I can't complain any more than usual

I've Moved

2010-03-25T22:12:00.000-07:00

Today was moving day. I packed up my blog posts and moved them over to Wordpress. Nothing against Blogger or anything... but Mothers With Cancer is over at Wordpress, too. Plus there are some pretty nifty things one can do with a blog in that other neighborhood. Which, of course, means I'm still reconstructing things a bit. But it's presentable... So drop on by...

So I've moved my diggs. I can now be found at http://imstell.wordpress.com. Don't forget to bookmark the new site.

The Dream

2010-03-23T12:11:00.000-07:00

I'm still in the throes of the dream I had this morning. It was like a combination of every bad dream I've ever had. I was a child. I was an adult. My mom was there. And my sister. And my Dad. At times my boys. Even my BFF was featured in a phone call.

There was a tornado. I was at my mom's with her and my sister. We watched the sky storm and clouds gather in amazing black, greys and purples. The Weather Channel was on. I was in my mom's house calling updates through the window while she and my sister corraled the animals. My boys were running in and out of the livingroom "Mom! Mom! Moming" me to death. The Weather Channel showed two storms combining. Outside the funnel began dropping. Inside the child me, my sister and mom all huddled in the bathtub together. When the tornado was gone we went looking for my Dad as if he were a wayward puppy. We found him on the back deck uninjured but no less dead. And I knew it would happen like that.

In the aftermath of the tornado there were huge fires. Magically, the three of us and Ben were at a favorite steak house in my hometown that had caught fire. We broke in to get the dogs out. ??? I found a steno pad with the owner's number and was busily calling him when an angry man started berating me for being on the phone. I cursed at him and kept on with my business. There was a lot of frenzied activity and fire putting out going on. Soon I'm about a quarter mile away looking on the scene. The restaurant is in the middle of a field of ripened hay looking very much like 3 red barns clustered together. There was singeing around the edges and vibrant pastoral colors. The adult me felt a very physical craving for my camera.

Then the scene changed to one in the center of town. Everywhere there was devestation. All over were the dull greys and browns of collapsed buildings and flying dust surrounded by the vibrant green hills of springtime. I was in a 50s style diner that I think was made out of a bus or train car or something. I was on the phone with my BFF retelling the events of the night/morning. I don't know where my mom was but my sister was outside in the street talking with the milling people. As I walked to the steps leading outside I glanced over the hills. There I saw a jumbo jet flying very low and very upside down right towards us.

The dream shifts into that frantic slow motion disaster speed that only dreams and real-life tragedies can somehow manage. I dropped my cell and began looking for my sister. I jumped clear of the diner as it is demolished in a fireball of plane and screaming people. My sister is doing that looking-over- the-shoulder backwards run from the movies. She's trying to outrun a crashing jet! I scream to her to run to the side! Like a riptide!!!! Get. Out. Of. It's. Way!!!!!

And we're fine. But the world is a flaming, smoking, disaster. And I need to find a bathroom.

I don't think it takes a genius to see the symbolism there. Tragedy is surrounding me. My friend Sarah is suffering a recurrence of her breast cancer. Susan is waiting on her biopsy results after a bad scan. My own yearly scan is this morning. Everyone I know is in financial turmoil. There is devestation everywhere I look these days. And beauty. Undeniable beauty that I feel a physical need to document. And we come out on the other side. We're fine.

I'll hold on to that. We'll be fine.

I do wonder where my husband was, though...

Soft Sand, Stinky Seaweed and a Butterfly

2010-03-20T20:47:00.000-07:00

I finally made it passed the six mile mental block on my walk today despite Daddy-o's lame advice and kid duty. I did manage 6.25 miles but I had to work at it.

I've had a couple friends tell me I should try walking out by the sand spit. Daddy-o took Ben out there with his friends a few weekends ago, too. Even he was singing the area's praises. So last night I mapped out a nice 6.5 mile walk from the house to the sand spit, around in circles a few times for good measure and back home again. Unfortunately, I had a 1.5 hour time limit because the boys had batting practice.

So I headed out this morning about 9:30. It was beautiful and sunny. I ran into one of the school moms and stopped to chat (for a tad too long) and lost about 20 minutes. Yikes! I picked up the pace and hoofed it through the golf course to the trail head where I soft sand.

Ugh. I specifically asked Daddy-o if the trail was sand or not. He told me to walk out there and see for myself. Humph! I don't necessarily mind soft sand... if I'm on a leisurely stroll or actually, you know, on the beach. I was not thrilled to wade in for my morning power walk. I sucked it up, though, already planning on cutting my walk short at the nearest, pride-sparing opportunity. Just to add insult to injury, the fog was rolling in thick.

What's the big deal about soft sand? It's a better workout as Daddy-o was so happy to tell me. I, however, am working for endurance and distance, not strength or whatever one gets from a "better workout". Plus, the going is much, much slower in loose sand than hard pack and I had a deadline this morning. Worst of all, though, is the fine, silty sand that works it's way through your shoes and socks and nestles in between your toes. Yech.

Anyway, I sucked it up and turned back to civilization just as soon as possible. Turns out there is some beauty out there after all. The trail meandered into a grove of Eucalyptus trees that were peaceful and full of soft morning light.

There were two rope swings in there that I took Danny back to in the afternoon.

And some beautiful giant Eucalyptus... And since I've discovered PhotoShop Actions this week I'm going to show you the same picture with at few different actions... just to show how different it can make a picture appear...

The second one is my personal favorite.

After I hit the pavement again I made much better time but was dangerously late so I walked to the ball field to meet Daddy-o and the boys. He cut me loose for the rest of the walk. Yeah! Now I just had to make up some mileage.

I took a meandering route my the way back bay where I was bummed to be assaulted my the smell of low tide. Stinky seaweed. Yum. I was also privileged to find a tiny Monarch Butterfly sitting on the trail. It let me hold it on my finger and check it out for the briefest of minutes before it fluttered on it's way. Simply beautiful. There were lots of these poppies everywhere too.

All in all, a great walk, stinky seaweed and soft sand aside.

Strutus Interuptus

2010-03-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

Have I told you lately how much I'm enjoying my training for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer? There are so many reasons to love it I can't list them all here. I am getting loads of quality Me Time and a giant infusion of upbeat Disco, 80s and Lovely Lady Lumps/Baby Got Backish music from my iPod. Plus there's the whole pre-summer tan thing I have going on... which, by the way, is good for me because Vitamin D is good for me and every other woman in the world. Did you know there is an association with breast cancer and low Vitamin D levels??? Just sayin'. There's also the photo opportunities. Oh, the photo opportunities!!! That's a post or twenty in and of itself. Plus, I'm outside. In nature. With wildlife. I'm appreciating this in ways I never have before.

Every day I am bombarded by nature: blooming wildflowers, budding trees, nest-building birds of every feather and largish rodents by the many, many dozens. I routinely see rabbits and ground squirrels in a panic-induced sprint at the mere sight of me walking their way. It's laughable, really, because if I'm so all fired scary, why do they always run completely across my path to get away from me? Also, they're just too Chip n' Dale-y not to laugh out loud when I see them.

Today my walk took me by two different gangs of turkeys. Apparently it's wild turkey breeding season around here because each gang had 4-6 females and a single male trying mightily to impress them. I wish I'd had my camera. The males were really strutting their stuff. Their body feathers were all puffed up making their heads look all itty bitty. Their giant fan-like tails were proudly unfurled while they each sauntered up and down the roadway in front of the females. The females, on the other hand, were busy scratching at the ground looking for whatever it is turkeys eat.

I found it immensely amusing to see the males slowly shrink back down to size as I approached. I passed each gang twice. Every time it was the same thing... strutting guy-turkey showing his wares, hens busy with dinner, irritated male glares while suffering from visible shrinkage and slinks off the road. It was strutus interuptus at its finest.

Whatever

2010-03-16T22:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a big day. I went to observe a kindergarten class on Danny's behalf. A Special Education Kindergarten.

I'm always amazed when something offends or bothers me because I'm usually so whatever about stuff. The first time his Orientation & Mobility therapist brought a cane for Danny to use he paused before showing it to him. He looked to me and asked if I was ok with it -- the cane. I didn't understand what he was asking at first. I was too busy being excited for Danny to examine my own emotions. I hear a lot of parents get a little freaked out when they see their little ones using a cane for the first time. Meh. I wouldn't know.

There's a possibility Danny is somewhere on the Autism Spectrum. It's never bothered me. Whatever. He is who he is and a label on his quirkiness isn't going to change anything. What it may do, though, is identify other tools we need to provide for him to be successful.

We have always planned on mainstreaming Danny. In theory, he's just like every other kid only he can't see. Why make any more concessions to his disability than we have to? Life moves fast so try to keep up. Blah, blah. blah. Daddy-o and I don't cut either of the boys much slack in the expectation department. Sink or swim. Right. Right?

This school year it has been particularly difficult to find an aide (para-educator) for Danny. They spent a good amount of time interviewing before school started. When I finally got the gal's name I Googled her for some reason. What came up was less than comforting. There were at least a dozen sites where she professed to be a Wiccan into Paganism and the Occult. I totally lost my cool. Turns out our school district doesn't Google their potential applicants. We're on our third aide since September. The Wiccan didn't make it out of the gate so we had the Para-Educator's educator working with Danny until they found someone else. That someone else was a guy who had been aiding in the preschool class for a while. He was enthusiastic but had no formal para-education training. Danny loved him. Turns out it was because he was an enabler that didn't challenge Danny at all. Which brings us to our current aide. I'm not a fan. Danny seems fairly ambivalent. She strikes me as a clock-puncher. She has no investment in Danny's successes or failures.

Danny has done a good amount of backsliding as a result of all this instability. Our case workers have been urging us toward placing him at their main school - the one for special needs kids. That translates two ways to me. Sending him to their school would relieve them of hiring someone specifically for Danny. Also, the more kids in their school program the easier to justify it's existence. It would also mean a long bus ride each way because it's in the neighboring town. Seems like a little much for a 4 year old. Plus it wouldn't be very convenient for us. I guess the whole Special Ed thing was a big component in my resistance as well. Hey, no one is more surprised than me.

When push came to shove and The Kindergarten Decision had to be made, I had to acknowledge that Danny is just not ready. Not for mainstream kindergarten, anyway. But I didn't want to stick him back at the State Preschool again next year The class makeup could be anything from mostly 4 year olds to all 3 year olds or somewhere in between with Danny 5 going on 6.

So I went to check out the Special Ed Kindergarten yesterday. There class consisted of 6 kids of varying abilities... heavily weighted towards the Spectrum side of things. Initially, I cringed to hear the lack of verbal skills from 5 year olds in the second half of kindergarten. Surely, Danny doesn't belong here, I thought. But then I saw 1 teacher and 3 para-educators to 6 kids. And saw the required peer interaction to earn free play time. I talked to the teacher about how they spend inordinate amounts of time with each new activity or event; practicing and perfecting each routine until all are confident in their ability to perform. I wondered how often Danny feels drug through life... a traveler on a journey he has no control over. And I realized that was the place for him.

In August my son will start Kindergarten in a Special Education class. He'll be surrounded by children with Autism and mental and physical disabilities. They will be his friends. He will thrive. And I will be a proud Mom. I'll be all whatever again for the next big thing.

Steaming

2010-03-13T11:04:00.000-08:00

Is it just me or has 2010 been brutal? I haven't talked to a family yet that hasn't had life hand them anything but a steaming pile of doggy doo since January.

My Grammy has been to doctor after doctor trying to find out if she actually has a tumor in her brain that's causing her to fall all the time or if she's got something else wrong instead. Meanwhile my 81 year old Grandpa Jess, who had a massive stroke a year ago at Christmas, has developed pneumonia. Did I mention my Grammy is his primary caregiver? And just to add insult to injury, my Aunt who helps my Grandfolks out on a daily basis was given scabies by her dog who likes to play with the neighbor's chickens.

And that's just my genetic family. My other families haven't gone unscathed...

My bff and her family are going through a traumatic divorce and the unexpected death of a beloved family friend.

A girlfriend of mine was brutally beaten by a mutual guy friend who turned out to be no one I want to be friends with.

Worst of all, my Mothers With Cancer family has not gone unscathed. Sarah from Spruce Hill has suffered a recurrence of her breast cancer. It's metastasized to her chest wall, hip and lungs. Now, this morning I find out that Toddler Planet's Susan just got the results of her latest scan. Not good. She has some lymph nodes on her scan making like light bulbs... just calling attention to themselves. It sucks when you have to hope for a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad infection causing problems because the other options are completely unacceptable.

Superstitious as it is, I've always known these types of things to come in threes. So now I find myself holding my breath waiting for the other recurrence shoe to drop. And me with my own scans coming up this month...

I've had a heart-to-heart with God. I know he has a plan. I know "that all things work together for good to them that love God". But I am struggling mightily with his means just now.

Deep breath. I've been tossing around symbolic apparel ideas for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in July. All of this has led me to a decision. I am now shopping for some pink boot covers. The kind you wear over your own shoes with your Halloween costume. They will be my Kick Cancer's Ass Boots! After all, boots are made for walking!!!!!

It's the least I can do. Literally.

Titleless in the Blogosphere

2010-03-02T19:47:00.000-08:00

So, you may have heard that the Chilean Earthquake rocked the world. Literally. Andreas Reitbrock, a professor of Earth Sciences at the U.K.’s Liverpool University, says that Santa Maria Island near Concepcion, Chile may have been raised as much as six feet by the 8.8 quake! Yowza!!!! And that's not all! According to NASA, the quake may have permanently altered the Earth's axis resulting in a loss of 1.26 microseconds each day. More lost sleep for us poor parents. We just can't catch a break. sigh...

I had the best laugh I've had in weeks while reading up about the quake-induced time crunch. There are some very witty people out there in Webland and they are all commenting on news articles. Here are a few of my favorites:

Octothorp says:
"And the planet's axis may have moved three inches.
Insert nightclubby short penis and/or erectile dysfunction joke [here]."

Fadviral brings it home with:
"Great. My phone's GPS already reckoned I was half a mile away from wherever I was actually located. Now it's half a mile plus three inches. :/"

Tipsy Hausfrau endears herself to me forever with:
"See? I totally don't have time to go to the gym now. Can't argue with science."

HowardRoarkLaughed only made me smirk with his:
"Same thing happened the last time Kirstie Alley fell out of bed."

Claire Buoyant gets extra points for the political tie in:
"So where does this put the Axis of Evil now?"

TurdBlossum:
"Damn it! Just when the days were starting to get longer too!"      (Seriously!)

Also, TurdBlossum? Really?

Back in time

2010-03-01T16:32:00.000-08:00

This foot bridge leads back in time nearly two hundred years to La Purisima Mission as it was in the 1820's.

What you can't see from this picture is how muddy the creek below the bridge is despite all the rain we've had this year. I found this surprising as every other waterway in the area is running like gangbusters - even the dry ones. It's easy to see why the Missions were made of adobe bricks. The creek bed is thick with a sucking, muddy clay. It practically looks like bricks already.

La Purisima is quite picturesque. I expected a Mission more typical of the others I've seen here in California: a main church with attached rooms and perhaps an outbuilding or two. Instead, I found an entire town of sorts, complete with a Chumash Indian village.

I was there as a chaperon on a field trip with Ben's 4th grade class. Seeing how much of the educational stuff was outside on the grounds I am particularly glad the rain held off until the evening.

This is the Lavanderia. The Chumash enjoyed bathing and used this lavanderia to wash their clothes and bathe. The kids pointed out the face with the water spout in it's mouth. I find that a little creepy.

La Purisima was a fully functional township. There were shops selling the wares of the weavers, potters, candle makers, and leather workers as well as a blacksmith shop and livestock production. It was really neat to have the docents dressed in period to really bring history to life for the kids (and me!!!).

For myself, I was fascinated by the craftmanship. Each heavy wooden door was hand made and unique as were the locks. There is so much beauty in handmade items.

Mostly, I reveled in the bucolic setting unmarred by modern technology. There wasn't a tractor or truck in sight... Here are some of my favorite views.

Quiet solitude. Perfect for meditation...

The main church and cemetery. Very anti-climactic after seeing the whole property. But still lovely.

Here's my artsy shot. I loved how the bull's horns framed the outbuildings. And the sky just seemed so dramatic. Very wild-westy.

My favorite shot...

My best foot forward

2010-02-01T22:22:00.000-08:00

Finally! My Avon Walk for Breast Cancer fundraising page is up and running!!! I've already started my training. Whoa Boy is that a lifestyle change for me!!! Instead of spending my weekend wrangling the kids and leisurely surfing the internet I walked close to 9 miles. I have to admit, it felt pretty damn good!

Here are some pictures I took along the way...

I took the boys with me for a 4 mile walk up and down the

hills of Los Osos on Saturday. Danny managed to peddle

his Big Wheel-type tricycle a whopping 2.3 miles before

I acquired a jogging stroller from a friend for the trip home!

It was a picture perfect day on the Central Coast!

Sunday I avoided the up and down streets in town

and headed to Morro Rock to walk the nice flat beach instead!

Of course, I forgot to check my tide book before I left the house

and found very little beach to walk on due to the high surf!

Consequently, I spent a fair amount of time in the dunes as well.

Still, 4.87 miles hardly seemed like work at all when

the view is so awesome!

I felt a bit like a frolicking dog chasing all the tiny birds

off the beach. This is a Least Sand Piper. The birder

I asked said "it's the least amount of sand piper you can get".

Ha!!!

This is workout me - a self-portrait.

Visual proof of my passing. My Sunday walk began

waaaay down there at the Rock.

I'm thankful I didn't run across this next group of birds on one of my training walks.

It would have been a bad omen, for sure!!!

Turkey Vultures sunning themselves in the morning light.

I'm feeling fit. It seems ridiculous after only 3 training walks but it's true. Just like making it through cancer treatments, it seems much of training and fitness is mind over matter.

If you feel like helping me meet my $1800 fundraising obligation you can click the link below. It will take you directly to my fundraising site. Or, if you're more comfortable writing a check just email me or leave a comment and I'll be overjoyed to send you the forms you need!!!

Thanks in advance for your support!!!!!

DONATE HERE

Singing in the rain

2010-01-26T09:24:00.000-08:00

All last week the west coast was pounded by torrential rains necessitating indoor activities. Naturally, Danny turned to his go-to pasttime... singing. His singing is often accompanied by a myriad of reluctant rythmic instruments. . Never mind that Santa hauled a drum set all over the world on Christmas Eve, the wall heater is still his current favorite. Kids. Also, someone should never have gotten him a Magic Microphone for Christmas... Thanks, Santa!

Just because I am proud of Danny's well-rounded musical taste I will regale you with a list of some of his rainy day favorites.

You're So Vain by Carly Simon
Crazy Train by Ozzy Osborne
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
The Star Spangled Banner
The Donkey Song by Sugar Chile Robinson
Tomorrow from Annie
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da by the Beatles

Yes. He actually sings Ozzy songs... Jealous much?

Walk the walk

2010-01-12T19:59:00.000-08:00

I'm going to walk. I've been doing it most of my life so how hard can it really be? I walk on my breaks at work (when I remember to take them). I walk with the kids if they beg me long enough. I walk across parking lots on my way to one store or another. Easy peasy.

On July 10th and 11th I'll be walking with a purpose. I'll be in San Francisco walking the walk... the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer! It's a mere 39 miles across the City By The Bay. Thirty. Nine. You heard me! Ack!!!!!

I am excited to get started! I'm going to train! I'm going to work hard. I'm going to raise tons of money for a great cause!!! I'm going to do my part to ensure that no one else has to lose their parts ever again!!!!

I hope I can make it. I hope I can raise enough money. $1800 is a lot of money! I'm thinking of forming a team. Maybe Team Mothers with Cancer or Team Class of 84! Maybe something else entirely.

Will you walk with me? Will you help fight the good fight? Will you walk for Andrea Collins-Smith, Cancer Visa, and One Mother With Cancer who lost their battles against the beast? Will you donate for the many, many moms over at Mothers With Cancer that have been victimized by breast cancer?

Will you walk for me?

A decade ago... a decade to go.

2009-12-31T12:45:00.000-08:00

I sit here today realizing that this day is the last of a decade that has changed my life profoundly. So profoundly, in fact, that the me of the last decade almost seems to be someone else entirely.

I eagerly awaited this decade past as The Begining of my "life". Ten years ago I was one year into my marriage and newly pregnant. I looked forward to a New Years Eve which would fulfill expectations set in 1982 by (the artist who would become formerly known as) Prince when he told us to "party like it's 1999!" Has any New Years Eve ever been anticipated longer??? I was fresh into a new field of Government work, living in our newly purchased home. The changes forthcoming in the 2000s were unknown and exciting!

Now, a decade later, I am an "old married woman". I am the mother of two children who both define and and give meaning to my life. They also limit the life I ~~could~~ would have. Our previously new house is now a home cluttered with the comforts and debris of a life too busy. I have an expertise in my job that only comes from longevity and have trained every co-worker in my office.

My life has traveled a path in the last ten years I never could have anticipated. Motherhood has proved more challenging and satisfying than I would have believed possible. I have one child with ADHD and another who is blind and most likely autistic. I marvel at the naive view I'd had of parenthood. My life alternates between the whirlwind of activity that is work, school, sports, life and the frustrating slowness that surrounds a child with handicaps. I have long since lost the surety of knowing my path and content myself with the newness of the changing scenery instead.

I leave the "naughties" as a Breast Cancer Survivor. This decade that ushered me into motherhood also brought me face to face with death. I discovered reserves of strength within myself I never would have thought possible. I also found a deep and abiding faith and peacefulness that fortifies me today.

Ten years ago I looked to this past decade as a fulfilment of the promise of my life. Today I see it as but an introduction. The stage has been set, the players cast. I can't wait to turn the page and read my script!

Bring on the next decade! Surprise me! Amaze me! Shock me! I can't be disappointed for time has given me life and life has given me more time. I am anxious to see the me of 2019. It is my only wish for the next decade.

Ocean or Mountains?

2009-11-25T23:37:00.000-08:00

Which one do you prefer? Which one rejuvenates you - replenishes your soul?

I ask because the answer is often not what I presumed.

I live on the coast. I love it. I can sit in the sand or in my car and watch the waves break for hours while I ponder God's awesome power, the immensity of the universe and my place in it. The ocean fills me with wonder. I revel in it's ever-changing beauty. No two waves are alike. No two sunsets the same color. Foam patterns on the beach are different with each receding wave. I meditate on infinite possibility.

But it's the mountains that heal me. There's just something about being surrounded by trees that fills me with a serenity I cannot tap into elsewhere.

The sound of a creek waters flowing over rocks and swirling around a sandbar is soothing music to my ears.

I spent the day in the mountains yesterday. I just drove by myself for five hours. The higher the altitude became the lighter I felt.

I stopped by Burney Falls. It was cold and damp from the mist and the late afternoon shadows. But the smell was beyond Heavenly. Pine. Moss. Damp earth. Deep cleansing breaths.

Little traffic. Fading sunlight. Trees straight and tall on all sides. Majesty above them.

Peace. Completeness. Inspiration. Quiet. Solitude. Wellness. Integrity.

All these words and more define the mountains for me.

I came home refreshed and ready for another round of parenting, working, struggling to survive.

Which gives you that renewal? Ocean or Mountains?

I love being right!!!

2009-11-13T12:02:00.000-08:00

Pardon me while I gloat... I do so love to be right.

I've been telling all my Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC) friends and myself that the current survival statistics don't apply to us (those diagnosed since 2001). Why? Well because back in the day the doctors used to treat IBC just like every other breast cancer out there instead of the nasty variety it really is. Typical treatment used to be diagnosis, mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiation. All of this followed relatively quickly by recurrence. Lovely.

According to the National Cancer Institute, women diagnosed with IBC between 1998-2001had a 5-year relative survival rate of 40% (it used to be 25%!) compared to roughly 87% for other breast cancers. But that was before neoadjuvant chemotherapy. Neoadjuvant is chemo given before surgery. This type of treatment makes all the difference in the world to an IBC patient!

Inflammatory breast cancer's symptoms, which are listed below, cause the breast to grow really large, really quickly. In my own experience my affected breast grew to near double the size of the other (which was no small size to begin with) within about 2 months time. Also, it's quite the non-specific cancer cell - more of a general inflammation not an actual tumor. All this makes it very difficult, if not impossible, to get clean borders during a mastectomy. So the nasty little cells would come back to visit quickly and were not please about being uncerimoniously evicted in the first place.

Here are general symptoms of IBC:

A breast that appears discolored (red, purple, pink or bruised);
A tender, firm and enlarged breast (sometimes overnight);
A warm feeling in the breast (or may feel hot/warm to the touch);
Persistent itching of the breast (not relieved with cream or salve);
Shooting or stabbing pain;
Ridged or dimpled skin texture, similar to an orange peel;
Thickened areas of breast tissue;
Enlarged lymph nodes under the arm, above/below the collarbone;
Flattening or retraction of the nipple;
Swollen or crusted skin on the nipple;
Change in color of the skin around the nipple (areola)

If you want a great visual go to Lemonland.

Good thing for us IBC patients that neoadjuvant treatment is the new and improved way of doing business because it has increased our 5 year survival rate. This is where me being right comes in. According to the Mayo Clinic neoadjuvant therapy combined with surgery, radiation and more chemotherapy has increased IBC survival to 50% at the five year mark. Best of all, nearly 1/3 are alive 20 years after diagnosis!!!
Plus, general breast cancer mortality has dropped 2% a year since 1990.

We are making strides, folks!!! Large strides!

I intend to be here twenty years from now, beating the internet-at-large about the head and neck until each and every one out there knows about Inflammatory Breast Cancer and why it's so insidious. Or... until it's completely wiped out, which ever comes first!

Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer

Danny's Song

2009-11-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

Danny had a substitute aide at preschool last week. Her name was Carrie, I think. She certainly made an impression on him in that single day! He talks about her all the time.

When I dropped him off at preschool today his teacher gave me a piece of paper with notes that Carrie had taken while talking to my little man. She titled it Danny's Song. I should really take a cue from her and compile his ramblings on paper, too, lest they be lost forever.

Here for your enjoyment and insight, I give you Danny's Song.

(While sitting on the couch in class)

I'm sitting on a sofa Sunday afternoon.

When the music is playing

That is why we are clapping

Because we love the music.

I just want to be where it sounds good.

Pickles are good for me.

They are good brain food.

I just caught one fish!

I want to get under the table

so I won't see you.

DREAMS

They are just good stuff.

They talk about happy things.

I like to think about dreams

It makes them come true.

My cross to bear...

2009-11-04T17:06:00.000-08:00

Dr. Wendy Harpham of On Healthy Survivorship poses a great question to cancer survivors last week. She wants to know which stage of cancer was the most challenging? Diagnosis? Beginning treatment? Ending treatment? Some time in the middle?

For Dr. Harpham it was those limbo days between initial diagnosis and treatment beginning. I know what she means. For me, it seemed an exceptionally long time. I was diagnosed on December 22, 2005 - the Thursday just before Christmas. Most every healthcare professional was heading out of town. Certainly no one wanted to take on a new patient over the holidays. Consequently, I didn't meet with my new Oncologist until January 3, 2006 and began chemo the next day.

Those 13 days were beyond horrible. There was a cancer inside me thriving at my expense. It seemed to grow bigger every day! I could feel it. I swear, I could hear it whisper dark promises of an early death and motherless children.

What bittersweet Holidays that year. Daddy-O and I had agreed not to tell anyone about my diagnosis until after New Year's. Why ruin everyone's Christmas? The end result, however, was a great burden on our hearts that we couldn't share with our friends and family. Each seasonal tradition was painful beyond belief. Who would search with loving dedication for just the right gift from Santa? Who would listen to their babbling, aimless words and sift from them their heart's desire? Would I ever read The Night Before Christmas to my little boys again? Would I ever see their eyes alight with the wonder that is Christmas morning ever again?

The day I began chemotherapy was the. best. day. of the next 10 months. No more being hostage to fate! No more victim! At last I was fighting back!

Still, I don't think that was the most trying time for me... My toughest day was the day I truly started losing my hair and made the decision to shave the rest off. Until that day I had not really felt ill despite my first round of chemo. Until that day cancer had seemed vague and ephemeral; death had been theoretical.

Roughly two weeks after my first chemotherapy treatment my hair began coming loose from my scalp. Initially, it was funny. It's really the strangest thing. It doesn't fall out all over the place. I didn't wake up with a scalp on my pillow. All the hairs still look firmly attached but they're not. It's like they're all held on with Post-It glue. One little tug and it comes away in your fingers without so much as a "pip" to indicate the separation. It's kind of amusing in a hey-look-at-my-cool-new-party-trick sort of way. A couple of mornings later and it's not so funny anymore. I won't bore you with the details again.

Losing my hair took me out of the closet. I became a walking Poster Girl for chemotherapy. Every time I looked in the mirror I was confronted with my mortality. The baldness literally stripped me bare. I couldn't walk through the store without drawing stares. My son would beg me to take off my hat to show his friends my bald head.

With my hair went my vanity, my anonimity and my delusion that I would live forever. Looking back I feel very, very blessed.

Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer.

Semantics

2009-10-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

It has been a momentus week so far. Yesterday I finally reached the end of my third year of Cancer Freedom! That's just an awkward way of saying it's been three years since I finished treatment for Inflammatory Breast Cancer. Today I had my Well-Check with my Oncologist and was given a Clean Bill of Health. Bloodwork results are normal. My overall health is normal. I am hideously normal - probably the only one in my family that is - and couldn't be happier about it!!!

These checkup visits are becoming rather mundane these days. Dr. Villa walks into the exam room. We hug. She gives me my lab results before we even sit down just to get it out of the way. Then she asks after the kids and Daddy-O before we get on to how I've been feeling. Ultimately, we always manage to fit in some sort of small philosophical discussion in. Today's topic was Remission.

This word has been bothering me for quite a while now. Every time I read WhyMommy's posts on Mothers With Cancer or Toddler Planet I cringe at the mention of her being in "remission". I've asked WhyMommy before why it is she refers to herself that way. Wouldn't you know it... It's because that's what her doctor told her.

Here is my problem with remission - it sounds like a temporary state of affairs. Remission makes me feel like the other shoe could drop at any moment. It feels like a close cousin to that other re word - recurrence.
So I brought up WhyMommy and her annoying status of "in remission". Turns out I am "in remission", too!
And here I thought I was "cancer-free." Surprise! Surprise! And not the good kind either.

After a moment or two of discussion I realized that it all comes down to semantics.

Dr. Villa glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, head cocked to the side. "You don't think you're cured, do you?"

Uh... not anymore... Actually, I've never thought I was. I've always referred to myself as Cancer-Free and didn't delve any deeper than that. Turns out that no doctor (the "worth their salt" was implied) would ever mention cured until the 5 year mark. Yeah. I knew that.

So, just to be clear, here is the definition of Remission as taken straight from Dictionary.com.

Medicine/Medical.
a.
a temporary or permanent decrease or subsidence of manifestations of a disease.

b.
a period during which such a decrease or subsidence occurs: The patient's leukemia was in remission.
Note: The term remission is often used in speaking of sufferers from leukemia or other cancers whose symptoms lessen or disappear. In such a case, the disease is said to be “in remission.” The period of remission may last only briefly or may extend over several months or years.

I still think it sounds pretty ominous to me! But I guess I'll forgive all doctors in general - just this once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other completely unrelated news, Ben sent his first love letter over the weekend. Via email. (It's the wave of the future, folks. I hear it's really catching on!)

He is only nine. years. old! We're talking about a single digit age! Sheesh! I thought I had at least another year or two.

At the risk of completely alienating him in the future, I am sharing his email with you because I am so touched by the damned sweetness of the whole thing. And also the horror!

''Hay Olivia,don't tell anybody this it's a seacret'',Ok here i go ''i LOVE YOU Olivia''.

Plus, did you notice there were not boxes to check? No question of reciprocation? Just a lot of putting himself out there like that. Wow! Times sure have changed since I was a kid!

Benefit or Burden

2009-10-13T10:16:00.000-07:00

I love October. Suddenly the bright spotlight of the media is shown on stories that normally don't rate for their lack of warm fuzziness.

Take the Welsh's from Ohio, for instance... Both wife and husband are in their 60s and are undergoing Breast Cancer treatment. Both. Of. Them.

This is a subject near and dear to my heart as my boys have a significantly increased risk of developing breast cancer because I and my mother both carry the BRCA2 genetic mutation. By significantly, I mean about 80 times that of other men!!! This equates to about a 1 in 14 lifetime chance of breast cancer. BRCA2 also increases the risk of other cancers: prostate, pancreatic and stomach cancers as well as melanoma. Did they hit the genetic jackpot or what!? The BRCA2 gene DOUBLES a man's chances of developing prostate cancer and melanoma! My boys have a 1 in 3 chance of prostate cancer before they turn 65! All of these cancers will rear their ugly heads earlier than typical in a BRCA2 man.

I have long been an advocate of Knowledge Is Power! It's only when we hide medical histories and facts in the dark because of embarrassment or fear that these awful diseases get the upper hand. That being said, knowing my boys could be victims of genetic Russian Roulette, I have a decision to make. Should I get them genetically tested?

My quandary is this: genetic testing would arm all of us with the power of knowledge. We could gird our sons against cancer with more frequent screenings at much younger ages. Even enroll them in test programs aimed at prevention. However, by equipping ourselves with this information we also make the results available to insurance companies. If I test the boys as children in order to afford them the best possible chance at survival, do I label them with a giant red flag that will prevent them from ever getting health insurance? Will it cause them employment issues in the future?

It's such a tight rope to walk; future benefit or burden? What would you do?

Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

Today in history...

2009-10-12T18:52:00.000-07:00

Today is an historically auspicious day both internationally and personally. Here are just a few of the significant events from this day in history:

In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue and landed in ~~North America~~ , er ... the Bahamas? Wait a minute! Did I already know that?! Maybe I did but conveniently forgot a fact that didn't fit easily with my preconceptions. I'm like that sometimes... all American and stuff.

In 1609 the Children's rhyme Three Blind Mice" was published in London. Without that happy little rhyme we wouldn't have an ironic costume for Danny to wear some Halloween-Yet-To-Be-Determined.

In 1792 Columbus Day is 1st celebrated. In the Bahamas? I'm just sayin'...

In 1969 Yoko Ono suffered another miscarriage. I have no reply to that.

In 2006 the Estrogen Reign over my body ended in a relatively bloodless coup by the removal of my ovaries.

You would think I would miss them wouldn't you? My ovaries, that is. Really, though, not so much. Sure, they were handy to have around when I was trying to get pregnant. But after that they sort of become a liability - always hanging out with their implied fertility... Who needs that kind of pressure?!

I remember when my oncologist recommended I have them taken out. I was completely unaffected. Take 'em! I wasn't really all that attached. My ovaries had played a roll in the the second most traumatic event in my life. Sadly, my cancer diagnosis ranks a distant third behind my ectopic pregnancy and ruptured fallopian tube. Finding out about Danny's blindness sits firmly at the top of the list.

Long story short, with the potential of ovarian cancer looming in my future, I did not even hesitate to have the little suckers ripped out! Too harsh? Well, to quote Dr. Seuss, "I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them Sam I Am!" I certainly considered them to be green!!!

Actually, I do miss them... or at least their estrogen. Let me tell you, every horror story you've ever heard about menopause is completely not exaggerated! The night sweats? Gah! The night sweats are soooooo much worse than I ever imagined! Which isn't a bad thing if you like to sleep in a sauna, ~~swim~~ wake in a puddle of your own sweat and compulsively change linens in the wee hours.

And the "flushing"! Obviously that term originated with a man. No menopausal woman in her right mind would refer to it in such a minimizing way. It's more like standing in the heat of a kitchen on Thanksgiving Day if Thanksgiving were held on the 4th of July in Death Valley... and the kitchen were not a kitchen but hidden pockets of invisible heated torture everywhere. you. are. Yeah. Now that I think about it, "flushing" sums it up fairly accurately.

You know, it wasn't so bad when I was bald from chemo. I'm a head-sweater which is bad enough if you have nice thick hair and completely bites when your hair is so fine it already molds to your head and neck. So, I really kind of liked the whole bald thing. I'd be hanging out, minding my own business when a slow burn would stoke itself somewhere deep inside. I can't even explain where the heat originates. Perhaps as low as my feet, maybe somewhere in my chest cavity... but it certainly ends within my head and neck. When I was bald I could feel the sweat beads pop out of my scalp like popcorn, slowly at first, then with wild abandon. Pop. Pop, pop! Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!!!! But all I had to do was wipe my head with my hand or a towel. Ah... sweet, blessed baldness.

These days I just keep cutting my hair shorter and shorter in futile attempts to stave off the perpetual bad hair day. Gah!

There is hope, however. My oncologist prescribed Effexor to treat my hot flashes. It's a mild anti-depressant with a happy side effect of reducing hot flashes and mood swings. Hurrah!

Since I don't remember my original point I should probably stop while I'm ahead. To sum up, many years ago today Columbus discovered the Bahamas, Yoko had another miscarriage and I lost my ovaries. And menopause sucks!

Got it?

Good. My work here is done.

Putting on the Pink

2009-10-01T15:43:00.000-07:00

Ironically, Danny first refused to nurse on my right breast in October 2005-- my first sign of cancer. It's appropriate that I ended my breast cancer treatments nearly three years ago during Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

It took me only five weeks to realize that something was wrong with my body. The last normal weeks of my life. It took another four weeks for a breast exam, mammogram, ultrasound, surgical appointments, fine needle aspiration and finally, a core needle biopsy, before my diagnosis on December 22. Merry Christmas. Nine weeks. And life is never the same again. Nine. Short. Weeks. And every month since has been Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

So I'm putting on the pink for the month of October. I hope it helps even one woman do a self-exam!

In the meantime, however, I have a website to share with you. It's called The Urban Dictionary. It is a dictionary of slang. Like Wikipedia, Urban Dictionary is publicly defined site. As a parent I find this site extremely useful. As an ex-kid I find it irresistibly entertaining! In that light I offer you a few of my recently found favorite slang words. See if you can figure out which one I submitted...

Cybercondriac: An individual that reads symptoms of illnesses on the net and begins to believe they're sick.

Half your age plus seven: A dividing-line / rule, whereby one may not make a Romantic/erotic/sexual move toward someone who is not at least half one's age, plus seven more years. Ha! My co-worker is forever quoting this rule. He swears that since he is 30 it is ok for him to date women that are 22. Makes perfect sense until you reverse it. By this calculation at 43 I should be able to date a man twice my age less 7 years. That's 72 years old!!!!! Gah!

Restless Lip Syndrom: When a person keeps interrupting a conversation and can't keep their mouth shut. Hee... I know a few who suffer from this.

Sticker Paralysis: The effect caused by having a really awesome sticker and no appropriate place to use it. General symptoms include keeping the sticker in a drawer and never actually using it. Sometimes resulting in affixation remorse.

Nipple Envy: What a woman feels when she sees another woman's nipple erection and hasn't completed her post-mastectomy reconstruction. I so suffer from this!!!!!

Pisshap: A mishap involving urine, usually after a mass amount of alcohol has been consumed. This one has worked its way into my every day conversation!!!!! And that's kind of sad...

The Accidental Victim

2009-09-29T17:23:00.000-07:00

Or... How To Get Out Of Soccer Practice.
Or... How To Get Mom To Give Up The Good Meds.
Or... All The Fight With None Of The Fortitude.

Maybe you can come up with your own title.

I'm thinking Ben has a shining future if they ever make Injurious Diving an Olympic event. He's really quite talented in that area; a natural. (See that semi-colon... Did I use it correctly? Because I really just never know.)

Let's see, if I can recap for you...

Routine: Windmill Free Fall
Difficulty: 3 of 5
Timing: 5 minutes before brother's First Birthday party
Presentation: masonry scrapes on forearms and legs and a large 3-cornered gash under chin (complete with embedded brick shrapnel)
Location: Block wall in backyard
Cry Time: 45 minutes
Score: 7.5

Routine: Tarzan Forward Somersault Belly Flop
Difficulty: 5 of 5
Timing: First day of school
Presentation: Bruised nose and buckle fracture of the wrist
Location: Rope swing down the street
Cry Time: None, unless you count clenched teeth and welling eyes.
Score: 9

Routine: Bunk Bed Double Gainer
Difficulty: 3.5
Timing: One week after first cast came off
Presentation: Stuck the landing directly on the under-bed drawer, greenstick fracture of same wrist
Location: Sleepover at friend's house
Cry Time: 30 minutes at friend's house and entire way home
Score: 6

Routine: Triple Handlebar Hand Stand Launch
Difficulty: 4
Timing: On the way to soccer practice'
Presentation: Popped bike tire, broken pedal, ripped seat, gash in knee, jammed shoulder, bruised ribs
Location: Into large landscape rocks, over neighbor's mailbox, onto asphalt
Cry Time: 52 minutes plus every time the judges glance his way
Score: 8.5

The boy has incredible talent!!! Watch for him at the ER near you!

Today was brought to you by the letters D and S.

2009-09-24T20:03:00.000-07:00

D is for Danny
Who uses a cane
But complains all the while
Which is really a pain.

D is for Damp
A typical day
With low hanging fog
Making everything gray.

D is for Downhill
On the way to the gate

To get to the swings
Before it's too late.

S is for Spiders
Making beautiful traps
To catch their next meal
And take afternoon naps.

S is for Symmetry
Covered in fog
Looking like age rings
Inside a log.

S is for Sunlight
Glistening on dew
Turning the mundane
To something fresh and new.

Changes

2009-09-01T20:19:00.000-07:00

First day of Preschool 2009. Danny was so excited to start school again this year. That's a far cry from the reluctant daily school boy of 08-09. The only reluctance he showed today was for Mom's incessant photo-snapping. "I don't like pictures!" And who can blame him? It's not like they have any meaning to him.

Ready to make a break at the slightest sign of
weakness from the photographer.

I have never been prouder of my little man than I have been in the last few weeks. He has been through major changes that would have any normal 4 year old reeling. Our Wonder Sitter quit suddenly the first week of August. She has watched Danny since he was 4 months old. She has aided for him at preschool for the past two years. I think her dog, Izzy, is his best friend.

Making his way to school
from the parking lot.

Yet, Danny has risen to the occasion. I was prepared for regression. For more potty training "accidents" and refusal to comply with tasks he associates with Wonder Sitter. Boy, was I mistaken!

A recurring issue for our family has been Danny's refusal to do things at home that he does readily for the Wonder Sitter and others when away from us. Things like use his cane or a fork and spoon (not interchangeably). A biggie for me has been the potty training issue. For well over a year now he has been fully trained away from home but the moment he's home it's as if he's never heard of a toilet. I have been at wit's end trying everything I could think of to rectify the situation. Low and behold, Daddy-O and I just realized that Danny hasn't had an accident since Wonder Sitter quit.

I don't know what to think of that. I don't want to read too much into it or I'll make myself crazy.

Using his cane like a pro.

It's a good thing he doesn't need to see where he's going...
because he really needs a haircut.

He also doesn't shut himself away in his room listening to music for hours as soon as he gets home for the day anymore. His scripting (repetitive phrases and conversations) has actually morphed into real conversation and age-appropriate pretend play. Most of the symptoms of autism that he was driving us crazy with are gone. In fact, two nights ago I switched up or bedtime routine without notice. Instead of asking him what music he wanted to listen to I sang the question in a baritone operatic sort of voice. Without skipping a beat, Danny answered me in the same sing-song style; engaging in a varied back & forth for a good 10 minutes. No repetition. No mimicking. No autism in sight.

Danny with his awesome VI Instructor, Marlene & Eileen,
checking out the play kitchen.

And he has taken to his new daycare like a duck to water. He is the oldest one there. He's never been the oldest before... I think he loves it.

Circle Time where we meet all our new friends
for the first time.

All of this just goes to reinforce that change isn't always bad and that God gives us what we need not necessarily what we think we want.

My journey through baldness

2009-08-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

I was looking through some old pictures the other night and ran across some from my Year of Cancer. I thought it might be interesting to post the photographic tale of that time...

January 21, 2006
My newly shaved head.
Over my shoulder you can see the wig I bought ahead of time and never wore.

February 5, 2006
The first picture of my bald head.

February 12, 2006
I was still working in this picture and
was picking the boys up from WonderSitter's house.

February 20, 2006
This was taken when I went home for my step-dad's funeral.
I had recently gone on disability and you can see
the affect the steroids are having on my weight...
In a few short months my Mom would also be diagnosed with Breast Cancer.

May 6, 2006
Me and my big steroid Moon-Face went to Vegas
to meet my bff from Maryland.

End of May 2006
My first dinner sitting up at the dinner table after
my single mastectomy.
I had been off chemo for about 6 weeks.
My head was developing a nice 5 o'clock shadow.

August 1, 2006
We took Ben to Disneyland for his 6th birthday.
I was half way through radiation and had been taking Xeloda for 2 months.
The wonderful tan is courtesy of one of Xeloda's side effects: sun sensitivity.
I used a wheelchair in the park as much as possible.
By the end of this weekend my feet had peeled in huge chunks many layers deep
and my underarm was sloughing off it's radiation-damaged skin leaving a
disgusting, green, oozy patch of tissue in it's place.
Daddy-O thinks this was my lowest point physically.

September 13, 2006
I was firmly in what I jokingly called "The Dyke Days".
Everywhere I went the looks of sympathy for a cancer patient
became questionable looks that may or may not have disapproved
of my presumed lifestyle choice. Ha!
My Mom was just entering her Chemo Poster Child phase.

October 3, 2006
Mike and I in Mexico. I felt like I had soooo much hair!
Only 17 more days until I am done with all my chemo!!!

November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving Day
One Month Survivor with many, many reasons to give thanks!

It's hard to believe that was nearly 3 years ago...

Well, that was disconcerting...

2009-08-10T20:35:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching an episode of Mystery Diagnosis. Not my usual TV fare but this one was about Inflammatory Breast Cancer, or as they called it: "The Breasts That Changed Color."

The show told the story of Amanda Nixon who at 27 years young found her breast hardening and changing colors shortly after breast reduction surgery. This is a new twist on the typical IBC tale. The vast majority of IBC patients are either pregnant or nursing when misdiagnosed with mastitis.
Four years later Amanda is cancer-free and very active in the fight against IBC. She has beaten the odds... so far.

I've never really heard hard statistics on the IBC mortality rate. I just knew it was very high. Well, tonight I heard the official stats. A mere 40% of IBC victims are alive 5 years after diagnosis. Only 30% by 10 years. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here are some more numbers for you. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Of those women, one in ten will be under age 40. Cancer in younger women is typically more aggressive than other cancers.

Although those numbers are frightening, as an IBC survivor I have them embedded in my psyche. What I found disconcerting is that there is not standardized triage for breast cancer patients.

My oncologist was all over the IBC diagnosis. Even when I was in denial. I foolishly decided I didn't have IBC because there was no clinical proof. Like I can just decide that something is or isn't so and have the world fall into line. It's laughable, really. Or maybe just naive.

Amanda Nixon's doctor had no idea that the eggplant colored breast he was looking at was IBC. Don't they have a checklist or something???? I mean, really. Anyone with internet access can Google "breast discoloration" and find literally hundreds of thousands of sights referencing Inflammatory Breast Cancer!

My own mother was sent to a surgeon for a lumpectomy but NEVER REFERRED TO AN ONCOLOGIST. At least not until I badgered her and she badgered the surgeon and she finally fired him for dragging his feet on the referral. Gee, it turns out she is BRCA 2 positive just. like. me. Seeing an oncologist changed her entire course of treatment.

WHY isn't every woman diagnosed with Breast Cancer referred to an oncologist - even if it's just for an evaluation?

WHY isn't there an intake "symptom checklist" for Breast Cancer patients that can be fed into a database or something?

WHY, in the age of the internet, is there such a wide range of knowledge, awareness and approach to Inflammatory Breast Cancer? For cripes sake, some doctors are still doing surgery first before chemo!!!!

And why are some of us blessed enough to be here three, four, even ten years later when others don't last out the year?

Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

A Glimpse into a Boy's Life

2009-08-08T17:53:00.000-07:00

The boys are at their VaVa's this week. That's Portuguese for Grandma. It's probably a very good thing that we're all getting a bit of space from each other because Ben has been in more trouble in the last few weeks then ever before.

Daddy-O and I have been so very disappointed in his actions. And stymied as to what to do with him. We have struggled with stomping out the unacceptable behavior with out squashing his spirit and individuality. I have no idea if we are having any success. It sure doesn't feel like it sometimes. Some days it's too hard to see the forrest for the trees.

Today I downloaded the pictures off Ben's camera. As I scrolled through them I was struck by how much is revealed by the moments one chooses to capture on film. Er, memory card. Each photo, each memory persisting through time, offers a personal view from the photographer's perspective. I was pleasantly surprised to meet the developing individual that lives in my son's body. Below are some of Ben's photos...

Behold Ben's skateboard. The first major purchase selected all on his own. Showing only his style. Also, his first foray into living beyond his means as he has to work off it's cost by helping Daddy-O.

This is Sydney, our late cat. He entered our lives when I was pregnant with Ben and has been central to our family ever since. We recently had to have him put down from cancer. It was heartbreaking for all of us. Ben chose to take many pictures of him in his last weeks. I like this one particularly well for it's unique perspective - Ben putting himself on Sydney's level.

Meet one of Ben's friends. I'm told he is "pretending to fart." This is such a quintessential "boy" picture. There were also a number of videos that went with this picture but I thought to spare you.

And here's Mr. Cool himself. Suave moves and pick-up lines are just beginning to formulate in the mists of an 8 year old boy.

Here's a photo too juicy not to post. (Sorry, Nana.) Can you sense the developing comedian?

Legend rents Nana's pasture. I'd like to think Ben saw a beautiful creature and wanted to capture his image... But something tells me it wasn't the warm glow of sunlight on Legend's hindquarters that prompted the photo...

I have no idea where this one came from but it's nice. He has a decent eye.

I can't tell you how many of these little buggers I caught as a kid. I remember them a bit bigger, though...

Taken from the window of Nana's van on the way to... Nevada... would be my guess. I love his color selection.

..... And, he's eight again!

I like this shot because he captured a teen-aged relationship perfectly. Devotion. Energy. Life.

The bunker Ben and his friend built out of left over sod in the lot next door.

Sydney and Ben

These last two are my favorites. They show great promise as a photographer. This is Sassy. I love his composition.

And this one is taken from our front yard, I think. I believe I will blow it up for the livingroom.

I have a new appreciation for the person who is my son after seeing the world from his point of view. It's almost as good as reading a diary...

That's A New One.

2009-08-03T19:04:00.000-07:00

We went to the fair Saturday Night. Danny was all fired up to ride the Ferris Wheel so he and I went on ahead of Ben and Daddy-O who were looking through the buildings.

I am so very proud of Danny. He doesn't always want to use his cane. Maybe he realizes it marks him as handicapped. Maybe he's just naturally lazy. Or maybe he's just four. Whatever. It doesn't really matter because on Saturday night he was doing an excellent job of it. He points his index finger down the cane and sweeps just like Kevin taught him. And he hardly ever lifts his cane off the ground. How many four year olds do you know that wouldn't swing a big stick every which way if given a chance?

So, there we were, weaving our way through the thickening crowd of Saturday Night fair-goers, when a small group of girls walked by in the opposite direction. They were about 7 or 8, giggling and falling into each other as they walked by. Danny's cane caught one girl's eye as she passed. She held up her friends. Their heads came together, then glanced our way; they backtracked the three steps we'd managed to progress.

"Did he win that?"

"Huh? Win what?" I thought.

She nodded her head towards Danny's cane.

"Oh..." Teehee. What kind of carny booth gives away canes????

My Week in Pictures

2009-07-29T22:32:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday Ben broke his collar bone. He was doing something horribly dangerous... walking a dog. Yeah. I know. Oh course, he threw a pine cone for the dog while holding her leash and promptly found himself sunny-side up in the middle of the street feeling very glad he'd unwrapped the leash from his hand as instructed. Now he suffers the natural consequences of his lack of forethought. Below see his guinea attempting to hide in his sling.

I'm thinking it's going to be an early fall in these parts. Not only has it been an unusually mild summer (barring the last week or so) but all the wildlife are out en masse already. Earlier this week I saw two spotted fawns grazing all on their own by the side of the road as I left work. And me without a camera. I. Know.

So the next day when a whole flock of a dozen or so turkey casually strolled along the side of the road on base I was ready. This fella is mighty plump for so early in the season.

Wonder Sitter took Danny to the County Fair today. He loves riding on all the rides! He had his first taste of cotton candy and declared it to be "fuzzy". He also kissed a sheep, hugged a cow and asked to take them all home. He threw darts at balloons and, best of all, allowed his face to be painted for the first time in his life!!!

It was quite the busy week...

Research You Can Sink Your Teeth Into...

2009-07-24T13:29:00.000-07:00

As I embarked on my daily lunch-time web surf session, I stumbled upon this yummy article from Britain. Anyone want to voluteer to eat chocolate for a year for the betterment of society? Me!!!!! Me!!!!

How come our Government doesn't do this kind of research?

O'Cedar wants to make someone's life easier

2009-07-19T17:25:00.000-07:00

If your life has been touched by breast cancer you'll want to read this. If your mother, sister, best friend or daughter has breast cancer you'll want to pass this on.

O'Cedar is donating $1,000 to fulfill the wishes of 15 women who's lives have been forever changed by the ugliness that is breast cancer.

Read about all the details here then send me a link so I can be sure and vote for you over and over and over again.

Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer

Just because I can

2009-07-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

There are a few perks to having a blind son. One of them is that I can actually make socially awkward jokes about blindness and get away with it. And don't think I don't make use of that one at EVERY OPPORTUNITY.

My favorite, however, is Danny's handicapped parking placard. Oh, the joy of preferred parking! Even through the shock of new diagnosis, that magical blue placard shone in our future like a bright silver lining.

I remember bringing it up on the car ride home from Children's Hospital Los Angeles that horrible, awful June in 2005 when we first found out Danny would never see. At some point it dawned on me that he (we) would qualify for the coveted handicapped parking. I swear I held on to that thought like a life preserver for the longest time. The single bright spot in a very dark future.

Huh. In hindsight I can see how desperate I was for anything positive about our news. In reality, however, our lives with Danny are far from bleak or dismal. He quite literally lights up a room with his presence. Of course, my fear and desperation in no way diminishes the awesomeness of my recently acquired placard. 'Tis truly spectacular!

We watched Blindsight as a family last night. If you are into documentaries or are just looking for something to make you feel like you should never complain again, this is the movie for you. What an amazing group of kids!

Blindsight follows a group of Tibetan teenagers on their journey to climb a mountain in the shadow of Everest. As a parent of a blind child, wow! I only hope for my son half that much freedom and adventurousness in his lifetime. Also, I was mortified by the treatment that blind people receive in Tibet. Save a worm. Squash a blind child's spirit! Bah! Essentially, they believe the blind person must have done something horrible in their past life to be saddled with blindness in this. One old woman was quoted as saying to a blind teenager who got in her way that he "deserved to eat his father's corpse!" And people say American's lack compassion.

Otherwise a stellar movie. A must see. And, it is completely adapted for the VI.

999

2009-07-14T21:12:00.000-07:00

That's how many days I've been cancer free. Nine hundred ninety nine days. I've had 23,976 minutes - healthy minutes - with my family and friends that I wasn't sure I'd ever have.

Tomorrow I mark 1,000 days of bonus life. Can I say how much I love that without jinxing it?

I saw Dr. Villa, my oncologist, today for my 999 day checkup. It was my eleventh 3-month appointment over the last two years, 8 months and 25 days. Actually, I forgot I even had an appointment today until I looked at the calendar this morning. I've been very busy. But I choose to look at my forgetfulness as a very, very good sign.

It means I've been feeling so healthy that there has been no reason for the insidious paranoia that haunts and torments all cancer survivors. It means cancer is not the focus of my life anymore. Is there any better news than that? I wasn't sure I'd ever see this day.

Is this what it means to be a survivor? Not a date on a calendar. Not five years. Not a countdown from date of diagnosis or surgery or end of treatment? Perhaps, it's just a feeling, instead. Survivorship. Surviving in body, mind and spirit. A true return to normal.

I hope so, anyway.

Cross-posted to Mothers with Cancer

You Can't Judge a Book by It's Cover

2009-07-03T09:59:00.001-07:00

I watch America's Got Talent every summer. It's one of my favorite things about the summer TV hiatus. I like to think of it as a kinder, gentler version of American Idol. Plus it hearkens back to the variety shows of my childhood which I dearly loved.

This fellow (he's not really a "gentleman", per se), Kevin Skinner, was on the show Tuesday night. I have several observations on his performance.

Primarily, Mr. Skinner has got to be one of the most endearing, humble men I've seen on this show in a long time. Quite refreshing, actually. And, yes... amusing as all hell. Though I did think it very rude and unprofessional of Sharon Osborne to laugh at his accent when he said "Garth Brooooooks" with that deep Tennessee twang. I had to shelve the whole judgmental thing when he said he was a chicken catcher,though, because then I was laughing out loud, too.

Really? People have that job? Unbidden visions of Chicken George (I don't KNOW why) and my too often used metaphor of "herding chickens" when attempting to get my kids (and Daddy'O) somewhere en masse sprang to mind. Not attractive visuals.

All in all, I was feeling very bad for Mr. Kevin Skinner, ex-chicken catcher (10,000 chickens per night, oh my!) who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. Then he sang to me.

Since I'm acting on the assumption that you've watched the video you know exactly what I'm talking about when I say "he sang to me." Garth Brooks, himself never did as fine a job with that song - never made me feel as if he were holding my hand at the end of our bed pouring out his heart to me in verse. Never have I heard laughter stop so abruptly.

I believe Keving Skinner's days of catching chickens are over. My pleasure for him is tainted only by the fear that his country simplicity may open him up to much more laughter before his singing can silence it.

Pardon me while I dust off the cobwebs...

2009-07-02T07:13:00.000-07:00

Phew! Things get really dusty around here when no one's around!

Ah. That's better. Now, where was I? Ah, yes... I was having a birthday. Well, hell. That seems sooooo long ago.

You might be happy to know that I've made a mid-year's resolution. (Perhaps I'll be able to better ward off the New Year's Resolution Jinx this way.) I have resolved to renew my blogging. This past 6 months or so has been very stressful for me for no particular reason that I can determine (other than life, itself). Writing has always helped me sort through my feelings of anger, frustration, fear and inadequacy. For my own mental health, and the sanity of my family, I am back.

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Today I would like to direct your attention to an interesting headline I ran across this morning.

1. Breast cancer treatments impact work status. Well, now. There's a news flash! And worse yet, the article was not much more enlightening.

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In other news, I am reading my internet friend and co-blogger at Mothers With Cancer, Laurie Kingston's book, Not Done Yet: Living Through Breast Cancer. Laurie blogs over at Not Just About Cancer. I am sooooo loving her book and will be writing a review shortly.

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Lastly, as our typical summer would have it, my boys are having an extended visit at Nana's house. I really miss them. In theory. Does it make me a bad mom if I'm content to just hear their voices and see the occasional smiling pictures but don't long to have them back home?

I've pondered this question a lot lately. They've been gone 11 days today. Maybe it's because I know this respite has a finite time period; that they'll be back, larger than life, soon enough. Maybe it's because I welcome the peace that has settled over my house in the last 11 days. Maybe it's because Daddy-O and I realized this week that we don't fight when we don't have kids. We love each other when we don't have kids.

We will attempt to remember that once we DO have kids again.

Happy Birthday to me!

2009-04-25T16:43:00.001-07:00

This is what the modern-day, 43 year old, double mastected, two and one half year cancer thriver looks like!

I passed all my tests with flying colors. My bones scans were very bony. My CT was quite unremarkable. And my wonderful oncologist said I am just going to live forever. Forever. It has a nice ring to it. Well, perhaps not forever. I wouldn't want to outlive my bladder control, after all...

Some of my friends tip-toe around my age or suggest that I might be 39 this year with a conspiratorial wink. "Oh, no you don't!", I think to myself, "I earned this age! There was a time not long ago I didn't think I'd live to see it!" Besides, 39 was when I was diagnosed.

You can keep 39!!!!!

I'll take 43, and 44, and 50, and 60... any day!!!!!

Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

Full Circle

2009-04-13T12:47:00.000-07:00

Nineteen years ago last week I walked through the doors of the United States Property & Fiscal Office (USPFO) for California for the very first time. Thus began my career as a Federal Technician. I was a mere 23 years old - soon to be 24. I'd like to say that I didn't plan on being here nearly 20 years later. I'd like to say that but it would be a lie.

I was looking for security. As a child raised with a disabled father who was too old and old-fashioned to allow his wife to be the family breadwinner, I remember clearly the monthly juggling act come bill paying time. Of course, the significance was lost on me in those days but I do remember having some awareness of financial stress. So when I saw the opportunity for a government job all the security and stability seeking bells in my head began ringing with glee. So, deep down inside, I did plan on being at my new job ad infinitum.

This unadmitted career plan still didn't keep me from being traumatized my first few weeks on the job. Myself and another new hire close to my own delicate age began in the Property Management section. How we got so lucky I'll never understand. Property Management was, at that time, a fairly sedate section filled with middle-aged women who had been working there long enough to see the retirement light at the end of the tunnel. One afternoon, Gladys casually mentions that she had been working at that desk longer than I had been alive.

For some reason, I was absolutely horrified by this!!! I saw years and years of servitude stretching out before me. Stagnation. Old age. Wrinkles. Prior to that the longest I'd worked anywhere was 2 years (exactly). The very thought of so many years at one job boggled my mind.

Fast forward 19 years and 4 desks (positions) and I find myself training a fresh-faced 23 year old. He's funny and personable and brings loads of life into the office. He has dreams and plans of becoming a nurse. He was 4 years old when I began working here. I wonder if he's as horrified as I was. I wonder if he'll still be here in 2029...

Ob la di, ob la da

2009-03-31T07:55:00.000-07:00

I have not blogging much at all of late. There's a lot of good in that and a fair amount of bad as well. I've been busy as a one-armed paper hanger. Work is backed up. I'm rarely away from my desk. I'm not taking my breaks or walking like I should so my weight is creeping upwards ever so slowly. Of course, all that busy at work makes my days fly by, too. When I get home there is a whole other life that gets crammed into the few hours between 4:00 pm and 8:00 when the kids go to bed. There's Little League practice twice a week and now games twice a week as well. Therapy for Danny once a week. The ever present laundry and my FaceBook addiction. And filling every spare minute in between is my photography passion.

That's the good stuff. I've been too busy living life to spend much time blogging about it. On the negative side, I'm coming up on my 25,000 mile (2.5 year) check up. As always, I start worrying out of the blue. This time my location of concern is my right hip. It has been hurting for a couple of months now. But the last few weeks it's become so sore that it wakes me at night and I can barely walk up stairs. So this check up, I get a bonus bone scan!

Tomorrow is my chest/abdomen/pelvic CT. Thursday is my bone scan. Then I have to wait until the 14th (!) before I see my oncologist for the results. I'll never make it. I haven't even had the scans yet and I want to call for the results already. Yet, I hope I don't here from her office before my appointment, know what I mean????

Of course, when everything turns out to be just fine I will have made it two and a half years beyond treatment for Inflammatory Breast Cancer. THAT will be a post in and of itself.

In sadder news, Mothers With Cancer lost another of it's own this week. Alabama Pink (Manda) of Whoa, Camel! fame has lost her battle with leukemia. She leaves behind a beautiful 3 year old son, Alastair and the love of her life, Adrian. You can read about her passing on Adrian's blog Rainbows! Puppies! Leukemia. Say a little prayer today for Manda's family.

"You FOUND me!"

2009-03-27T08:47:00.000-07:00

My 3 year search is over! I'm done pounding the pavement, er, telephone lines, every year in hopes of finding some benevolent entity locally to help make Beeper Eggs.

This time of year my Mother Feathers always begin ruffling over the normal kid things that Danny misses out on because of his blindness. Seeing the riot of color that are spring flowers calling to be tromped on or picking a haphazard array of beautiful weeds for Mommy to place in the window sill. Running across an open field. Searching the grass, under bushes and in low tree branches for the ever-elusive Easter eggs.

Mostly the Easter egg hunting, though. It's a purely childhood delight the likes of which Danny has never truly known. Every year we have a big hunt at VaVa's house. Danny dutifully participates without ever "getting" what's going on. I imagine in his child's mind he is being led on a fast stroll through the yard to the music of his cousins' running feet and squeals of delight while being urged to "look over here" or "oh, see what we've found" and a plastic egg is dropped in his basket.

Usually he is excited. Sometimes overwhelmed. Very typical of his age even if the entire experience is not. But there is never the understanding of our true charter: the discovering and devouring of chocolate and sugary goodies hidden in stealth by the Easter Bunny.

Well, this year, my friends, will be different for my son. This year a company (Quaps, I think) has mass marketed the solution to the blind child's Easter Egg Hunt dilemna! They are called the Hide 'em & Find 'em Eggs.

Aren't they cute??? They are quite hi-tech. You hide them and push the little button. For the next 30 minutes they will call out 5 different phrases and 3 different sound effects including: "I'm hiding," and "I'm over here!" Best of all, when you open the little egg, a bunny or a chick pipes up and says, "You FOUND me!"

I am all atwitter with anticipation of this Easter. Family, ham, potatoe salad, an Easter egg hunt and a small slice of normalcy.

Please tell me I'm not alone...

2009-03-18T22:21:00.000-07:00

I like to think my boys are intelligent. Certainly above average, anyway. Danny particularly. Therefore, I can only assume all the issues we've been having with potty training must be sight related. Please, let there be a logical excuse for the ridiculousness that has taken place inside our bathroom in the last year...

Danny has been steadfast in his resistance toward potty training... at home. At school and the WonderSitter's house he has been, of course, accident free. We were not so lucky at home. In fact, just two weeks ago, he had gone through every pair of underpants he owned between Friday afternoon and Sunday morning.

There have been lots of problems throughout the process that we've dealt with one at a time: his inability to run to the bathroom at will; his tendency to stand wherever he is and yell for us to come take him to the bathroom; his inability to comprehend the need to "tuck" when seated so as not to pee all over the bathroom and his pants and his severe dislike of having his rear end wiped.

Well, we finally got through most of them or at least found a work around... But the tucking issue has had me stymied. I had tried having him stand to pee but he likes to refer to all bathroom actions as "peeing" which can cause a problem if one is standing. So we had sort of given it up from all the confusion. However, last weekend, my mother-in-law somehow breached the communication gap and in a few short hours had him peeing vertically like a man is supposed to a woman wishes she could. He's been very, very proud of himself and hasn't had an accident since.

Until tonight.

About 30 minutes after he'd gone to bed tonight he called out, as usual. Sigh. He had to go pee. So off we trot to the bathroom across the hall. He lifts the toilet seat. I stand behind him and help him pull down his PJ bottoms and overnight diaper. Then he leans forward to rest his thighs on the toilet bowl. "And what comes next?", I prompt, watching for the beginning trickle.

Nothing.

Grunt.

Uh-oh.

I leaned back and looked down. "Danny! You don't poop standing up!" Too late. "Yes. I want to!"

What a mess that turned out to be. Gah!

Looky, looky

2009-03-18T13:48:00.000-07:00

Ooooh! Looky what I got at work today!

Yes, Sir. That's a 24 inch monitor!

Isn't it Be-utiful????

What I've been doing instead of this...

2009-03-14T16:07:00.000-07:00

I am a bad blogger. I've been ignoring my blog. Gah. Why is it that things that give you such satisfaction can suddenly become a obligation? What's that all about anyway?

Maybe I've been Facebooking too much. Maybe the ADD in me has moved on to another fascination. Or maybe I've just been too busy at work to blog. That is where I do the bulk of my blogging, you know. And I'm suckingly swamped there.

I have been very, very busy with my other hobby, however. Photos. I've been taking lots and lots of photos. In fact, that's probably the real reason I'm not paying enough attention here.

Here are just a few from recent outings.

I'll try to be better....

Ma and Pa Kettle

2009-02-11T11:01:00.001-08:00

Don't let your grade schoolers see this.

Family and friends

2009-02-09T19:51:00.000-08:00

What a busy, busy week I have had. I've been away at a class for a week (one more to go) in Port Hueneme, CA. That's just south of Ventura for all you map types. The class, Contracting for Intermediate Mission Support, is sometimes kicking my butt. It's been a long, loooong time since I've had to pay this kind of attention to things. And the learning! Gah! It's exhausting. Also, exhilarating! I'd enjoy it more if it weren't for the pressure of tests and passing the class and all that stuff.

Over the weekend (can you believe I got a whole weekend without children???) I went to visit my family out in the Inland Empire. My Grammy had to have a pacemaker put in last week and my Grandpa is still in a rehab facility after his stroke in December. He just turned 90 years old last week. I stayed at my Aunt's house. On Saturday I went out to see my Grandparents.

Aging is difficult. It's hard to watch from the outside. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for the individual. Transitions are never easy.

On my way back to school I stopped and had lunch with Mary Beth Volpini who also blogs over at Mothers With Cancer.

Mary Beth is every bit a charming and genuine in person as she is online. It was so wonderful to finally meet another of the wonderful MWC women. I wish I could meet each and every one. But now I've met Susan and Mary Beth... Two down, twenty-one to go.

My own "Wild Kingdom"

2009-01-25T20:21:00.000-08:00

You know how it is when you live in a tourist area... Somehow I never seem to have time to soak in the wonderful sights around the area unless we have visitors. I've been trying to change that lately. I carry my camera around with me all the time. If I see a shot - a beautiful sunrise, the glassy back bay on my way to work - I've been making a point to actually stop an take the picture. Toward that end, on Saturday I took Ben, Danny and my mother-in-law up the coast to check out the elephant seals. I've only lived here 21 years and never seen them. Well, I did sort of see them a few years ago when my girlfriend from Maryland came to visit. But there were hardly any seals on the beach so I don't really think it counts.

This time, however, we hit the jackpot. There were hundreds of seals on the beach just south of Piedras Blancas lighthouse. It's an official Seal Rookery. I had no idea. Sheesh. What kind of tour guide would I make?

It's seal pup season. And boy are they adorable.

Normally, the females only have one pup at a time. But they are known to "adopt" or foster other pups if their mom's are gone. This poor little lady seems to have her flippers full.

Don't those pups look just as soft as velvet?

Of course, we saw lots of great "Wild Kingdom" moments in the 40 minutes or so we were there. Live birth, bull elephant fights, seal sex.

The bulls are ginormous!

This little tyke is about 2 minutes old here. He weighs about 75 lbs at birth and will grow to between 250-350 lbs within a month. Hard to believe, huh?

I thought this was going to be a G rated excursion! I didn't anticipate a sex talk with Ben! Big brute! The bulls are between 14-16 feet long and can weigh up to 2500 lbs. The females, however, weigh in at a svelte 1200-2000 lbs and are only 10-12 feet long.

These girls are my favorites, though...

Who needs Marlin Perkins?

Happy New President!

2009-01-21T07:49:00.000-08:00

Are you still riding the high from yesterday's festivities? It felt like a holiday! Everywhere I went yesterday people were glowing from the surge of hope in their hearts - standing taller from the weight lifted from their shoulders as Bush departed on Executive One.

Sadly, Ben's school chose not to have the children watch the Inauguration. I almost kept him home so he could see it live. Many of our friends did. Ultimately, however, I opted to view it alone, without hundreds of questions being rapid-fired at me. TiVo is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Ha!

So last night we sat with Ben to re-watch the important parts of that historical day: the procession (so as to identify the players), Obama's swearing in and speech and the farewell to George W. Interestingly, he already knew much about what was going on from lessons in school. I'm grateful for that, at least. I don't know enough of the technicalities of our government's transition to trust a young mind to my version of events. What surprised me was that he had no real knowledge of the civil rights movement beyond MLKs "I Have A Dream" speech.

One of Ben's most frequent playmates is an half African-American half Seminole Indian (I think) boy that lives across the street. He was adopted by our neighbors at birth. Lucky for us. B's presence in Ben's life made civil rights much easirr to explain.

We explained how at one time B would not have been able to go to the same school as Ben, or drink from the same fountain or even be his friend.

"But why?", Ben asked.

"Because B's a different color. And a long time ago white people thought that meant that he wasn't as good as they were."

"But I'm brown, too." he says pointing to his arm.

I won't bore you with our little home-school lesson. Suffice it to say that he now has a better understanding of the magnitude of yesterday's events.

While I didn't get to explain the finer points of President Obama's Address to Ben, or point out the poetry of his words, he learned a much more valuable lesson. I am so profoundly happy that my sons will grow up in a world where the son of a black immigrant can campaign against a woman for the highest position in our land and become President.

Building Character

2009-01-20T13:18:00.000-08:00

Is there any word that can describe today that hasn't already been bandied about the internet ad infinitum? Hopeful? Overcome? Overjoyed? Awed? I am all these things and so much more.

Today is the next step on the road to rebuilding our National character. At some point in time America has become a hated country. Despised by the bad guys and good guys alike. Even friendly Nations have looked at us with a semblance of disdain.

As a people we have become spoiled and lazy. I am reminded of Ben's assertions that whatever his infraction it is "not his fault." We have become finger-pointers.

President Barack Obama has ushered in, today, an era of accountability... Both for Washington and each and every American.

"Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends - hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism - these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task. "

He has laid the foundation of his foreign policy.

"As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.

...We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you."

And one of my favorite images from his address:

"To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist."

I can't wait to sit with Ben tonight and rewatch all the TiVoed footage of this momentous day. I am so excited to watch him soak up the significance. I am greatful that he will grow up in this new direction - growing as one with all Americans and our Nation.

Put on a happy face

2009-01-13T20:08:00.000-08:00

I have to wonder about myself sometimes. Do I even know myself at all?

I had my three month visit with my oncologist today. This time I actually went in with a well-thought (yet hastily-scrawled) out list of concerns to discuss. But first, the important news... all my blood work was perfect! No indications that there is any cancer on the horizon. Amen!

Rarely do I have lists for my doctors. I usually breeze in all sunshine and smiles making the best of even the worst of situations with a few notable exceptions. I was decidedly unsunny when I arrived at the Emergency Room with a ruptured fallopian tube. Once Daddy-O and Ben got there the whole episode became fairly foggy, but I do have a vague recollection of thrashing around on the table in pain, sure I was about to die and praying out loud for God to save me or at least not take me in front of my son. Or when I bawled my eyes out pregnant with Danny at my regular doctor's office because I'd had undiagnosed bronchial asthma for months and was so physically stressed from just. not. breathing. that I couldn't maintain anymore! Otherwise, I might have one off-the-cuff question or two but that's it.

Today's list read something like this:

Forgetfulness!!! Chemo-brain or old age?
Still painful sternum
Big bruise on arm since August!
Wake up still tired. Low energy? Depression?
Daddy-O says I'm a bitch... asks if meds can be increased... please?????

After regailing her with my many and varied tales of forgetful woe, Dr. Villa came to the shocking conclusion that I am doing too much multi-tasking. Put another way, if I put too many balls in the air one is bound to fall every now and then. Plus, I am getting older.

No worries about he painful sternum. I don't know why I shouldn't worry. She didn't say. I didn't ask. I'm ok with that.

Same thing with the ginormous bruise (which is really a mere shadow of it's former self) that has been on my arm since August. No worries. Eh.

I worried that I might be having a bit of depression (even though I don't feel like I'm depressed) as indicated by my waking tired after a full nights sleep, constant low energy, etc. etc. Those are the same symptoms I had the last time I didn't feel depressed after I had my miscarriage. Turns out I actually was. Huh. Who knew? So I thought I'd ask. But my Dr. V gets the big bucks for a reason. Her first question was if I'd been excercising, which I haven't. See asthma reference above which is triggered by cold. The virus I got in early December flared up the asthma and it's been too cold and/or windy for me to get outside and walk until this week. So no excercise for me. Click! 100 watts glaring at me. That accounts for both symptoms. See. I knew I wasn't depressed.

But apparently, I am a bitch.

I'm finding this harder and harder to deny. Though, in my defense, I do live with three testosterone-ridden humans and suffer with immeasurable provocation. Still, I do sometimes step out of myself in mid-rant and raise an eyebrow at my own hostility. At any rate, she is going to increase the dosage of my Effexor and see if that helps with my break-through hot flashes and these apparent nasty mood swings.

Daddy-O is lucky to have her as an ally.

As well as all that went, I left my appointment feeling less than satisfied.

We normally hug and gush and smile after leisurely minutes of familiar catching up. Today was more formal and doctor / patient like. She looked fairly sober as I left. No hug. No emotional fireworks display for the wonderful bloodwork and continued victory over cancer. I walked out feeling like a burden. *sigh*

Now I can't help but wonder if I am always so positive and upbeat because that is the way I've always been or because I crave approval.

In lieu of a resolution...

2008-12-31T10:23:00.000-08:00

I hate resolutions. They allow no leeway and are doomed to failure. So instead I will project onto 2009 my wishes. I challenge you to do the same.

Salon.com issued a challenge for their readers to write their memoir in six words. The results were wonderful and ingenious. One that could also be my memoir is from reader Jared2:

"Broke. Payday. Broke. Payday. Broke. Payday ... " Jared2

A couple other samples:

"Current lawyer, aspiring writer, often silly." Jenbynight

"Too much hair, then not enough." Burstoflethargy

The Challenge
1. Write your memoir in six words. Or, if you're feeling less expansive, just sum up 2008.
2. Use six words to sum up your wishes for 2009.
3. Link to this blog in your post.
4. Tag as many or as few people as you wish. No pressure here. List them in your post.

My memoir:

Boobies; breasts; tube socks; tumor; Bellyboob.

2008:

Work and pay; hope and pray.

My Wishes for 2009 are not very original but truly heartfelt:

More money; less debt; universal health.

I am going to tag:

All the Mothers With Cancer contributors,
Stimey
Sarah over at Killer Boob

May you and yours have a successful, safe and healthy 2009!

Sticks and stones...

2008-12-28T22:54:00.000-08:00

I witnessed Danny being made fun of for the first time yesterday. I don't even know if "made fun of" is really the right term for it. He was called a name.

Blindy.

Sounds harsh, right? It really wasn't such a big deal at the time. The name caller was my sister's 7 year old stepson. He's got older brothers that aren't the best influences and doesn't get to spend much time with our families. But still.

I don't really even think he was meaning to call Danny a name. Maybe more like a nickname or something... It really didn't seem mean-spirited. He just walked in and said, "Hey, Blindy." In fact, he was so nonchalant about it that it took me a few beats for his words to sink in. His father had already reprimanded him by that time. But still.

Danny, being true to form, took it all in stride and asked to be taken to the kitchen. On the way he ran on in his own third-person commentary saying, "...He can't see. You know, his eyes are broken." But still.

Even though it wasn't a big issue then, it feels like a big issue now. Another child took a poke at Danny's most vulnerable spot with no thought and absolutely no consideration for his feelings.

He's only three. What will it be like when he's 7... or 10, or 15? Will those unthinking words from his unenlightened peers continue to roll off Danny's back like so many water droplets? Or will he bear the scabs and scars inside where the world cannot see?

Of course, he will be carrying a big stick (cane)... perhaps others should learn to speak softly...

Christmas 2008 in review

2008-12-27T23:09:00.000-08:00

It's time for the post-Christmas wrap up. Daddy-O and I were reflecting on how much we enjoyed our Christmas this year. That's not to say that we don't normally enjoy the holidays... however, I'm sure you can all relate to the stresses of extended family cohabiting in cramped conditions. I can honestly say that this was probably one of the best Christmases we've ever had. I think there were many factors which contributed to this. It's a mixed bag of blessings, though, to be sure.

Daddy-O and I set our holiday schedule before we even got married. I've seen too many family feuds erupt over which grandparents would get to host baby's first Christmas, etc and wasn't about to fall into that trap. So we agreed to spend Thanksgiving with his family and Christmas with mine, then switch it off the next year. This way we can project where we will be on any given year. This year happens to be our year to spend Christmas with my family in northern California. The typical clan has always included Daddy-O, Ben, Danny & I; my mom & her partner of 25+ years, Ival (Papa); my sister, her husband and 2 boys; and my grandparents.

Many things were different this year. This was our second Christmas home with out Papa. He passed on Valentine's Day 2006. I always miss him particularly at this time of year. He was a very difficult person to buy for. One year (about 18 years ago) I hit him just right with his gift and got him something he truly loved and appreciated. I tried unsuccessfully every year after to recreate the magic. I do love a challenge.

We were also without my grandparents this year. Grandpa Jess had a small stroke around December 16th. Thankfully, he's going to be fine after some intensive rehabilitation. But he will be 90 years old in January and he scared us half to death. At any rate, obviously they couldn't make to trip from Hemet with Grandpa in the hospital. So our family unit was shy three on Christmas morning.

Since my grandparents stayed home their dog, Coco was also absent. As was Simba, Mom's very large Golden Retriever and Lady, Papa's Australian Shepard mix. Both had to be put down earlier this year. All sad things, to be sure but also made for six less large bodies in a small house over-full of gifts in bad weather.

Another change this year is that Ben is medicated for his ADHD. This is no small matter. In fact, this may have been the single biggest contributing factor to the Christmas Calm. We actually had to wake the kids up at 7:00 to open presents. And it took us an unheard of 4 hours to complete the process. Ben was awesome! He was calm (but properly excited) and completely appreciative. Best of the best.

Poor Danny was very overwhelmed as usual but Daddy-O and I agreed at the outset not to stress on the whole conforming to traditions with him. Open a gift then wait. Wonderful. I didn't care if it took him the whole day to open them all. I just wanted him to have a good time. And he did. Santa brought him the moon he'd asked for. He was pretty much done at that point. He just wanted to go back to bed with his moon and listen to music. Such simple, simple needs.

Santa brought Ben a Nintendo DS Lite and no one has had a conversation with him since that has lasted longer than 5 minutes.

Even though we didn't go smaller this year (at least not in quantity) with the gifts, there was certainly more thought put into them and much less fluff under the tree. And that alone made for a high Christmas satisfaction rating.

Most importantly, those of us that could be were together. We all have jobs in this economy... even my 18 year old nephew who is still learning how to be a good employee. With the exception of Grandpa Jess, everyone's health is great (and his could be so much worse). What is not to find pleasure in? Life is good.

I'll leave you with three last pictures that sum up our Christmas day.

Danny felt so crummy from his cold he had to lay down & play with his new fire truck.

Derek spent the whole summer collection Pokemon cards for Ben.
Cut from the same cloth. Look at Derek & see Ben in 10 years.

Danny helping Aunt Marion make Deviled Eggs.

Happy Holidays!

2008-12-24T20:01:00.001-08:00

We wish you a joyous and loving family-filled Christmas

and a beachin' New Year!

Stella, Daddy-O
Ben and Danny

The Journey's the thing

2008-12-23T11:33:00.000-08:00

Three years ago yesterday my whole world stopped. For a split second anyway. Before it was thrust into a strange slow-motion, fast-forward kaleidoscope of cancer treatment and regrets for a future with my children that might never be.

Is there and other phrase that has the same effect as "it's cancer"? What powerful, life-changing words those are. Normally I would think news of a close friend or relative's diagnosis would be worse than your own. But after careful consideration, I think it's far, far worse if it is oneself. Particularly, if you happen to be the mother of young children.

When I heard the words for the first time my heart stopped. Confirmation. My worst fear. I cried.

Was I crying for myself? The prospect of death. The stress of all the medical tests. The relief of finally knowing. The fear of an unknown future.

Was I crying for my kids? Losing their mother at such young ages (that was the only end I could see for them). The confusion and pain they would feel because of me. The scars they would always carry. How those scars would change their lives.

Was I crying for my mother? Hearing that one of your children may die (not a certainty in her context for some reason). Bearing powerless witness as the child you created fights for survival. The pain that would cause - the unnecessary burden.

All those thoughts rushed through my head at once, scorching a path as they passed. Quickly in and out. Shock left in their wake. Mental paralysis. Yet my fingers started typing. As the doctor's voice relayed test numbers and statistics through the phone to some walled-off portion of my brain, I tapped off an email to co-workers. "It's cancer." Even in shock I knew it would be less painful to type than to speak those dreaded words.

I don't know how long that call lasted, but there was a tight wall of support behind me as I put the phone in its cradle. I couldn't turn around. I felt marked. Marked for death. An object of pity. Not strong. Weak - in constitution and capability. A failure. I ran away from their concern like a coward .

~~~~~

All through my treatment, I never successfully shook those initial feelings of failure and weakness. I'd failed to remain healthy. I'd failed as a wife; cashing in the vows from our marriage. In sickness and health. Till death do us part. I'd failed as a mother. Would I see my boys grown? Would I leave Danny with a father stretched too thin from providing and filling both parental roles to adequately see to his therapies and education?

Yet I survived.

Chemotherapy made me realize what strength is... and that I have it. It gave me time to work through that onus of weakness and failure. Time to realize that God's plan was perfect - even for my children. Even if it means that they may have to live without me someday. It gave me time to appreciate my husband for the man that he is and not the one I sometimes wish he was. And to be grateful for those in my life that have always been there for me, and even more that stepped out of shadows and into my life. Mostly, it gave me time to acknowledge my life, my loves and my future... in all its incarnations.

I am so pleased to be here three years and one day later. I am proud of the journey I've made. I am grateful that I have been able to walk my boys through a difficult time and prepare them for others in the future. More grateful still that those future tragedies just might not include their mother.

When I look back at that afternoon in December 2005 I see myself consumed with fear. Today I have replaced that fear with power and action. Daddy-O still refuses to mention the "C" word by name, choosing instead to simply reference his worry from time to time, knowing I'll know exactly what he means. As for me, I talk about it often - stripping cancer's power and making it my own.

I am more than a Breast Cancer Survivor - I am a Thriver.

The Santa Visit

2008-12-21T11:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I took Danny to see Santa Claus. I've been very nervous about the whole thing. We've been warned many times about the Santa issue and blind kids. Mostly a problem arises because blind children have such powerful memories for voice recognition. They know right off that this Santa is a) not the same Santa they've met before or b) is really Uncle John. Smarty Pants kids, ruining all the Christmas fun for the adults. And, of course, there was the worry that he would sandbag us by asking Santa for something he's never talked about before which would, of course, be impossible to get at this late date. Ben did that one year by talking about a train set for months before Christmas then, overcome by the heady power of the having Santa's ear, asking for a puppy instead. (Daddy-O paled visibly and I choked on my own spit.) Thankfully, Santa admitted that puppies were not overly fond of his Toy Bag and tended to get air sick in the sleigh so wasn't there anything else he wanted??? Whew!

So, it was with some trepidation, and no small amount of priming and practice for Danny, that we ventured to the Mall for The Santa Visit.

We waited in a very small line that, much to Danny's delight, ran parallel to an escalator (that's where Brenden, his imaginary friend, lives in case you were unaware) and hid Santa from view. I asked him if he was going to sit on Santa's lap and have his picture taken. That was a definite NO GO. Danny is not a big fan of the picture taking experience. For him it's all about a bunch of sitting too still and having everyone tell him to "look up and smile. No. Not that far up..." He simply has no patience for it. So I agreed to no pictures in hopes of a favorable Santa Experience.

We finally reached the front of the line and I got my first look at Santa. Oooh, he was perfect for the role. I don't know how this Mall does it but every year they find The. Best. Santas. Our Santa was heavy set in his own right but not slovenly or obese like so many of the wannabes I've seen over the years. What I really noticed right off the bat was that the portion of his real face that I could see immediately brought to mind Santa's description from "Twas The Night Before Christmas".

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

He wasn't sitting on any sort of throne like so many Mall Santas I've seen. Instead, he was relaxed in a comfy-looking, green velvet upholstered chair. But when he spoke... oh, when he spoke I fell in love with Santa Claus all over again. His voice was deep timbred and quiet. Smooth and rich like a Hot Buttered Rum. The. Perfect. Santa. Voice.

I mouthed above Danny head that he couldn't see and his name. (Yet another blind boy perk like buying his Christmas gifts while he's there with me knowing he can't see what I'm doing.) As a result, Santa called Danny by name in that deep, buttery voice, and followed it up with a soft ho, ho, chuckle. My heart melted for my son. Danny stood directly in front of Santa's knees holding his big gloved hands with a giant smile on his face and said very clearly, "Merry Christmas, Santa!"

Thankfully, I wasn't sandbagged this year - though Santa was a bit perplexed by Danny's request. He asked for a MOON, and a MICROWAVE, and a BALLOON. Oh, and a BIG BOY BIKE WITH TWO WHEELS. Then he reached up and gave Santa the biggest, hardest hug a little boy has ever given. Every elf in the vacinity gasped out a quiet little "awww." And my heart melted all over again.

I spent the rest of the afternoon kicking myself for the no photos promise. I'm not sure the sweet image will ever leave my memory. I hope it doesn't. And I hope most of all that Danny holds that two minutes of Christmas perfection in his heart to share with his own kids someday.

People's HealthBlogger Awards

2008-12-19T20:01:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I thought it might be a good idea to enter Mothers With Cancer in the People's HealthBlogger Awards. The Awards are for any bloggers who write primarily about health or healthy living topics. That's certainly MWC! Plus, the Awards are sponsored or invented or made up... (whatever) by a website that is forever sending me all sorts of email invitations that I quite rudely delete and ignore. A little more visibility with our target audience would be nice compensation for the probable carpal tunnel I'll eventually get in my Delete Finger.

Anyway, that great idea was a few weeks ago (I think). But, as I've been discovering, my mind is as water tight as a leaky dinghy at best... and a collander at worst. So I applied and promptly forgot all about it. That's me. Memory like a steel trap! At least that used to be the case. *sigh*

Frankly, I've been a bit worried about my memory issues of late. I can't seem to remember anything anymore. This isn't the run of the mill Chemo Brain. On Wednesday Ben had an appointment with Dr. Flaton at 10:30. I saw it on the kitchen calendar that morning. I left Daddy-O a note reminding him to let the school know I'd be picking Ben up. I told Ben about the appointment. I even remembered to grab the medication evaluation paperwork from the bookcase. Next thing I know, my cell phone is ringing and it's Dr. Flaton's office calling to ask if we were keepingour appointment. It was 10:45! Gah!

The day before I discussed with Wonder Sitter keeping Danny home from preschool the next day. I agreed to call his therapists & let them know not to show up. I couldn't even remember that long enough for the 3 block drive home. I did finally remember it 24 hours later as I was driving home from our office Christmas party. I am not going to go into the dozens of messages and reminders I have forgotten to give Daddy-O.

Of course, I worry about breast cancer metastasis to the brain. At least that's what I worry about when I remember there is something to worry about. Directly after the thought of mets enters my head I hear a resounding "Pshaw!" bouncing around between my ears. I guess I don't really believe I have a brain metastasis. It's just that I have always had a near perfect memory - particularly for daily minutia. It's frustrating to completely forget entire appointments and conversations. I imagine it's much like being a man...

Just in case someone Googles brain mets looking for some useful information and got my drivel instead, I will include a list of the 7 Typical Signs or Symptoms of Brain or Spinal Metastisis.

In any patient previously diagnosed with cancer, the following should raise the suspicion for a brain tumor:

A persistent headache with or without vomiting.
Seizures (Change in type or frequency )
Double vision, mental changes, speech difficulty.
Stroke (brain hemorrhage). Certain brain metastases, such as melanoma, renal carcinoma, and choriocarcinoma bleed easily.
Confusion
Any numbness, arm or leg weakness, back pain, difficulty walking.
Loss of control of bowel or bladder.

Numbers 6,7 are more common with spinal metastases.

Fortunately, I'm just forgetful (probably getting old) and a hypochodriac as the only symptom I can lay claim to is "mental changes". If I can remember long enough I'll say a little thank you for that during my prayers tonight.

In the meantime, click on the handy little button on the right and give a vote for MWC.

Tagging Tidbits

2008-12-06T19:59:00.000-08:00

I love a good game of tag. My personal favorite is Sock Chalk Tag. You fill a tube sock with powdered chalk, the one who's IT wields the sock to tag everyone else. If you swing the sock & hit someone with it, it will leave a chalk mark on their clothes.

But this game of tag could be fun too. RivkA of Coffee & Chemo, tagged me to tell a bit of randomness about myself.

Here are the rules:
1. Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people (if possible) at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs.

So here goes nothing:

1. I have ADD.

2. I absolutely HATE to do housework... so I usually don't.

3. I had a pet lamb when I was a little girl and we raised her in the house for the winter because her mother wouldn't take her back.

4. I hate to dance.

5. I always wanted to be a writer but I suck at it. I couldn't make up a whole story to save my life.

6. I could live on breakfast cereal and Oreos.

7. I never wear underwear because they always end up in my butt. Seriously. How does everyone stand it?

Well, now that that's done... I get to play some tag with my friends. So I think I'll tag....

Sarah over at The Killer Boob
Jan of Jan's Bucket List (Hi Mom!)
Sarah from Sprucehill
Karen of Kazscrapz 'n thingz
Mary Beth Volpini
Sherry Smyth from ABreast In The W orld
and ClergyGirl

A Life Sentence

2008-12-02T13:01:00.000-08:00

If you'll remember back a bit, I posted an excerpt from Ben's Sentence Completion List. This was an assignment from Dr. Flaton, the pediatric ADD specialist. As a very special treat for you today, I will post the remainder of Ben's sentences. And perhaps a comment or two if you are very, very good readers. Just a reminder, Ben is 8 years old.

1. I would like to be a scientist.

2. My mother loves chocolate martinis. (ack! choke! cough! While technically true, this was not high on my list of things I wanted the doctor to know.)

3. I cannot have a cell phone. (This is so true. But I am considering wrist watch walkie talkies with a mile and a half range.)

4. If I only had a cell phone I'd love my Mom and Dad. (Boy! They learn early don't they? The answer is still "NO!")

5. Girls _____________________ (He had no reply to that. I find that comforting on so many levels.)

6. I am ashamed of Danny having attitude. (Note that he's not ashamed of his own behavior. This answer is totally worthy of a presidential candidate!)

7. I am afraid of nothing. (Yeah, that's what I was afraid of...)

8. I like Pokemon cards.

9. I don't like summer school.

10. I love my Mom, Dad and Danny.

11. Boys are my friends.

12. Mother should do nothing. (I am not exactly sure how to take that... but I like it.)

13. There are times when I am bored.

14. I hate bullies.

15. It makes me sad to watch a kid being bullied.

16. My home is small.

17. Father should do nothing. (again with that?)

18. People think that I am stupid. (What!? After much teeth gnashing and hand wringing it turns out there is a snotty 2nd grader that asks him things like "what is 1000 x 200?" When Ben doesn't know the answer he tells him he's stupid. Grrrrr!)

19. Sometimes I think about skateboarding and fishing and surfing.

20. Nobody knows that I have ADD. (I can't decide if it's wonderful or really sad that he doesn't get that people know he's ADD...)

21. The best thing that ever happened to me was riding a horse.

22. The worst thing that ever happened to me was breaking my wrist the first time.

So, I guess we haven't completely ruined our kid. Except for being outed about the chocolate martini addiction and the small house it's all good.

Did anyone notice what didn't make the list anywhere?????

CANCER.

That's right. No cancer anywhere.

No, "worst thing that ever happened to me was mom getting cancer..."

No, "mom should buy a wig..."

No, "afraid my mom will die..."

Just normal, every day eight-year-old boy stuff: science, surfing, cell phones and Pokemon cards. Thank you, Lord!

Cross posted to Mothers with Cancer

I prefer a shot between the eyes to a stab in the back any day

2008-11-24T10:54:00.000-08:00

I have a problem. Well, I have many that I am aware of and probably even more that I am not. However, this matter touches on an issue that has been particularly challenging for me my entire adult life. Straightforwardness. I simply cannot abide the lack of it.

It's not really an honesty issue because there are many reasons in ones life for a bit of dishonesty. I won't get into them here just to save myself the holier-than-thou emails. It's more about all the damn "political correctness" and circuitous routes people take to accomplish things because the more direct route would reflect poorly on them. This drives me batty! Since you're probably completely confused as to what has be all buggered about now, I'll just get into it already.

It's the dang school district! Our Wonder Sitter is also Danny's full time aide at preschool and PEEP (Preschool Early Enrichment Program which he attends to further his self-help skills) and is paid for such by the school district. This has been the arrangement for the past year. At this point you really need to know something about our Wonder Sitter. The "Wonder" portion of her name is not just an empty title. She is a marvel. I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that she is the best thing that has ever happened to us in regards to Danny. His mobility therapist can't say enough good things about her. He fairly gushes about how he only has to show her this cane technique or that once and the next time he sees Danny he's a pro at it thanks to our Wonder Sitter. Ditto with Danny's Vision Therapist. So, when the school district's people saw what a natural she was with Danny and his disabilities last year, they fairly begged her to jump through all their hoops (fingerprinting, etc) to become a substitute aide - which she did with Danny in mind.

Well, a few weeks ago (I thought I posted about it but guess not) I got a call from our case worker telling me that Danny was doing so well at his preschool that she thought he would be much better served by spending 4 or 5 days in preschool than he would only 3 days and one day at PEEP. Hello! We've been telling them that PEEP was worthless for 2 years now! Most of the kids are in there for language delays which Danny most certainly does. not. have. Yet they have insisted that it was the best class for him. Of course, I readily agreed to stop PEEP immediately and we have an IEP to formalize that on December 8th.

Then, last week, our Wonder Sitter was approached about aiding another special needs child at the preschool. She is completely non-verbal and has a feeding tube. Wonder Sitter, for all her talents, has no formal training. A child such as this is beyond her capabilities and she said as much to the district representative.

Coincidentally, two days later, she received an email from the district informing her that she needed to submit a paper detailing what it is like to work with Danny. In addition, she must list all the special needs children she has ever worked with, detailing their handicaps. The only explaination she was given was that there are other people that want her job.

What I think is really going on: I think the county only has funding for one aide at Danny's preschool. Since Wonder Sitter refused to aide for the non-verbal child with the feeding tube they now must replace her with someone else. So they have now either asked for these items as a means of measuring experience in order to eliminate Wonder Sitter from the competition or, and this one makes me angrier, they have asked for the paper on Danny so that the next aide has a heads up on working with him.

Either way, I know they are not being up front with the Wonder Sitter about the whole issue. And by screwing with her they are screwing with us (our childcare situation) and they are screwing with Danny. If she is not Danny's aide 5 days a week until noon, we certainly aren't going to pay her the same salary we pay her now for a full day five days a week. That means she may need to find other work. That jeapardizes our childcare.

It also brings up another interesting question. Did the school district really think Danny no longer needed PEEP or was that just a convenient excuse to have the Wonder Sitter at the preschool the extra days needed to care for the incoming special needs child? The timing is suspect don't you think? I can tell you for certain that I do not believe they have Danny's best interests in mind when making decisions.

Mostly, I just don't understand why they are not forthright in their motives. Everyone understands budget issues. Why not say so?

And the real question is... What should I do about this at our IEP???

"A Capella"

2008-11-18T19:36:00.000-08:00

is Danny's newest word. I'm not sure where he heard it but he was very frustrated for a full day because the sitter didn't realize what he was saying. Of course he was pronouncing it "a cambella". And at first he thought it was the name of a song so he kept saying, "I want to sing A Cambella."

The sitter thought he was just making up words but the tempo of the word was to familiar. When I asked if he meant "a capella" he just about spun himself into the ground in excitement. Finally, someone understood him!

Now all we do is sing a capella, which he'll tell you is songs without music. His current a capella favorite is Skidamarink, only he gives it a little Danny twist.

I love you in the morning
and in the afternoon.
I love you in the evening
And under the balloon.

Oh, skidamarinky dinky dink
skidamarinky doo
I love you.
'Deed I do. Yes, I do.

Is he not just the cutest little guy? Sometimes I just want to squish him because I can't stand the cuteness another minute!

In other news...

I attempted to get Danny's baseline hearing test done today. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but there is almost 100% certainty that he will suffer mild to profound hearing loss at some point due to his Norrie's Disease. At any rate, I took him in to get his hearing tested but he was far too enamoured with listening to the new sounds through the little ear buds in his ears to bother with putting the lego blocks into the fireman hat. No results there. We were able to get results from one test that esentially measures the amount of sound which escapes from his ear after he hears it. That test he passed with flying colors. Which means he could only have the mildest of hearing loss if any at all.

So... Yeah!

Does anyone have any whiteout?

2008-11-14T13:39:00.000-08:00

Have you seen this? My man, Obama is setting a high bar for his staff. He wants every applicant to detail every blog post, web comment, web alias, social networking page, etc. on their 9 page applications. Please provide URLs and printed copies if readily available.

Holy Blogosphere, Batman!

Call it Big Brother (and I'm sure many will), call it micro-managing or, better yet, none of his business... but the man is crazy smart! Other Presidents have been caught in politically embarrassing situations regarding staff or nominees when their online opinions have come to light. Why should someone working for the President of the United States not be subjected to the same scrutiny any other job applicant? Prospective employers routinely Google their applicants.

Although, to be fair, I do not think it's appropriate for him to ask if an applicant owns a gun and please provide legal registration. That falls under the "none of your damn business" category.

Right now, I'm just grateful I had no aspirations to work in the Obama Administration. The mere thought of trying disappear my Internet presence, or worse, actually having to willingly hand over hard copy of my blogosphere bantering... Gah! My insides turn to curdled milk at the very thought.

Wow! This must be a record number of postings for me! I am just all full of things to say to the blogosphere when Daddy-O isn't home to listen to me. Heh!

Fire!

2008-11-14T08:45:00.001-08:00

Please pray for all the families who have lost their homes in the Tea Fire in Santa Barbara... and all who will before this fire is extinguished. I can't believe how devestating it has already been. Wildfire Today is a wonderful blog that follows fires closely and updates regularly. Check out his extremely detailed map of the fire.

Squeeeeee!

2008-11-14T08:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I received a very flattering email requesting the use of one of my Flickr photos for a web article on Now Public. I know it's the internet so it's not really the same as being published in real life... but it thrilled me beyond belief that someone, anyone, would think one of my pictures was good enough to include on their website. I'm horribly needy that way.

Of course, it's one of my Yosemite pictures. It's very hard to take a bad picture of one of God's better creations - so I can't take much of the credit. The article is on the 50th anniversary of the first ascent of El Cap. There is a photo essay along with the article.

Go check it out if you're interested. Be sure and comment on any of the photos you find compelling. I can tell you that the photographers will squee with delight!!

Say, say, oh, Playmate

2008-11-13T21:37:00.000-08:00

Danny had his first play date Wednesday. And he actually played! Our sitter said he pretty much interacted like any normal child. I wish I'd been there. I've never really seen him play with anyone but Ben before.

It was a full day. They had ice cream.

They climbed on a tree stump. Danny heard his new friend jump to the ground... and he jumped too. Amazing.

Danny also took his friend to visit his favorite climbing tree.

They may just be the future terrors of 2nd Street.

Imaginary friends, clinical trials and the joys of poop

2008-11-06T15:22:00.000-08:00

I've had a bunch of things to share with you, none of which seemed worthy of a whole post in and of themselves. So today will be a Tapas Topic day, in that the subjects will be small and plentiful yet not enough to make a post.

Tapa numero uno
First there is this new site called BreastCancerTrials.Org that lets you enter your health history, then matches you up with any clinical trials you might qualify for. All for free. How cool is that? Well, not cooler than not actually having cancer... but still pretty nifty.

I entered my information. Since I am currently cancer-free, am not undergoing any treatments and do not take Herceptin or any other receptor-positive treatments (praise God for all that), I only qualify for two trials, neither of which I am interested in at the moment. The first, categorized as Supportive, was on treating vaginal dryness for women with breast cancer. Um, yeah. No thanks. The second is Preventative in nature and one I would be interested in if it were closer to me. It is on diet and exercise to prevent breast cancer or a recurrence. So interested in that. Unfortunately, the nearest research site is Houston, TX. But that doesn't mean YOU won't have better luck so go fill out your own health history and see what pops up.

Tapa numero dos
And did I tell you that Danny has an imaginary friend. Yep. It's official. Absolutely no one knows who Brenden is - ergo, he must only exist in D's imagination - unless he suddenly grew a social life I don't know about. (And how unfair would that be since I don't have one?) I guess Brenden has been hanging around in conversation for about 5 or 6 weeks now. I actually thought he was a real kid. Danny talks about him the same way he talks about everyone else, in the third person, in question format, as if he interacts with them on a daily basis. (i.e. "Does Alayna clap at the soccer game?") I just assumed Brenden was one of the boys in his new preschool class. When I finally got around to asking, turns out he's not.

I've never known anyone that actually had an imaginary friend. Intellectually I know there is nothing wrong with it but I guess I've still always thought there was just a little something off about those kids. And that's not to say there isn't something a just a little off about Danny either... However, this article I found from the Seattle Post - Intelligencer Reporter was comforting nonetheless.

Tapa numero tres
For those of you sick to death of politics, please skip this tapa. Actually, this might fall more under the confession category than anything else. I voted "yes" on Proposition 8 - the ban on gay marriage. Weeks ago, actually. And now I wish I could take back my vote. I have never had an issue with civil unions or any of the other rights or privileges that come along with such a legal status. My single objection has always been with calling a same-sex partnership a marriage. How hypocritical of me. Who am I to deny equality to any segment of society? The worst of it is that I knew it was hypocritical and discriminatory when I cast the vote. And still I did it! I voted with my emotions and not my intellect. Gah! I hope it is overturned - again.

Tapa numero quatro
I promise this one is lighter by far. We've been seeing an ADD specialist for Ben, Dr. Flaton. I really, really like working with her. She's already given me great insight into what it must be like to be ADHD... helped me see things from Ben's viewpoint. At any rate, she gave Ben a bunch of questions to answer before our next appointment. They are haaard questions. At least I thought so. I guess they could be perfectly simple also. The few that Ben completed I thought were answered very well. (spelling has been corrected because I couldn't stand it.)

Tomorrow I will "go to the beach and play."
I wish that I "was rich and famous."
I worry about "my little brother."
I hope "I will never die in a 100 years."
My father "is going fishing today."
In school I "learn about science."
It isn't nice to "be a bully to other kids."
My teacher "is nice and kind."

Tapa numero cinco
Yesterday was our last soccer obligation for the season. It was an entire tournament day. We love soccer and have had a wonderful season - even though we haven't won a single game. Well, before yesterday. We actually won the very last game of the season. 4-0. Woohoo! The boys were thrilled! Here is a picture of Ben celebrating with Coach Daddy-O.

Sweet, huh? Oh course, that's not the real story here. Danny and I sat on the sidelines the whole day. We had a great time cheering an clapping for Ben's team.

Unfortunately, Danny had an accident in his pants because the port-a-potties were so far away.

Fortunately, I had thought ahead and put him in a pull-up before we left the house.

Unfortunately, I had already removed all kid stuff from my van in preparation for Daddy-O's fishing trip so I didn't have any wipes or other pull-ups. Yikes! It was only 10 AM.

Fortunately, one of the other mom's had everything I needed. Day saved. After lunch there was another small accident before we made it to the outhouse.

Unfortunately, this time there was diarrhea involved. Ack! Still no supplies and now day-saving mom had taken her diaper bag to lunch.

Fortunately, Danny doesn't mind going commando.

Unfortunately, the diarrhea wasn't an isolated incident.

Fortunately, he was wearing very dark, thick pants and there wasn't very much of it... that second time.

Unfortunately, there was also a third time.

All I can say is that my youngest son is such a trooper. He was swooped up, rushed home, stripped, thrown in a bath, scrubbed within an inch of his life, brusquely dried & redressed then back at the soccer fields within 30 minutes. Surely a record.

Portions cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

A few feelings on last night...

2008-11-05T10:31:00.000-08:00

Have you ever seen anything like it? Obama supporter or McCain. Republican or Democrat. Liberal or Conservative. Have you ever been a part of something that grand?

Is that what it was like when JFK was President? Because if it was, OMG. No wonder there was such devastation at his assassination.

I have to say that the actual vote counting was pretty anti-climactic. Is the Electoral College antiquated, or is that just me? But watching the reporters on MSNBC (admittedly pro-Obama) try to keep their cool, contain their growing incredulousness and not announce too early was priceless.

Once the official projection was made... my Lord. I have never seen such a thing. It looked like New Year's Eve in Time's Square... everywhere people could gather. (How do people pee in those crowds? Seriously? Do they wear Depends?) Crying. Texting. My phone was going off.

And our beloved Tim Russert's son, Luke's report from somewhere in Florida surrounded by a group of his peers... brought tears to my eyes for the truth of his words. I'm paraphrasing here: Luke said that the students basically felt that Obama was their president. The first one to represent their interests and their agenda. NOT their parent's presidents. Obama will hear their voice and listen to them.

I'll go them one step further. Obama makes me feel as if I am a part of this government. A vital part.

Oh, I can go on and on... but essentially it's this. America as I have always known it changed last night. I was a part of it. I am proud of that.

Am I afraid for Obama? Afraid some psycho will hate the goodness and truth that lives inside him and seek to snuff it out? To my very bones. But if he is willing to risk it, so am I.

A new direction

2008-11-04T21:29:00.000-08:00

I am overwhelmed. I am hopeful. I am tired.

I will wake up tomorrow in a country with an African American President Elect. My children will grow up knowing that anyone, if they work hard enough, can become President of the United States of America. Let the healing begin.

I can't look. Are the results coming in yet?

2008-11-04T13:39:00.000-08:00

"When we got into office, the thing that surprised me the most was that things were as bad as we'd been saying they were."

~~John F. Kennedy~~

"Ninety-eight percent of the adults in this country are decent, hard-working, honest Americans. It's the other lousy two percent that get all the publicity. But then -- we elected them."

~~Lily Tomlin~~

"In America, anyone can become president. That's one of the risks you take."

~~Adlai Stevenson~~

"The reason there are so few female politicians is that it is too much trouble to put makeup on two faces."

~~Maureen Murphy~~

"There is no distinctly American criminal class --except Congress."

~~Mark Twain~~

I'm just killing a little time until the polls close. I am strangely nervous. What if it is a big upset and McCain wins? Can I handle that? Of course, I'll have no choice, but... I want so much more for our Country.

I want a new course. I want to have confidence in and respect for my President again. I want that hope that has been eluding us as a nation for so long.

I have no beef with John McCain. He is an honorable man, though I don't necessarily agree with his agenda. But don't get me started on Sarah Palin.

She is my punishment for disliking Hilary so much. I used to think Hilary's "stand by my man" crap from the Monica days was a disservice to women and showed her as a power-hungry person. At least, Hilary is intelligent, consistent and effective in executing her party's political agenda. Palin is not even in the same league. I saw an email the other day that summed it up nicely. It had a group of women holding a sign that said, "Mr. McCain, we did not wait 232 years for Sarah Palin!!!"

Only an hour and forty minutes before the first polls close. Hold me!

Don't forget to vote. And keep your truck window closed

2008-11-03T20:20:00.000-08:00

I have a very nice post about Obama but first here's one about the truck I followed home from work.

There I was, minding my own business, when the rear window in the truck I was following slid open... and a butt popped out. I looked at it for a second or two.

It was young. Or female. Or unnaturally smooth and free of hair.

Then it sank in... "That's an ass." I looked at the clock on my dash and it was only 11:30 am. Granted, Daylight Savings Time just ended this weekend but even 12:30 pm is a little early for the moon to be out, don't you think?

Back to our originally scheduled post:

I had a very heartfelt post written about why I think Barack Obama is the best man to lead our country at this moment in history. How having a Kenyan father and a white mother and being raised in an average household in the heartland of America has made him the epitome of the American Dream. Senator Obama does not seek the Presidency from an origin of privilege. His beginnings are humble. His family like yours and mine. Working class. One-time food stamp recipients. College educated on scholarships and hard work. Sacrificing for what was wanted and needed. How if anyone could understand what we as a Country of working class citizens are experiencing, it is certainly Barack Obama and not a man who cannot immediately recall the number of houses he owns.

Not only is Obama one of us, he is a learned man. And he inspires. There are those who say he hasn't enough experience. Or that what he wants to accomplish depends on such an unlikely set of circumstance so as to virtually impossible. But inspiration is a strange thing. Hope and inspiration. Those two things can change the world. They can turn the most jaded of politicians into a believer again.

The bottom line is that I believe he can do what he plans to do. I believe HE believes he can do it too. And that, my friends, is a far sight more than I believe about most politicians. So he has my vote. He also has my appreciation for reminding me that this Country should be great. And that it can be again. It's something I forgot after September 11th, 2001 and didn't even realize it...

I had a post like that but I accidentally deleted it. Oops. Don't forget to vote.

Just one last word on Breast Cancer Awareness...

2008-10-31T16:54:00.000-07:00

New and Improved! Now even better than before!

2008-10-27T23:06:00.000-07:00

That’s me. New and Improved.

The obvious, of course, is that experts have worked hard to remove all cancer from my body. As a result, I am now Cancer Free. And we all know that the less ingredients something contains the more it is worth. Today, however, I received an unexpected upgrade.

This afternoon I had my optometrist appointment. The first one in a little over two years. I hadn’t really remembered much from my last appointment. My main goal is always to get my contact prescription refilled and get on with my life. But that particular year, 2006, I was in the midst of breast cancer treatment. I had just finished 8 rounds of dose dense chemotherapy, had just had my first single mastectomy and was regaining my strength in anticipation of 6 months of oral chemo in concert with 6 weeks of radiation therapy. In short, I had other things on my mind than my eyes. So I was a bit nonplussed when Dr. E asked if my cataract had been bothering me.

I didn’t even remember I had a cataract. Once he said it, though, it all did sound vaguely familiar. Something about a very small developing cataract that we were going to keep an eye on…

At any rate, Dr. E settled in to begin my exam. “Let’s get a look at that fading near vision.” He says as he hands me a card with impossibly small letters on it. As he logged my results in my chart it was his turn to look a bit confused. It seems my near vision is better now than it was two years ago. I reminded him that I had been in the midst of chemo last time and under a significant amount of stress to boot. Perhaps that had effected my eyesight. He was skeptical. “Maybe… but that has never been my experience.”

Whatever, I know what stress can do. A bit of blurred vision is the least of the possibilities.

Then he moved on to “get a look at that cataract”. Only he couldn’t find it. You read it correctly. He looked and he looked. He used about three different lights and all but crawled inside my eyeball his own self. Seems I no longer have a small developing cataract.

Dr. E is such a jovial man. It was wonderful to see him all but scratch his head and smile while he said that it just must have been the chemotherapy because there certainly wasn’t any cataract now. He declared me “Too perfect. More perfect than last time.” and sent me on my way.

A little over two years ago I had Inflammatory Breast Cancer, a small cataract, fading near vision, and cough-variant asthma. Today I am cancer free, cataract free, have perfect near vision and no asthma issues to speak of. I’m a advertiser’s dream!

More importantly, I am blessed beyond measure.

Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

Book Review: Belly of the Whale, by Linda Merlino

2008-10-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

I am an avid reader. Always have been. As a child, books opened up a world of magic and wonder. The first book I ever remember reading over and over again was Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses. It was a Christmas gift from my grandmother that I still hold in my heart today. As a young adult I was transported to the Great Plains as I read the Little House on the Prairie series. I absorbed each word into my being until I was Laura Ingalls Wilder. The Black Stallion books ushered in the era of posters covering my bedroom walls and saw my bicycle transformed into a trusty Arabian steed. As an adult, my reading tastes are many and varied. But I have a particular fondness for thrillers and cop stories. So when I was approached a few weeks ago about reviewing Belly of the Whale I didn’t even hesitate. A free book! Are you kidding me? I’m all over it!

~~~~~

Hudson Catalina has breast cancer. She is young in breast cancer terms, only 38, and the mother of four. Yet her youth and vitality have been drained away from her courtesy of intense chemotherapy treatments. Belly of the Whale opens with Hudson at the end of her coping abilities. She has given up hope. Despite her marriage to a wonderful man and being surrounded by loving, supportive family and friends, she can not see an end to her physical misery outside of death itself. The reader joins Hudson on what she intends to be her last day of chemotherapy. A day beset by a Nor’easter that virtually closes up her small Massachusetts town.

Hudson sees death ahead and is on a mission to celebrate a lifetime of milestones for her newly 5 year old daughter – all in one singular birthday celebration. To complete this mission she heads out to Whales Market for supplies despite the raging blizzard and her own post-chemo debilitation. While there, Hudson, the owner of the market and the mentally challenged bag-boy fall victim to an unhinged local teen intent on robbing the store. Throughout the stormy night in Whales Market, Hudson’s wish for death is challenged over and over again, clarifying for her just how precious life is.

I found Belly of the Whale to be a captivating and well written book despite my complete impatience for and dislike of the main character. The author, Linda Merlino, is a breast cancer survivor her own self so she certainly understands the mind of a cancer patient. I found her rendering of Hudson’s mental state to be very true-to-life. Many of her words resonated with me. Many times I felt compelled to write “Yes!” in the margins of the book.

Speaking of a crisis she writes, “Some people gather their wits about them, sort through all the mire and come out on the other side transformed.” How true this is. Also true is that many people do not. Hudson Catalina is firmly in the “do not” category. Being one of the transformed, I had a very difficult time tolerating her. Is there any bigger crime than throwing away one’s life when others are desperately fighting a losing battle to hang on to theirs? I don’t think so… and it made the first half of Belly of the Whale very difficult to read.

However, Merlino’s other characters, Ruby and Willy Wu, were irresistibly likeable and priceless in their wisdom. Ruby chastises Hudson at one point, telling her, “God isn’t to blame for these unfortunate times in our lives… I’ll tell you that life’s a circle and we go around like the spokes on a wheel. Sometimes we’re happy, our faces in the light, and sometimes the wheel thrusts us into harsh places of darkness and despair. But we have to believe that it keeps going round, back into the light. Never give up hope.” I love the imagery here; the circle and repetition in the patterns in our lives. Happy, sad. Joy, despair. Yes!

All in all, I enjoyed Belly of the Whale, though I wouldn’t recommend it to someone currently in treatment for cancer. Many of its insights and revelations are best accepted by one who has already made it out of the whale’s belly.

God's Country

2008-10-21T14:04:00.000-07:00

We just came home from Yosemite. It's the first time I've ever been there. Man, did God ever work overtime on that place! He certainly out did himself.

Words really can't express how beautiful the park is so I will just give you a glimpse of my photos from Saturday.

Of Childhood Rituals...

2008-10-16T19:52:00.000-07:00

I got Danny's pony pictures back from the preschool today. They are adorable. Is there ever a bad Pony Picture, though? Of course, I had to pull out Ben's pony pictures from when he was 3 years old. They look nothing alike.

Ben was a smiling and blond - the quintessential Good Guy. Danny is solemn and dark. Not so much the Bad Guy as the Bad Boy. The cloudiness in his eyes gives them a smoldering, smokey look... if you can overlook the one that's looking the wrong way, that is.

Ben on Nugget 2003 / Danny on Cupcake 2008

Hopalong Cassidy / Black Bart

I'm also struck by how sad Danny looks. And also, how good looking both my boys are (not that I'm biased or anything) even though they look completely different.

Am I the only Mom who sees a good picture of her kid and loves them that much more for it? Maybe I love them more in pictures than in person? I kid, of course. But they sure are quieter in photos...

I'm racking up the Cool Mom points

2008-10-15T17:35:00.000-07:00

I neglected to mention that in the midst of my shoe crisis yesterday I found the time to capture a tarantula at work in a To Go salad container. Do I rock, or what?

Oh, the tarantula was for Ben. It's not like I was just hanging out with giant spiders for the fun of it.

We have lots of wildlife at work. Some of it is even outside the buildings. There are lots of deer, wild turkeys, bobcats, mountain lions (occasionally), squirrels by the thousands, moles, and great blue cranes that eat the moles and squirrels. (So wish I had a picture of that because it is really something to see.)

And, we have tarantulas. Tarantulas that pop really loudly if you chance to run them over with your car. In fact, the first time such a thing happened to me I thought I'd blown a tire. If you don't know much about our large arachnid friends let me tell you all of what I know. That should take about 3 sentences.

The females live in holes in the ground and live so long that spider geeks joke about making provisions in their wills for tarantula guardianship. Male tarantulas are not so fortunate in the longevity department. As with so many species, they are seemingly only around for one thing - the servicing of the women folk. Toward that end, October finds all boy-type tarantulas hitting the road in search of a sexy girl-type spiders.

Fang, as our wayward Tarantula was christened, had the misfortune to be searching for some strange on the outside wall of our office building. He's probably not the brightest in his class, I'm guessing. Bright or not, I thought Ben's class would enjoy speculating him for a day or two. So I scooped him up in the salad dish, ran home (to change my shoes) and put him in the old mouse house and dropped him off with Ben's teacher.

I think I'm the favorite Mom now.

But today we returned Fang to the wild. I'm sure he's bellied up to a Spider Bar telling Tarantula Horror Stories about his alien abduction right about now.

You can go shower now. Or whatever it is you do to get rid of the heebie-geebies.

Why I am celebrating this October

2008-10-14T18:43:00.000-07:00

Am I celebrating because today is my first boyfriend's birthday? (Happy Birthday, Troy!)

Nope. I got over that looooong ago. Strange though, that I still remember his birthday every single year. It's been 38 years for cripe's sake. (What kind of word is "cripe", anyway? I think I need a better vocabulary.) But, I digress.

Am I celebrating because it's the Federal Government's Fiscal New Year and I hardly have any work to do? You betcha! Yet, still not the reason I'm posting.

Is it because my Candidate O'Choice, Barak Obama, has widened his lead over McCain and his less-than-qualified VP pick to a whopping 14%?

Oh, no. There will be no celebrating yet. I hear there is a little thing called the Bradley Effect (when voters are too ashamed to tell opinion pollsters how they really feel) and I'm not going to tempt the fates. But if it wasn't for that little anomaly possibility... I'd be doing the happy dance all over the place.

No. I am celebrating because I have just received a clean bill of health from my oncologist!

Two Years. No cancer. No Evidence of Disease. Blood work all normal.

Triple Negative Inflammatory Breast Cancer. On Breastcancer.org, Dr. Gabriel Hortobagyi, F.A.C.P says that with current neo-adjuvant treatments for IBC, "about one in three patients with inflammatory breast cancer will survive five years, and the great majority of those who do are probably cured of their inflammatory breast cancer. (here's the good part) Most of the recurrences of inflammatory breast cancer have been very early, within the first couple of years."

Dr. Thomas Buchholz, also on Breastcancer.org, agrees. "It is true that if IBC were to recur, it tends to reoccur earlier compared to non-IBC breast cancer. For example, non-IBC breast cancer can even recur a decade after treatment. This would be very, very unusual for patients with IBC."

What do you think? Is that enough reason to celebrate this October?

October 2006 - Mexico

Today.
Two Years Cancer Free and counting...

You know it's going to be one of those days when...

2008-10-14T11:06:00.000-07:00

you look down at your feet while in a meeting with your boss and this is what you see.

Yes. I did actually wear two different shoes to work today. Just to make me feel even more stupid, there is a 1/2 inch difference in heel height. Nice.

Oh, did I mention I have an oncology appointment today? Sheesh!

Oh, man...

2008-10-06T22:34:00.000-07:00

Years ago I worked the late shift at our local liquor store with a good friend. He used to tell me that the quality of a shift, job, or even life itself, could be defined by the number of times one had to say the words "Oh, man...". Over the years I have come to recognize the wisdom behind his theory.

This weekend has been chock full of "Oh, mans..."

First, Ben re-broke his wrist sleeping over at his friend's house. Then we sat in the ER until 11:30 at night because they couldn't get a good enough xray of his wrist. Next my secret Monday off was lost because the sitter and her husband both got the stomach flu. I should know better than to plan an alone day. Those things are better done on the spur of the moment so the Universe doesn't get any ideas.

This evening, however, was the mother of all "Oh, mans..."

We've been having a rough time potty training Danny. For months now he would go on the toilet at the sitter's but never at home. I'd tried leaving him naked all day, in underwear only, taking him every half hour... you name it, I tried it. He would sit on the toilet for sometimes 30+ minutes, proclaim himself "all done" only to mess his pants less than 5 minutes later. Grrrr!

Finally, we met with success once we were able to identified the pee-pee dance. Basically, he doesn't do anything I've ever seen any other kid do when they have to go potty. Instead, he twists his whole body from side to side, which he sort of does a lot of anyway... But if he has to go it's far more exaggerated. Now are main issue is that he doesn't navigate to the bathroom on his own. Where ever he's at, he just yells that he has to go pee-pee and we're supposed to come running. Well, that's great if we're within hearing distance.

So, this evening I was watching football in the living room while Danny was in his room listening to his new Little Einsteins CD, when I faintly heard him yell that he had to go pee-pee. I immediately dropped everything because he's not the best with advanced notice. I opened his bedroom door and...

"Oh, man..." I instantly knew something was wrong by the smell. Then I got close enough to see what I'd been smelling. "Oh, man." Let's just say that little boy's underwear is not as good at keeping things in as diapers or pull-ups. And also, we can assume he's getting the same intestinal virus plaguing his sitter.

He looked like he had melted chocolate all over his legs and squished under his feet. Gah! I guessed right off it wasn't really chocolate. I'm very quick like that sometimes.

Two baths (one for damage control, one for cleansing), one tub sterilization, a load of laundry and bottle of carpet cleaner later and Danny's asking for a cookie. Ugh. Who feels like eating now???

"Home on the Range" and other songs I butcher.

2008-10-05T21:00:00.000-07:00

When you have a blind child the audio portion of your life really becomes dominant. So when I saw that Parent Bloggers Network was having a Sing Out Loud, Sing Out Proud Blog Blast, I was giddy with excitement. OK... so I wasn't giddy. I don't think I've ever actually been giddy in my life. But I did think to my self, "Hey. I just might have something to contribute to this one." That's almost giddy.

The assignment is all about how we, as parents and families, use music and songs to make our day to day lives a bit happier, smoother and educational. Of course, I am immediately reminded of School House Rock from my own childhood. Would any of us today really understand the purpose of a conjunction or (Look. See. Right there I used one! Ha!) know the process of a bill becoming a law if it weren't for Saturday morning television? I certainly didn't pick those tidbits of knowledge up in high school!!! But I digress.

More to the point, how do I get my kids to do what I want them to do without them realising I am winning? By making it fun, of course. And around our house that involves a lot of singing.

I think I began using this technique when Ben was about 8 months old. He had decided he didn't like to wear shoes and socks. Well, really, who does? However, to still those chubby little legs that could move faster than a set of tractor pistons when I was trying to put his shoes on, I'd sing him a little vaudvillesqe ditty. I always picture the WB frog with top hat & cane singing this number:

Give me your footsies.

I need your tootsies.

Give me your footsies, n-o-w!

He would giggle and wiggle and I'd bite his toes. Soon he'd have socks and shoes on with no fighting at all. Mission accomplished.

And one day not so very long ago, when I'd been home with two sick boys for far too long, I rewrote Home On The Range just to save my sanity. Danny and I were rocking in the recliner because he would. not. let. me. put. him. down. And still he was fussing and crying. So I started singing Home On The Range. Soon those well-known lyrics morphed into what has become an old standard around our house. I think you might like it too.

Oh, give me a home where the Davis kids roam
Where the boys, Ben and Daniel, play;
Where seldom is heard an argumentative word
And the boys are not grumpy all day.

Oh, give me a land sans this big pile of sand
That spilled from your shoes to the floor;
Where the boards are not scarred from each little shard
And the yard just outside has still more.

Home, home on the range,
Where the boys, Ben and Daniel, play;
Where seldom is heard an argumentative word
And the boys are not grumpy all day.

I don't really know if it makes them feel better but it works wonders for me.

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as an entry for a contest sponsored by Bush's Beans. They are looking for new lyrics for the "Beans, beans, the musical fruit..." song. If you think you can come up with a better version that properly names beans as a vegetable, you could win $5000 and a trip to New York City.

Deja vu

2008-10-05T11:39:00.001-07:00

Ben re-broke his wrist last night while at a sleepover at his friend's house. For those of you keeping score, he just got to take his splint off from the first broken wrist last Friday.

He and his two buddies were screwing around on the top on a bunk bed. They had been told to get down three times. Ever the good listener, Ben got down quickly... by falling from the top bunk onto one of those rolling drawers that goes under the bed. Both the drawer and his wrist came away slightly worse for wear.

Unfortunately for Ben, it is no mere buckle fracture this time around. He appears to be working his way right up the Broken Bone Scale and is the proud owner of a gen-u-ine Greenstick Fracture. That means that one side of the bone has broken and one side is bent.

This is Ben's actual xray. The yellow arrow points to the break (on the top side of his forearm) and the red arrow shows the bend on the other side of the bone. The milky white line (not pointed out by a convenient arrow) spanning the bone just above the break is the old buckle fracture which has healed.

Perhaps he will learn a lesson from this incident about listening. Yeah, right.

Pretty In Pink

2008-10-01T20:58:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed the blog renovation... If you guessed that the new color scheme is all in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month then you must spend too much time reading blogs, talking to me or sitting in an oncologist's office. Or maybe all of the above...

You will be bombarded this month by pink ribbons, media stories on breast cancer tragedies and triumphs and products on every aisle in every store asking you to contribute to the cause, finding a cure. That's all wonderful. The publicity is needed - welcomed, in fact.

Just don't let it stop there. Please don't sit on your couch watching a news story about a young mother losing her battle with Breast Cancer and cry into your tissue. Then turn off the TV and think it can never happen to you.

I was 39 when I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. I had an 8 month old baby. My mother was diagnosed 6 months after I was. My friend, also a young mother, had two different kinds of Breast Cancer at the same time.

If you do nothing else, do your self breast exams. Know your body. If you detect a change at all, go see your doctor. It's so much better to leave the doctor's office feeling foolish for worrying... then to leave in shock with those words ringing in your ears. Breast Cancer.

"I Feel Good" (cue James Brown)

2008-09-29T06:26:00.000-07:00

I wasn't a blogger when I had cancer. Mostly I think that's a bad thing. It would have been interesting to read back over my posts from those first days after diagnosis - to hear the shell-shock in my words. Or those days of chemo and radiation and pure exhaustion. But other days, I feel that it's all for the best to have those memories locked up inside me in a place that only I will ever see. Overall I am an extremely positive person, but there were some fairly desolate hours during treatment.

All of that only makes me more aware of how far I've come. How good things are these days.

I have always had a strong constitution yet the year or so before my cancer diagnosis (when I was pregnant with Danny) I was plagued by irritating physical issues. I wasn't sick, per se. I was, however, very "run down". I developed a cough that wouldn't go away and eventually made it so difficult to catch my breath that I found myself spending New Years Day 2005 in the Emergency Room. This was not my first trip there either. I'd been twice before for the same thing. I would just cough to the point of (wetting myself) and not being able to get any oxygen. The very act of talking was almost more than I could handle at times. Those of you who know me understand how torturous that was. The long and short of it was Cough Variant (Bronchial) Asthma irritated by my pregnancy. Those were bleak days. Hey... maybe that's why chemo wasn't so difficult for me. At least I could breath.

So... the point I'm trying to make is this...

Here it is, our End of Fiscal Year at work, and I've been working my tail off. I worked 58 hours last week and 56 the week before (including weekends). I go home and have visitation with my boys (that's what it feels like these days), order in some dinner and collapse on the couch until everyone under 4' tall is asleep and I can finally go to bed myself. Then it all starts over again the next day. And yet, I feel wonderful. Exhilarated. Tired, to be sure, but good.

I can breathe. That's always a great thing. I'm not so short tempered as to be a shrieking harridan with my husband and kids. Shamefully, this has not always been the case in the past. And I have enough energy to go to and enjoy Ben's soccer games, surf the internet and manage my fantasy football team.

It's funny how we tend to lose sight of our blessings - like good health and abundant energy - in the midst of our work-a-day world. Those all important things that we take for granted until they are pulled from us. Today I am counting my blessings.

Side note: I just got a sad call from Daddy-O. All male members of my household are home sick today. Laid low by head colds.

Cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

Countdown

2008-09-22T21:45:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again. The end of fiscal year. The time of year that all Federal Government Contracting employees work until the money is alllllll gone. Day and night. Weekdays. Weekends. Did I mention we don't get overtime? One of the great ironies of Federal employment is that we do not fall under federal labor laws. Instead, we get "comp time", an hour off for an hour worked.

At any rate, In just 8 short days, I will get my life back. Just in time for October, aka National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Working towards my new focus, bringing Breast Cancer out of the shadows and into the light, I will be hosting a fund raiser for Young Survival Coalition.

I thought about doing a walk, or (gulp) a run... But any one that knows me would recognize that as a pipe dream. So I decided to go with what I know. Beverages. Namely, the adult kind. And it just so happens that YSC is sponsoring a Drink Pink, Think Pink campaign. So, I am going to throw a Pink Cocktail Party!

I'm just so excited. The very thought of a pretty pink Pomegranate Martini just might get me through the next eight days...

Close Encounters of the Wild Kind

2008-09-17T18:44:00.000-07:00

We've had a lot of interesting visitors around our house lately. We live just three blocks from the back bay and we are a very rural little town, so there is usually an abundance of wildlife around. There's an Audubon Lookout to take advantage of all the birds, and we've always had a plethora of raccoons and possums hanging out after dark. Lots of skunks, too, though, thankfully, not usually in the immediate vicinity of our house. Just in the last 4 days, though, it seems the normal animal traffic has picked up a bit.

On Sunday, our neighbor called Ben & I outside to show us the newest addition to the neighborhood. Meet Mr. Great Horned Owl. He was calm as can be and posed quite calmly while we all snapped away with our digitals. Ben was thrilled when he seemed to turn his head in a complete circle!

Just look at that camouflage!!!

These pictures were snapped at work this morning. We have many flocks of wild turkeys roaming around the base all year long. Of course, there are many turkeys hanging inside the offices too... but they don't plump near as appetizingly near Thanksgiving. We also have deer, bobcats, mountain lions, squirrels so abundant it's almost like a living Whack-a-Mole game, and great blue cranes. But this time of year the turkeys are especially pleasing.

Last night threw me over the edge. Well, technically, it was this morning. 4:22 a.m. to be exact. Our bedroom window opens onto the back yard patio. I woke up before my alarm to hear chuffing, shuffling and growling. It was fairly random at first, interspersed with rummaging. It took a bit before understanding penetrated the fog of sleep. When it did, I jumped out of bed, grabbed my robe & headed for the kitchen.

We have a history of midnight snackers in our kitchen. Snackers besides Ben, that is. We have a cat door, you see, and many besides our cat have made use of it in the nine years we've lived here. Most notorious of these interlopers are the raccoons.

Usually it's every six months or so that one or two small raccoons at a time come into the house to eat the cat food. They don't cause any problems really, besides washing their dinner in the water bowl. It sort of makes the kitchen smell like a wet dog. But If we lock the cat door for a few nights they go away again.

Daddy-O got up the other night because there were four raccoons in the house. Four! Well, this morning when I opened the door there were not two, not four, but seven raccoons waiting to come into the Kitty Kitchen Kafe. The largest of them was standing right at the door. His head came all the way up to my hips and he must have been as big around as a golden retriever. Then he growled at me.

Holy cow! I stomped at him and got him to s-l-o-w-l-y back off the steps so I could run and get my camera. Then he tried to come in right past my legs. Ballsy things. Chuffing and growling all the while.

Eventually, they all backed down... reluctanly. And I did get a few good pictures. But I think it just may be time to get some traps and relocate us a Raccoon Gang.

Did you hear about this?

2008-09-10T07:05:00.000-07:00

Alopecia Universalis (AU) is a genetic disorder that causes an otherwise perfectly healthy person to become completely hairless. Yikes!!! Often these unfortunate individuals are born with some hair but lose it rather quickly, often thier fingernails and toenails as well. They must be careful as they have minimal natural protection from the light, sun and dust.

Dale Platts, 13, from the UK has AU. He's had it since he was 5 months old. You wouldn't think this would be too bad for a boy. At least he's not a girl, right. Except when you remember that he has no eyelashes, eyebrows, or nails. And then you remember how exceedingly cruel junior high kids can be. The very last thing on Earth one wants at thirteen, is to be different in any way, shape or form. Hairless is unthinkable.

Well, Dale makes it through the school day by wearing a ball cap. It keeps the sun out of his lashless eyes and covers his hairless head. It also helps him fit in.

This year, however, the powers that be at the Robert Pattinson School in the UK have called on the dress code to prohibit Dale from wearing his ball cap to school. The penalty for baseball cap wearing will be removal from class to be taught in isolation.

I am proud of Dale for standing up for his rights. The first day of school found his capped head bobbing through the halls. He was sent home.

Now I ask you, what would they have said to this boy if he had been battling childhood leukemia or some other form of cancer? If his hair loss was a temporary symptom of a larger battle for his life? Would it have mattered? Would the temporary nature of his condition have swayed the school to bend the dress code on his behalf?

A disability is a disability. And, yes, a rule is a rule. However, the intent of a dress code is two-fold: to minimize class disruption and to eliminate gang/group affiliations via clothing. Dale Platts is doing neither of these things. In fact, a case could be made that in wearing his ball cap he is, in fact, minimizing class disruptions that occur because of teasing, etc.

Sometimes people really discourage me. They just can't see the forest for the trees.

Truth Of The Day

2008-09-08T07:25:00.000-07:00

I just got this via email this morning. The truth of it shall ring through the ages. I only wish I knew who to credit with it's origin. Professor Google made mention of Alyssa Milano but since I was not allowed on the proffered site I cannot confirm nor deny the rumor.

Without further ado, I give you Monday's Truth of the Day.

"Whatever you give a woman, she's going to multiply. If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby. If you give her a house, she'll give you a home. If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal. If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her. So - if you give her any crap, you will receive a ton of shit."

Because Daddy-O is a complete dork

2008-09-01T18:06:00.000-07:00

I am irritated with Daddy-O. I went grocery shopping last night and spent, well, an ungodly amount of money, as per usual. We had discussed having BBQd chicken for dinner. But because it was already late I also bought fixin's for burgers which are so much quicker. We agreed to have BBQ Chicken the next night - tonight. I had bought two picnic (bulk) packs of drumsticks and thighs which I break down into two meals each. I marinate them before I freeze them so they are already prepped when I take them out of the freezer. Since it was late I gave Daddy-O the bulk packs of chicken to put in the garage refrigerator until I had a chance to break them down today.

At dinner time I went to grab them. They were sitting snuggly in the freezer. Still in bulk. Still unmarinated. Not ready for BBQing.

The pizza was delicious.

In order to NOT take my irritation out on my husband who was obviously not paying attention when I was speaking to him, I will instead, post evidence of his dorkiness for all the world to see. Because he also does not read my blog as my words have very little meaning to him. (I only believe this a little bit).

For your viewing pleasure:

Exhibit One:
The dork on the left is Squatter Dog and the one on the right is Daddy-O. The following pictures are from their July trip to Yosemite. Don't ask me to explain any of them because I can't even begin to...

Exhibit Two:

Exhibit Three:
I believe this would be posed...

Exhibit Four:
This is the whole crew: (r to l) Daddy-O, nameless friend, Gary, Squat, Mark. Otherwise known as The Marmots.

OK. No more dorkiness. Here are the spectacular photos taken on their trip.

Daddy-O tying his fly line.

Beautiful! Taken by Mark.

One of my favorites! Two marmots enjoying the view!

What I say to Daddy-O if he sees these pictures on the Internet!

Dragonflies!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a completely different weekend...

This is Ben's first lake fish. He caught it completely by himself. It's a big mouth bass. It took us a while to convince Danny that his brother hadn't caught a "bat", however. Apparently, someone needs to learn to enunciate.

And that concludes our photographic presentation. Thanks for viewing.

How to be happy in spite of it all, part 1

2008-09-01T13:24:00.000-07:00

Just after I returned to work after breast cancer treatment, a co-worker paid me an incredible compliment. She told me that I had handled my diagnosis and treatment with (I am paraphrasing here with all the accuracy Chemo-Brain permits) incredible grace and, well, I can't remember what else, but it was good. The general idea was that I had a wonderfully positive attitude that continued to astound those around me.

I pshawed her, of course. Because, there was nothing graceful about my actions nor reactions. Nothing heroic. Nothing brave. At least I didn't think so. I was just doing what I had always done during trying times. What I had watched my mother do before me. And my grandmother before her. I put on a happy face.

Sounds simple doesn't it? Or maybe you're thinking simplistic is more like it. Well, you're probably right. When others began asking me exactly how I stayed so positive in the face of a daunting cancer diagnosis and 90% recurrence risk, right on the heals of my finding out my infant was born blind, well, I couldn't explain it. At least not in terms of usable information. It's just something I'd been raised doing. I didn't know quite how to explain the process.

Then I found The Bounce Back Book, by Karen Salmansohn a few weeks ago. It's a short little self-help book, more along the lines of a pocket manual than a book, but it certainly clarified things for me. Salmansohn has a knack for doing exactly what I could not; break down the process of having and maintaining a positive attitude.

In her book, Salmansohn offers 75 tips for "thriving in the face of adversity, setbacks, and losses." Many of these tips are a bit redundant, merely rewording the same advice to fit a slightly different situation. Sometimes that's what it takes, however, for understanding to register. Hearing something many, many different ways. I don't mean for this to be a book review, yet if I had a friend going through a rough patch and looking for a way to fight negativity, I'd consider sending The Bounce Back Book. We could all learn a bit from it's pages.

For my purposes here, I will tell you what I took away from this book. That is, I will share with you those behaviors (as identified by Salmansohn) that I have practiced over the years and feel contributed to my success in overcoming the more negative crap life has thrown my way.

The Formula
Each of us has a genetic tendency toward optimism or pessimism, according to The Happiness Project in the U.K. This, however, only accounts for about 50% of our personal happiness equation. The rest is all about what you do and the choices you make. Dr. Jonathan Haidt even came up with a fancy, schmancy formula to become happier. And he's a Positive Psychologist, or a positive psychologist (I'm not sure which-but I think it might make a difference) so he ought to know.

H = S + C + V

H = happiness level C = current conditions

S = set point for happiness V = voluntary activities

I happen to think Dr. Haidt is on to something.

Family
About that genetic predisposition towards happiness, or not. I guess I must have it. We're real Nietzsche people in my family, "What does not kill us, makes us stronger." And boy, oh, boy, have we been getting stronger in my lifetime. I've always remembered my Mom laughing off the bad times. She always found the humor in life when I was growing up and still does to this day.

Humor saved the day when I was fourteen years old, sitting in the front row in front of my Father's casket with the rest of my family at his funeral. As you can imagine, it had been a stressful few days after he'd died, no matter how expected his death was. We, as a family, have always turned to humor in times of stress. True to form, when we noticed that the florist's shop had placed an arrangement directly in front of my Mom's chair that was completely bug-eaten, we just couldn't stop the giggles. I'm sure the entire congregation behind us thought we were sobbing uncontrollably, in reality, we were shaking from trying not to laugh out loud.

We're sort of wacked, I know. But that outlook has served us well, over the years. In general, we try to always see the humor in a situation. One of my very first comments after my cancer diagnosis, which came close to Christmas 2005, was that I wouldn't have to worry about what I ate over the holidays because I was starting the Chemo Diet come January!! Woohoo! Holidays, here I come!

My family could have focused on the loss of my dad, instead we chose to break an overwhelming situation down into more manageable pieces. We focused on the insect-riddled flowers to get through the funeral.

Similarly, I chose to see the diet-free holiday season as a silver lining instead of the dark cloud that was a cancer diagnosis. The cloud hadn't blown away and my dad was still gone but my outlook on the world was much more positive for my efforts.

Cross posted at Mothers with Cancer

Breast Cancer and the Stressed-out Dodo

2008-08-29T14:37:00.000-07:00

Remember the Dodo birds from the Disney movie Ice Age? There's a part where they all walk around chanting, "Doomed. Doomed. DOOMED. DOOOOOMED!" Just before they all accidentally walk, jump, fall or roll off the cliff one by one.

Well, that's about how I feel every time I read a new article about breast cancer research. This morning's article on Yahoo Health informed me that I was doomed from childhood.
According to the latest research by Dr. Ronit Peled of Ben-Gurion University of the Negev in Beer Sheva, experiencing severe life events at a young age (before 20) can increase your risk of developing breast cancer by as much as 62%. Well, shit.

Doomed.

Peled studied 622 women between 25 and 45 years old. 41% of them had been diagnosed with breast cancer, the other 59% had not. Their "Severe Life Events", such as loss of a spouse or close relative were tallied as well as mild/moderately stressful events like bad illness, tragedy or job loss and they were given a questionnaire to determine their anxiety, depression, happiness and optimism levels.

Guess what? The women who had two or more severe or mild/moderate life events were 62% more likely to have beast cancer. Plus, those mild/moderate life events seem to build on each other for a cumulative effect. Oh, goody!

The good news? Women with a "general feeling of happiness and optimism" had a lower risk of being diagnosed. About 25% lower.

His conclusion: Women suffering severe losses at a young age should be considered at high risk for breast cancer and treated accordingly. Do you hear that AMA???

Also of note, Isreal has the highest incidence of breast cancer in the world. But it's not like there's any stress about living there or anything.

As I read the article I did a quick mental calculation of my pre-20 Severe Life Events.

Age 11 - Dad clinically died for 5 1/2 minutes.
Age 14 - Dad died.
Age 15 - House burned down
Age 15 - Close schoolmate committed suicide
Age 17 - Schoolmate killed in freak car accident

Doomed.

Looking back, I had many risk factors for breast cancer that I was unaware were even risk factors. Of course, there is the ever-popular BRCA2 genetic mutation. But, hey, it's not like I knew about that before hand. I had read, however, about the increased risk for women who had their first child after the age of 30. I was 33. What was I supposed to do about that, though? Go pop out a pup just to avoid the Big C? Hardly.

And this article brought to my attention the role early stress may have played in my disease. Also, the Mayor of Lemonland at World Wide Breast Cancer informed me that a history of benign breast biopsies is also a high risk indicator for breast cancer.

Huh. See what I mean? Me and the Dodos had a lot in common.

Cross posted at Mothers with Cancer.

Two hospitals, 295 miles apart, in less than 4 hours. Beat that!

2008-08-27T20:51:00.000-07:00

4 am. That's when my alarm went off this morning. 45 minutes later Danny and I were on the road to Bakersfield to see Dr. Tawansy, his retinal specialist. We don't go often (once or twice a year) to the high risk / ROP clinic Dr. Tawansy holds at Kern Medical Center. We don't really need to. But lately I've noticed that Danny's left eye seems to be shrinking back into his head. So, off we trudged to the valley.

It's weird to sit in a tiny room surrounded by non-English speaking mothers and their micro-preemies with my ginormous 3 year old who weighed in at a respectable 7lb 3oz when born 5 weeks early. I feel like a poser.

It was mostly good news today. They eye drops I stopped over a year ago without asking permission are no longer necessary. In fact, The good doctor said I probably did the right thing since he obviously doesn't need them. Ha! Take that Daddy-O!

The Incredible Shrinking Eye, however, is every bit the harbinger of possible bad things to come that it would seem to be. It seems his eyes aren't producing/generating - whatever eyes do - enough pressure to maintain proper eye size. This is fairly typical and to be expected. Unfortunately, if his eye shrinks below 50% of it's normal size it can start affecting the growth of his eye socket. Which would require the use of schleral shells to help act as a "place holder" for the eye socket. They are sort of half-prosthetic eyes that fit over the real eye. Sound really uncomfortable, doesn't it? Well, we'll follow up on that later.

But here is the shocking news. Danny has light perception.

Did you see how calmly I said that? Like it's no big deal? Yeah. No big deal. Except Danny can see something! Even if it is only light. It's more than we ever thought he could see. More than we thought he ever would see. Can you see my smile from there?

When Dr. Tawansy shined his light in Danny's eye, D squinched his eye shut, shied his head away and brought his hand up to block the source of the light. And the doctor had never touched him. But he did nonchalantly confirm the light perception when I mentioned it. Holy cow!

We got home at 1:30. Just in time for Ben to call from school crying because he'd fallen on his injured wrist again while playing soccer at school. sigh

I left Danny at the sitters, picked Ben up from school and headed to my second hospital in four hours. So much for working a few hours today.

Turns out Ben has a Buckle Fracture in his wrist. It's when the outside of the bone buckles but doesn't break. Like a green tree branch when you bend it.

They put a soft cast on it and we go to see an orthopedic doctor tomorrow or the next day for a cast. He may not be able to play soccer which starts this week (and which Daddy-O is coaching).

I finally got home for the day at 4 pm.

For anyone keeping track, that was 11 hours of driving/waiting room time, 295 miles, 2 hospitals, 1 splint and 1 medical breakthrough all in one day.

I'm pooped!

What goes up... must come down.

2008-08-26T14:53:00.000-07:00

Ben started third grade today. Ben. The squalling, purple-turbaned, red-faced infant that slid into this world all covered in uterine slime a mere 8 years ago. Yeah. That Ben.

Yet, this morning (after his Focalin kicked in) he finished getting dressed, brushed his teeth without being yelled at and packed his backpack with his first ever 3-ring binder before sitting down to wait until it was time to leave. He had 10 minutes to spare. Sweet!

His new teacher is Mrs. Stiles. She was a 2nd grade teacher last year. Ben was a bit disappointed in that at first. "I got a 2nd grade teacher?", he complained. This while we looked at the lists of classes posted on the school doors. Do you remember doing that? The excitement of rushing to school on Friday to see who's class you were in and if any of your friends were in that class too? Flashback.

Anyway, all disappointment was gone as we entered his classroom today. Mrs. Stiles gave him a giant hug and told him how happy she was to have him in her class. "I was hoping and hoping all summer." she said, "Please, let me get Ben. Please let me get Ben." She looked to me and explained, "I had Ben for science last year. It was great. We both love science!"

Ben was all smiles and happily off to find his assigned seat - in the back row of the class. What a compliment. I had to explain to Ben that the teachers only put a certain type of student in the last row. Good students. Ones who don't get in trouble. Students that don't need to be babysat all day. By placing him there Mrs. Stiles was letting him know how much she trusted him.

What a far cry from our Kindergarten / First grade years. The pre-medicated years.

Here is my big, trustworthy 3rd grader.

Then he came home from school and went to the rope swing down the street. The rope got stuck. Through his tears he tells me how he climbed the tree and had it all planned out. Ugh. My stomach drops. I knew what he'd done. I looked him over from head to toe, the entire front of his body covered in a thick dusting of silty dirt. There were clean streaks down his cheeks and muddy spots under each nostril then smeared across his upper lip from his tears and running nose. He was holding his forearm immobile.

"You didn't jump for the rope, did you? Oh no, Ben." At my question the dam breaks, he sobs that he thinks his wrist is broken. Apparently, Tarzan he is not.

He also is not broken. I do think he is bent fairly well, however. Two hours post free-fall he felt well enough to go to the store with Daddy-O to get an ace bandage and be fitted for a sling.

And so begins the third grade.

The Mysterious Feeding Habits of Eight Year Olds

2008-08-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

Ben doesn't eat.

When he was but a wee babe and I, an impressionable new mother bombarded by advertisements on BabyCenter, I ordered his complete astrological chart over the internet. What can I say? I was curious and apparently in possession of much more discretionary income than I have now.

I have never believed in astrology. That is to say, I think it's fun and interesting in a coincidental, "Ha! That is so you (and also me and her and sixteen other people that I know)!", sort of way. Just like Taro Cards but not as creepy. In retrospect, Ben's 20-something page astrological work up is uncannily accurate. Yes. I kept the damn thing. I paid like $20 for it in 2000. I put it in his baby book and ran across it a year or so ago.

What really sticks in my mind, besides the general right-onness of the whole thing, is the prediction that "food will not be a motivating factor in his life." Truer words were never spoke, er, written.

Ben is far and away, the pickiest eater I have ever seen. He loves chicken nuggets. From McDonalds. Not the ones from Burger King. They are too spicy. But he won't eat plain old chicken in any other form without a continuous barage of threats from all adult-types in the near vacinity. Ditto with fries of the french variety. Loves them. But just try to get him to eat tater tots. Tater tots, for God's sake! I lived for those when I was a kid. He barely does pizza and he won't touch a hamburger. Pasta must be sause-free with butter and, shudder, canned parmesan cheese only. He will eat Kraft Macaroni & Cheese but no other incantation of the stuff. On the other hand, he's happy to eat vegetables with the exceptions of broccoli and asparagus.

I just don't get it. If it weren't for peanut butter and jelly I'm pretty sure he'd waste away to nothing.

Once we started him on ADHD meds things just got worse. At that point we could no longer count on the old "when he gets hungry enough, he'll eat" adage. He was simply never hungry.

Until bedtime.

His medication wears off just about an hour before bedtime these days. That last hour can be trying, to say the least. Ben's behavior can get extremely aggressive and confrontational. And he's got a whole day's worth of hunger built up inside.

The problem: How do you teach an eight year old boy to eat at mealtime, even if he isn't that hungry? Because eating at bedtime just is not appropriate. Don't get me wrong. We let him have apples and bananas, an probably way more dessert than he ought to have at that point in the evening. But he's still hungry. It becomes impossible to tell what is true hunger and what is typical bedtime stalling tactics.

Ben's solution: The other day I was straightening up Ben's bed and I noticed two empty cookie packages and a full cheese it package under his covers. He is getting up in the middle of the night and sneaking food. He admitted as much when confronted. This is not the first time he has done this. We told him his punishment would be no sweets at all, nothing but fruit, for a week.

The next day I found frosting in his bed from the cinnamon twists we'd ordered with our pizza. Again, middle of the night snacking. I added two days to his punishment.

Yesterday Daddy-O found a bannana peel in his bed. OK. He's at least eating better in the middle of the night but still.

Anyone have any bright ideas? We're kind of at a loss here.

If I could save time in a bottle...

2008-08-17T09:45:00.000-07:00

One of my new co-blogger friends has been victimized. She was given hope for a cure for her cancer. A radical new surgery, Pelvic Exenteration, was set before her like a glass of cool, sweet water to one dying of thirst. A cure. Hope against hope. Life with her 6 year old son. A future.

But like water in the desert it proved to be a mirage. Her cancer has already spread beyond her pelvic cavity, up towards her liver. This radical surgery in which she will lose so much of herself, cannot cure her any longer. It is too late for that. And it cannot give her greater longevity. Time, is the most precious of commodities.

What it can give her is quality of life in the time she has left.

A consolation prize at best.

Jen is feeling understandably down this week. Stop by and read her powerful words upon receiving this disappointing news and offer her support and encouragement.