This morning I heard the story of Aleisha Hunter, who was diagnosed with Breast Cancer when she was three years old. I had to rush right home to hug my baby.
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I understood that my daughter’s risk for developing cancer was increased, but it didn’t occur to me that she could develop it as a toddler.
That’s an odd thing for me to say; since my diagnosis, I have been drumming in to my friends and neighbors, and everyone with whom I interact online, that no one is too young to get breast cancer. I tell people not to let a doctor, or anyone else, be dismissive of a breast lump or discomfort, or suggest it couldn’t be cancer because of your age. It was easy for me to say a 20-year-old is not too young to get breast cancer, but my mind did not allow me to extend that caution to toddlers.
I spend a lot of time thinking about this diagnosis and how to manage the fear, particularly in reference to my daughter. How do I teach her to live her life at full speed, while still teaching her to take care. I don’t want to teach her to be fearful; I don’t want her to live a life of timidity and fear. On the other hand, I don’t want her to be dismissive of danger. Where do you find that balance? I have thought about teaching her to do breast exams, but the time frame I had in mind was a whole lot closer to puberty. Actually, that probably still wont change. But I want to find ways of discussing breast cancer and breast exams, not as a way of looking for a monster that is to be feared, but just a part of self care, like putting on a seat belt when you get in the car, not an anxious event, but one you wouldn’t overlook either.
But, as in other aspects of parenting, I think the best way to teach her to not let fear take control, to teach her to balance boldness with prudence, is to be a good example.
Hmmm….
I’m nearly done with treatment. I have two weeks left of radiation and then six months herceptin and then I just get on with my life, hoping the beast does not return. I can’t say it will be back to life as usual, because post-cancer life involves a bit of looking back over your shoulder. Post-cancer life means scans every six months to see if the cancer is regrouping for another attack. Post-cancer life means every ache and pain takes on a new meaning, it means asking “Am I being a hypochondriac, or would ignoring this ache be irresponsible?” It means paying extra attention to what lawmakers are doing – will their actions restrict my access to insurance or health care? Heightened awareness is a necessity. The trick, it seems, is to find a way to prevent that focus and attention from becoming a fixation and translating into fear.
And I’ve got to figure this out quick, because I have a little girl watching my every move.
My heart goes out to Aleisha, and her family. She underwent a full mastectomy, inluding lymph node disection, and is expected to make a full recovery. Thinking ahead to those awkward years of puberty and breast development, I hope she is able to develop and maintain a strong and healthy body image, and that she too finds a way to balance boldness with prudence.
I also hope that by spreading this story we can help save more lives. Breast cancer is not a disease of the aged, it can strike at any time. Please check your boobies.
My Grandmother used to say this little verse to me all the time. I can’t for the life of me figure out who she was talking about. I was a little angel. 😉
You’ve become quite the little monkey this month, climbing all over everything. You’ve always been a bit of a climber, you were climbing bookshelves as soon as you were walking. But this month, you managed to climb your way right out of your pack ‘n play.
I noticed your kung fu kicks while you were in there. I thought they were cute, but I didn’t realize how productive they were – until you hooked your ankle on the upper edge, and then pulled yourself up and over. Such strength! I watched in slow motion from across the room as you rolled over the top of the rail, and fell to the ground, landing on your feet, deep knee bend, then up to standing with your arms raised high and a big smile on your face. You stuck the landing like a little Olympian.
It was one of those moments where I was immensely proud of you, and at the same time, terrified. I’m not ready for you to be able to roam the house at will. Your crib rails are lower than the pack ‘n play, which means you can get out of your bed as well. I’m not sleeping much since your little triumph – I keep my ears peeled, listening for the midnight pitter-patter of little feet.
Your acrobatics are not limited to the escape act, you’ve also started turning summersaults. It was the funniest thing. You would start out in this deep downward dog pose, with your butt up in the air. You’d just hang there in that inverted position, looking around at the room upside down while rocking back and forth. After you’d done that several times, I decided to help you on over. You thought that was pretty cool! Then you kicked your legs over all by yourself in the slowest summersault imaginable. But, oh, my, what a grin.
I guess Daddy and I are going to have to start saving up some money for gymnastics lessons.
You couldn’t get enough of the tree this Christmas. We only put up a handful of ornaments, and made sure they were all safe for you to play with – but you still weren’t supposed to mess with the tree. I guess it was just to amazing to leave it alone.
Santa (or Sassa, as you call him) brought you toys and books that focused on letters and numbers. That was so perfect because you surprised us with being able to identify numbers in print. At least one through six, or as you pronounce them: none, two, free, foof, sigh, sick. You also know a few of the letters, odd ones like Q, and I. For other letters, I can tell you’re starting to get the picture. You held up a cutout of a C on it’s side and called it a U. Makes sense to me. You held up a V and said Y. How are you learning these letters? I haven’t been teaching you. You are such a little sponge, just soaking up information. Sesame Street is probably helping with that as well.
You are so precocious, and quite a handful. You’ve started asking why. You shush people when you put all your babies down for a nap. On the other hand, you are so sweet. You’ve been very protective of me lately. I’ve had a terrible cough, and every time you hear me cough you come over and say “K?” and keep repeating it until I tell you I’m OK. Then you smile and give me a big kiss. On days when I’m stuck on the couch, you bring one of your blankets (you call them buddies) and cover me up – and of course, give me a big kiss. You are very demonstrative with your affection.
I’ve been procrastinating on writing a blog post for a very long time now. It’s Christmas. It’s the end of the year. It’s the beginning of the new year. So much pressure to write a deep, meaningful, soul searching, profound piece that sums up the meaning of life, and what I’ve learned this year. Or at least pull together a humorous and/or touching year in review post.
This year I learned I have cancer. I endured two surgeries, 6 months of chemo, and I’m currently on radiation. I survived. My family survived. I haven’t completely messed up my daughter. yet.
This year was too deep, and too long, for me to sum up in one pretty, little post. Maybe one of these days, when I’ve put some distance between me and what I endured, I’ll be able to write something meaningful about this year, and my experience. For now, I don’t want to think. I don’t want to plumb the depths of my soul. I don’t want to share what’s in my heart. I haven’t processed it yet. That will take some time.
Besides all that, I’ve been sick. I don’t mean cancer sick; I mean coughing, sneezing, mucus like rubber cement, don’t you dare turn on the lights, throbbing sinuses, and it feels like a mile-long hike just getting to the bathroom sick. I’m feeling much better, and starting to dig my way out of the haze now, but this has been lingering since before Christmas. To all of you waiting on a return email, or phone call, I’m sorry. I’ll get back to you soon. If you’re waiting on a Christmas card… ha ha ha. giggle. snort. Yeah, right, it’s been years since I was organized enough to send those out – even when I was healthy.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy. I’m afraid the first few paragraphs of this post may have led you to believe I’m bitter and pouting about this year. Not so much. I just don’t understand how I feel about it all yet. I need more time to sort it out.
Early last month, I started the Reverb10 project with such enthusiasm, but found myself avoiding my computer for the month of December, because I knew each new reverb prompt would lead to more thinking. Shudder. I still plan on continuing the Reverb10 project, but on my own timeline. It may take me the remainder of 2011 to finish, and I may not make public all my responses, but I think it’s a wonderful way of reviewing where I’ve been, and making plans for the future.
You still want to know about the day my husband threw up and saved our relationship? Gross. Ok, just kidding, that would have piqued my interest as well. Earlier today, my husband reminded me of this moment in the history of our relationship. That memory is what brought me back to my computer to write, and thus, the reason the title of this post is dedicated to that moment.
Long before we got married, and about 6 months after we met, I decided that falling in love with Aaron would be terribly inconvenient. I wasn’t ready to be in love (this after years of “looking for love in all the wrong places”). I went around the house and gathered up the items of his that had accumulated (CDs, a hat, a shirt… ) and placed them next to the door, ready to send them and him on their way when he arrived at my place after work.
When he showed up, he brushed past me, rushed to the bathroom, and spent what felt like forever in there puking. Monstrous, earth shattering, roaring, I’ve never heard anyone puke like that. By the time he was done, cleaned up, and passed out in my bed, I had given up on thoughts of breaking off the relationship. I grabbed his possessions by the door and redistributed them back around the house. It was too late. I was already in love.
Instead of fighting what is, I needed to accept it (good or bad), and then decide how I was going to respond to it.
You still sleep in that half crawl position with your butt up in the air, and your face plastered against the mattress. I love watching you sleep, but I seldom get to do it anymore.
I try to sneak into your room to peek on you, but I’m such a klutz these days, and you’re such a light sleeper that you’re on your feet before I get to the middle of the room. Then the following scene plays out:
YOU: Mama?
ME: Yes, Baby.
YOU: Hug?
Whereupon I melt into a puddle on the floor.
That scene plays out several times a day: in the living room, in your room, while we’re out for a walk, when you don’t want to go to bed… Yeah, I’m a sucker ~ But your cuteness hasn’t gotten you out of taking a nap. Yet. I am, however, loving all these hugs and kisses.
To be honest, most of the time you are really good about going to bed. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Daddy and I are both night owls, so we don’t like to get up too early in the morning. That’s means you don’t go to bed till 11 at night so you will sleep in till 10 the next morning. Yay for me getting to sleep in. It was also handy for those chemo days when I wasn’t strong enough to take care of you all by myself. My friends that helped take care of you would show up around 10 or 11 and stay until you took your afternoon nap at 3. Then Daddy would come home by the time you woke up from your nap. It worked out quite well, but the chemo is no longer an issue – I’m all done with chemo! Double Yay!
But when we do put you to bed, whether for a nap or for the night, you sweetly smile up at us from your crib as we cover you up with a blanket and tuck one of your babies under your arm. Well, most of the time. There are those nights when you have very strong feelings about bed time, but they are few and far between.
Regardless of how you fall asleep, the way you wake up is a beautiful thing. We’ve taken to leaving books in your crib each night, because you wake up and read them in the morning.
You love to go outside and play, and you would much rather walk yourself than ride in the stroller. But we do try to get in a good long walk everyday.
Snow was a revelation to you. It all melted away, but still you ask to go outside (sigh sigh – also your word for butterfly) and you ask for the snow. We look out the window at the bare ground and you tell me “gone.” I hope we get a few more good snow days this winter – preferably on days I don’t have to drive here in Seattle.
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