On Again, Off Again

I was downright giddy after I received a 6:30 pm message from the City of Hope yesterday. A nurse called to squeeze me in to consult with Dr. Raubitschek about radioimmunotherapy. The two-week treatment using wonder-drug Zevalin has become standard procedure for mantle cell lymphoma patients prior to a stem cell transplant at CoH.

I called right back and left a message saying, "YES. I can make a 2 pm appointment on Wednesday." I whipped out my calendar and started counting the days until my 30 days and 30 nights at Hotel Hope. The way I figured it, I wouldn't be roasting a turkey this Thanksgiving but could be cracking crab for our traditional Christmas dinner.

But my giddiness was short-lived. The nurse called back this morning to say that she had jumped the gun. She found out that Dr. Forman and team had decided NOT to include me in the Zevalin trial. I still don't know what will come next, but tomorrow I hope to find out where I'll be eating my turkey dinner.

Cool Contest--Enter to Win!

Okay, I had another harebrained idea, but I'm going to go with it. So here's how the story goes...

One of the things that I cannot do because of my compromised immune system is get a tattoo. I've been wanting to get a tattoo for a few years now. Every few years, I get a tattoo craving, but this one idea has been persisting for a while. I even had a story published about it in a book called "Chick Ink" (go to your library, check it out, read it. My story is the second one in the collection).

Basically, when I was pregnant with Chloe way back in 2003, and we were trying to figure out names, we were thinking of what would be a good Chinese-Vietnamese middle name. "Dao" is the name for the generation that Chloe and Mylo (and their cousins) belong to in the Yu lineage, and it means "the way." And we thought that "Phuong," which means phoenix, is a pretty name, plus Henry personally felt like Chloe's birth was symbolic of rising from the ashes of the loss of his beloved grandmother, Popo. So we decided that Chloe's Chinese-Vietnamese name would be "Dao-Phuong." We also thought it would make an awesome tattoo. Henry's a tattoo virgin; I, of course, am not. But we agreed that we'd commemorate her birth with a phoenix tattoo, with her name in Chinese and Vietnamese written with it.

When we were blessed soon after with Mylo's conception, we didn't hesitate to call him "Dao-Long," which means "the way of the dragon." In Chinese and Vietnamese cultures, the phoenix and dragon go together to represent good luck, prosperity, intelligence, courage, and just goodness all around.

We've been looking at artwork and sculptures and statues for the perfect phoenix and dragon images, but haven't come up with any so far. We are looking for something less ornate than the traditional depictions of the phoenix and dragon; more minimalist and simple, with clean lines.

Then I got it in my head this weekend that it would be so cool to get our tattoos on the TLC show, "LA Ink." We feel that the tattoos have come to represent more than just the birth of our children. With the death of Henry's brother George and my cancer diagnosis, the tattoos also symbolize overcoming struggles and challenges, and doing it together as a family. The tattoos also symbolize unity and strength.

So here's where the contest part comes in...Do you think you could draw a kick-ass phoenix and/or dragon image for our tats? If so, contact me to submit an image. The contest will go on indefinitely until we come up with a good image. The winner will receive a lifetime subscription to my quarterly poetry collection "podBrandy." And your art will hopefully be on LA Ink! And on our shoulders, as that's where the tats will go, when I'm done with all this cancer bullshit!

Thanks for reading, and let's make some art!

Flashback on last Halloween

It seems like yesterday I was out in California living the single life and waiting for the transplant call to come in. This time last year I was very nervous and sick to my stomach as we (the doctors and I ) feared the cancer had spread outside of my lungs. Our fears caused me to have to get several CT scan at the hospital on Halloween night (which is right beside the emergency room). Do you know what type of THINGS you can see in/around the emergency room on Halloween night.

Luckily the cancer had not spread so it was back to waiting for the eventual call that would come on March 5, 2007.

At long last an update also I ain't dead :-)

Hello all I have not retired or expired I just have a hard time finding the time to explore my artistic talents (i.e. keep my blog site up to date). I hope as things settle down I can get back to populating the blog more often.

What has been going on the last several months: RECAP (the cliff notes version?)

In and out of the hospital a few times

Recovering, trying to work but I feel people don’t really appreciate the serious and delicate balance involved with trying to recover and get back to normal after a bi-lateral lung transplant; IT AIN’T EASY….

Finished my course work at SMU

Gave a few speeches to try and raise awareness about lung cancer, dispelling myths about the causes / cures, and the need for funding and support.

Mosaic

Cancer Bitch has been traveling. She spent Friday-Monday in Philadelphia, having promised herself that after chemo she would take a mosaic workshop with Isaiah Zagar, whose insider-outsider artwork she loves and admires. And she did just that. She is now writing her speech for a panel discussion Friday morning in Iowa City about spiritual memoirs and so is going to have these pictures stand in for her experience. She will write about her trip later. The first picture is of Cancer Bitch at Zagar's Magic Gardens. Below that, Cancer Bitch and others are applying acrylic paint to glass. Below this text is a picture of a non-Cancer Bitch working on a mural that Isaiah designed. Sort of. He made sweeping brush strokes of human and animal figures and attached large pieces to the wall. Cancer Bitch and others glued on the pieces of mirrors and tile and slapped on the pink grout.

Smooky was hiding on my hard drive!

Having a bazillion gigabytes of storage is great when you have years and years of project files to save (and save again on a back-up drive). However, if you plop digital files in the wrong digital folder, they may languish there for years.

Imagine my surprise at seeing Smooky in a completely unrelated client folder. Skye Moorhead took this portrait and others during a "writers' photo day" a few years ago. I am close personal friends with Skye, so I got to see her favorite shot of each writer.

Why I filed the shots where I did is anyone's guess. I can't blame chemo brain, but I do use industrial-strength hair dye to cover my gray. Maybe the fumes?

What have you lost—or found—on your hard drive?

Natural Highs, Liquid Lows

I walked miles and miles last week. One day, I walked from the cancer agency, across Cambie Bridge, along the seawall where all the Concord Pacific condos are, all the way to English Bay. I sat there for a while, waiting for Henry to come join me. About two hours as a matter of fact, but he got caught up in the office. It wasn't exactly warm outside, but there were moments of sunshine here and there, and I watched people fly kites and do tricks. I watched people walk their dogs. I watched leaves flying around. Here's the view I had:






And here's the bench I sat on. There's something magical about memorial benches.





I want to do more physical activity, but I find myself getting tired more quickly, especially on one of my long walks. I feel the need to nap more. And yeah, I shouldn't be drinking alcohol like I'm accustomed to. I did that on Saturday night with Henry, his sister and her husband at Parkside restaurant, and I was paying for it all night long. You know how these prescriptions say not to drink alcohol while taking the drugs: I forgot to pay attention to that. I had a really awful, painful pukefest all night. I hate not being normal.

Today, we're meeting with the oncology surgeon again. Hopefully, this time around, she has our info and will have a more informative meeting with us. I actually got a copy of my chart on Friday just so there are no excuses. I remembered that H's brother had to get his chart to make sure about the situation because when you have to deal with so many doctors and specialists and their staff, something is always bound to get lost in the cracks. So it was a good idea to get the chart.

This week I also have an ECG, an ultrasound and a core biopsy. Next week I start the new chemo. Fun.

Boulder Banter

It's been almost a week since I last wrote - the longest blogging vacation that I've taken since I began pounding out posts in February.

Last night I got back from beautiful Boulder, where I visited my friend Ellen and her family. Colorado is known for its Great Oudoors, but, as it turns out, the Indoors is pretty great as well.

The Great Outdoors

Glistening gold Aspen leaves; majestic elk, deer and fox; long walks and longer talks were AHHH inspiring.

On Friday, we took to the high-altitude Rocky Mountain National Park and started off with an easy 1.5 mile jaunt around Bear Lake. When I found that I wasn't gasping for air, we added a higher elevation, 4-mile hike to a frozen solid lake.

The Great Indoors

Boulder residents take the indoors almost as seriously as the outdoors.

In spite of Colorado Rockies mania, the Boulder Bookstore (the Boulder equivalent of Pasadena's Vroman's and Brentwood's Dutton's) packed a standing-room-only crowd of Birkenstock-lovin' mountain men and earth mamas on Wednesday. Friend Ellen, who wrote a cover story about the Farm Bill for the Boulder Weekly, introduced Frances Moore Lappe', author of the 70's classic, Diet for a Small Planet, and the recently published Getting a Grip. It's no wonder Boulder is called the "Berkeley of Colorado."

I also spent some time indoors at radio station KGNU, an independent community radio station in Boulder. Ellen, who's a host of the station's Book Talk show, interviewed me about Cancer Banter. I'll let you know when the show airs.

Before I left on Sunday, Ellen's daughter, Erica, interviewed me about my experiences with teen wilderness camps for the station's Teen Talk show. Yep, two radio interviews in one week. Who knew I'd have so much to say in Boulder.

The Stanley Hotel, setting for Stephen King's The Shining, was a particularly eerie place to be indoors on the Saturday before Halloween when the hotel holds its annual Shining Ball.

And, finally, what would the Great Indoors be without Sunday brunch? We enjoyed ours at the Chatauqua Dining Hall in Boulder.

How to Prevent Occupational Exposure to Asbestos

Asbestos is a generic name for a group of dangerous fibers used in the construction business. Asbestos fibers can separate and be easily inhaled, causing considerable damage to the lungs and other organs. Asbestos is a highly-regulated material and many occupational safety measures are in place to prevent exposure to it. Following are some steps for avoiding occupational exposure to asbestos.

Repair the free flowing fibrous area. Many issues arise because the area that contains the asbestos has been damaged and the fibers are freely floating through the air. Repairing the effected area may include wrapping the asbestos, removing it and replacing it with a newer, less harmful substance, or enclosing the effected area.

Wear a HEPA filtered respirator that has been individually fitted for you. There are many respirators on the market to choose from. A dust particle mask is not sufficient protection from the airborne fibers. You should wear a mask certified safe by the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA). Consult an OSHA specialist for more information.

Wet the asbestos when working with it. Wet fibers are heavier and fall to the ground or don't free-flow in the air. The point is to not inhale the fibers, so making the fibers heavy will help prevent this.

Train the employees on the dangers of asbestos. A major part of both the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) and the Center for Disease Control (CDC) is to prevent exposures in the workplace through education.

Take Action on the House Ovarian Cancer Biomarkers Act of 2007

First-Ever Meeting On The Science Of Cancer Health Disparities To Be Hosted By AACR

Hysterectomy Patients Much More Prone To Need Stress Urinary Incontinence Surgery

Society of Gynecologic Oncologists Statement on Risk Assessment for Inherited GYN Cancer Predispositions

Preclinical Studies Show Potential Progress Toward Identifying Specific Tumor Types With Higher Likelihood of Demonstrating Response to Anti-Cancer

Preclinical Studies Show Potential Progress Toward Identifying Specific Tumor Types With Higher Likelihood of Demonstrating Response to Anti-Cancer Compounds Early in Clinical Development

Marshall edwards, inc.: european symposium on phenoxodiol as an investigational drug for ovarian cancer management

Prevalence of Ovarian Cancer among Women with a CA125 Level of 35 U/ml or Less

Expression of new prognostic markers, peripheral-type benzodiazepine receptor and carbonic anhydrase IX, in human breast and ovarian carcinoma cell li

Vermillion Completes Clinical Trial Enrollment For Ovarian Cancer Triage Test

Ovarian Cancer Treatment Shows Promise

Appendix cancer patients and the general public

Since publishing my web site and contact information in May of 2006, I've communicated with almost 300 people diagnosed with appendix cancer.

There are some things we with appendix cancer are commonly told by those in the general public who learn of our diagnosis. These statements are common ones that have frustrated many I communicate with.

• "I've never heard of appendix cancer, but it can't be too bad, can it? I mean, don't they just remove your appendix? You don' t need your appendix anyway, you'll be fine!"
  
  I tell those people it's similar to ovarian cancer in that by the time there are symptoms and it is discovered, we usually have advanced cancer, it has spread beyond our appendix. We are usually diagnosed at Stage IV, the worst case scenario for a cancer diagnosis.
  
  
• "Let's celebrate, you've recovered from surgery and finished chemo! Now you can go back to your normal before-cancer life , the tough part is over!
  
  Actually for most of us, after surgery and after chemo is when the tough part really begins. Those around us don't understand that, at first even we don't understand why we aren't happy and feeling great.
  
  Chemo and surgery were our tools against the enemy, cancer. Now we are vulnerable and afraid, we know how quickly our lives can change and we don't trust the future anymore. We don't know if cancer is hiding and waiting to attack us again while we are defenseless.
  
  We are kind of in an after-hurricane state. During the storm we fought and struggled and worked to survive, now we are surrounded by the aftermath of the storm, the scattered pieces, the need for reconstruction. We don't know if and when another storm may hit and we can't move to a new state where there are no hurricanes.
  
  In many cases, weathering the actual storm was easier, the clean-up is the hard part. And as in the aftermath of real hurricanes, the clean-up can take years.
  
  
• Another sort of frustration many of us have is listening to others say how lucky we are to have received treatment, to have not died of our cancer, to have survived the surgery, survived the chemo. We are expected to be happier, more humble, to have more gratitude, to value our lives more, to appreciate living more than those around us. Aren't we the luckiest people in the world?
  
  It reminds me a bit of the book "Lucky" by Alice Sebold. Alice was raped, but was told she was "lucky" to have only been raped and not to have been killed. We are "lucky" to have not died of cancer. As Alice recounts in her book, many of us struggle with emotional issues long after our "lucky" incident.
  
  The truth is, sometimes we wonder why those who have never experienced cancer-- those who have never had to fight the battle-- don't hold themselves to that same standard, or actually to an even higher one. They've received all of those same blessings without having to struggle or fight or face the storm. They are truly the lucky ones, the blessed ones, we often feel.

It's not that the people around us don't want to understand or try to help, it's just that in some ways they can't relate to us as they haven't been where we are. That's why those of us in the cancer community need each other. My offering my web site to the world has had the great benefit of my being able to give support, but also of my being able to receive support from others diagnosed with this cancer. It's been great, I thank all of you.

BTW, the color for the appendix cancer ribbon is amber (for those who write and tell me how tired they are of seeing pink ribbons :-). One woman I communicate with wants to start making amber ribbons, and if she sends a bunch to me, I will mail them to anyone who asks for free until they run out :-).

Toys R on Us & the Bad Oncologist

Monday I met with my friend C from the Bay Area, in town to give a lecture and to celebrate his father's 80th birthday. After being an adjunct lecturer and a freelance editor for many years, he's finally gotten a job as chair of liberal studies in a university. He is an inspiration to us all. He's considered full time but just has to work 30 hours a week. That is truly inspirational. All this is an answer to the question: What can you do with a Ph.D. in English?


We had coffee and then he went with me to Tom Thumb Hobby & Crafts in Evanston, because I wanted to look at outdoor furniture to put on my head. I'm working on a proposal for an art installation called Chemo/Lawn and part of it will be made up of pictures of such things on my lawn-like head. I bought two miniature trees, a swing set, slide, see-saw and picket fence. I don't know how I'll get the fence and trees to stay up. I sort of jokingly/seriously said I'd use chewing gum. The sales clerk said that it doesn't come off. I said, Peanut butter is supposed to work. And he said, On the Simpsons, they tried peanut butter and oil and nothing worked. I said, That's a cartoon!


How can people get household hints from cartoons? I mean, it's one thing to get political news from the Daily Show, but at least Jon Stewart is a real person. Though Jon Stewart isn't his real name.


Now on to the Bad Oncologist. As a scientist deciding what potions to give me, he was probably good. Or excellent. Let's say he was excellent. But as a person, not so good. My psychiatrist, the Effusive Shrink, had told me early on that some of my anti-despair medicines would mix badly with Tamoxifen. I mentioned this to the first oncologist while I was in the middle of chemo and he waved me off, saying there was plenty of time yet. The Effusive Shrink had to call him twice before he called her back. Flash forward to the Girl Oncologist, who made me wait while she looked up drug interactions. She found one, with Cymbalta. She said she'd talk to the Effusive Shrink about substituting Effexor. I met with the Effusive Shrink today who said that another anti-nihilism drug that I take, Wellbutrin, also mixes badly with Tamoxifen. Our plan is to taper off the Cymbalta and start slowly on the Effexor. Then we'll substitute something else for the Wellbutrin. In the meantime, I don't want to start Tamoxifen because then I won't know whether any side effects I have are from the Effexor or the Tamoxifen. But see, if the Bad Oncologist hadn't waved me off, we could have started this back in May. Though we were also waiting for the results of my genetic testing. Or rather, I was thinking about genetic testing then, though my surgeon had said it wasn't necessary, and I finally got the testing in July. If I had the BRCA gene mutation, I'd probably get my remaining ovary removed, and then I'd definitely be in menopause and I probably wouldn't be taking Tamoxifen. So I guess the oncologist was right to wait.

How disappointing to realize that there's no one to blame.

Eradicating Tumors Is Not Enough; Cancer Care Providers Need To Proactively Address Patients' Psychological And Social Needs As Well

ASCO: Anti-VEGF Agents Show Activity in Thyroid and Ovarian Cancer

Novogen NV-128 Induces Novel Mode of Cell Death in Cancer Cells

Clinical trial endpoints in ovarian cancer: Report of an FDA/ASCO/AACR Public Workshop.

Prediction of response to chemotherapy by ERCC1 immunohistochemistry and ERCC1 polymorphism in ovarian cancer

New Therapy For Patients With Platinum-resistant Ovarian Cancer

Combo therapy flavopiridol and cisplatin shows promise for recurrent ovarian cancer resistant to platinum therapy

Home

My parents just began their trek back to their home in Pennsylvania. They were staying with us these past two months to help out and be with the kids. Instead of crawling back into bed, I'm finding myself wide awake, feeling a simultaneous emptiness and relief by them going home.

I haven't really talked about them being here all that much on this blog; they kinda melted into everyday life. But I think that what kind of support, as I mentioned before, one has during cancer treatments plays a big role in the quality of life. As an example, last night I was snug as a bug in a rug when H sat beside me in bed, reading up on some of my breast cancer books. I felt warm that he was becoming informed about what we're going through, and even though I had a splitting headache, I managed to fall asleep as he rubbed my back while reading.

My parents, especially my mom, are understandably big worriers. My mom sometimes takes it to a whole new level all her own, where she talks herself into a chaotic frenzy; it's no surprise she has high blood pressure. So while she was cleaning and keeping care of the kids, she filled the air with, let's say, musicality and colour.

It's nice to have my house back to myself. That's honestly what I was looking forward to for some time. Of course, that means having the cleaning all to myself; the changing poop diapers all to myself; etc. But I miss having control over how my house is maintained, even though my mom always does an impeccable job. After all, she did raise me, and I got a lot of my anality for cleanliness from her. So my internal fight for the vacuum was an issue.

They want to come back right away. I want them to stay away for a little while. I want to reclaim my space and see how I'm able to live my life without my parents taking care of me. I want to be a grown-up for a bit again.

Having three generations under one roof is both wonderfully supportive and sometimes suffocating. At the moment, this very moment, I'm not sure which way to breathe.

SHARE Expands its New York State Ovarian Cancer Hotline

SHARE Expands its New York State Ovarian Cancer Hotline

October 16, 2007 - 9:25AM

SHARE EXPANDS ITS New York STATE OVARIAN CANCER HOTLINE 1-866-53SHARE (1-866-537-4273) SHARE: Self-help for Women with Breast or Ovarian Cancer will extend the reach of its New York State Ovarian Cancer Hotline this year with funds from the New York State budget. These monies will enable SHARE to continue its work in identifying and training ovarian cancer survivors throughout New York State to staff the Hotline and to provide peer support, information and resources to callers, most of whom are women who have been diagnosed with ovarian cancer or who have suspicious symptoms. Hotline volunteers will also provide callers with a list of ovarian cancer symptoms so women can follow up with their own physician in order to rule out a diagnosis of ovarian cancer. The most common symptoms include persistent bloating, pelvic or abdominal pain, difficulty eating or feeling full quickly and urinary urgency or frequency. The Hotline provides services in English and Spanish and maintains a pool of volunteer translators who can assist callers in 10 different languages. The dedicated, toll-free NY State Ovarian Cancer Hotline was established last year in conjunction with the American Cancer Society with funding from a court approved settlement of antitrust claims brought by the New York State Attorney General.

Over the course of Year One, 35 volunteers from communities in Albany, Binghamton, Buffalo, Hudson Valley, Rochester and Syracuse received training, and 24 are currently serving on the Hotline. The new funds will be used to provide continued support and training to Upstate volunteers as well as to expand the program into Nassau, Suffolk, Westchester and Rockland Counties with the goal of identifying and training more volunteers to serve on the Hotline. Most Hotline volunteers are ovarian cancer survivors; others are family members such as daughters, mothers or partners of ovarian cancer survivors who offer much needed support to family members and friends of survivors.

Those women or family members interested in volunteering for the Hotline can contact Teri Conti at ovarianconsultant@sharecancersupport.org or leave a message on the Hotline stating their interest. Women who wish to speak with an ovarian cancer survivor can call the toll free Ovarian Cancer Hotline at 1-866-53SHARE (1-866-537-4273).

Early Detection of Cancer Gets Second $1 Million Boost From U.S.-Based Canary Foundation With Gift to BC Cancer Foundation

Bravo & Kudos to Don Listwin & The Canary Foundation!!!!

Mayo Clinic reports possible new therapy for patients with platinum-resistant ovarian cancer

Yale Cancer Center funds phenoxodiol study

Emerging Cancer Therapeutics

Just Two More Weeks

Last week, a chef friend came by to harvest fruit from our back yard. I loaded her up with plenty of grapefruits and permissions, but she'll have to come back in two weeks to pick lemons, avocados, oranges, pomellos and tomatoes. Each time we inspected the hard, green fruits on the trees or vines, we would simultaneously call out, "Two more weeks" until it became our chorus.

Friends keep asking me about the next step in my treatment. I think that some people think that I'm withholding information on the blog. What you read is all I know, but I hope that will change soon.

I'm leaving for Boulder, Colorado, tomorrow to visit my friend Ellen. After that, I'll be home for a few days, and then George and I will be going to Chicago to attend his law school friend's Rolling Stones-tribute birthday party. At the same time, I'm taking a side trip to Minneapolis to attend a one-day Lymphoma Workshop.

I'll be back in town on November 5. That's just two weeks away. I'll invite my friend back to harvest fruit with me and hope to be able to tell her and all of you about what happens next. All together now: "Two more weeks."

Frankenboob

It's almost Halloween, which I find fitting for talking about my possible reconstruction surgery. H and I met with the plastic surgeon this morning bright and early at 7:00. I'm not sure if there's a difference in the terms "plastic surgeon" vs. "cosmetic surgeon" but I always preferred the latter because I like to think of the whole thing as getting pretty rather than being handled like Tupperware. But it seems that the term "plastic surgeon" is used more often. Anyway, I'm leaning toward having a bilateral mastectomy (meaning, both boobs will be whacked) with a tram flap reconstruction. Why bilateral? Well, I have to talk more with the oncology surgeon before I make a final decision, but from what I've read, the recurrence of cancer for someone like me (without getting into what "someone like me" means) is not completely unlikely. That's not to say that if I get a bilateral mastectomy that I can't get breast cancer again either. Breast cancer can come back in scar tissue as well. But as with stuff like this, we're always speaking a language of chances.

So then a tram flap reconstruction is where they take the tissue and muscles from the abdomen and reconstruct the breast. So rather than using implants, I'm using my own tissue--and I get a tummy tuck in the process. The big downside is that it's way more complicated to do it this way, the recovery time is longer, and I won't be able to do sit-ups ever again. Darn.

It's kinda freaky to think that my stomach could become my boobies. I should have asked the surgeon if that means I should be pigging out like hard fucking core, but I didn't. She said I have enough tissue and fat to make two breasts the same size I am now, which kinda sucks. I wanted monster jugs. And apparently, in the process, the black widow tattoo on my stomach will migrate down to my pubic area. That's kinda cool. The things they can do...

If you want to check out how our cruise in the exotic Pacific Northwest went, visit my main blog.

Running Scared in Running Springs

As I was listening to radio updates on the southland wildfires this morning, I looked down at my right arm and saw elbow-to-wrist goose bumps and hairs standing on end. Visual images of fire "jumping" or the potential of out-of-control wildfires "merging" and growing faster than the most aggressive cancer tend to do that to me.

Each time I hear an update about Running Springs, it brings me back to the fall of 2003, the last time the area was ravaged by wildfires. Cindy was 14 and a student at an emotional growth boarding school in Running Springs.

At the first threat of fire, the students and staff evacuated to a hotel on the mountain. But 24 hours later, the encroaching flames necessitated another mandatory evacuation order. The 100 students and staff were forced to flee from the highlands to the flatlands at the base of the mountain. The Salvation Army of Redlands immediately mobilized and clothed, sheltered and fed our children.

But the shelter was a short-term, not a long-term, solution. The Salvation Army recommended that the school move to "Camp Malibu," a Salvation Army-owned facility in the wilds of Malibu.

Within a week, the students moved three times from the mountains to the lowlands to the sea. We parents were advised NOT to do the thing that comes most naturally to parents - to swoop in and rescue our children. I knew intellectually that Cindy was safe, but my anxiety levels were higher than the flames rising up in the skies.

Within three weeks, the mountain was safe, the campus was clean and the students and staff returned to their "normal" life.

Today, as I watch the fires burning in Running Springs, I'm grateful that Cindy is safe and sound asleep in her own bed in her own room. I'm also grateful for the "highly trained and highly motivated" fire fighters, for the staff and volunteers of the Salvation Army who loved and cared for our children as though they were their own and the staff at CEDU who worked tirelessly to keep our children safe, before, during and after the fires.

And the next time you see a "bell ringer" from the Salvation Army in front of your favorite department store, I hope you'll drop in more than a few loose coins. I know I will.

New Theory Of How Viruses May Contribute To Cancer

Yale Cancer Center Sponsors Study of Phenoxodiol for Prostate Cancer

Cancer-Related Fatigue Could Be Eased By Exercise And Psychological Counseling

Low-Fat Diet May Cut Ovarian Cancer Risk

Now THIS I'd Wear

OK, so Mikimoto's pink-threaded "hope" bracelet may not be something I'd strap on my wrist.

But here's something I 'd wear with pride.

Yesterday's "cancer-free party" did not disappoint. Meredith's home near Griffith Park, a former residence of Cary Grant, was spectacular. The champagne and food were top flight. But the best part was witnessing Meredith's soaring spirit, which is memorialized on the shirts that every guest received. (Tank tops for the gals, T-shirts for the guys, or vice-versa)

Yes, she bears physical scars from her colon cancer operation. And, like most of us, she has metaphorical scars from other life wounds. But the scars are sexy because they're a reminder of her strength, passion, persistence and resiliency.

Everything is Possible with Hope (Pearls of Wisdom from Mikimoto)

Marilyn might have sang that diamonds are a girl's best friend, but I've always been a pushover for pearls.

I'm especially partial to Mikimoto, the brand that is to pearls what Tiffany is to diamonds. Iconic. Classic. Overpriced.

In spite of the inflated price tag, I've had a yen to own a strand of Mikimotos ever since I first laid eyes on them on our first trip to Japan more than 20 years ago. But, alas, the closest I come to Mikimoto is their weekly ad in the New York Times Sunday Styles section.

With this in mind, I don't quite get why I found Sunday's ad (see below) a turnoff. How could I find fault with Mikimoto's "pearl of wisdom" ad copy, "Everything is possible with hope"? (Well, not to get picky, but is that really true? City of Hope's slogan, "There is always hope" is more accurate.)

And what could be more generous than Mikimoto donating 20% of the overpriced bracelet's $980 price tag to "fund the fight against breast cancer"? (Well, technically, the money is going to support the Young Survival Coalition, an excellent nonprofit dedicated to "action, advocacy and awareness," not research as the ad implies.)

Perhaps it's the pink thread that rubs me the wrong way. Call me old fashioned, but I think the thread used to individually knot pearls should be a subtle functional element, not a tacky design element.

Or maybe it's the yellow gold clasp and ribbon charm that's getting my goat. Mikimoto, like Tiffany, has always been partial to the understated elegance of white gold or platinum, and the yellow gold seems just a bit gaudy.

But I think the thing that really bugs me about the bracelet is its crass combination of conspicuous consumerism with conspicuous causes, or as Mikimoto puts it, "a luxe take on the cause."

What's next? Driving for the cause with a pink Cadillac embellished with ribbons? Vamping for the cause in pink Jimmy Choos?

Why does all of this make me a little blue instead of tickled pink? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this issue.

Click on ad below to enlarge.

All Her Life or: Can You Spot the Southern Lady in This Picture?

My mother came in last weekend to Cancer Bitch World HQ. (See photo take by L on porch of CB World HQ.) My mother would have flown in for every chemo treatment, but I wouldn't let her. I asked if she would help me with my clutter, and she agreed. So we spent most of Saturday and Sunday going through the carved wooden buffet I inherited from my grandmother. That's where I keep photos. We filled some albums and threw a lot of pictures away. At first she tore them in half (no going back) but then we just threw them out. It is hard to throw photos out. That's why I needed her there. We pasted some pictures in my baby book, which she'd apparently lost interest in after my first full sentence. She's been diligent about collecting pictures in albums, though--I don't mean to imply that she ever lost interest in recording moments of my life. The book cover is puffy white moire taffeta. I think that's what it's called. It has those whorls and stripes like planks of wood have. The cover says: All Her Life, in pink script, and there's a painted rose with a painting of a little blonde baby sitting inside the flower. It was copyrighted in 1955, the year I was born.

The first thing in there is a congratulatory card for "that basket of joy/The stork just delivered to you!" It's from the local alumnae of my mother's sorority at the University of Texas. This was before sex education in college. Or high school.

My mother didn't fill in the details of our trip home from the hospital, so that page is blank. On the next page is space to put the names of visitors. I filled this in probably in junior high, when I found the book and asked my mother for information. Nine people are listed. Two are alive: my mother's older sister, and an uncle on my father's side. The very first person listed is my mother's friend who died about six years ago of ovarian cancer. My uncle came to visit with my aunt (my father's youngest sister), and she died a few years ago of lung cancer, the kind people get when they don't smoke or haven't smoked for a very very long time. My father's only brother died of lung cancer, the kind that smoker's get.

My baby book expects women to play sports, to go to college, have a philosophy and a career, get married and have a home and children--all reasonable, even progressive assumptions for mid-century. It doesn't necessarily expect the baby to be Jewish. The first clue is a page with an illustration of a baby on it. She's wearing a long white gown edged in pink. There are spaces for my name, its meaning, date, place, officiating clergyman, godmother and -father, notes and those present. What was the occasion? It doesn't say, but I think it's safe to assume it was something that starts with c-h-r-i-s-t. The book finally declares itself on page 22, asking for notes on the baby's first Christmas.

My baby book tells me my first road trip was to Dallas in 1957. My first bus ride was to the San Jacinto Battleground with my kindergarten class. (I remember that. I remember kids chanting, Nixon, Nixon is our man, let's throw Kennedy in the garbage can. And vice versa.) My first train ride was to Dallas in 1958 and my first airplane ride was to New Orleans in 1974. Notes: "Very good traveller, doesn't need dramamine-is very cheerful." That's in my own handwriting.

I discovered my own hands at about two-and-a-half months. I first smiled at about six weeks. I first recognized my mother at about three weeks. I first sat up at about six months. Do I spot a trend? There's more than a whiff of retrospect here. Apparently my mother mother didn't run to the baby book when I reached these milestones.

I had chicken pox in 1959, measles in February 1963, mumps (both sides) June 1964--all this in my mother's hand. In my own: "Pnemonia [sic]-Feb. 1969-was a very good patient." Should I add "Breast cancer, Jan. 2007, very good patient"?

Listed pets:
Gregg, 1963- dachshund
Whitie-goldfish
2 Goldie-goldfish
Blackie-goldfish
Tater, Latke, Sherice, Squeaky-hamsters (I got the original two for Chanukah)
Pretzel, Prince-dogs
April- 1/2 beagle

It does not say that my mother, in one of her worst days in the 1960s, backed her car over Prince. (Didn't your mother kill your dog? my cousin S asked me the last time I saw him.)

As I said, the baby book expected me to have a career. On page 46 there's a picture of a young woman in a blue dress, red hat and white gloves, pondering five gift boxes. They are labeled: Secretarial, Creative, Selling, Manuel [sic], Scientific. Should she go for the guy, Manuel?

Three pages later I'm supposed to be a bride. Then have (in this order) a honeymoon, first home, sports, club activities, first baby. Then have 50 wedding anniversaries. If a parent and daughter were to diligently fill out the pages of this book, they would create a record of a whole life, some kind of whole life. The pages peter out after marriage. Life no longer revolves around the girl-child. It's time for her to start filling out others' baby books, in which she'll have a supporting role.

The reason my mother didn't fill this book out, I think, is that we don't normally think in large blocks of time. We put the photos of the first birthday party into an album, and next, the pictures from the beach two months later, and then of the family trip to Dallas. We don't think to take one photo from each event or year or decade and paste it into a baby or any other kind of book.

But what if we did? What if every New Year's Eve we printed out a couple of representative photos from our desktops and put them in a book, a book with a finite number of bound pages? Is that too frightening to contemplate? This book is called All Her Life. When you get to the end, you're daid. Or sitting in the nursing home, with no one thinking to take your picture or record your first dentures, your first wheelchair, your last meal cooked for yourself, your last wisp of short-term memory. No, there's your golden anniversary, a page for notes, and then it's curtains: "This little book--a happy souvenir/Of all my life--is ended here."

2007 Cancer antigen 125 in ovarian cancer surveillance: a decision analysis model

Coping Mechanisms

This may be a little bit off topic, I'm not sure, but I was thinking tonight of coping mechanisms.

All of us with a cancer diagnosis have the same feelings at first..shock and numbness at the reality of what has happened, then fear at the potential for all we have to lose...the people we love, our futures, our dreams, our hopes, our homes, our routines, our aspirations....so much potential loss faces us all at once. Then we do the frantic search for information, for hope, for survivor stories, for surgeons and facilities and doctors who know what to do with us.

Cancer envelopes, surrounds and overwhelms our lives and who we are. Cancer owns us, at least at first. I remember after a few months in the cancer battle wanting to run away, to take a vacation from cancer. But everywhere I went, my body went...my body with cancer growing in it. There was no escaping cancer, cancer went with me everywhere. I couldn't hide. I couldn't leave the cancer behind, it was a part of me.

My best coping mechanism and greatest form of expression before cancer had been music. I started taking piano lessons for the first time when I was about 30 years old, it was something I had wanted to do since I was 5 years old. Once I learned to improvise popular music, I loved to play. If I played for a few hours at a time without interruption, I was transported to another place, my "zone" that wasn't part of this world.

My other great spiritual escape is nature. The beauty, perfection, symbiosis and simplicity I find when I am alone in the woods also takes me to a healing "zone" away from my normal world.

At some point after our spirit recovers from the shock, and we need to indulge ourselves in our best coping mechanisms, the ones that sooth us to our core. Music and nature were and are my best coping mechanisms. I'm sure others have different ones.

Before cancer I didn't view those things as essential to my well being, now I do. I need the peace they give me as much as I need air and food. These things heal my spirit, and I think that helps keep my body whole. I play piano publicly usually several times a week now, and since cancer I've taken up backpacking and have hiked short trips in the wilderness in four states in the past year.

Make the time!

Champagne with Cary Grant

What am I up to this weekend?

Among other things, I'll be sipping champagne in one of Cary Grant's former residences in the Los Feliz area.

Meredith, one of George's colleagues in the legal community, is celebrating her "cancer-free life." (Like George, Meredith is an expert in Article 9 of the Uniform Commercial Code, but we won't hold that against her.)

I may not get excited about the Uniform Commercial Code (which, by the way, has nothing to do with casual Fridays in the corporate workplace), but a cancer-free life is an entirely different matter.

I'll drink to that!

Dietary intake and breast density in high-risk women: a cross-sectional study

ISDK (I still don't know.)

I've been trying to nail down my next course of treatment before leaving for Boulder on Wednesday. I want to hit the ground running when I return on October 28.

I'm back to inducing head scratching (won't be the first time). The CoH lymphoma team will meet next Friday, October 26, to discuss my case.

Keep turning those pages!

Repetition aids boredom

Anyone who's ever tried to memorize the bones of the body, the capitals of all 50 states or the elements of the periodic table can attest to the old saw, "Repetition aids learning."

Unfortunately, it also aids boredom and fatigue.

I was reminded of this last week while waiting for my colonoscopy. A woman who was undergoing surgery put her sister in charge of updating at least 35 of her closest friends after the operation. The sister sat next to me in the waiting lounge and made the calls on her cell phone.

During calls one and two, she was animated and engaged. By call three, her delivery sounded machine-generated. It appeared that everyone asked the same questions, and she was tired of providing the same answers. By call four, she sounded like a bored student working her way through college by making telemarketing calls during the dinner hour. "Groan. Just 31 calls to go."

While witnessing this exchange, I couldn't help thinking, "Thank God for the blog!" I can communicate with hundreds of people in minutes, and I can sound just as animated communicating with the 100th reader as the first.

I can save my energy for other "repeat performances," like redoing PET scans and colonoscopies and answering "What's new with Cindy?"

Little Needles

Acupuncture--yeah, it rules! I had chemo yesterday, and compared to the dose before that, I'm feeling sooo much better. Last month's dose dealt me a world of agony, but I've been feeling alright the past two days. I went in for acupuncture this morning, and you know what? I can still taste food. I can sit and not feel like keeling over. I almost felt like working out this morning but couldn't bear to go out in the crappy weather. And, are you ready for this--the oncologist said that my tumour shrunk so much, she could hardly feel it! Which made me ask, hopefully, "Does this mean I don't have to get surgery?" To which she replied, "Nice try--but no, it doesn't mean that." Oh well.

Today, acupuncture. Tomorrow--a cruise! To exotic Victoria and Nanaimo!!!

Weather forecast promises a buttload of suckage during our cruise, but I'll be in the bowels of a boat, so eff that!

Keep Away Ovarian Cancer

High Risk of Breast Cancer: 4 Factors

Breast cancer has struck within my family, and when it did I was worried not only for my relative (she's fine now, thank goodness), but also for myself.

After her diagnosis, when I asked my doctor if I should do anything beyond the norm to safeguard my health, the doctor's answer was, "Many more women who have no known relatives with breast cancer get the disease than do those who have a family history."

This was her way of reassuring me, and I've continued to live healthy by getting the usual screenings and not worrying constantly that I will be diagnosed. Every year I schedule my mammogram, and every so often I do a self exam, and I tell other women to do the same. These are the best cancer-fighting aids we have: awareness, action, and advocacy.

To get a quick snapshot of your own risk, based on your family history, Therese M. Bevers, M.D., medical director of the Cancer Prevention Center at The University of Texas M. D. Anderson Cancer Center, suggests you ask yourself the four following questions:

1. Do you have at least two blood relatives who were diagnosed with breast cancer before menopause?

2. Do you have a blood relative who was diagnosed with breast cancer before menopause and a blood relative who developed ovarian cancer at any age?

3. If you have a family history of breast cancer, were any of the diagnosed relatives male?

4. Is your family of Ashkenazi Jewish descent?

If you answered yes to 1, 2 or 3, or to 4 along with any other question, your family history of breast cancer implies a genetic predisposition, says Dr. Bevers.

Talk with your doctor about whether you should consider seeing a genetic counselor, who can give you a much more complete assessment of your risk. (You can also find a genetic counselor yourself at the National Society of Genetic Counselors.

If you learn that you are indeed at high risk, organizations like FORCE, Facing Our Risk of Cancer Empowered, can provide additional information and support.

One more very important point: The American Cancer Society now recommends that certain women who have a higher-than-average risk of breast cancer get a breast MRI along with their mammogram; and depending on the details of your family history, you may need to start screening as early as age 30 or sooner.

The test is able to spot changes that the X-ray might miss (though be warned that means a higher chance of an unnecessary biopsy). Who exactly should consider it? Women who have tested positive for a BRCA mutation; those who have a first-degree relative with a BRCA mutation; women who had radiation to the chest between the ages of 10 and 30 and those whose lifetime risk is 20 percent or higher.

If you said no to all of the questions listed above, or yes only to number 4, you are likely at average ris, which is probably lower than you think. A woman who has no family history has just a one in 13 chance of developing breast cancer in her lifetime, according to large study published in The Lancet.

****

Author Bio: Lucy Danziger is the editor-in-chief of SELF magazine. In 1991, SELF founded the Pink Ribbon to raise awareness and funding for breast cancer research. Each October, SELF produces a Breast Cancer Handbook feature. The 2005 handbook won a National Magazine Award for Personal Service. Danziger lives in Manhattan with her husband and two children.

****

Eavesdropping

I do a little eavesdropping almost every day.

My favorite source for overheard conversations is the eavesdropwriter. The blogger doesn't just capture the content of the conversations; she brilliantly portrays the context as well. We see through her a subtle touch of a hand, a lone tear streaming down a cheek, the bob of a head.

I've recently discovered that I'm a prime source for other eavesdroppers. When my friend and cancerbanter reader, Myrna, called me from Arizona, she exclaimed, "You life is so darn interesting." "You should hear the parts that don't make it to the blog!" I confessed.

A few weeks ago, a breakfast buddy and I ate at Russell's, where the tiny tables are just an elbow apart. After an animated conversation about one of our favorite writers, Naomi Hirahara, the two women seated next to us politely interrupted and asked us to write down the name of the author.

I went on to bring my friend up to date on my life. Before long, I realized that the elderly couple seated on our other side had slowed their conversation. They eventually stopped talking completely and tilted their heads in my direction. I became acutely aware of the absurdity of my monologue: My conversation with the warden of a prison about testing an inmate for a stem cell match; my successful private eye work in tracking down my long-lost younger brother (the victim of the dirt clod), who has been living in a homeless shelter in Illinois.

The same thing happened at an Indian restaurant in Old Pas. My friend and I are both having lots of "Jerry Springer" moments in our lives, thanks to our challenging children. We both started laughing out loud when we realized what eavesdroppers must think about us.

Given a choice, I think I'd much rather be an eavesdropper than an eavesdroppee, but, at least for now, this is my life in all of its absurd glory.

What about you? Are you eavesdrop-worthy?

The Past Decade in Ovarian Cancer Survivors' Debate

Weigh In

TWO LOCATIONS TWO DATES
No Borders • No Boundaries • Survivors’ Views • Your Opinions

Date Sat Oct. 27, 2007
Location Sheraton Detroit/Novi Hotel
St. Clair Room
21111 Haggerty Rd., Novi, Michigan
www.starwoodhotels.com/sheraton/
Time 10:00 am – 12:30 pm

Date Sat Nov. 3, 2007
Location Metropolitan Hotel
Toronto/Victoria Rooms
108 Chestnut St., Toronto, Ontario
www.metropolitan.com/toronto/
Time 10:00 am – 12:30 pm

Genes That Both Extend Life and Protect Against Cancer Identified

Synergistic Effects of Epidermal Growth Factor and Hepatocyte Growth Factor

Endometrial receptivity after oocyte donation in recipients with a history of chemotherapy and/or radiotherapy

Low-Fat Diet Possibly Linked to Lower Risk of Ovarian Cancer

The risk of cancer and the role of parity among women with endometriosis

HOXB13 promotes ovarian cancer progression

Low-Fat Dietary Pattern and Cancer Incidence in the Women’s Health Initiative Dietary Modification Randomized Controlled Trial

MIT Receives $100 Million for Cancer Research

Welcome to the Dollhouse; Cancer Bitch Embarrasses Herself and Others

Today I passed by the dollhouse furniture store where I bought the lawn furniture (see photo below). I went in looking for accessories to put on the table, but the problem was they didn't have any more of the lawn furniture on sale so I had to guess at proportions. I had told the saleslady the other day that the furniture was for my head. This time I didn't mention it. This saleswoman seemed used to waiting on people who were specific and serious about what they wanted. Never did she say: Oh, why does it matter, it's just a dollhouse.

I guess if she felt that way she wouldn't work there. I almost bought a miniature pot with (fake) cactus in it and also a little tea set. It is amazing how detailed the little dishes and boxes and jars are. It is a completely different world. Dealing with these things can put you in a different place. I imagine it can be a form of meditation. I knew of someone who had "a nervous breakdown" (I've never been sure what that meant) and part of her recovery was working on dollhouses. But how can you not think of Ibsen?

***
In other news, tonight I received a teaching award from the continuing education division of WRU. First there was a reception, during which I had my second Very Hot Flash of the Day while standing near some hot hors d'oeuvres. Luckily I was had on Hot Flash Defensivewear (silk scarf around my hairline, tied in back) to catch some of the sweat. As I was standing around I saw a person come into the room with my exact hair do. I had to talk to her. I assumed she was a sister chemo-head and I felt immediate affinity. Even her salt to pepper ratio was very much like mine. I went up to her and said, I had to talk to you because your hair's like mine. She said, Is your haircut intentional? and I said no. And then I don't know what happened. Did someone else swoop in? I lost her. I felt immediately stupid. I felt that I had insulted her: No one would have hair like ours unless she couldn't help it. I didn't get a chance to finish talking to her, to say, It looks good on you, I don't think it looks good on me.

I had a class at Intellectual University at the same time as the WRU awards ceremony, so I had asked my class if we could meet later. The students had very nicely agreed. The ceremony was supposed to end at 7:30, and class was going to start at 7:45. I figured I had plenty of time for a half-mile cab ride between the campuses. Of course the talks by various WRU personnel took longer than scheduled. It was getting to be 7:10 and we were one speaker behind. I had shpilkes. L came for the ceremony and told me I should just leave. But I wanted to stay and hear nice things said about me. L called the IU office for me to leave a message but no one answered. Miraculously, several self-sacrificing personnel cut their talks short so that we got just about on schedule. First the distinguished teacher of undergraduates got his award. He was from Europe, with a thick accent, and had received a number of teaching commendations. Then it was my turn, and I came up to the front of the room, and looked down as I was being lauded, then shook the associate dean's hand and took my award in a blue box. The European had said a few thanks so I just said I wanted to repeat his thanks and invite everyone to the free workshops my students will be giving in December. Then I sat back down as the distinguished teacher of noncredit programs was named and praised As soon as he was applauded, we made our exit. He had started to give a little speech. I had a little, really little speech prepared in my head but I had thought enough is enough, I gotta git.

And I got to my classroom at IU by 7:42.

But I was addled. Why o why couldn't the people keep on schedule? I have to remember that when I teach. Usually I do end on time, but occasionally we go over. I read somewhere that when you steal someone's time, you're a thief. Corny as that sounds.

In the blue box was an engraved piece of crystal and on top of the blue box was an envelope with a check. Which was unexpected and very nice. Thank you, WRU administrators and students. The nice thing said about me was that I challenged students more than they had imagined. Or something like that. Students nominate faculty for the award, and then the deans look up your teaching evaluations and discuss you and decide who gets honored. I was pleased to get the award, even as I suspected it was a sympathy vote. My friend P said that students aren't sympathetic. I hope she's right. I have been teaching college for 21 (!) years and still I get insecure. And of course I still make mistakes. In class tonight at IU we went off on a tangent about which ethnic groups worry a lot and a student got lost in the muddle. I was leading the way on the tangent. In a distinguished manner, of course.

Preferential involvement of chromosome 11 as add(11)(p15) in ovarian Cancer

Choosing Your Mesothelioma Cancer Doctor

When you have been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer such as mesothelioma, finding a mesothelioma doctor who is familiar with the disease and its treatment is an important consideration. Health care available at the local level may suffice if you choose “standard” care options such as chemotherapy, however, if you are looking into surgical evaluation or other specialized forms of treatment, it becomes more important to expand your search for doctors who deal with mesothelioma on a regular basis and have experience in the most up to date protocols available.

Second opinions are common when dealing with a rare cancer, and after listening carefully to your primary doctor’s opinions and treatment plans, you may wish to consult with a more specialized physician before making a treatment decision. By doing this, you can feel comfortable that you have explored every avenue possible and have information on every available option. Your primary doctor may be able to refer you to a specialist, or you can do this on your own as a “self referral”. In either case, you should be sure your primary doctor is aware that you are satisfied with the care you have been given thus far, but because of the rarity of the disease, you would like to be as thoroughly informed as possible. No good doctor should feel threatened that you want to seek a second opinion – it is simply being a good consumer.

A “specialist” is a physician who is licensed to practice medicine, has met certain education and training criteria in a specific field and has passed an examination given by a specialty board. These doctors are then “board certified” in their field. A physician may also choose a “subspecialty” to further increase their expertise and become board certified in the subspecialty as well. Nearly all board certified specialists are members of a medical specialty society that relates to their field of specialization.

Following are some examples of specialties and subspecialties as applies to mesothelioma treatment:

1. Surgery is a specialty that pertains to the treatment of disease by surgical operation on any area of the body. Doctors who conduct these types of surgeries are called general surgeons. An example of a surgical subspecialty would be a thoracic surgeon who deals specifically with diseases of the chest area.
2. 
   Medical Oncology is a subspecialty of internal medicine. Medical oncologists treat cancer and most often manage treatment plans such as chemotherapy. They may also consult with or refer to other types of specialists.
3. 
   Radiation Oncology is a subspecialty of radiology. Radiation oncologists specialize in the use of radiation to treat cancer.

In order to make an informed decision when choosing your mesothelioma doctor, consider the following questions:

1. 
   Does the doctor have the education and training necessary to meet my needs, and does he or she have experience in treating mesothelioma?
2. 
   How many cases of mesothelioma has he or she treated in the past year? In their career?
3. 
   Has the doctor given you information on mesothelioma itself, and on the various treatment options you might be eligible for?
4. 
   Does the doctor listen to your concerns and treat you with respect?
5. 
   Does the doctor encourage you to ask questions and explain things in terms that you understand?

When choosing a mesothelioma doctor or surgeon, considering the following questions:

1. 
   Is the surgeon board certified?
2. 
   Does the surgeon belong to a medical specialty society such as The American College of Surgeons?
3. 
   How often does the surgeon perform the type of surgery you need?
4. 
   How many such surgeries has the doctor performed?
5. 
   Has the doctor explained the surgical procedure to you, as well as the risk factors, side effects, quality of life and success rates you might expect?

It is important to you and your family to have a good working relationship with whichever mesothelioma doctor you choose, and to be able to communicate and be involved in decisions regarding your medical care. Always trust your own feelings.

Hallucinating?

After my colonoscopy, I was certain that the GI doctor told me that he was recommending another test. As soon as I was fully awake in the recovery room, I asked the nurse if I could talk with the doctor to get more details. He had already left for the day, so I asked Dr. Forman about this last Thursday. He had no orders for further testing and couldn't even speculate about what Dr. L had in mind.

Yesterday I received a call from Emily, my nurse coordinator. She followed up with the doctor, but he said that he had no other tests in mind. The only explanation is that I hallucinated the entire conversation (although the screaming and pain were clearly the real thing). So much for my credibility!

What comes next? ISDK. (I still don't know.) I've been granted another brief "vacation," so I'm planning a quick trip to Boulder, Colorado.

5:oo pm Update: Janet, who picked me up from the recovery room last week, called me as soon as she read the blog this morning. She confirmed that I wasn't imagining the entire conversation. The nurse said that Dr. L didn't find anything on the inside of the colon, but he said that there could be something on the outside. I immediately called my nurse coordinator, and she will get to the bottom (no pun intended) of this.

Good News, Sort Of

U.S. cancer rates are on the decline, a group of private and public scientists announced today. In further good news, the AP reports: "New breast cancer diagnoses are dropping about 3.5 percent a year...." It's either because fewer post-menopausal women are opting for hormone replacement therapy, or--here's the punchline--fewer women are getting mammograms.

That's probably at least one reason that there is more breast cancer in developed countries than developing: because women in the Third World are less likely to have access to the machines that detect early cancers.

So what does it mean? I don't know. If we ever get national health insurance, and the rates soar, we'll know it was the access problem. And then what? Maybe we'll look at pollution and the human effects of the -cides: herbi- and pesti-. That's why I call this picture of my head Chemo/Lawn.

Cancer immunotherapy using irradiated tumor cells secreting heat shock

Princess Smooky

You've read several of my tales about Sue and me, way back in the days of our carefree childhood. These stories were about the farm life, getting in and out of trouble. On the farm, our garb was usually restricted to shorts, t-shirt and "tennis" shoes. Unless we were picking blackberries, then it was long sleeve shirts and jeans.

When it came time to dress up, our Mother Eiko was a woman of great substance and style. She knew how to dress herself and Sue to the nines. The photo is Sue celebrating her fourth birthday and as you can see, she is quite immaculate. (She traded cowboy boots for patent leather.) I can picture our Mother standing in the background with a very proud smile.

When I visualize my sister, I have two images that immediately come to mind. First, Sue and I crouching behind an old timber, throwing dirt clods at our brother James. Hot and sweaty during the hottest part of dog days, covered with streaks of mud and wearing tattered shorts. Sis would laugh like a mad scientist when she would hit a crying James with a big clump of dirt. Wow, those were the good ol' days.

Second, Mom would take us to downtown Clarksburg on Saturday morning to shop for clothes. I always loved the hustle and bustle of a busy downtown. There was always a traffic cop at the busy intersection in front of the courthouse and the 5 and dime stores (Murphy's, McCrory's, W. T. Grant, et. al.). The police officer would have a whistle stuck in his mouth, standing in the middle of the intersection, directing traffic like a very animated maestro. I loved to hear the shrill sound of his whistle. He would stop cars in one direction, order them to go from the other side, all with a fluid grace and order. Very cool.

Once past this intersection, we would set course for "Clarise's", a very exclusive clothing store that catered to young girls. Sue and Mom were shopping for dresses and this was very serious business. The ladies at the shop knew my Mother and Sue, and were always pleased to see them. James and I would disappear in a corner while the two of them would gasp at the latest new dresses. My second image is of a young Ninnie Choo Choo, standing with a glowing Mom, big smile, in a frilly, prissy dress. Perfect fitting dress with co-ordinated shoes. When you have a tomboy sister, you have to tolerate these times, just so you have the required help when building a tree house.

We would leave Clarise's with shopping bags in tow and head for Murphy's (one of the five and dime stores), go to the middle of the store, take the steps downstairs and we would arrive in the bargain basement to buy clothes for James and I. We would usually get a size too big, that way we could grow into them. We never gave it a second thought. I had a new design for a tree house and the sooner we finished shopping, the sooner we could get started on the tree house. Unless, Sue and Mom were still playing dress up.

Sis really is a well rounded individual. Thanks to her diverse background, she knows how to throw a dirt clod or throw a formal party. Awesome.

Ten Things I Love About Fall

Yes - I thought I'd be at Hotel Hope by August, then September, then October, then . . . Well, you get the idea. The good news is that I can be an "outdoor cat" during my favorite season of the year.

Here are ten things that I love about fall:

1. Light and shadow: Ordinary scenes look magical in the fall light.

I took these pictures in our bedroom, kitchen and dining room.You can catch a glimpse of one of my favorite fall portraits of Cindy, age 8, in the kitchen photo. (Click to enlarge.) She's standing in a light-dappled oak grove, holding an oak leaf. The antique oak frame is surrounded by miniature acorns. Yep, the whole vignette was heavily "art directed."

2. Long walks at high noon: I no longer need to rise early to stride before the temperatures rise.

These miniature "mushrooms" sprouting around the giant 'shroom are a recent walking discovery.

3. Candied Apples: Have you seen the "Martha" version with twigs instead of popsicle sticks? I plan to make the red candied apples AND the caramel version with heavy cream (no Kraft squares).

4. Clear Skies: We could see Catalina Island from the balcony of John and Terry's Laguna Beach home during their wedding ceremony last Monday. Heavenly!

5. Acorns: I love collecting these treasures when I walk.

Don't these look lovely in a tarnished silver candy dish?
The one with the greenish "hat" is from an English oak, an unusual find in Southern California.

6. Planting: While my white blood counts are out of the danger zone, I'm planting iris bulbs (compliments of an Altadena neighbor), sugar snap peas and winter greens and replacing a Jerusalem sage.

7. Harvesting: Persimmons, figs and grapes are now ripe and we're still enjoying fresh tomatoes and Japanese eggplant from our garden. And, of course, my favorite fall harvest are those 2 million+ stem cells safely stored away in a CoH silo.

8. Pumpkin Patches: I even love the crassly commercial ones with pony rides and giant slides.

9. Halloween: The decorations, the costumes, the haunted houses, the trick or treaters - love it all.

10. Smells: My nostrils and lungs can't get enough of the scent of the crisp leaves and the even crisper air.

And the one thing I hate about fall? Candy corn.

What do you love most about fall?

Hope for ovarian cancer vaccine

Can I Get a Hell-Yeah?!

I totally kicked cancer's ass today. SUCK MY BALLS, CANCER!

Karma

I'm just an eager little blogger today, ain't I? Must be the nice weather, which I am enjoying from inside Waves Coffeeshop, along with my artichoke and goat cheese panini and medium dark roast. So today, I stopped and picked up and threw away a pile of dog poo on my way to the acupuncturist; allowed a biotch in a BMW SUV to nearly run me over at a stop sign without getting too pissed; and talked to a slightly nutty guy who smelled really bad about how the weather is so nice and bade him a good day. Just now, a ladybug flew on my shoulder. I think, yeah, somedays, having a good spirit is just as good as, if not better than, chemo.

Whoa--you're saying--that's not what was going on earlier. Yeah, that's right. I should retitle this blog "Brandy's Bipolar Cancer Bash." But that's how it rolls, this crazy cancer ride.

AND--one more week til the cruise! Yay! I just hope I enjoy it, seeing how the cruise is only two days after my next dose of chemo. I asked the acupuncturist what to do about the flat, metallic taste in my mouth, and he said to hold a spoonful of plain yogurt in my mouth for a few seconds, then spit it out. He said that replenishes the natural bacteria in the mouth. I'll give it a shot! He also taught me something that H can do to help out, which is to massage the acupunture point on my wrist with a little oil. So we'll give it a go.

Hope the weather is nice where you are.

Luv,
B

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

I've been strongly identifying with our cat Heather lately. For the record, Heather is our indoor-outdoor male cat, not to be confused with our indoor only cat Tiger. And, no, my strong identification with a boy named Heather has nothing to do with gender confusion.

Heather, who freely roams the streets of Altadena by day and purrs by my side by night, suddenly found her . . . er . . . himself an indoor only cat. A slight scrape resulted in an infection, stitches and two weeks of home confinement and antibiotics. (I wonder if the other tom cats were tormenting him about his name.)

Life on the inside was hell for Heather on day one. He was like a cat on a hot tin roof - edgy, jumpy, agitated - and spent the entire day screeching "MEOW," with a strong emphasis on the "OW." My anthropomorphic reassurances ("This is temporary. You'll be out in two weeks.") did no good. No amount of cooing, coaxing or stroking could calm the beast. I could relate to that.

By day two, Heather was noticeably calmer. He alternated between a cat on a hot tin roof and a cat on a nice warm lap. An hour of agitated house prowling was followed by an hour of contented lap purring. I could really relate to that. I felt like my own life was a series of "OMs" and groans, calm and serenity interspersed with agitation and anxiety.

On day four, it was as though someone had flicked a switch in Heather's brain. He was content to sit for hours on a lap or chair. He wandered into the kitchen for leisurely meals and into the bathroom for water. The only time he mewed was to tell me that he wanted me to turn on the faucet so that he could drink from a running source of water. (Yes, he's trained me well.) He appeared to have reached Nirvana.

I could especially relate to my new contented cat because I was experiencing the same "flick the switch" phenomenon. Two weeks ago, I reached a level of calm amidst the uncertainty and chaos of my life. Yesterday Dr. Forman said that he knew that I was eager to finish treatment so that I could "get on with my life." He had good reason to say that because calendar, control and returning to "normal" have been three of the most important aspects of my life up until now. I didn't have time to tell him about my "transformation" and how I was already getting on with my life during the treatment and testing and waiting.

This is not to say that I'm operating under the illusion that my new found "nowness" is permanent. As a matter of fact, just hours after bragging to a friend about Heather's healthy adjustment, we discovered that he had made a getaway. He managed to scratch away at the latch on a living room window screen until he could break free. Had he been planning the "great escape" during those long stretches of contented purring?

Like clockwork, Heather returned home at nightfall and slept by my side. George fixed the loose living room latch while I braced myself for a rerun of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

But, in spite of the relapse, Heather quickly found his center. Right now, he's calmly purring on my lap as I write this post.

QUESTION OF THE DAY: In which cat stage are you?