My Great Breast Cancer Adventure

Ommmm (and/or: Time for Some Foot Stomping)

Ommmm
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

They're usually too cold. Poor circulation. Yesterday Efrem said I need to stomp them more. Efrem is my acupuncturist and herbalist. Chinese herbs. Although of course Efrem is not Chinese, he's Jewish. In any case, when Efrem was 25 he used to get migraine headaches that followed bouts of anger. Somehow or other he learned that if he stomped his feet hard for a while, the anger energy would flow down and out through his feet, which prevented the migraines from happening.

He told me this yesterday after I went in and said, "Please don't just focus on my liver today. I need help with my stress. I'm so stressed out! So angry and stressed out! Work is getting to me. The people are getting to me. I have to deal with people all the time, and it's so difficult!"

"What people do  you have to deal with?" he said.

"Oh, 250 to 300 students plus a couple dozen teachers every session," I answered.

"A couple dozen teachers? Oh, I thought you taught all the classes yourself."

"No, only one class. But even that one class has 32 students! I'm a manager, Efrem. It's a big part of my job: people management. And I take too much of it personally. I don't know how to let business be business. I take all criticisms to heart. In my head I may know that most people love the Writing Salon and also really like the class that I teach, myself. In my head I know that for every 25 or 50 or 100 people who adore the WS, there's only one who is griping, criticizing, accusing and complaining. But I let myself be overwhelmed by the complainers and accusers. I don't know how to fend off that negative energy! Please poke me full of needles that will help me be better at coping with stress."

"I'll do my best, but you can also stomp your feet," he said.

"How about cursing at people instead? I do that a lot already. Not to their faces, of course. I do it as I'm driving or walking down the street, or while I'm sitting on the couch. Like a crazy person would do."

"No, that pulls the angry energy up into your chest and head. You want it to go down and out through your legs and feet and into the ground."

"Okay. Will do," I said. No hesitation.

That's because I love Efrem. I'm not kidding. I TRULY love him. He's the doctor, more than any other I've been to, who listens and talks to me like I'm a real human being. Like the two of us are real human beings. Not just doctor and patient caricatures. Not just authority figure and obedient follower. He listens to the whole me, the heart and soul and psyche of me. Not just to my pulse or heartbeat  or test results.

So if he says "Stomp your feet,"  I will give it my best shot.

Preceding the Sunset

Preceding the Sunset
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

The colors — green lines, a blur of blue, orange, and an exclamation point of black — fell together painlessly, beautifully in fact. Although wordless, they spoke . . . of rhythms, tonalities, and the chords of her body.

Her afternoon's vision quest complete, she turned away from the unexpected warehouse door and headed back toward home. It was easy to go crazy in the attempt to live a life of the spirit. The wind was cold and the camera was half broken, forcing her to grip it so tightly that her fingers would hurt. Often she had to attempt the same shot twice, or even three or four times over.

Nevertheless, she walked the dreamy streets, focusing and refocusing, framing and reframing, zooming in and zooming out.

Tonight as she scoured stains from the kitchen sink and wiped the counters down, she would retain the image of the blue, blurred in the lower righthand corner. She would allow it to nestle around her often too practical heart.

Funny How Things Turned Out

Rooftop Textures at Dusk
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

From 1983 until 1988 I was a single welfare mother. Yep, welfare. Food stamps and welfare. I worked part-time under the table, while Will was in a  morning co-op preschool three days a week, to make ends meet (supposedly, although they never met).

When Will started kindergarten, I managed to start working enough to be able to get off welfare, but I still didn't make enough to live on, and so ran up a pretty big credit card debt.

Will attended public schools through middle school, then got a full scholarship to Urban high school. When he was sixteen I started the Writing Salon and spent the next two or three years paying off my credit card debt, then, at the age of 48, I started saving for my old age.

Will is grown up and living on his own being a world-traveling circus performer. And, at the age of 49, after having had many various and sundry relationships with men I never married or lived with (at least not for very long), I finally found myself a good solid lovely guy who is, as one good friend of mine once aptly characterized him, "comfortable in his own skin." I like that description very much.

Jack and I met six years ago when we were next door neighbors. Now we live together at his house in Bernal Heights. We have a dog, Olivia, a cat, Reecy, a yard, a shared office, and a big garage with room for a shop for Jack. We have a dining room with a table big enough to have guests over for dinner, and a great sky, rooftops, freeway and bay view out the back upstairs window.

At the age of 52 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had the tumor removed and so far the cancer hasn't recurred or metastacized. My hair is totally gray now but I dye it with henna (and frequently talk about it in my blog, sometimes in every post for days on end). Last June I took up photography and really enjoy it.

Three months ago I took half of my meager "old age savings," and made a down payment on half of a studio live/work loft; Jack bought the other half. Wow. I've gone from being a welfare mom. . . to owning 250 square feet of San Francisco real estate, and it took me only 25 years to do it!

Funny how things have turned out…thus far. After all, it's not over until the fat lady sings, whatever THAT means. What DOES  that mean? I mean, where did that phrase come from?

Celestial Fire In Frisco

Celestial Fire In Frisco
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

Here's an arbitrary "anniversary" date that just popped into my head: At the end of this month, it will be two years and five months since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Weird. I was so afraid, then. I'm much less so, now. Of course it helps that I don't feel sick!

Then again, not feeling sick can also be scary, because you are continually wondering when or how or if it might sneak into your life and turn everything into death. You aren't sure how it will happen if or when it happens. You don't know how quickly or suddenly "it" could reappear, either in your breast or elsewhere. One day you feel certain that it's gone forever; another day you think it's arrogant to be so cocky, because you are no different than any other mortal being. You aren't "above" dying of breast cancer.

So you go around trying to be optimistic and positive, because it feels better to do that, and because on the woo-woo level you are telling yourself that it's good to try and do "mind over matter" energy stuff. You tell yourself that you can "control" your cells with your mind and heart and soul. You tell yourself that there are ways to heal the body that are way way beyond pills and injections and exercise and saunas and chemo and radiation and hormone blockers. And you try to believe that you can teach yourself to use some of those other "enligtened and advanced" methods of healing.

But at the same time, you want to be realistic and humble, and to acknowledge that many many others, who were probably way more enlightened and advanced than you are, have died of all kinds of ugly diseases. So who are you kidding? It's all just a crapshoot. Pure and simple.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth you go.

And sometimes when you really ARE experiencing a few moments of enlightenment, you forget all about it! You live in the now. You enjoy your day, moment by moment. You pet the dog, sip your coffee, admire your own amateur attempts at photography (including cliché sunset pictures), sing while you clean the kitchen, henna your hair, kiss your sweet sweetheart, send emails to your son as he galavants around the world (he's in Paris now, and then New Zealand), take a walk in the rain, and try to keep your precious friendships going even though you hardly ever seem to see anybody anymore, recluse that you are (but at least you plug away at the old blog, and do your best to keep up with theirs.....

Right Under My Nose

I can see the workmen – construction workers – out the two big windows of the new loft space. They're almost right under my nose, building away, constructing a four-story (at least I hope it's only four and not five or six) structure that I presume is a condominium complex. The once amazing view of sky, hills, buildings and street activity remains only in the bits that can still be seen through the as-yet unfinished walls, and a portion of sky above that hasn't yet been obliterated. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that when all is done, I will still be able to see some sky, a few clouds.

If it weren't for the loss of the view, I'd be quite happy to continue watching the construction. It's entertaining in its own right. Fascinating, actually. Big cranes float by my windows at odd moments. They guys are cute. The whole process of building a building – seeing it up close like this – is an experience. I'll be sad when the activity is over and I can see only a brick walls filled with windows. But maybe it'll be like that old movie, Rear Window, with James Stewart, where you can see what everybody's doing, get glimpses of each evolving story behind each window.

And you know what? Even with the prospect of the lost view, I am floating on cloud nine because I'm so excited to be the owner of this beautiful live/work loft. I'm sitting here in my old orange swivel chair, looking at the circle of chairs where we had the Round Robin class last night. Oh look! There's the leopard print pillow I found a few days ago at the Salvation Army. I scored big that day, found four great pillows, each one a cool print with great colors, plus I got two chairs for $8.75 apiece. Counting myself, there were fourteen people here last night, and the space contained that many people perfectly. More could be fit in if need be; I have additional chairs tucked here and there into corners and up in the loft.

I love my little "school/getaway." I slept here last night. That was fun. But I wouldn't want to do that too often, because I'd miss Jack and Olivia and Reecy too much.

Walk Softly & Carry a Big Stick

Walk Tall & Carry a Big Stick
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

That's a photo of our friend Frankie on the cusp of Bernal Hill with his, uh, little stick. I took it oh, I can't remember when. A few days ago.

Now it's a few days later, the Writing Salon Winter Session has begun (as of Saturday), and I've spent four days ironing out the various kinks that always happen at the beginning of every session. For example, on Sunday the fiction teacher in Berkeley called to say that one of the students had walked away with the back of a director's chair. Yep. Static cling. He drove away to San Jose with my canvas chair stuck to his back. I had to drive to Berkeley on Monday to replace the back of the chair with my one spare "back!"

The next phone call was from the Personal Essay class teacher, to say that when they'd turned on the microwave and the electric tea kettle at the same time, they'd blown the circuit. What did I want her to do? (I drove back to Berkeley to press the restart button on the power strip, and then moved some plugs around.)

And then there was the guy who went to Studio 204 instead of Studio D, because the Strawberry Creek Design Center's main building sign hasn't been updated to show our new classroom address. Nevermind that I had it (the new address) plastered all over the website and registration forms. He didn't look at those; he looked only at the building sign. Poor guy. He'd driven all the way from some other country, San Jose or Pacifica or Cupertino, I forget...to Berkeley. No one came to the door. He drove home in a not very good mood. I had to make it right the next day.

Then there was the unhappy teacher with whom I had to resolve some  "issues" regarding lower-than-usual class enrollment. Management, I believe it is called.

The phone calls were steady and annoying. I was dragged into the world of Administratorship. Directorship. Ownership. The buck stops ici. Oy vey.

But now, on Tuesday, the wrinkles have been ironed out, I've taught my first Round Robin class (tonight), and the coast is finally clear enough for me to  catch up on paying my personal bills, vacuuming, dying my gray roots, reordering various medicinal supplements, and sending out 1099s to thirty or so teachers by Friday. This will all be wildly relaxing in comparison to the last three months or so. And I can't wait to get going on my business taxes!

I also hope to start taking a few photos again. Woman cannot live by work alone. Woman also cannot live without reading her friends' blogs. Or doing her own blogging.

Pink Pipes

Pink Pipes
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

Friday's Big Storm

Fallen
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

We heard that in some of the higher spots, winds got up to 150 mph. Here in Bernal Heights, one tree was pulled up by its roots and another one right next to it had a big branch that broke and fell into the intersection of Moultrie and Ogden streets.

The next day (yesterday) I went out walking through the still stormy and wet weather with Olivia. The colors of everything were heightened and transformed by the unusual light that always seems to accompany this kind of weather.

Off Limits

Off Limits
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

Colors on a Cloudy Day

Colors on a Cloudy Day
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

Blue Post

Blue Post
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

Pastel Trio, Stormy Day

Pastel Trio, Stormy Day
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

My New Year's Eve Drama

My New Year's Eve Drama
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

Apparently I wasn't the only one who went nuts over the New Year's Eve sunset. Another Bay Area Flickrite  compiled all the shots she could find; you can view them as a slide show here.

The New Year Has Begun

Bare
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

2008: A clean slate. A fresh start. Bare. Empty. Waiting to rebloom. Like my cottage on Moultrie Street, and like my "completed" move to the house on Anderson Street (which, I learned yesterday, two toddlers who live nearby call "the mango house!").

Yesterday Jack and I went back and pulled the last few nails out of the cottage walls, spackled the biggest of the holes, and carted away three or four small things that we'd missed before: a short closet rod, a hanging basket, a roll of paper towels... and at 3 p.m. I met the landlord, handed over my keys, and got back my deposit.

Last night I dreamed that I went to get a cup of coffee on Cortland Street and on my way back I automatically, unthinkingly walked into the cottage, only to realize that I wasn't supposed to be there anymore. The new tenants had left the front door open by mistake. I looked around and saw different furniture. The new tenants were standing around a piano singing, in a back room, and didn't notice me. So I quiety backed out.

Five minutes later, I forgot again, and walked in AGAIN. That time they saw me, so I told them that they needed to remember to lock their front door or else they might never get rid of me!

But it wasn't a sad dream, really. I wasn't mourning the loss of my cottage. I felt a tingle of nostalgia and, of course, great fondness. . . but mostly I felt wryly amused at my inability to remember that I no longer lived there.

Yesterday afternoon after the "final walk-through" with the landlord, I came HOME and was delighted to be here, and really happy to have more of my various little things around me - certain pictures for the walls, flower vases, a little shelf, my beloved three-way medicine cabinet, the couch throws that my mother gave me, the rest of my books . . . all those comforting, cozy bits and pieces that I've been missing for the last year as I lived here at Jack's but didn't feel that I had completely moved in. In many ways, it was as if I were camping out in someone else's house.

But now I feel differently. Jack made us a lovely shrimp dinner last night, and we made a New Year's Day toast in honor of all the recent changes - Jack starting his new business (first he got his license, now he's incorporated), us buying the loft together, and me moving both my business locations . . . AND leaving the cottage. . . AND discovering photography!

The last three months have been a whirlwind of nonstop activity and changes for both of us. Exhausting but exciting. We're really looking forward to the new buds appearing and blossoming on the bare branches. Corny metaphor, I know. But it kinda goes with the photo.

Hole in the Sky, New Year's Eve

Hole in the Sky
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

This is how the curtain fell on 2007, as seen from the top of Bernal Hill. A wild, fiery, dramatic, lovely closure

Chemo Over-Prescribed for Breast Cancer - More About This Underreported Fact

Many breast cancer patients can skip chemo or take gentler versions
Canadian Press
12-14-07
SAN ANTONIO - Thousands of breast cancer patients each year could be spared chemotherapy or get gentler versions of it without harming their odds of beating the disease, new research suggests.
One study found that certain women did better - were less likely to die or have a relapse - if given a less harsh drug than Adriamycin, a mainstay of treatment for decades.
Another study found that a gene test can help predict whether some women need chemo at all - even among those whose cancer has spread to their lymph nodes, which typically brings full treatment now.
The findings are sure to speed the growing trend away from chemo for many breast cancer patients and targeting it to a smaller group of women who truly need it, doctors said Thursday at the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium, where the studies were reported.
"We are backing off on chemotherapy and using chemotherapy more selectively" in certain women, said Dr. Eric Winer of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston.
The gene test in particular "will start changing practice nearly immediately," said Dr. Peter Ravdin of the University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. "The results are compelling that this test ... helps select patients who will most benefit from chemotherapy."
Breast cancer is the most common major cancer in American and Canadian women. More than 178,000 new cases are expected in the U.S. this year, and 22,300 in Canada. Most are helped to grow by estrogen, and hormone-blocking medicines like tamoxifen are used to treat those.
Chemo usually is added if the disease has spread to lymph nodes - a situation faced by about 45,000 U.S. women each year. Doctors know that chemo won't help most of these women, but they have had no good way to tell who can safely skip its cost and misery.
Here's where Oncotype DX, a test that measures the activity of 21 genes and gives a score to predict a woman's risk of recurrence, comes in. Doctors have used it for several years to guide treatment for certain women with early breast cancers, especially those that have not spread.
The new study, led by Dr. Kathy Albain of Loyola University, looked at whether it accurately predicted chemo's benefit in 367 women whose hormone-driven cancer had spread to lymph nodes.
A decade after these women were treated, those who had low scores on the gene test were found to have had no benefit from chemo. Conversely, chemo did a lot of good for those with high scores.
Because 40 per cent of the women scored low, it means that as many as 18,000 women each year might safely skip chemo.
The National Cancer Institute and the test's maker, Genomic Health of Redwood City, Calif., sponsored the study. Albain, Winer and Ravdin have consulted or been paid speakers for the company in the past.
Dr. Kelly Marcom, a Duke University cancer expert with no ties to the company, said the test would give valuable information to guide treatment for more patients in the future. He has used it on about 50 women in the last year.
"I've had it cut both ways" - ruling chemo in and out, Marcom said.
The test is expensive - US$3,400 - though many insurers are paying for it because it can avoid even more costly chemo.
Albain plans to discuss using it with Andrea DeRosier, a 49-year-old health care administrator from suburban Chicago whose cancer has spread to a single lymph node.
When a surgeon said she likely would need chemo, "I remember thinking, 'Oh, that's terrible,"' DeRosier said. "I want whatever protocol is going to keep me alive," but not futile treatment, she said.
Chemo's side effects are getting greater attention. One drug commonly used for early breast cancer - doxorubicin, sold as Adriamycin and generic brands - is known to cut the risk of having a recurrence or dying, but raises the risk of heart problems and even leukemia.
Dr. Stephen Jones of Baylor-Sammons Cancer Center tested using Taxotere, a drug not linked to heart problems, in its place in more than 1,000 women with early breast cancer. After seven years, 87 per cent of those given Taxotere survived, compared with 82 per cent of those given Adriamycin. In addition, those given Taxotere were less likely to have had a recurrence.
The study was sponsored by Taxotere's maker, Sanofi-Aventis SA, a French company with U.S. offices in Bridgewater, N.J. Jones consults for the company.
A study in the New England Journal of Medicine in October showed that another drug, Taxol, does not work for the most common form of breast cancer.
These new studies should lead to less use of chemo, but there has been "intense" pushback from doctors, who fear giving up on a treatment that might help some patients, said Barbara Brenner, head of the advocacy group Breast Cancer Action.
"It's very hard to turn a ship like this," she said. "Adding things never takes much, but removing things takes a mountain of data from the medical community."