Out of my element

The Belly is going on location. I’m heading to NYC tomorrow with my bestie, the Fabulous Miss Y. She invited me to be her Valentine in the Big City, and we’ll try to refrain from meeting on top of the Empire State Building like they do in those cheesy rom-coms. We’ll see a show, eat some great food, shop, and peep into the store windows. I’ve reserved a spot to tour the 9/11 Memorial, which seems like a great idea and came highly recommended by my sherpa Amy, but as it becomes more of a reality, I’m anxious. While it’s important to never forget and to honor the innocent victims, I’m nervous about confronting the emotions contained within that event. I envision myself gritting my teeth and looking with one eye squeezed shut, then rushing out of there while thinking happy thoughts.

I’m also anxious about the weather. I am not a cold-weather girl. My blood is thinned from living in South Texas, and temps below 50 make me nervous. The weather forecast for NYC this weekend? Cold. Really, really cold. Maybe even some snow. Luckily we dodged the wrath of Nemo. The idea of that much snow gives me the vapors. I’ve got a wool coat, purchased in North Carolina and used maybe once since returning to the great state of Texas. I have a hat that’s cute more than warm: kinda crocheted-looking with decorative gaps in between stitches. I have a pair of hot pink gloves, which I will be shocked if I manage to keep together in a pair all weekend long. I have several scarves, again more decorative than useful. I’ve never fancied spending money on cold-weather gear; there literally are some “winters” in which we need nothing more than a windbreaker. But now I’m being called up to the big leagues, where real weather exists.

googleimages.com

googleimages.com

I’m nervous.

I’m also rather uneducated about this. I get the concept of layers. But what I’m not sure of is the logistics. I’ll get all bundled up in layers, maybe even a sweater under my coat, and cover any remaining exposed skin with my flimsy, holey hat, gloves, and scarf, and hit the streets. But what do I do with all that clobber once I arrive at my destination? I don’t envision myself strolling the MOMA all bundled up, but what becomes of the cold-weather gear once I’m toasty warm and out of the elements? Do y’all walk around holding big heaps of protective clothing? Do you carry a small bag in which to stuff your coat? I know the trick of stashing hat & gloves in the coat pockets and shoving the scarf into a coat sleeve, but then what? Shopping while holding a heaping coat stuffed with accessories seems like a drag. And when I sit down in a restaurant, do I fold my coat up and put it on an empty chair? Hanging it on the back of my chair seems gauche and rife with opportunity for a passing waiter to spill something. Keeping up with all that winter gear seems complicated enough; wearing a coat that smells of spilled soup is too much.

Help!

I’m a little out of my element here.

 

 


The list is complete

When I wrote this blog the other day, there were two children on the victims list of the Sandy Hook massacre for whom photos and personal details had not been released. It bothered me that my list was incomplete. Many people commented that they just couldn’t watch the news or listen to any coverage of this tragedy, and I get that. It’s curious to me that our society seems torn between a perverse curiosity into the intimate details of strangers’ lives (the prevalence of celebrity worship and the relentless paparazzi come to mind), and an instinctive urge to turn a blind eye to the searing pain that comes from seeing — really seeing — the hard-core bad stuff out there. We have an instinctive impulse to protect ourselves from stuff that hurts. We rubberneck as we pass traffic accidents, hoping to glimpse the smashed cars, yet we shrink away from the gory details of what really happened inside Sandy Hook Elementary School as if being uninformed can keep the tragedy at arm’s length. There’s no judgment here, just my perception.

While my first instinct was to avoid the news and shut out any mention of Sandy Hook, it was equally important to me to learn something about each victim. As if my “knowing” them, in snippets and from afar, could connect me to the people suffering the most wrenching loss imaginable. As if learning a couple of facts or insights into who they were would allow me to share in the grief and somehow comfort those affected from 1,700 miles away. It doesn’t make much sense, but there it is. That is why I wanted to feature each victim individually and to uncover a little bit of personal info about them. I didn’t know any of the victims personally, nor do I know anyone in Newtown, CT, but as a parent — as a member of this human race — I felt compelled to showcase each of the victims.

To complete my list from the other day, here is Madeleine Hsu399225_451374501587568_547153531_n

and Allison Wyatt. allison-wyatt-4_3_rx512_c680x510

 

Both photos come from the Facebook page In Loving Memory of Sandy Hook Elementary Victims.

A blogger I greatly admire and whose words always ring true for me wrote this about the tragedy at Sandy Hook:

“The only way for those left behind to survive something like this is when the rawness begins to subside, to adapt rather than crumble – in no way an easy thing to do. The unfortunate reality is that the 27 innocent lives cannot be brought back and the tragedy cannot be erased. As a community, a collective of humans, we need to absorb what happened and adjust our lives around it. To harp on the tragedy and let it define us will do no good. Rather, we need to define what our lives will be in spite of this tragedy. We need to sharpen our focus, reassess our priorities and make an even more concerted effort to love and let ourselves be loved, as that is what makes the world function. Let there be so much kindness that there is no room for hate.”

I love her idea of sharpening our focus. And her proclamation for us to “let there be so much kindness that there is no room for hate” is the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.

My list is now complete.

 


Eulogy for the Martyred Children

On September 18, 1963, Martin Luther King, Jr., delivered the eulogy at the funeral for three little girls — Addie Mae Collins, Carol Denise McNair, and Cynthia Diane Wesley — who were killed by a bomb as they attended Sunday school at the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham.  The fourth victim, Carole Robertson, was remembered in a separate service.

googleimages.com

googleimages.com

Robert Chambliss, a member of the Ku Klux Klan, used 122 sticks of dynamite to send a racially motivated message and end the lives of four innocent girls. The bombing became a turning point in the Civil Rights Movement, and the eulogy seems eerily prescient as the first victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre are laid to rest.

While Dr King’s speech addressed racism and segregation, the ideas he expressed in the eulogy apply to the bloodshed at Sandy Hook. As I contemplated the start of many funerals in Newtown, CT, I was compelled to re-read Dr King’s words and am stunned at how much they apply to our current-day tragedy. Yesterday, Noah Pozner and Jack Pinto were buried, and today funerals were held for Jessica Rekos and James Mattioli. As I try to wrap my head around the idea of tiny caskets holding 6-year-old children being lowered into the ground, I imagine Dr King shaking his head at the fact that while great strides have been made in racial equality, innocent children continue to die at the hands of disturbed men with weapons. Nearly 50 years have passed since Dr King spoke these words, and yet here we are again mourning the senseless loss of unoffending, innocent, and beautiful children.

“This afternoon we gather in the quiet of this sanctuary to pay our last tribute of respect to these beautiful children of God. They entered the stage of history just a few years ago, and in the brief years that they were privileged to act on this mortal stage, they played their parts exceedingly well. Now the curtain falls; they move through the exit; the drama of their earthly life comes to a close. They are now committed back to that eternity from which they came.

These children—unoffending, innocent, and beautiful—were the victims of one of the most vicious and tragic crimes ever perpetrated against humanity.

And yet they died nobly. They are the martyred heroines of a holy crusade for freedom and human dignity. And so this afternoon in a real sense they have something to say to each of us in their death.

They have something to say to a federal government that has compromised with the undemocratic practices of southern Dixiecrats and the blatant hypocrisy of right-wing northern Republicans.  They say to each of us … that we must substitute courage for caution. They say to us that we must be concerned not merely about who murdered them, but about the system, the way of life, the philosophy which produced the murderers. Their death says to us that we must work passionately and unrelentingly for the realization of the American dream.

They didn’t live long lives, but they lived meaningful lives. Their lives were distressingly small in quantity, but glowingly large in quality.”


A nation grieves

Words fail me in light of the latest school shooting.Connecticut_School_Sh_inev_t607

Twenty precious children and 7 adults gunned down by a man with access to incredibly powerful weaponry defies logic. My brain understands the words involved in this story, but I struggle to process them.

The angel wings hanging from the elementary school sign crush me. The irony of the “Visitors Welcome” addendum to the school sign hurts my heart.

nytimes.com

nytimes.com

President Obama visited Newtown, Connecticut, last night and spoke to the grieving townspeople. It was his fourth time during his tenure to speak to a town ripped apart by gun violence. He came as our country’s Chief Executive, but also — and perhaps more importantly — as a father. He finished writing his speech on Air Force One as he made his approach into this small, close-knit Connecticut town. One of the things he said in his speech was “I am very mindful that mere words cannot match the depths of your sorrow, nor can they heal your wounded hearts.”

nytimes.com

nytimes.com

True, Mr President, so true.

Mere words are virtually powerless in the face of such an unimaginable tragedy, and yet we try.

ctpost.com

ctpost.com

Newtown Chief Medical Examiner H. Wayne Carver had the unthinkably horrific job of performing autopsies on the shooting victims, the majority of whom were just 6 and 7 years old.

ctpost.com

ctpost.com

Carver did not mince words about the abject horror of the wounds suffered by the gunman’s victims. He said that all of the victims were hit multiple times, some as many as 11 times; 2 children were shot at “extremely close range.” The victims suffered “devastating” wounds by a weapon that delivers bullets “designed in such a fashion (that) the energy is deposited in the tissue so the bullets stay in.” He added that he knows of no one who hunts with such a weapon because “the bullets are so fast that they break up and spray the targets with bits of lead.” The Bushmaster .223-caliber rifle unleashed on these sweet babies and the school employees is known for its easy handling and deadly accuracy.

Carver, whose wife is an infectious disease doctor, says he’s learned from her to look at issues in an “epidemiological sense.” I’ve spent a fair amount of time with a team of infectious disease doctors, thanks to a nasty post-mastectomy infection, so I completely understand what he means by this. He went on to say this: “Firearms are like any other pathogen,” he said. “The more bacteria in the water supply the more people get diarrhea. The more weapons in a society the more people get shot.”

Connecticut State Police Lt. Paul Vance said Sunday that the shooter used “multiple” 30-round rifle magazines in the attack. Scott Knight, former chairman of the International Chiefs of Police Firearms Committee, says of the Bushmaster, “The way it looks, the way it handles — it screams assault weapon.” He added that the gun’s practical application is little more than “a combat weapon.” The Bushmaster rifle was also used by the D.C.-area sniper who killed 10 people in 2002.

While I don’t want to lose sight of the tragedy by going off on a gun-control tangent, the issue can hardly be ignored. The issue is rife with complications, but at some point public safety must prevail, regardless of politics. With an estimated 300 million guns in the hands of U.S. citizens, it’s easy to say it’s too late, but the innocent children of Sandy Hook deserve better. While I personally support the wealth of freedoms we in this country enjoy, at some point we need to get real about the freedom to bear arms. I seriously doubt that the framers of the U.S. Constitution could have in their wildest dreams imagined modern-day weaponry and the undeniably mentally unstable people who use those weapons to mow down innocent people at gas stations, in movie theaters, and in schools and universities.

I imagine that our founding fathers would scoff at the people who cling to the Second Amendment as rationale for owning assault weapons. Read the exact text of the Second Amendment and explain to me how it applies to assault weapons. Please. “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

Much has been written in the last few days about that “well-regulated Militia,” and people continue to screech about their need to keep guns in order to ensure their personal safety. However, we are hardly at risk of being attacked by indigenous peoples upon whose territory we’ve infringed, nor are we forming a new government or breaking free of Great Britain. The attacks we are vulnerable to nowadays have nothing to do with a militia and everything to do with assault rifles and mental illness.

The way I interpret it, the point of the Second Amendment is to ensure security, not erode it. Allowing guns of all types to fall into the hands of anyone with money to buy them or happenstance of being in the presence of them, as was the case of the Newtown shooter, hardly seems to speak to security. While gun laws vary from state to state, the law in Connecticut prohibits anyone under the age of 21 from buying or carrying a gun. Yet the guy who opened fire on Sandy Hook Elementary School was 20 years old. The guns belonged to his mother, who is also now dead at the hands of this young man, and while her guns were purchased legally and registered, they were used to kill innocent people. How is it that her right to bear arms supersedes 20 children’s right to not be gunned down in school? How is it that the Second Amendment trumps the lives of the principal, school counselor, and teachers who died trying to shield and save their pupils? Why must our lives be marginalized by a “right” to protect oneself from a threat that may never materialize?

beingliberal.com

beingliberal.com

Unlike the words spoken by our President last night, my mere words cannot even begin to scratch the surface of what I want to say, and what needs to be said. So I will let the images do the talking.

dailymail.co.uk

dailymail.co.uk

A wreath containing the names of the victims reminds of us the proximity of this horrific tragedy to Christmas. I imagine presents for those 20 children, perhaps already wrapped and placed under the family’s tree, or perhaps hiding in the truck of Dad’s car or in the cool dark of the attic, waiting to be unveiled after the kids are asleep on Christmas Eve.

nytimes.com

nytimes.com

A woman grieves under a wall of candles, flowers, and stuffed animals while holiday lights twinkle in the nearby trees. To juxtapose the holiday festivities and the enormous loss of life is almost too much to bear.

nytimes.com

nytimes.com

Eric Mueller, a high school art teacher, created a memorial made from wooden angels. I wonder if he assigned the different hair colors based on photos of the victims.

googleimages.com

googleimages.com

Hordes of items placed at a memorial site. The legos in the front are simply heartbreaking.

cnn.com

cnn.com

A man played his violin as people approached the memorial site, his hand-lettered sign reading: “Our tears are on your shoulders, and are hands are in yours.”

nytimes.com

nytimes.com

Someone lovingly created a teddy-bear memorial, with each bear noting the name and age of the victims, then wrapped in plastic to sustain the wintry weather.

ctpost.com

ctpost.com

A young boy walks past a line of Christmas trees decorated for the victims.

cnn.com

cnn.com

The sight of brave and burly firefighters kneeling bare-headed and respectfully in front of the school sign is powerful, and one can only imagine what was going through the heads of these first-responders as they grappled with the unspeakable evil that permeated their town — the town they devote their lives to keeping safe.

nytimes.com

nytimes.com

Across town, firefighters draped a fire truck in black.

nytimes.com

nytimes.com

Tracy Kirk lit a candle for each victim.

ctpost.com

ctpost.com

I tried to do the same at my house Friday night but it didn’t look quite as nice as hers. It was windy and the candles didn’t want to stay lit. 556733_10200220937513052_1703948180_n

Another view of those angel wings.ctpost.com

A woman hugs her daughter on the church steps in Newtown.cnn.com

People around the world shared our sorrow. Here, people in Bangalore, India, pay their respects.

cnn.com

cnn.com

A woman lays flowers at a memorial site on Copacabana Beach in Rio.

ctpost.com

ctpost.com

Hometown hero JJ Watt displayed a personal homage in the Texans’ game against the Colts yesterday.121216051425-04-newtown-reax-1216-horizontal-gallery

And the victims.

Sandy Hook Elementary School Principal Dawn Hochsprung, 47, was described by ABC News as “a 5-foot-2-inch raging bull lifesaver.” She confronted the gunman head-on in her attempt to stop him.

rex/rex

rex/rex

School psychologist Mary Sherlach, 56, also hurled herself at the gunman in an attempt to keep her students safe. She and Hochsprung are believed to be the first victims at the school.

abcnews.com

abcnews.com

First-grade teacher Victoria Soto, 27, is described as a hero who died shielding her students from the gunman.

people.com

people.com

Anne Marie Murphy, 52, was a special education teacher at Sandy Hook who is described as artistic, fun-loving, witty, and hardworking.

legacy.com

legacy.com

Rachel D’Avino, 29, was a behavioral therapist who worked with autistic kids. Her fiancée was planning to propose to her on Christmas Eve.

nydailynews.com

nydailynews.com

Lauren Rousseau, 30, had just been hired at Sandy Hook last month. She was substituting for a teacher out on maternity leave.

legacy.com

legacy.com

And the children.

Charlotte Bacon, 6, begged her mother to let her wear the new dress and pink boots that were supposed to be for Christmas. Her mother acquiesced, and it was the last outfit her young daughter would ever pick out for herself. Charlotte’s family described her thus: “She was going to go some places in this world” “This little girl could light up the room for anyone.”

legacy.com

legacy.com

Daniel Barden, 7, was a fireball who had recently lost his two front teeth. The youngest of three children, his family described him as a constant source of laughter and joy.

google.com

google.com

Olivia Engel, 6, was the teacher’s pet, the line leader. Her uncle said that on Friday she was simply excited to go to school and return home and make a gingerbread house. “Her only crime,” he said, “is being a wiggly, smiley 6-year-old.”

legacy.com

legacy.com

Josephine Gay, 7, just celebrated her birthday last Tuesday, according to the Hartford Courant. In a Wall Street Journal article, she is said to have loved riding her bike and setting up a lemonade stand in her neighborhood. Her favorite color was purple.

legacy.com

legacy.com

Dylan Hockley, 6, loved video games, jumping on a trampoline, watching movies and eating garlic bread. He had dimples, blue eyes and “the most mischievous little grin,” according to his grandmother. His family moved to Connecticut from England and chose Newtown because its schools has exemplary academic ratings.

bostonherald.com

bostonherald.com

Madeleine Hsu, 6. No photo available. A neighbor told the Wall Street Journal that the little girl was known as Maddy and always wore flowery dresses.

Catherine Hubbard, 6, was the daughter of Jennifer and Matthew Hubbard. The family released a statement thanking everyone for their love and prayers.

abcnews.com

abcnews.com

Chase Kowalski, 7, completed his first triathlon last year. He also loved baseball, Cub Scouts, and the kids’ workshops at Home Depot. His parents said “We are thankful to the Lord for giving us seven years with our beautiful loving son. It is with heavy hearts that we return him.”

legacy.com

legacy.com

Jesse Lewis, 6, had hot chocolate with his favorite breakfast sandwich — sausage, egg and cheese — at the neighborhood deli before going to school Friday morning, according to the Wall Street Journal. He loved animals and was learning to ride a horse.

wsj.com

wsj.com

Ana Marquez-Green, 6, is described as “beautiful and vibrant.” Her grandmother told the Associated Press that the family moved to Connecticut just two months ago and were drawn to Sandy Hook’s reputation.

9news.com

9news.com

James Mattioli, 6, is described by a neighbor as having “a 1,000-watt smile.”

9news.com

9news.com

Grace McDonnell, 7, was the ultimate girly-girl who loved playing dress-up, wearing jewelry, and all things pink.

legacy.com

legacy.com

Emilie Parker, 6, was the oldest of 3 girls. Her family also recently moved to Newtown where her dad works as a physician’s assistant. He says his oldest daughter was”kind and sunny-natured, the type of person who could just light up a room.” She was, he said, “an incredible person, and I am so blessed to be her dad.”

9news.com

9news.com

Jack Pinto, 6, loved football, loved the NY Giants, and loved Victor Cruz most of all. Cruz spoke to Jack’s family who said they were considering burying their son in a #80 jersey to reflect his love of Cruz. The wide receiver wrote a message to Jack on his cleats.

wsj.com

wsj.com

googleimages.com

googleimages.com

Noah Pozner, 6, “had a huge heart and he was so much fun, a little bit rambunctious, lots of spirit,” according to his aunt. “He was a gorgeous, gorgeous boy and he could really get what he wanted just by batting those long eyelashes and looking at you with those big blue eyes. You really couldn’t say no to him,” she said. Noah leaves behind a twin sister.

legacy.com

legacy.com

Caroline Previdi, 6, was reportedly always smiling and earned the nickname “Silly Caroline.” A neighbor remembers how “Silly Caroline” intervened when her son was nervous about starting kindergarten and sat with him on the bus to help calm his nerves.

legacy.com

legacy.com

Jessica Rekos, 6, loved anything relating to horses. She’d asked Santa for a new cowgirl hat and boots this year, and her parents had promised to get her a horse when she turned 10. Her mom’s words: “Jessica was our first born. She started our family, and she was our rock,” her family said in a statement. “She had an answer for everything, she didn’t miss a trick, and she outsmarted us every time. We called her our little CEO for the way she carefully thought out and planned everything. We cannot imagine our life without her.”

9news.com

9news.com

Avielle Richman, 6, also loved horses, and her riding instructor said she would giggle every time her horse trotted.

legacy.com

legacy.com

Benjamin Wheeler, 6, is described as an “irrepressibly bright and spirited boy whose love of fun and excitement at the wonders of life and the world could rarely be contained.” Ben was a fan of the Beatles. He loved lighthouses and the No. 7 train to Sunnyside, Queens.

wsj.com

wsj.com

Allison Wyatt, 6. No photo, no information available.

Lasting words from Nelson Mandela:

liberalandproudofit

liberalandproudofit


Oh, happy day!

IMG_3906After stressing about the big bill and nearly coming to blows with the patient “advocate” provided by my insurance company, I found this in my mailbox.

Note the statement balance, aka amount I owe.

Thank you to my sweet surgeon for saying “bah humbug” to the out-of-network status my insurance company conferred upon his surgical center. I love that man.

And many thanks to my sweet readers who expressed umbrage on my behalf.

Whew!


Kiss the Pig!

We interrupt our regular scheduled blogging about how every damn thing about Pinktober sucks to bring you this…

Yes, our little piggie has been hard at work.

My kids’ elementary school has a fundraiser every year, like most schools. Instead of selling wrapping paper or cookie dough, our school puts on a Walk-a-Thon. It’s a big event that raises anywhere from $40K to $50K-plus. Yes, you read that right: many thousands of dollars. Money comes in via pledges gathered by the kids for walking laps inside the school (it’s much more festive than it sounds); a live auction with prizes such as Principal for the Day, in which a kid gets to be the boss of the school for one day, and a silly string war with the counselor; a silent auction with items ranging from a homemade meal delivered to your doorstep to a pair of handmade earrings; food; carnival games; and novelty sales.

Last year our amazing Walk-a-Thon chairlady Amy came up with a brilliant idea for another element for fundraising: Kiss the Pig. At that point, we didn’t yet own our little piggie, so Amy rented a piglet from a petting zoo. That may have turned out be the longest 24 hours of her life: that poor piglet had not yet been weaned from its mama and bawled like the baby it was.

This year, Amy enlisted the help of our sweet Piper, and she rocked the house. One day last week Piper headed up to school to hang out on the stage during each lunch period and get the kids all lathered up about the Walk-a-Thon. The idea was simple: each teacher and office staff member would have a collection jar (with a custom-designed label, of course) and for the week before the fundraiser, kids would drop pocket change into the jar of the teacher they wanted to see kiss Piper at the Walk-a-Thon.

Piper was a good little piggie during the lunch periods (we were there from 10:45 until 1:00). She milled around onstage, stood on a table for better viewing, ate her snacks, and visited with teachers. Some teachers loved, loved, loved her, and others kept a safe distance. Kids being kids, they picked up on which teachers were leery of Piper and promptly filled those jars.

piggie snacks– mmm mmm good

The day of the Walk-a-Thon found me at school to count the money in the jars. I expected to be there for a couple of hours, knowing the task would be made easier by the digital coin counter our thoughtful PTA treasurer provided. Silly, silly me. There was SO much money to count, I was there from 10 a.m. until 3 p.m., without a break! One teacher alone brought in more than $60–all in change.

The big winners were announced live, at the fundraiser, and the crowd was whipped into a frenzy. The kids were chanting, “Kiss the pig!” and screaming, parents were straining to catch a glimpse of the pig on the stage, and cameras were flashing. We have a big school — nearly 800 students and close to 70 teachers & staff — so the crowd was Texas-sized. Piper took her rock-star experience in stride, calmly munching on cucumber slices and wasabi peas as the crowd adored her. In keeping with the luau theme of the fundraiser, she sported a hibiscus leash and a lei around her neck.

Piper on stage with her manager and publicist

When it came time for the kissing, the teachers came on stage one at a time and got up close and personal with Piper. Sadly, it went by so fast I didn’t get a picture of each teacher. By the time I got my camera ready, we’d blasted through the kindergarten, first and second grade teachers puckering up with Piper. Here’s the third grade winner giving Piper a big smooch. 

The fifth grade teacher was the most freaked out, by far — which is why the kids filled her jar with every coin they could shake from their piggie banks and gather from the couch cushions.

Come on down, Mrs D! You’re the next contestant on Kiss the Pig!

She’s working up the nerve to move in for the kiss…

Getting closer…And finally, getting her kiss (after being pushed a little, or maybe shoved)…

Next came the assistant principal

and the principal

and Piper’s work was done.

Our little piggie helped raise $928.56 for the school, and the grand total earned was $55,000. Here’s the school marquee lit up in the wee hours of the night, after all the money had been counted.

Nice work, Piper.


The latest weapon against breast cancer?

The Hubs sent me a link to this story about the big news in the breast cancer world — the cancer-sensing bra. The First Warning Systems bra allegedly can detect a tumor in a breast years before said tumor would be found by more conventional screening methods. The “smart bra” is said to accurately screen abnormalities in breast tissue.

I saw my favorite breast surgeon today for my 6-month checkup, and had every intention of asking her what she thinks about this, but we got distracted talking about her puppy and our little piggie, and the possibility of implants for me, and the cruel injustice of the hormonal insanity that plagues a breast cancer warrior, and her upcoming Pretty in Pink event.

The First Warning Systems bra has been in development for the last 20 years, and while it sounds like a great idea, I sure wish they’d come up with a better name. As is, it sounds like a surface-to-air missile or something similarly militaristic and scary.

Of course, breast cancer is militaristic and scary, so touche.

The sports-bra-looking contraption contains sensors that supposedly can detect small changes in the temperature in breast tissue.  Cancer-causing cells emit more heat than normal, non-combative cells, and this bra is said to identify the changes in body temperature that may indicate that tumors are growing.  The maker of this “smart bra” says that in clinical trials, the bra correctly identified 92 percent of tumors, compared to the 70 percent of tumors found in baseline mammograms, and the bra can identify those tumors as much as 6 years before they’d show up on a mammogram. If all goes according to plan, the bras will be available for sale in Europe next year and the Unites States in 2014 with a retail price of approximately $1,000.00.

The company says that the bra provides women with a better form of breast self-exam when it’s worn for the duration of the testing period (although I’ve not found any references to how long or how often it needs to be worn or if the cost would be covered by insurance). Once the sensors do their sensing, the data is collected and submitted online, presumably by the woman wearing the bra, and then analyzed by “sophisticated algorithms.” I certainly wouldn’t want a naive algorithm to analyze my data.

Why am I not jumping up and down at this news, when it sounds quite promising?

Maybe because it’s Pinktober and I’m exhausted by all things breast-related.

Maybe because even if the First Warning Systems turns out to revolutionize breast cancer screening, it’s too late for me and many of my friends, whose lives have already been turned upside down by the dreaded disease, never to be fully righted again.

Maybe because after years of the “war on cancer” and “fighting for a cure,” progress has been slim to none and I don’t want to get my hopes up.

Maybe because there’s no mention in any of the literature about whether the “smart bra” is smart enough to figure out a way to fill in the divots caused by radiation, to smooth out scars left by mastectomies and reconstruction, to even out an asymmetrical rack, or to camouflage a less-than idea decolletage.

Or maybe because the “smart bra” doesn’t come in pink.

 

 


“Moon Shot” against cancer

The front-page of The Houston Chronicle today has some very exciting news. The headline reads “$3 billion aimed at tough cancers.”

This got my attention.

The famed MD Anderson right here in my lovely city is going after 8 of the deadliest, most difficult cancers, and has most definitely put its money where its mouth is. By sending $3 bil straight to the front lines, Anderson isn’t playing around. The 8 cancers on Anderson’s radar are lung cancer, prostate cancer, ovarian cancer, melanoma, Acute lyeloid leukemia (AML), Chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL), Myelodysplastic syndrome, and triple-negative breast cancer. The newspaper article has this handy graphic that highlights the most pressing deets about the 8 cancers under seige.

The latter really got my attention, as all BC news does. What is triple-negative breast cancer, you might ask? It’s a particularly wily form of the dreaded disease that displays negative properties for estrogen- and progesteron reception as well as HER2 reception. Read a more detailed definition here,but suffice to say that this type of BC doesn’t respond to hormones, making it harder to treat.

mdanderson.org

This news is so hopeful in a landscape of cancer. A veritable ray of sunshine, the Moon Shots program has tons of potential and will surely make the kind of inroads to the “war of cancer” that President Nixon declared way back in 1971 and that has yet to come to fruition. The so-called war is almost as old as I am, and yet we see newly diagnosed cases and deaths from cancer in such shockingly high numbers. Bring on the Moon Shots program!

I have a lot more to say about this program, and will return to it after I finish my to-do list left to me by my favorite girl, who has been hard at work planning a first birthday party for her little piggie. Yes, you read that right: a party for a pig.

I’ll leave you with a quote about the Moon Shots program that has me smiling big this morning:

“In almost every disease, we have an example of something that works. Once you have a first step, it’s easier to take the second, the third.” – Gordon Mills, head of systems biology, MD Anderson

Here’s to giant steps being made toward these 8 deadly cancers. Three cheers for MDA!


It’s been too long

way too long
jaysonpotter.com

No, I haven’t fallen off the edge of the earth. And no, I haven’t been too busy playing tennis to blog. Sadly, tennis isn’t in my plans for the near future, and by near future I mean several months. Almost 3 weeks out from my knee surgery, I can say that without crying. I’m not happy about it, but frankly, as bad as my knee was and as hard as the recovery has been, I can’t even imagine playing. I’m glad the US Open coincided with my convalescence; it kept me entertained and still, which is a tall order for this busybody.

I expected recovery to be hard, but I didn’t realize how time-consuming rehab would be. I do physical therapy and a modified workout 5 days a week, with one day of just PT and 20 minutes on the bike and one day of rest & recovery to round out my week. The rest & recovery day is the hardest for me. I love the free time early in the day, but by about 2 p.m. I’m antsy and jonesing for a good sweat.

Been spending more time than I ever have, ever in my whole life, sprawled on the couch in front of the TV, exhausted and spent. After getting my kids off to school, doing PT and the modified workout, running an errand or two and feeding myself, I’m done. All I can manage is to splay out; lifting my arm to point the remote at the TV is a big chore. Such a strange state of being for me. I’m trying to be patient, and of course being so so so tired helps in that pursuit.

The good news is that progress is being made. While the PT is brutal, and forcing my knee to do things it most definitely does not want to do is hard work, I can see real improvement over the previous week. I’m still under strict orders to let the pain be my guide, but I’m pushing myself a bit more every day. Yesterday the big accomplishment was step-ups (stepping up onto a low bench and forcing my knee to bend as if I were going up a flight of stairs). At first, the bending motion was excruciating, but by about the 20th rep it got easier. Today it was a modified squat with the big rubber ball. Real squats, which were a big part of my life pre-surgery, are off the menu for me, forever. Or as long as I have this cartilage-deficient knee. If I choose to get a new knee, I can squat all day long, but with this old clunker, no squats and no lunges. If I linger too long on the fact that I can’t do two of my favorite exercises–in addition to the moratorium on tennis–I’ll get very sad, so I’m zipping right on by those topics. Gonna try and focus on what I can do, and see how far that gets me. For now, the list of things I can do is pretty short, but I’m doing those things with less pain overall, so I’m calling that a win. I have a newfound respect for anyone who lives with chronic pain. Knowing that mine is temporary is comforting (although 3 weeks is a loooong time when you’re in the thick of it!).

 


The handwritten word

I haven’t done the math, but I’m pretty sure I’ve posted more than a week’s worth of celebrating the ordinary topics for Marie’s blog challenge. I’ve never been one to color inside the lines, so if I post more than a week’s worth it will come as no surprise.

Today’s topic: handwritten thank you notes. I love them. I’ve written about my love for them before, and likely will again. I’m a sucker for good paper products, and have a stash of folded notes, flat cards, and all varieties of stationery. I recently had occasion to write a thank you note to a cop. No, not a bribe or a buttering-up, but a genuine expression of gratitude. My favorite girl and I had a car crash on a rainy highway last month, and ended up stranded for a few hours because of deployed airbags. The sheriff who was the first on the scene was a peach. He was calm, patient, and knowledgable. He stayed with us from start to finish, even though it was hot & humid on a late summer afternoon following a Gulf Coast rainstorm and even though he found himself in a patch of fire ants that bit him mercilessly. He engaged my favorite girl with everyday conversation to reassure her and get her mind off the scary scene she had just starred in; she runs toward a bit of worry and anxiety, and he recognized this right away and did the gentle work to calm her. I was busy putting on a brave face, so passing that job off to him was a relief.

When the tow truck arrived to haul away my battered car, the sheriff chatted with the driver as he did his work. When The Hubs arrived to drive the girl and me home, the sheriff admired The Hubs’ car and spent a few more minutes of his long day talking horsepower and zero-to-60 stats.

All told, the sheriff went above and beyond in doing his job that day. At one point I told him how much I appreciated him hanging out with us until our ride arrived. He mentioned that he’s the father of two girls and that he’d hope someone would do the same for his wife and kids if they were in our shoes. And that the stretch of highway we happened to be stranded on is a bit of a rough patch, known for being populated by drug runners moving product from The Valley to Houston. He’s seen some ugly stuff on that stretch of road, and said he just wouldn’t feel right about leaving us to fend for ourselves.

After we got home, I thought about how kind the sheriff was and how he made a terrible situation bearable. I sat down to write him a note expressing my gratitude. He’d given me his business card, so I had the address of the sheriff’s office. Write a few lines, lick the envelope shut, slap on a stamp and I was good to go. But I wasn’t quite done. I googled the sheriff’s office to find an email address for the sheriff’s boss. Figured he needed to know what an outstanding job his charge had done. I imagine they get plenty of complaints at the sheriff’s office, so why not take a few minutes to pay them a compliment? Trouble was, there was no email address, so I printed off a copy, put it in an envelope and sent it old-school style. Snail mail.

I didn’t think much of it as I waded through the insurance red tape and dealt with my service advisor at the dealership. Days ran into weeks, time passed, and the upsetting incident on the side of the highway faded into a memory. Then a few days ago I got a call from the sheriff’s office. My first thought was something bad: the sheriff had forgotten to write me a ticket, or some other trouble. But no, it was just the opposite: the sheriff’s boss’s boss was calling me to say he’d read the thank you note I wrote to the sheriff and to the sheriff’s boss, and he wanted to tell me that in all his years of law enforcement, they’ve never received a thank you note. Not once.

That’s a crying shame.

I’m certain I’m not the first person who’s had a positive experience with the Victoria County Sheriff. Yet I was the first person to take five minutes out of my day and spend 44 cents on a stamp to say thanks, you really made a difference in my life? I was shocked. I still am shocked.

The Deputy Commander wanted to know why I took the time to write a note to the sheriff and to his boss. I didn’t have an answer beyond, “Because that’s the way my mama raised me.” As my dad instilled in me my entire life, “It’s just what you do.” And now I know that this simple, ordinary act — one my mama taught me — means something. It always means something to me when I write a thank you note, and it’s nice to know that it means something to the recipient as well.

The best part: Mr Deputy Commander said the sheriff is up for a promotion, to a detective, and that my two notes would be a part of the review process. Who knows, maybe a couple of notes will be the tipping point and he’ll get the job. Then he can write me a thank you note!