I think I’ve mentioned, I spent the first 11 years of my adult life working in TV news here in Seattle.

In a Seattle TV newsroom, there is not a single 4-letter word more hated than the one they’ve been chatting up the last couple of days.

SNOW

My last day as an assignment editor was 6 years ago this month. It was a Sunday, since I was on the weekend shift and didn’t want to make someone else start working weekends sooner than necessary since I felt bad enough that I was leaving before Christmas… so on a Sunday morning, with 8 inches of snow on the ground at my house, I drove to work.  In news, that’s what you do. I even had a snow bag in my car- in case there was too much snow at my house (I live at 1000 ft above sea-level, we get more snow than most of Seattle) and I couldn’t make it home and then back to work.

For my first couple of years, I had a picture of the snowman my son made for me, complete with the baseball cap with TV station logo, on that last day of work, just to remind me on lousy days in PR, that at least no one expects me to drive through 8″ of snow on a Sunday.

I find myself needing to remember that now.

I’ve had a few things going on at work that I don’t feel are really worth sharing, and even if I did want to share, I’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement that I’d likely violate if I went into too much detail.

Let’s just leave it at, lately my job has been frustrating.

But I have friends, former colleagues, who will have to be up and “chasing snow” at 2am.  And I’m not on the desk tonight, getting calls from kids who would like to extend winter break just ONE MORE DAY, asking if school is closed at their house. Hours  before the snow is scheduled to start… like I’m freaking clairvoyant.

And last year, I was totally bald, and had 960cc, rock hard implants in my chest.

So even when I’m frustrated, I just need to remember that if THOSE days can pass, so can these.

<Transition- stick with me here, I’m going to tie it all back together>

Last night I was talking to my mom, who has just one more round of chemo to go, on Dec 31. She was feeling miserable from her 2nd to last infusion on Tuesday.  She was exhausted, lonely, and all of her bones were aching. I told her I get it. I’ve totally been there.  Literally.

But when I told her that, and that she can’t be hard on herself for taking a day off of work. And she told me she hates to complain to me because I’m going through so much worse.

First off, no. Yes, I had reconstruction, my chemo made me bald, and put me into early menopause, NONE of which I’d recommend to someone for fun.  But my mom hasn’t driven outside of Thurston County in YEARS because of her neuropathy. She still has major issues with both her hands and her feet.  I get how it’s harder to watch your kid be sick (even when said kid will turn 40 in just a few days), I would rather go through my whole ordeal again than to see my son sick.

BUT

I have decided to declare 2014 the year of no-cancer-one-upmanship!

I have a very dear friend who I met doing volunteer work when we were in high school. This year she had a brain tumor removed. And yes, I was HUGELY relieved to hear it was benign. But evidently people have said to her things like, “oh, I’m so glad it’s not a big deal, just it was just benign.”

WTF PEOPLE? IT’S A FREAKING BRAIN TUMOR!

The fact that it was benign doesn’t mean she didn’t need BRAIN SURGERY. Another friend and former colleague, Kathi Goertzen, had the same kind of tumor. She fought it for 14 years, and eventually it took her life.  Benign or no, it’s scary shit.

So, just because I had the “cool” cancer of the boobs instead of Mom’s cancer of the colon, or my friend’s “just benign” tumor of the head, it doesn’t mean that my cancer, or either of their cancers, are any less.

Cancer is truly like a snowflake.

Every single one is a little bit different. Which is why it’s so hard to eradicate, even if, like me, someone can be “cured.” Every person’s body reacts differently to treatment. Every time you get a treatment can even be different.

Just because I’m more open than many people about the road I’ve been on does not mean my journey was harder or easier.

For all of the survivors that I know, it’s more about how you react to the falling snow.

I chose to give thanks for the quality of my shovel, and to keep on plowing along.

The best news I got Monday is that I don’t have a brain tumor.

There was significantly more news, but that’s been a cloud looming over my head for longer than I’d care to admit.

So I’ll back up a second- Monday I took the full day off work.  I started with an Echocardiogram and a visit to my cardiologist, who I hadn’t seen in 3 years. I was due last year, but as I told him, I think the Echo would have hurt like hell with the tissue expanders in.  I have a bicuspid aortic valve, it’s a congenital heart condition, and as long as there’s no change in how it’s leaking or the way my body has compensated by creating a minor aortic aneurism just past the valve, it’s really not that big of a deal. Not to mention, I was a little distracted by the whole chemo thing.

I chose to schedule it for Monday, because it was tattoo day. No, not some cool tattoo to commemorate my journey… but circles on my chest that make the gummy bear filled flesh lumps that fill my bra actually look like boobs. (See a cool article about both kinds here.)  It’s amazing what a difference it makes. It’s funny, I told the PA who did the work that the color she mixed (a combo of Flesh 4, Mauve and Mocha) was similar to a lipstick I have… and now that I confirmed that it’s a lipstick I still own, I remembered it’s one I only wear when I’m particularly ashen. Otherwise it doesn’t look like I’m wearing anything, it matches my lips so closely.

If you’ll remember, the last time I saw my doc in September, he asked me to tell him if the headaches didn’t get better.  And since I’d already scheduled both an Echo and the Tattoos, I also booked my quarterly visit with Dr. Gadi.  And called his nurse to see if he still wanted to do a scan before the visit.  So Tuesday morning before Thanksgiving, I had a brain MRI with contrast. And for 7 days, I had to wait.

On one hand, since I’ve been having darn close to daily headaches which have been more intense than ever for the last 6-8 months, just knowing what might be causing the problem would be a relief. But REALLY? A heart murmur, breast cancer, my mom’s colon cancer. I’m just not ready for one more thing.

So yes, it was more than a small relief to learn that I still don’t have a tumor.

However, I do still have the headaches.

Our going theory right now is that the increased headaches are either because I’m entering menopause, a side effect of the Tamoxifen, or a combo of both.  Or, again, as I pointed out to my doc, since I’ve been having stress headaches for more than 15 years, it could just be that.

That’s actually why it’s taken so long to write about Monday. I’ve had enough of a headache every day this week that by the time I get done with work hours, I just can’t stand to stare at my PC and type something out that involves any thought.

So the next course of action is to switch me off of Tamoxifen and on to an aromatase inhibitor.  My doc says the survival rate is actually better on them, but they are only OK to be on post-menopause.  Evidently, some women still get periods on Tamoxifen, so I needed to do the full year to confirm that I’m there. I’m there.

Starting in the morning, I’ll be taking Arimidex.  I don’t know much about it… I’m still in that weird limbo-y place where I’m doing a lot less research than I’d ever expect of myself, but I’m really hoping this will help with the headaches.

The last new thing my doc & I talked about was my continued problems with sleep.  I don’t know that I’ve had more than a handful of full nights of sleep since I found the lump. That can’t help things like headaches.

So he gave me info from a study on how yoga can help cancer survivors with sleep issues.  Once I find the right class and give it a try, I’ll let you know.

In the meantime, I’ll hope that switching up my meds will help me get out of my head.

I’ve been in a funk for a couple of weeks, and it occurred to me today that maybe I need to spew it out here.

There are so many things I’ve had to say, but then I get tired of looking at a computer, and don’t. But the biggest thing I’ve got going on is an identity crisis.

A couple of weeks ago, I dragged my buns into Seattle on a Friday night to see a bunch of my old TV friends, and it was pretty great. But there was one silly thing that keeps bugging me.  One of my old photogs, someone I worked with on a nearly daily basis for seven years, didn’t ever say hi, although there weren’t very many people when I got there. There’s no way I’ve done something to make him angry… and he’s one of those really nice people who you just don’t ever expect to snub you.

Pair that with a conversation I had a couple of months ago where I was sitting next to someone who works in a different office (but I spent a couple of days with her in person when she started at the agency a couple of years ago, and was on her team for longer than that).  The conversation went like this:

Her: Hi, I’m <her name>

Me: Yeah you are!  I’m Ange. We worked together on XX. (No, I wasn’t TRYING to be a snot, it was just one of those moments where the words just start to come out of your mouth before you realize how they sound…)

So it occurs to me that maybe the simple change of my hair is really enough that people don’t recognize me?  Yes, I’ve changed my makeup a bit, and I wear more dangly earrings, but yeah. Same clothes. Same dimply smile. In general, same body.

But my identity crisis doesn’t quite stop there.

I’ve been using the pic of me in my special ninja hat as a profile pic for a year now. But I’m not that bald chick anymore.

I’ve thought about putting back up my favorite pic of me with my kid, laughing. But I’m not her anymore either.

So I’m stuck in this limbo, where there are days I look in the mirror, and I don’t identify that face as me.

The other identity question I’ve been asking myself lately… will breast cancer define who I am for the rest of my life?  After all, I don’t have cancer today.  And that’s the plan for all of my tomorrows.

Since my real boobs were so much a part of my identity before, I can’t imagine my faux ones won’t be a big part of my identity in the future.  And cancer is how I learned that I am a ninja. Not only can I do this, I have done this.

But the part I have to remember is that my boobs never were ALL of who I was, so they are not all of who I am now.

I can never again be who I was a year, or even five years ago.

I will continue to move onward.

Not sure why it took me half of the month, but it occurred to me yesterday morning.

All of these people all over the place are wearing pink to promote “breast cancer awareness” this month.

For all of the days of this same month, our government has been shut down, meaning the National Institutes of Health has been shut down.  Wearing pink does not cure cancer.  The researchers at the NIH are working to CURE CANCER, or make it so the treatment isn’t worse than the disease.

And not just of the boobies, like I had, but the cervix or colon like my mom.  Or skin like my grandpa, lung like my grandma, or leukemia like my grandpa on the other side.

Here’s a great article that Scientific American reposted from the journal Nature on what’s happening there while the government remains shut down.  “NIH Campus Endures Slow Decay Due to Shutdown”

So unless you really NEED that pink tie, or skis, or TACO SHELLS, don’t bother to get them to make the ninja happy.

Contact your congressional delegates instead, and remind them that they work for YOU.  And you’d like them to fund the NIH NOW.

For as long as I can remember, my favorite color has been a shade of red. In first grade, it was officially light pink, then evolved to a deeper magenta, or the ruby red of my car, a handbag, water bottle, and often my nails.  From a purplish wine color, to salmon or coral, I love shades of red and pink.

Therefore, even before breast cancer touched my boobs so I kicked it’s ass, I have a fair amount of pink in my wardrobe.  Colleagues were funny, a couple mentioning “OH, and you’re even wearing a pink dress” on the day I told them about the big C.  It wasn’t a new dress, just a favorite. Something that made me feel comfortable and feminine and pretty as I told them about the upcoming fight of my life.

So since I’m a fan of things that are pink, I’ve often picked up stuff for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  But my rule has always been, it’s either something I wanted anyway like my Specialized Ruby in Komen, no matter the “cause,” or it gives significantly to a charity I support.  Some of those charities are about awareness, early detection and action, like Bright Pink, others focus more on supporting survivors, like the Young Survival Coalition, and my favorites are those that do research towards ending the disease, or even the effects of the “cure” like the  Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation and her Health of Women study, or even the Fred Hutch, which has full access to more of my tissue than they bargained for, thanks to my treatment at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.

But there’s a lot of “pink-washing” out there. And although I appreciate that the NFL has gotten a couple of extra women to check their ta-tas and realize they’ve got something to show their doctor, I actually kind of hate the whole thing.  I truly and honestly believe that the NFL should spend November focused on Domestic Violence Awareness Month instead.  That’s something that awareness CAN help to cure… and each and every one of us can be a part of stopping.  Anyone can report something that looks wrong, or offer a helping hand. Not everyone can find a better cure for cancer, no matter which part of the body it chooses to attack. {{stepping off soapbox}}

So that brings me to my little dilemma. A friend asked if my son’s football team is wearing pink socks, as her nephew’s team is doing, for BCAM.  First off, my son’s team wears head to toe red. They’d go from being the Mt. Si Wildcats to the Mt. Si Valentines. But second- why are we getting 8-10 year old boys to wear pink? Does it give me a tiny warm fuzzy, sure, but do the boys really need new socks, sweatbands, gloves… etc.? Probably not.

Last year, some of the other moms got some stickers, hats, and a few other pink things for the team during the last game of the season. A couple of the boys are still sporting the stickers, because they were kind of hard to get off.  I really appreciated it. It made me feel loved, and I’d think made my boys feel supported at a very hard time for us. I was 1/2 way through chemo. I was all the way bald.

But this year, I’m the team mom.  So even if I bought 17 pairs of pink socks, what good would that do anyone?  And wouldn’t that make things, again, about me?

But a couple of weeks ago, they started doing recognition/reward stickers on the boy’s helmets. And after searching high and low, I found a set that are little pink ribbons.  Not any bigger than the stars or footballs, and theoretically as easy to remove.  They’re supposed to arrive in the mail today or tomorrow.

My plan is to hand the sheet of stickers over to the coaches… and if they want me to explain anything to the boys, of course I would. But I still feel like it’s a little self serving.

After all, I’m the one whose favorite color is pink. 🙂

I’ve always found the lead of a story (or a blog) one of the hardest things to write, likely because I know how important a good hook is. Right now I’m feeling more pressure than usual because I’m expecting a little spike in traffic.

I’ve written a Breast Cancer Awareness Month blog for the public site at my PR agency, Waggener Edstrom Worldwide, so I’d guess there will be a few new people who will find my little ramblings.  Welcome!

The coolest thing about writing this particular post is that it gave me a chance to reflect on the past year.  It seems so hard to believe I was already undergoing chemo a year ago.  I was starting to lose my hair.

But the thing that I feel like I’ve forgotten a little bit in the last few months, as I’ve struggled with what’s next for me.

I talked recently about somehow not feeling worthy.  But I’ve forgotten the simple fact, that it means I’m lucky.  I found it early.  I’m going to be fine.

The other thing I wrote the post for was to submit to LeanIn,org, which meant I had a word limit… and don’t feel like I got to make my real point.  Yes, oversharing in ways that are way outside my comfort zone is my way of “leaning in.” But my truth, the thing that I’ve learned time and time again this year, has been left out.

Life is for living.

It’s that simple.  Sure, when you’re having a lousy day, it would be easy to wallow. When you, say, find a lump, it would be easy to curl up.

But if you face it head on, fight, but keep living your every day life, it’s worth it.  Show up for work, for your kid’s sports, for a night out with the girls.

For me, everywhere I’ve been, I’ve been met with love and people cheering me on.

Not what I was ever asking for, but it sure does help!

So yeah, I said I would post after my surgery… but I didn’t say WHEN I would post, right?

Still can’t think of a better word than surreal for having two doctors create nipple nubs on my faux-boobies while we chat about things like the fact that my plastic surgeon is wearing a white dress and black heels, things to think of when naming children, and whatever else came to mind during the 90 min procedure.

When I left, I was given a set of foam “protector” pads, which I was to wear at all times, except in the shower. They also gave me a second set, as I had to wear until I came back two weeks later when I  was to get my stitches out.  It looked to me like I had on nursing pads… although I did a pretty good job of keeping something loose or patterned on top so that no one else would notice.

Two weeks later, nylon stitches out, and I still needed to wear the pads for 2 more weeks. Sigh. This went fine, and I finally got to dump them this week  but I’m now having a little surgical complication… the scar under my right arm doesn’t seem to want to heal up.  Last weekend it started to hurt, and it is now re-opened about 1/2 inch.  Luckily, I was able to e-mail my doc a picture & she says it’s fine, just “normal wound care.” (aka, not infected, but kind of hurts)

So there’s my month in a nutshell.  I also have the tattoo session scheduled, Dec 3.

The other excitement this week was my quarterly visit with Dr. Gadi.  He reassured me that all is still going well, although there’s still no testing to do to make sure that really is still the case.  I’ve had a couple of people ask me if I’m “in remission” now, and as I thought, that’s not the proper term for Breast Cancer — it’s more of a term for something more systemic like Leukemia or Lymphoma. For Breast Cancer, we say I am N.E.D. No evidence of disease.

So that’s where I’m at. NED. Dr. Gadi wants me to keep track of the headaches that I’ve been having, which are most likely either a side effect of VagiFem, or a side effect of LIFE, and not something more sinister.

The final thing he had me do at this visit was a blood test for FSH or Follicle-Stimulating Hormone. Evidently this spikes when you go into menopause… and since it’s been a year since I’ve had a period, I could officially be there. I got the test results Saturday, but without any context I don’t really know what they mean.  If I am all the way in menopause, then he will likely switch me from Tamoxifen to something else, but I don’t think that would take away the hot flashes, special memory moments, or atrophy down south.  I’m a little scared of the extra time in menopause and the toll it can take on my body to not have estrogen, but I’m in this for the long haul.  I need to not borrow trouble.

Finally- I’ve picked out my Halloween costume this year, in large part based on my lack of need for a wig to pull it off.

There are worse things I could do

I feel guilty sometimes for not writing more often.  After all, if I don’t write, my parents and the 3 or so other people who follow me regularly don’t have the latest.

But more often, I feel like maybe I should quit.  There’s not so much that’s interesting to say these days. And my reflex to belittle my own experience kicks in.  Shouldn’t someone who had it harder than I be the one people are hearing from?  I was only stage IA. People keep telling me I’m brave or awesome or whatever.  And that isn’t why I’ve been sharing.

I reassure myself, that even if people are friends on Facebook where I tend to post links, they have every choice not to click if they don’t want to listen to me babble. But to me, babbling is like breathing.  It’s just something that I do. And I still feel like if there’s one person, survivor, family member, whatever, who I can help, then I’m babbling for a cause.

So then I get all twisted up in a vicious, guilty-if-I-don’t-write, but guilty-if-I-take-time-away-from-anything-else-to-write, cycle.  Because if I write, I’m taking time that’s all about me. Since this blog is, in fact, all about me.

So I’m officially telling my self to suck it up, and let go of guilt either way.  If anyone wants an update & I haven’t posted, I’m pretty easy to get ahold of. And if anyone doesn’t want to read, it’s pretty damn easy to not open the link.

Because to lie to all of you, that’s the thing I’d never do.

I promise I’ll write more after the procedure tomorrow since I feel like I have more questions than info about tomorrow’s surgery where I get the bumpy part of my new nipples.  Tattoos will come later to get the color of the areola.

Here’s a site where you can learn more about such procedures… they used to do what sounds like some unpleasant skin grafts. I’ll leave it at that.

Other updates, since it’s been more than a month…

The vagi-fem seems to be helping the dryness and I’m pretty sure I don’t have a yeast infection, but it also may be causing headaches. Woo hoo.

I tried hot yoga for the first time. The breathing was the hardest part… and I am not very good a shutting down my brain. I am planning to try it again once I heal, although there were gross moments, like when I changed positions and sweat that was running down my face went up my nose.

I really don’t like sweating.

My other big first of the last month is that I wore a strapless dress for the first time.  It was odd, but a little freeing.

I haven’t been writing much, because there still isn’t much to say.  I go through the occasional manic moment, but in general, I spend a lot of time in MEH.

I’m hoping that getting through this milestone will help.

It’s hard to believe it, but a year ago today I got the call from SCCA with the biopsy results confirming in my heart what I already knew.

I had breast cancer.

I told a friend yesterday, it’s much like being a mom, or the last 20+ years with my husband, in some ways it feels like it happened yesterday.  In others, it feels like that moment in the shower where I found the lump was a lifetime ago.

Sometimes, I looks back, and it doesn’t seem like any of what I read in my blog happened to me, but to someone else who I know. (Then I peek down my shirt, still big ass scars… guess that WAS me!)

I went to my first Face 2 Face meeting of a survivors support group from the YSC, and it was great although still a little surreal. One of the ladies there mentioned that in some ways it may have been a good thing. She has a better appreciation for life and it’s brevity. That we all have an expiration date.

I think that’s true for me too.

I don’t necessarily think I’m a better person. However, I do think I’m more.

I try even harder to make sure I tell people I love them.

I try to appreciate the little things like quiet moments (or, since I live with a 10 year old boy, loud and crazy moments) with my son and/or husband, or even the dog.

I make a point of reaching out, not just via Facebook likes, but I’m trying harder to show up in person.

I do the best that I can to not sweat the small stuff, let go of anger and focus on things that I can control.

When I miss someone, I reach out to say hi.

I still don’t believe in “living like you are dying,” because I think that can be an excuse to not plan for the future.  I am planning for the future every single day.  The difference for me is that I focus on making every single day count.  I plan on having a whole hell of a lot more days, but I want to make sure that I’m making the right impact on everyone that I touch in those days.

This does not, by any means, mean that I am in a perfect state of zen.

Yesterday while I was driving to work on I-90 in the far left lane going 70-ish just past Preston, a car cut across all three lanes, on to the shoulder, and started to go into the grassy hill of the median in front of me, before swerving back into the lane I was in. If I hadn’t swerved over into the center lane, I’m pretty sure that he would have hit me. My first thought was, “I can’t die from something stupid like this car accident! I’m barely through kicking breast cancer ass! I don’t even have my new nipples yet!”

But like that near crash, I’m focused on doing what I can. I smash through as many obstacles as I can to get where I want to go.  I try not to focus on the mess the boy is making, but what’s he’s learning by making it… reminding myself that we can always clean up later.

But if it’s a white Oldsmobile driven by someone likely drunk or high… I swerve.

So I’ve actually had a lot to say over the last couple of weeks, but I was working my rear off, getting ready for vacation, and then staying off of the computer out of respect for my boys while I was actually on the vacation.

Our trip was wonderful. It was the first vacation I’d had since the trip to the Oregon coast last July, and we went to Boston, where we showed the kid where the sidekick and I met, and took him to dip his toes in the Atlantic for the first time in the sidekick’s hometown. We saw tons of history, which is a passion of mine, and went to both Fenway Park and Gillette Stadium, which is a passion for my boys.

Boys on the Beach

I love, love, love Boston, but I hate, hate, hate the weather. For 9 days, other than the emotions, relaxation, all of that, there was one constant word for the way I felt. Moist.

Moist is an icky word if you really think about it. I know several people who have a visceral reaction to the word. But I have never sweat so much in my entire life. I’d been in Boston in the summer before, but this was just way worse. Not sure if it’s my current weight, hot flashes, or just the humidity that New England was experiencing, but it was nasty.

So although I LOVED the vacation, I got to unplug, I was really glad to get home to Seattle.  Work, maybe not as much, but we have to pay for the trip somehow, right?  And my husband got to see friends who we haven’t seen since before my monkey (who turns TEN today) was born… I don’t think we want to go that long with out a visit again.

Yesterday, I did something else that I haven’t done since last August.  I purchased, and wore, and underwire bra.  After wearing said bra for several hours, I’m a little lost on why I was so excited for that torture again, it was stiff and itchy compared to the stretchy ones I’ve been wearing, but it made the lumps on my chest resemble boobs again, at least under a shirt.

I’m not sure how I feel about the bra. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with them for so long, and my old bras were truly feats of engineering. Now I don’t HAVE to wear a bra… or at least I don’t think I will once my boobs are back in the shape I expect. I’m thinking of the underwire as more of a jello mold. Something to remind them where they’re supposed to go… since until now they’ve been going flat against my chest.

The morning before I left, I had another appointment with SCCA,  but this time with a Gyn. We’re getting to the TMI point here, so please feel free to stop reading or skip the next two paragraphs!

I was there to talk about a side effect of Tamoxifen. My best description of this side effect is that it’s felt like I’ve had a yeast infection for the last 6 months. Turns out, at the moment, I actually DO have a yeast infection (hence, the thing that would be better left in bread).  I’ve always gotten them rather easily… a couple of the different birth control pills I tried in college used to have me get them once a month before my period. But back then, I had a period at the end. Something that made it go away.

So I’ve got a prescription to deal with the actual yeast, but I’ve also got a second prescription that will provide local estrogen. If you’ll remember, I take Tamoxifen to get rid of the estrogen in my body, so I can’t do the estrogen replacement stuff that many women take to deal with menopause. It would kind of defeat the point. But evidently, if I PUT A PILL IN MY VAJAYJAY then it’s OK. I’m still not sure entirely how I feel about this, since part of what I wanted to avoid was having to put those ovule things in all of the time for yeast, but I’m tired of it burning every time I pee, and coming away with blood on the TP, even when I blot.

OK- It’s safe again.

The last thing to update, it was a year ago this week that I found the lump. July 5, 2012. I just re-upped my subscription for breastcancerninja.com, so I hope you’re all still enjoying my vanity URL. I know, I’m so vain. 🙂

But when I really look back over the past year, I have to refer back to my constant refrain. I’m really pretty effing lucky. The worst things I’m dealing with, less than a year after my diagnosis, are figuring out how to deal with curly hair, that underwire bras are itchy (duh) and uncomfortable girl parts. No, not loving those (esp the last one) but when I’ve had friends who have had to deal with things like radiation, extended chemo, even losing loved ones, I just remind myself that it could be so, so much worse.  I’m here to celebrate my son’s 10th birthday, something that I was afraid might not happen just last year.

As some of the ads in the T stations in Boston said, I had cancer. Cancer doesn’t have me.