Ladies Who Luncheon

Last week, my mother, sister and I were honored at the Triangle Ladies Power Lunch. Each month at this fantastic networking event, they honor a breast cancer survivor, or shero. Since it is breast cancer awareness month, they decided to go for the gusto and honor three of us. It was a wonderful event and I am so grateful for the invitation. To top it off, we got to ride in a pink limo, they gave us lots of great stuff and my mom bought me a really cute dress that is also a skirt.

I have often struggled with the concept of being a survivor. At what point have I survived? My mother was a survivor for ten years, till she got cancer twice more. And what if I did ultimately die of cancer, would they come take all the presents back? Recently my sister said “I wish someone would just say that it’s over.” My response, both insensitive and full of self-pity was “We don’t get that. The best we ever get is “as far I as I know, I do not currently have cancer. That’s it, for the rest of our lives.”

Surprisingly, and conveniently, I found peace with the term survivor on my train ride to North Carolina for the luncheon. I was lucky enough to be allowed to sit in a reserved disability seat. Just another reason cancer is totally worth it. A woman sat down in the seat across the aisle from me, and read for most of the trip.

I don’t even remember how we first started to speak to each other, but once we did, it only took a few minutes to identify ourselves as members of the breast cancer club. She told me she was a survivor of 10 years, Stage III. She also told me she recognized the bandage I had covering my recently installed mediport for my chemotherapy. We compared treatments and experiences. I told her why I was heading south.

"Yeah, they’re honoring us as survivors. I’m not sure I count yet. I’m not sure when you ever really do."

She responded without hesitation and with the wisdom that comes from being a real grown up, not a 36 year old self-absorbed idiot. I don’t remember her exact words, so I won’t try to quote, but just attempt to capture the sentiment. She explained that being a survivor wasn’t about being done with cancer, it’s about getting treatment, doing everything you have to do to get better, then following up when you’re in remission.

That’s what makes you a survivor, not that you survived it, but that you’re doing what you need to in order to survive.

And just like that, I became a survivor. I am surviving this disease and will continue to survive it until the day I die, which will not be for a very, very, very, long time. So please stop giving me those looks. You know the ones that say "She's so brave..."

My trip to North Carolina was… too many things for me to sum up with any string of adjectives. I spent time with my family, and most importantly my incredible niece and nephew. I must figure out some way to stop them from growing up anymore. They’re quite perfect as they are right now.

I visited my sister’s cancer treatment center, which I confess was just as swanky as she portrayed it to be in all her bragging. I even stole some free medical advice while I was there. I also picked up some port pillows, which you place over your port to prevent irritation from seatbelts, bras, etc. And, in a pinch, they make terrific substitutes for a prosthetic breast.

I even had a chance to visit the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation office where my sister works. First, excellent snack supply. Second, it is amazing that a group of women who deal with such a horrible disease can be so happy and friendly. I can rest a little easier knowing my sister has plenty of other sisters taking care of her.

It was good to be with family again, no matter how much we annoy each other. It has been hard being apart while we all go through this strange and often unpleasant journey.

Below are my remarks from the luncheon. I think this is an excellent way for me to tell you a little bit more about my big sister.

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Thank you so much for inviting us here today. Although I must admit, it seems strange to honor us for getting sick. It seems like you should honor women who don’t get tumors instead.

I have not seen my big sister in six months, after her diagnosis but before mine. This of course supports the theory that she gave me cancer, but I digress. Thank you for inviting me here and giving me an excuse to get on the train. I start chemo in two weeks, so I probably won’t be back again for a while.

My sister, like my mother, has spent most of her life helping others. From her work with Holocaust survivors at the Shoah foundation, to her current position at the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, not to mention countless other charities she has supported over the years. After all her good deeds, I could not imagine what she had done to deserve breast cancer.

Then a few weeks ago, I figured it out. The night before her biopsy I had a conversation with God. I asked, “Let me have cancer instead of her.” God must have misheard and thought I said “Let me have cancer in addition to her.”

It does not come naturally for a little sister to say nice things about a big sister, but my sister is an incredible woman, an amazing daughter, a wonderful mother and an adequate sister. She has faced this idiotic disease with grace and strength.

The hardest part of cancer is loving someone who has it. The people who really deserve honors and thanks are those who support us, like my father, brother in law and my brother and his wife. And of course the world’s most amazing boyfriend who can’t be here today, family, friends, neighbors and people like you.

Thank you so much for acknowledging my family and our current struggle. And thank you for supporting and celebrating breast cancer survivors every month, not just in October.

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As I mention above, I will be starting chemo soon, November 1. The coming days are going to be extremely busy preparing for this next phase. Tons of doctors’ appointments, tests, and, of course, my birthday party. After much deliberation I decided I am not skipping that this year. Birthdays are way too important to let a slight case of cancer get in the way.

Kids and Kidsicles

On my street there lives one of the most emotionally complex people I have ever met. He’s four. No matter what I am about to say or do, I can never accurately anticipate his reaction. He is incredibly thoughtful and has already mastered the art of changing the subject if someone brings up an uncomfortable topic. A few weeks after my surgery, I opened the door to check the mail in my hot pink housecoat. He smiled at me and said “Yay! You’re all better.” This is my favorite diagnosis to date.

Unlike my doctors, who have occasionally made missteps in my treatment, the children in my life have never failed me and have done more than anyone else to improve my health over the last several months.

The complex little boy has a 9 year old brother, the oldest and, by default, wisest in the group. He is extremely kind and always lets the little kids win. Sometimes we talk about Star Wars and play video games together, when he hasn’t had his video game privileges revoked for fighting with his little brother. When I told him I was going to lose my hair, he suggested a blue wig. He then showed me a picture on a Pokemon card to demonstrate the specific shade he would prefer. A few weeks later, when I showed him my PICC line, he told me I was like Luke Skywalker, when they had to rebuild his arm. I instantly felt much cooler.

Across the street lives a 5-year old who abhors society’s obsession with shoes and pants. I don’t know his last name, but by default it has become Pantalones. He doesn’t speak much English and I speak even less Spanish, so I regularly find myself shouting “S…! Pantalones!” I once saw him come outside completely naked and play with matchbox cars for a solid five minutes. That, America, is the very definition of freedom. Also, I need to learn Spanish. Or at least how to say “Your son is outside naked, again.”

Then there’s the amazing little girl down the street, a very dramatic five year old who is generous with her hugs and her original compositions. I once heard her write nine separate songs about balloons, arguably an album’s worth, in about an hour. When I showed her that my niece and nephew had sent art for my bedroom wall and commissioned her for a submission, she returned the next day with four new pieces for the collection. Most prominently feature purple, our shared favorite color.

Her one-year old brother can make any drug side effect seem manageable when I see his adorable smile and his wobbly walk. He used to have bruises all over his forehead because his giant adorable head weighed so much that it kept falling to the ground when he would try to crawl. His mother says he’s too heavy for me to hold, but I occasionally break the rules when she’s not looking, or sometimes when she is looking.

Then there’s my niece and nephew. I have always doted on these two, but I have to give them extra credit for the last few months. My nephew is 10 and his sister is 5. He’s too smart for his own good and she is a tiny evil genius. When they heard their mother had cancer, the boy was deeply concerned. He explained that while Grammy had a proven record against cancer, 3 and 0, his mother was untested against the opponent. Not exactly the vote of confidence she wanted to hear from her son. Strangely, my diagnosis seemed to ease their minds. Now, as far as they know, cancer is just a thing that happens to grown up women. They even thought it was nice of me to get it at the same time as their mom, so we could do it together. Arguably, these two are handling all this better than anyone else in the family. He now runs around shouting “Off with your boobs” and she is obsessed with breast size, not unlike many other people I know.

Most days, I would rather spend my time with children than adults. They are honest without malice, they ask questions and they can use their imaginations to create entertainment in any situation. Recently we spent over an hour playing a game with a rope tied to a tree. I’m not totally clear on the rules of this game, but it mostly involved either tying yourself to the tree or tying other people to the tree or tying yourself to another person.

Kids don’t want to talk about how I feel, or when my chemo starts or how J is handling all this. They want to talk about flowers and marshmallows and jedis. It would be completely inappropriate for me to give them the daily health update, information, which I seem to randomly blurt out to any adult I see.

My pool of tiny companions is not just limited to the children in our neighborhood. Many of our friends have spawned and we periodically get to see their offspring. This summer we spent time swimming with kids, snuggling and napping with little ones, playing with our cats, Sid and Tupac, and plenty of other amazing and adorable stuff.

Of course, all of this contact with children serves as an obvious reminder of our fertility situation. If we still lived in the city we could go weeks, even months, without seeing a child we knew. Rather than thinking about the possible obstacles we face on our road to parenthood, I take comfort in these moments. I see how much we both love children, which tells me how hard we’re both going to work to find a way to be parents together. This is not bravery or courage, it is denial, but it’s what I’m working with right now.

A few weeks ago J and I completed our second and final round of egg harvesting. We are pleased to announce we have two more embryos in the freezer, bringing our total to 3 kidsicles. We are so grateful that the second harvest went well. Of course it would be great if we had dozens of frozen embryos, but this is what we have and what we have is potentially 3 children. We won’t be pursuing another round because, even with the help of charities, it is really fricking expensive. Besides, I can only put off chemo for so long. Also, if we had dozens of frozen embryos people would be suspicious we were raising some kind of army.

Don’t worry world, you have a few years to prepare before any potential Jason/Beckys arrive. We’ve got some stuff to do, you know, I need to get back to work and get a driver’s license, beat cancer, renovate an entire house and become extremely wealthy. Maybe we’ll even get hitched. Not necessarily in that order.

In the meantime, we’ll enjoy time with the children in our lives, our neighbors, friends and relatives. We’ll focus on spoiling our cats and look forward to the day we become the sleep deprived proud parents with spit up on our shirts. Till then, feel free to bring your kids by for a visit.