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Posts Tagged ‘women’

Even after my several years of experience with cancer it never ceases to amaze me how oblivious to the symptoms I can be.  Especially when they’re being waved in front of my face like a checkered flag.  I’ll get a bit more into that further on.  Otherwise I also wrapped up my chemotherapy sessions.  This, of course, means that I get the round of CT scans and MRIs followed by the traditional ‘wait and see’ phase that follows.  A full torso/abdomen checkup and a brain scan to cross our T’s and dot our I’s.  Last Thursday was the CT scan, Monday was the MRI.  I’m so very accustomed to these, though, that I choose to not worry and panic over the wait for results.  See, going through cancer you have to wait…a lot.  Blood tests, scans, samples from tumors and biopsies.  When I first started this almost twenty years ago the wait was sometimes two weeks to a month and it was absolutely excruciating.  Sometimes it’d be even longer.  Presently it’s typically a week at the most, sometimes shorter than that if my doctor wants to fill me in and move me through the process of things quicker.  He’s quite good at keeping me in the loop, even if it means Sunday night phone calls

So instead of fretting I move forward with my plans.

On Saturday, before my son set off to summer camp for the first time, we got to meet and partially pay for our newest member of the family.  She is a beautiful Great Dane that we’ve dubbed ‘Anora’.  All black save for a few white specs here and there and has, to my delight, dubbed me as hers.  If I sit in her vicinity she is my shadow, on my feet curled up,  or snuggling into my lap.  If I’m not careful I will have an over-sized lap dog in a year.  Oddly enough, I’m not too distraught about this.

Anora

Anora snoozin’ it up at my feet. Between her crate and my shadow she has also adopted the space under the Japanese Maple in the back yard as her outside ‘den’.

Before picking up our newest addition, legs and all (and her legs are exceptionally long!), Jenn and I took my youngest minion to the coast.  It was…admittedly exhausting but at the same time lots of fun.  Due to my recent need for pain killers I’ve formed the unfortunate habit of napping on car rides as the medication takes hold.  Luckily my daughter is very good at filling the quiet with song and ideas and kept Jenn awake on the ride home with her chatter.  It’s odd for me to be the passenger still.  We’ve been close friends since we were fifteen and it never occurred to me that over the hundreds of times we’ve visited the coast that Jenn had never been in the driver’s seat.  It was almost always me or our friend Leah.  The fact that I can’t just hop into my car and drive still feels surreal, something I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to.

That leads to the whole need for pain killers thing.  Back in April I had a run in with pneumonia that left a lot of water pressed between my chest wall and my lung.  The pain was pretty bad, but it slowly started getting worse over the few weeks after I left the hospital.  Both my husband and I figured it was the fluid not draining, as it wasn’t getting better like a rib break or a muscle sprain would.  Because of so many possible factors that could contribute to chest pain for me, my doctor and I agreed to hold off on a scan until after my latest chemotherapy treatment.  In the meantime the pain went from my shoulder blade and then down into the chest right under the bra.  Sometimes a constant ache, other times sharp stabs, but it was always present.  Sleeping comfortably has become near impossible.  So hydrocodone was what I was given to hold off until we could properly diagnose the issue.  I regret to say I need it daily now.  There’s no shame in having to take the pain medication, I know this.  I just detest having to rely on it with such frequency.  The alternative though … not so pretty.  I’m not the kindest person when I’m in pain, especially when the pain won’t go away.  I say things, snap things…on those closest to me when I’m in pain because all I can think about is how to make the pain go away.   Nobody around me deserves that.  So I’ll buck up, kick my pride in the butt, and take the medication. I hate it, but I hate how pain makes me act so ugly a lot more.

There was also a minor incident about six weeks ago where I had a major dizzy spell while waiting for my daughter and husband to get their hair cut.  It was briefly terrifying, giving me the impression at the time that I was going to experience a major seizure in the middle of the waiting room in front of several kids.  The only seizure I’ve ever had, back in February, I don’t recall anything from…so I had no idea what to expect if I started experiencing one.  Vertigo, dizziness, imbalance, my vision going wonky and my jaw locking up on one side.  I sat there, trying to carry on conversation with the lady next to me to help distract me from the symptoms…until I noticed my speech was starting to slur.  She noticed it, too, her expression going from friendly to confused…to a little concerned.  We fell into silence for a few moments as the symptoms passed and I was left with a bit of dizziness at best.   I fumbled through grocery shopping and then shortly after we took a quick trip to the ER to double check.  Nothing came back to mark that I’d had a stroke, seizure, or anything of the like.  The official diagnosis was, I believe, “It’s a thing…that happened?”

Probably one of my favorite medical summaries so far, one that had us joking with the doctor and nurses for a few minutes.  Is it weird that I get along so easily with hospital staff?

Do we really need to answer that question?

Ehh…likely not.

I’ve had a few speech problems since then, but most I had attributed to the pain medication.  Hydrocodone or any powerful pain medication tends to knock me out pretty quickly, so it wasn’t a surprise at all that I’d start sounding mildly drunk after taking it.

However, I really should start paying attention to my symptoms more.  My body, while I pride myself on knowing it really well, loves to throw curve balls at me.  I know better than to expect anything ‘textbook’ (my cyberknife therapy) to turn out as such.  I try not to be paranoid, but every time I turn around cancer finds a new and not so entertaining way of keeping me on my toes.

Now I know that I posted the picture of my first brain tumor back earlier in the year, possibly at the end of last year.  That’s right.  I said first.  It is my pleasure to say that the cyberknife treatment worked beautifully on that first tumor and it is now a bit of dead tissue shaped like a tiny jelly bean that is slowly fading away.  As it fades I’ve also noticed any vision problems I was having have also done the same.  Unfortunately it decided to invite a few more unwanted guests.

0627171542

This one apparently decided it had to be bigger than the last. Really, I could do without the internal competition. As if my body would listen, though.

Yeah, that’s one of three new tumors in my brain that have popped up.  Obviously the biggest.  When I asked what sort of side effects might happen with a tumor in that location, the doctor swiveled in his chair to look me over and asked, “Have you had any slurred speech or balance problems?”

Hindsight is always 20/20.  The good news for these is that they can be treated in the same way as the last, but we won’t be taking me off the steroids quite so quickly this time while we’re doing it.  My doctors came to the conclusion that halving my steroid dosage at the same time I had my cyberknife therapy last time was likely what caused my grand mal seizure.  As much as I dislike steroids…I think avoiding a seizure might be the dominant priority here.  This does mean no driving for a bit longer.  Who knows, maybe it’ll be a good Christmas present at this rate?  One can hope.  My van is getting pretty dusty and is in dire need of some cleaning.

As for the rest of the scan?  I can’t say it’s good.  Sometimes pictures are worth a thousand words, so let’s start with that…

0627171547

OK so a picture with scribbles in neon is worth a thousand words. Same idea, right?

Unfortunately the cancer has metastasized considerably.  There’s no way to pretty it up.  This means my current chemotherapy isn’t working and I will be facing radiation again.  Those who have been following my blog or that know me will realize that localized radiation is likely what got me into this mess in the first place.  We’ve surmised that it caused the breast cancer and the lung cancer even though it completely destroyed my Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  But we’ve tried immunotherapy and just about every chemotherapy we can fathom.  Some have slowed it, some temporarily got rid of it…but every time you go through chemo your body starts to build up a resistance to it.  You can’t often do a treatment again after you stop, so our options are pretty limited.  Luckily the liver and kidneys are areas that haven’t been radiated before on my body.  While they are a cause for concern, it’s considerably less so than what’s going on inside my head.  My body won’t be worth a damn if my head no longer functions.  So…head first, and then the body.  I will be in months worth of radiation treatment at this rate, but it’s to be expected.

This leads to a question that some have asked me.  Have I been given a time?  No.  I don’t ask for one.  These therapies will extend my life for a while, but there’s no guarantee that they will rid me of the cancer.  Especially if you consider that my upper right lung is riddled with tumors (and not fluid anymore at all).  Those we’re not even sure what to do with just yet.

There is one chemotherapy that my insurance company has denied more than once, stating each time that we need to look into a chemotherapy that is meant for lung cancer treatment.  It doesn’t seem to matter that each time we’ve pointed out that we have done these therapies and that they aren’t working.  The beautiful picture up above dictates that pretty clearly.  You would think it’d be obvious, but when companies just look at the paperwork and not the person it’s hard to get the message through.  We’ve exhausted just about every chemo out there.

So now I have a court date with a lawyer in August.  I have the option to not show as it’s presented to the insurance board…but I plan on paying them a visit.  I am not a frail thing, ready to die.  I have two kids, a husband, a puppy and friends and family that need me.  I have a strong will to live and desire to at the very least see my kids graduate from high school.   If that means I have to show up ready to lay my situation down in vivid detail in front of a panel of strangers then I will do it.  In my experience showing up in person almost always gets the point across much more clearly than on paper.  I will not be written off as an unfortunate case or a sad story.

Don’t get me wrong though, I know this cancer will kill me eventually.  Ever since lung cancer started rearing it’s head repeatedly I’ve not since been under the delusion that I would live a long and drawn out life.  In truth I’m pretty sure I’ll never see my 50th birthday, the same age that my aunt died.  The same age my sister’s mom died.  Their deaths described as tragic and how they went too young at an age that I am almost one hundred percent certain I will never see.

That doesn’t mean I give up, though.  I have no intention of letting cancer dictate when I go for as long as I can help it.

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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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