Creed's big plans...

...so, yesterday I spoke with my mother-in-law who wanted to talk about where the kids would go to high school and college! Not exactly on the top of our list for worries or projections at the moment, since we still need to start kindergarten in the fall.
And then I really wanted to open the can of worms and tell her what Creed's plans are for his own future.

Creed has a girlfriend AKA his "wife" named Millie. Sometimes it's Sophia or Kate, but 99% of the time it's Millie. They have been at Ecole for 3 years together now. His plans all seem to include her.

"Mom, I need money to go to Mexico so Millie and I can have a big party for our friends. We're going to ride whales."

"Dad, let's go to Home Depot and buy paint and wood for the house Millie and I are building in Mexico."

"Mom, I am needing to go to the airport at midnight. Millie and I are moving to New York to start a band"

"Dad, my band is going to be called 'Creed and the Firemen.' Do you think Alejandro will join? Millie's band is called 'Millie and the Ambulance.'"

"Mom, can you meet us in New York and bring Millie the wedding dress if she forgets it?"

This has been going on for months now...so finally yesterday, I asked him why he wants to get married to Millie at such a young age.

His response: She's nice. I like her a lot and we're friends.
Me: Okay - good reasons. What will you do when you get married?
Creed: Oh, we'll be parents. I'll make signs and Millie will make dresses, go to meetings and have breast cancer.

Wow.

Cancer makes you do crazy things...

...so I got a summer job in Paris. I'll be teaching Fashion & Design to exchange students and the twins will come over there with me for 6 weeks or so.

Cancer is a funny beast. I have known it intimately. And for those who know me well, they are accustomed to my flights of folly. I have, since I was a teenager, or my parents could probably argue earlier than that, have figured out something I've wanted and gone about getting it. There was drawing a picture and getting it published on the cover of a book for the United Nations when I was 12, going to France for the first time when I was 15, spending every summer of my life in the mountains in a canoe, on a trail or hanging off cliffs until I was 24, deciding to become a teacher, going to grad school on a full scholarship, selling everything to move back to Paris for design school, making TV shows & movies, writing, public speaking, riding motorcycles, getting married to a not so good "was-bund" and marrying a much better one, having twins at 47, raising little kids in my 50's (one who is blind), returning to full-time designing...the list goes on and there are oh, so many things I CAN'T or won't mention (for now)...

But it's that doggone cancer that pricks you like a pin and says "Wake the fuck up and do more!" "What haven't you done in your life that you've wanted to do?" I have heard people say that they wake up after fighting cancer - they smell the flowers, they love harder, they acknowledge life and are more patient with others. I have even heard people thank cancer for opening their eyes and giving them a new lease on life. One woman once said something like she wished everyone she knew could have the mental and emotional effect of having cancer to experience how it changes you. Personally, I think that's a crock of shit and wouldn't wish cancer - even for its life-changing values - on anyone!

But I must admit, cancer - even in the tiniest ways - makes me do some things differently. Ever since I lived for all of those years in France, I've always said I would like to go back and spend a month there every year - especially now that Creed & Zelda are around. But, did I ever attempt a plan? Look into it? Do any research? Well, no - I would visit, attend shows, visit museums, have parties and delight in old friends... And then the other day I saw the post and with my "life's too short, eat dessert first attitude", I applied for the job: each day imagining a summer where I could teach what I love and spend time with my dear friends, introducing my kids to the city that is such a part of me, soaking up "ma dose" of inspiration, work on my book (oh! you didn't know that I was writing one?), and make new connections for my one-of-a-kind slow fashion movement.

So, here we go...do I have the money for the plane tickets yet? Well, no. Have I secured us an apartment yet? Well, no. What will happen at my shop while we're there? Haven't decided yet. And there's Evan...my husband: watching, wondering, silently shaking his head, waiting for the plan to unfold...and it will.

Less then 90 days and counting...on arrive!

Ce n'est pas normal...

I've had this friend for a very long time in France - going on 30 years now. She's a bit difficult, very Parisian, very particular and quite bitchy. But we've been through a lot together. I remember when I first moved there years ago, I stayed with her while I looked for an apartment. We would fold the linens in the morning, she at one end and me, holding the opposite corners of the sheets. If you've ever tried to fold sheets with someone, it's inevitable that one person will fold in the opposite direction. When this would occur, Marianne would stop and say, "Gail, ce n'est pas normal." - It's not normal to do it that way...When cooking, she would ask me to prepare the salade. As I broke the lettuce and prepared to wash it, again she would say, "Ce n'est pas normal." Any time I would do something that wasn't in tune with the way she was taught or accustomed to living: to her, it wasn't normal. We had explosive discussions about this. And to this day, the semantics have never been resolved.

So, the other day, I had my first appointment with a plastic surgeon. I must interject that throughout these past several years of fertility treatments, premature births, retinal and neurosurgeries and cancer, I/we - the family have had the most wonderful health care professionals. From the ER doctors down to the nurses and PCA's. So, whenever I go to see a new doctor, I come well equipped with my questions and also an attitude of "this ain't my first rodeo". But as I entered this surgeon's office, I felt vulnerable about my discussion of breast reconstruction as an option after my upcoming bilateral mastectomy.

First of all, I have had 4 surgeries in the past 14 months, plus dose dense chemo and weeks of radiation. Now, with this positive BART result to my genetic testing, I am due to have my breasts cut off. Thus reigns the question: to reconstruct or not to reconstruct? I am a AA at best. Perfectly small, Marie Antoinette, non-sagging breasts for which I have never had to invest in any sort of brassiere. I don't want anything bigger and I quite like myself the way I am. That, obviously is not an option. I have grappled with this decision for a while now - do I need breasts? I haven't really had them my entire life and these little ones that I've had have served me well. They nourished my preemies for the first 13 months of life and now, they're done. So, why not just have them taken off and not replaced?

Well, I had hoped to have had an open, frank discussion about this dilemma but unfortunately I have learned that women walk into a plastic surgeons office and are confronted with one thing: the options for the type of reconstruction, NOT whether or not to have it done at all. When I tried to approach the subject, I heard the dreaded words "Women do it to feel normal, to look normal again". Marianne's voice was ringing in my ears. "Ce n'est pas normal."

What the f**k is normal? But moreover, why would anyone want to be...? I will choose abnormal anyday. We will fly the abnormal flag: my daughter who can't see, my twins' who live with tubes in their brains, my husband who went to an Ivy League school and became a cowboy boot collector and artist instead of an attorney, and me...without breasts.

Sigh...I STILL don't know what I am going to do but I do know one thing: I won't be going back to that plastic surgeon.

the People, the People...

So, for those of you who missed the infamous People magazine article, since the Oprah cover story is now being replaced by Tiger Woods and his scandal:

The cancer confession...

Forgive me doctors, it's been 2 months since my last treatment...I finished in July. Sometimes, I can almost forget what I've been through, but now, the "new normal" begins. I'll see my oncologist this month for my first checkup since chemo ended. I'll see my surgeon for a follow-up as well.

I run, run, run during the week without giving cancer a second thought until the fatigue creeps up and bites me in the ass. I collapse. I shiver. I ache. I feel a sore throat coming on. I crawl into bed at odd times for a few hours rest. I don't feel as strong as I used to before all of this happened.

My skin is still dry, my lips constantly chapped and my nails are brittle. I still take an anti-depressant. My digestive system continues to surprise and confuse me. My hair is coming back. I think "Jean Seberg", Evan says "Steve McQueen". I dread "Jamie Lee Curtis".

I see a bald woman at the market and I smile and say "Nice haircut, mine was like that a few months ago." Her partner says, "See, it WILL grow back." I wish her strength as I continue on through the produce aisle.

I have been asked to give a speech as the Honorary Chairperson at the BCRC (Breast Cancer Resource Center) Annual Brunch on September 27th. Me and Rue McClanahan from the Golden Girls. Sure, we're survivors. We survived the treatment. But, we're fighters, too...and we continue...

The "New" Normal...

I haven't written in a while. I finished all of my treatments for breast cancer exactly one month ago today. 3 surgeries, four months of dose dense chemotherapy and 7 1/2 weeks of daily radiation. I have been pricked, poked, fed multitudes of pills, had poison shot through my body and wreak havoc on my system, been fried daily by laser radiation through layers of skin until it hurt and peeled...oh, there's too much more to even mention. But I am here and supposedly cancer free. Hmmm...do I believe it? I guess so.

The morning of my last radiation treatment and I got into the car with Evan to drop the twins first at Ecole, and I started weeping. I cried and couldn't stop. I had no words. I cried through the treatment and cried when Dr Dzuik gave my my "award": a plaque that reads "Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway." - John Wayne. He died of cancer.

So, the "new" normal is here. People ask how I am doing. I feel fine, although I tend to push myself too much and I exhaust easily. They say my hair regrowth looks great and that the short hair is flattering, I say: only if it's one's own choice. So, I go forward, move on - most days without worry, without fear. But sometimes, it's there...

Credence Paul, M.D....

Creed:
"Momma, lay down here he-a."
(He motions to the couch).
"I'm your doct-a and I want to make you safe."
(He then uses the end of a jump rope to listen to my heart.)
(He then goes across the room and picks up a half-deflated balloon and places it on my stomach).
"This is your breast cancer and I make you bett-a. Ok, Momma?"

Me:
"Okay Credence, thanks..."

I finish my cancer treatment in 2 days...