I'm Writing for Write Pink today!

I am contributing to the Write Pink project over at Bigger Picture Blogs today. I'm thrilled to be a part of what they are doing to raise awareness about breast cancer during the month of October!

Each day, a writer will be featured writing about education, prevention, support, and survivorship. My post will be about education.

I'm especially excited about this project because Army of Women (yes, I have joined...have you?) is a sponsor and I can really get behind the work they are doing!

Please pop in over there and leave a comment!

A Day with Team McLovin

Uh-oh. This might be a long day. Not a happy camper.

Post race lunch at Super Mex!

Un-McFilled

Months of preparation, organizing, crafting, brainstorming, emails and phone calls, worrying if anyone will show, worrying about too many people showing...and then it's over, in like, two hours.

If you've ever planned a wedding, you know what I am talking about.

This is exactly how I feel about last Sunday's Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. It was my second year heading up Team McLovin and I tried pulling out all the stops - with some successes and some failures.

I'm trying hard to focus on the successes, which include:

- Raising over $12,000 which will directly benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

- Having almost 75 team members this year.

- Our adorable team t-shirt was recognized as one of the five finalist for best team shirt (sadly, we didn't win best in show).

I can't pinpoint why I feel so unfulfilled. And, I've been seriously questioning if I'm going to undertake such a project again next year. My friend threw out the idea of having a committee organize the team and event. I like it, but I'm such a control freak that I don't know if I'd be less stressed or more!

Come back tomorrow to see more pictures from the race!

Wordless Wednesday - Swag for the Cure

The Girl with the Big Head

Well, I had a pretty amazing weekend!

I came downstairs and found the Sunday paper, a Starbucks coffee, and a cake doughnut with sprinkles sitting on the kitchen table. I asked my husband, "did you look at it yet?"

"It" was the special insert the Orange County Register added to the newspaper in support of the upcoming Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure on Sunday, September 26th. The insert featured several Orange County women and their stories of how they have battled breast cancer. And I was one of them!

Holy sh*t! That's a HUGE photo of me and Miss Thing on the cover! And then, in the centerfold, was an even bigger photo of me and my little girlie! And the dreaded double-chin photo! But, I didn't care. I was beyond proud to see my words in print!

I was giddy all morning. I received a ton of very nice emails, phone calls, tweets, and FB messages about my story. My husband joked that my head was getting bigger by the second!

I was so appreciative of the feedback and best message I received was a text from my Dad that said "It's amazing, it will help others!" I certainly hope it does!

If you haven't had a chance to read my essay about balancing breast cancer and raising a child, please click here to read it. I'd also like to say THANKS A MILLION to Erica at Mommy's Still Fabulous for the quickest proof-read and edit! You are tops in my book, girl!

The Diva with the Double Chin

I wrote last week that I had been selected by the OC Register to contribute to a special breast cancer insert that will be added to the newspaper on the weekend of September 18-19.

A few days ago, the photographer contacted me just to get confirmation on a few details. I asked how the pictures came out from the shoot. I joked saying I hope they weren't going to use any with a double chin! She emailed me a sneak peek at one of the photos. Holy Double Chin, Batman! Thankfully, she offered to pull the photo, at my request. Serious diva move.

I'm still praying I'm not misquoted. We talked a lot about prioritizing during treatment and how I had to put aside my desires for a clean home and putting a hot dinner on the table for taking a nap instead. When reading back her notes, she said "so you put important things like cleaning and cooking aside to rest?" I'm not a '50's housewife! While I like to do these sorts of things, I don't think they are "important" for everyone and not even always for me!

Anyway, here's a spoiler from my essay that will run with the photos.

It’s now been nearly a year since I finished treatment and almost two since my diagnosis. I was encouraged to believe that cancer would “only” disrupt my life for six months and then things would be back to normal. Sadly, survivorship isn’t that easy. I’m reminded everyday I have had breast cancer. It might be the scars I see in the mirror and the medications I take every night or the incredibly achy joints and routine trips to have my blood drawn. But it’s the head games that keep me up at night. The constant inquiry of every head or backache or what the smallest changes in your blood work might mean.

And, finally I'll leave you with a cropped version of the infamous double chin photo.

Please be sure to pick up a copy of the Orange County Register next weekend and look for the special breast cancer insert! You can also see additional photos online at OC Register!

Let's Do It Again, 2010!

How do you like my snazzy new team slogan for the 2010 Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure?

I'm excited and proud to announce that Team McLovin will participate again in the Orange County Race for the Cure on September 26th! Last year was totally and completely overwhelming for me. I couldn't believe the amount of support from friends and family. It was a very cool day!

I'm hoping for the same this year! I sent out a bazillion emails yesterday in effort to drum up registration and/or pledges. I know, it's not for another two months, but there is so much planning that goes into it and I'm trying to prepare better than last year.

My goals for Team McLovin:

1) Have at least 60 registered team members (we had 55 last year).

2) Raise $3,000 in pledges.

3) Find a local business to sponsor our team t-shirts.

4) Run. Maybe a little. {personal goal}

I'll post updates/news/info as it becomes available. Now, go register online at KomenOC if you haven't already!

I'm Fine. Infertile and Fine.

Do you know how many times I had to confirm that I understood this surgery would leave me infertile?

About three hundred and forty seven five times. Really? I had to sign several consent forms and at least three different nurses – one, literally right before wheeling me into the operating room - asked again if I understood that the surgery would leave me unable to have children ever again. Like, never, ever again. A no-chance-in-hell-you-are-now-in-menopause-but-can-always-adopt kind of ever again.

Yes, I understand. Jesus. I was more concerned about cheating the friggin' bowel prep than losing my fertility!

This might be the grossest thing, ever.

Waiting for my surgery time. We eavesdropped on the old lady on the other side of the curtain ramble on about "the demons taking over her memory". Bless her heart but she did provide us with some good laughs.

The surgery was quick and fairly easy. All done laparoscopically without having to remove my uterus. This meant that my recovery was significantly short in comparison and that I couldn’t pull the “recovery card” to get out of putting the toddler down for bed.

One of the entry sites was my belly button. Apparently, they are using superglue to suture incisions these days. Don't be jealous of my rock hard abs.

So now, I’m totally on the mend. I’m glad to see June wrapping up as I’ve had a doctor appointment every week since mid-May! Just one more appointment to go over my estrogen levels with the oncologist and then...who knows?

Hopefully Another Blow to Cancer

So, today is the day. An oophorectomy is definitely happening. My surgeon is confident it will only be that.

However...if she can't get to the ovaries and tubes via laparoscope she will indeed have to cut me open. If this is the case, she's taking everything - a hysterectomy.

I've struggled with it a little bit. On one hand, this is the BEST decision for me in terms of staying cancer-free long term. Dr. Onc is very conservative and she wouldn't have even suggested this surgery if she didn't think it would benefit me.

On the other hand...I can't escape the idea of being compared to a spayed animal. No offense to anyone reading this who may have had one. I don't view other women as being "spayed" - just myself.

More than that, I'm sad that I won't be able to have any more children. I desperately want our daughter to have a sibling. I know there are other avenues out there to explore in terms of adding to our family, so there is always that. But I really just need to mourn the loss of my own ability first and then I'll be ready to move on.

For now, though, I'm ready for the surgery. I'm ready to finally close the chapter on hormone management!

I Wanna a New Drug - Update!

I wanted to update you all in response to the post I wrote about my dependence on the anti-depression drug, Effexor XR.

I was able to talk with two of my doctors about my feelings, or lack there of, and what I could do about it.

Doctor GP said that I could switch it up and start taking a different anti-depression med called Prestiq. Apparently, it's made by the same company but they've "tweaked the molecule" and you can switch out the Effexor with the Prestiq without weaning off the first.

That same day, yes...two appointments in one day, the right-hand-nurse to my Oncologist doctor wasn't familiar with Prestiq. But she said a few things that struck me:

You're not depressed, right? Why not try to wean off of Effexor? See if you can deal with the hot flashes without the meds.

It got me thinking. Am I that afraid of a hot flash?

Additionally, I've been chatting with a pharmacist friend who has suggested a few natural alternatives. And what about acupuncture? Hmm...

So I'll now leave you with this ditty..."I gotta a feeling/woo-hoo!"

I Wanna a New Drug

A dear friend of mine has been on a little bit of what she calls an "emotional roller coaster." She's dealing with some things - like we all do - but the other night, after some cheap girlfriend therapy, I was...jealous.

It's because I feel a little bit dead inside.

I take a medication called Effexor XR and it's typically used as an anti-depressant. It has also been found to help eliminate hot flashes and I started taking it when I was going through chemotherapy. I'm still taking it because I'm menopausal (thanks, cancer) and with that comes more HOT FLASHES!

I was embarrassed about taking an anti-depressant at first and have always qualified it with an explanation (like the one I just gave you). I told the pharmacist the same thing when he filled the prescription (he just looked at me and said "uh-huh.") One of my nurses told me that "everyone could probably use some sort of anti-depressant." It was then I decided it wasn't such a bad thing after all. I was dealing with some heavy stuff after my diagnosis and I think the Effexor really helped me stay even-kelled.

But now, I just feel sort of numb to everything. I don't experience a whole range of emotions. This is good when I'm sad or bummed out about something but it's the same when I'm happy or overjoyed. It makes life kind of boring from my perspective.

I'm thinking about not taking it anymore (no need to comment about how to stop taking it, if you are familiar with this drug. I know it needs to be under doctor supervision and all that).

I just want to FEEL again. Although, I do have some reservations because the severity of my hot flashes could get worse after I have my ovaries removed. There's gotta be a natural alternative, right?

I'll leave you with this ditty: "I wanna new drug/One that won't make me sick/One that won't make me crash my car/Or make me feel three feet thick."

Six Months? Nah...Try Forever.

As my surgery date approaches, I can't help but wonder if I will ever be done dealing with cancer.

When I was first diagnosed, the doctor tried putting a positive spin on it saying "it's only six months of your life." I was foolish for thinking this was true. It's something I'm going to have to live with forever. And it sucks.

I recently read an article featured in the New York Times by Katherine Russell Rich. She has stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. She was diagnosed seventeen years ago and writes about "living" with cancer, calling it "sluggish but active" and remains in treatment after all these years.

I can't imagine. Or maybe I can.

In October, it will be two years since my diagnosis. The cancer may be gone from my body now (and hopefully forever) but, I too, am still living with it, you know?

I'm reminded every night at 8:00 when I need to take my anti-estrogen meds. And every month when I roll into my oncologist's office for a shot to suppress my ovaries from functioning. Or when I get in the shower and see a four inch scar when I look down. Next, it will be recovering from an oophorectomy. I wish it stopped there.

I admire the author's take on life, saying that it isn't "sensible" and encouraging others to act on "all glimmers that appear" in it. I'm really trying hard to do that. I bask in the moments listening to my little girl belly laugh or sharing in a great conversation with my husband or hanging with my girlfriends. But I can't help but feel like this dark cancer cloud is still hanging over me.

Will it ever go away?

Russell Rich, Katherine. "17 Years Later, Stage 4 Survivor is Savoring a Life Well Lived." New York Times. 26 April 2010. Web. 27 April 2010.

My Ovaries are Trying to Kill Me

We finally broke it to the rest of the family this weekend that another baby will not ever come through this body again. It's because I'm having my ovaries removed at the end of May.

Having a second baby was never really in the cards post cancer. But I had always hoped, thinking that maybe it could happen. It's definitely not happening now.

My ovaries are producing high levels of estrogen. Right now I visit the doctor each month and get a shot in the belly with a drug that suppresses the ovaries from functioning. It puts them in kind of a sleep mode -- it's also considered to be menopause. The whole point is to block any estrogen in my body so that cancer doesn't have any fuel to grow.

Additionally, I take a drug every day called Arimidex. This also blocks estrogen. It's difficult to understand how it actually works, so I won't explain. But the important thing is that you must be in menopause for it to work effectively.

Right now, I'm not in menopause because the monthly suppression shot isn't enough to control my overactive ovaries. They are seriously trying to kill me. So for months now, I've been flying blind taking a medication that is basically not doing jack in protecting me from cancer.

My oncologist believes that removing the ovaries is the best plan of attack in staying cancer free. I've gotta agree, obviously.

I had to take a day or two to come to grips with what this surgery means. And it means: no more children. That's the biggie. It also brings a whole host of other things too: bone health, heart health, more memory loss, weight gain, skin changes, yada, yada, yada.

So the countdown is on. Five weeks. Stay tuned.

Spring is the new Fall

I've wanted to participate in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop ever since I found her blog. Every week she assigns several prompts and we are to choose one or all of them to respond to. There was something about this week's prompt about the coming of Spring that really spoke to me.

The prompt: Share some photos and stories about why you love Spring.

I had always been a Fall kind of girl. For me, I rejoiced in a small window of time beginning at the start of a new school year and ending at Halloween. I adored the way the sun glowed in the late September afternoon. Attending the annual Fall festival at the local Catholic church. And the vintage Halloween decor I had begun to collect as an adult. I had even dreamt of having a Fall baby so that I could plan a ghoulish-themed birthday party like the one I had seen in the movie "Hanging Up."

My love affair with the Fall ended in October 2008 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I had to forgo planning my daughter's first Halloween (she had been born earlier that Winter crushing my Fall baby dream) and instead get ready for eight rounds of dense dose chemotherapy.

That Fall and the Winter that followed are a little hazy. I was sick. I was bald. I was miserable. In January I was working with one of the nurses planning out my new few appointments for treatment. The end was in sight - my last chemo would be April 2, 2009.

I sat at my desk filling in the dates on my calendar. I noticed the bare branches of our neighbor's birch tree that hang outside our office window. I'll never forget that day because I knew that once that tree had started to sprout new leaves that I would finally be done with treatment.

April 2nd arrived - and sure enough - so did the tiny, green leaves of the birch tree.

For me, Spring is the new Fall.