Blog--aversary

I finally got around to changing up the blog a bit. But, um, this yellow bowl of sunshine-y confection is not going to stay. I was playing, and then I ran out of energy. So Big Miss Sunshine it is right now. (That photo was taken on the day I started chemo. Oddly, it's one of the few I have of Seamus and I together during the cancer-go-round. Note to self: get new picture with Seamus. Not surprisingly, I have 5,672 photos of Chris and Seamus.)

But it's sort of appropriate that the blog looks like a giant birthday cake. Because tomorrow (the 17th) is my birthday and today is a blog-aversary of sorts. I actually started the blog on January 12, 2009. So technically, it was a year old back then. But that was also the anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis so the blog anniversary gets lost in that shuffle. Besides, I didn't have Google Analytics on January 12th. Nope, I didn't start obsessing over blog stats through Google Analytics until February 16th, 2009. So here's what Google tells me about my year in blog-land:

There have been 16,192 visits (these are different than "hits"; I don't know how except that one is less violent)

There were 6,874 "unique visitors" (I don't know what that says about the rest of you)

Page views totaled 24,305

And the average time spent on the blog was 2 minutes and 23 seconds (which means you are really fast readers!)

Visitors came from 118 countries

All 50 US states plus the District of Columbia eventually checked in for a visit.

The top 5 search words or phrases used to find the blog included some variation of "the dog lived," but number 6 was "Dr Karam UCLA." Number 7 was "butterflies" (mentioned a grand total of 1 time on my blog), and my own name was a distant number 10.

The blog that sent the most traffic over to my blog was qcreport.blogspot.com.  

Not coincidentally, the highest number of visitors to the blog in one day (at least that Google recorded) was 107...and that was the day (July 20, 2009) I posted the interview with Quinn Cummings of qcreport.blogspot.com about her book, Notes from the Underwire (which is very good and very funny). The next highest was 88 on Friday, March 20th which was the day after my second chemo treatment when presumably you were all checking in to see if we'd have a repeat of the horrific white blood cell crash that followed the first chemo.(I disappointed you. Unless of course, you were actually hoping that I was okay post-chemo)

What Google calls the "top landing page" was the Butterflies and Blogs post. This makes me think a lot of 9 year old girls spend time doing google searches. With this knowledge you can fully expect a blog post called "Unicorns and Rainbows" very, very soon. No, wait. This blog is not appropriate for 9 year old girls. Never mind.

Google Analytics gives me a whole lot of other information, but frankly, I have no idea what it means. Oh, and I have google ads on the site and that has earned me $24.05. Well, it will once Google mails me a check (and I think I have to earn $100 before that happens. I'm going to keep my day job.).

I'm pretty sure none of those stats matter (but aren't you glad I bored you with them?). The blog was an important part of my process in dealing with the whole breast cancer odyssey. And I'm kind of attached to it, even if we are having issues right now.

Happy Blog-aversary to all of you who've been reading along with me. Thanks!

(P.S. Apparently there's been some confusion once again about leaving comments. I believe if you click on the word "comments" below this post--it may or may not have a number in front of it, such as "2 comments"--you will get a pop-up window which will show you the comments made and there will be a box where you can type in your comments. And there's a test to make sure you aren't sending spam. Because I want all discussion of prescription drugs and singles websites to come from me and me only).

Dating and Cancer

In my return to normal life, following the program interruption that was cancer, I find myself following blogs that aren’t just about cancer. I know. Imagine. And I find myself laughing at these blogs (no, it’s okay, they’re meant to be funny) as well as at stories I’ve been hearing from some friends lately. For a brief moment, I was even jealous. Wow, they have all this interesting stuff to blog about. Great, great material these ladies have. Then I realized the common denominator…these are all women over the age of, um, let’s go with 30, getting out into the dating world. Rich, rich material for humor if only one didn’t have to live through the stories before they could tell them. That’s when I realized a very profound thing, which of course I will share with you (and then all of you single women can collectively scream “DUH!!!” at me).
Dating is a lot like cancer.
Well, it’s like cancer treatment.
1) No matter how hard you try, you’re not quite yourself at the beginning.
2) You have to give yourself lots of pep talks.
3) The whole process can make you feel really unattractive.
4) It sometimes seems it’s all anybody talks to you about.
5) Other people usually pick up the tab for dinner.
6) Drinks can have bad side effects.
7) You become hyper-aware of your weight.
8) Everybody seems to be doing it better.
9) Everybody has advice (and only some of it is any good).
10) You make yourself go through it (the dating ritual/ chemo) because it’s supposed to be better in the end. The end is truly supposed to justify the means.
11) And, bonus, you get some really wild stories that entertain your friends.

I remember when I was in the doctor’s exam room waiting for chemo. There was a flyer on the billboard for a support group for young breast cancer patients and it included topics like “dating and cancer.” And I thought…really? Who would worry about dating during chemo? That would seem to be the last thing on one’s mind. But I suppose if you are out there dating when you get diagnosed, well, that’s one more thing to deal with. That’s one side effect I definitely avoided.

So ladies of a certain age out there dating, I guess here’s the support I can offer… at least it’s not cancer. Right?

PS. Some blogs to check out if you are a) out their dating and need to laugh and b) are not easily offended. No, seriously, do not click if you are easily offended.


47 and Starting Over
I Shoulda Been a Stripper
Me Jane

My dating "real" friends haven't started blogs yet. Despite all of my encouragement. Maybe they don't see the humor yet. Hmmmmm

Change is Hard

I really was going to change the blog to make it less "breast-cancery." I was. Plus, have I mentioned I'm not really a pink person? But I've been busy. This past 72 hours I didn't leave the house (unless you count the back patio for a soak in the jacuzzi with Chris). I've been working. Real work (as in "for a living") and house projects. And a lot of that was on the computer, so I didn't really feel like adding "work on blog change" to that list. I'm still pink. Or, er, the blog is.  For now.

Since we're all still about pink, I think it's worth mentioning again that I will be the honorary chair of the Inland Agency's Shop to Stop Breast Cancer. (Here's where I mention that other far more impressive women walk for days or run for the cure...me? I shop.) The event is March 15th at the Marriott in Riverside. At this point we're looking for sponsors and for "stuff." By stuff we mean new donated items--this is a great time to "re-gift." Got a gorgeous sweater for Christmas and it's 2 sizes too small? Not for Shop to Stop it isn't! Did you get a gift card to Claim Jumper and your diet doesn't allow for piles of food bigger than your head? Give it to us! (Um, the gift card, not your head. English sentence structure can be so difficult in the morning). And of course, we welcome shoppers. All the info you need is in the below "press release."

Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated.

January 29, 2010 Inland Agency 1737 Atlanta Ave. Suite H-5 Riverside, CA  92507 (951) 241-8723 "Golden" Opportunity Now you can donate unusable gold and silver jewelry (single earrings, broken bracelets, etc.) to Shop to Stop Breast Cancer and get the full value of the metal as a tax deduction. To make it simple, we have scheduled two collections: Tuesday, February 23 Wednesday, March 3 5 pm until 7:30 p.m. Inland Agency Conference Room The items will be weighed and a letter with the value of the metal will be instantly entered into a tax donation letter from Inland Agency. For more information call Jodee Palmer at (951) 241-8723 X224. Event Sponsors A to Z Printing Altura Credit Union American Diversity areyouinmyphoto.com Chick-fil-A Sara Aschmann & Peter Bliss Judith Auth Alex Benn Hattie Byland Jennifer Camara Crown Printing Elizabeth Daschner frye/wiles Rina Gonzales Kappa Kappa Gamma Ann Kasper Sue Mitchell Rosa Olaiz Riverside Plaza Kirsten & Matt Shea Teresa Rhyne Tesoro Media The Zucker Law Firm Quick Links Inland Agency The Pink Ribbon Place Donate Online Our Guardian Angels Sponsorship Opportunities Save the Date Card Teresa Rhyne to Chair "Shop to Stop Breast Cancer" March 15, 2010 We are thrilled to welcome Teresa Rhyne, principal of The Teresa Rhyne Law Group, as this year's Honorary Chair of Shop to Stop Breast Cancer. Teresa was instrumental in establishing the Breast Resource Advocates (BRA) Committee, an "A-List" group who work tirelessly to develop resources and ideas to support The Pink Ribbon Place, Riverside's first--and only--breast cancer resource center. Teresa has been deeply involved with community organizations for years, serving as a Board or Executive Committee member for The Raincross Club, Alternatives to Domestic Violence, Riverside Public Library Foundation, Riverside Humane Society Pet Adoption Center, United Way of the Inland Valleys, YWCA's Professional Women's Council, the Greater Riverside Chambers of Commerce, and many others. Teresa says of Shop to Stop Breast Cancer: "It's better than a sale; it's a sale with a heart!  All proceeds benefit the Inland Agency. The Inland Agency makes a difference and saves lives through its breast health programs. As a one-year breast cancer survivor myself, I can't over-emphasize how important the work they do really is." Riverside Marriott Presents Inland Agency's Shop to Stop Breast Cancer March 15, 2010 Shop to Stop Breast Cancer is Inland Agency's signature fundraising event to support The Pink Ribbon Place, Every dollar raised over the cost of the event goes directly to pay for mammograms for uninsured and underinsured women, saving lives through early detection. Click here for more information on this year's Shop to Stop Breast Cancer event, click here to send us an email, or call Jodee Palmer at (951) 241-8723 X224. This Week's Featured Items Donations of wonderful items for Shop to Stop Breast Cancer have been coming in every week. We have far too much inventory to show it all, so we have decided to shine a spotlight on a few of the most exciting items each week. Shown above are a full-sized electric organ/piano, donated by Sara Aschmann and Peter Bliss, and a 100-year-old rocking horse on a wrought-iron frame. The tail is made of real horse hair and the saddle is genuine leather. This beautiful antique was donated by Ann Foster. To donate your own items and help us reach our goal of raising $100,000, contact Jodee Palmer at jpalmer@inlandagency.org or call her at (951) 241-8723 X224.

My Dinner was Ruined

I'm home early so I have some time to blog. I'm home early because I walked out of a dinner meeting that was supposed to be a congenial gathering of estate planning professionals (you may not realize this...but that's what I do for a living! Entirely different website and eventually a blog for the other life of mine). Instead, after a very pleasant dinner I was subjected to some bloated, pompous, braggart of a CPA (hint: if someone starts a presentation with  "I represent only extremely wealthy clients with net worths in the hundreds of millions of dollars, probably even a billion" and he's standing in a small country club talking to maybe 40 people in my part of southern California....he's making s*^% up and really, truly, madly needs to get over himself). He then launched into a diatribe expounding his personal views on the Health Care bills. You know, the ones that didn't pass? The ones that have nothing to do with estate planning? The ones that are still the topic of extensive debate because, and here's a shocker, there is more than one point of view? Yes, those bills (House and Senate). Apparently he felt we would all be so thrilled to hear his extremely one-sided, shallow, uninformed and completely irrelevant opinion on what he called (because he's oh-so-hip-if-only-it-were-still 1992) "The Health Care Bill from Hell."

Perhaps I'm a bit sensitive, as a single, self-employed woman who now has a "pre-existing condition" which can be used to exclude me from health care coverage for, oh, ever if this guy has his way. Why would someone walk into a room and assume his views were so perfect that of course everyone in the room was going to not only agree with him but acknowledge him for the genius he so clearly feels he is? I never understand that sort of behavior. Maybe because I live in a town where my politics are clearly in the minority, I tend to not assume folks will feel the same way I do. Isn't that sort of common sense and, um, decency anyway when addressing a room full of folks?

So you might guess, I didn't exactly agree with Mr. Bloat. It seems highly likely to me that I will one day need some form of national health care option. I'm not likely to be able to maintain a lifetime of private insurance without some drastic change in our system. (Currently, my insurance costs me about $850 a month...but you watch how fast they increase that! And I still have co-pays up to $4,000 and a deductible of $500. Do the math.). And while the bills pending before Congress may not be perfect--and I ask you, in our current system, could there ever be a perfect bill--they should at least be considered without all the ridiculous rhetoric of "expensive" and "taxes" and how much it will hurt small business (right, like the current insurance scam going isn't hard on small businesses! And who exactly thinks our current system is reasonably priced?? And what, the war has been cheap??). Can't we talk about the benefits? About actual health care? Even about healthy competition? The  CPA quoted an insurance company discussing how expensive coverage under the new plan (ahem, the one that hasn't been finalized, let alone passed into law) would be for a healthy 25 year old male, or some such example. No cite to where this made up statistic is coming from, but hey, if an insurance company said it, well it must be true! Why would the existing insurance company have an ax to grind with the health care legislation being proposed? They wouldn't be trying to eliminate any competition would they? Gosh, no. They don't have a pretty good cash cow going now that they'd maybe like to protect? Nah. Never! They're just looking out for our best interests! Sort of like they do when they deny coverage.

I don't know how I feel, really, about the current legislation. I just know I'd like a rational discussion about options and changes and some form of national health care without everybody retreating to their respective usual corners and throwing out shallow rhetoric. I'd like to hear people discuss health care. I'd like to not see all the wealthy and healthy folks lined up on one side yelling about taxes and costs when the discussion should be on health care first.

Remember how your mother taught you not to discuss politics and religion in polite company? Somebody forgot that tonight.

One Year Down...the rest of my life to go

I am now "officially" a one-year survivor.
the picture on the bottom is me (in case you've gotten really used to my new look) one year and one day ago at the Hotel Angeleno the night before my lumpectomy surgery. The photo on the top is me this morning, one year later, cancer-free and on may way to work. And you know what's really important about that photo? Right, Seamus. Well, and I'm cancer-free, but no, really, really important?.... Look at those cute shoes!! I can get my no-longer-swollen-no-longer-really-too-very-much neuropathetic feet back into my cute shoes! It's enough (almost) to make me forget that my hair has reached some really weird hard to deal with stage.

I had just mentioned that I was pretty much over the whole cancer thing. Move along cancer, nothing to see here. But last night I had a really weird cancer dream. Not so bad I'd call it a nightmare, but definitely weird.

In the dream, I was having surgery again. Only I was on a table in someone's house. Basically, my surgery was going to take place on a coffee table in a living room of an old house. With a bunch of crazy looking scientist or professor types sitting in chairs around the room. I started asking the crazy bearded men who they were and what their role in my surgery was and they answered in really nonsensical ways and were basically making jokes. Which was, you know, upsetting. The surgeon came over to the coffee table and I said "I find this really disturbing. I want to know who these men are." And he said "I know. They're here to help." And I said "But they won't tell me what they're doing. It's really bothering me." And the surgeon said, "I know. That's why I'm doing this" and he proceeded to give me a shot to my brain!!

Dream Teresa was quite clear that this shot was going to knock her out and she was quite upset about this, but nonetheless out she went. Then Dream Teresa woke up (real Teresa was still asleep and dreaming...you're following that, right?) and the crazy bearded men were all gone except one of them who was asleep in a recliner. Now awake, Dream T saw that her bare legs were covered in what looked to be black felt pen drawings--sort of like vertebrae drawn on my legs. And then Dream T noticed that the sleeping bearded man had bare legs with orange drawings on them. Suddenly (because that's how things happen in dreams) my mom was there and I was asking her where the doctor was. She told me he was upstairs (remember, this surgery took place in a house!). I asked what time it was and then said I was worried because it was so late and I hadn't had the surgery yet. And my mom said, all sad, "You did have the surgery."

Just as Dream T went to look under the blanket at my chest, the gurney that I was suddenly (it's a dream!!) on, started rolling out the door, down the walkway and onto the sidewalk. How embarrassing! I had to grab a tree branch to keep from rolling away. Luckily, my mom came after me and wheeled me back into the house before the imaginary neighbors glimpsed me in my hospital gown (you know, in case they aren't used to surgeries being performed on their block of craftsmen style homes).  Back in the house, bearded man was wide awake and my dad was suddenly there but leaving for his own doctor's appointment. (Giant hint this is a dream: my mother and my father haven't been seen in the same house together since about 1977). Dad assured me that I'd be okay and left. Mom said she go look for the surgeon and left. And there I was, alone in the middle of a strange house, on a coffee table in a hospital gown, with drawings on my legs. But...I was healthy. So that's when real Teresa woke up and decided coffee was a good idea. (Wine maybe less of a good idea.)

And yes, the surgeon in the dream was played by the good and great Dr. Karam. I just didn't want to put his name in the actual story in case somebody read quickly and with low comprehension and didn't realize it was a dream. We don't want his stellar reputation besmirched with rumors of coffee table operations and shots to the brain.

See what a difference a year makes? Last year's surgery was very real. This year...not so much!
Happy Anniversary to me!

(In celebration I had chips and guacamole for lunch and the girls in the office gave me a celebratory cupcake too. How's that for an "F you, cancer"?  )

Seamus Really is Famous

Hey, we're the featured blog over at Dog Health Blog Awards! Check us out...I'm sure it won't last long!
Click here.

Seamus thanks you! And obviously he is super excited about this....

It's Over...sort of

 [No, no, I don't mean that Chris and I are over. That's just a cute New Year's Eve picture I'm sharing (and what a shocker, we're at Bistro O at Omakase!!).]

An interesting, and I think very good, thing has occurred. I think my mental state as a "Cancer Survivor" is over. I actually forget I had cancer...and I only finished treatment 6 months ago. I forget that when people say "How are you?" and they tilt their head and squint their eyes slightly, they don't mean "hey, how's it goin'" in passing. They mean "you've been through an awful lot and I really do hope you are okay but I'm a little afraid to ask." I forget that it was only a year ago I was headed into surgery and looking chemo straight in the eye. I still forget that I have short, dark hair (my reflection has startled me more than once). Heck, I'm even forgetting to blog. I forgot to blog when I had my 6 month check-up and found out I'm still Ned (No Evidence of Disease). I forgot to blog even when they scared me momentarily at my mammogram by telling me I had to come back in for three more "special" shots. That cannot be good---but all was okay. I even forgot to blog that we went for drinks with the good and great Dr. Karam afterward and he got carded! My surgeon got carded!! He took it with good humor (apparently it happens a lot) and I threatened a blog caption of "My surgeon got carded". But I forgot! I forget to blog and this was something I was obsessively doing daily not too long ago. More on that in a moment...

I had dinner the other night with two friends who've both recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and it felt odd to be the one on the other side of the "journey" (yep, still hate that word in this context).  I had to work to remember what it was like at the stage they're now in. It really seems like a long, long time ago. Of course, much of it comes back immediately in conversation and I am oddly proud to be a "Survivor." But at the same time, other than the fact that I can help others when they get diagnosed (or, well, I hope you found it helpful ladies!), or help raise funds for The Pink Ribbon Place breast cancer resource center and the part where I still go for check-ups every three months, well....I think I'm just back to normal. I don't really give a lot of thought or time or energy to the whole "breast cancer" thing. That should be a good thing, right? I never really did have that epiphany, so I don't feel compelled to walk 3 day walks to raise funds; I'm not part of an ongoing research study, and "my" breast cancer was triple-negative (not hormone receptive on many--well, 3--different levels) so I don't have any continuing treatment. So where does that leave this pretty pink blog?

Luckily, the name of the blog is The Dog Lived. And boy has he. So I'm thinking that's what this blog will become. Just a blog about living post cancer (breast for me, mast cell tumor for Seamus). And living well, I hope. We have climbed/walked/ hiked Mt. Rubidoux twice now (Photo is Chris and Seamus on the last walk; then me and Seamus on the Humane Society monument about 1/2 mile up) and will for a third time tomorrow if the rain lets up; I am writing the "everything I needed to know about cancer I learned from my dog" memoir (126 pages so far!) and I took a memoir writing class (see where I've been in the 10 days since my last post?);  and I am launched into my duties as honorary (but I hope also hard-working) chair of the 2010 Shop to Stop breast cancer event. I'll update on those things but also, I'm going to just feel free to blog about whatever's on my busy little mind whenever I want to...and it may or may not be about breast cancer. It also may or may not be funny, but we can all hope. I'm mostly funny in a tragedy (see chemo blog posts) and I'm sort of hoping that's held at bay for a bit.

I also think, however, I will be asking my two friends who've now started their own "breast cancer journeys" and joined the C club to guest blog from time to time. No, this won't be at all confusing!

January 28th  (ha! my original post said 27th but I checked my blog and it's the 28th--see, I'm forgetting everything!) will be the one year anniversary of my surgery. Thus, it will be my "one year" cancer-free mark. They start counting from the time there are no signs of cancer detected and for me that was post-surgery (the chemo was just a little extra insurance, as was the radiation). I think I'll post that day...and then I think I'll change the look of the blog. No more pink.

Your thoughts? Comments? Hopes? Dreams? Prayers? (Totally kidding on those last few; get your own blog for that stuff!).

D-Day, One Year Later

One Year Ago. Yep, one year ago today was the day I was "officially" diagnosed with cancer. Now, you'd think that would be a big deal and I'd remember it all so clearly and horrifyingly. But actually, I was at my desk at work, quietly working away, when the good and great Dr. Karam called and said "It is what we thought is was." Which is easier to hear than "you have cancer" (I actually don't think he ever said those words...gee, do you think this has all been a giant misunderstanding??).

A few days before he had answered my "you seem to be acting as those this is definitely cancer" inquiry with "it walks like a duck and talks like a duck..." So when he said "it is what we thought it was," I said, "It's a duck?"

And he laughed and said, "It's invasive ductal carcinoma."

Duck, ductal...close enough. (I made a joke about his accent being stronger than I thought it was. Yeah, I'm like that.) Then I called Chris to let him know, since it meant we'd be going back to UCLA the next day for an MRI, and then I went back to work.  I don't think I even mentioned it to my assistant that day (but I might have; I tell her everything).

I think that I was just really well prepared for the diagnosis and the upcoming treatment. Well, as prepared as one can be. Dr. Karam had done a great job of leading gently but firmly to what would be going on and Chris and I had talked enough to figure out how we'd handle this. And, of course, I'd been through this once before with Seamus. And he lived. (The Dog Lived. And so did I. Remember?)

This last weekend, Seamus and I went with a friend and her dog (Judy and Champ, respectively) on a walk/hike to the top of Mt. Rubidoux (see photo).  A beautiful 3 mile walk. I was amazed I could do it. I not only did it, I enjoyed it and have plans to go again this Saturday. Call it a victory lap.

P.S. Here's how well the dog is living...yesterday our friends dropped off their dog Harold for us to dog-sit for a few days while they're off on a cruise. Seamus managed to grab the bag that held one week of Harolds food plus a few Greenie chew treats. He pulled it down off the counter and proceeded to eat about 1/4 of the bag and several Greenies. Then he coughed and choked and looked miserable, so Chris picked up both dogs and rushed to our vet. By then, naturally, Seamus was acting fine. So $50 lighter, Chris returned home with the dogs. Seamus's belly looks like a python that swallowed a meerkat and he's burpy and gassy, but he'll recover. He just didn't get dinner last night and isn't terribly interested in breakfast this morning.

Another Anniversary

This time-- January 8-- last year we were headed into UCLA Medical Center, ultrasound and mammogram reports in hand, to see the good and great Dr. Karam for the first time. Of course, we didn't know he was the "good and great" just then. That took a few minutes after meeting him.

This time last year I did not know definitively yet that I had breast cancer. That took a few minutes after meeting him. (Okay, it still wasn't said definitively to me yet--that took a few days--but he knew.)

This time last year was a very stressful time. And  a strange time. And an overwhelming time. And I remember actually, very little about it. I hadn't even started the blog then, so I don't have that to remind me either. I supposed I was a little numb, a little on auto-pilot (I get like that--very focused on "what's the problem and how do we fix it immediately").

I have a friend going through this very same thing right now, and she had an appointment with the good and great Dr. Karam yesterday (she also thinks he's good and great). Talking with her has made me reflect back on this cancer odyssey a bit. Wow, does it all seem like a long, long time ago. I think that's good though, right?

I go back to UCLA January 14th for my 6 month check-up (another mammogram, back to Dr. Glaspy the oncologist, the annual "woman" exam--which was delayed because apparently post-chemo you get funny results, so you have to wait a bit). Funny, January 12 was my "official" diagnosis day last year and January 13th was the MRI. I guess January is just my UCLA month.

UCLA did send me an anniversary gift last week. A bill for $480 (supposedly my share after insurance) from the biopsy on January 9 last year. Gee, thanks. I guess paper is the appropriate 1st anniversary gift.

P.S. I've mentioned to you how other BC bloggers tend to be much more uplifting and positive and eloquent than me the cancer dork (I might just be the Cancer Crab! But don't get me wrong, it's not like I was Mary Poppins before all this.). Here's two posts to show you what I mean. Both of these women have actually been through much more than me...and wow, what spirit they have! With deep admiration, I give you:

Stephanie at Bah to Cancer

and

Deborah at Love, Cancer, etc.

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!