scary way. And the thought of not being able to get onto a computer for 2 weeks is unfathomable.

At this stage of the game, there's not much else I can do. I'll just hope for good drugs and plan to take advantage of any and all that they offer. Not sure if I'll be able to manage another posting before surgery, and have no idea how long after surgery it will be before I post again, so who knows if I'll be on here for a while. If not, Happy Turkey day to all! Much love, Claudia

Surgery is next week - Nov. 15th

2010-11-08T20:39:00.000-05:00

Here I am saying this is all about tips and hints and how to help people who are going through breast cancer and I'm sitting here feeling like a complete fraud because I'm facing my mastectomy surgery next Monday and am in a total panic about it. Who the heck am I to give tips to other people when here I sit frozen in fear, with a brain that is swirling around in a whirl of thoughts, with no focus?

OK, so Tip #3: Be flexible. Things change, try to go with the flow and don't expect this to be a linear journey.

I need to step back and fill in the blanks here. I'm actually 9 months in on this whole process, so this blog is a little out of sync with what's actually going on and I can't really emotionally toggle back and forth right now, as I'm closing in on my next step which is the biggest, scariest one yet - a bilateral mastectomy on November 15th.

I'm going to try to quickly fill you in on the timeline. On January 19, 2010 I found a lump in my left breast. I went to my OBGYN a few days later and after the examination he said it was probably nothing, but that he wanted me to have a mammogram and ultrasound "just to be sure" and I went for a mammogram the following week. During the mammogram, it quickly became apparent that something was wrong and they did an ultrasound immediately afterwards to view the lump more closely. The procedure took a long time. I knew something was wrong, I knew it wasn't good news, but I still thought that maybe it was a cyst or some type of benign tumor or something. At the end of the visit, after the radiologist reviewed me, she handed me a brochure that said "Breast cancer center" as she told me I needed to have a needle biopsy. I burst out crying, saying "I have a 12 and 14 year old," as if somehow that mattered.

On Feb. 9th, I met with my surgeon who I immediately loved. She diagnosed me right in her office and my surgery was scheduled for 2/18. The original assumption was that my cancer was a Stage 2, because she thought it was about 2.2 centimeters, but she was fairly certain from feeling under my arms, that there was no lymph node engagement. One thing to note: when Mike (my husband, more about him later) and I were in my surgeon's office reviewing my mammo films with her, she showed us that the tumor actually looked like 2 smallish tumors attached to each other with a very thin connecting membrane.

The surgery was a lumpectomy with removal of my Sentinel Lymph node which is the 1st node that fluid goes through (hence "sentinel", like a sentry guard) and if this node has cancerous growth, means your cancer may have migrated elsewhere, which will have an impact on your ultimate treatment. My lymph nodes were cancer free, which was a very good thing. After the lumpectomy, my surgeon said it was one tumor and that she'd removed it all, with 2 cm margins all around (very good, 1 cm is acceptable, so 2 is even better) and she said she was very clear that she "got all of it." She also said that it was smaller and only Stage 1 and everything was fantastic and maybe I wouldn't even need chemo 'cause it was so small and there was no lymph node engagement. So Mike and I sailed out of there on cloud 9, and I was thinking "Cancer, Shmancer, I beat this thing, I am wonder woman, my kids are going to think cancer is nothing to even worry about based on my whole episode" and other such ridiculous thoughts. I was really relieved and kind of thought maybe this whole breast cancer thing wasn't that big of a deal after all, what was I so worried about, yadda, yadda.

Two weeks later, on a Friday afternoon about 5:00, I got a call from my surgeon who said that my team (apparently there is a team of your oncologist, your breast surgeon and your radiologist) had all regrouped after my surgery and the radiologist kept asking why they all saw 2 tumors when the surgeon only removed one. So she said she was losing sleep at night and the only way to resolve it was for me to have an MRI. I was certain there was nothing to be worried about and scheduled the MRI which went along pretty uneventfully (in a later blog I'll give tips & hints on how to survive the claustrophobia of an MRI!), sure that all would be fine. Two or three days later, I got a call from my surgeon which ties back to Tip #3 (be flexible, in case you'd forgotten already). The MRI showed that my surgeon HAD in fact removed the entire lump, however, a new teeny, tiny lump was discovered at the bottom of my left breast (remember the first one that had been removed was at the top).

And that's when everything got really bad. Because it turns out that when you have 2 different tumors that are in different quadrants of your breast, you have to have the entire breast removed. This was the same week I got my Oncotype DX test results back and they were really bad. Oncotype DX is a relatively new test which takes your specific tumor and puts it through a test that looks at about 15-20 markers and they use that to determine whether or not you will benefit from chemo, if you're in the Stage 1 or 2 range. Oncotype has a test scale of 1-50 and I tested at 36, with a 24% chance of distant recurrence. Note: This is a very bad score! Not exactly what I'd had in mind back when I heard it was only Stage 1 and was doing the Happy dance.

Between the 2 tumors, and the high Oncotype results, my life was completely turned upside down. Not only did I now have to have a mastectomy, but I was absolutely going to need chemo, and it was most likely going to be a fairly rigorous course of treatment (not the 2 months max I had thought likely at the beginning). This spring and summer, I went through 5 1/2 months of really creepy chemo which at some point, I may tell you about (although if you're really interested, go to www.caringbridge.org and put in Claudiaschmidt and you can read all the details there). Now, almost 3 months after my chemo, I'm going to have a bilateral mastectomy next week. Yuck. I'm having reconstructive implant surgery. It's all pretty barbaric if you ask me. I had thought the whole reconstruction thing was going to be kind of simple, but believe me, it's very complicated and not for the faint hearted.

I went in today for my pre-op and that's why I'm now in a panic, because it's closing in and I can't pretend it's off in the distance. I tend to compartmentalize things, and have been rigorously NOT thinking about this until the last minute which is the only way I have been able to deal with all of this. The thing is, there are so many lessons to be learned from all this, that I don't want to rush it, but the surgery is so front and center in my mind today that I can't think or write about anything else. Now that I've got the basics of what happened down, I can talk about the surgery for the rest of this week. Enough for today.

Finding a doctor

2010-11-04T19:54:00.001-04:00

I love my OBGYN. He was the brave soul who called me about 15 minutes after I left the mammography center to tell me what the Radiologist thought. He said, "I don't know how much they told you, and I'm sorry if I'm being too blunt, but what you do from here on out will dramatically impact your ultimate outcome, so I'm going to be very direct. The radiologist believes you have breast cancer." I sat down, really hard in a chair, and grabbed a pen and paper and started writing down everything he said. I noticed how cold I was, I started shaking and it was hard to talk, because my voice was stuck in my throat. I felt like I was watching what was happening, and experiencing it, all at the same time. It was a very strange, out of body sensation.

So, here's Tip #2: When in doubt (or in shock) take the advice of the healthcare experts you already know and trust. I certainly didn't know any breast cancer surgeons. I didn't even know about the distinction between a breast cancer surgeon, an oncologist and a radiologist. I was so lucky that my OBGYN gave me the names of the 2 best BC surgeons in NJ and I quickly decided to go with the one who was in my healthcare network. (Side tip - if you find a good referral in network, go to them, as the cost of this stuff is crazy astronomically high. So far, my total cost to date is over $140,000 and I haven't even started the reconstruction process. Thank God for health insurance.)

I used to work on a cause related marketing campaign with the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation back in my days in Marketing at J&J. I would give impassioned speeches to J&J senior management teams about how important early detection was, and how 1 in 8 of the women in the room would someday have breast cancer, as I tried to drum up money to pay for the sponsorship fee. As I sat there taking notes while my OBGYN told me who to contact, and what to do next, my mind literally stopped for a second and I very clearly thought, "Holy shit, I was the 1 in 8 at all those meetings."

Here we go

2010-11-03T19:39:00.000-04:00

This is my first posting on this new site. I've been blogging on caringbridge.org (a nonprofit site for people who are involved in any type of long term illness who want to post their progress and updates for family and friends) and have decided to shift over to a more public forum as I move into this next phase of the process.

Unfortunately, mine is a rather familiar story. I found a lump in my left breast on January 19th, 2010. I read in bed at night, and it was really cold, so I had my arms around my shoulders and grazed something on the top of my left breast. It was a very hard lump - very pronounced - about 1 inch in length and 3/4 inch wide. I knew something was wrong, but I convinced myself it was just a cyst and put it out of my mind until I saw my OBGYN a week later, who thought it was nothing to worry about, but just to be safe, sent me for a mammogram and ultrasound. During the ultrasound, they kept telling me to hum whenever they would highlight a suspicious area. On my right breast (the one that didn't have a lump) when I hummed, the area turned all blue. On my left breast, where the lump was, when I hummed it was red. I knew it was bad. I knew that meant it wasn't liquid and that it was hard tissue. The radiologist came in a little while later and everything after that became a blur as she told me I had to have a biopsy done, and for the first time, she used the word cancer.

I have a 14 year old daughter who was home from school that day and all I could think of was how I was going to get home and into the house without her seeing me crying. There was a lot of hiding for me, in the first phase of this process. I didn't want anyone to know what was going on. I didn't want to tell anyone, until I knew exactly what I was dealing with. I didn't realize how much fear and shame I had associated with illness in general, and especially with cancer, until I was diagnosed. Now that I've been living with it for 9 months, I pretty much tell anyone and everyone about what's going on with me, and have decided to consciously talk about it so that I can help reduce the stigma and fear associated with breast cancer.

However, today is not the day to recount details of all that. Today is the day to determine what this blog will be about. I'm thinking I'll give tips and hints for how to navigate through this crazy medical process. Plus I'll chronicle my story, as I recount how I'm managing to navigate breast cancer, a family that includes 2 amazing teenage kids, a marketing consulting business and a dog named Tucker.

If that interests you, please come on in and join me.

First tip: When going through breast cancer, it helps to write things down. It's helpful because it gets all the madness and worry out of your head and onto the page. It's also helpful for the future, because from the day you're diagnosed until many years later (I'm only a year in, so don't know how long, but expect that it will continue for at least 5-10 years), you're going to need to remember a lot of details about what's happened, so it's a good idea to keep a record of all this stuff.

That's all for today.