Trying to break into the New Year while still reflecting on the Old. It's hard to sum up 2009 with good memories so I've decided to do a + and - look back...
Although I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2008 and had my first surgery before Christmas, 2009 still feels like the year of Cancer, so here we go:
- Had my port-a-cath put in by Dr Ames Smith, BUT +, it was a flawless surgery and easy to recover from.
- Creed hit his chin at Ecole and had his first experience with stitches, BUT +, he was a happy, cheerful, trooper.
- started my first chemo on January 20th, BUT +, Obama was inagurated.
- Had all of my hair cut off and my head shaved, BUT +, shared it with beautiful friends and have amazing photos, thanks to Todd.
- Mom was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer, BUT +, she didn't have to suffer through chemo...
- Lori was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer, BUT +, they were able to shrink the tumor before her surgery.
- 2 months of chemo was hideous, BUT, +, we took the twins to a wonderful outdoor Alejandro Escovedo concert during SXSW.
- Month 3 of chemo was awful, BUT, +, Jerry and Mary visited from NY and we went to see Bruce in concert. Also, modeled in Graphic - the BCRC Art Bra fashion show.
- Final month of chemo was debilitating, BUT +, Manu came from Paris for 3 weeks and I auditioned for a Nike commercial. Also, was contacted by People magazine to do an article about our family's fight with cancer.
- Started Radiation in June, BUT +, got the role in "Driven" - the Nike commercial! Also, took a family trip to the beach and Zelda & Creed LOVED it!! And the People magazine photographer came to shoot us on Father's Day weekend.
- finished 7 weeks of radiation in July, BUT +, headed to Sturgeon Bay, WI to stay with Bill & Kathryn, and then into Chicago to see Margo & Luke and their girls and Gemma, Rowley and Fin and of course, Dr McLeod and the toxoplasmosis research group.
- I was still bald and exhausted, BUT +, Craig and Seth came down to help me take the twins back to the beach.
- Was asked to participate in a Myriad study for genetic predisposition to breast cancer, BUT +, the twins went back to Ecole and and Zelda started her PPCD program.
- Hair was still only under 2 inches long and hated it, BUT +, Zelda and I flew to Pasadena, CA to see Dr Tawansy. Her retinas have remained attached! Creed and Evan took a road trip to El Paso.
- Dad was sick and in and out of the hospital, BUT +, he made it to the twins' 4th birthday party and I was named Honorary Chair of the Breast Cancer Resource Center's Annual Luncheon. I gave the keynote speech.
- Dad was still sick, BUT +, I flew to New Jersey to attend the Camp Beisler reunion and had a wonderful time reconnecting with old friends.
- Lori and tested positive for the BRAT genetic coding and now we have new things to consider in our treatment - which we thought was over, BUT +, I am flown to Beaumount, TX with my friend Deborah to give my speech "Cancer tries on my shoes.." before 1500 people.
- New options for treatment are not good news, BUT +, I am asked to present at Pecha Kucha night with 9 other Austin creatives.
- Dad died...
- Zelda had her 3rd seizure of the year...
- I had my ovaries removed to cut the risk of developing ovarian cancer from 45% down to 4%...there were no cancerous cells in my ovaries.
- Alton visited and Seth and Craig came back for Christmas and New Year's. The kids had a blast. They are happy. healthy and cheerful. We have 3 floors on our house that is under construction. Evan is busy, busy, busy and this year....I will have my breasts cut off.
Happy New Year...
Showing posts with label Breast Cancer Resource Center. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Breast Cancer Resource Center. Show all posts
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Monday, September 28, 2009
Cancer tried on my shoes...(the speech)
Hi, I'm Gail ***, and I have breast cancer...(pause and scan the room).
Okay, this is where you're all supposed to say 'Hi Gail!' in ragged unison, because, let's face it, this is like a big 12-step program, and cancer is the monkey on our backs. Or on our breasts. Either way, we're all in this "club" together. Everyone in this room either has breast cancer, or has been affected by it in some way. Your friends, your partners, your sisters, or your mothers...
So let's try again. Hi, I'm Gail *** and I have breast cancer. (HI GAIL!!)
Okay, that's better. now I can tell you my story and give you my perspective.
A few incredibly short years ago, I was starting a new chapter in my life. I was a boutique owner and a fashion designer: a middle-aged, menopausal, mother-to-be, pregnant with twins, no less. It was what the doctors called a "difficult" pregnancy.
So it was bad enough when I went into early labor, and my twins were born premature(ly?) by three months, at 2 lbs each. My husband, Evan, watched the Caesarian and said they looked like naked grey squirrels.
It was bad enough, when our twins were subsequently diagnosed as being infected with a rare parasite that attacked their eyes and brains, leading to 15 surgeries in their first year and leaving my son visually impaired and my daughter profoundly blind.
It was bad enough, just when we felt that the twins were stabilized about a year ago, that the crashing economy nearly wrecked my little business.
It was bad enough -- and then I felt a lump in my breast.
"Okay", you think, "now we've reached the limit. This is the end of her bad enough list. We pretty much know where it goes from here."
Ah, you would think so. But as they used to say on those cheesy TV commercials, "WAIT! There's MORE!"
Let me introduce you to some other members of the club.
This is my mother, Ann. She's 85 yrs old and was diagnosed with breast cancer one month after I was.
And this is my little sister, Lori. She's 46 yrs old and was diagnosed with breast cancer one month after my mother.
All three of us diagnosed within two months of each other, all in the left breast. In New Jersey, where we come from, that's called a trifecta.
So, we suddenly had a "family history" of breast cancer. And in the midst of these grim discoveries, we found out that my grandmother - my mother's mother - DIED of breast cancer left untreated.
I suspect you're all thinking "New Jersey, huh? They probably lived next to a nuclear waste dump or a chemical plant, or on top of a Mafia burial ground, to get such a dose of familial bad luck.
Sorry, no. We lived in pristine suburbia. We walked a block to school while Dad took the train into New York with the other corporate fathers. And as far as we know, there has been no other unusual incidence of cancer in our old neighborhood to suggest an environmental trigger.
So, maybe you think it's genetic? We've wondered that, too, but we've tested negative for the known genetic markers.
In short, "bad enough" went to inexplicably "worse" for our family. But at least we had each other, just like hopefully every other person in this room who has been affected by breast cancer has had a support group to help them. And that's why we're here today, isn't it? To encourage, support, and celebrate -- sharing our breast cancer experience with others.
That is the main mission of the Breast Cancer Resource Center, after all. To share the experience. I think I was chosen to speak today because my family took the concept of "sharing" cancer a little too far.
So, now I've finished treatment. My hair is growing back. My mother is on tamoxiphen for he next 5 years. My sister will finish radiation next month. We're into the so-called "new normal".
Are we breast cancer "SURVIVORS"? That's the popular term, "survivor". There's a quote from Maya Angelou, former poet-laureate of the United States, framed on the wall at Texas Oncology, outside of what THEY call the "Infusion Room" but what WE lovingly refer to as the "Chemo Spa." It says: "Surviving is important, but thriving is elegant."
Well, I have a problem with the term "survivor". Because, let's face it...cancer is itself a survivor. Our cancers are as individual as we are. And like us, each cancer's life work is to survive. It wants to live, it wants to thrive in an environment that we, cancer's host and sworn enemy, try to make as hostile as possible. We cut it out, we irradiate it, we poison it with chemicals -- we try to make our bodies into that toxic New Jersey you were just imagining, in order to kill cancer. But like us, despite an incredible beating, cancer finds a way to "survive" and come back to beat the odds.
Of course, I resent cancer trying to do this, trying to BE like me while INHABITING me. Cancer is the uninvited guest who won't go away. Cancer is the relative-from-hell, closer to me than my husband, closer to me than my mother and my sisters, closer to me than my children and my friends. Cancer wears my clothes, it tries on my shoes. Cancer is the terror cell within us, masquerading while it plots to take over, and not caring that in destroying us it will thereby destroy itself.
We are at war with cancer, and I don't just want to "survive", I want to fight back! I WANT TO KICK CANCER"S ASS!
Coming out of chemo, bald, I wanted to get a gang-style tattoo on the back of my head that said "FIGHTER" in Gothic letters. Of course my hair would eventually grow back and cover it, but FIGHTER would always be there for me, as a reminder and a warning. My husband suggested it might be better to get the same letters done backwards across my forehead, so i could read them every time I looked in the mirror...I think he was kidding, but I'm not sure.
So, what then, can we do, not as victims, not as survivors, but as WARRIORS?
We struggle and we fight, to live on and to live well, to raise money and to raise awareness. And to offer support. The weapons we bring to bear as a community are resource groups and research grants. Here today, we commit ourselves to such a group, the Breast Cancer Resource Center, and all the work it does throughout the year, arming and arousing the partisans in the war against cancer, "La Resistance." And each of us partisans must also find within us our own weapons. Strength, cunning, style, and grace can all be used in our daily fight against cancer. Such passion is never futile, no matter the outcome, because passion overcomes fear.
Even humor is a weapon against the despair that cancer can cause. My favorite cancer jibe is the woman's T-shirt that reads, right across here (gesturing across breasts): "Of course they're fake. My real ones tried to kill me."
So now, I would like to ask those of you who are currently fighting -- or have fought -- breast cancer or ANY kind of cancer, to now join me by standing...
Please remain standing for a moment and let me thank you. For you did not volunteer for this battle. It's the marathon that we never signed up to run and yet, you are here now and your courage will not be in vain.
And now the rest of you, please stand up as well.
Sisters, mothers, brothers, and lovers! I, WE, come to you in earnest, as soldiers without uniforms, to urge you to stand up and fight with us, to repel these invaders from our native cells, to take to the streets and fields so that we may drive cancer into the sea, to win back our bodies' freedom from this insidious enemy!
With your love and your help, we CAN and WILL win this fight!
Thank you.
Okay, this is where you're all supposed to say 'Hi Gail!' in ragged unison, because, let's face it, this is like a big 12-step program, and cancer is the monkey on our backs. Or on our breasts. Either way, we're all in this "club" together. Everyone in this room either has breast cancer, or has been affected by it in some way. Your friends, your partners, your sisters, or your mothers...
So let's try again. Hi, I'm Gail *** and I have breast cancer. (HI GAIL!!)
Okay, that's better. now I can tell you my story and give you my perspective.
A few incredibly short years ago, I was starting a new chapter in my life. I was a boutique owner and a fashion designer: a middle-aged, menopausal, mother-to-be, pregnant with twins, no less. It was what the doctors called a "difficult" pregnancy.
So it was bad enough when I went into early labor, and my twins were born premature(ly?) by three months, at 2 lbs each. My husband, Evan, watched the Caesarian and said they looked like naked grey squirrels.
It was bad enough, when our twins were subsequently diagnosed as being infected with a rare parasite that attacked their eyes and brains, leading to 15 surgeries in their first year and leaving my son visually impaired and my daughter profoundly blind.
It was bad enough, just when we felt that the twins were stabilized about a year ago, that the crashing economy nearly wrecked my little business.
It was bad enough -- and then I felt a lump in my breast.
"Okay", you think, "now we've reached the limit. This is the end of her bad enough list. We pretty much know where it goes from here."
Ah, you would think so. But as they used to say on those cheesy TV commercials, "WAIT! There's MORE!"
Let me introduce you to some other members of the club.
This is my mother, Ann. She's 85 yrs old and was diagnosed with breast cancer one month after I was.
And this is my little sister, Lori. She's 46 yrs old and was diagnosed with breast cancer one month after my mother.
All three of us diagnosed within two months of each other, all in the left breast. In New Jersey, where we come from, that's called a trifecta.
So, we suddenly had a "family history" of breast cancer. And in the midst of these grim discoveries, we found out that my grandmother - my mother's mother - DIED of breast cancer left untreated.
I suspect you're all thinking "New Jersey, huh? They probably lived next to a nuclear waste dump or a chemical plant, or on top of a Mafia burial ground, to get such a dose of familial bad luck.
Sorry, no. We lived in pristine suburbia. We walked a block to school while Dad took the train into New York with the other corporate fathers. And as far as we know, there has been no other unusual incidence of cancer in our old neighborhood to suggest an environmental trigger.
So, maybe you think it's genetic? We've wondered that, too, but we've tested negative for the known genetic markers.
In short, "bad enough" went to inexplicably "worse" for our family. But at least we had each other, just like hopefully every other person in this room who has been affected by breast cancer has had a support group to help them. And that's why we're here today, isn't it? To encourage, support, and celebrate -- sharing our breast cancer experience with others.
That is the main mission of the Breast Cancer Resource Center, after all. To share the experience. I think I was chosen to speak today because my family took the concept of "sharing" cancer a little too far.
So, now I've finished treatment. My hair is growing back. My mother is on tamoxiphen for he next 5 years. My sister will finish radiation next month. We're into the so-called "new normal".
Are we breast cancer "SURVIVORS"? That's the popular term, "survivor". There's a quote from Maya Angelou, former poet-laureate of the United States, framed on the wall at Texas Oncology, outside of what THEY call the "Infusion Room" but what WE lovingly refer to as the "Chemo Spa." It says: "Surviving is important, but thriving is elegant."
Well, I have a problem with the term "survivor". Because, let's face it...cancer is itself a survivor. Our cancers are as individual as we are. And like us, each cancer's life work is to survive. It wants to live, it wants to thrive in an environment that we, cancer's host and sworn enemy, try to make as hostile as possible. We cut it out, we irradiate it, we poison it with chemicals -- we try to make our bodies into that toxic New Jersey you were just imagining, in order to kill cancer. But like us, despite an incredible beating, cancer finds a way to "survive" and come back to beat the odds.
Of course, I resent cancer trying to do this, trying to BE like me while INHABITING me. Cancer is the uninvited guest who won't go away. Cancer is the relative-from-hell, closer to me than my husband, closer to me than my mother and my sisters, closer to me than my children and my friends. Cancer wears my clothes, it tries on my shoes. Cancer is the terror cell within us, masquerading while it plots to take over, and not caring that in destroying us it will thereby destroy itself.
We are at war with cancer, and I don't just want to "survive", I want to fight back! I WANT TO KICK CANCER"S ASS!
Coming out of chemo, bald, I wanted to get a gang-style tattoo on the back of my head that said "FIGHTER" in Gothic letters. Of course my hair would eventually grow back and cover it, but FIGHTER would always be there for me, as a reminder and a warning. My husband suggested it might be better to get the same letters done backwards across my forehead, so i could read them every time I looked in the mirror...I think he was kidding, but I'm not sure.
So, what then, can we do, not as victims, not as survivors, but as WARRIORS?
We struggle and we fight, to live on and to live well, to raise money and to raise awareness. And to offer support. The weapons we bring to bear as a community are resource groups and research grants. Here today, we commit ourselves to such a group, the Breast Cancer Resource Center, and all the work it does throughout the year, arming and arousing the partisans in the war against cancer, "La Resistance." And each of us partisans must also find within us our own weapons. Strength, cunning, style, and grace can all be used in our daily fight against cancer. Such passion is never futile, no matter the outcome, because passion overcomes fear.
Even humor is a weapon against the despair that cancer can cause. My favorite cancer jibe is the woman's T-shirt that reads, right across here (gesturing across breasts): "Of course they're fake. My real ones tried to kill me."
So now, I would like to ask those of you who are currently fighting -- or have fought -- breast cancer or ANY kind of cancer, to now join me by standing...
Please remain standing for a moment and let me thank you. For you did not volunteer for this battle. It's the marathon that we never signed up to run and yet, you are here now and your courage will not be in vain.
And now the rest of you, please stand up as well.
Sisters, mothers, brothers, and lovers! I, WE, come to you in earnest, as soldiers without uniforms, to urge you to stand up and fight with us, to repel these invaders from our native cells, to take to the streets and fields so that we may drive cancer into the sea, to win back our bodies' freedom from this insidious enemy!
With your love and your help, we CAN and WILL win this fight!
Thank you.
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