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Posts Tagged ‘women’

So I have to admit that because of my history I’ve got a pretty lengthy medical file that probably weighs more in pounds than it measures in thickness.  So it’s always been in my best interest to actually purchase some sort of medical ID bracelet or dog tags to give people a heads up in case something goes wrong and I’m unable to communicate.  I am, unfortunately, a true procrastinator at heart.  What makes matters worse is that, when I’m faced with a lot of decisions before reaching an end goal, I tend to drag my feet like an overweight dachshund being forced on a walk around the block.

Case in point: I probably should have had a medical ID bracelet the moment I discovered I had an allergy that led to anaphylactic shock.  That’s basically when your body reacts so severely to something that it starts shutting down.  Eyes, throat, mouth…everything swells and cuts off the necessities.  You know…like air.  It’s not a super common allergic reaction, but most that deal with it frequently tend to carry an epi-pen or other life-saving medications around for this very reason.

Of course, the trigger for that severe reaction in me only comes from one source and it’s only maintained in one environment that I’m aware of.  Medicating myself ahead of time tends to curb the reaction to the bare minimum or down to nothing at all.  While great, it may or may not have given me a reason to procrastinate on a medical ID bracelet for just that much longer.

Jump ahead several years and we’ve got Breast Cancer breathing down my neck, a full on radical mastectomy complete with lymph node removal.  Anybody who has been through this or is even remotely familiar to this procedure knows that most nurses, phlebotomists and the like tend to frown on using the arm on the side your lymph nodes have been removed.  Not only does this include drawing blood and IVs, but they also strongly advise not using blood pressure cuffs and lifting anything over a certain weight due to the strong risk of developing lymphedema.  Lymphedema, in short, is pretty much a chronic and painful swelling in the arm.  It’s an unfortunate and pretty common side effect of losing your lymph nodes, as those are what pull water and fluids from any sort of injury through to your body’s waste system (liver and kidneys, naturally).  Without them, the fluid tends to pool and collect right where it forms, causing painful swelling.  In order to control it you’re pretty much stuck with the equivalent of compression socks on your arms for life.  There’s at least some solace knowing that people do make some pretty fancy and fashionable lymphedema wraps. But, once you have it, it can flare up or calm a bit, so you’re pretty much looking at a permanent condition.  Thus far it’s one I’ve managed to avoid.  Probably in my best interest to keep it that way.

You would think that this would get me off my rear, right?  A severe allergy, risk of a painful chronic condition if somebody pokes or squeezes the wrong arm…?  Well … sort of.  It did push me to start looking around.  My major roadblock, however, was that I was also on a plethora of medications, had several doctors…had emergency numbers that should be placed on such a thing…

But when you look at most websites offering these bracelets, you’re given 4-5 lines of space to put the most important things down.  How do you prioritize?  What do you tell people if you’re found unconscious and in need of medical help?

Like…how if you’re found unconscious in a parking lot, slumped over your steering wheel…?  Stop looking at me like that.  I can feel the disapproval through your screen.

I still didn’t have a bracelet made yet when I had my adventure during that chaos.  If you consider I could open my own pharmacy with all the medications they have me on,  knowing that info in the ER would have been mighty helpful.  I lucked out in that my husband is pretty well-informed with my health, but the wrong medication, the wrong dosage, mixed with another…?  There’s no way to pretty up the fact that it could kill you or severely hamper your recovery.

So I finally did some research.  Google can be such a marvelous thing for the prepetual procrastinator.

Turns out that if you have a novel of information you want EMTs, Nurses, ER staff, doctors or even perfect strangers to know if you’re out cold…can be put onto a simple medical ID card.  Tuck it away in your wallet, call it good.  I was hesitant at first, though, knowing that most of my medications and dosages, times, etc., are prone to changing.

Turns out people have thought of that, too.

If you go here you can find a form online that you can fill out with all the information that will be needed.  Blood type, emergency numbers, allergies, address, name, conditions, medications and dosages and times …

All the stuff to make your nurse proud.

So what does that leave to put on your medical ID bracelet or dog tags?  Anything you think would be needed immediately.   For me?  My name, two emergency numbers, and a line that simply reads “SEE MEDICAL ID CARD”.

Best part?  While the medical bracelet doesn’t come free (or cheap in a lot of cases), you don’t feel so bad buying a nice one that will last knowing that there will be little cause to have to replace the actual tag in the future.  Every time something changes?   Go back, fill it out again, print it for free in any of the available card sizes, tuck it in your wallet and go on with your day.  Considering how everything else in life is far from simple, it’s nice to see at least one thing is.

 

Med ID Bracelet

I went for the functional, but I’ve got a fancy one, too. I snagged mine from Lauren’s Hope … ended up arriving super early and in great condition.

 

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Ok, so this is something that’s bugged me for a very, very  long time now.  I thought, perhaps, that I was imagining it when I was a teenager looking into possible support groups, that there was a bit of a cancer hierarchy.  The only support groups I could find were for women in their 40s and up (which is ancient to a 16-year-old) who had gone through breast cancer alone.  When I was re-diagnosed I found the same situation.  The only support group that was relatively close to my needs was at my college campus: which consisted of people my age who had known somebody who had gone through cancer.  Usually a mother, father, or grandparent.

But that’s not where I’m going with this.  See, on the list of importance Hodgkin’s is somewhere on the low scale, mostly affecting people who are young.  Non-Hodgkin’s is far more popular, and diverse, and therefore given much more attention.  But not nearly as much as breast or cervical or ovarian or prostate.  However, when I was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer it wasn’t a sudden get-in to the pink cancer club.  It was disbelief.  “What? You’re 27?  Everybody knows it doesn’t happen that early. Go on your merry way, now, back to being a normal twenty something.  This club is for 40 and up.”  Of course, until I had a breast removed.  That apparently makes you qualify for the club.

Now…now lung cancer.  You see, for me this is all very simple.  It’s a cancer.  Cancer sucks.  I do what I can to get treatment, same as the last three times thinking that there’s no possible way I could face any more disbelief in my situation.  Most people I know, including doctors and nurses, are used to my odd predicament.  They don’t bat an eye when I say, “Guess what!  I’m back!”.  My insurance company, however, is convinced I’m doing this to myself.

Ever since they’ve processed my claims I’ve had non-stop pamphlets on how to quit smoking.

You know, that’s funny, since I’ve never smoked a day in my life.  I never got a pamphlet on how to prevent Hodgkin’s.  And instead of a pamphlet on how to prevent breast cancer I was showered with pink, given stuff on how to find support groups and tips for early detection from my insurance company.  But, now that I have lung cancer, I should have been able to prevent this.  All that smoking I didn’t do has caught up to me!

Funny how certain cancers can be made out to be your fault, while others are simply a tragedy that sympathy must be showered on.

Thanks, guys!  I’ll do my best to quit cancering, but somehow I just haven’t figured it out.  No worries, I’ll keep working on it though, wouldn’t want people to think that I’m not trying to cure myself.  This disease totally would’ve been prevented if I had just known that I should quit smoking those imaginary cigarettes.

Too much sarcasm?

Probably.

But just FYI?  Breast cancer = tragedy.  Hodgkin’s = Tragedy.  Lung cancer = Why did you not take greater measures to prevent this?!

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When I was little and an adult would ask me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” there were really only two options that I ever replied with.  The first one came natural, as it revolved around a hobby I’d come to thoroughly enjoy.  All of my notes and homework were littered with illustrations on the side, sometimes they were cartoon characters, other times they were doodles of family members or the family dog.  Even into college my lecture notes often had doodles along the edges of the paper, often times serving as my own interpretation of the written subject or as marks that I could easily find exam material by.  Obviously, I wanted to be an artist.

My second one was a little less known and considerably less obvious.  Especially if you consider that, while I enjoyed babysitting kids and working with them, I truly was not a fan of toddlers and diapers.  I preferred being able to hand a difficult child off back to the parents when they came home or back to the leader out at Girl Scout camp when I was quite done with being a climbing tree/song leader/line leader/game instructor/hiking guide/helping hand as a Program Aide.  Despite all of this, for some silly reason I really, truly, wanted to be a mother.

To be honest I also wanted to be a teacher, but that would mean I had three things I wanted to be when I grew up, and completely derail my train of thought.  But I digress.

Now, I did not, however, go to college looking for a husband.  I went to work on my art, get a degree, and have a new experience away from home.  College was an adventure dabbling in a bit of reality and a lot of childhood, all crashing together in one central place.  I was never one that delved into the party-scene, in fact, I rarely touched alcohol.  My ‘parties’, if you want to call them that, consisted of me and a few friends meeting up to play Rolemaster or Dungeons and Dragons.  There may have been alcohol at a couple of these, and there may be a story about somebody taking shots to rolling natural 1s and 20s…but that’s a story for another time.  But while I was in the midst of this, I managed to end up doing what I didn’t expect I would.  I found a husband.  No, I found an amazing best friend.  (If you haven’t been reading long, I have a few best friends, all of a different assortment.  My mother, my husband, my father, my sister, and also the ‘traditional’ sort of best friend, if anything about my life can be considered traditional, that is.)  One thing we both found out after a while was that we both had the same sort of goals…we both wanted to be parents.

Now, Bryan, that’s my husband, had the idea of having a nice sized brood of children, having come from a family of four kids.  I was, for the most part, an only child since I rarely saw my half-sister until we were both in our teens and it switched to a constant.  For me a smaller family seemed more like something I could handle, but I wanted more than one since the times I did have with my sister I enjoyed more often than not.  We settled on four…maybe five as our decision, depending on whether or not motherhood drove me down the path of insanity after only two.

Then came cancer.  You know, you never really realize just how much you love somebody until something like this happens.  Bryan had already been informed about my cancer, but he, like myself, thought of it as something in the past.  I was sixteen then, and at this point I was twenty going on twenty-one.  Cancer was in my past.  But I was about to learn the hard way that cancer would never, ever, be fully in my past.  It was my past, my present, and my future.  My chances at motherhood were about to be tested in a way I never had even perceived.

When I sat down with my doctor I was given a few options for my treatment.  Not only had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma come back, but it had come back to the full extent of which it had been when I was originally diagnosed as a teen.  The chemotherapy hadn’t worked.  They wanted to hit it with everything, but in the spirit of giving me options, they told me I could either A: Do full body radiation, or B: Do an intense chemotherapy with localized radiation.  I was a little giddy about not having to do chemotherapy, but it seemed to dawn on me to ask, “Will I be able to have children?”  The two doctors exchanged looks, then looked to me, “With full body radiation it’s unlikely, however there are procedures we can do to surgically move your ovaries aside…”

Let me remind you that up to this point putting a port in scared me to no end, so the thought of somebody operating down there to move around what I’d hoped would be the temporary home of a new addition to my family was petrifying.  I opted for chemo and localized radiation.  To this day I’m thankful that I did.

Because of this, Bryan and I sat down for one of the most difficult talks I’ve ever had to start with him.  We were barely dating, but we knew we wanted to marry after we were done with college.  So I felt it important to bring up the elephant in the room.  After dealing with chemo twice, I wasn’t sure my body could handle doling out a brood of five children.  What surprised me was that he didn’t seem to mind.  I thought not only the cancer, but possibly the thought of having fewer children might scare him away.  But it didn’t.  Bryan stuck by my side through the whole ordeal and even afterwards.  If that doesn’t say love, then what does?

Over the years I got a bit braver, thought maybe I could do up to five.  After my first I was convinced I only wanted one, then eventually two, maybe three…my decisions never really had any finality to them because I knew that based on my own experiences that I would constantly change my mind on the matter.  Somewhere, inside, I had decided that I was done when I was holding my daughter in my arms for the first time.  I had one of each, they were both beautiful and only two years apart.  My husband, however, thought just maybe…maybe he might be able to convince me for just one more…

…and then cancer.

Again.

This time it was breast cancer brought on by the radiation I’d had previously.  Later Bryan told me that the only reason why he never tried to convince me for a third was because of breast cancer.  Two births, three different types of chemotherapy, radiation … the body can only handle so much and still be able to thrive during healthy times.  Not to mention my daughter’s birth had to be induced early due to pre-eclampsia.  We both decided that a third was out of the picture at this point.  We had two to cherish, love, and raise…probably a good decision on our part.  Why? Because as you know…cancer came back.  Again.

The chemotherapy I’ve only just recently finished will also possibly cause uterine failure.  Kind of the nail in the coffin when it comes down to  having any more kids.  However I count myself lucky.  I had six years of good health in which I had time to finish college, marry, and have two beautiful children.  Not everybody gets that choice or that chance when faced with similar situations to my own.  I always have to think of that whenever I feel a little bit of regret for not having more.  Besides, I think the two I got are pretty awesome and really, there’s only so much awesome the world can handle, right?

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

 

 

 

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Oh dear, I made a meme. This could get me into trouble.

Oh dear, I made a meme. This could get me into trouble.

Well, I have to admit I was a bit excited for today to be done with, but overall it ended up being a surprisingly good day.  I had a fun ride down to chemo with my mother, stopped for some celebratory coffee, and settled in.  Talked a bit with the doctor, who was happy to see my progress and how well I’m doing. Really, I am doing well.  Especially if you compare how I handled the last three chemo treatments, this one has been a lot easier on me.  I guess in a way that’s not saying much though!  Because of this my doctor is, in his words, “Feeling brave” and wants to consult with the doctors up at OHSU (Oregon Health Sciences University) about a possible two more rounds of chemo on a different drug than the two I’m on now.

He also stated that this was because I’m not your typical textbook case.  I laughed at that.

Jenn, my hospital buddy, has also moved back to town just in time to come sit with my mother and I for the last treatment.  I was loopy on the high dosage of Benedryl they give me for about half of it…managed a half hour nap…but it went surprisingly quick.  I did end up getting a good three or four calls (…that’s a bit sad that I can’t remember!) about the registration for the day camp I help run.  I find it ironic that the day that I don’t have access to a computer to look over the website registration site is the day that I get several calls about it messing up.  Ahh, technology, offering amazing things and increasingly frustrating stuff all at the same time.

After a little bit of lunch I took off home with Jenn and am in a sleepy state of celebration.  I also found a beautiful flower-pot from my husband’s uncle and aunt sitting on the counter with a gift card to a local burger place that’s quite good.  I think a celebratory taste is in order, of course.

Like every time I go through cancer, the future is uncertain and I don’t know if this is the last time I’ll face the disease and all the medical treatments that come with it.  But despite it’s difficulties, I don’t spend my time worrying about it.  There’s too much I have to do, people I have to spend time with, children to raise, and a husband to cherish.  Cancer may butt in, but all I can do is remember to put on my steel-toe boots and kick it right back out the door.  And maybe start doing a little more exercising again.  Couldn’t hurt.

That's right, without the scarf.  I have fuzz!  But it's likely going to fall out again before it starts to really grow.

That’s right, without the scarf. I have fuzz! But its likely going to fall out again before it starts to really grow.

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A few days ago as I sat here in my comfortable computer chair my daughter came over to me with her little toy dolls.  You’ve likely seen these things in the checkout lane at the store, tiny little Disney princesses that have rubbery-plastic clothing that you can pull on and off.  My daughter loves these with a passion I’ve never seen in any other three-year-old.  Every time we leave the house these little dolls are the perfect size for her to cram in her tiny pockets to keep her company on a car drive or a shopping trip.

On this particular day she was trying to inform me (to show me that she knew, I’m guessing) that Cinnerella (Cinderella) has two eyes, a nose, a mouth, two ears, her ‘hairs’ and two broccolis.  I wasn’t completely listening at first, doing the typical parent and only vaguely paying attention while multi-tasking at the computer, but for some reason this caught my attention.

“Broccolis…?”  I echoed, turning to look at her.  She beamed proudly at me, holding up the Cinderella doll that she’d managed to somehow dress herself.

“Yes, she has two eyes, a nose, lips, and her hairs, and two broccolis.”

This time she pointed out each part of Cinderella as she named it.  When she got to ‘broccolis’ I about spit out the coffee I was trying to swallow.  Apparently Cinderella’s breasts are broccolis.  It was also very important to note that she had two, as well.

There are times as a parent where you feel the need to correct your child so that they know the true name of a body part, but you simply can’t bring yourself to do it because the word they’re using is downright hilarious.  This would be one of those times.  I’m not entirely certain where she got the word ‘broccolis’ unless it was when I was trying to teach her what bras and prosthetics are, but somehow she’s quite set on calling them that.  Needless to say that it was entertaining trying to explain to my father what she meant by broccolis when she put him in the same situation with her Ariel doll.

Someday I’ll correct her, or she’ll figure it out on her own, but for now they’re broccolis.  This particular point brought my husband and I to a rather humorous conversation late last night as well.  Needless to say it ended up spurring the picture below.

Because broccolis are worth saving!

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Yesterday I had the chance to guest blog over at 4women.com run by the lovely Susan Beausang.  The topic is hair loss, so if it interests you, go check it out!

Recently I did a bit of a chop to my hair in anticipation of it falling out due to chemotherapy.  I went in to my stylist and told her, “Have fun, but make it short.”  I was half expecting to come out with zebra stripes and a mohawk, but she kept it pretty safe.  There’s still a little temptation to go buy some blue dye and play a bit myself, though.

This is about as long as the hair got in two years since my last chemotherapy. The curls are something that came with it as well, as my hair never used to be quite this wavy.

This is about as long as the hair got in two years since my last chemotherapy. The curls are something that came with it as well, as my hair never used to be quite this wavy.

I ended up coming out of the salon with a rather short and still curly bob that I wasn’t sure I could pull off.  For me, short hair with curls always leaned a bit towards the overly fluffy and frizzy side.  It’s one of those things that happens in the Pacific Northwest with all of our rain.  Hair without frizz…well, needless to say it doesn’t really happen except for our driest months of the summer.

Not bad, I confess I was a bit surprised how well it turned out.

Not bad, I confess I was a bit surprised how well it turned out.

The next morning I played a little more with it.  I think I prefer it blow-dried.

Yes, that is indeed how big my coffee cup is. I live in the Northwest. Coffee flows through our veins.

Yes, that is indeed how big my coffee cup is. I live in the Northwest. Coffee flows through our veins.

Of course, the next morning my scarves, or ‘beaubeaus’ as they’re officially called, came in from 4women.com.   Back in 2010, about six to seven weeks after my mastectomy, I found myself out shopping for a mastectomy bra and orpemborp so I could balance out my new-found lopsidedness.  This entailed a lot of sitting in the dressing room waiting for the attendant (who I believe was also a RN) to run back and forth, grabbing different bras and orpemborps until we found the right fit.  I have to complement the ladies down at Saffron’s, they take a lot of care to making sure you walk out of there satisfied and not feeling completely awkward.  As I sat there waiting I began to thumb through the magazines, looking for something to occupy my time.  I came across a small article, about a half a page, about Susan Beausang and her story about why she created the beaubeau and started 4women.com.  I sat there staring at the beautiful scarf she was wearing with a hair touch of envy (see what I did there? Of course you did.), as I had already resigned myself to wearing wigs once more, even though I’m a bit disdainful of them.  The website seemed easy enough to remember, though, so I ordered one for myself when I got home.  Long story short, my relations also purchased scarves for me after I raved a bit on Facebook how wonderful they are.  I’ll never go back to a wig, that’s for certain.

They're even fun to wear with hair. This one is the "Bohemmian Vintage". A bit bluer than what's pictured here though, since I was playing with filters.

They’re even fun to wear with hair. This one is the “Bohemmian Vintage”. A bit bluer than what’s pictured here though, since I was playing with filters.

"Rhythm and Blues" has a bit of purple, green, and blue to it that I tend to favor.

“Rhythm and Blues” has a bit of purple, green, and blue to it that I tend to favor.

After a while my daughter decided to play along with me. So I took out the two remaining scarves and put one on each of our respective heads. She's wearing "Tangerine Tango" and I'm wearing one that I believe might no longer be in stock. The pose idea is completely her idea, the little ham.

After a while my daughter decided to play along with me. So I took out the two remaining scarves and put one on each of our respective heads. She’s wearing “Tangerine Tango” and I’m wearing one that I believe might no longer be in stock. The pose idea is completely her idea, the little ham.

I did, however, save the chopped hair for a viking funeral that…well it didn’t exactly turn out.  Let’s just say that next time (should there be one) I need to actually make a boat that floats with more than thirty minutes of thought put into it.  We got it to burn, but it didn’t exactly leave the shore.  But that’s a story for another time, naturally.

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So, I saw this being done around the web a bit here and there, one of those things that randomly pops up and a good chunk of people hop on the bandwagon.  It disappears, and then tends to show up all over again about a year later.  Considering at sixteen I was in a rather unique situation, I figured I’d try my hand at it.

Me at sixteen with my friend and her brother in 1998, shortly before being diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma

Me at sixteen with my friend and her brother in 1998, shortly before being diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma

Dear…well, me,

Happy Birthday!  It’s me…you in about fourteen years.  Yep, we’re still tall, that doesn’t change.  Shoes and clothes are still hard to find, but in about four years you’ll discover a few places that actually sell your size.  So no worries, you won’t be buying men’s pants for the rest of your life.  Enjoy and savor that feeling of finding a pair of women’s pants that you step on because they’re too long, I know I do, even though sometimes it results with fraying on the hem.  The good news is that you’re still at least semi-OK with a sewing machine, so it’s nothing you can’t fix.

That aside, I wanted to step into a more serious topic.  Remember back in science class in junior high when they were discussing diseases?  Particularly cancer?  Distinctly recall thinking…”That won’t happen to me,”?  Yeah, we should probably talk about that.  The fact is that you’re not immortal…far from it.  In less than a month you’re going to find something that’s going to change your outlook on life forever.  A small lump just above your collar-bone.  To spare you the months it’s going to take for the doctors to figure out what it is, I’ll just tell you now.  Look up Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  Telling you to google it would probably go over your head, so go to the library, check out a book on cancer.  Figure out where I’m going with this yet?

Basically you’re about to head down a long and rough road.  It’s going to make high school considerably more isolating, but I’m not here to write a letter that’s going to depress you into an early suicide because there’s hope.  A lot of hope.  See … you’re going to fight.  I’m not going to really give you a choice here, because without you I wouldn’t exist.  And the picture I’ve enclosed?   Those two kids wouldn’t exist, either.  That’s right, they’re yours.  Didn’t know you could make something that cute, huh?  Me either, it still baffles me.  Also, see that incredibly good-looking guy beside you with a smile to die for?  He’s yours, too.  So when you don’t get asked out to any dances the entire time you’re a teenager, or when you get turned down by the one guy you do ask…or when you find yourself depressed because none of your crushes reciprocate…?   You get him, and he’s worth it.  No, I’m not telling you whether or not he’s taller than you, either, because that won’t matter.  He’s amazing, that’s all you need to know.

On another note, when things start getting rough with your best friends–you know the two I’m talking about–try to be patient.  Try not to jump to rash actions when one of them starts to pull away.  It’s going to hurt, ending a friendship never feels great.  She’s scared, and what you’re going through…she has no way of understanding.  Some people will never understand and the best way that they cope is to pull away.  Find it in your heart to forgive, though, because she doesn’t really know any other way to react than lashing out.

Don’t wait eleven years to thank Jesse.  Hell, do it before High School is out.  He found the lump in your collar and if he hadn’t you wouldn’t be around beyond eighteen.  When it comes to Jenn…take her word first.  She’s never lied to you, nor has she had reason to, so if somebody else tells you something about her … take five minutes to think, remember to listen to Bryan (you’ll know who this is by the time you get to this point anyway), and then ask her instead of taking somebody else’s word for it.  The girl sticks her neck out for you, and you do as much for her…just…when this one time comes?  Do not go off writing one of your ranting letters.  Those things get you into more trouble than they’re worth.  Type them, get them out of your system, then just put them in the recycle bin.  Also, avoid discussing politics with people.  This gets you into trouble now and then and ends up not worth the emotional irritation.

Beyond that…well, the chips are going to fall where they do.  Give Shannah (Cookie) a big hug for me, make sure Grandma B knows you love her, and be patient with your mom.  I know you’re scared, but she’s scared too.  Remember what happened to your sister?  Everybody was afraid then, everybody will be afraid again…but you can get through it.  Just … patience.  You could really use some.  Try to stay positive and keep your chin up.  There’s a lot of good on the other side of this mountain, so just remember to bring your hiking boots.

And some chocolate.  Bringing chocolate never hurt you.

Sincerely,

Me.   Or you.  In fourteen years.

P.S.  – You could really do to stay away from the spiral perms, just sayin’.  They never get any better, so I’m not sure why you keep getting them.

Also, make sure this picture doesn't happen. I'm begging you.

Also, make sure this picture doesn’t happen. I’m begging you.

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denise4health & hello COURAGE

by a Stage 3 Breast Cancer SURVIVOR whose mom and sister are also survivors

rcswildride's Blog

4 out of 5 dentists recommend this WordPress.com site

cancer in my thirties

I was a mom to twin kindergartners and had just turned 34 when a breast CANCER diagnosis completely changed my life...

anotheronewiththecancer

Yes I am the Cancer Curmudgeon

BcomingFree

Chronicling my adventures while I muddle through both illness and school simultaneously.

Reblogging Cancer from CCWS

Not for the Faint of Heart. This is what it's come down too.

Take Back Teal for Ovarian Cancer Awareness

Make a fashion statement for ovarian cancer awareness. Use the latest trends to show your support for ovarian cancer. We love teal!

rabbitb

A place to put random thoughts from an "old brain"....when I actually remember to do so!

Lulu's Bookshelf

Working through my bookshelf, writing reviews

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