What a difference a year makes

(photo courtesy of James Edward/Dallas amazing person and photographer)

One year ago today, I was getting ready to go under the surgical knife - 8 hours of surgery to remove the itty bitty cancer in my not so itty bitty breasts...unsure what life was going to be like without them... if the cancer had spread and if chemotherapy required...again. It was a time of introspection and yes, fear.  Like so many bad memories, this one seems long ago and faraway.  No nodes (I'm still thankful for all that great cosmic chanting)...and no terrible side effects.

Movement on my left side is still not good; my scars are still prominent but I'm feeling stronger every day.  Pictured here is my crazy self at the Stiletto Stampede (an event benefitting Komen Dallas) running a 100 yard dash in high heels and high heat index...and let me tell you, I did not finish last. THIS IS MY RUNNING EVENT.  I think I finished about 10th out of 200 and next year, I hope to win. Or have fun trying. Or just pretend I won because you can have cancer and get away with stuff in your head.

Back at the gym and swimming and my Pilates practice (thank you Laura for your patience working me back to flexibility!).  Much of my former clothing bought to flatter the busty girl, have been replaced by smaller, different kinds of styles. I am happy to be able to rock the non V-neck fashions. For those of you who have coveted the big breasts - they are not all they are built up to be. I'm loving the itty bitty club.  Really.

I'm constantly reminded how short life is; but how full of adventure it can be. Please don't wait "until..." to do something you've wanted to do; please don't forget to tell people you love them often; please don't carry anger with you - move through and past things that in the final analysis don't really matter.

My sister would have turned 49 on Monday July 9th....taken away at age 43 to breast cancer. That's why I'll keep running, walking, standing on my hands, yelling from the rooftops - ENOUGH BREAST CANCER.

Come take a victory lap with me...

http://dallas.info-komen.org/goto/war

Pro Choice

Circa 1979, My BFF and Me!

When I was in high school my four favorite things were, in this order:  boys (usually the wrong ones), journalism (I was going to be the next Woodward), softball (I played a mean third base) and speech team (Talk, Talk, Talk).  Yes, speech.

I tried the ex-temporaneous category but I was terrible at it.  You got your topic (The price of gold as it relates to S. Africa? WHAT?) and you had 30 minutes to research  (pre-google) and then present your topic.  We brought this great big rolodex of facts and newspaper articles and it didn't help.  I was a terrible competitor.  I couldn't be informed or form an opinion in 30 minutes or less.  Then I tried debate, but I found that I was never passionate about a topic enough to debate it.  I always found myself with the ability to see the other side.  Which was probably the Woodward in me.  Then I found my speech GOLD - Informative Speaking.  I could pick a topic that interested me, find a cool way to present it, research the hell out of it and inform you better than anyone.  And bonus....you had enough time (way more than 60 seconds) to deliver.  I got all kinds of plastic trophies for this category.

Speech team gave me the gift of public speaking, a life long passion of mine. I know. I know. I don't even get nervous.  I love it...especially on topics I am passionate and informed about.

I also loved my High School newspaper days.  My "Torch" days included amazing experiences (taking on freedom of the press and the principal) and a few shenanigans  (Sue Miller!)  but also where I learned about truth, integrity, balance and the responsibility of the press.  As a college journalism major (it's a long story about my descent into human resources), I continued to learn those valuable lessons: truth, integrity, balance and responsibility - I like to think I incorporated them into both my personal and professional life.

So I'm dismayed at the current state of "journalism"...how unbalanced we are... how irresponsible we can be... how we identify ourselves by our media (and I suppose I'm one of those Granola NPR girls) and how willing we are to grab a piece of spin and make it ours without being informed.  Not to mention how mean spirited we can be with our views and our opinions - so many times missing the big picture. So often injuring with words.

The silver lining of my two breast cancer diagnoses has been the great gift of balance.  I just didn't listen to what the doctor said. I read, and read, and read and questioned; I talked to doctors and women and organizations.  I took it all in and made informed choices.  And I looked around me...and I saw the inequity in the world of health care - where your geography and your health care plan determined the care that you received.  And on some levels I was ashamed (and on many others relieved and thankful)...that I had my pick of surgeons, had my pick of three cars to drive to appointments, could fly to another city if I wanted...when there were women who weren't receiving even the basics.

So I took action. I was informed. I did all my research on breast cancer organizations and I picked one that I felt was the best stewards of donor money. The one who made tangible impact - not just on the cures but on women in my community.  But I didn't  just write a check.  I picked one that I could throw my body, heart and soul into.  I have led, volunteered, fundraised, spoken, worked health fairs ..... along with the over 1100 volunteers and a shoe string staff that begs and borrows for as much as possible. Who understand that $150 saved funds a mammogram.

These are my Komen sisters and brothers who I stand tall with.  We simply make a difference in this world.

If you disagree with me, the journalist in me sees your point of view.  But the breast cancer survivor in me knows this is where I belong.  And you don't have to - because we all have choices.

But...

Please make informed choices.

Please be kind with your opinions.

To those in my Komen circle, I am sad for the hurt inflicted on so many of you this week.  The work our organization has done for the past 30+ years has been nothing less than amazing.  Saving lives has always been our choice and I am proud to be one of us. 

Cancer-versary

10 years ago today, at lunch time, I was sitting in a Mexican Restaurant that's no longer there. It's now a Taco Diner. I was with a friend/business associate. It was a beautiful sunny day. I remember the restaurant had a bunch of different crosses on the wall. And there were so many men eating lunch there. And my friends were at my house texturing and painting the walls.  Just weird things I remember.

Then the phone call as lunch was arriving. Tacos? Enchiladas? Taco Salad? I don't remember that part. But I remember the words...are you on your cell phone? Are you at a safe place to talk? Are you sitting down? And then Charlie Brown's teacher talking WAA WAA WAA WAA WAA...I honestly was not understanding a word she said until she finally got to the point. I'm sorry. You have cancer.   Yes...just like that on the phone, in the middle of lunch at the Mexican restaurant.  And then my end of the conversation went something like this:  WHAT? No, the dr. said it looked like nothing. The radiologist said she would be shocked if it was anything other than benign. So what is this you are telling me? Have you confused me with some other person that has my same name? Did you swap biopsy results in the lab - you know that happens right?

Charlie Brown's teacher sqawking again.

I remember my friend holding my hands and praying with me. And all those crosses. And all those businessmen eating their Mexican food.  And tears rolling down my face. But I didn't lose my appetite. I ate my Mexican food too.  Because it takes a lot for me to lose my appetite. And my friend gave me the name of three friends who had been there done that with breast cancer...and I got home to my friends who were painting and I remember saying I have F*ing breast cancer. And we all hugged and we cried. And then I called my sister and told her she had to tell my parents and spread the word.  I got on the computer or phone, I don't remember and told my closest friends. and Pete.  Because this is what you do when you find out such terrible things - you tell.  And then we went down the yellow brick road, went through the scary forest, lost my hair/regained my hair and got back to Kansas.

So here we are -  10 years post C1 and celebrating the Cancer-versary?  Remembering is more like it.

It did dawn on me that maybe I needed to re-set the clock for C2...but then I decided I need two cancer-versaries because the greatest silver lining of cancer is getting to make your rules up as you go. And this is mine.

Now where's my cake?

Perfectly imperfect

I will admit to being THAT GIRL in the family - the one who got the "I'm sorry I'm not perfect like you" insult on a regular basis.

It's not that I believed I was perfect but I will admit to STRIVING for perfection.  A 98% test grade wasn't good enough for me - I wanted 100% or 105% if they threw in the bonus questions.  When I played softball, I practiced for hours.  In my work life, I was super achiever. In my home life, I tried to be super mom.  In my personal life, super work out queen.  (AHA MOMENT: I never did try to be the perfect wife and I guess that may be a contributing factor in the less than perfect marriage and divorce).    I gave myself migraines, lost sleep over unimportant things...all in the great quest for PERFECTION.  Perfect family. Perfect job. Perfect body. Perfect life.

As my children turned into teenagers, the Sorry I'm Not Perfects continued.  In fact, someone wrote a song about not being perfect that was frequently turned up loud in my son's bedroom.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGs8vtjDxxY

I hate to put Cancer and Raising Teenagers in the same sentence but I am going to with great apologies to my Perfectly Imperfect sons, because both of them taught me a lot about losing the perfect.   However, since this is a cancer blog and not a child-rearing blog, I will leave out the imperfect moments of raising hell raisers.  Suffice to say, all perfection was thrown out the window for a few years. For those of you who witnessed me in Exorcist Mom mode - sorry.  Super Imperfect.

Meanwhile and back at the cancer....

During Cancer I, I think I was still doing the perfect thing.  I was the poster child for cancer.  Kept the good attitude.  Got my chemo with a smile; sailed through radiation; played soccer; kept that wig on and kept working.  Perfect Patient.  I wanted the perfect result.

The silver lining of Cancer II has been embracing imperfection.  Truthfully, you can do everything perfectly and still end up with cancer. Eat right. Exercise. Clean living. Cancer. Not to say that you shouldn't keep doing those things (I am a firm believer in them), but there is no guarantee that it will save you from the C.  And all that driving yourself crazy trying to be perfect doesn't put you at the head of the get out of cancer free line.  So why be perfect? It's hard work.  It's unattainable.

It's a month post-surgery now - I still have stitches.  The girls are not quite symmetrical.  When I look at myself in the mirror, I see less than perfect breasts. A body that could use a few nip tucks. A face that is beginning to wrinkle. Hair that would be gray if I allowed it.

You know what?  (Siblings, sons...listen up...)

I'M IMPERFECT.  And that's perfect for me.

What we don't say

One of the silver linings of having a life threatening disease is realizing VERY QUICKLY hmmm...my days ARE limited - I will make them count. But the best silver linings is that "your people" understand this too.  And they take the time to tell you I love you. You inspire me. I admire your strength. A lot. And they lift you up with You're beautiful. You're smart. You're funny. You have made my life better.  And I am here to tell you that there is nothing better in this world to have your child tell you I'm a better person because you helped me, because you believed in me and stuck with me.  Or you are the strongest person I know. You help me remember the important things.  I don't know what I would have done without you in my life.  Staring down the C hole results in the verbalization of these things.  After all, you might not make it out alive and there is a sense of urgency to let you know these things.

But then again, you might.

All this C-ness was put very quickly in perspective for me with a series of tragic and sudden losses...and the things we say at funerals and memorials and to families...a lot of things we never said when we had the chance.

All of us struggle with insecurities.  All of us want to feel needed, loved, appreciated.  Please don't wait until someone is sick or gone to tell them just how wonderful they are.  Do it today. Do it often.

Just do it.

The End....

Monday morning 6 am was the C2 grand finale: exchange surgery. Dr. McSmarty removed the heavy expanders and replaced them with the "gummy bear" implants; nipples were formed (I'm still trying to figure that out - WEIRD and NO TO pictures!);  no shopping at Home Depot (aka tummy fat) was necessary.  The surgery was uneventful and the recovery has been fairly easy.  My new Little C girls are in place.  My left side has some edema due to the frying it got during the radiation phase of C1.  Exercises have been ordered to assist but I don't think it will ever be the same.

Nothing ever will.

You can remove parts, slash, burn and rebuild; you can put on your perky and your best positive attitude...but it's a very odd feeling when "it's done."  The middle place where you move from cancer patient to cancer survivor.  Are you in remission? Cured?  One part of you knows it's a great big cause for celebration but another part of you knows it's the beginning of something else.

The silver lining in C2 is understanding this. Looking at it head on.  Excising the demons the best you can. But most of all acknowledging the new normal, living with it, allowing yourself to grieve your lost health and the parts you will never get back.  Then course correcting your own life.

There will still be plenty of dates with doctors - we'll see each other every few months until we (hopefully) tire of each other and move to less frequent visits.  In between those visits, I know that I will be re-evaluating my own life and what I choose to do with my time, talents and treasures.  Because life IS about not knowing but taking the moment and making the best of it.

I am happy to say FAREWELL to 2011. It wasn't a good year, but there were several silver linings along the way.  To those of you still "in fight" or grieving losses, I wish you some downtime to figure out how to make each moment count. To those on the road with me this year, Thank You. Let's dance with life and here's to a better 2012!!

Once more

Pete here. Guest-blogging as Terri goes under the knife once more.

We stayed over here in Dallas last night to keep from having to leave the house at 4AM. Found a cool hotel 5min from the surgery center. Met our friends Duane and Linda for dinner, tried to get some sleep.

I think I am finally starting to wake up just now as it approaches 9. Dr. Carpenter seemed very awake tho, on top of things. Being a morning person would seem to be a prerequisite for a surgeon.

Terri should be out soon.