Babies or Not

Back in the Saddle

2012-02-15T09:49:00.000-05:00

More of my videos here.

Comfort + Food

2012-02-08T12:41:00.000-05:00

My first impulse this morning. I slice them and eat them the easy, unmannerly way, learned from my father: hold each quarter by it's points and peel the fruit away with your teeth.

Breakfast cereal is my go-to comfort food. These days, I go light on the cereal but use plenty of additions: this one has walnuts, yellow raisins, banana, shredded unsweetened coconut, and cinnamon.

This morning I woke up feeling that tell-tale rumble in my chest, tickle in my throat, pressure in my head - I'm coming down with something. I'm optimistic that it will be mild and short-lived, but this morning I wanted to listen closely to my body and give it exactly the nourishment required to fight this thing.

Which gets me thinking about the concept of "comfort food." Once upon a time, food and comfort were deeply entwined. Even if we weren't breastfed, someone had to hold us in order to help us take in nourishment. Somewhere along the line, for most of us far too soon, we no longer got that physical contact along with our meals, and it was probably a bit confusing for us little babes in the big woods. For many of us, me included, we turned to the remaining half of the comfort food equation in search of that old feeling of safety. We turned to food.

And now, as adults, we feel alternately defiant and guilty whenever we eat anything but the most austere of leafy fare.

So I'm here today to tell you: it's okay to enjoy your food, to nurture yourself as you nourish yourself. And luckily, our bodies require this pleasure on a regular basis. Several times a day, in fact.

If you find yourself overdoing it, perhaps the solution is not strictly self-discipline, a greater focus on restricted eating, but perhaps a concerted effort to get more human contact. Feast on it! More hugs. More lying in someone's arms. More cuddles that turn into naps in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. If there are no humans around, telephone contact will do in a pinch. And don't forget dogs and teddy bears and blankets on the couch. Treat yourself. You're worth it.

Catching Up on the Vlogs

2012-02-06T09:56:00.002-05:00

Little by little...

More of my videos here.

When All Else Fails, Borscht

2012-02-02T10:42:00.002-05:00

There's nothing simpler than borscht and no wrong way to make it. Mine is equal parts chopped beets, carrots, and cabbage, plus an onion, a little dill, and a splash of bright vinegar or lemon juice in the broth (which can begin as any kind of stock or just plain water). After cooking, I put this one through the blender and then added kidney beans, leftover roasted parsnips and Brussels sprouts, and some chopped kale. On top: a little decadent dollop of sour cream (you can use plain yogurt, or a soy or cashew alternative, or go without, it's delicious either way) and a sprinkling of diced sweet Vidalia onion.

Here it is naked, with added veg.

I keep starting and abandoning blog posts. There's so much I'd like to write about but it's overwhelming at the moment and my words come out bla bla bla. I can't quite get to the point. When I find it, I'll let you know. In the meantime, soup. PLUS: If you're curious about my artwork, I'm sharing my latest greeting card productions over here.

Tamoxifen and Textiles

2012-01-23T13:35:00.000-05:00

Updates on cancer treatment, creativity, poodle meets horse, and more. More of my videos here.

Millie Likes Chicken

2012-01-21T16:41:00.001-05:00

A lunch I packed for my husband, clockwise from the top: steamed broccoli rabe with balsamic vinegar, hard boiled egg with salt and pepper, baked sweet potato, hummus (chick peas, lemon juice, tahini, garlic, onion powder, dill), pickled raw beets an red onions (made simply by salting the chopped veg along with a handful of yellow raisins and dousing with red wine vinegar), and in the middle, onions, garlic, pinto beans, and a variety of vegetable stems, chopped and sauteed in olive oil

It's a rare day that finds meat cooking in my house, but I stewed a whole chicken recently, used the broth for soup, and reserved some meat for this chicken salad, which I ate over mixed greens and Jim stuffed in a big whole wheat tortilla to take to work. In it: capers and pickled red onion (see above) for their tangy salty bite, chopped celery and red bell pepper for their indispensable crunch, fresh chopped parsley black pepper, and a curried honey-mustard dressing.

"I like chicken."

Here's that soup I was talking about: made with chicken broth flavored with ginger, rice vinegar, and salt and pepper. Added to that: onion, celeriac, garlic, tofu, carrot, and broccoli rabe. Clean-tasting and hearty at the same time.

One Year Later: Live a Little

2012-01-17T13:50:00.000-05:00

More of my videos here.

Before Christmas, I was on a roll. I had a yard-long To Do list and I was cranking my way through it, item by item. But after the holidays, that rhythm eludes me. I drag myself to the alter of work each day and not much happens. And then I get a snack. I've been hard on myself about it (both the snacking and the not really working). Which helps my productivity not at all.

Things had just about ground to a halt when it occurred to me that I am alive and not sick and there is no crisis. And perhaps it isn't so important how much I achieve in my day, or in my life, but how much I manage to do exactly what a given moment calls for, exactly what would delight and fulfill me most of all.

In other words, what if I simply rest when tired, eat when hungry, exactly what the body craves, cuddle with my husband. Call that friend, read that book, hike with the dog, play?

Yes, there are accomplishments I'd like to pursue and there is hard work ahead of me in that, and yes, I want to be sure to floss and put away the laundry and pay the bills on time. But maybe I want to ride the spin bike, shower, and spend an entire Sunday cooking for guests (pictures to come). And maybe after they leave I want to peruse that magazine I've been meaning to get to for over a month. And maybe right now I'd rather play Boggle on my iPod than work on my website redesign. Just for a little while.

What's wrong with that? Nothing. Nothing at all.

An Invitation

2012-01-11T18:47:00.005-05:00

Easy and delicious: cut butternut squash into inch-thick rounds, bake on an oiled cookie sheet at 375° until soft and fragrant and brown around the edges. Shown here topped with hummus, cracked pepper, pickled red cabbage, and cilantro. Yum.

Christmas morning I could no longer deny the swelling around my right elbow. The tightness I'd been feeling all week, the stinging, aching pain up my arm, I finally understood, was my overtaxed lymph vessels, taut as guitar strings under my skin. "Cording" they call it, or, if you like to sound fancy, "Axillary Web Syndrome." It's considered a complication of breast cancer treatment and, some argue, a risk factor for lymphadema.

I have been dreading and fearing lymphadema since before my mastectomy, when I first read about it. The internet is fairly teeming with images of women with one arm bloated double in size alongside hyperbolic headlines calling the condition "breast cancer treatment's dirty little secret." Scariest of all, once the swelling comes, you spend the rest of your life trying to manage it. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, it never truly goes away.

Lymphadema is no secret. Before radiation, I was sent to a physical therapist to educate me about the condition, and to be fitted for a compression sleeve. I received two, which I tucked into the back of my sock drawer, just in case, hoping never to retrieve them. I was told that once surgery removed the cluster of lymph nodes under my arm and radiation damaged those remaining in my chest wall, my chances of contracting lymphadema would rise to 50%. In my gut, I believe I didn't need to have all my lymph nodes removed, (only two of the twenty-odd taken were cancerous), but modern treatment is still relatively crude, and my particular cancer scenario would not allow such half-way measures.

I was also told by oncologists and physical therapists alike, "You won't get lymphadema. You're young. You're fit. It won't happen to you."

But Christmas morning I could not deny it. I have lymphadema. I have been crying and raging about it ever since, wearing the compression sleeve intermittently, stretching against the pain to recover my range of motion, checking my arm as the swelling ebbs and rises like a tide. It's mild, but it's there. And I'm afraid that it will get worse.

For weeks I have not been able to bring myself to write on this blog, not in depth, anyway, as I knew I'd need to tell you. It's emotional for me to put my mind squarely on this new development.

But this morning I awoke to a message from my brother. After a long and valiant battle, cancer has claimed the life of one of his best friends, a fixture of my own childhood landscape as well, and a special person I was only just getting to know.

A few days before that, I got an email from another childhood classmate, requesting advice. She has just been diagnosed with breast cancer. She wants to know how long she can hide the news from her children.

Another childhood classmate is also fighting breast cancer, an advanced and aggressive form which has taken up residence in multiple organs, including her brain. Another old friend has been battling since she was twenty-five. The cancer is in her bones.

So today I practice the yoga of weeping. Today I am stretching to embrace the dead, the widowed, my friends fighting for their lives, my own life ahead of me, swollen or not, without guarantees.

Let us all stretch to be loving companions along this treacherous, beautiful, heartbreaking road. I hope we can walk it together for a long time to come.

Full Disclosure

2012-01-04T17:40:00.001-05:00

I'm getting in the groove in the kitchen lately, chopping veggies weekly all in one swoop for future salads and this soup-of-the-day: pinto beans, chickpeas, onion, celery, carrot, Brussels sprouts, kale, red cabbage, and tomato, along with curry spices (cumin, coriander, turmeric, onion powder), nutritional yeast, dulse, salt, and pepper.

For longer than I remember, every New Year I reaffirmed the same resolution. Now I consider it my full-time policy: to give every compliment that comes to mind. This year I'm resolving something new. This video-diary tells the story. More of my videos here.

How to Improvise Miso Soup

2011-12-28T15:29:00.000-05:00

Didn't intend to make a cooking video, but it happened. More of my videos here.

Jugs

2011-12-20T11:05:00.000-05:00

Cape Cod, gearing up for a half marathon (fail), and dogs, dogs, dogs. And yes, I do say those exact words in this video title and it is entirely appropriate. More of my videos here.

Obstacle Course

2011-12-14T08:14:00.001-05:00

Easy soup: chick peas and pinto beans, mushrooms, onions, celery, carrot, and broccoli. Plus miso, cracked pepper, and dulse flakes at the table.

I add the broccoli separately, each time I reheat the soup, so that it stays green and fresh.

Chop, chop, chop...

Yesterday, after a long two weeks of overwork in which I somehow managed to stock my refrigerator with vegetables but couldn't be bothered to prepare anything but cereal and nuts and dried fruit and power bars, I hit the wall. There comes a point when feeling less than healthy is just not good enough. I needed to eat better and I needed to make it easy to do so.

In spite of looming deadlines and a stack of dirty dishes in the sink, I wiped down my kitchen counters and went to work. Every vegetable got its turn on the cutting board, some added to a salad, a slaw, a soup, some simply stored for future steaming or stir frying. While I chopped, I listened to Amy Purdy at TedxOrangeCoast tell her amazing survival story, reminding me eloquently that obstacles on our paths can do two things: stop us in our tracks, or force us to get creative.

Sometimes, I might add, the creativity need not involve reinventing the wheel.

Cabbage is my go to green when it comes to food prep in advance. Try it sometime: shred some cabbage and some carrots together. Dress with lemon juice or vinegar, salt, a little agave and olive oil perhaps, some raisins, and whole caraway, cumin, or dill seeds if you're feeling fancy. The wonder of this healthy slaw is that it gets tastier over time, hitting its peak about four days after preparation. The salt draws the moisture out of the vegetables, enriching the dressing and leaving the normally firm veggies limp, chewy, and succulent. The raisins get plump and soft, and the seeds add a unique and addictive flavor accent.

Life After Cancer

2011-12-08T12:37:00.000-05:00

After breast cancer? Vacation! More of my videos here.

Sleeping Again

2011-12-06T07:55:00.001-05:00

That's Teeccino in my mug, I love that stuff (caffeine-free herbal coffee). And yes, I actually do use this typewriter.

I am sleeping again, occasionally waking up feeling – can you believe it – rested. Which means some wound up thing inside of me has unwound. I am not constantly thinking of outrunning cancer, of the potential shortness of my life, of how I want to cram each day full of fun and closeness and accomplishment.

That said, I must admit, deep down, I fully expect the cancer will come back. It's an expectation that defies logic. I happen upon another woman's story – diagnosed at 40, mastectomy, nine years later, diagnosed again, another mastectomy – and though I know this scenario is not the norm, I am immediately thinking: this will be my story. I'm all but marking my calendar for nine years out.

I'm swimming (three days a week) and running (three days a week) and biking (once or twice a week - on the spin bike or outside on the weekend when weather permits.) And I'm working, setting ambitious deadlines for myself, exploring lots of new work. (You can see some of what I've been up to here.) And of course I'm walking my dear dog every day as well.

So I guess the point is, I'm sleeping. But not enough yet to make up for how much I wasn't sleeping before.

You are a Gift

2011-11-27T20:03:00.000-05:00

My thank you card. More of my cards, and how to purchase them, here.

This Thanksgiving, Jim and I cooked together, improvising a simple, traditional meal of organic turkey baked in a bed of onion and sweet potato, cornbread and mushroom stuffing with sage and leeks from the garden, apple-cider gravy, string beans, salad, and cranberry-orange relish. And for dessert, apple pie, homemade vanilla ice cream, and toasted walnuts. We used no recipes, had no guests, and, sorry folks, took no pictures. It was a no-stress holiday meal followed by a long sprawl on the couch watching movies.

But perhaps the best part of the holiday was reflecting on all the incredible people who got us through this very challenging year. So many reached out to us with everything from words of encouragement, cards, and gifts, to help around the house, casseroles, and yard work. I made a painting specifically to express my gratitude and designed a greeting card from it so we could get our appreciations out in style.

Over the weekend, Jim and I staged a marathon card-writing session. We wrote a lot of thank yous, but I would not feel complete if I didn't send a thank you to all of you who read my blog and watch my videos. It helps that so many are interested in my story. Thank you for your attention, for your caring, and for reaching out to me through the inter-webs. It means more to me than you know.

Every Three Months

2011-11-22T10:23:00.001-05:00

Speaking of routine: my husband's Sunday morning pancake extravaganza. This week: buckwheat-cornmeal cakes with almond butter, plain yogurt, bananas, and strawberries. Oh yeah, and maple syrup. This is the plate he made up for himself. He kindly paused mid-meal for the photo shoot. Speaking of pancakes, check this out.

Today's the day. My second of who knows how many years worth of every-three-month check-ins with my oncologist for a thorough once-over and a blood test. Three months goes by fast. I get the feeling I'm going to be hating this ritual before long.

My back has been sore lately. I'm trying to shake that irrational fear that it means cancer in my bones. I say irrational because all the evidence stacks up against that being the case. If it was cancer, I don't think it would have started to hurt so suddenly after running a half-marathon, my second in two weeks. Or rather, after running and then sitting in an extreme slouch, feet on the dash, in the car for half an hour. If it was cancer, I don't think it would have improved gradually over the past few weeks. I don't think I would leave the chiropractor feeling better each time.

But panic is what panic is - oblivious to rational persuasion. Once you've been scared for your life out of the blue, it's easy to revisit that feeling.

Yesterday I admitted to a friend that I'm scared and she talked about Buddhism. About being in the present. Good advice. However, I did not receive it well. Deep down, for me, it is embarrassing to admit that I have this fear. Advice, no matter how well-meaning, makes me wish I hadn't mentioned it. It makes me feel alone. Advice is tricky like that. And I can be a prickly bastard. Ah, well, we're all human. Right?

On the Radio

2011-11-16T11:41:00.000-05:00

I am opposed to clutter, and also attracted to it. That's why, when I picked up this wire basket at a thrift store I chastised myself. Just like when I kept refusing to throw out a random package of old flash bulbs. Every time I pick up a stone and bring it home, I ask myself why.

The light in my studio, on this particular afternoon, is my answer.

Sometimes you just have to go with it.

Me, that is. On the radio today. On Rhode Island's NPR station. You can hear me if you want, reading a short essay (just 400 words) on why I believe in falling apart.

Like that? I wrote it at the request of the show's producer, because he got a big response from my last "This I Believe" essay (written in 2006 though produced years later). You can hear that one too if you like!

Life is Good

2011-11-15T15:35:00.000-05:00

I've been neglecting this blog, I'll admit it, but working hard on so many fronts. I'm behind on video editing too, but here's the latest, including an eleven-mile run, Millie meeting a sheep, and good old-fashioned family time. More of my videos here.

Blast From the Past

2011-10-31T12:55:00.000-04:00

The latest vlog, and below that, a bonus - this was me pre-blog, pre-miscarriage, pre-marriage, and of course, pre-cancer. Even though I was 34, I look at this now and think, wow was I young.

A bike ride, a co-op order, a cute poodle, a life.here.

From art school, 2004. More of my videos here.

Famished

2011-10-24T10:55:00.000-04:00

Quick and easy: steamed kale, cannelini and black beans, dulse flakes, toasted walnut oil, salt, pepper, and a squeeze of fresh lemon.

Soup for breakfast: buckwheat soba (gluten-free!), red onion, carrot, spinach, pinto beans, ginger, dandelion-leek miso.

Now that cancer treatment is behind me, I feel like I'm famished - not for food (though I couldn't title a blog post this way and not show you some good food), but for life. There is so much I want to do, so much on my mind that eating and sleeping feel like chores, though I do both daily, in a sort of fever. By no schedule except the insistence of my stomach, I prepare the simplest, healthy foods I can throw together, clean my plate, then back at it. I put myself to bed only when my eyes are heavy with the need for oblivion, and I'm awake early, mind racing in the dark.

I am pigging out on LIFE, working, running with the dog, swimming with my mermaid buddies, dreaming and scheming and feeling excitement for each day like possibly never before, thanks to new found courage, focus, and clarity. To what do I credit this surge of zestfulness? Fear of death, of course!

I am scared that one of these days my scans (ultrasound in six months, and then another, plus mammogram, six months later) or blood tests (four weeks from now and every three months after) will derail me. My only defense is to LIVE like this moment MATTERS. Because it does.

Wicked!

2011-10-24T10:47:00.003-04:00

Celebrating the end of cancer treatment. More of my videos here.

The Suspense is Killing Me

2011-10-19T12:07:00.001-04:00

More of my videos here.

Here's the email I sent out to supporters yesterday:

Hello everyone,

In ten minutes I need to be out the door to go for my first mammogram and ultrasound followed by a visit with my breast specialist/surgeon since I was diagnosed with cancer a year ago. The appointment was scheduled a long time ago for next week, postponed until November because of scheduling conflicts by the doctor, then moved up to today as I’ve been noticing some thickening/swelling near my surgical scar. It might be scar tissue, it might be recurrence, and of course I’m scared out of my mind. Hopefully this is just the first out of what is sure to be many scares. Hopefully it is the first out of many that turns out to be nothing.

I’m writing to you all so that I can imagine you all crowded into the room with me as Jim and I get whatever news there is to get. It helps to think of you there.

Also, for those that don’t know, I ran the Hartford half marathon for my first time last year, just days before my diagnosis. I ran it again this past weekend after a year of cancer treatment which you all helped me get through. Somehow I managed to run it the second time almost twelve minutes faster than the first.

Whatever happens next, hopefully I’ll be back at it next year, improving my time yet again.

Whoever talks to me first tonight will post the update from today’s appointment, probably my Mom. More updates on the blog...

Love
Amy

Thanks to everyone who saw me through this crazy horrible year. To all who said it was probably nothing, just the normal changes post-radiation, you were right! And my remaining breast checks out fine too. Hallelujah! Now, back to living...

Can Wild Mushrooms Cure Cancer?

2011-10-14T10:45:00.000-04:00

I hope so!

More of my videos here.

Very Nervous

2011-10-11T19:12:00.000-04:00

Somehow I skipped sharing this one: Millie's Birthday, among other things. More of my videos here.

I'm worried. Not so much for the half-marathon this weekend. Whatever happens with that, I know I'll be fine.

Mostly I'm nervous because just like last year, I will be getting checked for breast cancer a few days later. In this case, I'm much less certain that I will be fine.

In the last week I've noticed a thickening under the skin near my mastectomy scar. Not a lump exactly, and hopefully nothing of real concern. I showed it to Jim and he concurs. "Definitely puffier," he said, but he's also hopeful that it's nothing serious.

I called my doctor just in case and she moved my one-year-later follow-up appointment forward by two weeks.

I go in on Tuesday, October 18th.

Yikes.

Go For It

2011-10-05T19:31:00.000-04:00

Today I'm changing my blog's profile picture to reflect my new attitude.

The most valuable lesson cancer taught me is that life is short and it is now. If you want to live with excitement and zest you just can't aim for comfortable, you have to aim well outside the limits you've always set for yourself in the past. For me that means being my authentic self, flaws and all, vibrantly and ridiculously and without apology. It means making mistakes and celebrating the glory of well-intentioned failure. It means going after people I admire and inviting them into my life. And going after the people who are already in my life and inviting them closer. It means giving all my gifts, planting all my seeds.

I want to live large during the day, sleep deep at night.

And vice versa, on occasion.

I want to wake up brimming with feeling for the day to come.

I want collaborations galore.

What do you want?

Awareness

2011-10-04T15:55:00.001-04:00

The evidence of the transition from feeling good to not so good is a little bit evident in this one.
Plus lots of Millie cuteness. More of my videos here.

Last year I celebrated Breast Cancer Awareness Month by running my first half-marathon, all the while thinking about the lump in my breast and bracing myself for a biopsy scheduled for the following week.

For the next ten months I continued to brace myself as I moved through each new phase of treatment. Somewhere along the line I started wondering if I might feel well enough in time to run the Hartford Half again this year, scheduled for October 15th. I resisted thinking about it for a long time, didn't want to make a commitment, didn't want to push myself too hard or feel disappointed if I fell short of a goal.

As time passed and I began to feel better, running the half this year has begun to look like a golden redemption, a chance to prove to myself that I am fine, that cancer is behind me, that there will be no lasting side effects from the chemical and surgical assault of the past year.

That race is now less than two weeks away and I am registered. Two weekends ago I ran eleven miles. I've been feeling great. But a strange thing has begun to happen.

I don't feel quite so great as I once thought. My feet hurt. My calves are knotted. I've had some neuropathy in my fingers again. I've woken some mornings lately feeling hungover and hobbled. In fact, the other day I found myself feeling so miserable five miles into a planned twelve-miler that I stopped in my tracks and burst into tears. And since that day, every time I exert myself, in the pool or on the road, the same groundswell of emotion rises in me.

I'm realizing that I can't push my way through everything that feels hard. I can't outrun the toll cancer has taken on my life. Sometimes I'm simply going to have to slow down, to feel things, to nurture and nourish myself, and to breathe.

I'm still planning on turning up at the starting line on October 15th. I am no longer going to look for a finishing time to beat last year's. I'm done with trying to prove the impossible. I'll run when it feels good, I'll walk if I want to. And life, hallelujah from the bottom of my heart, will go on.

Goodnight Irene

2011-09-26T20:11:00.001-04:00

More of my videos here.

Mucho Mocho

2011-09-23T16:09:00.000-04:00

More of my videos here.

Mastectomy and Beyond

2011-09-22T10:37:00.000-04:00

Some wisdom in here (I hope) about apologizing, chocolate in the evening, and harboring refugees. More of my videos here.

I spent some time on the phone recently talking to a friend of a friend about her upcoming mastectomy. She was struggling with whether or not to have reconstruction. I was struggling to be a supportive listener rather than an evangelist for my one-boob life. But the truth is, if you're faced with this horrendous choice, I highly recommend skipping the reconstruction.

Yes, I am often hyper-vigilant to the reactions of strangers, and yes, sometimes it gets to be too much and I have to cry it out before I can resume my carefree unselfconscious day. And, to be fair, my life does not include board meetings or students or clients I meet with face-to-face, not right now anyway. And I have a supportive husband who thinks a missing breast does not impede my sexiness.

But I am so glad there is no foreign thing under my skin. I am pleased that I haven't gotten around to purchasing a prosthetic or any special bras to hold one. I am surprised and also pleased that there are moments where I find myself, like a tear-streaked child with a big bandage on a wounded knee, feeling proud of my scar. I'm proud of my ability to keep living and loving as fiercely as ever, that I can be an example that cancer and mastectomy and other life disasters don't take away the ability to find humor and pleasure in life. And I am relieved to look back over this paragraph recalling that, at the outset, I did not know it would be this way.

Yesterday while out walking Millie, I ran into a man I know who went through a grueling chemotherapy for throat cancer three years ago, only to begin competing in the arguably equally grueling sport of cyclocross during his subsequent radiation. During my own chemo, I wanted to speak to him, to be reassured that I would one day feel alive again, but I was too tired and too shy to make it happen. Yesterday he told me he had heard I wanted to talk with him and had dropped by my house one day during that period, but apparently no one was home. I was touched to hear this, to be reminded that we don't always know all the good moves people are making in our direction.

"I see they took your breast," he said to me yesterday, or something close to that. It's rare for someone to initiate a frank and direct conversation with me about my mastectomy outside of a doctor's office or a counseling session, especially someone of the male persuasion, so this caught me off guard, though in a good, bracing way, like a gust of November wind after hours in front of the fire. I shrugged and smiled and so did he. "Whaddaya gonna do?" I said, and we both laughed. When we said goodbye he hugged me, hard, without hesitation. And I walked away smiling.

Vlogging at NPR

2011-09-19T10:27:00.002-04:00

To my surprise and delight, my new "This I Believe" essay was picked up by WRNI in Rhode Island. I had to trim 50 words, which was a challenge, but in a good way. They will broadcast it in November and I'll give you the link to listen online as soon as I have it.
More of my videos here.

Adventuring

2011-09-15T21:53:00.001-04:00

More of my videos here.

One Big Giant Pumpkin

2011-09-15T18:38:00.000-04:00

I came across a Chinese Proverb the other day that got me thinking.

"One cannot manage too many affairs: like pumpkins in the water, one pops up while you try to hold down the other."

I have too many pumpkins right now.

I'm thinking it's time to bring both my blogs (there's an art vlog too, if you didn't know), my vlog (the youtube videos that have taken over this blog lately), and the rest of my professional life (including my woefully out-of-date portfolio website) under the same roof. Like one big giant pumpkin.

What do you think?

Tamoxification and Crazy Hair

2011-09-12T21:36:00.000-04:00

Second to the latest vlog.

The latest vlog. More of my videos here.

Opportunity in Disguise

2011-09-08T07:29:00.000-04:00

Before the storm I made a batch of hummus and a big coleslaw, lightly dressed with cider vinegar, agave, salt, and pepper. The salt draws the moisture out of the vegetables which soften and take on the flavor of the dressing, more so the second day, even more the third. And because cabbage and carrots keep so well, it seemed far more appropriate to fall back on this hearty salad than some wilting soggy lettuce or spinach thing if we didn't have refrigeration to keep things crisp.

Sorry I've been incognito lately. I could blame it on Irene, the hurricane/tropical storm that had us scurrying around filling bathtubs and digging out candles. Irene ripped leaves and limbs and in many cases, entire trees from the ground, draping them over power lines all over our neighborhood. Many around us were without electricity for over a week and my stepson's first day of school was delayed for almost as long. But at our house we only lost power for three hours sunny Monday afternoon. And I was out of the house at the time, walking the dog and running errands.

I could blame it on distraction. The storm brought my father and his girlfriend to our door from New York, refugees from lower Manhattan's mandatory evacuation. We had a pleasant overnight visit. And my neighbor, S~ came by a few days later with the contents of her refrigerator and chest freezer - including a hundred pounds of frozen berries and sliced peaches she had harvested and cleaned and bagged herself over the course of the summer, which I helped her load into our old fridge in the basement.

I could blame it on my computer crash - which happened during the last-minute flurry of filling water bottles and tackling Laundry Mountain last Saturday - no time to troubleshoot. But actually I was glad. I was prepared for the possibility of being without my computer for a few days if we lost power. Now it was guaranteed.

The truth is, I needed a break - a break from my desk, a break from my ten million computer-driven projects and addictions - and when the opportunity for one came along, I grabbed it.

Now that the storm has passed, my computer is restored, my laundry is folded and put away, and my friend's produce and mayonnaise are back in her own care, I'm feeling refreshed, energized, and ready to proceed.

Okay, life, bring it on!

Mocho!

2011-08-26T18:59:00.000-04:00

This one's fun. Hope you enjoy.

More of my videos here.

Tamoxifen Noob

2011-08-25T17:08:00.000-04:00

Two weeks down, four years, fifty weeks to go.

So far: Mild headaches when I run. Hot flashes, also relatively mild. Moody. But maybe that's me.

More of my videos here.

On the Other Side

2011-08-24T12:46:00.000-04:00

Swimming at Bigelow Hollow. That's me on the right, C on the left, K behind us taking the picture. Thanks dear friends for one of the best memories of my summer.

There's something about emerging from cancer treatment into the life I was struggling with (at times) ten months ago. I don't feel much different. A little stiff and itchy in the area where there once was a breast. A little surprised by the short gray curls in the mirror where my hair was once long and brown. Other than that, it's the same old pile of unfinished projects which are both my albatross and refuge, the same deep-down angst. I want more collaborative work, more engagement with the world and its joys and sorrows. And I want less clutter. And less time in front of this damned computer screen.

It comes down to this: I'm not confident, as I once was, that there is a long road ahead of me. Therefore, the things that weren't working in my life before, the dissatisfaction I couldn't untangle without stepping outside my comfort zone or waiting years for circumstances to change (a boy off to college, a man free to reconfigure work and home) are feeling, not urgent exactly, but ripe.

I am ripe for change.

Yesterday I asked Jim to look over his work schedule, see if he can take a couple of days in September so that we can get away for a long weekend. We need a few long walks, leisurely talks, space to dream and think and maybe even plan. We need time to celebrate that we're on the other side of something hard and the landscape, though familiar, is fundamentally changed.

The story of my life is not over yet. I'm ready to write the next chapter.

Dalai Lama Drama

2011-08-23T09:07:00.000-04:00

Not his drama, exactly, but ours. Check out this quote, snatched from a friend's Facebook status:

Someone asked the Dalai Lama what surprises him the most. This was his response.  "Man, because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then he dies having never fully lived."

While I'm waxing wise, here's the latest vlog. Maybe a little wisdom in here too...

More of my videos here.

Rosie the Attack Cat

2011-08-22T13:15:00.001-04:00

Last radiation treatment! More of my videos here.

Aftermath: Mastectomy, Radiation, Poodle

2011-08-22T07:26:00.000-04:00

Still catching up on video backlog. More here.

I Am

2011-08-15T20:26:00.000-04:00

If you're wondering what happens when you get radiation for breast cancer, here's the inside story.

I am:

Two days into Tamoxifen with naught but a few hot flashes to show for it.
Officially invited to be a Youtube partner (which means advertising will be placed with my videos and I might make a few pennies for my efforts).
Done with radiation! Yahoo!
Still sore and occasionally tired. But not terribly so.
Enamored with my seven-year-old niece's amazing alter ego character. You'll be meeting Macho in video soon.
Beginning a new painting today.
Playing tennis with my brother tomorrow, if it ever stops raining.
Taking a friend who just found out she has breast cancer to the doctor on Wednesday.
Behind on my blogging. (Sorry!)
Still trying to catch up on a backlog of videos. These are the latest.

I'm proud of this one, a real, full-spectrum make-you-laugh make-you-cry experience here. More of my videos here.

Radiation Hints and Tamoxifen Limbo

2011-08-12T17:08:00.000-04:00

More of my videos here.

The Good Side of Disaster

2011-08-11T11:59:00.002-04:00

I while back I wrote an essay for the NPR series "This I Believe." My essay was recorded by WRNI in Rhode Island and broadcast several times there. (It used to be available online, but I can't find it now). Anyway, the producer emailed in 2009 to tell me that mine was one of the most popular and would I please submit another.

It took me two years, but today I felt inspired and wrote my second essay. Who knows if it will every see airwaves, but you, dear readers, get a sneak peek. Hope you like.

There are moments in life when, out of the blue, all the clues line up. The pretty veils of illusion part, and suddenly you can see all the way to the very bottom of the deep dark truth. Your stomach drops to your knees. Your heart leaps into your throat. And there it is. You know it. You’re about to lose your job. Your best friend has been lying to you. Someone you love is dead, which means — not as obviously as you might think — they’re never coming back. Your husband is having an affair. You don’t have to wait for the doctor to tell you. You already know. It’s cancer.

I have had many such moments. All of the above, in fact, and more. Sometimes I fell apart. Sometimes I talked myself out of it, trying valiantly to think positive, to not jump to conclusions, to trust.

Ultimately, there’s no way around the truth. And avoiding it is exhausting, if not life-threatening.

So I believe in falling apart.

I believe in the fabulous life-expanding power of falling all the way to the bottom of the well. I believe in tears and the teeth-chattering knee-knocking nervous sweat of facing your worst fears made manifest. If I can manage it, I play the sympathy card, gather all the support around me that I can, and just plain face it.

As awful as it feels in the moment, I love it when the map I’ve plotted for my life gets ripped out from under me. It’s like waking up from a dream, a dream where I’ve limited my life’s possibilities to those that don’t scare me.

If I can face an unimaginable surprise divorce and find pleasure in being alone, even for five minutes, then I can also experience the wild joy of a new relationship, a much better relationship than I ever thought possible. If I can face a cancer diagnosis and the — cancer or not —inevitability of death, then I can risk a slew of personal and professional rejections, and maybe a few heretofore unimagined successes.

I think of circus fleas, confined to a test-tube laid on its side. After banging into the low, invisible ceiling of the tube, these natural high-jumpers give up jumping altogether. Even when freed they don’t dare jump. They’ve been conditioned to accept a limited life.

Whether we realize it or not, our lives are not taking place in a test tube. Disaster can come along at any moment and smack you right in the face. If it does, please accept my sincere condolences. And my advice:

Let yourself feel it. You are not safe, nor are you limited.

Radiation Reality

2011-08-11T07:34:00.001-04:00

In this video: Getting through radiation; Tamoxifen looms large on the horizon. More of my videos here.

Triathlon #2

2011-08-10T14:21:00.000-04:00

More of my videos here.

3-2-1 Blast Off

2011-08-09T20:51:00.001-04:00

One more to go!

Tomorrow is my last radiation treatment.

It's disconcerting.

It feels as if the last ten months have taken place on a battlefield. I won't escape for another month or so — my body must acclimate to Tamoxifen and recover from radiation — but I'm beginning to stumble away from the scene of so much suffering and hardship. Though my knees aren't shaking as I imagine they would in that scenario, emotionally there is an equivalent response. I feel vulnerable. I feel relief. I feel exhausted. A long, terrible nightmare is almost over and yet it will never truly end. I will not escape the possibility that I might have to revisit this war zone, that next time I might not escape with my life.

Lately I want treats, treats, and more treats. Almond molasses cookies seemed a good place to start.

Everything I struggled with before, the mundane and every-day challenges of my life pre-cancer, wait in the wings. Angst with work, questions about my contribution in the world, the quality and depth of my relationships, my concerns for the environment, for the oppressed and victimized among us, my desire to make a difference, my perpetual sense of overwhelm that I am not enough, not doing enough, not quickly enough, not thoughtfully enough, not worthy of all the blessings in my life - all that typical stuff we all, let's face it, carry around with us every day. Yours might not sound like mine. The wording and the messages are individualized, but I'd wager we all get to that same place on a regular basis - feeling bad about ourselves.

I'd like to refuse to go there anymore. I'd like to think cancer wiped the slate clean. That I can rewrite my life story from here on out, fearlessly. Unerringly.

View near my house.

But I don't think it's going to work out like that. It'll be be life as usual, with all its unglamorous ups and downs. Occasionally, there will be roll-on-the-floor laughter, heart-swelling tear-jerking milestones of growth and love, and precious moments of transcendental beauty and peace. In between, I'll feel too fat, too slow, too selfish. I'll get bored, frustrated, angry, and sad.

It will be this way for as long as it lasts. Which I hope will be a very long time.

Yesterday's garden harvest.

Updates Galore

2011-08-08T21:00:00.000-04:00

1. Word came back, finally, from my medical oncologist: She's okay with me waiting until I'm done with radiation before I start the dreaded Tamoxifen.

2. I don't dread it quite so much as I did a few days ago. And I'm hugely relieved to know I'm not drastically and foolishly risking my life by insisting on waiting a few more days before beginning the five-year ritual of daily pills.

3. My radiation oncologist told me today that it takes a week or so to feel the effects of a radiation treatment. His point? Though I'll be finished in just two more days, I shouldn't expect to feel better right away. In fact, it might still continue to get worse for a little while.

4. Did I mention that just two more radiation treatments remain? Just two more radiation treatments remain! I'll be done on Wednesday.

5. I'm tired.

6. On Thursday I plan to attempt one more triathlon.

7. I've been working on catching up with my backlog of videos. Here are the latest:

More of my videos here.

Triathlon Triumph and Tamoxifen Dread

2011-08-03T14:11:00.000-04:00

Still dreading it, still nauseous at the thought, still waiting to hear back from the doctor about my desire to wait on the Tamoxifen until I finish radiation.

In this video: A trip to radiation, Millie goes to the vet, and I decide to attempt a triathlon that very day.

My understanding is that most doctors wait, that there is no evidence that it's better to overlap treatments. A long time ago I asked my doctor why she didn't want to wait in my case, expecting some evidence-based response, something about how studies suggest it's better, or at least a scientific explanation of the mechanism of the two approaches, how, theoretically at least, I would benefit from the aggressive approach. Instead I got the usual bug-eyed emphatic frustrated-sounding answer about my age, how big and aggressive my tumor was, about my lymph node involvement. The answer didn't satisfy but it succeeded in shaming me into silence. I wrestled with the question privately, ultimately deciding to go ahead and start the pills without any further protest or push back or struggle for answers.

I tried not to think about it.

Not a good approach.

How did the triathlon go? Watch this video to find out! More of my videos here.

And then I read about the side effects, all the women who quit the drug despite its efficacy because they just can't bear to live with the side effects another day. Statistics show that Tamoxifen is more effective at preventing breast cancer recurrence than chemotherapy. But whether they suffered headaches, sleeplessness, muscle and joint aches, blurred vision, mood swings, bloating, weight gain, sexual dysfunction, constant tiredness, or uterine pressure akin to menstrual cramps, many women just can't bear that daily pill. I read about people counting down the days that make up the five years, and so many testimonials from non-complainers who have put in their time, summing up their experience in exactly the same way: It was a long five years.

I have five more radiation treatments ahead of me. Just five. My doctor returns from her vacation tomorrow. Unless she gives me real, concrete reasons based on science rather than fear, the day after I finish radiation, I plan to do one more triathlon. I will start the clock on my five years of pills after that.

Radiation Begins

2011-08-02T09:32:00.000-04:00

In real time, I've got eight more treatments to go but I'm still catching up on a backlog of video. I was supposed to start Tamoxifen today but couldn't bring myself to do it. Just thinking about it makes me queasy. I called my doctor this morning and left a message saying that unless she makes a compelling case that I shouldn't, I'm going to wait until I finish radiation next Wednesday. And, if I'm up for it, complete one more triathlon on Thursday. And recover for three days after that.

I just got a call back - my doctor is on vacation for two more days and my regular oncology nurse is out of the office. The pill bottle is beside me at my desk, glaring at me.

Oops, time to go to radiation! Bye for now.

More of my videos here.

Run Bike Swim Eat

2011-07-31T20:38:00.001-04:00

Cancer Diary #64, between chemo and radiation. More of my videos here.

Hair and Other Post Traumatic Traumas

2011-07-27T14:39:00.001-04:00

This morning.

The time of baldness is a blur now, a long, sustained surreal blur in which I became ultra-focused on hats, scarves, and bandanas, and lost the habit of reaching for shampoo in the shower. I still forget to wash my new hair on a regular basis.

I suppose I'm in denial about this new hair.

When it first started coming in, so white, I was amused. It felt like I was wearing the remnant of a daring Halloween costume, hard core biker punk-rock roller derby chick, or Susan Powter in the height of her "Stop the Insanity!" kick. I liked it. (psst - don't know that reference? Feast your eyes here.) But then, as more and more hair came in, darker but still absolutely gray, I saw a pixie-faced prematurely old woman in the mirror. It felt like someone had stolen years of my life, not to mention my eyebrows.

People, especially gray-haired women, though not prematurely so, could not stop laughing with delight over how much they liked my new hair. Of course I appreciated their compliments, but I had a harder and harder time listening to them, thanking them, answering their questions about whether I would keep it short like this or grow it back (they hoped I'd keep it short). I wasn't exactly sure why these conversations were so hard on me until it all came out during a counseling session in a spew of angry tears. Having spent the winter sick and miserable and scared and fighting for my life, I felt like I was betraying my own self, dishonoring the truth of my full experience by passing the spring and now summer in such superficial conversation.

To be fair, it could be that every one of those women who commented on my cancer-makeover first inquired as to how I was doing. Many times I recall saying, "Right now? I'm doing okay," which I assume sounded to them like "I don't want to talk about the past." The almost inevitable response came back, "Well you look great." to which I, of course, said, "Thank you." And then, if we both stood there another second, they reiterated, or rephrased ("You really do look great" or "I really do like your hair like that. Are you going to keep it that way?") and we were off to the races.

All this would be fine if only I could figure out how to not give off that I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it vibe so that once in a while, I could feel supported rather than drained by these well-meaning interactions. The trick is that sometimes these conversations take place in the grocery store aisle when I've got just twenty minutes to fill the cart and get to my next appointment, or in moment when actually, I don't want to think about cancer. But also, I've learned from experience that many people don't want to or are not capable of listening to the hard core reality, won't know what to do or say if I tell them, "Well, the truth is, I feel like I have post-traumatic stress. I feel like I just came off the battlefield. And, by the way, I'm still in treatment every day and I'm still scared out of my mind when I think about it, and yesterday my beloved neighbor told me she just found out she has breast cancer too, and suddenly I can't stop eating." In fact, I imagine some of these innocent inquirers would shuffle nervously and respond like this: "Well you look great."

But maybe one or two would say nothing and just hug me while I weep.

Here's a hint: If you want to be a friend to someone going through cancer or even pregnancy or any other body-changing mortality-awareness-inducing life-altering physical experience, sure you can tell them they look great. But don't leave it at that. Assume that the reticence you may perceive as lack of interest in talking about the hard stuff is probably more of a self-protective knee-jerk expectation that you really don't want to hear. Figure out a way to acknowledge or inquire about the depth of experience beyond the surface. Whether or not your friend has the grace and presence to acknowledge it in the moment, whether or not he or she walks through that open door, they will appreciate your efforts. I promise you.

Can I get a witness?

Hump Day

2011-07-25T19:30:00.001-04:00

Thirteen down, twelve to go.

Does anyone know what this plant is? The butterflies and I agree, it smells delicious.

This one I know: echinacea, a.k.a. purple cone flower. I planted it three years ago, got my first blooms last year - just three. This year, more well over a dozen.

The lavender in my garden attracts a lot of buzzing friends.

Speaking of friends in the garden, my good neighbor Jane came by today for dill and left a jar of pickles in the fridge. I told you she was a good neighbor! Check out her blog.

Today I received my thirteenth of twenty-five radiation treatments, which means there are more behind me than in front of me. I'd like to think it's all down hill from here - down hill in a good way, meaning that things get easier, but I fear it's not that simple. From what I hear the inflammation and fatigue, which so far have been relatively minor, will worsen. Plus, next week I'm due to start Tamoxifen, a pill I'm supposed to ingest daily for the next five years. For some, the side effects are minimal. For others, well, let's just say it's a very long five years of hot flashes, fatigue, weight gain, bloating...

In spite of all that's daunting on the path ahead, I'm still pleased to be where I am now. The quickest way out of a difficult situation is to keep on moving straight through it. And I'm marching right along.

Vlogs are back! Breast cancer and beyond.

2011-07-24T20:22:00.000-04:00

Finally catching up with video editing. This is the first since chemo ended - retail therapy, an amazing dog trick, two parties, bra issues, and a whole lot o' cuteness. Check it out.

Next in line: rearranging furniture, a very rude deer, garden harvest, and, of course, more beautiful Millie. More of my videos here.

Routine

2011-07-19T12:59:00.002-04:00

Nothing about this video is routine - my first days post-chemo. More of my videos here.

I received my ninth radiation treatment today. Every time I go in I see the same two radiation techs. Each time we tell each other one thing about ourselves. This was my idea and they go along with it kindly. Already old friends, the challenge for them is to come up with something they don't already know about each other. For me, it's easy, they know little about me beyond the margins of my disease.

I've told them that I have three brothers, that I took figure skating lessons a few years ago, that I spent a year living in a van traveling the country, that I grabbed the opportunity of a misplaced iPod to break my addiction to wireless internet. It's been almost two weeks now that I haven't wasted nocturnal hours next to my sleeping husband checking email and surfing YouTube. And they've told me about their high school days, their creative endeavors, their home towns, their freakishly long arms, and near misses with junk food cravings threatening to disrupt a commitment to a healthier lifestyle. I wish I had more than five minutes with them each day. I like these people.

I also wish I didn't have to lie on that table pretending, unintentionally mind you - I guess that's called denial - that radiation is entirely make believe, hocus-pocus, that I am fine, that I am not actually engaged in a dark and dangerous fight for my life. But the pretending only goes so far. I know the secret handshake now. I'm a full-fledged member of the cancer club, which means other members in need of an understanding ear slip me the inside scoop on their recent scans, the cancer now in their bones. Don't tell anybody.

I keep coming back to this: live now. Live now. Live Now. Then turn the page, accept all changes to the landscape, and live now.

Speaking of which, last Thursday, after my sixth radiation treatment, I did a triathlon. It was a short triathlon, just 600 yards of swimming, 12 miles on the bike, and a 5K run. I made no particular training effort for this, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision and just my second ever tri. The first was two years before, at the same place, and a good eight minutes slower. I was so nervous then. This time it felt easy.

Go figure.

Countdown

2011-07-16T06:56:00.002-04:00

After a short hiatus, I'm back on track with the vlogging. The latest installment takes place around my final chemo treatment. More to come! And more of my videos here.

I collected these stones years ago on a beach in Santa Cruz. Now they are my counting stones. On the day I began radiation I put twenty-eight of them in the bowl on the left. When I got home, I moved one to the bowl on the right.

The next day I went to the cancer center only to find that the building had lost electricity.

Every day I receive treatment I move another stone.

On the third day I went back again and received my second treatment. I also met with the doctor (I only see him once weekly).

He told me they had recalculated - rather than twenty-eight, I will receive just twenty-five slightly stronger doses. When I got home, I took three stones out and set them aside.

When the bowl on the left is empty, with the exception of a daily pill, I will be done with cancer treatment.

Savor

2011-07-13T21:15:00.002-04:00

Getting through radiation one day at a time: one down, twenty-seven to go.

Less on my plate. That is what I'm aiming for these days. It's particularly challenging now that I have a radiation each week day: an hour and a half of driving plus two costume changes (in and out of a hospital gown), ten or fifteen minutes lying on the table with two friendly young technicians lining me up just so. When they leave it's just the machine whirring and buzzing and beeping as it zaps me from all the critical angles, and me with my arms up over my head trying not to hold my breath.

Correction, it's not just me and the machine. There's also the light show on the vaulted ceiling -blue then green then blue then green again, with little lights blinking like stars and painted clouds and jazzy Muzak in the background. I find this more disconcerting than pleasant. It's as if radiation was something invented by Disney, which seems very wrong.

But I appreciate the effort.

I've had technical issues with the vlog - my video editing software keeps crashing. Thanks to Google I have that sorted out now though I haven't had time to put the episode in order yet. Bills keep coming and laundry keeps piling up and now our two-year-old refrigerator has gone on its annual summer strike, melting and sweating while the freezer chokes up with frost. Luckily there is produce in the garden and an only half-broken refrigerator in the basement.

And poor Millie, my sweet dog. She has a wounded leg, a deep gash and another welt, who knows what she bashed into but I think I saw it happen, when she leaped back in the tall grass, abandoning her ball chase. I've been back and forth to the vet two days in a row now for her, getting antibiotics and antiseptic and salve and a second look, since the swelling got worse for a while there and I can't keep her from licking at it.

The point is, I'm busy. Just one-fifth of the way into radiation, I'm already getting tired. Yesterday I took what I expected would be a twenty-minute nap and woke up groggy and shaky to a ringing telephone, two hours later. This morning, in what has become my thrice-weekly swim across the lake at Bigelow Hollow, I felt weighted and slow.

I'm still working diligently on my book, my proposal for a cookbook all about preparing food creatively, eating healthy without recipes. On a good day, I get three straight hours to focus on it. The closer I get to done, the more I realize the challenge I've set out for myself is not as easy as I thought.

But I'm determined.

And trying to accept a slower pace.

And drinking a cup of fennel-peppermint-nettle tea before bed.

In service of the cookbook (and my belly) I made my favorite Thai soup, Tom Yum Goong.

Another cookbook test batch: spicy black bean stew.

A treat: fresh figs with cashew cream (cashew butter, hemp milk, agave, cinnamon, nutmeg)

Savor.

Salad today. Thank you, garden.

Summer

2011-07-05T07:22:00.005-04:00

Sometimes summer is about color and light and movement and scent. Words? Not so much. So for now, I'll offer only these: It is seven in the morning, a Tuesday. My dog is sleeping on the couch with her paws in the air. Friends with a guest from Japan prepared a Japanese feast for us last Friday. (I photographed my plate.) Tomorrow I begin radiation. Before I go I'll swim across a half-mile lake, and back. Twice. I'll be ready.

Tagged

2011-06-29T10:25:00.001-04:00

In order to line up the radiation the same way day after day, set up for it involves acquiring marks on the skin. Though you can opt for Sharpie marker dots covered with tape (which, with all my swimming and sweating, I doubt would hold up), the method of choice is tattoo.

In case you haven't noticed, I don't gravitate toward pain, not for fun or fashion. I am not a tattoo gal.

And now I have three of them.

Albeit miniscule — just three dots, one at dead center of my chest and one on each side, below my armpits — receiving these was emotional for me. This may seem melodramatic, but considering that I was raised on stories of the holocaust, with recurring nightmares and true belief that the Nazis might show up at any minute to drag me away, I suppose it isn't a surprise. I found myself thinking of the tattoos given to concentration camp prisoners. Of course this wasn't the same thing, but there was a disturbing echo in the utilitarian and permanent nature of the beast.

Luckily the technician was patient with me while I came to terms with what was about to transpire. She showed me her tattooing device, a little plastic contraption with a sharp metal tip that reminded me of a protractor or some such measuring tool from high school math class,. She cheerfully offered to demonstrate on herself, showing off the little dots she had already made on her own forearm in past demonstrations. "It doesn't hurt," she assured me.

To my utter astonishment, she was right. It really didn't hurt at all. And the dots truly are tiny.

One more hurdle in the obstacle course of cancer treatment behind me, which means one less in front of me. Hallelujah.

Poodles Make Life Better

2011-06-27T20:24:00.000-04:00

More of my videos here.

Playing Hookie

2011-06-22T10:47:00.001-04:00

Pureed tomato soup: sauteed onion, garlic, carrot, and diced tomato, white beans and raw avocado add creamy texture, salt and pepper and fresh basil, cilantro, and oregano add yum.

Miso soup for breakfast.

Nori rolls with black rice, carrot, red pepper, tofu, and cilantro, plus tamari and wasabi gravy, and pickled ginger.

Yesterday's salad: spinach and lettuce from the garden, bell pepper, grapefruit, Spanish onion, heirloom beans, avocado, and sprouted lentils.

I'm playing hookie from cancer for two more weeks before radiation begins, using the time to wrap up client projects, organize my office, weed the garden, exercise, play with my dog, and cook. I've also instituted a new, earlier bedtime, which is serving me well.

The key to happiness, I'm convinced — for me anyway — is to do less of a million things and more of just a few. Less multitasking, less rushing (as I've said), and more work on the things that matter most to me. More lounging around reading too. It's a new discipline, but so far so good.

I have a goal to finish a book proposal (I'm working on a cookbook, have I told you?) by the time I start radiation. I may or may not make that deadline. In a way, it doesn't matter, as long as I'm making progress. What matters most is balance. But I do think I might make that deadline!

I'm determined to open a new chapter of my life in which the work I want to do is at center stage (writing, art) and in which there is at least a moment if not long hours of aimless pleasure each day.

Cancer reminds me that each day is precious and irretrievable. I can worry about not getting as many days as I thought, or I can savor what I've got.

I choose the latter.

More of my videos here.

I'm a Hoarder

2011-06-19T21:03:00.001-04:00

The ultra-modern moth on the window sill.

My stepson found this in the yard and brought it to me. A jewel of a bird, but long dead.

I don't have words for this photo, but it deserves a few poetic ones.

I'm a hoarder.

Not externally.

I mean, I have some clutter, a bit more than I'd like, but it's certainly not out of control. The hoarding that is an issue is the internal kind, the kind where I say yes to too many things, try to squeeze too many chores onto the To Do list, too many social engagements and appointments and projects onto the calendar, too many servings of delicious dishes from the buffet table of life onto my little plate, into my little belly. I feel stretched much of the time. Pleasures in too a great a number are not pleasures at all. This has got to change.

Even writing this blog post right now, eight minutes before I promised myself I'd be in bed, is too much. So I'm going to stop. Right this minute. Now.

The Spectrum

2011-06-17T11:01:00.001-04:00

Peonies from the yard and freesia from my husband (as a congratulations for finishing chemo).

I'm calling this one "summer borscht" - beets, carrots, and onions make a sweet and flavorful base. Bonito flakes add smoky depth. A splash of lemon juice, some mellow miso, a little cracked pepper, and cilantro and basil from the garden round out the goodness. Yum.

There is a woman at the gym who went through breast cancer treatment and has given me some interesting tidbits of advice. She told me, about chemo, "You will completely lose your sense of taste within 48 hours of your first treatment." She went on to talk about how she, as a tea drinker, switched to plain hot water, because, why waste tea? She was also one of the three hundred thousand chorus who told me to use plastic cutlery because metal would become intolerable.

I did not lose my sense of taste within 48 hours. Actually, food didn't even begin to taste funny until my second round, about three weeks into treatment. And I was never interested in plastic cutlery. As for tea, I brought a thermos of herbal tea along to my first chemo treatment . It hit the spot that day but for months thereafter the thought of tea of any kind, even pseudo-tea (hot water in a mug) turned my stomach. The sight of that thermos still makes me queasy.

Funny, because I had no such issues with soup.

I saw that same woman today in the locker room and she told me that for her, radiation was the worst part. She said, "Your skin will get so sore it will bring you to tears."

I know this was my friend J~'s experience. But my friend J~ (another J) said that for her, the worst of it was a little redness toward the end. "You'll be fine," she's said to me on more than one occasion, with a reassuringly dismissive shrug.

One thing I've learned on Planet Cancer is that though there may be some common themes, everyone's experience is their own, unique, and likely unpredictable.

I plan to apply aloe vera gel and calendula cream religiously and hope for the best.

Chemo Retrospective

2011-06-16T19:58:00.002-04:00

Anticipation. More of my videos here.

The other day I came across a DVD someone gave me and thought, I should save this to watch with Jim at chemo. And then I remembered: There is no more chemo!

No more weekly weigh-ins, blood draws, killer bee-sting needles. No more poison injected into my veins. No more eyelashes falling out, fingernails lifting away from the nail beds and stinking, no more gradually worsening numbness and tingling in my feet. No more inexplicable exhaustion mid-week. No more terrible taste in my mouth or steroid-induced sleepless nights. No more dry eyes, dry mouth, unsettled stomach, and low low blood counts.

It's hard to believe.

At the same time, I'm worried about radiation, now officially scheduled to begin July 6th.

Some people get through it easily, without noticeable fatigue, with only a little bit of redness and dryness to the skin. For some the fatigue is profound. Some have painful blistering weeping skin, some experience scarring and pain underneath. And I'm just talking about short term issues. The long term issues are much scarier.

For now, I'm doing my best to savor three weeks of relative freedom.

Let's celebrate, shall we, with a little retrospective - a few photos I took with the laptop to document chemo treatments twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen, and the morning after number sixteen.

I'll warn you right now, for those who don't want to see: the morning after sixteen I took another "here are my scars" picture. For those that do want to see, there are two other entries where I post pictures. The first was just days after surgery. The next was shortly before I began chemo. And this one will heretofore be referred to as the one between chemo and radiation.

Without further ado:

At chemo #12.

At chemo #13.

Chemo #14.

Chemo 15.

The morning after my final treatment, chemo 16.

No More Rushing

2011-06-14T21:47:00.001-04:00

My latest resolution. More of my videos here.

Now is Now

2011-06-13T21:48:00.001-04:00

Rice penne, onion and garlic, crimini mushrooms, burdock root, fresh and sun-dried tomatoes, chick peas, and Swiss chard. Sauted with tamari and a splash of red wine.

Tomorrow is set-up day for radiation. I'll get a CT scan, three little dot tattoos on my torso which they'll use to line up with the radiation beams, and a casted "immobilization mold" which will be used to hold my body in the exact same position every time I'm treated, beginning three weeks from now - 28 times, five days a week for nearly six weeks.

I'm at the point now where all of this cancer treatment stuff is getting just plain tedious.

So let's change the subject, shall we?

I am behind on sharing my meals with you. Many salads, a few exceptions, and a bit of a sesame seed fetish. Feast your eyes:

Dinner with my friend W~. She brought the falafel, I made the salad (with balsamic vinegar) and the lemon-tahini sauce.
Extras, because I was in the mood: red cabbage kimchee, and popcorn with olive oil, sea salt, nutritional yeast, dill, and paprika. If you haven't tried paprika on popcorn, get to it! It's delicious.

Black beans and guacamole, plus red onions, dandelion greens, beets, shaved carrots and summer squash.

This one is undressed. I liked the clean colors and the clean, simple taste. (Though I did later add salty and tangy umeboshi vinegar).
Tofu, orange bell pepper, red onion, radicchio, and spinach.

Spinach, radicchio, avocado, chick peas, onion, grape tomatoes, and sweet red grapefruit, and a simple vinaigrette (with sesame seeds, of course).

On this day I craved moisture and crunch: fuji apples and romaine lettuce answered the call. Plus carrots, yellow peppers, and good old sesame-lemon vinaigrette.

Black beans and basmati rice, onion, carrot, tomato, cilantro, and crunchy jicama with a twist of lime. Oh yeah, and sesame seeds.

Shock and Awe

2011-06-12T16:49:00.002-04:00

On my second visit to the neurologist last week, she hooked metal loops over my fingers and, with what looked to me like a little cattle prod, shocked my hands and arms repeatedly, maybe thirty times on each arm. The first few shocks caused my entire body to jump, and reduced me to tears. I could feel my nerves aching, vibrating up my arms like over-twanged guitar strings.

It was, to say the least, unpleasant. It did get easier with subsequent shocks but by no means did it become comfortable. I felt like a lab rat, and once that image hit my mind, I was flooded with images of all the indignities I've suffered on this cancer journey, and the tears would not stop coming. (As I write this line, I find myself crying again. My dog, who was just moments ago resting comfortably on the couch downstairs, just trotted upstairs and has begun licking my feet.)

The test showed no evidence of nerve damage. But, the doctor said, it might be too soon to tell. She wanted to do the second test, which would be more definitive, involving needles inserted through the skin of my upper arm, all the way into my muscles, approximately six needles in a single arm. While the needles were in, I was to move my arm in prescribed ways.

The goal, in the neurologist's mind, was to determine if I had nerve damage. Though I would love to have that information, the goal, in my mind, was to determine whether or not I was getting my final chemo. So I asked some questions and came to the conclusion that she was expecting either to be telling me go ahead, no worries, or go ahead, with caution. She thought the chances were slim that she'd find damage so severe as to contraindicate chemo. After all, a little nerve damage is one thing, a little cancer is something else entirely. I agreed.

So I told her I'd like to skip any additional poking and prodding, if it's all right with her, and proceed directly to the part where I go ahead with chemo. She called my oncologist, and the wheels were set in motion again.

I had my final (hopefully the last ever in my life) chemotherapy treatment on Friday. It's hard to believe that it's over.

I have appointments Monday and Tuesday, in preparation for radiation which will begin in three weeks.

And now my dog is barking and whining for me to play with her.

Life goes on.

Sharks

2011-06-09T09:03:00.002-04:00

Thank You Steroids. (More of my videos here.)

I went to a fundraiser last night featuring a friend of mine from the pool, Marcy MacDonald, a dedicated swimmer who is about to attempt her eleventh crossing of the English Channel. We watched a documentary about her and others who've attempted this astounding feat, and afterward, Marcy answered questions from the audience. Very cold water, long hours, big boats, waves, oil slicks, salt in your throat, chafing bathing suits... To say the least, it's not easy.

Someone asked about sharks and I turned to the friend on my left, P~ , and said, "I've been bitten by a shark." Her face registered alarm. She was beginning to compose a question when I went on to say, "It took my whole breast."

P~ laughed and slapped my leg. But was that funny? Can I make jokes about my missing breast? I'm never quite sure.

I was editing video the other day (the one below), and came across a section of footage filmed by J~ of myself in a tank top, chucking balls for the dog. It was the first time in a long while I'd seen my new body in three dimensional motion outside the confines of the mirror. In the same way it jars me when I happen upon a person with a missing arm, I was brought up short by the sight of my own chest. The thought was: I am asking a lot of people to take this in stride. I see that familiar moment of hesitation often, but still, I am amazed at how well people are doing it.

After Mastectomy: My Lopsided Life. More of my videos here.

Gambling

2011-06-08T07:03:00.000-04:00

More of my videos here.

In a few minutes I will peel myself away from the computer and get ready to leave for my morning swim. After that, breakfast, a walk with the dog, then back into the car, back on the long road to Hartford to see the neurologist I met with yesterday. This time, she will not be asking kindly questions and having me do fun little tasks like touch my nose, her finger, my nose. This time she'll be hooking up electrodes and shocking the muscles of my forearms with electricity in order to test for nerve damage. And after that, assuming the results are either alarming enough or not definitive, she might want to stick needles into those muscles and take samples of my tissue. All of this to help make a more objective determination as to whether I should go ahead with my last chemo treatment.

"Anyone else," my doctor told me on the phone Monday, "and I would say let's just go ahead with treatment. But you're an athlete and if things get worse this could mean a real impact on your quality of life. Let's see what the neurologist has to say."

So far, the neurologist has not said, but I have become very clear. There's no knowing if the numbness in my feet and problems I'm having in my hands will persist or get worse, and it is unlikely that today's tests will change that.

I never gamble anything I'm unwilling to lose. Given the choice between alive and impaired, the choice is not a difficult one. I want to go ahead with treatment. And I don't need any needles stuck into my muscles to help me decide.

I'm hoping that, between these two doctors and myself, we can come to a consensus without that test.

A Long and Winding Road, Please

2011-06-03T13:13:00.002-04:00

Dreams do come true. More of my videos here.

I was supposed to get my final chemotherapy treatment today. No such luck. I'm having weakness in my left hand and wrist, and my feet are increasingly numb. CIPN (Chemotherapy Induced Peripheral Neuropathy) or too much cycling last weekend, or a combination of the two are to blame. Oh well.

What else can I say? I don't know if I'm risking my overall survival in favor of comfortable typing, keeping my fingers together when I swim the crawl, and one-handed bicycle gear shifting. But it's not up to me. I tell the doctor what I'm experiencing as accurately and honestly as I can, and she makes the call. Though I trust myself as the expert on my own body, I trust her more when it comes to this. She's seen what happens to other people, I have not.

I'm supposed to call in to report my symptoms on Monday.

What happens after that? It's yet to be determined.

A friend of mine from high school, a co-inhabitant of Planet Cancer, wrote me last night to tell me she's in the hospital. (She has breast cancer too; we have the same oncologist. I made this video about her.)

She had a seizure on Tuesday. They've found a tumor in her brain. Because of this progression of the disease, she can no longer continue with an experimental drug that seemed to be keeping the cancer in check in other parts of her body. On the bright side, she tells me, she will no longer have to travel several times a week to Boston for treatment.

Next stop: cyber-knife, targeted radiation to the brain. After that? It's yet to be determined.

We spoke on the phone this morning and we're in agreement. It's the not knowing that's the hardest part.

In the meantime, we grieve our losses and enjoy whatever blessings we're offered.

There are no straight roads in life. The twists come when you least expect them. But hopefully the road is long and you can take great pleasure in the winding.

Catching Up

2011-06-02T09:16:00.000-04:00

The latest vlogs...

My first yoga class since the mastectomy.

Oncologist update, good food, etcetera... More of my videos here.

One More to Go!

2011-05-31T13:29:00.001-04:00

More of my videos here.

I'm supposed to receive my final chemotherapy treatment on Friday. What a long road since I was diagnosed last October. Like a dream, a meandering, colorful, bad but poignant dream, it seems like it both took forever but also passed in an instant. Like a frame around a painting, setting it apart from anything else that might distract the eye, the preciousness of my life feels framed by this experience.

I am determined to find pleasure every day. To give up rushing, cramming one more task into each five minute increment, pushing myself relentlessly forward into the next accomplishment. At the same time, I am also determined to stay conscious of how I am passing my time. Accomplishment feels good when it's in proportion with rest and exercise and pleasant companionship.

For those of you coming up behind me on the cancer treatment path: I remember fearing food would never taste right again, that I would never again feel a joyous bubbling over of healthful energy. I am here to testify that both experiences are possible, even while chemotherapy is still in full-swing. Taxol is not Adriamycin. All chemo is not the same. Trust your own resilience. You will get your life back.

Ragnar Relay

2011-05-26T21:42:00.000-04:00

&amp;lt;p&amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;lt;/p&amp;gt;

More of my videos here.

Though I feel great in every other way, the neuropathy got a little worse this week - nothing super-uncomfortable, just a little numbness in my toes. But apparently this raises enough of a red flag to possibly postpone chemotherapy again.

The verdict came in late this afternoon: Assuming my white count is better. I'll get chemo tomorrow, again only 80% of the standard dose.

Of the ten Taxol treatments I've received so far, only two were full-dose, one was 88%, and the rest were eighty. Who knows what that means in terms of my future cancer prognosis. All I know is: just two more chemo treatments remain and I'm VERY eager to be done.

Another thing – In the three weeks after chemo ends and before radiation begins, I'm going to do my best to cordon off entire days just for me. A lot of them. No deadlines, no appointments, not even social commitments. I had a surprise day like that Tuesday when chemo was postponed and I was happier and more relaxed than I've felt in a long time. I need more days like that.

Life with Millie (and Breast Cancer)

2011-05-25T15:07:00.001-04:00

More of my videos here.

Rolling

2011-05-23T16:49:00.003-04:00

The latest... More of my videos here.

Every time I go to the cancer center there is a preliminary routine beginning in the outer waiting area. First, I'm festooned with a lovely plastic wristband with my very own personal barcode. I'm then called to a little room with three chairs to be weighed and to give a blood sample. From there, I go to a second waiting room, and finally, on to the business at hand.

Today's business was a checkup with my oncologist.

This happens every few weeks and the routine is also predictable. Nurses aides come in, two at a time, to take my pulse, temperature, and blood pressure, one working on each side. Jim calls them the pit crew. And then I strip to the waist, put on a scratchy cotton gown and wait wait wait. The doctor comes in, asks some questions, and examines me head to groin. After which I'm allowed to put my clothes on and ask my questions.

Today I was told six things I have not heard before:

1. The risk of recurrence with my type of breast cancer (hormone receptor positive) actually gets WORSE after five years rather than better.

2. "You WILL be taking aromatase inhibitors, there's no doubt about that." This was delivered with bug-eyed emphasis. My doctor had mentioned these drugs before, typically given to HR+ women who are post-menopausal. When she brought it up before, it was a possibility, something to consider, once my five years of Tamoxifen are behind me. Apparently there is no longer a gray area.

3. "It's not like the old days when you'd see those scary pictures of women with their arms blown up huge." I've seen those scary pictures and didn't realize that lymphedema didn't necessarily result in that. She says she mostly sees it in her heavier patients though occasionally in thinner women. "I'm not God," she tells me, "but I don't think you're going to have lymphedema. But if you do have any swelling, you'll call me right away, and we'll manage it."

4. One of my cancerous lymph nodes had a cute, crafty-sounding nickname. It was a "macro-met" or macro-metastasis. In other words, a big one. (Not good, but I knew that already.)

5. "Your white blood count is too low." Actually, this tidbit was delivered by voice mail as I drove home. Apparently the doctor didn't get around to looking at today's blood results until after I'd left. I was supposed to come back for chemo tomorrow, Tuesday. Now it's postponed until Friday. And next week's is postponed until next Friday.

6. When treatment ends, I am to see my oncologist every three months for two years, then every six months "for a long time" thereafter. Some doctors do less after five years, but mine does not. "Not with my younger women anyway," she said, eyes bugging again.

I know, I know, breast cancer is more aggressive in younger women. Five years does not mean free-and-clear for me. I was node-positive. I had a macro-met.

Tamoxifen. Lymphedema. Aromatase inhibitors. Will my vocabulary ever cease this incessant expansion?

Roll with the punches, Amy, roll roll roll.

Fail Vlog

2011-05-20T18:46:00.001-04:00

Here it is, the inside scoop on what happened when I went for chemo on Monday. Plus some laughs and cute Millie-tude...

More of my videos here.

Red Flags on Parade

2011-05-19T22:31:00.000-04:00

Wild edibles, hummingbird, house cleaning, and a spontaneous dance party... More of my videos here.

Today I was uploading and annotating this latest video on Youtube, watching myself clear my throat mid-sentence. I do that a lot lately, never noticing the habit until seeing it over and over in my videos. It seems there's always just a little bit of fluid stuck in the back of my throat.

Jim says this began after my mastectomy.

Not a big deal, I told him, perhaps a leftover side effect from the anesthesia. It can take a long time to clear the anesthesia drugs from your system.

Or maybe it has something to do with the chemo.

But today a new thought stopped me cold: Could this be cancer? I was frozen for a long instant, as if a heavy weight were crushing my chest.

I've heard that a subtle cough, or a minor ache, persistent but not alarming, can turn out to be the first sign of metastasis.

But then my lungs sucked air and I shook off the fear, got back to the task at hand.

It's probably nothing, I told myself, and I believe it probably is nothing. But, just to be on the safe side, I'll bring it up with my oncologist when I see her on Monday.

I suppose this is part of life on planet cancer, a regular feature of the landscape - where red flags fly over every ache and gripe, and the gravity of the disease you're battling, the preciousness of the life you don't want to give up living just yet, hits you over the head.

I hope I never get used to it.

Chemo Fiasco

2011-05-18T11:11:00.000-04:00

Went for chemo today and ended up leaving without it.

More of my videos here.

Back story: Because of some troublesome side effects, my chemo dosage has been reevaluated each week. My nurse has me call her to communicate my symptoms on Sunday night, which she relays to the doctor Monday morning. I arrive at 1pm and never know what I’m going to get until I get there.

This Monday took that last sentence to a new level.

I made a video explaining all that happened, not this one, the Chemo Fiasco video isn't ready yet, but stay tuned, I'll get it up soon.

In the meantime, the Cliff Notes, minus all the emotional drama you'll see in the video: My regular nurse was absent (out sick) and her replacement gave us three different answers when I asked about the dosage, first leading us to believe it had been lowered, then that it was exactly the same as last time, then finally (and accurately) that it was raised. I didn't know what information (or misinformation) my doctor had, and the doctor didn't have time to talk to me directly, suggesting instead that I leave and come back another day when my regular nurse was in.

The nurse was impatient and confused. It became obvious that she was unable to provide the info I needed. I had to choose between going ahead with a raised dose of chemo without understanding the doctor’s rationale or feeling certain that the doctor even knew what I was currently experiencing – or else coming back the next day.

It takes a lot to gear up for chemo day. Emotionally, it’s harder and harder each week even though the chemo experience itself gets easier. Jim had taken the day off to support me this time. This has not been our usual routine, but because I was struggling on my own, we decided to sacrifice a vacation day so he could stay with me this time. On top of that, my car is in the shop, not to mention the fact that the hospital is an hour from home and I had plans on Tuesday. "Come back tomorrow” was not as simple as it sounds and by far not my first choice. But ultimately, it seemed the only viable option.

And it worked out just fine. I got to talk to the doctor directly on Tuesday morning, my good friend N~ drove me to the cancer center at noon and J~ met us there. Chemo went fine, just one needle stick, same dose as last week (I'm still at 80% of the standard dose).

Another day on Planet Cancer, and by far not the worst...

2011-05-16T06:59:00.000-04:00

Two brothers, father, sisters-in-law, nieces, kiwi hair... More of my videos here.

Three more chemo treatments to go, one of them today. All the usual worries apply – neuropathy, infection, fingernails lifting off. But this is small potatoes compared to the Cytoxan and Adriamycin. And "just three more!" beats so much louder in my mind than the old litany of worries.

At the same time, with radiation around the corner and Tamoxifen on its heels, new concerns are cropping up, lymphedema, carcinoma, and artificially induced menopause.

Underneath all of this, of course, is the tiny little possibility of breast cancer recurrence, metastases, premature death. What? Death? That little thing? I don't think of it so often anymore, maybe just once a day.

When I first started down this cancer road, my brother D~ said something about the "new normal" and I snapped back at him that there was no normal anymore, nothing was normal. But yesterday I had a little flashback to the old normal, when the scariest health concerns I faced required little to no medical intervention: miscarriage, urinary tract infection, irritable bowel. Those were the days.

I remember hearing David Allen suggest in an interview once that we should all mark our calendars for a month from now, and mark his words. Something big was going to happen to change everything. Something big always happens and changes everything. So do your best living now. Give your gifts. Make that call. Take a break. Get new tires on your car. Whatever it is that you're overdue for, get it done. It's time.

Eight Years

2011-05-13T22:40:00.001-04:00

Millie is a Youtube fan in this one - hilarious. More of my videos here.

The apple tree in my backyard is afroth with blossoms. I open my eyes in the morning and gaze at it through the picture window in my bedroom. For the moment, anyway, I feel lucky about my life. I have a husband who loves me without reservation, a stepson with whom there is little of the typical teenage drama, a network of loved ones who care about me and show it. An apple tree and a garden and creative work. Not to mention the cutest poodle in the world. And, gosh darn it, for the most part anyway, I like myself too.

It helps that my hair is coming back, that my energy isn't bad, that I'm counting down so quickly now to my last chemotherapy treatment - just three more to go.

When I first found out I had cancer I thought about the the relationships I want to deepen or repair, my unfinished projects, the gifts I want to give. I weighed the measure of it all against the prospect of a shortened life, letting go of the parts that involve watching loved ones age, and my own romantic visions of old lady-hood, deep wrinkles and rocking chairs.

Eight years, I heard myself think. I can do it all in that time. Just give me eight years.

It stunned me to realize that all my goals and dreams seemed doable in such a short window of time. It surprised me that I was capable of such a humble wish. But most of all, it spurred me. Whether my life turned out to be short or long, there were things I really really wanted to do. It was time to get busy.

I am busy.

And I'm realizing one more thing: If everything I ever want out of life can be accomplished in eight years, then I'm thinking way too small.

How about you?

Bermuda Triangle

2011-05-11T11:03:00.000-04:00

My Flip Camera is lost somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle of my house and yard. I had it Sunday afternoon in my pocket while I was gardening. Half an hour later, as we were readying ourselves to take Millie out walking, it was nowhere to be found. Not in the garden or yard, not in the car, not in, on, under, or between any items in my home.

Luckily, not much has happened in the days intervening. Plus, I have several more videos in the cue to finish editing and uploading, so it's probably a good thing that I took a break from filming.

Here's a short one, with updates on my chemo side effect concerns over neuropathy, and the latest on my getting called to the principal's office for vlogging in the hospital.

More of my videos here.

There is much more to tell you, including the fact that I'm suddenly inundated with new work from old clients (three of them). But this means that further updates will have to wait. All my free time hence forth will go into turning the house upside-down in a desperate and probably doomed attempt to find the missing camera before I give in and go buy a replacement. At which time, of course, the missing camera will demurely peek out from its napping place in my sock drawer or potting shed or wherever it is so maddeningly hiding.

For now, I'll leave you with this apparently well-known quote. No one knows who first said it, but it's a good one. I saw it for the first time today:

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning how to dance in the rain."

Hope you all find occasion to dance today.

Radiation Anticipation

2011-05-10T15:40:00.000-04:00

More of my videos here.

This video about covers it - J~ and I debriefing after our first appointment with the local Radiation Oncologist.

Four more weeks of chemo (three more treatments - I had my most recent yesterday) and then a three-week break to get me set up to begin radiation. Five and a half weeks of that (twenty-eight treatments in all). If all goes according to plan, I'll be done by August.

Yesterday J~ and I ran into a friend while walking Millie in the park. Something in our conversation sparked the realization that I never think about five years out, how I might feel if I get to that point and I'm still cancer free. It's an important milestone in cancer survivorship, generally regarded as the threshold after which the chance of recurrence drops - doesn't go away, but drops.

In the midst of all that's going on now, it's hard to imagine that I will ever hit that milestone. It feels safer to keep breathing my way through each challenge as it arises, living in the moment, savoring all that is good and present in my life right now rather than pinning my heart on a future uncertainty.

Besides, what if I get there and then have a recurrence three months later?

Ideally, I won't notice the five year mark passing, I'll be too busy and healthy and happy and engaged in life.

I asked J~ if he thinks about the five year mark. "Oh yes," he nodded, "I told you before." And then he said something in a quiet singsong, his little dream for me. "Hartford Marathon, 2020."

Last time he mentioned this I laughed it off without making the connection that this date had any particular significance. This time I laughed it off again, assuring him in no uncertain terms that I will never run a marathon.The idea of running an entire 26.2 miles, not to mention all the miles of training leading up to it, seems to me grueling, boring, not at all who I am.

Then again, I never thought I'd run a half-marathon, let alone enjoy it. I never thought I'd ride a bicycle 100 miles in one day, let alone six times over in a single season. I never thought my life would take all the various unexpected twists and turns it has taken in the years since I began this blog. Who knows. Perhaps I'll be running that marathon after all, feeling strong and vibrant and joyously grateful to be alive, and sharing the journey right here on this blog.

Time will tell.

The Latest Vlogs

2011-05-05T20:35:00.002-04:00

Two posts today - the one below seemed complete without the videos, so I'm adding this as a PS: the days leading up to my most recent Tour de Chemo, and then the most recent treatment day, Chemo #12.

More of my videos here.

Four

2011-05-05T20:30:00.001-04:00

If all goes well I'll be done with chemo in just four more weekly treatments.

Next up: radiation, five days a week for five and a half weeks, 28 treatments in all. Originally, the plan was twenty-five treatments beginning two weeks after chemo ends, but the daily two-hour commute seemed daunting so I switched doctors, and now the plan is for twenty-eight treatments, and a three-week layover.

Putting aside the the fact that I won't be done until August when I originally thought June, it is still so good to know that there is an end to all this cancer hassle and that it is fast approaching.

Radiation scares me. It raises my chances of inducing another cancer by 1%, which doesn't sound like much until you consider that it only lowers my chances of a breast cancer recurrence, and only in the radiated area, by 5%. And there are other long-term risks to consider as well.

I don't have answers for any of this today, or even the mental energy to devote to contemplating the questions. So, for now, I'll focus on this moment's treasures. Four of them:

Abundance. I feel so gratified observing all the dry goods in my kitchen, the jars of rice and beans and noodles, nuts and dried fruit, spices and teas. I recently rooted through all of it, organizing and consolidating and cleaning. I felt good doing it, thankful that I have so much, that I live in a time and place where I never lack for food.

My husband. He holds me and laughs with me, creates a mellow, love-filled home with me, and feels, as I do, so blessed by our bond. Oh, and also, he's a really good kisser.

Friends. Today's example - I wanted a bike ride today but not alone. S~ not only showed up on short notice to ride with me, but with food he'd made just for me that morning: spicy chana masala (chick pea and tomato curry) and fragrant basmati rice scented with cardamon, neatly packed in a grocery bag and still warm. Plus a half-dozen eggs from his own chickens.

At home later, hungry and cold, I took a hot shower, threw together a side salad of spinach, jicima, and celery, and ate hearty.

Furry cuteness. You know who you are.

My life — granted, a bit more endangered than I once thought — is still quite sweet.

Back on Track...

2011-05-03T08:56:00.000-04:00

...with videos anyway...

This one contains a plea to women everywhere using public restrooms. A beautiful gift from a friend. And other powerful moments of baldness.

More of my videos here.

Chemo Shmemo

2011-05-02T21:52:00.001-04:00

I hate chemo.

I had my twelfth chemotherapy treatment today.

I wasn't in the mood. In fact, I was in a no good very bad irrationally angry mood. I was a hater.

I hated being at the cancer center, hated seeing all the sickly people and their wheelchairs, walkers, oxygen tubes in their noses, wearing terrible wigs, looking all shades of green-yellow-pale. I hated the patients who appeared to be healthy too, with thick, real hair as if chemo never touched them. Even one woman with short short hair but a full scalp of it, and a beatific smile. How dare she be flaunting that hair growth in front of me? And the doctors sauntering through in their sharp outfits and lab coats as if cancer could never touch them personally.

Of course this isn't true, but this is how it looked to me in my bad mood moment.

My hatred knew no bounds. I hated the chatty woman at the front desk who put the plastic ID bracelet on me so loose it fell off as soon as I put my arm down. I hated the television going on and on about the killing of Osama Bin Laden, the caption on the screen announcing that he'd been shot through his left eye. Why do I need to know that? I don't want to know that. It was all I could do not to hate my husband for his tender, tentative overtures of support while I sat seething in my waiting room chair.

Most of all I hated that I was allowing yet another needle, yet another series of pills. What I wanted was some brave voice of reason and authority, someone to come in and grab me by the arm and say, This is crazy, you don't belong in this place. Let's get you out of here! And I wanted to believe that fantasy rescuer really knew what was best. I wanted to take that hand and run and believe it was the right thing to do.

It felt like it truly was right to run but I wasn't brave enough to do it. No one was supporting me to do it. Therefore, I hated them all.

Especially myself.

At the same time it felt like I, if I let myself notice anyone's kindness, I would cry and cry and cry and collapse on the floor screaming. I'd get up and throw furniture through windows and hit people, shove them all, even the sick ones. I would blame everyone around me for what is happening to me. Leave me alone! It's not my fault! I hate you all!

Um, just a tad bit inappropriate.

So instead, I tried to diffuse the anger by letting just a little love in, letting myself notice just a little bit that people care and wish they could help, letting a few tears leak out.

And I submitted yet again to the dreaded routine.

And now it's done.

Four more to go.

Tonight. I'm convinced my hair is coming in white, or at least mostly white. J~ doesn't think so.

This is from a few days ago. Looks pretty white to me...

You go girl. No hate for Millie.

After #10, Before #11

2011-04-30T17:09:00.000-04:00

Between Chemo #10 and #11. More of my videos here.

Temptation

2011-04-28T11:19:00.004-04:00

Easter desserts.

Easter at my mother's house: beautiful surroundings, beloved company, a good, healthy meal, and, as is typically the case with holidays and social gatherings that center around food, too much dessert.

Easter dinner offerings: butternut squash and asparagus.

I know a few people who can sit in front of a table loaded with temptation and make relaxed and rational choices, but there are so many of us who can't. Sweet and fatty treats are fun, but so is humor, a nice cup of tea, a bowl of raspberries.

How did we get to the point where anything short of excess seems meager?

I would like to change this dynamic. I'm not anti-treat. It's just that I would like everything I offer my loved ones to be supportive of their health.

Macaroons. My sister-in-law made these, and a special plate just for me of the chocolate ones, gluten- and sugar-free.

As for myself, with so little that I can control about my health these days, the little that I can control feels supremely important. I am hyper-aware of the connection between cancer and diet, and between estrogen, the primary hormone driving my particular cancer, and excess body fat. I'm concerned about the international obesity epidemic and how this plays out in my own family. And I'm especially attuned to my own struggle to strike a balance between eating just enough of the treats on offer so as not to feel deprived but not so much that I regret it after.

It feels like a sinister game of limbo. Temptations multiply while the out-of-bounds regret line moves steadily closer to "not one bite." Wherever I set the line, once I've crossed it, and I almost always do, I feel a quiet, underground panic as I feel my resolve and sense of control slipping away. I can't be the only one. Why do we do this to each other?

In order to escape doing harm to my body I find myself pressed up against the emotional mirage of deprivation. It is most definitely a mirage. I know this. I am well and plenty fed. The only real lack is of the relaxed and pleasant conversation (or not so relaxed but all the more essential sharing) that might fill a gathering not so centered around food.

On Easter Sunday, I failed as usual to find the (forgive the pun) sweet spot between indulgence and regret, but I had my camera along and managed to push away from my plate in search of photogenic distractions.

Thanks to mother nature and my own mother's talent for beauty, I managed to find plenty.

Glasses.

A neighbor.

Eying the bird feeder.

A kitchen window.

Avocado pits, poised for sprouting.

My mother's china cabinet.

Holiday dinner aftermath.

Out the back door.

Wreath.

Back home, trying something new: horned melon. Bright orange outside, jewel-green inside.
Grassy tasting, mildly sweet, a bit like honeydew only slimier and seedier.
Okay, I admit it. Not my favorite.

A treat at my house: cashew cream (in the food-processor: tofu, cashew butter, lemon juice, agave nectar, vanilla, nutmeg) served with fresh passion fruit.

The Latest

2011-04-22T10:12:00.000-04:00

In this video: Chemo takes it's toll again. Plus Millie gets a haircut, and an ode to the butcher shop.

More of my videos here.

The Shift

2011-04-21T19:28:00.002-04:00

Something is shifting. I was getting better, and in some ways I still am (improved sex drive, for one, and my hair is returning), but at the same time I am also losing ground. My stamina, my stomach, even the taste in my mouth have taken a turn for the unpleasant. It's a subtle shift, nowhere near as all-consuming and overpowering as in the Adriamycin and Cytoxan days. But it's disappointing and depressing nonetheless.

And confusing.

I feel energetic, yet rundown at the same time. Good yet bad.

Maybe I've been recovering from the A/C all this time, meanwhile, Taxol is beginning to take its own unique toll.

Perhaps foolishly I had thought the improving trend would continue throughout the remainder of my six weeks of chemotherapy. I let myself imagine an expanding sense of well-being in the weeks ahead, fantasizing about how I'd spend the riches of my increasing energy. Today I'm realizing that I must continue to assess myself moment by moment, let go of expectations both good and worrisome, and make more room for self-nurturing.

So, toward that end, I'm lounging on the couch with my sweet dog, watching a movie on half the laptop screen while writing this message on the other half.

The rest I'll share in pictures - a selection of meals from the last week, and moments with my beloved man and beast...

Another vlog on the way, it's uploading right now. Check my Youtube channel for the latest.

Last night's dinner: red calypso beans, roasted red pepper hummus (this kind), steamed Swiss chard, tempeh sauteed with garlic, tamari, dill, and nutritional yeast, raw butternut squash, and purple cabbage with fresh ginger lightly steam-sauteed in a splash of water/rice vinegar and a hint of agave nectar.

Another dinner: Local salad greens, steamed broccoli, black beans, squash and potato puree (more on that one here), with a dressing made from blended tofu, fresh dill, lemon juice, sea salt, onion powder, and the sweet herb, stevia.

This one was a lunch: steamed kale with sliced onions and portabellas sauteed in balsamic vinegar, pecan-raisin rice toast (this kind), and a dressing of tahini, lemon, sea salt, and smoked paprika.

The best nose in town.

My cuties.

Hair! Two days ago. J~ says there's already much more.

This one goes way back: the soup is this one, plus red miso, spinach, and peas.

Rainbow salad: kidney beans, dandelion greens, purple cabbage, red pepper, avocado, and jicima with tahini dressing.

And for dessert...

Stress Relief and Water Balloons

2011-04-20T10:32:00.003-04:00

Chemo #10. More of my videos here.

A friend who has both a daughter and husband with cancer asked me this morning how I feel when people complain to me about their comparatively insignificant life trials and tribulations. It's a good and interesting question, and we took it on together, deciding that the truth is, for both of us, it depends.

Whether it's cancer or a hangnail, we all have issues that deserve our attention, and we all have moments (some of us more than others) when we truly don't have the bandwidth to deal with anyone else but ourselves.

I imagine our capacity to deal with emotional stress like a water balloon - the balloon is the container, the level of liquid inside reflects the amount of undischarged stress we're carrying around. Sometimes there's relatively little stress and the balloon is thick and flexible. We have slack; we can take a lot of poking without getting upset. But other times, when the balloon is full and taut, the tiniest little pin prick will cause the balloon's contents to come spurting out.

A part of healthy self-maintenance is intentionally emptying the balloon at regular intervals. The best way I know is to talk about it (with someone who has slack for listening, of course.) We don't have to depend on a crisis to come along and poke a hole in our armor, or to excuse us for taking up space with our emotions, nor do we need to pick a fight. Though perhaps a water balloon fight would be a fun way of doing it... Something to consider as the weather warms up!

Hard to Believe

2011-04-18T16:05:00.003-04:00

Pureed butternut squash, potato, parsnip, and Brussels sprouts with rosemary. Served here with fresh cracked pepper and a dollop of lemony garlicky hummus. You can see the origins of this dish in the video below.

Meet my Mom in this one. And the beginning of the meal above. More of my videos here.

It's hard to believe I've completed 10 chemotherapy treatments. If you include radiation, there are twelve weeks of treatment ahead of me. It's hard to imagine this will ever end. I am so so so ready to put this behind me.

Feeling under the weather today. Felt great this weekend. The roller coaster continues...

On positivity. More of my videos here.

The Chemotherapy Countdown Continues

2011-04-17T22:51:00.001-04:00

Six chemotherapy treatments remain of sixteen.

Finally a number I can wrap my brain around. Six is a mere handful, soon to be five four three two one — done. With a single pesky exception (neuropathy - more on that later) every week on Taxol I feel better than the week before. I don't crash mid-cycle like I did a few weeks ago. My appetite and sense of taste are normalizing. My hair, just a pale fuzz thus far, is slowly coming back. Even my sex drive is reemerging.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I feel like the picture of glowing health. My blood counts are still low and I truly feel it. It's like I'm perpetually coming down with something bad and tomorrow is when I'll really be sick.

But compared to Adriamycin and Cytoxan, my first chemo drugs, this is a walk in the park.

Except for the neuropathy, that is, and even that isn't so bad.

Every day I down a huge arsenal of supplements - B vitamins (1, 6, and 12), amino acids (L-Gluatmine and Acetyl-L-Carnetine, three times a day), vitamins E and D3, chlorella, several probiotics, and eight bitter little black pellets of a Chinese herbal concoction called "Ten Flavors" that is supposed to help with my blood counts.

At first these seemed to be helping quite a bit, but right now, I'm not so sure. My fingers and toes feel tingly and hot as I type. I fear I'll be switched to Taxotere, a related drug that tends to cause less neuropathy, but with other, harsher side effects. I also fear my doctor will keep me at a lower dose of Taxol. What does that mean for my prognosis? No way of knowing.

One day at a time, I guess.

Which reminds me, this week I will not be receiving chemo on Friday as I usually do. The cancer center I use is part of a Catholic hospital. Friday this week is a holiday. So from now on —a mere six weeks more — I will receive chemo on Mondays.

Eighty Percent

2011-04-14T22:07:00.003-04:00

Not so bloggity this week, sorry folks, but plenty vloggity. I've been busy with getting the word out about the t-shirt fundraiser (it's not too late to order one!) and collating orders - fifty-one and counting! I'm very pleased.

Living the Good Life, Cancer or Not. More of my videos here.

Chemo tomorrow. I'll be getting less than a full dose again, thanks to a resurgence of the neuropathy issue. My palms and the soles of my feet feel like I've been slapping them against pavement - hypersensitive, tingly and hot. After two weeks at eighty percent, last week I was given almost ninety. This week I was supposed to go back up to a hundred but instead I'm going back down to eighty.

I was worrying over this today, fretting about how all these drugs will impact me long-term, fearing my doctor will want to switch me to a different, harsher drug (that has less neuropathy issues). So all in all, I'm all right with the 80%.

And, on the bright side, it is nice to notice I'm assuming there will be a long-term to fret over.

My old friend F~ visited today, haven't seen her in many years. She's become a massage therapist, brought her table along and set it up in my living room. I'm here to say she's become a mighty fine massage therapist. Lucky me.

My stepson is on a school trip for a week - good to have the space on my own, and space to be with J~ uninterrupted, good also to notice the boy is growing up. Not worried about him one bit.

On deck this weekend: Millie gets a full-on sheering, I will bike again, and J~ and I will take some romantic time alone. If you're thinking that means roses and candlelight, it might. But then again, we tend to feel especially romantic in Home Depot, so who knows.

Before and After: Chemotherapy #9

2011-04-12T12:46:00.000-04:00

Before. (More of my videos here.)

After. (More of my videos here.)

Recipe for Progress

2011-04-11T21:41:00.002-04:00

Only three ingredients needed:

1. A specific and realistic goal, the smaller the better.
2. A deadline, the sooner the better.
3. Accountability. Just one person will do. Someone to hold you to it.

Jicima salad: mixed greens, almonds, black and kidney beans, carrot, red onion, tahini-balsamic dressing.

Mushroom, chick pea, zucchini, and parsnip soup, plus spinach.

I want to publish a cookbook. I've wanted this for a ridiculously long time. I have a very specific idea for the book and have put a ridiculous amount of work into it over a ridiculous number of years, but for some reason, I don't get any closer to getting it done. In fact, the closer I get, the more important it seems that I clean out the coat closet and get my underwear drawer organized to perfection.

I mentioned to my brother J~ that I'm struggling with this and he said, "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Next thing I knew, I had homework, and a deadline.

My goal this week is an outline, just one page, a very rough bare bones sketch of the book.

The deadline? Tomorrow. I'm giving myself until the end of the day.

Progress so far? Let's just say I've gotten a lot of other long-avoided chores done, and my kitchen is very clean.

What will happen if I don't come through? Nothing.

But nothing is not good. I'm sick of nothing. It's time to stick my neck out - for something.

So today I broke out the dusty cookbook files. And tomorrow I will have a lot of work to do.

The Day I Found Out

2011-04-09T20:23:00.001-04:00

I was asked to make a video about the day I found out I have cancer for a web site aptly named The Day I Found Out. The site has been up for some time now in an older format and will relaunch soon. You, my dear and loyal bloggites, get a sneak peak:

More of my videos here.

Another One Bites the Dust

2011-04-08T18:33:00.001-04:00

And another one down and another one down... Seven more chemo cycles remain. I'm home now, on the couch, feeling Benadryl-dopey. Until I'm sharp and peppy and focused enough to write a real blog post, allow me to entertain you with two videos: last week's musical revue and my most recent Breast Cancer video Diary. Happy weekend everybody!

PS. Don't forget to order your t-shirt if you want one. Orders close April 17th.

The Edna Project: Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay set to music.
The band is a mother, father, and son. How old is that kid? He's good!

After Chemo #8. More of my videos here.

Resistance and the Power of Intention

2011-04-07T09:09:00.003-04:00

J~'s royal Sunday breakfast: A castle built of buckwheat pancakes, tahini, plain organic yogurt, sliced banana, and raspberries, surrounded by a moat of maple syrup.

My more humble fare: green apple, celery, radicchio, and ground flax. Nothing more. Just right.
(Not that I don't like pancakes.)

When it comes to energy these days, I am on a budget. It used to be that a night's sleep was all it took to restore the bottomless well. I never had to parcel it out, never counted out the coins, reckoning, If I do this, I won't have energy for that. It's been a big adjustment and not always a graceful one.

The worst is when fear takes over and, though I've got energy to burn, even a thrifty walk around the block seems extravagant, perhaps outside my means.

I love how David Allen puts it: "Whatever has your attention needs your intention engaged." Lately my attention has been snagged on my own procrastination and the resulting sense of frustration and overwhelm.

I am happy to report that engaging intention works. As promised in my last post, I spent ten minutes before bed in management mode, nailing down my priorities for the coming day. Though the priorities shifted dramatically when I remembered a more pressing deadline, the self-manager perspective remained, and the day went well.

J~, a friend and admired fellow-swimmer urges me to pace myself, not to push push push. She has Multiple Sclerosis and credits the disease for this lesson, relearned again and again. But don't you ever have to push yourself to get to the pool? I asked.

Sometimes I resist for healthy reasons, I just don't have enough fuel in the tank. Other times the resistance is based on fear or some such dampening emotion. Often I can't tell the difference.

In asking, it occurred to me that perhaps there is a gentler way. Perhaps I can get to know my resistance, befriend it, diffuse it, address its concerns rather than barrel through. I'll have to think about this some more.

What do you think?

Just Like the Old Days

2011-04-05T21:26:00.003-04:00

More of my videos here.

Just like a typical off-kilter day pre-cancer, today I felt frustrated, unable to quite harness my time. The weather was restless, blustery, warm, spitting rain. I had surprisingly good energy but no trust that it would last, nor a clear trajectory in which to burn it off. Rather than plan, I drifted from one "I should do this" to another. Yes, I was crossing chores from my list, but not the ones that required real concentration or determination, not the ones that mattered most, and with good hours squandered along the way thanks to procrastination and indecision.

I rode the spin-bike instead of risking the run I craved in a downpour. Hours later, still no real rain in sight, I took the dog for a walk, only to get caught out in a downpour after all.

I even woke up wrong, to Millie barking in the yard and a bad dream fresh in mind, in which both my husband and I had taken up cigarette smoking. I became aware in turn that his smoking, unlike mine, was more than occasional, and that he was unwilling to address the stress underlying the habit. In fact, he wouldn't even look at me. I began to think maybe I couldn't stay in the relationship, and then it occurred to me that perhaps, unable to tell me he didn't want to be with me anymore, he was trying to drive me away. I saw myself in the mirror as this realization washed over me. My face was gray, my eyes were desolate, and my right breast, the one that no longer exists, was encrusted with boils.

Late this afternoon I bought chocolate, ate too much, felt sick, and had a big, long, overdue cry with one of my counselors. I also talked to my husband, who assured me he is not smoking and does not want out.

Lessons learned:

1. Make a plan. As an artist and a self-employed person solely responsible for structuring my days (almost), this is especially important. Tonight I will take ten minutes to think about tomorrow, to make some notes about my goals and priorities for the day.

2. Reassess, revise, and release the plan. Regularly. As a cancer patient, I need to do this more than ever. Something may sound right tonight, but tomorrow, the energy may be different.

3. Have fun. An old friend wrote on Facebook recently that she finally figured out how to get everything on her To Do list done: only put fun things on the list. This may not always be practical or possible, but it's worth striving for!

Babies or Not

Back in the Saddle

Comfort + Food

Catching Up on the Vlogs

When All Else Fails, Borscht

Tamoxifen and Textiles

Millie Likes Chicken

One Year Later: Live a Little

An Invitation

Full Disclosure

How to Improvise Miso Soup

Jugs

Obstacle Course

Life After Cancer

Sleeping Again

You are a Gift

Every Three Months

On the Radio

Life is Good

Blast From the Past

Famished

Wicked!

The Suspense is Killing Me

Can Wild Mushrooms Cure Cancer?

Very Nervous

Go For It

Awareness

Goodnight Irene

Mucho Mocho

Mastectomy and Beyond

Vlogging at NPR

Adventuring

One Big Giant Pumpkin

Tamoxification and Crazy Hair

Opportunity in Disguise

Mocho!

Tamoxifen Noob

On the Other Side

Dalai Lama Drama

Rosie the Attack Cat

Aftermath: Mastectomy, Radiation, Poodle

More Video...

I Am

Radiation Hints and Tamoxifen Limbo

The Good Side of Disaster

Radiation Reality

Triathlon #2

3-2-1 Blast Off

Updates Galore

Triathlon Triumph and Tamoxifen Dread

Radiation Begins

Run Bike Swim Eat

Hair and Other Post Traumatic Traumas

Hump Day

Vlogs are back! Breast cancer and beyond.

Routine

Countdown

Savor

Summer

Tagged

Poodles Make Life Better

Playing Hookie

I'm a Hoarder

The Spectrum

Chemo Retrospective

No More Rushing

Now is Now

Shock and Awe

Sharks

Gambling

A Long and Winding Road, Please

Catching Up

One More to Go!

Ragnar Relay

Life with Millie (and Breast Cancer)

Rolling

Fail Vlog

Red Flags on Parade

Chemo Fiasco

Next