postcard project

My mom has been going through chemotherapy treatments.  Again.  This is her third round in four years, but who's counting? There's no way to candy-coat it or make it pretty by tying on a pink, lavender or whatever color ribbon.  The t-shirts, hats & buttons from these folks pretty much say it all.

What makes it even more difficult is that my parents live nearly 400 miles away -- far enough that I cannot be there on a regular basis to visit or help.  And so from my kitchen table, I try to think of what I can do. I wish I could flip over my pencil to the eraser side, walk over to my mother's MRI scans and go, "Erase, erase, erase, erase." I call every day and have sent books, pajamas, necklaces, and artwork by my children, but truly, gifts hold little meaning when the only thing any of us wants is for this to go away.

Besides wanting the cancer to go away, what she really wants is us; she would like to see me, my husband & children and my brother as often as possible.  I thought & thought about it, and after a few days, I came up with something which, in my head, I call "The Bubbe Project."  (Note: "Bubbe" -- rhymes with hubby. It is the Yiddish word for grandmother and it's what my children call my mother.)

For the project, I compiled a set of recent photos of my children and had post cards made using the photo-images. Every few days my children write messages on a card or two, and then we drop the cards in the mail.  Now, in addition to our daily phone calls, she gets photos (real photos, not digital) several times a week.  It's not the same as daily visits, but it's been fun and has brought joy.

If you would like to do a similar project, here's how:  I used the online printing service called Moo Cards because, with Moo Cards you can order a set of postcards with a different image on each card.  I am not receiving any sort of compensation for suggesting Moo Cards -- I just like them a lot (I've been ordering business cards from them for years).

Do you have any suggestions for ways to send comfort & joy to someone dear who lives too far away?

Thank you Angelina Jolie

On May 14th, the NY Times published an op-ed piece written by Angelina Jolie titled My Medical Choice.  In her piece, Ms. Jolie revealed that she had been diagnosed with a BRCA genetic mutation and decided to undergo a prophylactic double mastectomy to avoid the high risk of breast cancer the mutation affords.

The NY Times published this piece by Ms. Jolie two months ago, and I have spent the past two months thinking about it.  Yes, it has taken me a while to write this post.

You see, I too have a BRCA genetic mutation, passed down to me through my mother, and nine years ago I underwent surgeries similar to those Ms. Jolie discusses.  During the time of my surgeries, I had the support of most family & friends, but there were a few who insisted my choice was a radical one.  These several family members & friends suggested I monitor, meditate, sniff magic aromatherapy oils, etc...  Nine years ago, there was no movie star paving the way to help people understand and validate the choice I had made.

I am very grateful to live in an era when I can take a blood test to detect this genetic mutation and then choose to have surgeries to minimize my risk.  The surgeries are long behind me now, but there are still repercussions and ramifications which lead me to write blog posts like this one here.

Thinking about the piece written by Ms. Jolie, what I like most about it is this: she wrote, "I can tell my children that they don’t need to fear they will lose me to breast cancer," and this is the same thing I tell my children.  Is there any better reason to undergo testing and surgeries than to stay healthy and alive for one's children?  That's why she did it, and that's why I did it, too.

Thank you, Angelina Jolie, for helping women who are faced with a diagnosis of the BRCA genetic mutation. Thank you for paving the way and validating difficult choices.

The Most Amazing Thing You Can Do for Your Children

A couple of months ago I was happily browsing around blog-land, reading a few blogs suggested by friends.  While visiting one of these blogs, I clicked "About Me." Included in the authors blurb was the statement, "I think [breast feeding] is the most amazing thing you can do for your children!!!"  I have been on friendly terms with this blog-author and she is delightful in every way.  I am fully aware, she was in no way intending to challenge or offend, however, when I read this my blood began to boil.  THE most amazing thing?  Really?  How about loving your children?  How about playing with your children?  Reading to your children?  Setting good limits?  There are so many "amazing" things we do for our children, so many experiences to share with them and so many ways to express our love.   I will not argue with the fact that breast feeding is very good for children and also a very special, unique experience, but the statement that breastfeeding is "THE most amazing thing" pushes my buttons. It brings up for me problematic attitudes within some mothering and breastfeeding communities from which similar pronouncements have sprung.

The part about it that most upsets me is this... What if a woman cannot, for any reason breast feed her babies?  Should any mother be made to feel that she is not providing her children with the best care and nourishment because her baby cannot latch, because she does not have enough milk, because she is ill, because her baby is adopted?  No mother should be made to feel she is harming her children or that she is less of a mother in this way, EVER.  This attitude, common within some mothering and breastfeeding communities, is simply not OK.  It is harmful.

The morning I was leaving the hospital after the birth of my first son, I was brought to tears by a horrible nurse who wielded this attitude.  I will never forget how I was made to feel by this woman on the joyous day I brought my baby home.  My first son would not  latch on, no matter what we tried.  It seemed like I had every lactation consultant in San Francisco marching through my room giving me suggestions and support, but in the end, I was issued a breast pump.  I pumped for 5 months, and had a double mastectomy when my son was 9 months old.  During the time I was shamed and pressured into pumping prior to the double mastectomy, I was putting myself at risk...  And the day I first went to the store to buy formula, I stood in the grocery aisle, held my baby and sobbed for 20 minutes. I had enough to worry about that day.  I did not need to be crying over buying formula.

I stand publicly and say I agree 100% -- breast feeding is beautiful, wonderful, important and healthy.  I agree that every mother should try to offer this to her children, but no mother should feel ashamed, EVER, for bearing (and baring) her bottles.  I will also stand forward and say that my children are strong, healthy and smart.  The bond I share with them is undeniable.  For anyone to put forth that my children have been compromised or harmed in any way because I fed them formula is just plain deplorable.

To read more on the topic of breastfeeding you can visit Stephanie at Knitty Gritty Homestead where she has written a wonderful, heart-felt post. Danielle at Most Days I Win  also offers humor, wisdom and insight on this topic.

Is that Cup Half Empty or Half Full?

On Friday, May 27th, I called my mother just to say "hello."  Her birthday had been the day before and so we'd spoken then, but it's a usual habit for us to talk almost every day.  She sounded down and when I wanted to know why, she asked if I was in a quiet place where we could talk.  I was driving on an errand and had her on speaker-phone so I immediately pulled the car over.  She told me that she had cancer -- a very aggressive type.   I was (understandably) very upset.  To torture myself further I did research.  I found statistics.  I took notes. The cold, hard facts are as follows: even with aggressive treatment, this thing could go either way. 

There will always be things in our lives over which we have no control.  What we do have control over, however, is how we respond.  And so, the question is then, how does one respond to this type of revelation?

In this blog, I present to you my best self, but I have to admit, when the going gets tough, I am just as likely to channel Eeyore ("There are those who will wish you a good morning. If it is a good morning, which I doubt.") or Piglet ("Help, help," cried Piglet, "a Heffalump, a Horrible Heffalump!" and he scampered off as hard as he could, still crying out, "Help, help, a Herrible Hoffalump! Hoff, hoff, a Hellible Horralump! Holl, holl, a Hoffable Hellerump!")  

Responding in the fashion of Eeyore or Piglet is normal and human, but I've needed to go beyond those responses. So... I keep returning to the statistics.  When the odds are 50/50, it seems to me that one can look at the numbers and view them as a "cup half empty" or a "cup half full."

Through these past weeks my mother has been steadfastly maintaining a "cup half full" approach.  She came through surgery a few weeks ago with flying colors and she starts chemotherapy today.  She is strong, determined and has a lot of living to do.  So, I'm going to follow her example.  I've got a firm grip on my cup and am raising it to my perfect, beautiful mother in a toast to love, life, and good health.  And when I raise that cup, it's definitely half full.

Bitter-Sweet

The other morning Little Mr. B. set up the tiny plastic Playmobil hedgehogs like this and said, "The baby hedgehogs are drinking milk from the mama hedgehog." Most days I don't spend much time thinking about the fact that I had a double-mastectomy when Little Mr. was 9 months old, but moments like this bring memories.

The nursing hedgehogs brought me back to an afternoon about 4 years ago (Little Mr. was almost 3.) We were playing with 3 stuffed-toy kittens. Little Mr. told me they needed milk so I found a little bowl, pretended to pour some milk and presented it to the kittens. Little Mr. said, "No, they need milk from breasts." While I was rummaging around to find a suitable stuffed toy to represent a mama cat, he said, "But they need milk from your breasts." Well, I thought to myself, even if these reconstructed water-balloon breasts aren't good for anything much, at least I can nurse some stuffed toy kittens." Bitter-sweet, indeed.

Every day I'm grateful. I'm grateful my mother is alive after receiving treatment for breast cancer. I'm grateful for medical technology which can isolate the familial genetic mutation which conferred to me an 80% lifetime risk of developing breast cancer. I'm grateful I had medical insurance which covered the genetic screening, the double mastectomy and reconstruction. I'm grateful for my sweet Mr. B. who picked up Chinese food on his way home from work no matter how many times as week I asked for it. I don't love the fact that I have reconstructed orbs (sometimes referred to as my "feminine enhancements") but I'm grateful.

I volunteer through a peer support program at a local agency which provides free services to women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer. At least once a month they call to ask whether I'd be willing to talk to another young mother who is facing a mastectomy. It's not easy to feel gratitude while dealing with chemotherapy and surgery, but it's my hope that every woman I talk to will, at some point, be able to feel grateful.