Fear of...

Is there ever a point in your life when you begin to feel completely safe? When the trappings of your childhood, your high school heartaches, your college embarrassments, and your adult mistakes all fall away and you can just stand there and feel completely safe?

I’m not talking about breast cancer. I wish it were that simple. I am being photographed on Monday for a book project that a woman is doing on breast cancer survivors, and she asked me to write up my “story”.

Now, every breast cancer survivor has their story. They may modify to suit their audience, the situation they are in when telling it, or how they need to use it. For this situation, I have been asked to look at how I overcame the trial of being diagnosed and going through breast cancer. And my first reaction was “HAVE I overcome it?” And I didn’t mean in the literal sense of being finished with treatment or moving into a place of survivorship. I meant, when I asked myself that, “have I reached a place in my life where I feel safe from harm, from things that will come back and haunt me no matter what they are?”

I have a fear of clowns that goes back to being an impressionable age when the movie “Poltergeist” came out and that darn evil clown attacked the child in her bed. I don’t like loud cracking sudden thunder (or any loud booming surprise noise) and I am pretty sure this goes back to an incident as a baby when my dad and uncle cracked cue sticks down onto a pool table and laughed at how I jumped up in reaction in my chair. I have little fears and mini-breakdowns in anticipations of specific meetings at work only based on how previous meetings have gone (I attended an excellent workshop once about the conversations we have with ourselves in anticipation of things like this – still hasn’t helped though!).

So I wonder, if at the ripe old age of 85 or 90, should I be lucky enough to live that long, will I feel so truly safe that I will not feel intimidation or fear about anything I once feared? Will I no longer shiver slightly when thunder booms? Will I be able to laugh at clowns instead of only see evil lurking in their eyes? Will I think that I overcome those things that once I was certain were out to harm me? Or will I have to wait until I have moved beyond this world and look down upon those things and simply laugh at myself?

Even worse, what if I am killed by a raving lunatic clown with a thunderous voice? Will I then look down from above and say “HA! I was right to be scared!” ?

Tack Trunk Project

In the fall of 2008...ish?...I was serendipitously introduced to Jo Wickline and her lovely stable out at LJL Farm. You see, I rode horses as a teenager. It was more than that. I lived for horses. I began at around 11 and rode until my mom and I moved to the Gulf Coast at 16. I rode at 3C Horsemanship School (which back then was 3C Farm) and was lucky enough to be there when the Cornetts still bred and trained American Morgan horses. I rode their foundation stallion, Shakers Shoofly, as well as his son the World Champion 3C Avenger. I showed Morgans at regional shows, placing as high as 3rd and qualifying for Worlds. But I was also privy to more than the average "equestrienne" student at that age because I was so into it and there so much of my free time. I saw foals born, mares bred, colicky horses tubed, colts gelded, and helped with many young horses at various phases of training. Not all of that was retained. Some of it was just doing what I was told and not completely understanding the motivation or reasoning behind the doing of it. But all of it lay in my heart and the memory felt a little like one of those jewelry boxes with the ballerina that some girls have and women keep around to admire.

So when my mother in law had taken up riding lessons and invited me to come out, I fell in love with Jo, with LJL Farm, and with all the horses out there. Not long afterwards I began riding a Thoroughbred not owned by Jo but kept there. Brite was once a racehorse and had the issues to go with that. He also was more than 15 years old, had been tried out in just about every style, as well as completely not ridden for long stretches at a time. So I had a project. Suffice to say that although he is a sweet, gentle, and soulful horse, and I had a wonderful time with him for about 8 months, things ultimately came to a close last September. I was thrown (if you ride horses, you are going to get thrown!) and hurt and that was the end of me riding Brite.

Once I recovered, Jo offered a gorgeous gelding by the nickname of Snickers up for lease. I jumped at the chance and the rest is now history. I am in love with him. His real name is Del Rey Rhythm, he's 6, 16.1 hands, was raced as a 2 year old, then barrel raced, and then eventually ended up with Jo. I have been working him in some dressage as I train to learn this art myself - interesting way to go about it.

Anyway...as one knows when you own or lease a horse you very quickly acquire a lot of stuff and you need someplace to keep it! Jo has a great tack room at LJL but one also needs a little storage outside of the room. I decided to resurrect an old trunk of mine that Brian and I used as a coffee table.


Actually, as it turns out, this trunk had a history.


Before Brian and I painted it a boring brown with black trim I had used it to store blankets while at college. It's metal and cold and clanky. Not cedar or padded...
My mom used it as a place to store her scuba diving equipment. I remember it always having the smell of saltwater and sand and being slightly musty. But I had no idea that before that, it used to belong to her father, my grandfather. It was his Army trunk from World War II. This explains the Army green color it once was. And the leather handles that have fallen off.

However, now, armed with spray paint, spray gloss, and some beautiful customized decals from the extremely talented Elizabeth Moyer at Moyer Custom Decals.... I have this!

Notice the hot pink, the dressage rider, the sparkly black...yep...it couldn't be more ME if it tried!!!!

Not bad for an old Army trunk :-)

Friendship Introspection, Part II

A look into friendship, for me, could not be complete without a discussion of the friendship I share with my husband, Brian.

Brian and I met through mutual friends while working in restaurants in the late 1990's. We opened a restaurant as part of a training crew, and spent many long hours together. At first, we even hung out as friends, and he actually had a crush on another gal. I had no feelings for him other than friendship, but I do remember watching him do some computer training and thinking there was something special about him...but it was not a ground-shaking, earth-shattering "this is the man I am going to marry!" moment. A bit later, he asked me out and the rest is history. We dated, fell in love, and married.

Some where in between the dating and the marrying, I realized he had also become my best friend. And that friendship became no more apparent than when I was diagnosed with breast cancer upon the return from our honeymoon. Brian had to cease being my husband, to cease being someone with needs and wants, and even dreams. He had to become someone who could support me and listen to me completely unselfishly. He had to become the person who would cook for me, clean up my vomit, and get my prescriptions filled. So very NOT the image of a newlywed husband.

Now he is the person who I want to spend my free time with, who I think about calling first to share a joke or a tidbit with, and who I want to discuss almost any topic with.

Almost :-)

We have our differences, of course. We swim in them and enjoy a good debate now and then. But mostly, it is the long discussions where we are in complete agreement and simply are looking at things through different colored glasses that I find the most enjoyable because I learn so much from him. He's so smart!

And of course there are times when we have the boy/girl disagreements that spring simply from being of opposite genders. The times when I want to turn to someone else and say "Can you believe he just said this?" and have them affirm what a complete doofus he is, and what a complete genius I, obviously, am.

These are the times that are difficult for me. I can't call my husband to complain about my husband! Especially since, being a man, he would try to fix something that simply can't be fixed!

:-)

These are the times when a completely different friend is needed.

Friendship Introspection, Part I

Over the years I have had the pleasure of having moved from one city to another by being the child of a member of the Air Force. Both my mom and my dad (and my step-dad) were active duty at certain points of our lives and so I grew up in never having lived in one place for more than 3 years until we moved to Cincinnati, Ohio and I enrolled in 6th grade at Kings Mills Middle School.

I am also an only child. Being an only child and one who has moved around, I honestly don’t have much recollection of my childhood years, especially school years. I don’t remember my friends from those years because they were so random and scattered. I think not having anyone else to connect those times and places to limits my recall capacity in some way. I remember summers, spent with my grandparents in Marion or Ashland, Ohio; or at a Bible camp a couple times. I remember a friend here and there who I saw every summer because they lived near my grandparents or were at camp. But individual grades or teachers are out of reach for my memory and always have been.

Cincinnati and Kings Mills is where things start to settle into my head better and I have a clear memory of my friends there, my teachers, the classrooms, the fun and the laughs and the things we learned. From there my mom and I moved to Ocean Springs, Mississippi where I would graduate high school and find another set of friends. I have to say that after years of moving around the States, living in the south truly felt like home for me. I don’t know if it was the pace, the beach, the food, the colors, or everything combined but there is a kinship I feel with the Gulf Coast. I only have to read something from there or start to recall a memory out loud and my drawl will kick in (Brian adores it).

I traveled over to Mobile, Alabama to attend college, graduated and stayed on (even after my mom had moved back “up north") there until 1996, when I decided that it was time to move on. I packed up and headed to Columbus, Ohio where I met and married Brian, where we live now.

Beyond school, my friends came from work. My college years (as well as when I moved to Columbus) were filled with friends from the restaurant and bar world. These are great friends who are seriously down for a good time. The memories (and sometimes the lack there of) that I have of concerts, crawls, football games, after parties, and on and on…oh my. Thank goodness the Internet was not around then. Just sayin’.

However, I am very happy to say that because of the Internet I was able to reconnect with and am able to stay connected with many friends with whom I have lost contact through the years. I’m not a good letter writer and I don’t really like to gab on the phone, so email and Facebook have made the world smaller for me.

To be continued . . . 

Time for a face lift...

I've been doing lots of fun things on the YSC Puck Bunnies site, working up a site for the place where I ride, keeping up a few twitter accounts and the YSC Puck Bunnies facebook page...I think it's time I gave MMWR a little facelift!


So - if anyone actually stops by here - sorry if I move your cheese but there will be some switches and I don't know if they will be big or small! But I like change so put on your big-girl panties and deal!

To biopsy or not to biopsy...

That was the question...

My apologies for the sometimes cryptic statuses over the last several weeks: I wasn’t trying to be mysterious or inviting attention. I was venting some frustrations and pain and fear while at the same time trying to keep some information contained. I have friends who are family and family who had events going on last weekend and honestly, with all the unknown aspects of what was going on – there was just no reason to lay it all out here. Had there been more certainty in what was going to happen at any given point, I promise I would have been more open, because I believe in sharing my life in hopes that it teaches something…

The journey of a cancer survivor trying to get answers is never easy and never quick.

I ride horses. I LOVE riding – it helps to keep me sane and is a major way to relieve stress. I am able to communicate with a creature who is larger than life, who is waiting for my commands, and who is thinking for itself. Well, sometimes this works against humans. In September, a horse I had been riding for about a year threw me off. Hard. When I hit the ground I had the wind completely knocked out of me. I remember getting mad because I couldn’t breathe and telling myself to breathe. I sucked in some air and blacked out. When I came too I heard myself groaning and the sound of sirens. I ended up at the emergency room in Delaware, where it was determined I had 3 broken ribs on the right side, a mild concussion, a sprained left shoulder, and some bruising on my right hip. I recovered through the fall and started riding again last month.

Meanwhile, at Christmas, I had a nasty cold, accompanied by some severe pain on my left front chest. This is also the side on which I had my breast cancer. I then had bronchitis with a lovely cough. The pain mellowed and moved from the front to the side, but has remained (along with the cough).

At some point during the holidays, because of the pain, I had a couple chest xrays and both were negative. It was sort of thought that I probably had pleurisy or perhaps coughed myself into a broken rib. But when the pain continued my primary care doc ordered a bone scan.

Now, for those of you that don’t know, a bone scan is used to look for metastatic cancer lesions, but will also show healing spots (like fractures) and other things. I had a “hot spot” show up on left rib and my left shoulder blade. Well, this caused chaos.

My primary care doc and my oncologist both decided these could be metastatic spots because they were so isolated. At this point, of course, I am freaking out too. My left shoulder had not been in pain so for a spot to show up there REALLY concerned me.

I contacted a longtime friend who is also an excellent radiologist, and asked him to pull the films from the Delaware ER (where I went when I was thrown from the horse) to see what he could see. He found a shattered left shoulder blade, which I never knew about, and which explained the hot spot showing up on bone scan, but couldn't see the left ribs to see anything different there.

In advance of the rib biopsy, I was scheduled to have a chest CT. On Saturday, both my radiologist friend and my oncologist called- both felt that the spot on the left rib looked to be a healing fracture and nothing else. The last step would be to gather as many films as possible and get a really big picture of what was going on.

I was scheduled to have the biopsy this morning at 6am.

Yesterday afternoon my oncologist called and the radiologist scheduled to actually do the biopsy recommended against it. The feeling was overwhelming that the spot being seen on the bone scan is definitely a recent break, different from the right side fractures from September, probably not cancer mets, and not worth a biopsy!!

The current plan is to wait and if it doesn't heal or gets worse will rescan in 6-8 weeks, and I am completely fine with this. I have some good pain medications that don’t knock me out, just help with the minor twinges. And perhaps now I can start sleeping again!

So -alls well that ends well!

For now.

As my oncologist said “until the next shit hits the fan.”

*sighs*

Such is life as a survivor.

However, I am always thankful that I am one.

Ho Ho Hold on a Second...

I have a confession to make: last year Brian and I did not put up a Christmas tree. Now, while you pick your jaw up off the floor (or laugh at me for sounding so melodramatic about it) realize that for the previous eight or so years we have had a very firm tradition. As soon as we can after Thanksgiving, we travel out to Granville to the Timbuk Tree Cutting farm and pick out an appropriate tree. We cut it down, struggle to fit it into the car, and bring it home. We also walk around Granville and take in the sights. I love eating at the soda shoppe cafe there, and take comfort in the fact that my maternal grandmother (Gloria Woods "Glo") went to school at Dennison and not much has changed. We stop at the little book store and usually buy a few books. We always marvel at the size of the houses there.

We put the tree up and haul out the decorations from the basement. Each of us has a large collection from years of gifts but mine is particularly special. Every year as far back since I was a baby both Glo and her mom, my great-grandmother (Grace Danner) would give the children ornaments and write the names and the year on them. Not long ago, my mom started giving me Christopher Radko ornaments, including his annual breast cancer awareness ornament. After Brian and I married she started also gifting us the annual White House collection ornament.
Seriously - we have a collection of collectors pieces as well as sentimental, priceless artifacts with history all their own.

And last year we did not put up a tree.

So this year we did.

And when we hauled out the ornament box I opened it to find that mold had invaded the box.

Not just invaded - taken over and won.

As I made my way through layer upon layer of ruined ornaments to pick out the ones which were salvageable, I found my self becoming more and more upset. But why? These were only material artifacts. They cannot replace the memories I have. Many were handcrafted and of felt or wood. Some were even made by Glo or Grace themselves. Certainly in my teen years, I didn't appreciate these gifts. They hold no monetary value and I wouldn't make any money on eBay with them. But as I sat there and lifted out a fabric unicorn that was a gift from Glo and marked my Christmas as a 5 year old and the fabric crumbled with mold and mildew, I crumbled inside. Is this what it's like to grow old? To feel your memory slip away? Neither Grace nor Glo are around to ask them what the ornament meant or why they chose it for me. Maybe that's why I became so upset. The sodden pieces of fabric and mold covered wood were ties to the past that help sustain something, even if it truly doesn't exist anymore.

I salvaged what I could, vowed to purchase new containers and Brian promised to store them in a different area of the basement. When it was all done the tree still sparkled with the multi-colored disorganized glow of a homespun, non-designer tree. And I know that even in the years to come,when we don't put up a tree, I will haul up the ornaments and check on them, and maybe even take them out to adore them one by one and admire the tenuous gifts they hold.

You are invited...

Yesterday morning, one of my Columbus friends passed away from metastatic breast cancer. She was just 36 years old. She was diagnosed at the age of 31, just 3 weeks before she was married. Yolanda discovered the YSC and all that it offered 3 years ago by coming to our annual Conference for Young Survivors on a scholarship. She attended Project LEAD and learned about the science behind breast cancer. She joined other YSC volunteers at our affiliate leadership conference a year ago. She wasn’t just surviving – she was thriving because she found an organization just for her – the YSC. Next Friday night, November 6th, the Central Ohio Affiliate of the YSC will be holding its annual fundraiser, In Living Pink. This gala event provides the necessary funding to allow local young women diagnosed with breast cancer to find supportive programs and services just for them. It brings together families and friends of those living with the disease, and those who have passed, and those who work to fight it. In this month of pinkness ~ this event is unique because it is about Yolanda: young women with breast cancer.

In addition to raising money through raffles and live/silent auctions, we’ll celebrate the accomplishments and contributions of special friends of the YSC:

• Miguel Perez and Ologie
• Dr. Ewa Mrozek
• Jody M. Carrico

Please join us as we gather to honor those who passed yesterday, celebrate with those who thrive today, and raise money to support those who will be diagnosed tomorrow, so they will not be alone.

Heavy hors d’oeuvres ~ Cash bar ~ Live music by 80’s cover band “Six Pack Theory”

DATE: Friday, November 6, 2009
TIME: 7pm – 11pm
LOCATION: Worthington Hills Country Club, 920 Clubview Blvd. S.
COST: $75 per person, $35 for Survivors

To register (or make a donation if you are unable to attend) please click here but you must do so by October 30!!

The words we reach for . . .

As an undergraduate, I majored in cultural anthropology. I loved it. I adored and immediately bonded with the culture concept. I am certain this had to do with having lived in numerous places growing up (Dayton, Washington DC, Okinawa, Cincinnati, the Gulf Coast) and witnessing firsthand how people were diverse from place to place at a young age. I think you can actually feel this diversity internally in their clothes, their mannerisms, and their traditions. So it felt very natural and right to learn that there was a concept and an entire academic discipline completely devoted to the idea of how these things shape people. I was in love! I loved analyzing the microcosms of culture that spring up even between two people. I loved legitimizing the culture of restaurant folks where I worked during college.

And that was where I wrote one of my most fascinating papers. In my linguistics course we had to do a study of a language that was not a formal language. My peers seemed to struggle with this task. I pounced on it and began immersing myself into the role of ethnologist within the Ruby Tuesday’s I was working at (with permission from the staff and management, of course!). For the next two months I audio taped my shifts from various spots throughout the place, and then typed up the transcripts when I got home. I wrote detailed diary accounts of the shifts, trying to analyze the night from an objective viewpoint. On the last week of the class, I typed up an analysis of the “language” used in the restaurant, detailing the special slang, terminology, even the informal curse words, and derogatory slams against customers. I knocked the paper out in about 5 hours, and even included a dictionary. I got a 100 and an A for the course.

Thus began a fascination with words. I love the idea of words and especially how easily we reach for certain, specific ones. We are influenced by that reach by our culture, of course. But even more so, we are influenced by certain things, call them Freudian factors if you will, as well. It’s that reach that I am fascinated by. That stretch for the perfect descriptor to capture the essence of the moment…or that quick nab that elicits that completely wrong reaction and makes us want to hide away.

Equally fascinating to me is the effect that the words of others choosing has on us as individuals, or as groups. Witness so many reactions to calling someone’s death from cancer a “lost battle.” I myself struggle with this. Does it imply that the person did not fight hard enough? Does it not belittle their final days as being nothing but war, instead of peace? One friend has issues with the word “survivor,” a word that many of us embrace lovingly. Many a metastatic person has moved on to “thriver.” Still others question the concept of being labeled at all.

Awhile back I was having a discussion with someone who was struggling with some concepts regarding various organizations and groups. I asked him to describe what he thought they did. He did and the words he used were completely counter to what the mission statements were. I asked him he thought they truly worked against the mission statement or was that simply a slip. He apologized and said that he just was using the words that first came to mind.

Lastly, I will say this. On Sunday, Alison and I were on our bikes riding 60 miles as part of our training for the Tour de Pink for the Young Survival Coalition, to raise money for support for young women with breast cancer. A group of boys in a car drove by and one rolled down his window and yelled at us to “get off the road, you bitches!” Somewhere along the way, this boy has learned that it is perfectly acceptable to talk to women this way. Somewhere, this young man has learned to reach for those words . . .probably to impress his friends.

As I like to say, yet another reason why we still need feminism, and not just the word.

A time to mourn, and a time to dance

Today is Tracy's birthday. She would've been 42.

I've been in a funk all week. Realistically, I think it has to do with overly high expectations and tensions at work, training for the Tour de Pink, and lots of other things . . .

And then sweet Jamie posted her blog update today about it being Tracy's birthday . . .

I keep Tracy's remembrance card from the funeral in my car and I look at it almost every day. I wonder if by some strange act I happened to catch that this week . . . this day . . . was Tracy's birthday. I wonder if subconsciously that fact settled into my thoughts and moods and has driven me into a funk . . .

A poor excuse because in all actuality, I should not mourn the fact that Tracy is not here. That is selfish for me. She is without pain, without cancer, with her hair, her beautiful strong body, and her spirit is free to do what ever the hell she wants to do . .

But most importantly, in my mind's eye, I see Tracy doing the chicken dance. Because that is what she wanted to do most at her son Jason's wedding some day.

She will not get the chance to do that in her mortal form . . .but many of us will . . . on many other occasions with her on our minds and with smiles in our hearts.

We miss you Tracy . . . and now we dance!!

Social Networking...or...How I Found 400 Old Friends, a Few Hundred New Ones, and One New Best One

Last year some time early spring-ish, my dear hubby Brian was telling me all about Facebook. Now, certainly I had heard of it. All the cool kids were on it. But I am not cool. "I'm too old!" I told him. He informed me that many of his peers were on it from high school and they are only a few years younger than me (yeah....I'm a cougar...grrrrrrr). He convinced me and I signed up. Yikes. Addictive that Facebook is. No sooner had I gotten started than I was playing Scrabble until 2am with complete strangers, and taking all sorts of quizzes, and spouting off song lyrics like nobodies business.

But beyond that I found so many old friends who I had long ago lost touch with!

You see, I am an Air Force brat as well as the only child of wonderful mom who was divorced twice before I graduated high school. These are not meant as judgemental statements - they are merely facts. But the clearest memories I have come from the years that started in 6th grade when we moved to Kings Mills (a suburb of Cincinnati). From there, she divorced (this was the 2nd divorce), joined the Air Force and we moved to Ocean Springs, Mississippi. I went on to Mobile, Alabama where I graduated from the University of South Alabama (Go Jags!) and hung out there until 1996 when I moved back up to Ohio, landing in Columbus. So those years can be grouped as such: Kings Mills, Ocean Springs, Mobile, and now.

Up until now, I had completely fallen out of touch with the other three groups. Whether it was through my own nomadic habits of moving on and hating good-byes, built from years of Air Force moves; or whether I left some bad business here and there...the memories were all I had of those times. Sad, eh? Completely my fault. I had tried to track some people down here and there and connected with a few.

But Facebook was like connecting on crack! I could see photos, chat, keep up with daily minutiae, go beyond the general catching up and almost bond again! I reconnected with people I had not talked to in decades (By the way, can I just lament how hard it is to think in terms of decades? It truly sucks!) Soon I was FB'ing like a pro! Brian connected me with other friends and I even connected with some of his friends and some "friends of friends." And that is how I met Alison Lukan - whom I consider a new best friend. Well, not how I met her...I knew her already. But we FB friended and started chatting and it went downhill from there - a whole 'nother post for another day because she deserves a post solely unto herself.

The other day I was stunned and incredibly touched to stop by a friend's FB page to see her father had passed and 45 people had given their sympathy in a mere few hours. And this is not to say that anyone is shirking their duties to attend a funeral or extend a sympathy call to her...but merely to let her know they were thinking of her as soon as she got a chance to check. What a hug that must have felt like.

And then I discovered Twitter. Holy 140 characters of pure sweetness and brevity! It's a multi-taskers dream come true! I am constantly amazed at the new tweople who follow me or interact with me! I am also constantly amazed at the brilliance, sympathy, and sadness that is out there. It is an amazing dose of reality. But just a teaspoon at a time.

There are several other networks out there and I have yet to explore them. I'm sort of waiting to see what will be the real wave. I am totally willing to ride it. I see the beach and it's brilliant white sand and I get the complet picture of this island of social networking and what it has to offer.

I'm Back!

Well- actually - I never went away!
I've been busy with other projects...
Perhaps you have been made aware of the YSC Puck Bunnies? It's the team that consists of myself and Alison Lukan , riding in the Tour de Pink to raise money and awareness about the Young Survival Coalition. We started a website/bog, a twitter, page, and of course have been fundraising like mad-rabbits in order to meet our minimum.
Then, as a part of that, we also organized a hockey game to raise money for the local YSC chapter in Columbus.
And of course now I am in training for the TdP itself.
So, yeah - I'm busy. Lots going on.
But I want to get back into writing because I need this outlet, even if no one reads it :-)

I'm updating my links too - so please make sure to click on those to read up on some of my favorite writers.
Some of them are new:

• Alison has her own blog~ it's this incredible project wherein she writes up about how someone or something has touched her life. It's very personal and thoughtful.
• Several months ago when I was grieving for Tracy Pleva Hill, I mentioned that her sister Jamie had also been recently diagnosed. Jamie has invited us all to join her on her journey and her treatment is ending soon. You can go back and see her evolve to where she is now. The healing will begin!
• Leigh is a person I am acquainted with only professionally through a YSC project and she is smart, funny and a brilliant writer. Through her blog you will want to click on and on and on...
• LeAnn has always been there from the start. Luke and Anabel (A) are growing and gorgeous!
• I love Three Woofs because the writer has the same humor as me for humanizing the thoughts of animals!
• and finally, FUPenguins, puts it all into perspective because, honestly, we take ourselves much too seriously.

So - hopefully you will tune back in and I will have something interesting to say!

Still learning...

The last six weeks or so my life has been a dizzying whirlwind of emotion.

My feet have remained firmly planted on the ground while my heart spirals around grasping at various occurrences at complete contrast with each other, and my mind struggles to make sense of it all and prioritize the nonsense that happens in between. All the while, regular ol' life continues to move by: work inbox continues to fill and the bills continue to arrive in the mail.

I won't bother going backwards and coming forwards because honestly, it's too depressing. Just suffice to say that many friends have passed in too short of a time to be even fathomable. Add to that, that I enjoyed a wonderful birthday celebration and my beloved Columbus Blue Jackets have been enjoying tremendous success....and it has indeed been a whirlwind.

But I need to write about Jody.

I know about cancer. Knowing Jody has taught me about other things.I know I will get details of her story wrong and that is important to note right here at the top. But the gist is this: Jody WAS the epitome of a young woman with breast cancer. She WAS the Young Survival Coalition. Unfortunately, the disease that brought her into this sorority took her life on March 12, 2009.

But let's go backwards with her. I first posted about her back in September when her husband Marty was killed in the line of duty. But my friendship with her began long before then. I knew Jody before I met her. Back in late 2002, early 2003, when I coordinated tumor boards at OhioHealth her case was presented and I remember being struck: she had pointed out a lump in her breast to her doctor who had dismissed it and her as being "too young for breast cancer." These words are still heard much too often by YSC constituents. A little later she developed back pain. Later she went to the emergency room unable to move her right leg. Scans revealed a mass on her right femur as well as her sternum. Biopsies confirmed these as metastatic breast cancer.

I remember thinking "I must meet this girl." She walked into a support group I co-facilitated at Grant Medical Center. She had changed where was getting treated but she had still heard of the group. She was struggling with how to handle the anger at her first doctor. Ultimately she went on tv and told her story. I believe the doctor apologized to her. I am certain he or she will never forget her.

Over the next few years, Jody would come and go as she needed. She was not immediately on chemo and traveled and enjoyed her life as she always had. She became more and more involved with our local YSC chapter. More importantly, a man she had started to date just prior to her diagnosis, but then pushed away, showed back up. And he was not afraid of cancer, Marty Martin was not afraid of anything. In Marty, Jody found her true love and her soulmate. They married, built a farm, started a kennel to raise and train Belgian Malinois . . .

But then the cancer started to make it's vicious voice heard again. Jody was on chemo again and again. She had some surgeries. Still, I started to see her more and more as she became even more involved with YSC Central Ohio. My life shifted all over, but she was there. We exchanged emails and calls and Jody taught me about various subjects unrelated to cancer . . . dogs, vegetables, organic herbs.

And then Saturday September 6th happened. And Marty was gone. In the months since then I have seen Jody a few times, emailed with her a few times, and spoken on the phone a few times; the last of which was last Monday, March 9th. A mutual friend had said that Jody had returned from Chicago and that the outlook was not good, and that Jody was not returning calls or emails. I took a chance and Jody took my call. She wasn't completely honest with me, as Jody was prone to not be in these matters. . .she told me her bilirubin was very high, and that she planned to return to Chicago to formulate a plan, and that I could call her the following week.

On Wednesday, her mother, Nancy, called me and said Jody had turned, and asked if I could help in contacting some YSC friends. I headed to their house and remained there well into the night (many blessings upon the Carrico family for putting up with my presence). Much of my time was spent with Jody, laying with her and sitting with her, along with her family and friends. What an honor it is to be with someone as they are slipping away. What an honor to feel the pain and love in the room. It is truly palpable. It is something I hate to recommend but yet have no regrets about having done.

A gathering of YSC gals came out later and as they left I said my final goodbyes and left also, as Jody held on tenuously. And on Thursday she slipped away peacefully. On Monday, March 16th, we said good-bye, and Jody and Marty are now together again.

Jody's loss has gutted me more than any ones. For the last week, my heart has ached. For the last week, my chest has hurt from crying so much. I have broken down in the shower, in the car, and in Trader Joe's. I have swung from deep depressing sleepless hours to sheer exhaustion. Meanwhile, I have been expected to carry on as per usual at work and deal with whatever antics and drama arise. My priorities and capabilities have been questioned by some. In the midst of everything, I was shown what is truly important to me about other people.

I feel stronger that ever. I have learned so much in the last few weeks as I have gone through this - Jody still teaching :)

As I was dumping about all of this to a good friend recently, she said to me "You are a giver. And now you need to surround yourself with givers. Not takers."

Jody gave me so much.

Welcome Anabel Allgood!

In the true testament to the age-old cliche that "Life goes on" my wonderful, sweet friends, LeAnn and Aaron Allgood brought Anabel Allgood into the world yesterday.

LeAnn and Aaron are not only physicians (so they are brilliant!!), but she is also a powerful ally in the war against breast cancer too. I first met her when she was a mere young 'un in the breast fellowship program at Grant Medical Center in Columbus. This is a really tough program wherein one spends months at a time in several specialties that touch upon breast cancer. And this is after one has already been a doctor and a surgeon for a number of years. We became fast friends and she was just in the early stages of dating Aaron. He was definitely a keeper, too. Completing his family practice residency in the Air Force at Wright Patterson in Dayton and seeing LeAnn whenever he could.

Together with Brian, the four of us spent time together, and our friendship grew as well. LeAnn and Aaron married on the west coast in a private ceremony in a manner that completely befit them - but my cousin Krissy and I helped pick out the dress. And when she completed her residency and went into practice, I will never forget when she came into my office bummed out about having to deal with the administrative side of practicing medicine..."I just want to take care of my patients!"

Then they embarked on this adventure to adopt Lucas from Guatemala...AND move to Arizona...which she chronicles on a blog ...and we all warned them..."You will definitely become pregnant now with all this happening..." and sure enough!!

Life goes on....

Welcome Anabel!!

The Big 4.0

So here it is.

I am turning 40 on this Sunday. I write this in the week prior with so much in my head and heart.

I approach this birthday milestone with what I feel may be more than the usual mixed bag of feelings that most women do when they round 39. I have the usual vanity complex: "omg - how did this happen? when did I turn 40? I don't feel 40! I hope I don't look 40! Am I really old now? Am I still beautiful?"

But being a breast cancer survivor makes 40 ironic as well. At 4o years old, I am now eligible to finally get "screening mammograms." However, as an 8 year survivor, I am long past that. In fact, at my recent annual gyn exam, during the intake with a new-to-me medical assistant, the conversation went something like this:

'Tifani': Sooooo...I see someone is about to turn 40!!! That means you now need to get screening mammograms (does this, I kid you not, with air quotes...turns to computer with my electronic record pulled up)...let's see....have you had a mammogram before?

me: (long pause) Yusssssss

'Tifani': Ah yes...I see it here....hmmmm it looks like they only did one side...I wonder why that is? Did you have some sort of issue? Was everything okay with this mammogram?

me: (staring hard at left hand static column of screen where "personal history significant for breast cancer. status post left mastectomy, chemo, oopherectomy" can be clearly seen, again...long pause) Yusssssss

'Tifani': Huh. Well, I don't know why...well that's certainly strange...it even says return in one year...(and then the pointer finally reaches the left hand column and hovers as Tifani takes it all in) ...OH!... oh...you...have...had...breast cancer? (and she turns to me)

me: (sighs with relief) Yes. And no, you do not need get me appointments for my mammograms. I have that all taken care of. And my oncologist keeps in touch with this doc. So how's about you take my blood pressure and we get this show on the road?

So there's that.

However, I also feel I have a few other layers to add on to it. In fact, a couple weeks ago, I was literally sitting in my office at work, choking back tears of guilt at the thought of celebrating a birthday.

Why?-you might ask?

Well- let's start with the not so obvious: I feel guilty celebrating when the world is in a complete crapper right now, when I have a few friends who have no job, no expendable income to speak of, and no real miracle of relief around the corner. Darfur, Somalia, AIDS, women's rights in 3rd world countries around the world, animals being slaughtered left and right, dogs being murdered simply because they look like a certain breed or had the misfortune to have been raised by idiots. . .
And then of course there is the really obvious: I feel guilt for celebrating a birthday that many of my survivor sisters did not, or will not, live to realize. In fact, in the last year alone I lost 6 friends, the oldest of whom was 39. And currently, I have many who many not make it to this age, or much past it, and literally count the days they do enjoy on this planet.
And then there was this week. I, along with many of my YSC sisters, and her family and friends, buried a woman who was diagnosed also at 32, also in 2001, and who passed away on Friday, February 20th. In the months leading up to her passing I knew it was coming, and yet I pushed it away. Tracy Pleva Hill inspired me with her strength and spirit. And she inspired so many others as well. All she wanted to do was to dance at her son's wedding and this has been taken form her. One of the other YSC Board members said that she cannot imagine attending the upcoming conference without Tracy there. I can't either. As I sit here and type this, a little more than 24 hours after her funeral, I still can't think of her and not catch my breath. I can't think of her family and their pain and just make it want to stop . . .

This, I suppose, is the ultimate "survivors' guilt," eh?

Quite the contrary to all of this, nearly 8 years ago (it will be 8 years on April 12th, 2009) when I was diagnosed, I am quite certain I never thought I would reach 40. On the day I was crying in my office a friend tried to console me by saying that certainly any of my friends, alive or dead, would want me to celebrate and not waste tears on them. I know Tracy would definitely want me to do that. But it offers little solace. This doesn't lessen the guilt. This doesn't lessen the terrible aching in my heart. This doesn't make me want to celebrate any more. It just all seems wrong. My party should include them . . . not be held in spite of their loss . . .

It's not that I don't want to acknowledge my birthday. Brian has planned a small dinner with a few close friends, followed but what I am sure will be me getting quite drunk. But I do not feel comfortable with either a large celebration, nor especially with any sort of mocking of this age.

This age is not to be mocked. This life is not to be mocked.

This disease is certainly not to be mocked for it is too strong to underestimate.

For all my friends who will not celebrating a birthday this year. . . I will pour some scotch into the ground . . . Happy Birthday to you . . .

The 9th Annual Conference for Young Survivors!

I can't believe it has been 5 years since I first attended this conference!!
Brian and I, having never talked to another young woman living with this disease (other than my family friend Vicki Speakman!!) walked into a room full of over 450 other young women and their supporters just like us. It was so incredible, so powerful and overwhelming. We were still struggling to cope with being less than one year from our wedding, less than one year from my diagnosis, less than one year from the loss of my grandmother, less than one year from the loss of so much . . .
And also the begining of so much!
The conference is where I met Jill Hymer and we decided to form the Ohio Chapter of the Young Survival Coalition (which she now chairs!). The conference is where I first met all the amazing and engaging young women on the Board who founded this incredible organization - of which I am so honored and blessed to be Vice-President of! The conference is where I began to realize that some of the most powerful warriors in this battle aren't even survivors, but legislators, advocators, husbands, partners, lovers, family, and friends. The conference is what started it all!
This year, over 1,000 attendees are expected!!
If you know someone who was diagnosed with breast cancer at a young age, no matter her age now, I urge you to let her know about this amazing conference!! Attending solo is encouraged and rewarding! She will come away with powerful connections!
Also, make sure she knows about the Young Survival Coalition - the premier organization focused on the needs of young women with breast cancer.
And if you don't know anyone - consider making a small monetary donation -Scholarships for this year's conference are already depleted - perhaps you can help with next years?? $5 can pay for the cost of breakfast for a conference attendee!! at the YSC site!!
Peace in this new year!

Taking inventory…

The last four months cancer has had its fun . . . wreaking havoc on those in my life:

A close friend, living with metastatic breast cancer, lost her husband in the line of duty.
A close friend was given the news that her sister was diagnose with a rare form of untreatable adenoid carcinoma with a very low survival rate.
Another friend, also living with metastatic breast cancer, has been fighting for her life on a respirator.
Another friend, whose sister is in treatment, was given word that her suspicious biopsy is almost certainly cancer.
Yet another friend, who was only diagnosed with metastatic disease a few years ago, has had her whole treatment plan yet again changed.
Still another friend, also with metastatic breast cancer, who I had known “virtually” for some time, but only met in person this summer, passed away the morning after being told she had 3 months to live…

All of these friends are so young…all either under 40 now or when they were first diagnosed…

But there are other signs that cancer cannot touch everything in us.
There are signs that it cannot seep into our very pores and poison our souls…

One sister survivor was recently given the news that she is not showing any evidence of the disease that has been residing in her body for years.
Another friend is nurturing a pregnancy conceived after chemo, without ovaries!
Still another friend ~ not a survivor but a warrior as she is a breast surgeon! ~ not only finally brought home her beautiful adopted son but is now also expecting!
And that friend fighting for her life on a respirator?…she is opening her eyes and fighting her way back to us!
And the girl who was given her suspicious biopsy results?...she is going to fight like hell because she will not be alone!

So fuck off cancer . . . you picked the wrong people to mess with!

All the things I am thankful for...

I am thankful for. . .

1. My husband: the fact that he builds a fire every night, takes out the dogs before bed, and makes coffee every morning. I am so thankful that he takes care of me in all the small ways.
2. My dogs: they are sweet, nuzzling, warm, wiggly, smelly, kind, funny, smart, and teach me something new all the time. They have made my life better.
3. Cancer: weird huh? well it made me change so many things and made me a braver person.
4. Hockey!: the NHL Arena has been a place for me to learn and grow as a fan and I have found new friends! And I am now an official Columbus Blue Jackets nerd!
5. My car: again . . . weird . . . but it's cute and I love it and it is almost paid off!
6. My iPhone: okay this is insanely materialistic of me - sorry!
7. That Barack Obama won the election. 'nuff said.

I hope that the coming year brings peace and change. I hope that sanity rules and love reigns supreme. I hope that intelligence and strength are not looked upon as conflicting sides of the story.

And I hope that with each day we are closer to losing fewer and fewer young women to breast cancer.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Another great loss

This year has been a series of ups and downs. The downs have been devastatingly low.
Yesterday I was informed that a friend and fellow survivor, Heather Pick, had passed away at the tender age of 38 from metastatic breast cancer.
She had served on the inaugural Executive Council for the Central Ohio Chapter of the Young Survival Coalition. She served as our honorary co-chair for the first In Living Pink Fundraiser. I will never forget that she showed up without her wig (she almost never appeared in public without a wig) but had not brought her family members. "I didn't know family could come!" We were so amused by her humbleness. She did not want to participate with the YSC as a supportive person, rather she wanted to help us reach more young women through her media contacts and by providing us opportunities to get stories out about the YSC.
Heather als reported on innovative discoveries at Childrens Hospital and the Columbus Zoo. She also lent her beautiful voice a recording of music to benefit cancer research. She did so much in so short of a time.
The Columbus Dispatch did a nice write up today and I am sure there will be more to come. But I will leave you with these words of hers:

Don’t wait. Give someone an unexpected gift
just because you appreciate them.
Take your own loved ones
to a cherished community treasure
or try something completely new.

How old are you in survivor years?

I am preparing to participate in a few things over the next two weeks: participating on the 22nd in an Ohio for Obama cancer forum at OSU (not shure where yet!!) with sister-survivor Cynthia Nixon (yes - of Sex and the City!); appearing the next day on Gail Hogan's Columbus Daytime show to discuss breast cancer in young women; and then the following week traveling to Meigs County to do a presentation on intimacy after breast cancer.
As part of these talks, and in my bio, I always say that I am X number of years out. I find it fascinating how I (and many other survivors) tend to regress in maturity when it comes to telling our survivor years. My 'cancerversarry' is April 12th, 2001. So I am almost 8 years out. 7 years and 8 months to be exact. I would never say I am 7 years out now that I am so close to 8 years. I am 39 years old (ack!). But I would NEVER say I am 'almost 40' or 39 years and 7 months. Hells to the no!! I cling to that younger number with a viciousness found only in wild tigers! By the same token (or opposite token), I reach towards the "almost 8 years out" verbiage with vigor! I know, in my heart, that it doesn't really matter. That I could be 20 years out (my lips to God's ears!) and be diagnosed with a new breast cancer, or a metastic lesion...or worse. I know that in reality the further I get away from my original diagnosis I am not moving closer to a cure. Rather it is more likely that I am moving closer to my next diagnosis.