A little sad, a little sleepy, a little sore

The most recent trip to GW Hospital went pretty well – as I described the other day. However, I didn’t quite imagine that the healing process would leave me so tender.

I am thankful for the advances in science that make it possible for me to have this port implanted. I am not however, too excited about having it just yet because it is making sleep (one of my favorite things) a little more difficult to come by. The area around the port is really tender. It is covered in bandages (which come just to the base of my neck) and generally, I’m just uncomfortable. At night, I am constantly tossing and turning because I have to place my breasts just so… in order to minimize the pain from either the weight of my boobies pulling at the bandages or the pressure from my body weight pressing on the tender area.

So… I had a hard night’s rest last night. Despite being quite tired, I didn’t sleep much. That’s okay since I have a long weekend to try to get in the sleep that I’ve missed.

This morning as I was changing my bandages in the bathroom at work – I burst into tears when I looked at the bruising around the port and the catheter and the surgi-strips holding it all together. I can’t even explain what made me cry. Pulling bandages off tender skin is never that much fun, but I don’t know if that was why I cried or if it was something more.

Its Friday, my cousin is coming to visit and it’s a holiday weekend. I have been elated over far less… but I am really sad right now. I think it’s the impending chemotherapy.

Short work weeks are rarely fun, but I will only be in the office one, maybe two days next week. I have to go to the hospital every day next week (except the holiday) for one reason or another… and I am scared again. I am worried about the work that I imagine (well, know) will pile up while I am out. I am worried about the results of my CT scans. I don’t know what they are looking for, so I’m worried about what they may find. And really, I have no idea what to expect on Thursday, the first day of chemotherapy.

I mean really… what’s that like? To sit for hours while you knowingly let someone pump chemicals into your body to kill certain cells seems really outrageous – and crazy. Am I crazy? Should I refuse chemo and start researching other ways to treat this? Are there other ways to treat cancer? And why are so many women suffering (and dying in some cases) from breast cancer? I know that its treatable, I know that many women go on to lead wonderful productive lives… but I also know that at least one woman, my aunt Vinnie Lee, died from breast cancer.

I think about my aunt Vinnie a lot now. I wasn’t very close to her. She was my eldest aunt on my mom’s side. And my clearest memories of her include some wretched wigs (sorry auntie… but its true) and how I didn’t get a popsicle for dessert one night because I refused to eat liver. (gag…) But aunt Vinnie was still my auntie…and just like I love all my aunties, I loved her too and I knew that she loved me. She died quite a few years ago now, and at the time of her death we didn’t know why she died. We only knew that she was sick. We found out (well, I found out) later that she had breast cancer and died from it.

I remember being a little angry finding out about it after her death. Thinking that it was something that the family should have known about sooner but ultimately, she wanted to deal with it in her own way. Now that I am facing the same thing, I can understand wanting to maintain some control over your life… though I feel like I need to wear a t-shirt or something so that everyone knows. But then, you know that I’m different that way.

I hate hearing “I have breast cancer” in my head or the way my voice cracks every time I say it. I absolutely hate it. And I am beginning to loathe the way that people look at me as though I’m about to die on the spot. (I don’t hate the people, I just hate that pity-look in their eyes) I despise looking at my “fabulous boobies” and seeing them swollen, bandaged and bruised. And I hate looking at them now, knowing they won’t look the same way in a few months.

Its weird feeling so out of control over your own body. I don’t know how other people with life-altering, life-threatening illnesses deal with it… but Nicole is struggling with feeling like I am at the mercy of other people. Normally, I am a strong advocate of hiring the right professional for the job. You can’t be an expert at all things, right? That logic is failing me now. Why can’t I fix this? Its my body, shouldn’t I know how to care for it?

Right now, I still blame myself. What didn’t I know, didn’t I do, or what did I do? Was a bad person, did I hurt someone and this is my punishment? Is God angry with me? Did I drink too much, eat too little liver…? Should I have run more, or should I have gotten a reduction years ago when my boobies were growing out of control? Would that have changed things? Should I have had children years ago, even though I wasn’t ready..? Or should I have been more happy – like a recent article suggested – in order to make sure that I didn’t get breast cancer? What did I do wrong?

I guess I have finally hit the “why me” stage. I keep thinking that if I can figure out what I did wrong, then maybe I can fix it. And I won’t continue to feel so out of control, so needy for someone else to do for, or care for me…

I guess I’m rambling… and I’m starting to cry again. Maybe it’s the rain. It tends to make me moody and sleepy. So… here’s where we start the final weekend of the summer… sad, weepy, scared, sore, sleepy and generally out of sorts. Someone shared a link to a t-shirt company’s website where all the t-shirts said basically one thing…

F*CK Cancer.

I really couldn’t have come up with a better line if I tried.

Moving? Consider donating some of your items

Monday marks September 1st, the start of many people's leases on their apartments. This weekend there is going to be ginormous amounts of people moving their stuff from one apartment to the next.

For those that don't have to move, it makes trying to drive around Boston difficult especially because those coming into Boston for the first time aren't familiar with the crazy road system here. The City of Boston is trying to help by increasing the amount of parking-enforcement officers and tow-trucks in areas which have a high-turnover in hopes to decrease the amount of problems throughout the city.

Moving day also means the city is going to be littered with garbage. Many people choose to leave anything they do not wish to move to their new place on the side of the street for the garbage people to pick up on trash day.

Yes, it sometimes is a great way to find end tables, in fact I have gotten two of my end tables from someone else's trash! However, most of people's unwanted furniture, toys, clothes and misc. items goes to our overcrowded landfills.

This is why I would like to remind people that you can take the extra time and donate many of the items you were going to leave on the side of the road. Some places even do curbside pick ups so you don't have to even leave your house. To find out what donatable items you have or what's available in your neighborhood go to earth911.org. It's my favorite site to find out where to either recycle or donate anything I no longer wish to keep.

My favorite place to donate is to Goodwill, in Davis Square. It's close by and is tax deductible. Here is a list of items they accept for donation:

• Antiques, collectibles
• Appliances (small)
• Artwork
• Bedspreads, blankets, curtains, tablecloths, decorative pillows
• Bicycles
• Books, records, tapes, CDs, DVDs
• Clothing, belts, scarves, ties, pocketbooks
• Cookware, dishes, pots and pans
• Games and toys
• House wares and decorative items
• Jewelry
• Sporting goods

I recently moved and I took TWO Full car loads over there of stuff to donate. It made my move easier and it felt great knowing that someone else will find use of the items I no longer wish to have/ fit into my new space. So I ask make three piles when moving, donatable, trash and moving and take the time to drop off any item that is donatable.

Related Stories: Don't Throw Out Your Old TV; Green Tips for the New Year Spring Cleaning, part deux

Photo courtesy of: http://uberfashion.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2006/11/moving6pf.jpg

Patio Gardens & City Growing

If we all grew just a few pots of veggies, herbs, or fruits like the folks above, we could make a big difference in the heat of the earth (because there would be soil instead of pavement) and in the amount of produce we have to buy from huge farms or from overseas.

During WWII, 40% of vegetables consumed in the US were produced in victory gardens. Imagine if that were true nowadays... of course here in the Northeast we have a little thing called "seasons," but even herbs can be grown on a sunny indoor windowsill in wintertime.

I know what I'll be doing this holiday weekend - planting a windowsill victory herb garden!

Related Posts: Finding Local Food Locally; CSAs Rock; Harvest Calendar for MA; Staycation in Boston; Fruit in the City; Jamming the Local Way

Photos courtesy of: GDSanders, RhondaWinter, Bici Girl, dmoch, GreenRoofGrower, Liam.Jon_d, FiveLittleFish, SFgirlbybay, and FloralGal

Today I met Tay...

I was so anxious... that I woke up at 4:00 am. I looked around my room (and lawd... this room is a horrible SIGHT...whew)... and realized that I was up just a wee bit too early. So... I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.

Bad move.

LOL... but my honey called me and woke me up just before 6am, so we could get to the hospital on time. I pulled on my sweats and a t-shirt (they told me to dress comfortably) and we were off... starting the latest adventure in Nic-land (or the N-world as I used to call it).

I will reiterate... I don't want to question God... but man, this journey is not one I would have picked for myself.

We got to the hospital in record time and I checked in with minimal difficulties. Actually, none.

My first funny/interesting event was the actual admission process. After signing my name on too many documents to remember... I was handed this very nice folder -- a "welcome to GW Hospital" packet.

I felt like a freshman on the first day of class. Surreal. lol... And like a good freshman, I didn't read a thing in the packet and just put it to the side. Ha!

We went upstairs to radiology and I got my second funny/interesting encounter. After I checked in there, I was given an electronic buzzer -- you know the kind you get at a busy restaurant to let you know when your table is ready.

BF and I were like... wow. GW is slick with theirs... LOL. A new folder AND a buzzer... insurance dollars at work.

The waiting room reminded me of the waiting area at an airport -- seriously -- lots of chairs, focused on a television in the corner and large windows. While I was still laughing at the constantly buzzing device in my hand... out walked this very petite girl to take me back into the staging area.

That was Tay. And I'm writing about Tay today because she made today a great experience for me.

Tay looked to be about 22 or so... but it turned out that she was 38 years old. A very pretty and very grounded 38 year old woman.

I am a firm believer that some people are just called to do some jobs and that when you encounter them, they can change your outlook on life just by being exactly who they were destined to be. I believe that about Tay.

We chatted a lot... which for me was interesting because I was still rather tired. But Tay and I chatted about God, His blessings and favor and life in general. I was really blessed to meet her today... she was the first person I encountered in the hospital who made me feel as though it really was her pleasure to meet me and to help me during this time.

Tay put me at ease about what was going to happen to me. She shared her story with me about having faith that children are a possibility for even me. She went through IVF and now has a 2 year old baby as evidence that no matter what circumstances may look like on the outside, God often has a plan that is much bigger than that. She told me that "if a woman with no fallopian tubes can have a baby, then if that is His will for you... you too will have children". Tay was that sister without fallopian tubes, who endured nearly 50 injections in her hip and another 40 in her stomach, just to have the chance to have a child.

Now, naturally, she did not have to share any of that with me... or any of the other stories that she did this morning. But the fact that she did, that she shared her faith with me, her concerns about life and living... her sensitivity to what I was feeling and would be going through over the next few months... was nothing short of a miracle.

How many times have any of us been in an anxious position or in a hurry... and run smack into an employee from hell? Someone who made a bad situation a whole lot worse just because they didn't have their heads in the game? That could have been me this morning... but it wasn't.

Instead.... I was relaxed and able to giggle with my boyfriend while I waited to be wheeled into surgery. I can go as far as to say... I enjoyed myself today. Bizarre right?

So when Manis came to put me on the gurney, I was ready. I wasn't teary or sad... I was lifted and buoyed, ready to tackle another step in the journey.

The ride on the gurney was fun. (crazy I know, lol) It felt like a weird roller coaster ride. I even cracked a joke about it to Manis... the vantage point is weird and bizarre and you feel (well, I felt) like I was outside of myself just scooting down the hall and watching people move out of my way. It was cool. :)

We made it to the radiology room...and then I lost my breath. The room was filled with large machines and screens everywhere. It looked more like a television studio (or what I would guess a TV studio looked like) than an operating room. These machines were massive -- and the table looked a little small/narrow to hold all of me. But I fit. LOL...

So, they used these big radiology machines to guide the catheter into my vein and they created a "pocket" to slip it under my skin. It is just below my collar bone. Now... I'm telling you all this based on what I was told by the radiology technicians. I still haven't seen it because its covered up with bandages.

Oh yeah... shout out to Shenfen! :) She was also a sweetie pie nurse/technician who made my day smooth.

(okay... now, the roll call so far is Tay, Manis, and Shenfen...lol)

Each of those ladies were very compassionate, and kind... and they explained themselves very calmly so that I wasn't upset or discouraged during the process.

So... eventually I got on the table and Shenfen and Manis started prepping me. Now, y'all know that my boobies (my fabulous boobies...haha) are pretty big. One thing I've recently noticed is how they sort of choke/smother me a little at night if I don't place them correctly. (yeah, I can hear y'all snickering... but its true)

How 'bout... when I was laying on the table and Shenfen was prepping the area where they placed the implant... she looked at how my boobie sort of gravitated toward my neck (I am not making this up) and she TAPED my boobie down.

I had long strips of tape going every which way across my boobie and my gown. It would have been hilarious... if Manis hadn't given me my sedative IV at the same time. Just when I was about to crack a joke that I needed Shenfen to come home and show me how to tape 'em down every night... I was OUT. lol...

So, I missed everything... and that's cool. I'm sort of a squeamish punk when it comes to blood and such. Especially my own. Though I handled the needle Tay gave me like a champ. I woke up just as Shenfen was removing the tape from the boobie and putting on the bandages over the port and the catheter.

I still have no idea what it looks like under there but I did get a nice parting gift of a couple of well placed bandages and a hard lump that I can feel through them. Niiiccceee, right? Dontcha want one too?

Hilarious.

I got wheeled out of radiology (wasn't as much fun this time because I kept dozing off)... and back into the staging area where I got to continue my fabulous nap. I don't know what Manis put in that drip but ooooohhh weeeee... that was some good sleep. Whew...

Woke up to a new nurse... Mary (we're gonna add her to the nurse roll call too) and she was a kind lady. She asked me if I wanted anything to drink... and I said juice. They had both apple and cranberry... and since I couldn't decide which one, she gave me both! Score... instant CRAN-APPLE!

(see, its the little things that make Nic happy... )

They lost my boyfriend for awhile... not sure how they did that... but eventually Mary found him right outside in the waiting room which is where I knew he would be. She went through the proper procedure initially (twice actually) and when that didn't work, she asked me for his cellphone number and called my baby on the phone so he could come and get me. Isn't that great? She didn't have to do that... she could have just left me sitting there to fend for myself.

After he came in and she briefed him about what happened, how I took things and all that... she arranged for me to be wheeled downstairs when he brought the truck around. And since she was aware that her desk lady was a little... well, special... she had him call me on my cell phone to alert her when I needed to go downstairs.

Again... its the little things that people do, that they don't have to do, that let you know that not only are they good at what they do -- but they are called to do what they do. Just as the wheelchair came up, Tay walked by and as I was waving by... she offered to wheel me downstairs to meet my boo.

I warned her on the way down, that he was going to hug her (we're big huggers) and of course he did. I wish I had my camera... it was a nice picture. She was a nice and very memorable sister. Like I said... she single-handedly changed my day, reduced my anxiety ... all by being fully herself at work.

I need to be more like her tomorrow. :)

That's about it. The rest of the day... really was nothing much. We went to McDonald's... that southern chicken sandwich is the truth... and then I came home and got into the bed. Finished up the rest of that good ol' anesthesia... seems to be just a little bit left in my bloodstream... I'm holding out until I finish the blog.

More GOOOD napping ... coming right up. :)

Gotta hit the hospital at the crack of dawn...

I'm not a morning person. I try to be pleasant but it tends to come out as a blank look and lots of silence. I know, that's sad. But I do try... I'm telling you that so that some of you will consider praying for the hospital staff tomorrow since I have to check in at 7 am to have my port implanted.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Port-a-Cath

I was really freaked out initially when they told me that they were going to put a device in my chest so that they could give me my chemo without going through the veins in my arms. When the doctor and the nurse described what could happen to my skin and muscles if the chemo missed the vein...

I was like... "uh... check please!"

But, I've talked to a few sisters who have gone through chemo and they tell me that its pretty easy going... getting the port. I'm keeping in mind that they have already been through chemo so I'd guess that just about anything is EASY after all that... but we'll see.

Not going to post long... like I said... I have to get up at the crack of dawn. But I wanted to let you know that I'm down to just a few crying spurts now... so I definitely feel like I'm turning a corner.

Just a couple of things...

First, I am so very loved. It is hard for me to say that without getting misty but I am slowly realizing that a lot of people really care about me. Even total strangers... have shown me unexpected love throughout this madness. Example...a woman (whom I have never met) who is a friend of a work colleague has decided to do the 3 day breast cancer walk in October. She told me the other day on the phone (our second conversation) that she is walking in my honor.

Did I mention that I have never met this lady in my life? Do you know how humbling that is? It is amazing.

Another example... some of you know about or are members of, my social networking group, DC Sistagirls. Well, I found out recently that some of those wonderful women were trying to surprise me with a gift to help me get through this time. They tried to keep it a secret from me -- which is very hard to do -- but inadvertently, I found out. I cried for an hour because it was one of the sweetest gestures I have ever experienced.... I love that group so much but I don't think I really realized that they had the same love for me. I never really thought about it coming back... I just wanted to make sure that they knew that I thought they were wonderful, caring, successful women who held (collectively and individually) so much power, so much promise, and so much greatness ... that I felt it was necessary that they shared it with other women just like them.

Third example... my boyfriend is the best. The absolute best. He has taken me to every doctor's appointment -- except one. And he showed up for that one anyway. He has sat in many waiting rooms in/around GW hospital waiting on me, napping off and on... and making friendly contact with other waiting patients. He is my ray of sunshine... even when I can't shine back for him. I don't know how I would have made it without him.

Some of the people closest to me in my life, are really not taking this news well. And because of that... they aren't able to be supportive to me in a way that works for me. I know that they care, they just can't express it.

I could go on and on... about the cards I've received (that have made me smile and cry at the same time), and the phone messages, and the notes of encouragement... the stories of blessings like one recently shared with me by a great friend -- a soul stirring testimony of a sister who went through breast cancer and was told she couldn't have kids... only to make the devil a liar in the end -- and so on. I read every message -- even if I can't respond right away. Usually I can't respond because I'm so choked up emotionally... I'm just speechless.

I'm learning some lessons -- lessons that I wish I could have learned in a different way but, who am I to question God? One lesson that I'm learning... that I knew I needed help with (and will continue to need help with)... is learning to receive.

Giving is so easy for me. I give and give... it makes me feel good, it makes me feel worthy, it makes me feel strong. I won't lie. I love to give and am saddened when I can't give, for whatever reasons... It hurts my feelings to be unable to help someone out when I know that they have a need. However, accepting and receiving... is so much more difficult. It requires a different type of strength. The strength to fully realize that no matter what you have or don't have... whether you can reciprocate or not... you are worthy of being blessed.

I am worthy? Just because....

I am struggling with this one... I really am. I don't want any of you to think that I am unappreciative... I am overwhelmed with the love and the blessings that you have shared with me. Thank you seems so insufficient for the way that I feel.

Somebody cares for me. Little ol' me. Cranky, rude, obstinate... me. Somebody cares for that girl... and is unafraid to say so, to share it, to do something to make my life easier....

...tears. :)

Thank you.

OYFP Turns 3, Globe Celebrates

OYFP celebrated its 3^rd birthday at Globe Bar and Café on Thursday, August 21. Check out the Flickr account for pictures - you may be featured with a carrot stick in your mouth like Liz below.

The event, Local Action, Global Impact: OYFP Boston's 3rd Anniversary Party!, was a celebration of OYFP’s accomplishments over the past year.

Globe was a great place for this type of event. The manager of Globe, Julie Weeden, hooked us up! They provided us a private, balcony style, space that overlooked the bar area – free of charge! There was more than enough food for our guests and the friendly staff kept everyone happy.

When I reflect on OYFP’s accomplishments over the past few years I become increasing excited for the future. We're almost up in the big leagues and there ain't nothing wrong with that. We’re really starting to operate like a little organization. Tasks are becoming increasing delegated. We’ve had an intern. We’re in the process of applying for a large grant. We’re successfully planning, managing and executing multiple events in the same month. It’s an exciting time.

If you’re looking to get involved consider attending an upcoming event or shooting one of us an email.

On behalf of all the men, women, and children served by OYFP please accept our sincere thanks. We truly appreciate your partnership and generous support.

Find local food locally

Maybe you're a huge fan of locally produced food, or are traveling and want to eat locally at your destination, or heard the piece on NPR this morning about Walmart getting in on the local food scene, or on the other end of the spectrum, maybe you've never really tried committing yourself to local food and want to give it a go but aren't in the Boston area so don't find the links I've posted about local food useful. Phew, that was a run-on sentence if I ever wrote one.

Anyway. Never fear, the Eat Well Guide is here! The website makes it wicked easy for you to search for locally produced food. Simply put in a food type or zip code or city/state with the miles you're willing to travel, and wallah, local food options come up.

I had the best luck by using my zip code. Options including farmers markets, CSAs, stores, caterers, restaurants!, organizations, educational centers, and more came up. My favorite was the restaurants option for sure.

I love patronizing restaurants that are willing to take the extra time and risk to source their food locally. It typically tastes better, and I can feel better about the fossil fuels used to create my meal. I actually recently read an article in Edible Boston about the chefs at Craigie Street Bistro that discussed some of the issues with using locally produced food, mainly that you're much more at the mercy of Mother Nature.

If there are violent rains, the blueberries you were planning on using for dessert may not be available, so you have to get some early apples to make pie instead. If you order food from a normal distributor, if the blueberries in Maine that they were planning on using aren't available, they'll simply get some from New Jersey for you.

The simplicity of sourcing food nationally (and internationally!) is appealing for many (or rather, most) chefs, and right now, a must for some of the lower cost restaurants. However, even large low-cost chains like Walmart are seeing the wisdom of sourcing food locally due to the high cost of gas. However, Walmart considers any food produced in the same state it is sold as local... which may be true in places like Massachusetts or Delaware, but it certainly doesn't seem as though fruits grown in Southern California are "local" to San Francisco...

Semantics aside, the local food movement is growing (pun intended), and I for one am reveling in it. Of course, it's easy to love local food in New England when it's the summertime... when winter rolls around and my only local produce options are the peach preserves I made, the blueberries I froze, or potatoes, turnips, parsnips, and onions left over from the summer... I'll probably be singing a different tune.

Until then, I'm going to enjoy my fresh corn, tomatoes, peaches, blueberries, kale, purple leafy vegetable that I don't know the name of, cucumbers, squash, basil, raspberries, green beans, peppers, onions, and eggplant, and I hope you'll go out of your way to enjoy local produce too.

The fruits of my labor - local peaches from Doe Orchards that I made into preserves!

Related Posts: CSAs Rock; Harvest Calendar for MA; Staycation in Boston; Fruit in the City; Jamming the Local Way
Related Events: Apples & Wine Sept 6

Coming around slowly...

Let me say thanks to everyone who has offered a kind word, a book suggestion, a website to review, a friend or relative to talk to... THANK YOU. Seriously, thank you. Once I am comfortably assured that I won't lose my composure willy-nilly... I will check it all out.

Whew... the anger is going down. I'm still mad but not like I was on Thursday. I spent the weekend crying a lot. Thursday and Friday especially... but by Sunday, I was coming around to the notion that ... once again... my life is not going the way that I had planned. And I am going to have to get okay with it very quickly if I am going to be able to handle all the changes that are coming my way.

One big scary part of all of this is making the right decisions. There are so many questions and options thrown my way... and I want to make the right decisions for my health but also for my personal comfort level.

I will say it again... because for some reason, people don't seem to hear me...

I DON'T WANT TO LOSE MY BREAST.

Everytime I say those words to someone, they give me this look. Sort of a mixture between pity and confusion. As though, I don't fully grasp what is going on with my body and am having either a delayed reaction or I am somehow defining who I am as a person by these fat bags on my chest. Neither is true.

I wouldn't want to lose my arm, my leg, my toe or my finger... either. However, in my case, it is a left breast that I am trying to hold on to. It came with the rest of the package and I'd like to keep it. Please and thank you.

I am getting it. I am really quite ill. I never knew, don't feel any differently than I have for the past 39 years... but yes, I have cancer and its pretty doggone bad.

I get it.

I also get that I have more than one tumor in my breast that needs to come out of my body. I understand that completely. I'd like Fred and his friends evicted from my boobie too. More than anybody else, I'd like to say. However, I am confused as to why the whole house has to be torn down because of a few rowdy visitors.

Why can't we kick them out, wash down the walls, put in some new carpet and call it a day? What's with the whole demolition deal?? I'm not FEELING this.

The option to take away my whole breast on the off-chance that the cancer might come back seems absurd. (I'm being really honest, it seems downright stupid to me) And then to insert a fake boob where the real one was... so that it appears that nothing is different, seems even more absurd. And the cherry on top... is to finally "adjust" the other, perfectly fine one... so that they match.

I'm going to take your arm off, even though only a few fingers are problematic, then I'm going to give you a new arm to replace the old arm and finally... because the new arm won't look exactly like the old arm, we're going to do some things to it, so they match.

??? Why doesn't anyone else see this as screwy but me? (and for the last time, I am not Christina Applegate)

Anyhoo... like I said... I'm coming around. It is a slow progression but I'm making it. I have to. I can't miss seeing the first black president of the United States. I gotta get it right, right now... because there may not be another chance.

But I don't like this... at all.

Fish out of water - My experience in Nicaragua

While cleaning out my computer's hard drive the other day, I came across this essay I wrote about my experience volunteering in Nicaragua with the Foundation for Sustainable Development. Unlike most "volunteer" programs, you are actually expected to do work, and since I had a bachelor's degree in psychology, I was a psychologist!

More difficult than the work, however, was fitting in. This essay discusses how I finally managed to do that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I am 5’9”, blond, and have blue eyes. I could not look more different than Nicaraguans. The average Nicaraguan woman is 5’2”, brunette, and somewhat rotund from the deep-fried foods that are consumed with abandon. The average Nicaraguan man can’t be taller than 5’5”!

During my four month stay in Nicaragua, I could not have become more painfully aware of these simple physical differences. However, I found that the barrier to “fitting in” wasn’t the presence of the physical differences, it was my attitude towards them. I had to accept that I was different and acknowledge that I would never be able to camouflage myself. Only then was I able to feel and act like I really belonged.

The first few days in Nicaragua were the hardest. I was literally a fish out of water, tossed into a hot, dry, and worn-out land when I was used to a cool, placid, and plentiful ocean. Every molecule in my body screamed to be back where I could breathe! My previous world, the one where all of my friends and family still lived, seemed incredibly and unbearably far away.

After my vision cleared and I learned how to breathe, it became evident exactly how different I appeared. The people of Nicaragua (men especially) did their part to remind me as well. “Hey muñeca.. chela… ¿que pasa?” [Trans.: Hey doll.. whitey.. what’s up?]

Everywhere I went, people pointed and commented. More than once, children poked or slapped any part of my body that they could reach, to see if the “doll” was real. With all of these constant reminders, how could I help but concentrate on how different I was than “those people”?

Spending time with Aimee, a tall, blond Peace Corps volunteer who had been living in Nicaragua for over a year, helped me both acknowledge and accept my physical differences. She had learned to laugh, saying “When the two of us living, breathing muñecas walk down the street together, they just don’t know what to make of it! We’re unbelievable!” At that point, I spoke Spanish like a native Nicaraguan. I was so brown I looked like a sorority girl who had fallen asleep on her tanning bed. But I was never going to look like I belonged.

Looking back on my trip, I realize that this was the turning point. After I accepted my physical differences, I made a few Nicaraguan friends. More than one told me, “You’re different than the other gringos. You speak, you listen, and you understand.” We talked about music, parents, favorite foods, best friends, and what exactly the mayor was thinking when he proposed dumping the city’s trash in the nearby volcanic crater.

I will never take for granted how much easier life is when you physically fit in. I will never forget that in order become part of a culture different than your own, you must acknowledge that you are a fish and everyone else a mammal.

This is not exclusionary, pessimistic, or close-minded.

Robert Reich, who at 4’9” is one of the shortest politicians out there, starts every speech with a joke about his height. By acknowledging his physical difference, he makes it possible for everyone to stop concentrating on his stature and start concentrating on what he has to say.

Once you get the elephant in the room out of the way, it is possible to start forging friendships, really learning what it’s like to live within the new culture, and creating an experience that you will never forget.

Nora, Aimee (the Peace Corps volunteer) and two of her friends at a park in Granada. The photo is a scanned in negative because back in 2003 I didn't have a digital camera.

Related Posts: International volunteering for teens; Food prices are rising; Chinese Earthquake - How to help; Global volunteering; Gap Year

Photos courtesy of Casey.

Recycling while Traveling

I try to be as green as possible but I have come to realize it is very difficult when you are traveling. For example, you can not bring a reusable water bottle when boarding a flight due to security enforcing the 3 oz liquid rule. I understand the reason for this, so I am fine with not bringing any big water bottles on board.

I however, like to stay hydrated, so like many people do, I buy a bottle of water after I have gone through security. Recently I was at Logan airport and I did not see any place to discard my recyclable bottle of water once it was finished. I was faced with a choice of bringing it on the plane and adding it to my cramped leg room and wait until I find a recyclable container, or throw it in the dreaded garbage. I chose to throw it away faced with the uncertainty of when I would be able to find a recyclable container.

Little did I know that other airports supports being green and have recycle containers next to all garbage bins. For example, Chicago's O'Hare airport has the container to the right next to EACH garbage can.

Seeing this little bin made me wonder why Mayor Menino, who continues to push Boston to become more green, doesn't push for Logan airport to become more green. This is an especially needed component, considering Logan airport is one of the 20 busiest airports in the U.S., with over 27 million passengers a year!

Also while traveling I noticed there were no recycle containers in the hotel suite I was in. Again there was no other alternative for me being in semi unfamiliar territory to know where I could recycle the paper & plastic containers I have accumulated while staying at the hotel.

This is unfortunate because I believe if there were more recycle receptacles in hotels and airports, this would reduce the amount of garbage going to landfills in the USA quite considerably.

This is my experience with traveling but I would love to hear other stories, especially those companies that have done more to become more green. Maybe I flew out of the one airport that doesn't (yet) have a program and perhaps stayed at the one hotel that doesn't particpate (yet).

Photo courtesy of: Moi

Related Posts: Green Tips for the New Year, Getting away from it all, "Staycation" in Boston

I still look cute...

Well, the tears won't stop now. And I'm going to have to figure out a way to compartmentalize my feelings so that I can work and actually get stuff done.

BUT... I wanted to throw out there... that I still look cute. :)

My hair is so sharp and my eyebrows are PER-FEC-TION (thanks d'brows!)... and if I must say so myself, my makeup was particularly wonderful today...

I look GOOOO-OOOOD!

Y'all can ask my baby. He couldn't keep his eyes off me today (well, when he wasn't snoozing in the waiting room....)


Smooches! Love you...

{{{{{{{{ HUGS }}}}}}}}}


...guess there's still a little of the ol' Nic in here after all.

FAIR WARNING: all y'all with small kids... beware of Auntie Nic. She's coming, bearing lots of gifts, hugs and kisses. All that I would have shared with my own... I'm giving to yours. :) So, when your wonderful angels become bad spoiled azzes... don't look my way. I'm not going to be responsible. lol...

The oncologist visit: Dr. Siegel and friends

I am on OVERLOAD right now. I just left my oncologist's office and man... my brain is swimming from all the information. I decided to write this entry while I was still rather numb... so that I could get out the news without too many tears.

Okay... I start chemotherapy on September 4th, 1:00 pm. There will be a total of 3 chemotherapy drugs administered to me and 1 separate drug as well (at a later time). All of these drugs will be administered intravenously.

Part one, will be two drugs

**INTERRUPTION**

I am so NOT in a good place right now. Just straight up ... I'm a little stank. I'm really gonna need for folks not to get caught up in their feelings when I say "no, I can't see you today, tomorrow, next week"... I love each of you reading this blog. I swear to God I do. I do, I do, I do!! BUT... I am really losing my mind and trying to stay calm and centered about all these changes right now.

I'm starting to feel like a monkey in a cage. Everybody wants to look at me, poke me, make me smile, etc. Is the monkey okay today? She looks upset. I can make her smile, laugh, fart... you know what?

I know.
And I can't handle it. I really can't.

It takes a lot of strength for me to keep it together and not lay in bed everyday balled up in a knot. One of the reasons I'm opting to keep working during all this is that I am deathly afraid of falling back into a depression. I want to keep as much normalcy and balance in my life as I can. That means, I'm gonna go to karaoke every week I feel strong enough to. I'm gonna visit my baby at the restaurant as much as I can -- cause his presence comforts me. But, I can't do much more than that. Lunch, dinner, movies, calls, texts, and so on; no. I can't promise you that I will respond, let alone initiate a conversation. Maybe once this gets going and I'm not grieving the loss of one breast, or the opportunity to have a child... maybe then, I'll be back to the ol' Nic who was always down for whatever at a moment's notice. But she ain't here right now.

I'm scared and tired and worried, and anxious and mad and mad and mad and mad -- did I mention that I was f*cking ANGRY???

I'm not good company right now. My mouth is straight profanity. Even more so than usual. And I'm not able to curb it to please anyone. I break out in tears in the middle of a joke... I'm just not me right now.

**END INTERRUPTION**


The first two drugs: cyclophosphamide and doxorubicin... will be given together. They will be administered every two weeks (which is 1 cycle) for 4 cycles. Then I will be given a third chemotherapy drug, I think its tamoxifen (or something like that) every 3 weeks (1 cycle) for 4 cycles. At the same time I start the last chemo drug, I will start a year long course of herceptin (I have HER2 receptors -- basically estrogen is fueling my tumors). This will be given intravenously as well every week for 1 year.

After the last chemo cycle with tamoxifen (or whatever "T" drug I'll be taking)... that's when I'll have surgery to remove my breast.

Because the cancer is in several places in my breast, there doesn't seem to be a way to preserve my breast and be assured that all the cancer will be removed. SO... I guess around the end of the year, I'll be having a mastectomy. (I am SOOOOO not feeling this part.)

Oh... and this part: all these damn drugs will likely send me into early menopause. Which means... all my damn waiting for the right guy to start a family was a waste of time. I probably won't be able to have any. Ain't that some sh*t? *sigh*

(looks like the numbness is wearing off... anger is coming on in... I'm gonna wrap this up now and get back to work)

So... looky here. Today.. me and my baby are in funky azz moods. Period. (it doesn't help that my cycle started today too... wow)

Oh, I forgot to add that since I'm going to be getting so much stuff shot up in my body... they are putting some sort of "port" device in my collarbone area... so that they can get an easy direct line to a big vein.

*sigh*

...and on top of all this, they want me to participate in some clinical trial. It seems harmless enough and it should help some folks so... I'll probably sign up... but you know...

this whole thing is really starting to get on my fcking nerves.

Sorry y'all... I had planned to be upbeat, toss out a few jokes or something... but I ain't got it right now.

If I feel something funny coming on... I'll come back and fill it in.

Til next time...

I do love you. I hope that you still love me after I cuss you out a few more times over the next year or so...

~Nic

What OYFP has meant to me

This three year anniversary mark for On Your Feet Project in Boston has made me wax nostalgic for a moment or three. Rarely do I stop during my often hectic days to reflect on why exactly I've volunteered with OYFP since its inception in Boston. I recall sitting in my apartment in Somerville with my roommates, bemoaning the fact that it was hard to find a place to volunteer that would reply to my inquiries, never mind one that would allow me to donate time at night or on weekends.

And that's when I came across OYFP's post on Idealist.org. "Sure," I thought. "I can head up PR, marketing, the website, and graphic design for a non-profit that's completely volunteer-run and just getting started in Boston."

I really didn't know what I was getting myself into.

Three years later, I've moved on from marketing, etc to the illustrious position of Co-Director. We've held over 30 events, ten of them in 2008 alone (and it's only August!). We've had two interns, three partners, and countless executive board members... but more importantly, we've made a difference.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering if what we're doing is actually impacting others. We don't have a department of people dedicated to quantifying our actions, measuring our success, or writing executive reports. Heck, we don't even have an office.

But I know we have made a difference, when I talk to our contacts at our partner organizations, when I meet families who have stayed with Christopher's Haven, when I volunteer to make crafts at the Italian Home with the kids, or when I simply reply to an email inquiry stating, "I'd like to volunteer." After all, our goal is to encourage a sense of volunteerism in our community, and everything from simple emails, talking to colleagues and strangers about OYFP, and even this blog, are helping to do that.

We want people to think about volunteering, and then act on it.

So. Show your support of OYFP, of volunteerism, of trying to make a difference, by coming to our anniversary party tonight. We're going to be celebrating our accomplishment, and hope you will be too.

--Event Details--

Myself, Dan (founder of Christopher's Haven), and Krystle, my Co-Dictator, I mean, Director

Related Posts: OYFP turns Three, Let's Party!; OYFP joins the 21st Century; Our intern at OYFP Boston

My new haircut... is FIERCE.

I know the last post was a bit of a tear-jerker. Which wasn't exactly my reason for posting. Just wanted to share...

So let me add... without a doubt.. my new haircut is fierce. And as soon as I get these wicked eyebrows waxed this evening...

You won't be able to tell me nothing. :)

...btw... did you know that not only can you buy wigs for your head when you lose your hair... they have FAKE EYEBROWS too.

I'mma hafta get me some of 'dem. :)
Y'all know I love my eyebrows.

Volunteering: What to ask before you commit

Maybe you're interested in volunteering, and have even chosen a few organizations you would like to contact, but aren't sure exactly what to say to them. Here's a helpful guide of questions to ask when you contact the group:

1. What do volunteers do with your non-profit?
2. How many hours a week do typical volunteers give to the group? Is this an ongoing opportunity?
   
3. What is the age range of other volunteers or employees, and recipients of the aid?
4. Are you a 501c3 certified non-profit?
5. Will I be expected to solicit donations?
   
6. Is there a training session I should attend or reading material I should review?
7. Do I need any special equipment or skills? Do I need to wear any special clothing?
   
8. How can I get there? Is there parking?
   
9. Should I arrive early my first time?
10. Do I need lunch or a meal?
    

Remember, employees of non-profits are almost always doing 10,000 things at once, and/or may be volunteers themselves, so be persistent. If you email and don't hear anything, call and leave a message. Always make sure to follow-up, even if you don't think it will be a good fit for you.

These questions (and the answers you receive) should give you a good gauge as to whether the non-profit is a good fit for you. So - armed with these tips, you should be good to go! I'll see you out there...

A family staying with Christopher's Haven

Related Posts: International volunteering for teens; What makes you want to volunteer?; Sock monkeys for charity; How to be happier; Who is happier?

Tears at the barbershop

Yesterday, I confirmed an appointment with the oncologist. It took nearly a week to get through, but finally... I made the schedule. My appointment is for tomorrow (Thursday).

I have been wearing my hair cut very close/short for over a decade. Twelve years to be exact. Though there have been a few times when I attempted to grow it out, wore braids or whatever... within a few weeks, I was back in Butch's chair telling him... "take it low and keep it tight". He always obliged.

Cutting my hair was actually my first adult step into embracing my femininity and my beauty. Without excessive vanity, I can say that I am an attractive -- even pretty -- woman. It took me so long to feel that way. And cutting my hair off, served as a catalyst for that.

Over the years, I have thoroughly enjoyed my brief forays into the 70's world of Brice's Barbershop. Most of the barbers in this shop are well into their 60's. The place has wood paneling and a poster of hairstyles that must have been printed in 1972. The fros are big and some of them are very fancy... I always chuckle or smile when I see that poster. Brice's has not (and probably will not) undergo a fancy renovation to bring it up to current designer standards. It is not the "hot spot". And I love it for that. It is always the same... everytime. (as you can guess continuity makes me comfortable)

When this talk of chemotherapy came up and I was warned several times that I would lose my hair... I thought little of it. I typically have less than 1/4 inch of hair on my head. I wouldn't miss it. Hair was not the definition of my beauty -- no more than my breasts were.

Or so I thought.

I told myself that when it was time for the chemotherapy to start, I would cut my hair really close for one last time. That way, when it started to shed and fall out, few would realize it and my "look" would still be rather consistent. I'd still be... Nic. And afterwards, when it began to grow back, I would finally allow it to be as long as it wanted to grow.

So, as I said in the beginning... I found out yesterday that tomorrow I see the oncologist. Last night, when I left the office, I decided to get my hair cut. My plan was to tell Butch that I'd be gone for awhile and that I wanted him to make my last tight fade... as pretty as he could. (He cut my hair so well for me on my 35th birthday... folks were stopping me on the street to comment)


But as I sat in the chair waiting for my turn... I just couldn't say goodbye. Going to Brice's has been a constant in my life since I was an adult. My first apartment was around the corner. My second was a few blocks away. For awhile, it was my weekend ritual to head to Eastern Market, get a haircut, grab some food and just absorb the coolness of the neighborhood. Even now, while I live many miles away, going to Eastern Market and to Brice's... is like coming home.

I didn't cry when Butch first cut off my hair. I was angry and I just wanted it off my head. I have heard many stories of breast cancer victims opting to cut off their hair and how traumatic it was for them. I did not believe it would be traumatic for me. How could it be, when I have scoffed at the notion of even having hair at all for so long?

It was heartwrenching.

I always anticipated going to the shop, laughing at the guys and just enjoying being included in a very male world for about 30 minutes. Last night was totally different for me. I left the shop with tears in my eyes. I wanted to hug Butch and tell him... but I couldn't. I wanted to say something to the sister who now cuts hair in there... but I just couldn't do it. The other barbers weren't there... and I wanted to say a goodbye to them too. They have shared snippets of their lives with me over the years... so I think of them as distant uncles. These folks mean something to me.

So, I don't know if the tears were for my hair or for a relationship that will probably be severed. (as a woman, I can't see myself just sitting in the shop on a Saturday afternoon shooting the breeze) I left... feeling the breeze on my scalp. And I headed straight to my boyfriend's arms for a good cry.

Why is this so damn hard?

OYFP Turns 3, Let's Party!!!

Local Action, Global Impact: OYFP Boston's 3rd Anniversary Party!

Join us this Thursday night, Aug. 21st, at Globe on Boylston Street to celebrate OYFP's 3rd birthday. No more mushy-carrot baby food, we're growing up. Year three means more events, more members, more fundraising, and more of you coming out to have fun and remember the stuff that really matters: VOLUNTEERING!

Come eat, drink, be merry and learn about where we've been and where we're going.

Date: Thursday, August 21
Time: 8pm-10pm
Location: The Globe Bar & Cafe
565 Boylston St (Back Bay) btwn Clarendon St & Dartmouth St
Boston. MA 02116
Cost: FREE ($5 requested donation)
What: Cash Bar, Free Food, Silent Auction, Raffle
More Info: Anniversary event page

See you there!

So, we're caught up on the highlights

Now... I can focus on the day to day feelings and utter craziness.

My therapist told me that it would be perfectly normal if I felt like... "why me" in regards to getting cancer. And honestly... I don't feel that way. Not yet anyway. I just feel like its written on my forehead.

"don't get too close... she has CANCER..."

Its weird, everyone keeps asking me how I feel. I feel the same way I felt on July 2nd before I had confirmation that there was another "something" inside my body uninvited. I feel fine. Now, people around me are saying that I'm not fine. But I feel okay.

I'm moody. I'm cranky. I'm sensitive. I burst into tears at the dumbest things and the most inopportune moments. I worry that my boyfriend will grow tired of me and my drama. I am worried that my email groups will disappear. I am afraid that something will go wrong and I'll end up shriveled and small and unable to complete any of the things that I've finally gotten in my head and my heart that I want to do.

I feel angry. I might not be able to have kids. THAT's not fair. I've finally said, yes, I think I could be a good mother and a good wife and I want that family... and now I'm faced with a treatment that could save my life but end my options of having another life.

I just don't know what to feel anymore. I'm currently waiting (it seems that I do a lot of that now) to hear from another doctor, an oncologist, to discuss my possible treatment options. I just want to know how soon I can start chemotherapy. The sooner it starts, the sooner its over. And I want all of this to be over... soon.

If you see me on the street and I don't seem to want to talk -- I probably don't. :) Its not personal, I'm just overwhelmed right now. I want to write all the stories and poems and scripts I ever dreamed about. I want to go to all the countries I've fantasized about visiting.... I feel like my days are getting shorter. And I can't stop it.

I've read other cancer survivors blogs... and well, I'm not that upbeat all the time. I am cranky as hell right now. I don't feel that I'm any more or less worthy of being stopped by cancer... but I do feel like... once again, the timing just sucks.

And then there was Freddie...

Freddie's not dead yet.. but he may be soon... read on, to understand.

Okay... so after my boo felt the lump too, I had to find a doctor and quick. Of course, with my new health insurance (that came with my new job) I needed to find a new doctor. And I couldn't find anyone who was accepting new patients.

I checked with my group (DC Sistagirls!) to see if any of those ladies had a recommendation -- nada. I checked with a few more people. Even went as far as to call my cousin in Georgia to get his input on a particular doctor here in DC. But... go figure... she too wasn't accepting new patients.

*sigh*

So, I called on one of my faithful best girlfriends and started wailing... she recommended her doctor highly. And naturally, I believed her because over the years I had heard her mention how much she liked Dr. Kabatsi. I made my appointment for a physical for 2 weeks later. I felt good. I was being proactive.

Then... I got into the shower one day and my boobie looked BIGGER. Freaked me out. I went to work frantic, and I called Dr. Kabatsi and asked if I could come in that day. Two hours later... another man told me that ... yes, there is a lump and I can feel it too.

Dr. Kabatsi is a wonderful doctor. Very kind, very straight-forward and he listens. I wasn't looking for a male doctor but I was happy I found him. He felt I needed a diagnostic mammogram and sonogram right away. Right away turned out to be about 10 days later. So, I had to stumble through the 4th of July weekend as though nothing was on my mind -- even though I was a foggy mess.

I asked my boyfriend to take me to the radiologist (which I didn't even have to ask, he was planning to go all along). And I thank God that he was there... we were both pretty frantic. While Dr. Kabatsi wasn't scary in his comments, he definitely made it clear that something was wrong and we needed to get everything checked out immediately.

At the first radiology center... I received my first mammogram and my first sonogram. Since I don't have children, I'd never been a witness to looking inside my own body through a machine and seeing something there. It is a very odd feeling. The mammograms were very uncomfortable.

Can anyone build a machine that doesn't have to mash your breasts against inflexible plates while you stand with your arms contorted behind you as you don't breathe (it messes up the film -- I breathed twice, now I know its a no-no)?

Mammograms are horrible. There is nothing nice that I can say other than that. I have fairly large breasts so the fact that I was so very uncomfortable made me uneasy as I thought of my smaller chested friends. We've got to come up with something better. QUICKLY! Smashed body parts are unacceptable.

FREDDY SHOWS UP FOR THE CAMERAI was amazed watching the sonogram. It was amazing looking at the inside of my boobie. The images reminded me of the ocean... and then suddenly there was this black "thing" floating in my sea. The lump didn't have a name until I saw him on camera. Suddenly, the tune from "SuperFly" started playing in my head....

"Freddie's dead...
That's what I said.... "

So... at that moment, I named the primary tumor Freddy. Honestly, 'cause I wanted Freddy to die. One of us had to go... and it wasn't going to be me.

I left the office stunned. I could barely speak. I barely heard the radiologist's comments about the mammogram results and the sonogram. But I do recall that she said something about cancer. She was concerned with the size, she was concerned with some micro-calcifications... but all the rest is a blur. Darryl understood what she said. But I really didn't.

We left... I called my mom when we got outside and then we went to lunch. At the time, I felt fine. I wasn't upset, just blank. By the time we pulled up to the restaurant, we both were sobbing. Well, I was sobbing, he was just misty.

We had just started dating. Just started thinking about a future... maybe kids, a house in the city -- not the suburbs... and now we had to step back and think about cancer, surgery maybe more. It seemed wild and outrageous. But that's where we were.

I called Dr. Kabatsi the next day -- he was a little frantic with me. He had spoken to the radiologist and felt I needed to see a surgeon right away to discuss options and lumpectomies. He gave me the name and number of a surgeon he highly recommended and I tried to make that appoint ment. As God worked it out, that surgeon was on vacation so I was assigned to another surgeon in the office, Dr. Juliet Lee.

I felt good. A woman doctor was what I wanted. Unfortunately... I couldn't get in to see Dr. Lee for another 12 days. When we finally met -- I was a basket case. I took my mother this time and Darryl showed up too. Dr. Lee was supposed to give me a biopsy (small needle) in the office that day -- which is why I brought reinforcements. However, after she examined me -- she determined that I needed more radiology and a different type of biopsy. A core needle biopsy (big needle).

Dr. Lee really knows what I'm going through. She is about my age and a breast cancer survivor as well. But of course, she was going on vacation right after my appointment. (bummer) Her office got me an immediate appointment (like 7:30 am the next day) at a different radiology center. There I got my first MRI and another mammogram.

The MRI was painless. I just laid down on a table, put my boobies in some holes/cups thru the table and was pushed into this big machine. *shrug* I listened to the radio while I was in there but that was it. I could feel something warm on my skin -- and I vaguely recall being injected with something that tasted like metallic salt water in my nose.

I had not slept at all the night after my visit with Dr. Lee which was the night before the MRI. I had to go home afterwards, just to sleep. The not knowing and the anticipation for each appointment was really killing me. Things were moving rapidly and slowly at the same time. If it wasn't DC in the summer, it probably really would have gone too fast for me to understand and comprehend. As it was... the wait between appointments (about a week) gave me just enough time to digest what was happening and what people were telling me about my body.

The core biopsy was rather upsetting. First, they wouldn't allow Darryl to come back into the room with me. I really needed him there. Second, the room was hot and uncomfortable. Third, this time, watching the sonogram wasn't fun at all. I couldn't feel it but watching a really long needle going into and out of your breast is unsettling to say the least.

I did learn/see that Freddie had a small buddy near by. I named him Ted. Since he was like a mini-version of Freddie. This time... it was "Fred and Ted's excellent adventure" even though I know that wasn't the name of the movie... that's what played in my head when I saw the little lump beside the bigger one.

When the procedure was done, Dr. Pulaski explained to me what he saw on the MRI and how he and some of his colleagues were very concerned (I have heard that word more times than I can count now... it has become a scary word for me) about my prognosis for cancer.

At this point, I'm at my 5th appointment in a two and a half/three week period, seeing my 4th doctor and I am TOTALLY freaked out. My blood pressure had to be through the roof because all I kept hearing was "cancer" and "very concerned". My family was already stressed out -- like I said, my dad just had an aneurysm Memorial Day weekend. And now... every few days another doctor is saying... "we're very concerned" with what is showing up on the film.

Anyway... back to Dr. Lee (by phone)... because now I'm frantic to know what the heck is going on. Of course, I can't reach her because she's on vacation and she never picks up her phone. Ugh. Dr. Pulaski told me that he would call me as soon as the results of the pathology report came back from Georgetown -- probably in 3 days.

He called me in two. Early in the morning. Like 9:00 am. Scary.

I am sitting at work, choked up with tears... listening to this kind man say that the pathology reports show that my Freddie is cancerous. He tells me to get in touch with Dr. Lee immediately and that he would be trying to reach her as well... I finally get her on Friday. I talked to Dr. Pulaski on Wednesday. I took Friday off from work as a vacation day because I was simply fried.

JUST NUMB
I could not do little things like remember to tie my shoes. Or remember to bring suitable work shoes with me to the office. I was walking through water... I could sort of hear sounds but I couldn't make out what people were saying to me.

I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer.
That's all I hear and see. I start looking at the whole world with the eyes of a dying woman. I try to take in everything -- even though so much doesn't make sense. People start flooding my memory that I haven't talked to in years. I start feeling frantic... I need a will, nah I don't. How can I prepare my parents for a life without me? How can I convince everyone that I'm okay even when I'm not?

I was a total mess for quite a few days. I told people around me, told my email groups, my family (finally) and my friends... and I tried to accept all the good wishes and thoughts that folks sent my way. I tried. But after I told it -- I wanted to hide and just rest in my boyfriend's arms in silence. That's all that I thought would make me feel better. Someone who loved me, holding me tightly, reminding me that right now, I'm still here. No words were necessary to convey that feeling... but words were what I received.

The hardest part so far has been listening to people tell me the stories about people in their lives who have either had breast cancer, or some other sort of cancer -- and now they are fine!

Those well-intentioned stories offered me no comfort at all. Which I know is the opposite effect that the story-tellers wanted. But it was hard to be encouraged when I know, all it takes is one person to be the exception to a rule... and I could easily be that exception.

Remember... "very concerned" has come out of the mouth of every doctor that I spoke to. What does it mean? Am I dying or not?

.... Dr. Lee conferred with a few more doctors after she returned from her vacation and sent me to another radiology appointment to have a biopsy of my lymph nodes. From her review... there were more tumors that were of deep concern. One was on my chest wall (or very close to it) and of course, since my boobies are so large, it could not be biopsied with a needle. It would have to be surgically biopsied. And that presented a problem because the first tumor is close to my skin and positioned close to my nipple. All of that meant...

If she were to remove those tumors surgically... there might not be much breast left to save.

No boobie? Or no nipple? What is that???
I was devastated. As I said before... my boobies aren't the ones I probably would have picked off a shelf but... I had grown comfortable with having them and I wasn't really ready to get rid of them. It wasn't going to work (in my mind) that I would have my breast removed and then replaced with a fake.

????

Washington Radiology was booked so Dr. Lee arranged for me to meet with Dr. Rapelyea of GW Hospital. She was an awesome sistagirl doctor. :) That made me very happy. I watched another tech sonogram my body... and this time I was better prepared for the mass that showed up in my ocean. The third lump is named Jim. As in "dammit Jim... I am only a doctor" (from Star Trek). As soon as I saw that dark mass, I said to myself... "dammit Jim"... and that was the name.

The biopsy this time was more painful... or rather... it seemed more invasive. I was laying in an uncomfortable position, the machine was larger and louder that the first one... This was no longer an entertaining adventure. Dr. Rapelyea was wonderful -- just like all the other doctors had been... though I could not imagine being more worried or upset... I was. My visit on Thursday with Dr. Rapelyea wouldn't result in answers about cancer until Tuesday. So I did my best to smile and not worry until Tuesday morning.

I spoke to Dr. Lee on Tuesday instead of going back to GW to pick up my results as they had suggested. We chatted for awhile, and she told me that yes, indeed the tumor in my lymph node was cancerous too. This meant that the cancer had migrated... and it could be likely that the cancer is spreading or has spread to other organs. I asked her the stage and she said either 2B or 3A. She switched to 2B (in my memory) after it seemed that I was stuck at 3A. Either way... it might be bad now.

.... more to come.

International volunteering for teens

It all started in 5th grade with my project on Japan. Each of us chose a different country, and we had to make little paper dolls dressed in that country's "traditional" clothing. I was obsessed with Japan - perhaps it was because it seemed so different than my own family and town, which was mostly blond and brunettes, all living in a suburban Boston wonderland.

That obesssion let me to call the number broadcase on Kiss 108: "Do you want to host a Japanese exchange student?"

Why yes, yes I did! No matter I was only in 5th grade.

I think my mom figured "what's one more kid when I already have four?" and a few months later, we welcomed Tomoko into our lives for a month. A year later, we used my dad's frequent flier miles and at 14 years old, I traveled over to Japan alone to visit Tomo and her family.

Since then, some of the highlights of my travels have included a college semester in Spain, being a psychologist in Nicaragua, and traveling around southern India. Apparently, however, kids are not only traveling around the world and doing it at a younger age than ever, they are starting humanitarian volunteering trips before they've even gone to their Junior year high school prom.

Apparently the increase in high school humanitarian trips is not entirely due to an outpouring of good feelings. Parents are encouraging their kids to go on these trips so they have material for a good college essay. Hopefully their essays end up coming from genuine emotion because then we have a win-win situation: the kid learns something that can't be taught in the classroom, and gets into a good school.

However, in yet another example of the increasing class divide, middle and lower class families may not be able to give these kinds of trips to their kids. Hopefully they'll be able to find fodder for their college essays closer to home - after all, volunteer opportunities for persistent and non-commitment-phobe teens are abound.

If you're interested in getting your teen volunteering, send them to the following websites to investigate:

• Your local hospital website (Emerson Hospital in Concord is where I put in 75 hours)
• A nursing home in the area (older adults greatly enjoy visitors)
  
• Foundation for Sustainable Development (for an international experience, usually an entire summer)
• VolunteerMatch, United Way, or Idealist are great databases of volunteer opportunities
  

Keep in mind that the organization is more likely to take your requests for information seriously if the teen calls or emails him or herself. S/he will probably feel more invested in it as well. With a little effort, you (or the teen you know) can have a great volunteer experience and some valuable fodder for that college application essay.

Me, at age 14 in Japan. The yukata was actually crossed incorrectly in the front in the way it is done for someone who has died. Tomoko's friend's mother took me into a phone booth and re-wrapped it for me because I was not, in fact, dead. Letters to my mother about the experience included, "it's hard to walk in those things," "I'm taller than everyone," and "they LOVE firecrackers and sparklers here."

Related Posts: Global Volunteering; SudanReach Foundation and Laura's Experience; Earthquake in China: Volunteer Opportunities; Gap Year

Photos courtesy of Casey.

First post about my boobies

Let me start by saying... this blog is not intended to be pornographic or sexually stimulating in any way. It is a log of my emotional and physical changes & challenges of being diagnosed with breast cancer at 39.


I was diagnosed with cancer on July 30th, 2008.

By the time a doctor finally uttered the words... "yes, it is cancer"... I had been through several visits with many different doctors (I'll go into details a little later) and had experienced my first mammogram, my first sonogram and my first MRI. Within a three week period.


My breasts have often been a source of anxiety, pain (you try running a marathon with a sack of potatoes strapped to your chest... not fun), annoyance, and they cost a pretty-penny to support. I had to learn/adopt an air of indifference about my boobies as they became too large to miss... because often enough someone would comment or remark about them in a way that would either embarass me or hurt my feelings. In order to bring some balance to the equation, I acted as though they were hardly worth noticing at all.

So... back at Mount Vernon College, I had this amazing professor of political science, Dr. Casamayou. She was one of the best instructors I've ever had in my life. She was also a breast cancer survivor. Dr. Casamayou made sure that her students knew to examine their breasts regularly and she often spoke about her illness and her recovery. To this day, I still have the self-exam shower card hanging in my shower. Everyday I get into the shower, I think of Dr. Casamayou.

I won't exaggerate the truth... I wasn't always faithful and committed to examining my breasts. But I did check them... maybe once or twice every month. Sometimes I would skip a month or a few months -- but even then, I would give 'em a quick squeeze every now and then outside of the shower just because they were there and they belonged to me. Some months that little card shamed me into just making sure. But many days... I closed my eyes and put my head under the water...

Some time ago, I thought I felt something. But then, the next time I went to squeeze 'em... I didn't feel a thing. Figured that it was nothing so I didn't let it stress me. A few months later, I felt something again... but this time I worried a little. So, I promised myself to just pay attention. Nothing hurt, nothing was protruding... I just felt...something.

In May, my father had an aneurysm. I'd go into details but all that matters is that the sight of my dad in intensive care with tubes and IV's and machines everywhere... changed my life. So, any concerns about myself were out the window. I could only think of my father... all day... everyday.

The month of June was a blur... family coming and going, friends inquiring about my dad, about my mom and about myself... I moved on auto-pilot. But for some reason, on auto-pilot, I checked my breasts... and this time, it was unmistakeable. There was a lump.

I asked my boyfriend if I was hallucinating...I needed to know if he felt something. He did. And fear started snaking itself around my arms...