Hunger Games #AtoZChallenge

Have you watched the Hunger Games movies? They are very well done and most enjoyable. How about the books, have you read them? They are very, very well written.

I must admit that the third book left me a little flat. Katniss was so strong in the beginning, but by the third book she's... well she's just not the same. I struggled with how the series ended until I tripped over a blog post that put it all into perspective for me. Katniss suffered from post traumatic stress disorder. Boom... now everything makes so much more sense. In fact, I realized that the third book wasn't disappointing, it was amazing; raw, deep and spot on.

I would imagine that many people suffer from PTSD. Any major stressor that changes your life is bound to leave a scar. Sure, it might not be to the degree portrayed by Katness, or those returning from active duty, but stress always leave a mark.

Many breast cancer survivors suffer from PTSD. When you look in the mirror and expect to see yourself, but instead see a bald, eyebrowless, scarred fat woman it leaves
a mark. But things get better, eventually your hair grows back, you lose the weight, the scars fade and the face in the mirror becomes more familiar again.

So what's the point of today's post... well first, you should read the Hunger Games series, it is excellent. The movies are also fantastic; I love Jennifer Lawrence. And finally... life isn't always easy and stress, no matter how big or how small it may seem to others, leaves its mark. Be kind to yourself and to others. Never lose hope. Some day you'll love the face in the mirror again.

Healthy, and staying that way #AtoZChallenge

Staying healthy is important to me, not only because... well really, who wants to be sick? But because I've been sick (cancer) and I know how lucky I am to be healthy today.

Now I am no health nut, not by a long shot, but I very much dislike taking pills and try to only use natural and herbal remedies whenever possible.

I use essential oils to elevate my mood, increase my energy levels, kick my metabolism in the butt and to combat colds. I also take herbals like Ginko Biloba for... uh... well I forget why (that's a joke, it's for memory) and St. John's Wort for mood.

I am a strong believer in the idea that there is a natural cure for just about everything. Would I have fought my cancer with oils and herbs? No, probably not, but I would have used them to help and also the help mitigate the side effects from the chemo, radiation and drugs.

So tell me, what natural cures do you use for everyday ailments?

Retrospection

I was asked to write an article for an upcoming issue of I-Merge Magazine about my experience with breast cancer. I have to tell you, it stirred up a lot of old emotions. I went back and looked at old blog posts and the letter I sent out to at least 50 people with my little breast cancer duckies and.... wow... I was laughing, I was tearing up...

I am so lucky and I don't truly appreciate that enough. I am lucky that I had such a great experience and met so many wonderful people. I am lucky to have had a wonderfully supportive husband - when so many do not. I was lucky to have beat cancer period, and to have done it laughing (for the most part) all of the way. Each sad story had a glimmer of humor to it...

Like when Lenny shaved my head, and I later took the vacuum hose to my head because all of the little hairs falling out drove me crazy.

When I wore that silly x-ray robe over my belly when I got my mammogram (because I was pregnant).

When all of my eyelashes fell out, except for one. ONE! So I plucked that stupid thing. Rebel hair...

How nice it was not to have to shave my legs for a few months. Normally, after just one day I'm stubbly.

When I asked my male, bald co-workers if their heads just randomly started to sweat and they looked at me like I was crazy. Then later, when my chemo nurse told me that I was having hot flashes... OH.... heh...

And when my old boss asked me why I'd shaved my head when we were in a meeting, because he had no clue I was battling cancer (and apparently that idea hadn't dawned on him. "Ok... Wendy had a baby, then shaved her head... that's odd...")

Or when I "dedicated" songs to cancer... like Christina Aguilera's Fighter. (Makes me that much stronger, Makes me work a little bit harder, It makes me that much wiser, So thanks for making me a fighter)

And when I'd cry all the way home from work because it was the only time I was by myself and didn't have to be "strong" for everyone else. Then I'd listen to Beautiful (also by Christina) and see how far I could get into the song before just totally losing it. I was beautiful... and bald.

And the people I met along the way, and am still meeting, because of cancer... wow... amazing people.

But still, I'd like very much not to do it again. Five... almost six... years out from all treatment. My fingers are crossed!!

Hold Your Breath - #AtoZChallenge #PhotoadayApril

Today I got my annual mammogram (no signs of cancer, by the way) and, as always, I had to laugh. You see, the nice lady, with the typically cold hands, lays your perfectly warm (if a bit droopy) breast on what amounts to a table, then flattens it with a clear plastic plate. Then, as you are standing there, unable to really move because your breast is squashed and holding you in place she says...

"OK, hold your breath!"

And I always think... "Yeah, I've been doing that since you dialed down that plate lady, just hurry the heck up!!"

Men have it easy... once they turn 40 they have to have their prostates checked... whoopie. From the time we're teens, women are subjected to all sorts of invasive, embarrassing and sometimes funny tests.

Another example... when I had to get a breast MRI done a few years back I did what anyone else would do... I Googled it. I found several MRI images of women's breasts and noted that they all had really oddly shaped boobs.Then lo and behold, when I went in for my test I figured out why.

Breast MRIs are done with the woman lying on her stomach with her breasts hanging down through two round holes on a table.

Image from UW Health

How crazy is that?? I remember saying aloud "no wonder all those pictures looked so odd" to which the tech replied "I know, barbaric, isn't it?"

Yup, men have it easy... :)
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Today's photo challenge is "younger you". Sort of a hard one if they expect a recently taken picture, no? So I settled on this one from about 12 years ago that I took of myself. It's not a very good picture, but I've always liked it.

An Ode to Angelina Jean

First off, I'd like to thank Christine and Nadia for hosting this May Mom Blog Hop. Thirty-one of us are part of the hop, one posting on each day in May, in celebration of motherhood. I am honored to be included!

It has only just begun, and I've already found so many great new blogs and Tweeters. If you've missed any of the blog hop so far, be sure to check out:
Moments of Motherhood by Nadia
Respect, Appreciation and Love by Christine
May Mom Blog by Crystal, and
Motherhood Includes by Dana

Some of these posts have extolled the virtues of motherhood; how great, fulfilling and totally awesome it can be. I don't disagree, there are certainly moments that being a mother is very rewarding.

There are also plenty of times when it is exhausting, frustrating and just plain hard. I have had days where I tearfully tell my husband that if I were failing at anything else as badly as I'm failing at motherhood, I'd have given up by now.

I think the best thing I have discovered on Twitter is that I am not alone in this. Some days I comfort other mothers at their wit's end. Others, I vent my feelings to my virtual friends or cry on their distant shoulders. And their blogs? Fantastic. Helpful. Informative. FUNNY. Poignant. Real. If you're a parent, or even just a sympathetic bystander, you should definitely follow along this month.

__________________

Angelina, which means Angel, had a name picked out almost three years before she was born. I had dreams about her. I had always known she was coming, someday. I couldn't figure out why she had made me wait so long, until right before she was born.

As you may know, Angie saved my life and my sanity when she was born. After more than two years of trying, my husband and I finally conceived a child - only to lose it seven weeks later. It was a tubal pregnancy. I woke up from what was supposed to be a D&C to find out that one of my tubes had had to be removed. I spent weeks crying to Lenny that I was broken.

Then, six weeks after I lost the first baby, I was pregnant again! For a long time I still cried for "Peanut," but Angie was due on 7/7/07 which I prayed would bring us luck.

On June 5th, four weeks before she was due, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I've written several blogs about my experience, which was just about as fantastic as it could have been, if you're interested. That day my surgeon told me to expect to have Angie that week. My OB/GYN argued, successfully, that we could wait until Angie was at 38 weeks.

I was in labor for 56 hours. I have already informed my boss and my husband that I will never work on June 23rd again. Angie was almost named Angelina Staydol after the drug that kept me relatively pain free for all those hours. They couldn't do a C-Section, because I was to start chemo two weeks later.

Yet, I was still able to make bad jokes... I told my doctor. "Doc, if I don't have this baby soon, I'm going to have a Cancer." She groaned, "Wendy, only you could make that joke." (Angie was supposed to be a Gemini, but since she delayed so long she is a Cancer. Bad joke, I know, but women with cancer in labor for 56 hours have special dispensation.)

Then finally, Angie was born. Healthy, whole and perfect. I was so thankful. I was 35 when she was conceived, 36 when she was born. I had refused genetic testing. I had cancer for crying out loud. I knew that I was blessed.

Then, after she was born, instead of my very first thought in the morning being "I have cancer" it became "I have a little girl!". Instead of focusing on the horror of breast cancer at 36, chemotherapy and suggestions that I should have a double mastectomy, I had something much better to focus on - Angie. She saved my sanity.

Later I would realize that her timing had been perfect. Had I given birth in April with Peanut, I may not have found the cancer until it was too late. As it was, the tumor had gone from the size of a marble to the size of a golf ball in only three weeks. She saved my life.

Not to mention that since I was on maternity leave I could better manage my crazy cancer patient schedule and not have to deal with work too.

It's been almost four years now. I remain cancer free after my treatments. Angie is no longer a baby, but now a "big girl" with "big girl panties" to prove it.

My husband often accuses me of being too lenient with her. Maybe I am, but I hate incessant whining love her so much. Nothing makes me happier than to see her happy. That, or I use her as a cover so I can add to my stuffed animal collection. Although I would gladly give my life for this child, her first act was to save mine.

I have always believed that she chose me, I didn't choose her. I remind us both of that when I feel like I'm failing at being a good mom.

Remember, you chose me.

"Remember," I tell her, "you chose me."

Think about that for a moment. What if we do choose our parents before we're born. Why did you choose your mother, what lessons did she teach you? What lessons did you teach her? Why did your children choose you? You may think that you're doing all the teaching, but pause for a moment to appreciate all that they're teaching you.

What did Angie teach me? That sometimes timing is everything. That often we have to wait for things we desperately want. That everything happens in its own time. That love really is the answer.

Thank you sweetheart.

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Next up, is a blog by Kimberly at All Work & No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something. Be sure to check her blog out tomorrow!

Thank you for stopping by :)

T is for Tattoo

I've been planning this tattoo for 2 or more years now. It's actually a modern tradition for breast cancer survivors to get a tattoo of some sort. I settled on an ankle bracelet with four charms. I'm very pleased with how it turned out. My goal was to have it appear to be an actual ankle bracelet from afar, I think Chris from Riddle of Steel in Peoria did a great job!

There's a Crown for Angie, my Little Princess, and the Breast Cancer ribbon at the back.

There's a Harp for my BFF Stephanie.

And a Heart for my Wonderful Husband Lenny.

This is the next tattoo I'd like to get, but I'm not sure where to put it yet.

R is for Repeat

After three attempts to write something new, I'm going to repeat an older blog that most of you probably never scrolled back far enough to see, since it's over two years old now. It was actually part of a paper I wrote for a class on Communication. I have always liked how I depicted the voices in my head and the white noise of panic.

Me 37 weeks pregnant - June 2007

I met Dr. Sandra Gladding on June 5th, 2007. Her assistant, Angela, came into the exam room before she did and had got me talking about myself and my background. Dr. Gladding came in and sat down, smiling and told me to continue on with my story. I’d reached the part about how my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer at thirty-two, and she asked me some questions about that. Next she casually asked me if I was married, how long I’d been living in the area, about family and friends; typical “getting to know you” types of questions. All the while she was smiling and calm, rather like a horse trainer around a skittish colt.

Both ladies were open and friendly, and we talked for several minutes before I started to get nervous. There was nothing specific that caused the hairs on my body to slowly start standing to attention, one by one, but a quiet voice in the back on my head reminded me that I was there for a biopsy, not tea. Perhaps noticing my increasing nervousness, Dr. Gladding stood up, put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. “You’re going to be fine; it sounds like you have a good support network.”

My mind struggled to interpret her words.

The first of my inner voices to speak up was Denial. ‘She must be talking about the baby. A good support network for the baby."

Fear chimed in, ‘Support network? Why do I need a support network?’ 

Suddenly my emotions were all talking at once, blanketing me in the white noise of a noisy theater. 

Panic raised its voice above the din, ‘Oh my God, do I have cancer?’ 

‘Why else would she say that?’ sneered the Realist, “you’ve been waiting for this for ten years now, don’t act surprised.’ 

‘What about the baby? If I have cancer, would she have it too?’ cried the mother in me. My hands went automatically to my bulging stomach, cradling my daughter who was due to be born in approximately four weeks. With Herculean effort I shushed the voices in my head.

“So it’s cancer?” I asked, my voice surprisingly steady.

“We’re going to do a biopsy today to be sure, but the mammogram and ultrasound you had yesterday indicate that yes, it’s very likely cancer.”

The white noise got loud again and I struggled to hear her, to make sense of what she was telling me. I had interpreted her behavior correctly; she had been preparing me for the worst.

“Wendy, you need to be prepared to have this baby this week,” she told me, noticing my hands clutching my very pregnant belly.

Bile rose in my throat and I broke out in a cold sweat. “But I’m only 36 weeks along,” I argued ineffectively.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you and… what did you say you were going to name your daughter again?” she asked, pulling me back from the chaos in my mind.

“Angelina,” I answered numbly. Just saying her name calmed me though, as I’m sure Dr. Gladding anticipated.

She squeezed my shoulder again. “Angelina is going to be just fine, and so is her mommy,” she reassured.

Thus began one of the biggest learning experiences in my life. I could go on and on about the lessons breast cancer taught me, but for now let’s focus on perception.

While this is an extreme case of perception checking, sometimes the extremes can better illustrate the point. Honing perception skills is invaluable and will help in the worst of circumstances. Even before I asked the question, my mind and body were already picking up the undertones and preparing me mentally and physically to deal with the answer.

Of particular note is the white noise that fills your mind when something dramatic happens. It can completely drown out voices outside of your own head, and is why you sometimes don’t recall what someone said to you at the time. 

However, it’s not always bad. The white noise can drown out all but the calm voice of reason necessary in a time of crisis, which gives one the ability to deal with the matter at hand and leave the emotions to be dealt with later. I would assume that’s how nurses and EMTs make it though their days.

I’ve learned to not drown in the white noise, or the distractions that surround me daily, but to use the noise to drown out the rest of the world so I can focus on what’s important. 

That’s one thing cancer teaches you - what’s important.

J is for June

June is an important month in my life.

My darling husband's birthday is in June. This year he'll be 39. He's the best husband in the whole world and spoils me every day.

My daughter's birthday is also in June. I spent 56 hours in labor with her, so I have told my boss and my husband that I will never work on June 23rd again. Instead Angie and I have Mommy/Daughter days and go to the movies, out for ice cream, eat at McDonald's and generally pal around all day.

My mother's birthday is in June as well. She'll be 60 this year. I should probably do something special for her, but honestly I have no idea what that might be.

June is also the month I was diagnosed with breast cancer, four years ago. Next year I hit that magical 5 year mark. In most cases, if the cancer is going to come back it comes back within the first five years. Yesterday I was given the "all clear" on my annual MRI and PET scans - very good news!

Maybe next year we'll throw a 40th Birthday/5-year survivor/The Big Oh-5 Party for the three of us!

A New Normal

As most of you know, I am a breast cancer survivor – almost three and a half years now. Last year I attended the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Kick-Off Breakfast, intending to be Sundt’s Team Leader for the walk, and was seated with two other survivors. One of them was a young lady, about 24, who had just finished chemo and whose hair was just beginning to grow back. She was very quiet for the first part of the breakfast, listening to us share our stories, but after about 20 minutes she leaned over to me, grabbed my hand to pull me in closer to her and asked me, in a somewhat desperate voice “Wendy, when will I feel normal again?” I can still hear her voice and it still brings tears to my eyes. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to learn a new normal now,” I told her. And it’s true – I know I’ll never be the same, in both good and bad ways. A few days later I received an email from her – the vertigo she’d been suffering was the result of the cancer spreading to her brain. I wrote her back, of course, but I’ve never heard from her again.

I didn’t walk the walk last year. On the advice of my Oncologist I have avoided breast cancer related activities for the past year, because honestly I just couldn’t handle it. This year I’m working up the courage to walk again. How silly, right? Well the truth is that that conversation brought it all back for me – the fear, the pain, the side effects, the fatigue that still haunts me, the loss of feeling in my hands and feet due to the chemo, the radiation burns… all of it, in one big rush and I just couldn’t handle it.

So where was I? Oh yes, so this year I’m going to join the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk with my friends and my daughter, Angelina, whom I pray never has to live through what I have. My mother had breast cancer, and I hope that the legacy stops with me. So please join with us to support the cause so I don’t have to tell Angie some day that she too will have to learn a new normal.

If you'd like to support me in the American Cancer Society's Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk, click here. Thanks!!

Lazy again

Me at 37 weeks

I'm going to be lazy again and post this week's paper for my communications class. I liked how I depicted the voices in my head, which is why I'm throwing this up there. I wasn't as confident on the conclusion, but the first part turned out well. :)

I met Dr. Sandra Gladding on June 5th, 2007. Her assistant, Angela, came into the exam room before she did and had got me talking about myself and my background. Dr. Gladding came in and sat down, smiling and told me to continue on with my story. I’d reached the part about how my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer at thirty-two, and she asked me some questions about that. Next she casually asked me if I was married, how long I’d been living in the area, about family and friends; typical “getting to know you” types of questions. All the while she was smiling and calm, rather like a horse trainer around a skittish colt.

Both ladies were open and friendly, and we talked for several minutes before I started to get nervous. There was nothing specific that caused the hairs on my body to slowly start standing to attention, one by one, but a quiet voice in the back on my head reminded me that I was there for a biopsy, not tea. Perhaps noticing my increasing nervousness, Dr. Gladding stood up, put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. “You’re going to be fine; it sounds like you have a good support network.”

My mind struggled to interpret her words. The first voice to speak up was Denial. ‘She must be talking about the baby. A good support network for the baby,’ Denial said. Fear chimed in, ‘Support network? Why do I need a support network?’ Suddenly my emotions were all talking at once, blanketing me in the white noise of a noisy theater. Panic raised its voice above the din, ‘Oh my God, do I have cancer?’ ‘Why else would she say that?’ sneered the Realist, “you’ve been waiting for this for ten years now, don’t act surprised.’ ‘What about the baby? If I have cancer, would she have it too?’ cried the mother in me. My hands went automatically to my bulging stomach, cradling my daughter who was due to be born in approximately four weeks. With Herculean effort I shushed the voices in my head.

“So it’s cancer?” I asked, my voice surprisingly steady.

“We’re going to do a biopsy today to be sure, but the mammogram and ultrasound you had yesterday indicate that yes, it’s very likely cancer.”

The white noise got loud again and I struggled to hear her, to make sense of what she was telling me. I had interpreted her behavior correctly; she had been preparing me for the worst.

“Wendy, you need to be prepared to have this baby this week,” she told me, noticing my hands clutching my very pregnant belly.

Bile rose in my throat and I broke out in a cold sweat. “But I’m only 36 weeks along,” I argued ineffectively.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you and… what did you say you were going to name your daughter again?” she asked, pulling me back from the chaos in my mind.

“Angelina,” I answered numbly. Just saying her name calmed me though, as I’m sure Dr. Gladding anticipated.

She squeezed my shoulder again. “Angelina is going to be just fine, and so is her mommy,” she reassured.

Thus began one of the biggest learning experiences in my life. I could go on and on about the lessons breast cancer taught me, but for now let’s focus on perception.

While this is an extreme case of perception checking, sometimes the extremes can better illustrate the point. Honing perception skills is invaluable and will help in the worst of circumstances. Even before I asked the question, my mind and body were already picking up the undertones and preparing me mentally and physically to deal with the answer.

Of particular note is the white noise that fills your mind when something dramatic happens. It can completely drown out voices outside of your own head, and is why you sometimes don’t recall what someone said to you at the time. However, it’s not always bad. The white noise can drown out all but the calm voice of reason necessary in a time of crisis, which gives one the ability to deal with the matter at hand and leave the emotions to be dealt with later. I would assume that’s how nurses and EMTs make it though their days.

I’ve learned to not drown in the white noise, or the distractions that surround me daily, but to use the noise to drown out the rest of the world so I can focus on what’s important. That’s one thing cancer teaches you - what’s important.

Random Thoughts on a Saturday Night

I did the Making Strides for Breast Cancer walk today, hosted by the American Cancer Society. I walked with Cheryl, my friend from work, Angie, and several others I work with. It was nice. It's good for the soul to participate in something bigger than you from time to time. I'm not sure how many walkers there were, but it had to have been upwards of at least a thousand. I forgot to take my camera.. pooh.. (Update: there were more than 9,000 people there!)

As for the election, I'm over it. It is what it is and now it's time to move on. I'm hoping we can move forward together and get things back on track.

I'm saddened to see the Linens and Things that just opene up by me a few months ago is going out of business. And the Circuit City that also just recently opened is closing as well. It worries me and I wonder if these companies don't plan in such a way to be able to withstand changes in the market. I would think a good business plan would include making sure your company could remain strong, or at least in business, should something affect your bottom line for a few months or a year.

Oh, and I put on some old jeans this morning and they fit! I didn't even have to lie on the bed to zip them up. Woot! :)

Celebrate the Ta-Tas!

If you haven't noticed, it's Breast Cancer Awareness month. As you probably know, breast cancer awareness is important to me. Just because my experience was good does not mean I want anyone else to go through it.

Anyways, I was at the store yesterday and everything is popping up pink! I saw breast cancer awareness dog toys, pudding, cups, cookies and kitchen utensils. Lenny had a good time pointing out that the kitchen utensils were made from silicone... "get it, silicone, har har har".

So, here's you friendly reminder to do routine breast exams and schedule those mammograms you've been putting off!

Some cute breast cancer shirts.

Beautiful Fighter

There were two songs that empowered me during my fight with cancer. Ironically they're both on the same album and on the surface have nothing to do with being ill.

The first song is Fighter by Christina Aguilera

Although the song is actually directed at a man, I found some of the words really fit what I was going through at the time…

"''cause if it wasn't for all that you tried to do,
I wouldn't know just how capable I am to pull through
So I wanna say thank you 'cause it
Makes me that much stronger
makes me work a little bit harder
it makes me that much wiser
so thanks for making me a fighter
made me learn a little bit faster
made my skin a little bit thicker
makes me that much smarter

so thanks for making me a fighter"

and at the end of the song…

"but in the end you'll see
YOU-WON'T-STOP-ME
I am a fighter and I I ain't gonna stop

There is no turning back
I've had enough"

I think that sums up one way I handled things. It did make me stronger.

One of my chemo buddies, Nancy, once said that you never have time to feel sorry for yourself when you have cancer, because you're always too busy being strong for everyone else. She certainly had a point.

The only time I really had alone to think was in my car. I drive an hour each way to work and back every day.

One of the ways I was able to gauge how I was holding up mentally was how far into the song "Beautiful", by Christina Aguilera I could get.

"Everyday is so wonderful, then suddenly, it's hard to breathe" - really really fitting…

I lost all of my hair during chemo and refused to wear a wig. I wore a nice variety of hats instead… I wasn't going to fool anyone with a wig, not to mention that they're hot, so really why bother?

Well let me tell you, it's not easy being an overweight bald woman. Unfortunately I followed up a pregnancy with chemo and large doses of steroids (that's my story, and I'm sticking to it!). So, if I could manage to sing along with "Beautiful" without disolving in a puddle of tears, I knew I was doing ok.

As time went by, I was able to sing the song and getting to the part of "We are beautiful" made me appreciate that I certainly wasn't the only woman going through this and that I am now part of a Sisterhood of strong, capable fighters. I'm proud of that.

I learned a lot on my journey and like I said, I met the nicest people along the way.

I met the nicest people

I routinely tell people that I feel I had the best possible experience with breast cancer that one could ever hope to have. Typically their head cocks slightly to the side and they ask me why I feel that way. Doctors always seem to be the most curious. I tell them about my story, and always end by telling them that really the biggest thing I took away from my experience was that I met the nicest people, and really I did. If anyone could be bubbly or effervescent about breast cancer, of all things, it would be me. It's almost embarrassing.

However, I do pray quite often that I don't have to do it again. :)

An unexpected insight

After posting about my little world, I poked my head out to see what's going on with others. I've taken up reading c jane's blog for two reasons. First, I find her blog to be heartwarming, funny, interesting and often inspirational. Secondly, because the family that she's connected to through her brother-in-law inspires me. I work with her brother-in-law's sister, Elizabeth, and count myself among her biggest fans. Elizabeth and her family make me regret not having siblings growing up. I find them fascinating.

So anyway, back to my poking around. In today's post, c jane referred to her theory regarding the soul. Jotting off to read it might put the rest of my blog into perspective.

I still think about the baby I lost almost two years ago, not often, but sometimes. After reading c jane's theory today, it got me thinking again. Angelina had a name and I'd dreamt of her for more than two years before she made an entrance into this world. After a year and a half of trying, we finally got pregnant. At 7 weeks I started to bleed and we finally discovered I had a tubal pregnancy. Oddly, I had almost expected it. I had dubbed the baby "peanut" and losing it had broken my heart. For weeks afterwards I would cry and tell my husband that I was broken.

Amazingly, six weeks later I was pregnant again. I swear I held my breath for the entire pregnancy, just praying she'd be born healthy and whole. So, what difference would six short weeks make in Angelina's, or my body's or God's plans? The timing of Angie's birth is really incredible, and c jane's story pointed out something I hadn't even thought of before. Waiting just six weeks longer may have saved my life.

I was 36 weeks pregnant when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. As it was, I almost didn't tell my doctor about the lump I found one morning in the shower. If I'd been nursing a four week old, there's a pretty good chance I wouldn't even have found it. Milk-engorged, sore breasts don't inspire self-exams.

I'm not really sure if Angie was sent to save my life, or if the cancer was sent to save hers. It doesn't really matter, it worked out both ways and I'm thankful.

Realizing what those six weeks might have meant helps me put the residual sadness about "peanut" behind me.

Maybe the answer to the question about when life begins is as simple as a children's story. Perhaps we're not real until someone loves us, just like in the Velveteen Rabbit.

Ponds

This week I met someone who I think is pretty amazing. Did you ever meet someone and think "wow, I'd really like to be friends with this person?" Her name is Deb and she taught the CPR class I took earlier this week. I stayed to chat during the breaks and found out that she was at the World Trade Center on day two with her rescue dogs and a team of 11 others. Turns out that of the twelve, she's the only one still alive. The others died from exposure. "Exposure to what?" I asked. "Just about everything you can think of," she replied.

I have an hour's drive each way to and from work, so I often use that time to mull things over and basically solve the problems of the universe - you know, the usual. Somehow my mind settled on the image of ponds.

Obviously Deb's still here because she's not done splashing around in other people's ponds. She teaches first aid and CPR, I think it's pretty obvious how important her splashing might be.

If you just stop and think about how each of us affect those around us, it's really amazing. Sometimes it's obvious, and sometimes it's so subtle that you may not even realize it.

I chose to put ducks in my pond, and throw some in about 100 others. I'm pretty proud of that. In fact, I think I need to order some more.

These are breast cancer awareness duckies - you put them in the shower to remind you to do self exams. My lovely model is Angie, who was just two months old at the time.

If you want even more proof of my pond theory, check out any of the interesting people listed to the right. It's pretty amazing to see a community of people, in this case bloggers, most of whom never have and never will meet, rally together to support one of their own and her family in a time of need.

Happy splashing!