This day in history
Posted: September 11, 2013 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 2001, al-Qaeda, gender reveal, national tragedy, September 11, terrorist attacks, World Trade Center 6 CommentsSeptember 11, 2001. A day that changed our lives. It’s been referred to as this generation’s Kennedy assassination — everyone remembers where they were when it happened. As the unbelievable images flooded the TV and the tragedy unfolded, our brains struggled to comprehend the horror of what was happening in Lower Manhattan.
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Four planes hijacked and intentionally crashed into three buildings — both towers of the World Trade Center in NYC and the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. That third plane crashed into a remote area of Pennsylvania before it could reach its intended target.
I was pregnant with my favorite girl on this fateful day. My #1 son was a toddler in the throes of the terrible twos, and life was hectic. The day before the attack, I suffered what I thought was a terrible thing. I had my ultrasound to check the development and health of my unborn child. We wanted that child’s gender to be a surprise, as it was with my first pregnancy. So many things in this life of ours are structured and scheduled and planned to the hilt that the idea of hearing my OB-GYN say “It’s a boy!” or “It’s a girl!” very much appealed to me. My sweet mama, however, did not like that plan because it thwarted her shopping efforts for my unborn children. That motivated YaYa wanted to buy pink or blue, not gender-neutral colors. She disapproved, but I held firm, and we were indeed surprised and delighted to learn of that first baby’s gender at the moment he entered the world.
The men in my husband’s family like to close ranks, and produce lots and lots of boys. My hub is one of four boys, as is his dad and one uncle. There were 14 boys born in a row in that family. Girls seem to not be on the menu, and the hub’s family predicted yet another boy for the clan. When my #1 son entered the world in 1999, they likely smiled smugly at the interloper (me) who insisted there was a 50/50 chance either way. Boy or girl didn’t matter to me; either one would be great.
Fast forward a couple of years later and again I pursued my surprise. Despite the family history of lots of boys, I still didn’t want to know until that child’s birthday. At the ultrasound on September 10, 2001, we peered over my big belly to peek at the fuzzy image on the monitor. The baby on the screen appeared quite clearly and cooperated fully in our efforts to count fingers & toes while avoiding glimpses of the boy- or girl-parts. That baby cooperated fully, but did it with his/her right arm laid across his/her face, as if to convey the inconvenience he/she suffered as he/she afforded us a quick glimpse into that underwater world. Little did we know that this dramatic gesture in utero would prove to be a harbinger of things to come.
We laughed about the dramatic gesture but did not speculate as to the gender of the child-to-be who would act that way, even before being born. We were clear about not wanting to know. We reiterated our wish to be surprised. We said it multiple times in multiple ways. And still, the doctor slipped. My heart was broken.
I went to bed with a heavy heart and a perhaps misguided anger toward that blabby-mouthed doctor. I awoke to images on The Today Show that made no sense. My pity party was officially over.
A few months later, a baby girl was born.
The all-boy trend came to a screeching halt, and sugar & spice became the fragrance du jour. Trucks, dinosaurs, and baseballs were joined by fluffy stuffed toys, floral patterns, and giant hair bows.
Twelve years later, my #1 son and my favorite girl will discuss the al-Qaeda attacks in their social studies classes. A lot has changed in the 12 years since the terrorist attacks. My busy toddler is now a 9th grader, and that dramatic baby in my tummy is a 6th grader. Twelve years later, my little darlings are not all that little anymore, and before long they’ll be spreading their wings and setting off on their grown-up lives. The world is a different place now than it was before the terrorist attacks. More dangerous? Perhaps. Less secure? Certainly, at least in our minds.
We will never forget.
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Always around
Posted: August 29, 2013 Filed under: cancer fatigue | Tags: being done with cancer, breast cancer in young women, cancer fatigue, pink ribbons, psychological effects of cancer, PTSD and cancer 11 CommentsIt’s been way, way too long since I’ve spent any time on this little blog. It’s been a rather busy time around here, with the start of school. Two new schools and a long drive to and fro (the schools to which my kids are zoned correspond with our new house’s location and not the location of the temporary house we’re crashed in while the building proceeds at a snail’s pace) makes for a rather truncated day. Couple that with the fact that high school and middle school start and end on rather opposite schedules (he starts early, she starts late), and I’m in the car a lot. A whole lot.
To those sweet souls who have inquired about whether I’m done blogging, here’s the answer. I’d speculate that I’ll be done blogging as soon as I’m “done” with cancer. Which will be never.
While it’s true I don’t have the “everyday” cancer to deal with anymore, it’s still around. Always around. I’ve moved past the “everyday” cancer — surgery, recovery, wound care, infection fallout, constant doctors’ appointments, sorting through mountains of medical bills, battling insurance, researching treatment pros & cons, yadda yadda — but it’s still around.
Case in point: minding my own business at a red light yesterday making yet another run to or from one of my kids’ schools and I glanced at the car next to me. On the back windshield is a HUGE pink ribbon sticker. I mean HUGE. It took up enough space to make me wonder how the driver sees out that window. And bam! cancer is in my face. I wasn’t thinking about anything cancer-related, yet there it is, always ready to insert itself into daily life. While I recognize the intent behind those who put pink ribbon stickers and magnetic decals on their cars, I don’t know that I will ever get used to the insidious power the dreaded disease has to permeate every aspect of life, even years down the road.
Another example: I overheard a conversation between two ladies at the gym about a mutual friend of theirs undergoing her third lumpectomy. Third. On the same breast. Again, I was minding my own business, sweating like a pro wrestler and sucking wind while I finished up my cardio. As I plucked my earbuds out of my ears, what do I hear over the sound of my own heavy breathing as my heart is pumping and my lungs are expanding and my muscles are burning and my brow is dripping? Cancer. More cancer.
I resisted the urge to insert myself into the conversation and tell those ladies to advise their friend to skip that THIRD lumpectomy on the SAME BREAST and instead strap on her battle gear because this beast is determined to take up residence in her. Cancer is very rude that way. Uninvited, unwanted. Always around. 
Tragedy
Posted: August 7, 2013 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: helping a friend through loss, Khalil Gibran quote, loss of a child, quotes about grief 17 Comments
A friend of mine has suffered an unspeakable loss. I’ve been reeling since I heard the terrible news last night. An unexpected tragedy suffered by someone I like and respect has rudely interrupted my vacation, shattering the peace and tranquility of time spent at the shore.
My heart is heavy as my friend joins a club for which no one wants a membership. I’m instantly transported, despite my best efforts against it, to the time of my mom’s death, and all the sadness and grief that entails. Nearly 8 years later, I’m instantly transported back to the worst time of my life, via a friend’s shared loss of her beloved family member. While I can’t fathom her exact experience, I know enough to know that her heart will never again be whole, her life will never be the same.
I draw much comfort from quotes. The words of those more eloquent than myself soothe and calm me during tragedy. A couple come to mind as I walk silently behind my friend in her grief. A few steps removed, trailing her with flowers and cards and support and whispered words for the inevitable falter in her step as she attempts to move forward toward a life wildly shaken.
“Grief is the price we pay for love.” — Queen Elizabeth II
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” — Khalil Gibran
While we can never understand why such tragedies strike, I do know one thing: I agree with Queen Elizabeth and Khalil Gibran on both counts. However, I wish more than anything that my sweet friend did not have to pay the price or become a strong soul in such a terrible way.
Embracing imperfection
Posted: July 22, 2013 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: body image after breast cancer, daily yoga quote, embracing imperfection, life after breast cancer, namaste, reclining position, yoga class, yoga fairy, yoga practice, young women and breast cancer 8 CommentsI have an app on my phone that gives me a yoga quote every day. The idea is to take a quiet moment and read the daily quote, reflect upon its wisdom, then go about my day in a serene and float-y way.
Instead, I usually read the daily quote as I’m loading the dishwasher and scooting our little piggie Piper out of the way and hollering at my kids to turn down the TV and wondering where my grocery list is and trying to remember if I paid the lawn guys and hoping I remember to water the new shrubs before they shrivel and die a brown, crinkly death in these dog days of Texas summer.
What part of that is serene and float-y?
None. Nada. Zilch.
I’m coming to grips with the fact that I just don’t lead a serene and float-y life. Going to yoga helps, although I don’t think I’ll ever master the art of calming my mind, even in the midst of a perfect yoga class, in a darkened room with my favorite instructor with her calming voice and lovely music.
Adding the daily yoga quote to my hectic, too-busy day and to my static-y, not-calm mind was a somewhat-desperate attempt to impart even more calm to my spastic self. Some days a quote resonates with me, and some days I think, “Yeah, right.”
Today’s quote grabbed me, and not necessarily in a yoga way but in a more all-encompassing way.
“These days, my practice is teaching me to embrace imperfection: to have compassion for all the ways things haven’t turned out as I planned, in my body and in my life — for the ways things keep falling apart, and failing, and breaking down. It’s less about fixing things, and more about learning to be present for exactly what is”. — Anne Cushman
That one got my attention and forced me to slow down (and to ignore the dishwasher, et al). My guess is that this quote applies to everyone, regardless of whether you’ve ever set foot in a yoga class or attempted a reclining pigeon pose. Of course this quote applies doubly to any of us who have faced a serious health crisis, such as a cancer diagnosis.
My first thought when I read this quote was about how much I’d love to be in the presence of Anne Cushman, whoever she is, and hope for osmosis. I’d love for her acceptance to permeate my body and mind. I’d really love to emulate her practice of “being present for exactly what is” especially as it relates to my post-cancer body.
If only there were a “being present” fairy. A lovely, serene, calming cousin to the Tooth Fairy, who would visit those of us who struggle after diagnosis. She could float into our windows while we sleep and sprinkle yoga-fairy dust around our pillows. She could whisper words of wisdom into our ears and smile knowingly as we nodded sleepily, eyes closed and minds calm. We would fall under her spell without even knowing it, and would awake from our typically-disjointed sleep, no longer plagued by hot flashes or night sweats or nightmares about recurrence. We would emerge from non-tangled, not-sweaty sheets, refreshed and renewed and filled with compassion for the many ways in which things didn’t turn out how we expected. We would smile as we alighted from bed, bathed in calm and knowing that we now have the power to embrace our imperfections. We would no longer instinctively avoid our reflections in the mirror; that part of our minds that tells us “Don’t look! It’s not pretty! It’s not the same!” would be erased, no longer needed. We would cease the relentless and futile pursuit of “fixing things” about our bodies and souls post-cancer. Instead, we would smile sweetly at the broken parts and love them because of, not despite, their imperfections.
Namaste, y’all.
Someone’s to-do list
Posted: July 17, 2013 Filed under: Uncategorized 8 CommentsMy little dog has undergone a big change since we moved into our temporary house. Gone is the lazy, timid dog; he’s been replaced by a brave explorer who wants to charge out the front door and sniff around the entire neighborhood.
I’m shocked by his behavior.
He stands at the front door and scratches multiple times a day. It’s so strange. (One thing hasn’t changed, however — his lack of brains. He hasn’t yet figured out that the front door on the new house swings open on the opposite side as the door on the previous house. Granted, the previous house is the only home he’d ever known before this house, but still….He scratches at the hinged side of the door in the temporary house to alert any- and everyone to the fact that he wants to go exploring.)
I’m not used to this energetic, brave, and curious creature. I’d rather gotten used to my lazy dog.
Regardless of the sudden and inexplicable personality change, he’s nice to take for a walk. He doesn’t tug on the leash, nor does he make that unpleasant “I’m choking myself but I can’t stop” sound. He strolls leisurely but purposefully, sniffing every inch of ground and interrogating each blade of grass. He doesn’t pay any heed to people passing by, and he didn’t even notice the Vietnamese kids smoking pot in the garage two doors down.
On our walk today I noticed a piece of paper on the sidewalk, soggy from last night’s rain yet still intact and legible. It’s someone’s to-do list. I picked it up, both because I don’t like leaving trash lying about and because I’m nosy. I’m a habitual list-maker myself, so I was curious to see what action items are on someone else’s list.
This is an important list. I really wish I knew to whom it belonged, so I could return it. Judging by the seriousness of the items on the list, I think its owner may need it.
Settled (mostly)
Posted: July 8, 2013 Filed under: Uncategorized 8 CommentsIn the span on time between my last post and this moment, much has occurred. Moving house is perhaps one of the most stressful events in life; moving house twice — into a temporary house while the new house is being built — perhaps doubly so.
While I attempted to organize the move in my typical borderline-OCD fashion (purging outgrown toys and clothes, organizing closets, designating heaps of goods for donation, and segregating our worldly goods into “need now” and “won’t need until we’re in the new house” camps), unforeseen issues came into play.
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The moving truck was too small to contain our worldly goods, requiring multiple trips to the temporary house and the storage unit.
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The storage unit was too small to contain our worldly goods. The movers were on the clock for 10 hours instead of the 4 we had estimated. Our upstairs AC unit died an untimely death, in the midst of a record, 103-degree heatwave.
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The housecleaning service failed to show the day before closing, resulting in a late-night cleaning marathon that neither Trevor nor I want to repeat. If our family owned a swear jar, that baby would have exploded that night, and money would have rained down on the greater Fort Bend area.
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Then came the Tetris-like process of moving our pared-down worldly goods into a house roughly half the size of the one we’re used to sprawling in. Not that I’m complaining. Our temporary house was generously vacated for us by our dear friend and all-around good guy, Ed. He selflessly took on a wandering lifestyle, with a few nights in a motel and a couple of weeks in our friends’ guest house before taking off for our beloved Salisbury Beach, then landing in an extended-stay hotel that will accommodate his two lovable dogs. That is true friendship, people, and if you find yourself lucky enough to be in the company of a person like him, I suggest you grab on with both hands and cherish that friendship forever.
Add to that long list of challenges the presence of some very difficult home buyers. We smugly accepted their offer over another offer on our house after just 4 days on the market. We clinked glasses and toasted our good fortune to have attracted such seemingly rock-solid buyers in such a short amount of time.
Perhaps we should have held out a few more days.
Good grief, this was a hideously difficult process.
I’m quite certain the contempt we feel toward them is mutual, and this is one chapter I am happy to put behind me. The day after closing, I awoke with a strange feeling that took me a moment to recognize: joy. To quote my favorite yoga teacher, I felt a lightness of heart and an abundance of joy in my heart. All because I knew the madness was over and I would (fingers crossed) never have to deal with those people ever ever ever again.
One unexpected benefit of life in our temporary dollhouse: the close proximity and the week-long absence of cable TV and the internet has spurred my favorite girl and my #1 son to spend some primo quality time together. From playing cards on her bed to building a Popsicle-stick crossbow to her schooling him on how to bake cookies, those kids have had a ball together.
Life is good in the new (temporary) ‘hood. 
Packing up
Posted: June 25, 2013 Filed under: kids | Tags: building a pool, childhood home, Duke University, first day of school, Fuqua School of Business, kids growing up, Little League, moving away, moving house, new house, Nomar, Nomar Garciaparra, starting kindergarten 9 CommentsIt’s out last week in our house.
Things have been pretty busy around here, hence the silence on the blog front. Hopefully that will change as we get settled in our temporary quarters and construction begins on our new house.
Among the purging, organizing, and packing that’s gone on lately, I thought it appropriate to take a moment and reflect back on the time spent in this house. When we moved in 9 years ago, Trevor had just graduated from Duke University with his MBA. Second from the left, he was all smiles. I was too, because we were leaving North Carolina — which was nice for a couple of years — and coming home to Texas. 
My favorite girl and my #1 son enjoyed graduation day, too. 
After a weekend house-hunting trip fraught with complications — including a case of pneumonia for my #1 son — we found a house. 
When we left Durham, my favorite girl was in the throes of the terrible two’s, and my #1 son had just turned 5. The days were long but the years were short. I’m pretty sure I was too tired to envision our life 9 years later, with a girl preparing for middle school and a boy — ahem, a teenager — getting ready to start high school, and yet here we are. 
Those busy, exhausting days continued in our new house. My favorite girl looked like this as she got settled in our new abode
and my #1 son headed off to kindergarten two months after we unpacked. Wearing his beloved Nomar jersey and light-up tennis shoes, that child looks like such a baby. His profile is the same nearly a decade later, as is his signature cowlick on the back of his head.
Those kiddos had some good times in our new house. Looking at those tiny hands and feet takes me back, yet I hardly recognize those little kids.
Dinnertime usually included a show; my favorite girl was the ringleader and my #1 son was along for the ride.
He drew the line at following her love of body paint, however. She was on her own for that.
This was a common scene as the little darlings splish-splashed in a shared tub (heavy on the bubbles, of course).
It was in this house that Mr P lost his two front teeth — on the same day
and learned to ride a bike (barefoot, of course, because that’s how he rolls).
He never did learn to love having his picture taken
but he did learn to be a good sport about it.
It was across the street from this house that he caught his first fish
and decided that the fishing was a lot more fun than the eating.
He enjoyed baseball more than fishing, and that first season of Little League seems like a million years ago. Baseball was so simple back then — they didn’t even wear cleats that first year!
We did graduate to cleats and batting gloves the next season, however.
but back then, the idea of a $400 bat would have made me laugh out loud. 
That investment paid off, though, and Mr P collected his bounty for this first home run. $20 and a beer was the going rate back then (although he made the same face when he tasted the beer as he did when he tasted the fish). 
Little League is a distant memory, and home-run bounties no longer exist. Fancy bats and the big fields are our current reality.
It was in this house that these kids saw snow in Houston — something they may never see again!
Not long after that, we embarked on a much more appropriate project for Texas: building a pool.
We had a very diligent foreman on the job.
She babied the gunite and ensured all was well with the plaster. 
That tiny foreman made it through preschool and headed off to kindergarten from these front steps. Her backpack was nearly as big as she was.
Now she’s sporting braces on her teeth and blue streaks in her hair.
We’ve seen a lot of changes in the last 9 years. This house has served us well as we navigated the twists and turns of life with two young kids. I can’t wait to see what adventures await us in the new house. 
Right now it’s a vacant lot, but before long there will be a foundation and walls and rooms to hold the next decade of memories.
Bad Mommy
Posted: June 17, 2013 Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: Angelia Jolie's aunt dies, blunt cards, Don't Touch My Hat, gene patents, Lyle Lovett, Mastectomy photos on Facebook, Myraid Genetics, Nancy Brinker pay raise, Scorchy Barrington, Supreme Court, Supreme Court decision on gene patenting, The SCAR Project on Facebook 10 CommentsIf this blog were my child, I’d be locked up in CPS jail for extreme neglect.
Like many negligent parents, I didn’t mean to treat my baby so badly. I intended to love it and care for it and sign it a sweet lullaby every night. Really, I did. But life got in the way. My blog baby made it pretty easy for me to put it at the very bottom of my priority list: it never complains, it never cries (as Lyle Lovett says in his classic song “Don’t Touch My Hat“).
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I’ve sat down many times ready to show my baby some love. I had good intentions, but ….
Some good and juicy blog topics have come and gone while I’ve been neglectful. Komen grand poo-bah Nancy Brinker’s raise in pay. The untimely death of Angelina Jolie’s aunt from breast cancer. The Supreme Court rejecting Myriad Genetics’ bid to patent our genes. And my favorite story of late: my blog friend Scorchy’s triumphant tangle with Facebook over its asinine decision to censor photos from The SCAR Project and from Facebook users themselves post-mastectomy. Scorchy took umbrage with that dumb policy and ripped Facebook a new one. Way to go, Scorch! The power of the people has never been more apparent.
I had every intention of blogging about each and every one of these topics, plus a couple thrown my way by my friend M. I will get to those (I will, I will, I will!). Hopefully before CPS finds me and locks me up for being a bad, bad blog mommy.
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Girls Love Mail
Posted: May 29, 2013 Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: breast cancer and young women, breast cancer charities, getting mail, Girls Love Mail, how to help someone with cancer, sending cards 16 CommentsThroughout my long and arduous cancer “journey,” I was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of lots of mail. As much as I love email and texting for their speed and efficiency, there’s something just lovely about getting a piece of “real” mail. One friend in particular, a breast cancer survivor herself, sent me a card every week for a very long time, and seeing her familiar handwriting among the stack of junk mail made me smile every time (thanks, Jenny!). There were plenty of days in which that piece of mail was the highlight of an otherwise crummy day.
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Imagine my joy when a commenter on this little blog alerted me to a wonderful effort for cancer patients called Girls Love Mail. Founded by fellow breast cancer survivor Gina Mulligan, GLM collects handwritten letters of encouragement and distributes them to new members of the pink ribbon club and those going through cancer treatment. It’s simple and brilliant: you write a note and mail it to GLM, where it goes into a special envelope and is passed on to someone whose day needs brightening.
I just sent my first two cards to GLM and signed up to send something every week. Check out the GLM website; there are sample letters and ideas on what to say. If you’re impatient like me and want to just get right to it, here’s the address: Girls Love Mail 2330 E. Bidwell Street, Suite 200
Folsom, California 95630. Drop a card or note in the mail; it’s such a simple thing but it has the power to make such a difference.
No easy choice
Posted: May 22, 2013 Filed under: breast cancer, cancer fatigue | Tags: Angelina Jolie, Angelina Jolie preventative mastectomy, breast reconstruction, Dr Deanna Attai, lymphedema, The New York Times Well blog 15 CommentsI have a friend I met through this little blog. Like I, she lives in a suburb of this vast, sprawling city, although we are on completely opposite ends of the city — an hour’s drive apart. In this city of more than 2 million people, we both had the same surgeon for our reconstruction. She found this little blog while researching our shared doc. Small world, huh?
M and I have gotten to know each other in short order, as is the case when strangers are bound by the worst-case scenario. Instead of discovering that we both like to hike or collect Troll dolls or any number of commonalities that bring people together to forge a friendship, we’ve bonded over things like post-surgery infections, failed surgeries, broken promises and shattered dreams. We’ve traded war stories, vented frustrations and showed each other our scars — the ones on the outside, that is; the ones that can be seen by others.
Our most recent conversation was about how our reconstructive surgeries didn’t exactly turn out the way we expected. We’ve covered this topic before, and will likely cover it again. This most recent conversation coincided with this article in The New York Times following Angelina Jolie’s announcement that she had a prophylactic mastectomy. While Jolie has received a lot of praise, the article says that some breast surgeons worry that the general public will think that reconstruction following a mastectomy is “a quick and easy procedure” and that most people don’t fully understand what’s really involved. I certainly didn’t. I do now. Man, oh man, I do now.
The Times article elaborates: “For most patients, breast reconstruction requires an extended series of operations and follow-up visits that can yield variable results. Some women experience so many complications that they just have the implants removed.” While not all reconstruction involves implants, as in the case with M and me, that’s the most common version, and as long as one doesn’t suffer complications like M and I did, it’s a straightforward process.
It is not, however, a boob job. Roseann Valletti was interviewed for The Times article, and reports that “she is uncomfortable. All the time. ‘It feels like I’m wrapped up in duct tape,’ said Mrs. Valletti, 54, of the persistent tightness in her chest that many women describe after breast reconstruction. They look terrific, to the eye, but it’s never going to feel like it’s not pulling or it’s not tight. It took me a while to accept that. This is the new normal.”
Ah, yes…the “new normal.” M and I have discussed this “new normal.” A lot. And we’ve both come to the conclusion that we don’t like it. Not one bit. We’re so over the “look on the bright side” mentality that is forced upon us cancer patients, especially those of us “lucky” enough to have “the good kind” of cancer. Newsflash, people: there is no good kind. There are degrees of shittiness, but none of them is good.
M and I have learned the hard way that reconstruction after a mastectomy is not a simple thing, as some people may have inferred from Jolie’s experience. As stated in The Times: “Even with the best plastic surgeon, breast reconstruction carries the risks of infection, bleeding, anesthesia complications, scarring and persistent pain in the back and shoulder. Implants can rupture or leak, and may need to be replaced. If tissue is transplanted to the breast from other parts of the body, there will be additional incisions that need to heal. If muscle is removed, long-term weakness may result. A syndrome called upper quarter dysfunction — its symptoms include pain, restricted immobility and impaired sensation and strength — has been reported in over half of breast cancer survivors and may be more frequent in those who undergo breast reconstruction, according to a 2012 study in the journal Cancer.”
Running through that check list, I can say yes to bleeding, infection (not just risk of, but full-blown), scarring, persistent pain, and additional incisions. No anesthesia complications, no implants (ruptured, leaky or otherwise), or upper quarter dysfunction, although I certainly do have all of the symptoms listed, so perhaps I do have it and just don’t know it. Add to that list less-than-satisfactory aesthetic results, intermittent lymphedema, frustratingly painful scar tissue, divots in both armpits from lymph-node removal, unholy difficulty finding a bra that fits, PTSD, a near-uncontrollable aversion to antibiotics, and discomfort when reaching or stretching my arms.
Dr Deanna Attai, a mainstay in the online breast cancer community, was interviewed for The Times article and said, “We do not yet have the ability to wave a wand over you and take out breast tissue and put in an implant — we’re not at “Star Trek” medicine.”
Rats. I like the idea of just waving a magic wand and getting “Star Trek” medicine. Although, if there were such a magic wand to be waved, I’d wish not for “Star Trek” medicine, but for never having had breast cancer in the first place.
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The Pink Underbelly 