One Day This Will Mean Something

Sunday, October 30, 2011 1:49 PM, EDT

One Day This Will Mean Something

 
Dear Logan, 

I have to admit that it is possible that you will stumble upon this blog one day, and that you will be completely embarrassed about how open I have been about my life and my breasts…soooo inappropriate! Oh, well…Should you stumble upon this when you are a teenager, and I am so very uncool, there are things that I’d like for you to take from it.

When you discover how big the whole wide world really is, know that I have loved you beyond that since the day I knew you were growing inside me. I just couldn’t figure out how to describe anything that big. Bigger than a globe, or a map, or a GPS screen – I love you. Bigger than the trees and the air and the whole wide world – I love you. Bigger than the stars and the moon and all that lies beyond that – I love you.

Remember that you used to want me to “nuggle” you before nap time and ni-night time. Know that you used to play with my hair, no matter the length…even when the number of hairs on my head were numbered, you played with them. You told me every night that I was cute.

You said at bedtime, "You sing songs for me? You sing two songs?" And I would sing songs for you until you said, "Okay, I done!" And you would shove me out of your bed. You were a BIG fan of Dixie Chicks!

You would tell me that you didn’t want any more kisses, and I would say, “I’ll kiss you anytime I want!” And I would kiss you many kisses…and you would laugh. Then you would grab my cheeks and say with vigor, “I kiss I want!” And you would kiss me many kisses.

Even though when you discovered Spiderman, and you wanted me to change the song to “Spiderman and Moonbeam,” and I sang it that way, I still sang “Sunshine and Moonbeam” in my head. You are, and you always will be my Sunshine, even when you don’t want to be. You brightened my life the day you were born.

I know that you will have friends and a brother forever and ever, but your Daddy and I melt when you say, “We are all bestest buddies forever and ever.” That is an amazing feeling.

You are a pretty incredible big brother. When Parker was born, it was an adjustment for you, as it is for most “bigs.” But the more interactive Parker got, the more interested in him you became. You calmed him when he cried by singing “Twinkle Twinkle.” He looked at you like you were the coolest thing ever!

When I was pregnant with Parker, I would rock you like a baby and say in a very annoying and high-pitched voice, “Are you my ba-by?” And you would say, “No, I your big boy!” Then when Parker was born, I would ask you the same question, and you would answer, “YES!” You will ALWAYS be my baby. You both will.

I hope that when you stumble upon this as a teenager, and I am so very uncool, this explains a little bit why I am the way I am…and I hope you realize how hard I fought to be your Mama for a very long time. I hope you know that there was never a moment where I didn’t want to hold you, but that there were many that I did want to hold you but physically couldn’t. I hope you realize the amount of respect that I have for members of my own family, and that you carry this respect with you in your own life. I hope that you are making good choices. I hope you still fit into a pumpkin. I hope you protect your brother. I hope you are bestest buddies. I hope you love strong, and that you find something in you like your Daddy did years ago that allows you to live freely and without regret.  I hope you find great love. I hope you have faith and I hope you have passion. I hope that you never suffer anything. I hope you realize that if I cried when you were little that it was all out of fear. I hope you are healthy and happy and everything in between - always.

I love you today and every day, Lo Bear –
Happy 3rd Birthday to my Sunshine.

Your Mama

A Letter to Bess and Gretchen

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2011 9:10 PM, EDT

A Letter to Bess and Gretchen

Dear Bess and Gretchen,

It is with mixed emotions that I say goodbye. I have known you for 17 years. Before that, you were a distant dream. 

Before that I was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom of a ballet studio stuffing shoulder pads into my leotard. I danced in them for about 10 minutes before I got self-conscious about the velcro pieces that held them into the shirt they belonged in. Those velcro pieces were making little rectangles on the bust of my leotard, and it just wasn't natural to have rectangular nipples. I returned to the bathroom and removed them, too young to realize that people would notice both the immediate growth and the immediate deflation of my flat chest. That was theonly time I every stuffed my "bra." 

And then there you were...this amazing fascination of the boys in my class. I was no longer Titless Tina Tatum, but someone of interest. All of a sudden I was interested in a bikini...it was orange and yellow, and I wore it on our 9th grade field trip to Six Flags Over Georgia (under my clothes, of course, for the water rides). Alan Bryant loved that bikini, and I had a thing for Alan Bryant. He sat next to me on the bus on the way home. While other people slept, Alan was the first boy to ever meet you. Oddly enough, it was another 6 months from that school field trip to Six Flags in the 9th grade that I had my first kiss (I felt like a big tramp for letting a boy touch my boobs, so I stayed away form boys altogether for a while). Yep, my first kiss was in the Summer after the 9th grade, and it was late in the Summer. Two months later I met the boy who eventually dubbed you Bess and Gretchen...though I'm not quite sure I remember how the names came about, I know well enough that he probably wasn't giving you names while you were dressed. So I will refrain from trying too hard to remember so as not to humiliate my Mama or Nathan any more than I already have).

You have served a great purpose. You have fed two children with liquid gold. We have all laughed through two nursing periods about how healthily fat you made my children...and so quickly at that. You have allowed children to rest upon you in comfort when they were sick. You have brought me great joy in that way.

And you've been fun. When it was time to go out, you were always willing to be the center of attention. You've seen New Orleans more times than I can count, but New Orleans has NEVER seen you, a peer pressure that I have never succumbed to. But I was never at a loss for beads when I returned to my hotel! And we got some good ones! 

You've been the butt of jokes for years. From now on, when I tell Lil' Sis Jayme that Dolly Parton called because she wants her bra back, she can no longer say, "Then give it to her!" And when I pass the Boobie Bungalow while driving from Kentucky to Alabama, and I call Jayme to say, "Boobie Bungalow called, they want their boobs back." She can't say, "Them give 'em to them...they're causing you nothing but trouble anyway!" I will miss that joke. It never got old.

You have been difficult to hide at times. Job interviews, for instance, are always difficult. I spend a lot of time trying to achieve a demure look during an interview process, careful not to give a glimpse of you. Females in business have a hard enough time getting ahead (oh, yes, even now) without having to worry about a little distracting cleavage getting in the way. Nobody takes a large breasted woman in business seriously until she proves herself worthy...and that can take years more than a male counterpart.

You make yourselves comfortable in a cold room. That's a pretty annoying characteristic if I can be blatantly honest. There have been many a day when I wanted to cover you with a Band-Aid like we did for ballet performances. But again, rectangular nipples are so hard to explain to the general public. 

You grew old. You lost elasticity (or "perkiness," if you will), but I suppose we all do that in our own way. You grew sad, and straight to the floor. I'm not going to lie - this was disappointing. I mean, it wasn't too long ago that a classmate in Radiography school asked me who my plastic surgeon was. That is a big compliment for a woman with large, natural breasts. And then there were children...A wise woman once told me that one day I would be able to roll you up like pancakes and stick you into a bra. Pretty annoying truth.

And yet, we have shared such beautiful memories. And I will be sad to see you go. You are a part of me. Always have been. What will I do without you? Where will my children rest their snuggly heads when they are sick? What will be my "best asset" when I'm out with my girlfriends? What will I do with all of those expensive undergarments?!  What kind of collateral will I use in a bet? Will I laugh when someone makes an inappropriate comment about breastases (the way that my Aunt Laslie used to say it)? Will I be able to unselfishly find delight in my sister's ability to breastfeed her child? Will I look fat after you are gone? Well, seriously! Think about how big my ass is going to look!

 

Whatever life brings me in the upcoming years, you have no place there. Please know Bess and Gretchen that it isn't me, it's you (no typo here, I didn't mean that the other way around...it's really you). I begged God for you, but you are defective. In my world, there are two things you don't mess with - people's children and people's money. And you have messed with both. So you must go. I hope that out of curiosity, you have kept this stupid cancer to yourselves, and that you have not let it invade any other part of me. God has big plans for me, but you have served your purpose.

Thank you for all that you have done here, but now it's time to go. Just know that you will be missed...probably by many! You never know how many people you've affected in your lifetime!

Love always,

Bean

Destination Unknown

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 22, 2011 2:33 PM, EDT

Destination Unknown

Destination: San Francisco

Souvenir (Planned in advance, as always): Original artwork from a starving artist and Ghirardelli Chocolates...from the factory

Destination: New Orleans

Souvenir: Mardi Gras beads and masks, Chicory from Cafe du Monde, Pralines, and something voodoo

Destination: Napa-Sonoma (Wine Country)

Souvenir: Cakebread Chardonnay from the year that we were married

Destination: Italy

Souvenir: Truffles, both black and white, and a silk scarf, and original artwork

Destination: Mexico

Souvenir: "Good" Tequila

Destination: Door County, Wisconsin

Souvenir: Original Artwork

Destination: Madison, Wisconsin

Souvenir: Capitol Brewery's Dopplebock Blonde, New Glarus Brewing Company's Spotted Cow (both beers)

Destination: Montgomery, Alabama or Sauk/Prairie, Wisconsin

Souvenir: Nothing tangible, just new memories

In the eleventh grade, I frequented thrift stores. Determined not to have the same thing as everyone else, I found thrift stores the perfect place to update vintage looks. I may have gone a little overboard with the vintage, and a little "under-board" with the updating.

I bought a lunch box (yes, I bought a lunch box in the eleventh grade - I told you I was into vintage) with primary colored arrows on it. The arrows were pointing in every which way, and in bold lettering across the bottom, the lunch box said "DESTINATION UNKNOWN." For some reason, I liked the idea of not being in control of where my life was headed, as if I had just shown up a the airport with a wad of cash and said, "Surprise me!" This is still a dream of mine...going to the airport and saying, "Surprise me!"

However romantic the notion may sound, destination unknown is really impractical if you really think about it. How would you know what to pack? Sunscreen or bug spray? Swimsuit or winter coat? And don't even get me started on what shoes to wear!

No, no, I'm afraid we must prepare for our journeys. Okay, so maybe planning the souvenir is a bit much, but it saves time. And when the research is done properly, it also saves money. It’s not like there’s a rule that you can’t buy something that you like if it wasn’t planned! Now that would just be silly! But must still prepare for a journey.

So how do you prepare for a surgical journey? When you are preparing to deliver a baby, you take a hospital bag with toiletries, extra make up for pictures, a FABULOUS nightgown. You prepare your home with the baby’s room, diapers, and other necessities. Mastectomy is a bit different from delivering a baby. And yet, the preparation is very much the same.

My house is not practical for a time in which I will come home from a hospital, unable to raise my arms more than a couple of inches. My closet requires me to lift my arms above my head to reach my clothes. And then there are my clothes…now I am a girl who loves a good cardigan, but most of my clothes go over my head. I have raided Nathan’s closet for button up shirts that I can hang on the slacks and skirts bar in my closet. I’ve placed pajama pants (which I plan to make a staple of my post-surgical wardrobe) on shelves that are lower than waist level rather than having them in the heavy drawers of my dresser. My hospital bag does not contain a lacy nightgown that reminds me of Angelina Jolie’s pictorial in People Magazine after she had the twins. Instead, I’ve traded that nightgown in for a pair of pink and gray flannel PJs that my boss Tammy gave me, and some warm fuzzy socks and a plush pink robe) given to me by BF Cathy (also a survivor). I’ve packed the beautiful prayer quilt from my dear friends at Montgomery’s Episcopal Church of the Ascension (where I grew up). And of course, I have squish – a pillow that has so few feathers left in it that it feels like a pillow of air. I have headbands/scarves, toothbrush, make-up and Amazing Grace, I have a framed picture of Logan and Parker and Nathan, and one of my mother and sisters.  Other than that, I don’t know how to prepare for this.

I have always had vivid dreams, and lately my subconscious has been on fire! I’ve had a dream that my boss’s boss Shelley was going to perform my mastectomy, but that she couldn’t begin until she finished “practicing” on the patient next door. And the only thing I found strange about that dream while I was dreaming was that Shelley was wearing bright blue scrubs, and Shelley would never wear that color. I had another dream that my mastectomy was complete. I awoke from my surgery, looked into my surgical gown and said, “They’re bigger than I expected.” Then I heard a man in my room snoring. I looked up at the nurses and asked, “A shared room? I’m sharing a room? With a man? That is my only complaint about this whole thing! Let’s work on that!” Then they let me go to the restroom, which had big panel windows. People were waving at me as I tried to go to the restroom (stage fright…who’d have guessed?). I came back into my room and said to the nurses, “Complaint number 2.” My dream book says that dreaming of a surgeon (let’s pretend I’m not thinking about an impending surgery) denotes that “you are threatened by enemies who are close to you in business…For a young woman, this…promises a serious illness from which she will experience great inconvenience.” No kidding…those words! It’s a shame that’s all I get from that book. I knew that already! I was kind of hoping for something that would help me in preparing for this future destination…destination unknown. As it turns out, I’m just along for the ride, lacking control, and trying my best to enjoy it.

Destination: Unknown

Souvenir: Sanity, Hope, Love and Support

Nah…I’ve still got it!

Pumpkin Carving

Monday, October 17, 2011 8:59 PM, EDT

Pumpkin Carving

I loved pumpkin carving as a child. It was truly one of my favorite pastimes. I have fond memories of Halloween altogether...as a child, I wore a lot of ballet costumes from prior recitals for Halloween. That was generally easiest...I was a Spanish ballerina, a blue ballerina, a dancer from the "Under the Sea" dance in the Little Mermaid recital. But my favorite costumes were non-ballet costumes. Vanna White sticks out like a sore thumb in my mind when I think of Halloween. I wore a fabulous black jersey '80's jumpsuit that Mama probably wore to some fun cocktail party. She decked me out in jewels and teased my hair to death before she put it into the perfect french twist (somehow it took Halloween and a canister of Dippity-Do to make my hair do anything)! And my make up was flawless. I sent that picture to NBC with an email when I was 23. The email said that Vanna started when she was 23, so she must be getting ready to retire. When she was ready to retire, I was asking them to consider me as the next great letter flipper for Wheel of Fortune. All I got back was a return email saying that I sent the email to the wrong place. I was crushed to learn that I was not destined to be the next great letter flipper on Wheel of Fortune.

That Halloween, as Vanna White, we went Trick-or-Treating with the Wilson cousins and the McCabes (who may as well have been cousins). There was a hay ride in the neighborhood. We had to look through our candy for razor blades when we got home. Apparently there was something terrible on the news about someone placing razor blades in candy. As an FYI, that really ruined Halloween for a lot of kids.  

I am bound and determined to make Halloween a national holiday in my family. I want my kids to meticulously choose their identities for the night, choose their sugar intake wisely, and make pumpkin carving an outright competition. Pumpkin carving was always a competition to me, not that anyone else was playing, but I was downright serious about it. And don't judge me based on the picture here - remember I was operating on about 3 hours of sleep in 3 days! I would carve a pumpkin for hours. You know those Martha Stewart pumpkins that have a layer of skin cut off and then a thin layer of meat underneath with the light shining through?...yeah, I can do that. I cut a hole in the top of the pumpkin that is a particular shape - it is like a puzzle piece that only fits one way so that I always know how to place the top so that it fits. And I love to sit out in the sun and the Fall breeze and scoop the guts out of the pumpkin. Have you ever carved a pumpkin, only to find another sprout inside of it? So cool. It always makes me giggle because I call Logan my little Bean Sprout. Gutting a pumpkin is meticulous work. If you don't scrape it thin enough, the light of the candle doesn't shine through enough. It is dim. Have you ever seen a dim pumpkin? Useless.

Logan was born (don't worry, I'm not going to tell the labor story again) after 26 long hours of labor. :-)  He was supposed to be born on October 29, but no...he needed his own birthday. He was born at 3:36am on Thursday, October 30. We came home on Halloween. While other new mothers would take this opportunity to recover, snuggle their new born, nest, I chose to carve a pumpkin. I was determined to make an Anne Geddes type picture with my baby in a pumpkin. Turns out, Anne Geddes uses plump little 3-6 month old (sleeping) babies. Mine was still all squished looking. And yet, it was perfect. Logan's name was carved in a font that was on a bib that cousins Sam and Lyndsey gave Logan. I loved the font, and it was fun to carve. And Logan's date of birth was below his name. And I vowed that day that every year, I would carved Logan a pumpkin and take his picture in it. For the last 2 years, I have kept my word, and I carved his name and the relevant year below it. I picture carving holes in the bottom when he is a teenager and making him hold it up around his waist. Mark my words - this will happen.

I visited with my Breast Surgeon Allie Hatmaker the other day. Dr. Hatmaker can't be any older than I am. She doesn't sugar coat anything, but she doesn't have a bad bedside manner either. She is exactly what I needed in a surgeon. She trained at Vanderbilt in breast surgery, and she specializes in breast surgery. That's all she does - and that's what I wanted. And I believe that she is sweet as pie in "real life." But this is not real life. This is telling people day after day that they can trust you - that you are going to help them live longer...that you are going to cut out the thing that wants to kill them. There's no sugar coating that.

First Dr. Hatmaker smiled. She had a relieved look on her face as she told me that my tumor was showing response to chemo (shrinking). She did a quick ultrasound that coordinated with the MRI measurements. And then we talked surgery. I had to stop her.
"Okay, you don't read my blog, so you're probably not going to understand what I mean by this, but you're going to have to explain a 'skin-sparing mastectomy' to me. Are you going to essentially cut off my nipple and carve me like a pumpkin?" Her eyes became big and round like pie plates - there's the sweetness!

"Well, I like to think it's a little more elegant than that!" She giggled...then proceeded to explain the meticulous details of the first 3 hours of my 8 hour surgery. She will perform the first portion, a sentinel lymph node biopsy. The sentinel node, as I understand it, is generally the first place that something like 85% of breast cancers spread. So they inject a radioactive isotope (or dye) that "highlights" my sentinel node if there are cancer cells. And other lymph nodes...if there are cancer cells. If there are cancer cells there, she removes all of my lymph nodes and my journey doesn't end with surgery and reconstruction. We pray for no cancer in the lymph nodes. The second part of the surgery is the goodbye party for Bess and Gretchen...the pumpkin carving, as I like to call it. I will lose all but about 3 % of my breast tissue (which I think they have to tell me just in case anything ever comes back). Then Dr. Hatmaker removes my port while the Pathologist reviews slide for clear margins. "Clear margins" implies that the entire tumor and a specified range of normal cells have been removed from my body. The last part of my 8 hours surgery is the tissue expander placement, which Dr. Quintero will do. 

I am expected to spend only one night in the hospital and be discharged the next day, which still blows my mind. And then the hard part - recovery. I will be off work for 3-6 weeks, depending on complications (of which I plan to have none) and range of motion, or ability to continue with normal job duties as expected. I am not expecting to be able to lift my children for 3 months. This will be the part of my recovery that I will find most difficult - despite the pain, emotional stress, grief.

Throughout this journey, I have laughed, and I have cried. From time to time, I have a good, healthy break down, but our house is a "safe place." Nathan and I have agreed to try to keep the negative energy away from the kids, and away from our safe place. So it happens in random places - the bathroom, therapy, a water park, my car. Pretty much any time I spend more than about 15 minutes with my own thoughts.

So I went to a movie the other night with Kerrie, Rebecca, Divine and Amanda. It was a great time, and a funny movie. But the ride home was about 5 minutes too long, and I was (you guessed it) by myself. I called Tiff to get my mind off of the surgery, but the minute she started talking, I lost it. I almost had to pull over, and all I could think was, "Damn cancer, this is embarrassing!" And though my blubbering, I heard Tiff say to me, "Did you download that song I sent you this morning?" I had, but it didn't sync to my iPod. Damn cancer. She said, "It's by this band Addison Road, and it's kind of like 'This Little Light of Mine' that we sang growing up...but with a twist. I always loved that song." Damn cancer. "Tina, I just wanted to tell you that through all of this darkness, I am so proud of you for continuing to let your light shine...and now look at you! You're falling apart!" Me, bawling, still considering pulling over, but almost home. "So...suck it up, Bean! And let your light shine!" Burst of laughter. Only your sister, or your soulmate, can tell you something like this and make you laugh in your darkest moment. And if you are lucky enough, your sister and a soulmate are one in the same.

So I'm not scared of surgery. I am grateful that I get to celebrate Logan's 3rd birthday on October 30 with him, and that I don't have to carve his pumpkin a week in advance. I am fortunate that I get to celebrate Parker's first Halloween, and see Logan dressed as Spiderman while he Trick or Treats for the first time. I am thankful that we have the technology and the surgical expertise in Louisville, Kentucky to carve this cancer out of me. May what's left behind be "elegant" and precise, and may it be so that my light does not shine dimly through. I'm ready to suck it up and let my light shine...and it needs to be bright!

Progress

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 12, 2011 7:23 PM, EDT

Progress

Normally, progression is not the word that you want to associate with cancer. Progression means that the cancer is growing...or spreading...usually despite treatment. I say that because if you are following the progress of your cancer, you are most likely following the response to treatment. Progression is not what you want to see.

So I use the word "progress" to describe me, not my tumor. My tumor is actually showing shrinkage, not progression. I, however, am showing great progress this week...I haven't written because I am able to focus with clarity. I am preparing at work for the surgical leave that will begin November 3 and last about 3 weeks, depending on how my recovery goes. Work is set. It will function fine without me because I have a very clear plan...and a lot of support from co-workers and team members. 

I feel healthy for the first time in...well, in months! I can tell that my blood count is back to normal. I have color in my cheeks, and it isn't grey! I have energy and can keep up with my children...I actually carried both boys out of daycare today - one in each arm. Now, this is no small feat - Logan (3 y/o at the end of the month) weighs 34lbs, and Parker (9 months last week) weighs a whopping 23.3lbs! That's 57 pounds that I carried to the car today, and you have no idea what a milestone that is! Over the past 4 months, I have carried one and fought the other to walk while holding my hand, and I would be out of breath by the time I got them both into the car. It feels amazing to be able to keep up with them again! I even crawled around on the floor with them today...

I have natural energy...as opposed to Sugar-Free Red Bull energy that brought me to my normal baseline. That's not cool. So I am weaning myself off of Red Bull, and trying to get back to my naturally energized self...one one coffee a day!

With all of this healthy feeling, I've noticed how terrible I've felt over the last 4 months. When the steroids wore off after every treatment, I was told I would feel like I had the flu...achy joints and such. It didn't really feel like that for me. I had severe, pulsating pain in my spine that started in my lower back and radiated up, occasionally as far up as the back of my neck. I noticed it more when I put any weight on my knees, which made it difficult to want to be on the floor with the kids. I also felt it a lot when I was trying to sleep. So pain meds became my friend when the steroids wore off. I'm actually kind of surprised that I had such an easy time coming off of them.

With the first round of chemo, I was so dry. My skin, my mouth, my GI Tract. If they had given me a liter of fluid every day during that first 2 months, I still wouldn't have made it. My migraines were worse than they've been in years. Mama would say that as they injected the 2nd of 2 drugs (Adriamycin) during that first 2 months, she could watch my face turn grey. And I felt it. It was draining the life out of me...and just when I started to feel better, it was time to start all over again.

The second round of treatments was much easier...just numbness, tingling, and a little peeling of my skin. Better than the first, but I wore down easily. I was just so tired.  My menses stopped during this round, so I officially no longer ovulate. I was perfectly convinced that Nathan and I would have 3 children (although he wasn't entirely convinced)...until my diagnosis. At that point, I knew that wasn't meant to be. And I am perfectly content with my 2 happy, healthy little boys. I am fortunate to have them. I just wish I could have kept up with them.

But with the ceasing of ovarian function comes hot flashes. These are for the birds. I have received lots of advice about hot flashes that I will share at a later date. The thing about chemo-induced ovarian function is this - it is generally permanent if the patient is over 35. I, however, am 32, so the theory is that my ovarian function will return if we let it. Ovarian function is important to stop if indeed my tumor is fed by estrogen. As long as my ovaries can produce estrogen, my tumor can grow or other tumors can be produced. We have to find a way to stop my ovaries from producing estrogen. Upside? No more periods...ever. Downside? Menopause. So here we have it...drug-induced menopause at 32. Mama says there is a bight side to this...are you ready for this? By the time all of my friends start menopause, I'll be done with the process. Now with all of Mama's words of wisdom, I do not understand this one. Perhaps I will see the bright side of that when it is applicable.

So how do you induce menopause with drugs, you ask? I will go to the Oncologist's office once a month beginning on the 19th to receive an injection in my stomach (just under the skin). When I asked how large the needle was, the nurses said, "It's a little smaller than a tic-tac." WHAT?! Okay, a tic-tac is small in reference to the mint world, but who on God's green earth wants to picture a needle the size of a tic-tac?! As it turns out, the "capsule" that stops my ovarian function is smaller than a tic-tac. The needle, on the other hand, is a little larger than the capsule...oh, that makes me feel sooooo much better.

So what's the alternative? Surgically removing my ovaries. I asked why we can't do this at the same time as my breast surgery. As it turns out, that 8-hr surgery will be long enough without adding an oopherectomy (taking out the ovaries...I just really like to say oopherectomy). And removing my ovaries raises the complication rate because it creates another place for an infection to occur. I get it. In addition, my medical oncologist adds, this gives us a trial period to make sure I don't go crazy since I am being forced into immediate menopause, where the normal process takes a number of years. I believe his words were, "If you don't kill your husband after a few months, we'll consider the oopherectomy." Do you know how many women have offered to send their husbands to my house in the month of November? I'm serious. No really, the running joke is about "Poker Night at the Frey House." 

At any rate, the hot flashes are bearable. And the pain has stopped. The migraines have subsided. My eye lashes are growing in slowly but surely...my hair is growing in blonde and curly! And most of all, I have energy. I have a busy October because I plan on having a rough recovery in November. I will fill you in on the details of my surgery in a few weeks...I am trying not to think about it until I have to. I have to admit, it makes me very emotional to think or talk about it...but then again, that could be the menopause...or progress!

Clara and Polly - Alter Egos

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 4, 2011 7:57 PM, EDT

Clara and Polly - Alter Egos

When I was 12 years old, it was my year. I was going to be Clara.I had long awaited the day when the castings were posted. I would humbly accept the responsibility of the lead role in the Montgomery Ballet's adaptation of The Nutcracker. There were always two leads who rotated performances to give each girl a break between shows - the other would be Mara Moody, of course. She was a shoe-in - the best dancer in my classical ballet class, and my best friend. It was going to be my big stage debut.

We were in class during the posting. We spent three 2-hour nights a week in ballet class at this point, and that was outside of Nutcracker season. It was a rigorous life for a 12 year old, and I couldn't think of anything better. We were almost to the point of being weighed every week to a disappointing "Lose 5 pounds by next weigh-in - we don't really care how you do it"...and I couldn't wait! Our hearts pounded so hard that night in class that we didn't even need a piano accompaniment. I asked to go to the bathroom twice during class, hoping to be the first to get a glimpse of the cast list. But they were on to my shenanigans. The cast list was posted during the last few seconds of our class. They literally stood by the door as it was posted so that we couldn't charge the bulletin board. We were like 12 caged animals, impatiently waiting for feeding time. And then the flood gates opened. We rushed the bulletin board in a crowd of squeals and smiles and Oh my Gods! And the world stopped. Mara...and Heather?! Heather was the second Clara? How could this be?! It was like an MTV music video when MTV showed music videos! I was suddenly floating backwards in slow motion while the rest of the world continued on...and on...and on...squeals and smiles and Oh My Gods before me...continuing on. Didn't they read the cast list? How could they be so happy? Didn't they see that I wasn't Clara?

Hands grabbed my numb shoulders and moved my sluggish body in a direction unbeknownst to me. I resumed a normal blood flow in the office of the dance studio with Miss Norma (who I lovingly referred to as my second Mom - note "Mom," not Mama...there is no second Mama - because of the amount of time I spent in the dance studio). Miss Norma asked me if I wanted to call my Mama. I said yes. I could barely get the words out of my mouth over the inevitable tears. I told Mama the disappointing news, and I don't even remember what she said to me then...the real wisdom came later. But Norma pointed out that I didn't even tell her the good news...the good news?! What good news?! Didn't you see, Heath-er got Clara!! Miss Norma pointed out that I was named the Harlequin Doll...a staple solo at the Nutcracker opening party scene, and a certain upgrade from any part that I had previously played. It was an amazing part, and I smiled. But deep down, I was broken.

Mama curled up in the bed with me that night and quoted a Garth Brooks song..."Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers." And deep down, she fixed me. She was right. I didn't know then why I didn't get Clara...maybe it had less to do with me not getting it, and more to do with Heather and Mara needing that. They were both beautiful on stage, and they both continued to dance later. I guess in some strange way, this sparked a philosophy that would stick with me later in life..and guide me.

I was a senior in high school when our music and theater directors decided that Crazy For You would be our annual musical production. I remember walking in from school and telling Mama, "I am auditioning for the Spring Musical." She unassumingly asked, "Oh, really, what part?" I shrugged my shoulders, and said as seriously as I could, "The lead." It was such a silly question. I mean, go big or go home, right?! Mama was supportive of anything we wanted to do, so this was no different, but she responded, "But you don't know how to sing!"

She was technically right. The only experience I had with music aside from the children's choir at church years before was singing with my cousins in a "band" we dubbed "Wilson Tatum," largely in part because we sang Wilson Phillips songs that were playing on the jam box. Still, there was no reason why I couldn't try. And try I did...but I also used a little strategy. I researched the Broadway musical Crazy For You, bought a CD, and went from there. Turns out that the young lady who played the lead Polly in the Broadway production also sang Ariel's songs in Disney's The Little Mermaid. How better to prove that I can sing those songs than to sing "Part of That World" from The Little Mermaid? Strategy. I also hired a terrific voice coach, Bill Taylor. Bill worked with me a couple of days per week, and he taught me how to breathe, how to find my "voice," and how to use it. He taught me how to sing. And damn if I wasn't Polly in Crazy For You the next Spring! 

I worked harder for that production than I have worked for anything. I had something to prove to myself - I was lead worthy. And that last night, in that white dress, there was nothing in the world like those bright lights illuminating my face. It-was-amazing. I was there.

I decided a long time ago that it was too easy to focus on what I don't have. Through my rose colored glasses, I decided to focus on what I do have. And I guess that's what sparked in me when Mama was talking to me that night about unanswered prayers. We wish and we hope and we pray for health, happiness, and tangible things...sometimes we get them, and sometimes we don't. And somehow things work out the way they are "supposed" to. Somehow we become stronger for what we don't have...and we earn them. Somehow we realize that we were made better without the things we thought we needed. Somehow it all makes sense because we get what we need...and when we learn to focus on what we do have, we can be truly happy. 

So I know that somehow this will all makes sense in the end...and I also know that what I have is a shrinking tumor! God has answered so many prayers this week, and I am so there! My MRI report came back today, and my tumor is markedly smaller, with less blood flow! That means that it is pretty safe to assume that the Pacific Yew Tree has also been hard at work on that rif-raf in my blood, too! What a great start to Breast Cancer Awareness month...for those of you who've never seen a production - this is where I get a standing ovation!! And then I curtsy and gesture to thank YOU...and to thank God for saving the answered prayers for when they really count!

Bean