2010: Worst Year Ever?

I know, I know, I'm supposed to  be thinking how much better this year will be than last year. And I'm reading all the blogs I follow from other breast cancer fighters (beginning, in the middle of and all through with the battle) and they're all so eloquent and full of thanks and happy for the new year. But hear me out...

At the end of 2008, looking at 2009 (pre-BC, as will become apparent), Chris and I were feeling all smug about ourselves. I had spent all of 2008 working diligently getting my new solo law practice up and running and doing pretty well, especially considering the economy. Chris had finished his middle-grade fiction manuscript "Seamus the Famous" and sent it out to about 20 agents, getting a pretty good response and several requests for full manuscripts. Foolishly we said, more than once, "2009 is going to be our year. Things are really coming together."

BAWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!

In an effort to not jinx 2010, Chris and I have officially declared 2010 the worst, most horrible, terrible, disastrous, nasty year ever. Ever.

The good news is, that means 2009 was not, in fact, the worst, most horrible, terrible, disastrous, nasty year ever. And in large part that was due to all of you.

So thanks to those of you who sent cards and flowers, who stopped by, who dropped off wine (!!), who watched Seamus for us, who made me laugh, who saved my life, who continued to act normal around "cancer girl",  who fed me, who emailed, who read the blog (and particularly those of you who commented), who kept my office running, and most of all those of you who cared, however you showed it. Special thanks to the good and great Dr. Amer Karam, who quite literally saved my life, somehow managed to make cancer funny and delivered the "you have cancer" news as directly and kindly as it could possibly be done; to my dad who went to the initial surgery appointments with me, continued to learn more about breast cancer than I'm sure he ever wanted to, kept me supplied with anti-oxidants and supplements, and medical research and information, and worried tremendously while taking great efforts to hide that he was worried; and to his wife Nancy McElhannon, who followed the blog and printed it out or left it on the screen so he could follow too, commented on the blog regularly  and had an infectious happy attitude all year (and for as long as I've known her!); to my mom, who learned what a blog was and then read the blog (when she could stand it and after my nephew showed her how), sewed head scarves for me, sent me little surprises ("to help a girl get along"), hosted the Missouri Survivor party and worried so much she got shingles; to my step-dad Ted Terbeek who got me my first "pink t-shirt" (the fabulous "Pink Heals" stiletto shirt) and helped so much to keep the calm in the initial diagnosis days; to my brother Jay McElhannon who called constantly, but not too much, who wanted to fly out, but listened to me when I said I'd come out there when I could travel again and who ran interference with the parental units when necessary ;-) ; to Chris's folks Jim and Trudi Kern who I got to know better and who sent cards and great, soft cotton wraps (perfect for the chemo chair) and then sprung for our hotel on the big island; to Corby Rhodes and her mom Donna Montgomery for coming out to visit me post-surgery and making me laugh like a teenager again; to Valerie Zucker and Stacey Aldstadt for the world's funniest "day after chemo" wig party, and a fantastic POP-C birthday bash (and to Stacey in particular for getting me to Dr. Karam in the first place!); to Laureen Pittman and Michelle Pierce, for keeping my office running smoothly, for pretending my wigs and my scarves and my short, short hair looked perfectly fine, for not nagging me to "take it easy" and for being the best "support staff" a girl could have; to Brein and Roryann Clements for incredible food, friendship and outrageous humor, but mostly to Roryann for letting everyone know the proper response to the news "I have cancer"; to Becky Whatley for countless humorous cards, a few drinks, much humor and again, for treating me the same with or without cancer; to my writer's group gals Barb Abel, Kristin Tilquist, Michelle Ouellette, Barbara Shackelton, Susan Brennecke, Patti Pettis and Dulce Pena for your encouragement  throughout (and continuing as I try to tackle this memoir writing); to Trai Cartwright who stayed in touch long distance, made me laugh and kept me tough; to Tera Harden and Brian Pearcy, devoted blog readers, suppliers of great wine and champagne, and even some really great lotion potions during radiation and especially to Tera for getting my jury duty bumped back; to Michael Easley for his friendship and his brilliant Pop-C and Survivor party logos and invites and because he found it too hard to look at the bald photo; to Zee Beard and Sue Mitchell--Zee kept the wine coming (she was the secret Cakebread Chardonnay fairy) and Sue kept the cards coming, but they both kept the friendship and support coming; to Jane and Francis Carney who had Chris and I (and Seamus!) to dinner at several key points (including the very night I shaved my head!) and always made me feel not only normal but strong (Jane sounded perfectly sincere when she said my shaved head looked fantastic!); to Barbara Ryan who sent me cards and flowers regularly and also learned about blogs; to Michelle Ouellette who watched Seamus on several occasions and hosted the fabulous Survivor party in her beautiful yard--allowing me to share her birthday celebration at the same time; to Jane Gideon who I think I saw more during the cancer battle than in the years before then, for coming alll the way down from San Francisco to celebrate my survival and for staying close and making me laugh; to Lori Lacefield for making the trip all the way from Denver and for reminding me that Bitter really is Better ;-); to Rich Gold and Gary Berg who also made the trek down from the Bay Area and celebrated with me after staying in touch and supporting me throughout; to Laura Ballantine who got back in touch and I'm pretty sure was the first one to read the blog and comment each morning, who sent me a Save the Tatas shirt and spread the "tatas" word in Iraq!; and who was a staunch supporter and defender against all the many stupid things many stupid people say; and to Michael Wakefield, who supported and loved and hugged and emailed and worried and finally just flew down to celebrate the end of treatment and enjoy that bottle of wine we'd been saving; to the blog followers who actually figured out how to join as a "follower" and weren't embarrassed to do so--it's nice to see those faces and comments so I don't feel like I'm talking to myself (in an unhealthy way) and of course, to Chris for...well, for all the love and for all of the above.

Here's to a no good, horrible, really bad, truly awful, 2010.
;-)

P.S. Inevitably I will have forgotten someone I had no business forgetting. I therefore reserve the right to update!

Aloha, Maui

I have to say, if you are trying to generally avoid Christmas but still be celebratory and be certain not to be down, Maui is an excellent place to spend the holidays. I'm sure one could come here and really actually enjoy Christmas too (lord knows there are plenty of families here doing so. Oh, and note to said families, if you are going to have a family portrait on the beach at sunset, and you all do, for the love of god wear something other than khaki shorts and white shirts so we can tell you apart!).

Our Christmas day was spent whale watching (note photo; no, we are not whales. We did see some but oh my god are they hard to photograph) and having brunch, which included mai tais, with the Pacific Whale Foundation on board Discovery II. Unfortunately, we encountered a whale that had been seriously injured by a boat and since this was the Whale Foundation, our captain's job was to babysit the whale (and ward off other boats) until the rescue boat got there. Although the captain said there was probably nothing that could be done for the whale--except keeping other boats away (and how long can that go on for?). We spent most of the tour floating near the injured whale. Afterward, on our way back in, they cued the performing whale (who Chris named "Timmy"; I don't know why) and Timmy began performing spectacularly, repeatedly breaching and waving his dorsal fin--which is why it seemed he was a "ringer" whale to make up for the injured whale experience. Before Timmy, I almost, but didn't quite, launch into a sad state (the poor injured whale!). I kept telling myself it was nature (but it was a boat!!) and nature can be cruel (don't we know that?!). Timmy and his exuberance saved the day. Okay, so did the mai tais.

The rest of the day was spent at the condo, relaxing on the lanai, reading and napping. Dinner was hot dogs and potato chips and wine. A lovely non-Christmasy meal. Neither one of us felt like moving, dining out, or really cooking much, so it was perfect.

Here's my best whale shot (it's Timmy; wave back to him).

We leave Maui late tonight on a red eye flight. It's been a wonderful trip. We've completely explored both the big Island and Maui, went for long walks on the beach, spent two days on the beach and one poolside, been on a lava boat tour (and seeing molten lava pour into the sea is a must-see experience), had several fantastic meals, toured a tropical, botanical garden, a lavender farm and a goat farm (fantastic goat cheese! and newborn babies right as we arrived), gone wine tasting on each island, seen whales, and waterfalls, and gorgeous stretches of beaches and tropical LOST-like jungles; I read two books, wrote about 10 pages, took nearly 500 photographs, and finally, relaxed. Most importantly, I rarely thought about cancer and we never mentioned it. I've lost my compulsion to "explain" my hair to people (actually, it was great to have short hair on vacation) and when I wore my "survivor" t-shirt on Christmas day, even though it says "out-chemo, out-radiate, out-live" and there's the pink ribbon and all, the only comments I got were from people who assumed I meant the TV reality show. Huh. Maybe this BC odyssey really is over.

Onward to 2010!

(Christmas Eve dinner at Mama's Fish House).

Provence, Maui

One of the many problems with having  breast cancer this year (yes, there are problems with breast cancer. Who knew??) was that Chris and I basically missed out on summer. Summer is our favorite season. By far. But with radiation and what not, I was banned from the sun and well...bald. So we weren't really out playing in the sun much. That's part of the reason we picked Hawaii for our December trip. Our "make-up" summer.  As it has turned out, we got an added bonus.

 We also missed going to France this year (stupid cancer!). But today, on Maui, we got to make up for that too. We went "upcountry" to what really should be known as Provence, Maui. Why? Because stop number 1 was a lavender farm, where we walked the fields and then had lavender lemonade and a lavender scone with lavender honey (and we bought some lavender honey to go with...well, wait and see how the rest of the day went).

 Then we went a little further "upcountry" and went wine tasting! who knew there was such a thing as pineapple wine (and it wasn't bad, but there was some "normal" wine too, made from, you know, grapes and all).

(Note bag in Chris's hand...a little Maui Rose' champagne).

And then we journeyed on over to....

The Surfing Goat Dairy Farm for a little goat cheese tasting!! And as we arrived, many baby goats were being born. Spectacularly cute.

Minutes after they were born they were brought out from the barn to the sunny, grassy area where we could watch them try to stand (sometimes helped by the border collies) and then eventually run and play.

(They're not running...they're trying to stand up). After they are sturdy, they get moved over to a different pen. And surfing lessons begin.

And did you know Santa had goats? And lived in Maui?

After a "flight of goat cheese" tasting and  buying some incredibly fresh, fantastic pure goat cheese (called "udderly delicious")  to go with our lavender honey and rose champagne (read: Christmas day on the lanai), we ended our day back down in Lahaina, with mai tais of course.

But, I feel compelled to mention that I had absolutely nothing to do with this:

The Way to Spend December

Maybe I've been too hard on December. Maybe December isn't always about sickness and death and bad stuff happening.  Maybe December could just be about lazy days reading in a chaise lounge, mai tais, walks on the beach, palm trees, sunsets and kind strangers offering to take our photo.

Today anyway, that's what December was about. I could get to like this.

Okay, wait....Chris just brought me a glass of Chardonnay and a bag of Lay's potato chips (also known as "Teresa's favorite trashy 'meal'"). I could get to love this.

Walking south on the beach.
And then north (notice how few people are here?? Amazing).

P.S. I'm feeling so good about December, I made reservations for us to go on a Christmas brunch whale watching tour!  Details (and photos) will be forthcoming.

One Year Ago (the BC anniversaries begin)

One year ago today I was sitting in my doctor's office because I felt a strange thickening, lump-ish sort of thing in my right breast. And the physician's assistant said, "I don't like this one bit." So began my breast cancer odyssey.

This year, I'm cancer free, relaxing in Hawaii with the one I love--the one who saw me every step of the way through this-- and enjoying the view. This year, I could marvel at mother nature in an entirely different way.

 

(First photo is from our hotel room balcony--Chris is out there right now. Second photo is from the lava boat tour we took last night. Yeah, that's lava pouring in to the sea. Amazing.)

You'll understand if this is a short post, right?

Aloha.

Mammogram Math

I read this article in the New York Times this morning and I think it, although heavy on math, is a rational and helpful discussion on the task force mammogram recommendations. Mammogram Math.  So I thought I'd share. Your thoughts?

Beach bound

My foot neuropathy seems to be getting better.

My hair is getting longer.

The cough is pretty much gone.

My ribs are starting to feel better.

I've got only 3 more days in the office (yeah, still need to work Sunday).

Things are looking up.

And do you know why?

Because that photo is where I will be in just about 100 hours from now. I'm trying not to jinx it (you'll understand if I'm skeptical about this time of year, right?), but I'm really looking forward to this. I need a vacation from this year.

The laptop is going with me (I'm going to keep writing the memoir), so expect photos and maybe a little bragging. Also news of a tsunami total relaxation.

And just so we all remember how far I've come...remember this little encounter with a Hawaiian Sunset last January? Ha! Obviously it was just a vision of happiness to come.

200th Post--and it's Deja Vu all over again

Yep, it's the 200th blog post. And coincidentally, I journeyed back to UCLA and the good and great Dr. Karam again yesterday. And, for those of you keeping track, you'll quickly figure out that my 3 month check-up was only a month ago so there's no way it's time for the 6 month check-up. No, I went back because I found another lump in my right breast. This time it was right breast 2 o'clock. Deep breaths. This time, it's only a build-up of hardened tissue caused by all that radiation. But what a couple of weeks it was worrying about it! There's actually a funny story here and now I can tell it (because my parents read the blog and others who don't need to be worrying about me right now, I didn't post about this until I knew it was nothing to be concerned about).

A couple of weeks ago, I felt the lump. And just like last time I got a second opinion from Chris. He didn't think it was anything, but I did. In fact, I had a whole little spiral downward of "oh shit, here we go again." (You may remember I mentioned having a really shitty week? Yeah, this was the beginning of it). And then a couple of days later was The Pink Ribbon Place's professionals panel that I was moderating. Of course, Dr. Karam was one of the speakers. So after the event, when folks were still hanging about chatting, I mentioned the lump to Dr. Karam. He offered to exam me... uh...it..uh, the lump. It seemed like the prudent, if somewhat odd, thing to do--hey, it would save me from driving to UCLA. We set about trying to find a private room for a private exam. Recall that the event was at the Community Room of the Riverside Police Department, which isn't really set up for, you know, breast exams. But it was Captain Meredyth Meredith to the rescue. She's a breast cancer survivor herself so she understands the sort of panic a lump can cause. Off we went to her office, and yep, Dr. Karam examined "right breast 2 o'clock" in the privacy of the Captain's office, with her stationed outside (weapon and all!). Too funny. If, you know, I hadn't been worried that my cancer had come back before I'd even grown my hair back out! Dr. Karam's opinion (which turned out to be correct, naturally) was that it was hardened tissue caused by the radiation. I was relieved, but also noted that his bottom lip was sticking out during the exam and to me, he looked more concerned than he was letting on. Or, maybe that was just me. He suggested that I come in for an ultrasound, just to be sure.

I, being me, decided I'd rather wait until after Thanksgiving and getting some stuff taken care of at work before thinking about being cancer girl again. I underestimated how much the not knowing would weigh on my mind. I should have just recalled the "if this were any other dog" lesson I learned when Seamus was post-treatment. I should have just remembered that I once upon a time (long, long ago) had cancer and therefore I'm always going to get "special treatment" and need to have things checked out. It doesn't mean it's cancer. I'll have to get used to that.

Yesterday I and my lump and my entourage headed out to UCLA. Because hey, we may as well make a fun day of it, right? Brein and Roryann Clements and Sheena Meder and Ronaldo Fierro joined us for the afternoon--which started with Bloody Marys (aka spicy courage) and French Dips at Cole's in downtown LA.

Then, we were off to UCLA for my ultrasound. The entourage had Starbucks (and worried about me, I'm sure) while Chris and I visited with Dr. Karam and the ultrasound machine. The good news was, as mentioned, it's just hardened tissue. The bad news was my cough--which is just not going away and my ribs on the right side (weakened from the radiation) are really painful. So, I got a Z pak prescription (antibiotics). We'll see if that kicks it. But hey, no cancer! (The top picture is me with the entourage after I came out and gave them the thumbs up that we were free to proceed with our fun LA day without any cancer tagging along; which is good because Ronaldo "hates" cancer people. So he keeps telling me.) The ultrasound was otherwise uneventful. Chris did ask if it was a boy or a girl and looked really emotional staring at the ultrasound. But that's because he says it looked like pork belly, and he's a big fan of pork belly.

After those touching moments, we were off to the Beverly Hills Cheese Shop. Mmmmmmmm!!

And because that wasn't decadent enough, we made our way back downtown to the Pacific Dining Car for Caesar salads, steak in Bearnaise sauce, creamed spinach and onion rings. Oh, and there may have been a celebratory martini. And wine.

Ironically, in celebrating my good health, I managed to over-eat, over-indulge and feel not so hot that night, but hey, you know....it could've been a lot worse.

And that's my 200th blog post! (Now, just leave a comment so I know you're still out there!)

The Holidays...so far so good

I guess I've been sounding grumpy in my blog postings of late (Chris informs me of this--he says I'm dangerously close to the "hey kids get off my lawn" old person except we have no lawn). Yeah, there's a reason for that (hint: I am grumpy). But I will say, the holidays have officially started and so far...so good. Of course, it helps tremendously that I don't really have to deal with them at all this year. Chris and I are off to Hawaii in 16 days, 11 hours and oh, call it seven or eight minutes. That's a whole heck of a lot better than this time last year.

Around this time a year ago I had felt "the lump." Chris had felt "the lump". Although then we were in the "it's not really a lump--it's more of just a thickening" stage. And I was in the "I don't really have time to get to the doctor and sit around for an hour or so waiting for my appointment" stage (my primary care physician is never, but never, on schedule). Eventually I got to the doctor and we all know what happened next.

My what a difference a year makes. I may have been not-horrified to hear Christmas carols recently. It's possible the commercials that already say "last minute shopping deals" aren't bothering me. I'm not throwing things at the television when sappy holiday movies are advertised.  I'm still not at the "I'm looking forward to Christmas" stage. Heck, I'm not even at the "I acknowledge that it's Christmas" stage. I'm at the "I'm so excited all this stuff is 'not applicable'" stage (also, I'm thinking I would like being Jewish right about now every year). But, I am acknowledging that Jimmy Buffett's birthday is coming up and I'm really, really looking forward to celebrating that on a beach with a mai tai and Chris and not a care in the world (I can barely type that without thinking I'm jinxing myself, such is my fear of this time of year; knocking on all sorts of wood).

Oh and the photo, that's Chris and I with our friends Sheena Meder, Roryann Clements, Barb Abel and Ronaldo Fierro after we closed down the wine bar at Mission Inn post-private party at Bistro O at Omakase for the Festival of Lights Friday night. I'm not going to say it was a holiday celebration, I'm just going to tell you we had a great night.

So far, so good.

PS. My next post will be my 200th post. Wow. Yeah, that's quite a year. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Talking Task Force

I feel the need to comment on the US Preventive Services Task Force report on mammograms that was released last week. The report essentially said that most women don't need mammograms until age 50 and then only every other year. Since I was 45 when diagnosed with breast cancer, several folks emailed me about the report and even more asked me how I feel about it. And well, I have to say, I kind of get what they are saying. In the sense that I understand. There is a way in which I agree as well.

Because here's the thing-- It wasn't a mammogram that caught my cancer early. It was me. It was a self-exam. I had my regular annual mammogram in July of 2008 and no cancer was visible. It was there, it just wasn't large enough to be picked up by the mammogram. By November (yep, 4 months later) it was large enough to be felt by me so I went to the doctor. Another mammogram was ordered, along with an ultrasound. That's when the cancer was diagnosed. But there's a big difference between the first and the second mammogram. The first mammogram is a screening mammogram--and that's the one they are saying I could have done without. And they're right--it was not of any use in catching my cancer. What was of use was the self exam. Based on that and the doctor's exam a diagnostic mammogram was ordered, and that's a mammogram that is different from what the task force is discussing. The task force isn't saying no mammograms until after 50. They are saying that in most cases it's not necessary. If there is a reason for a mammogram before age 50 (a lump is felt; family history; higher risk) then of course the doctors should order the mammogram.

This seems reasonable to me, on one hand. There are risks associated with the mammogram and if those can be avoided (not to mention that it's a really uncomfortable experience!), then so be it. And I do understand that there is a limited health care resource available. It comes down to the rationing of health care of course. Let's be clear--we are doing that now; it's like any other resource--there is only so much of it and choices have to be made as to where the resource can be spent. (Right now it seems we give any and all health care to those that can pay for it, and much less or none to those who can't.)  So if there is only so much that can be allocated to "breast cancer care" well, it makes more sense to allocate it to pay for the care of those that have been diagnosed and need treatment and cut back on screenings where it seems, according to the report, 1 life in 1,900 screenings would be saved (in women aged 40 to 49).

So that much I get. What I don't get is the discussion of self exams and women being stressed out or hysterical over possible breast cancer. First off, they can't stop us from doing self exams! That's a little ridiculous. And again, it was a self exam that allowed me to catch mine early (and even so, my cancer was at stage 1c--which means it skipped on aggressively through a and b in the four months since my July mammogram). No self exams and no mammograms for a woman in her 40s seems like saying "well if you get it in your 40s, just die." Makes no sense to me at all. Early detection is key. Of course you have to do your self exams! Just be realistic about it. Not everything you feel is cancer, but when you feel something unusual get it checked out and talk it over with your doctor. That's simple enough. Nothing to get hysterical about.

Oh, and the other thing I don't get? Why mammograms? Why is that what they were looking at? That doesn't seem like that expensive of a test. Since the US Preventive Services Task Force has such a broad, far-reaching name...I'm assuming we'll hear about some other procedures they're looking at for effectiveness as well. Right?

PS. I've still got the annoying cough. The positive thinking didn't work. And, I discovered yet another side effect of BC treatment. You know how sometimes when you cough so hard for so long your rib cage and stomach muscles start to hurt? Mine only hurt on the right side--the side that was radiated all summer. Hmmm. I guess it's been weakened.