Bean's Breast Cancer Blog

Prepared...Perhaps

2022-02-26T14:30:00.000-05:00

I'm an artist. I've never really believed those words, but I am. I always have been.

First was ballet. I was never going to be the best ballerina. I have a barrel rib cage, a short neck, and little to no coordination. But I loved it. I didn't love ballet class. I was kind of a clown in class. Once I wrote a letter to my teacher, telling her I was sick so that I could get out of class. I signed Mama's name to it. We were on our way to ballet class at Huntington College. Anne McCabe and I sat in the back seat as I asked how to spell "threw" like "threw up." I'm pretty sure I spelled it "through up." That, combined with my youthful handwriting (I'm not sure I was more than 5 or 6 at the time) was enough to land me in a lot of trouble. I did not get out of class that day. And I'd bet money on a spanking.

No, I didn't love dance class. But I loved, with a passion, to be on stage. I danced in Nutcracker for several years. Spring recitals were always so much fun. As I am typing, I am vividly remembering that dance class in Spring semester was spent preparing for the Spring recital. Hands swinging high, pas de bourree, hips rocking...all to The Little Mermaid's "Under the Sea." Performance on the Green in August. An outdoor stage. August in Alabama. Closed eyes to the sky. Sun peeping between dense evergreen branches. Arms stretched out. Spin. That wasn't part of the dance...just part of the experience. Getting lost in the whole experience...in a good way.

I quit ballet and found Speech and Debate, and later theater. I had teachers and friends of who nurtured my talent and love of performance. And it paid off. State and National competitions in Forensics. Travel. Bad Seed. "Mom? Yes, Rhoda?" Mama said that watching me act out Forensics pieces was like watching someone with split personalities jump back and forth. I thought that was the ultimate compliment. Theater was kind of like Forensics, but next level. Forensics prepared me for theater. So did dance. Prepared me for Polly. Crazy for You: A Gershwin Musical. Lost lines. Recovered. Hot mic. Tap dancing. White dress. Bright lights. Hands held. Arms up. Big bow.

And then it was over. But was it? I've spent a lot of time in my career in front of people leading meetings, leading projects, and presenting. All of my experiences on stage have prepared me for these moments. I still get a little excited, like I once did before a performance...adrenalin surging. But I'm not scared. I'm prepared.

My art now is limited by time, but I paint. I prefer acrylics and pastels, but I also love working with watercolor and charcoal. Oil is not my medium. I paint for fun and for close family and friends, and I would love to do more of it. Every once in a while I start something, and then I have to clean up the house for one reason or another...and there it sits, prepped for its future moment, a work in progress.

Yesterday I had my post op appointment with the surgical oncologist. He gave me a hug, checked my excision site, and asked me if I had any questions. I asked him to describe exactly what he did...because my excision site looked far more I-don't-know-what than what I expected. Warning that there are pics posted below if you scroll down low enough. It looks like a shark bite. Dr. Sharma explained that my skin is very taught. That's something that I've always felt like was a good thing. But apparently when they're cut out a 3-4 cm diameter circle, they have to be able to pull it back together to close it. So Dr. Sharma took an area that's kind of rainbow shaped from the area outside of that circle. Then he used that area to graft my leg. The procedure is called a Keystone flap. And boy, does it seem excessive for a 6mm lesion. Dr. Sharma is an artist. He says I shouldn't have a scar when it heals. I laughed out loud when he said that. I think he is also a comedian.

After explaining the procedure with the drawing (below), Dr. Sharma asked if I was ready for good news? An overwhelming wave of relief came over my body as he asked the question, and I answered yes. I didn't even realize how physically tense I was in anticipation of these results...the pathology from the chunk he took last week in surgery was clear. No melanoma. No lymph invasion. No nervous invasion. No vascular invasion. They got it all with the biopsy. Overwhelming relief. Now I can relax, right? It's gone.

Dr. Sharma did want to send my biopsy off to a company who performs a special genetic test that can tell with a 98.5% confidence level, whether the risk of metastasis (spread to other organs) is low, middle or high risk in 5 years. But as it turns out, there wasn't enough tissue left to do that. That's disappointing. But it is only disappointing. Let me be very clear bad news would have been traumatic. This isn't traumatic...it's just disappointing.

There is no treatment for my Melanoma Stage 1a. Only surgery. But there is follow up...and lots of it. I just graduated from seeing my Oncologist every 6 months for breast cancer. Now I get to see my surgical oncologist and my oncologist annually. And I get to see my Dermatologist every 3-4 months for the rest of my life. As Dr. Sharma says, my Dermatologist is going to be my new BFF. I'll take it. It's better than the alternative.

The dreaded alternative. I would be lying to myself if I didn't talk about it. There was a little of that the first time around with breast cancer. I thought about what life might be like for others if I died of breast cancer at some point. It was easier to imagine that happening when the boys were younger. Nate would have moved on, the boys wouldn't have really known me. They wouldn't remember the trauma. It would just be an unfair thing that happened to them. I have wondered how my parents would feel...my sisters. How James would feel. Jimmy and Lizzy. My friends. And every year it got harder to imagine as I formed these bonds with people who I cannot imagine living without. That is a heavy burden to carry. It is a lifetime burden. It's like always waiting for something and willing it not to happen. There is so much anxiety in that. If you know a survivor, this is your sign to reach out to them and let them know that you know it isn't over for them. So there was a little bit of that with breast cancer. And by little bit, I mean that, from time to time, I thought about it, but never let it overcome me. They were little. I was strong.

This time around has been different. It's been emotionally challenging. It's been challenging to keep my emotions from going down a rabbit hole. I am a different person now. I am stronger. I'm more faithful. I have spent years building actual relationships with my husband James and the four children between us. I am invested fully in my faith, my family and our future. So there's a frank element of how bad this could have been that resonates with me differently this time around, and if I am being completely honest, it's been scary.

But it's not bad. I caught it early. I got into the doctor. They did what they were supposed to do. They persisted. I thank God every day that he built me strong and courageous, and that He prepared me for this. I'm not sure that I would have thought anything about that little pink bump if I wasn't hyperaware of changes in and of my body...all thanks to breast cancer. There's God in all of this, and it seems silly to think, "Thank God for my breast cancer," but I mean that with my whole heart. I'm not sure that I would have thought anything about that little pink bump if I wasn't hyperaware of changes in and of my body...all thanks to breast cancer.

I don't know what God has planned, but I trust that it is good and useful. I do pray that there is peace in the waiting. What I do know is that, figuratively speaking, my hands are up to the sky. My eyes are closed, and I am just soaking it all in. Perhaps I have been called for such a time as this. At the very least I am prepared...and a work in progress.

Wide Local Excision of Melanoma with Keystone Flap surgical plan:

WARNING AGAIN: Graphic pics below

Black is the New Pink

2022-02-15T23:45:00.006-05:00

I'm at the tail end of GenX. Some might call me a #Xennial (a mix between #GenX and #Millennial). I don't really get it...Here's what I do get...

I have a strong affinity for music that moves me, but I'm not tied to any specific genre.

My first love of music was classical, likely because of the exposure through ballet.

I was brought up on 50s and 60s music...Leader of the Pack, My Boyfriend's Back, Great Balls of Fire, Splish Splash...We used to buy these cassette tape sets at the grocery store around the corner. Mama would take us into Super Foods, and the people behind the finance counter where they cashed paychecks would wave, oohing and ahhing about how much we were growing "like weeds." At some point during our grocery trip, we would approach an endcap with the cassette tape sets and beg Mama for the next one in the series. If I recall correctly, they had a light turquoise label on them. There were two songs on each side. It was like listening to your own personal juke box in the car. The way we belted those songs out, you would think that we had prophesized American Idol.

I used to belt out Whitney Houston, David Lee Roth, Bon Jovi and Wilson Phillips on the patio with my pink Casio boombox. Man, were we cool. And hot...soaking up the Alabama sunshine on the patio, the beach, by the pool, all while blasting that boombox. It was pink.

Tiffany and her boyfriend Craig later introduced me to 90s country. I listened to Tiff and her friends sing Garth Brooks's "Friends in Low Places," and cringed when they sang "oooooasis." Craig had a karaoke machine that he would bring to the lake, and he even let me sing a duet with him once. I thought that was so cool.

I have always loved music at church. I've referenced the Song of Simeon before, and it still sends shivers down my spine when harmonized. I listened to a rendition from #CampMcDowell today, and it gave me all the feels.

I was later introduced to Blind Melon, Dixie Chicks (aka The Chicks), Pink Floyd, The Police, Phish, Medeski Martin and Wood, John Coltrane. I just love music. Some things never change.

James and I have really connected over music. A few years ago, we were meeting in Nashville to see Mumford & Sons...it was a bucket list item for both of us, and we were so excited. I sat in the airport at the gate marked "Detroit," where I had a connection. I was jamming...and I mean jam-ming out on my earbuds to Mumford & Sons. I finally looked up, thinking we should have boarded, and the gate still had my flight info. I removed my earbuds, looked around at the lack of passengers at my gate, and walked around. My gate changed. They paged me overhead...not one, not two, but three times. I missed the flight. James picked me up from the Nashville airport and we pulled into our hotel right as concert goers were leaving the venue. We missed the concert of a lifetime. And why? I wasn't paying attention. I was distracted. I let my guard down. Still, he loved me. Still, he loves me.

So that's music. I was raised on TGIF and CW television...Family Matters, Full House, The Hogan Family, 7th Heaven. And in college I was obsessed with all things Friends, Sex and the City, ER, and The OC. I watched the Challenger live. I remember credible and unbiased news...before people were beautiful and scripted across the globe.

I remember hearing about the information superhighway...one day we would be able to hold tiny computers in our hands and drive flying cars. One out of two ain't bad.

Do Millennials remember when pink was the new black? Or why that was? Everyone, and I mean everyone was wearing black. It was everywhere. My entire high school wardrobe was from The Limited. I wore black suits to school...complete with big, chunky shoes (and purple eyeliner/mascara). I thought I was so stylish...my style icon was Posh Spice (aka Victoria Beckham, who is still quite frankly a fashion plate). My art teacher Mrs. Terry once told me that I was so fashionable, and I thought, "Right...because I wear black!"

And then pink was the new black. It was the universally flattering hue. It was a Clueless, Legally Blonde, and Mean Girls decade of pink. I had pink sweaters, pink dresses, pink, pink, pink, pink, pink.

I don't remember what came after that. Adulthood, marriage, motherhood, job loss, breast cancer (more pink), divorce, remarriage, puppies. It's all a blur. I never felt like a Millennial. I feel like I have lived too much life to even be considered a Xennial. Somedays I even feel like a Boomer. I bet they never wore pink...except maybe in the 80s. Yes, hot pink. Not the same. Nope, not Boomer pink. And Millennial pink was more rose gold. I am definitely GenX pink.

GenX is weird. We are the end of microfilm and microfiche and the beginning of credible sources on the internet. We are first computers in our homes (but only if you had money). We are MTV, VH1 and CMT. We are trophies only for winners. We are multi-colored scrunched double socks and side ponytails. We are crimped bangs and rolls of cash in our bras. We are sike your mama and hours on a trampoline. We love our weird. I think that's the biggest difference in GenX and Millennials. Millennials don't want to be weird. They want to be different from each other, but fit in with everyone. Huh? GenX embraces its weirdness.

Fast forward to 2021. Stupid CoVID. Everyone is exhausted. I need a vacation. James and I booked a vacation to St. Thomas for August. It's our place. It's our lie in the sun with a champagne in one hand and a book in the other place. And there it was...pink. There was a little bump on my leg...kind of flat, translucent almost. It didn't itch. It wasn't dry and flaky. Just a little, flat pink bump. Right near my left knee. I ignored it. I was in St. Thomas. In the sun. With champagne and a book. I never get to read. I refused to think about it. How do do stop thinking about it when all you can think about is not thinking about it? Stupid pink bump.

In October, I celebrated 10 years in remission from breast cancer. I have graduated! It was such a cool feeling. I was taken off of Tamoxifen after 10 years. Couldn't wait to go through hormone regulation. Not. What-ever...10 years. That is really something. No more pink.

A week later I got CoVID. Great year to name your dog Delta. I repeatedly tell people, "After the airline, not the variant." It didn't age well. When I was at my Primary Care office, I asked my doctor about the pink bump, which was no longer flat. It was pretty round, but it was kind of bulbous. A little irregular around the edges, but not dramatically so. And it was pink. Likely nothing to worry about, she said, but she took a picture and sent it off to Dermatology for review. That's neat how they can do that now. She snapped it with her iPhone and off it went to Derm. Derm called the next day. They were not worried about what they saw. They booked an appointment for me to come in on Dec 21. No big deal. It was pink.

On December 21, I went to my Dermatology appointment. Still pink, and no visible changes from October (or so I thought before looking back at pictures). I was the first patient she saw fresh off maternity leave with her first baby. We had some great chit chat about babies and my breast cancer history. The conversation was light...it was pink. She looked at my bump with her dermatoscope and said, "Well, normally when something is pink I can tell the patient not to worry about it because I know it is benign, but in this case I can't definitively say that. So I'd like to cut this off and send it off to Pathology if you're okay with me doing that today." I won't lie...I expected that. I was fine with that. I couldn't feel anything. She did a great job of numbing me up. As she placed the bandage, I thought I might pass out. I told her that my body must be more nervous than my brain. Anxiety is a weird thing. I needed a Xanax. My Xanax is pink.

Christmas came and went. New Years came and went. Still no results 2 weeks later. I know enough to know that is odd. I called Dermatology. The doctor told me that there wasn't report to share. My pink bump is weird. Oh, great. Another weird tumor. When I told James, he responded without skipping a beat, "I always knew you were one of a kind." Love him. I thought, "Did you also always know I was so much trouble?" I didn't ask. I already knew what he would say. He would say I was worth every ounce.

My pink bump was weird. It was GenX weird..kinda weird, kinda gangster weird. It was so weird, in fact, that they didn't know what it was. It was, with certainty, either melanoma or something called an Atypical Spitz Tumor of Unknown Malignant Potential. Melanoma is the worst and most aggressive type of skin cancer. It has a tendency to spread or metastasize quickly. It is black (or pigmented) 95% of the time. That's why it is represented by a black ribbon (kin to breast cancer's pink ribbon). It is often easy to spot. 5% of the time it is pink, or amelanotic. Atypical Spitz Tumors (ASTs) are the #1 misdiagnosed skin condition. They also account for only about 1% of skin diagnoses. The pathologists don't love this diagnosis because, as it states in the name, it has an unpredictable malignancy. It could be deadly, or it could do nothing. An even smaller percentage of these are amelanotic. What we do know is that it is a tumor. A weird tumor. So my weird tumor took a vacation to San Francisco two weeks after my biopsy. I've been there (in whole) twice. The bushman scared me half to death - my friend Jacci died laughing. Alcatraz is haunting (and cold). Loved it. I'd go back...preferably all of me though. There is a Dermatopathologist at UCSF who specializes in melanocytic lesions. So until they have given a report, I won't know what it is. Is it pink? Or is it black?

I ended up calling UCSF a couple of weeks later. It was the end of January...4 weeks since my biopsy. I'm impatient and this whole thing was getting a little more than a little distracting. I was transferred a few times, but was ultimately connected to William in Dr. Leboit's lab. He was so informative...he told me that Dr. Leboit stained the tissue yet again, and that he came up with the same inconclusive answer that they came up with here in central Wisconsin. And he's the guy for melanomas. They ran a special panel of 500 gene tests, and it would take 4 weeks. That started on January 12, so my results would be delayed until at least Feb 9. Awesome. My birthday. At least I had a timeline. I had some hope.

I contacted my Oncologist, who referred me immediately to Surgical Oncology. James and I were able to visit with him that day, and he was amazing! He presented me with all options, and explained everything thoroughly and with compassion. He specializes in melanoma excision (removal). Surgery was scheduled for February 17.

Today my Dermatologist called me to tell me that the pathology report came in. I have a gene mutation that was inconsistent with the stain. Without the genetic testing, I most certainly wouldn't have been diagnosed properly. Today I was diagnosed with invasive amelanotic melanoma. Black. Pink...but really black. Black. Breathe. Here's the good news: there is no evidence of lymph, vascular, or nerve invasion. This could be way worse. It isn't deep. It isn't multiplying rapidly. I will have an ultrasound tomorrow to make sure there isn't any reason to have a lymph node biopsy Thursday. That's the only thing that would change anything for surgery. We had already chosen the aggressive wider excision would have been required if the report came back as melanoma. I'm going to have one seriously cool scar on my leg...roughly 7 inches long when it's all said and done. I bet it ends up being pink.

I have a million questions. Is my melanoma linked to my breast cancer? Do I have other genetic mutations that predispose me to other types of cancer? How does a 43 year old woman have 2 different primary cancers in 10 years? How am I 43 years old already? What does this mean for my biological children? For my sisters? For my parents? I've been referred to a Genetic Counselor, so I'm reopening the blog I started almost 11 years ago so that I can process this and share the information as I learn it. Genetic testing has come a loooong way in 10 years when I had the BRCA testing. It's fascinating.

I can share this...I think I needed a wake up call. God has a funny way of doing that, you know...when you're not paying attention...when you're distracted...when you let your guard down. And yet, He shows you with compassion that you need to wake up...check your priorities...refocus. Be still, He loved you first. Be still, He loves you. And by you I mean me...and I also mean you. So if you're reading this and you need a wake up call, maybe I'm taking one for the team (also compliments of GenX). I have had so many people tell me over the years that my breast cancer story helped them to be their own advocate in healthcare, brought awareness of changes in their own bodies, and empowered them to have things checked. My hope and prayer is that, by sharing my story this time around, one person may look at a pink bump or a mole or a scaly patch and have it checked. It's not all about checking the tata's. I've traded in my breast cancer pink for melanoma black. Black is back, baby. Black is the new pink.

Together...for Lizzy

2019-04-03T07:00:00.000-04:00

Dear Lizzy,

I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to be a 14 year-old girl whose parents are divorced, with at least one of them remarried. I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to have a step mother or step siblings. I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to see your friends finding themselves in a world that doesn't exactly fit with the finding of myself, and that we never went separate ways. I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to want a part on stage so badly that I could taste it, only to feel rejection when I didn't get it. But I can't say any of those things...because...life. What I do know is that all of those things helped shape me into the woman I am today...a woman of faith who fell in love with a man who had 2 wonderful children...my bonus kids...whose lives I get to be a part of. We get to do this together. And if we're really smart about it we will. We are more alike than you know. We can lean on each other. We can learn from each other. We can love each other...together.

I can describe in three words how I felt the first moment that we met: I. Was. Terrified. I had no idea what you would think of me, and I hoped that you would like me...that we would connect. We went to the zoo in Chicago, and your smile lit up the city. Your hair was like spun gold. Your eyes were so wide. You were like a little sponge, soaking up everything around you...full of things to say, you never lacked in drama when it came to telling stories or corralling the boys. All I could see was this delightful little girl who skipped through the zoo...and you accepted me right away. It didn't take long before I wasn't scared anymore. I knew we were going to get along just fine. The boys ran ahead with your daddy, and you stayed back with me. A butterfly caught our eye, and in an instant I prayed for something. I prayed really intently for God to help me make friends with that butterfly. That was the first time I taught you anything. We were patient. I think that each of us was holding our breath as I lifted my forefinger beneath the butterfly's legs. It tickled as it walked gently onto my finger. Your eyes were so wide! We both smiled. I asked if you wanted to hold it, and you nodded enthusiastically. I coached you through it. You gently held your finger out and we transferred to the butterfly to you. And there it stayed...long enough for me to take my phone out and snap a quick picture. It is still one of my favorite pictures on the family wall...not because it was so sweet or indeed a little perfect, but because it is my first real memory of you...of us. No matter what happens, we will always have the day that we made friends with a butterfly...and we did it together.

We've actually done a lot of things together...we have danced to "Shake It Off" more times than I can count, though it's been a long time since we danced together without caring about who was watching. We have made shells stuffed with broccoli and chicken, smothered in Alfredo sauce...a modified version of one of your favorites. We have painted, picked out decorations for your bedroom, and shopped until we dropped at the American Girl store. We were together the first time you skied, the first time you realized you loved cheese curds, and the first time you rode on an inner tube.

We were together when your daddy proposed to me...you took the picture...and you were so happy! You ran over to the boys and said to Jimmy, "You're going to be my brother!" He laughed and said, "I already am your brother!" You shook the confusion right out of your head and ran over to Logan and Parker Dean. You were so very happy. We were all so very happy.

We were even together on our honeymoon. People thought we were crazy because we were taking four children on our honeymoon...but we kept telling people, "We got married so that we could all be together...so we're going to be together as much as we can!" The six of us sat together at a table and worked on a puzzle throughout the week, and we were so bummed when the week ended and there was a missing piece! We had a challenge on that trip for no one to eat the same meal twice, and boy, was that a challenge! But you did it...everyone did. Do you remember the video that you and Logan made? It was a news show about the Dickens and Frey Family Show...I can still hear you two singing it in my head. You told a story about me turning on the shower with clothes on, and jumping and kicking because it sprayed all over the place. "and then she was like this! And then this!"

The distance makes it very difficult to do things together. While your daddy and I have made every effort to have game nights over Facetime and dedicated calls at specific times, it gets more difficult the more busy everyone's schedules get. But we try...and we try hard. Technology makes that so much easier...it really can bring us together. But when we are all together in the same city, it becomes so much more important than being together...it's about connecting. We live in this world where we are all so connected to technology all the time...your daddy uses his computer and his phone to connect to work. I use mine to connect to work and the rest of the world. Logan, Parker Dean and Jimmy use theirs to connect to their friends and to each other). And you use yours to connect to whatever it is you connect to...friends, Pinterest, school...So when we are all together, connecting to each other becomes so incredibly important. That's why, at the dinner table, we ask you a million questions about your day. It's why we don't pull our phones out. It's why we take that opportunity to connect together.

I love that you are full of drama...the good kind of drama...singing, dancing, acting. I was always on stage as a child and teenager, and I feel like I get you. I don't know how you feel about it, but when I was on stage, I always felt like I got to be someone other than myself. I could be sassy or evil or overly silly or super serious...and I was none of those things (but all of those things) in real life. I never had to share that part of it with anyone. But I had a Mama (DotDot, of course) who shared in the experience - she was always with me. She was at every show, sometimes backstage...sometimes watching with the audience. She really believed that no show was the same, and if she missed one it would be the best one. I genuinely want to be there for every performance that you are in. I have some major FOMO when it comes to missing you on stage. That is one of the things I hate most about this distance...not being together for those moments.

And now we are here...at the place where I have to say this: I am not your Mama. You have a good, strong, beautiful mama. You are blessed in that way. You are also blessed that I am never going to try to take her place. I understand my role...I hope and pray that you do, too. I will listen to you. I will support you. I will challenge you. I will correct you. I will wake you up by drawing butterflies on your sweet face. I will make you green beans and sprinkle pancakes until you ask me not to (not at the same time, though...that's gross). And I will love you. I will always be here when you need me. While I may not be your mama, you are the daughter I always wanted but never knew I would have.

The way I see it, you were a cute little caterpillar when we first met...perfectly happy just beebopping along to Shake It Off. But something changed at some point...you started to transition. You are growing. You are changing. You are transforming into something so much more than a cute little caterpillar...you are turning into a fascinating and beautiful little butterfly. And part of my role is respecting that. Part of my role is simply admiring the young lady you are becoming. And part of my role is to help guide you so that, when it is time, you can spread your wings and fly. When it boils down to it, I am still terrified, praying every day that I can make friends with a butterfly. I hope you will let me.

I love you, Lizzy. Even when you don't love me, I love you. Even when you don't love yourself, I love you. Because...you.

Happiest of birthdays to you, starlight.

Bean

Parker Dean Machine

2019-01-05T13:14:00.000-05:00

Dear Parker Dean,

Last week you asked me to play the song "7 Years" by Lukas Graham. I didn't even know that you knew that song. We listened to it a thousand times when it first came out, but mostly because it was Jimmy's favorite song to sing in the car. But you knew every word...you even knew, for the most part, what ages the song mentions. When the song ended, I reminded you that soon you would be able to sing the lyrics "once I was 7 years old." You giggled. I think there was some joy in that. Today I asked you if you thought about that. You giggled again, but only because now you won't be able to get it out of your head all day. You're welcome.

Once you were one year old...I wrote you a letter on your birthday. At that point I didn't know much about you. I knew that you loved to snuggle. You were a BIG baby...we used to laugh about your sweet chubby cheeks and turkey legs. No one would ever guess now that you were close to 9 pounds when you were born. Do you know that DotDot was the first person to see you on your first birthday? I woke up to her singing Happy Birthday on the baby monitor. I was so jealous. Now I think that is about the sweetest thing for both of you. I'm not sure if she has been able to do that with any of the other grandbabies.

Once you were 2 years old...around this age (though I really think you weren't quite 2), you and Logan would sit in the living room while I was upstairs taking a shower. You would eat your breakfast in front of the TV watching Dinosaur Train. Then I would come downstairs and get y'all dressed for daycare, and we would head out the door. And then there was this one time...I came downstairs. No one was in front of the TV. I walked around silently, trying to figure out where y'all were. I turned the corner and saw water...everywhere. It was on the floor of the dining room. My eyes followed the water up to the dining table, where I found you sitting in nothing but a diaper in a puddle of water. I immediately grabbed you, thinking, "Get the baby to safety." As, I placed you on the floor, I realized you had goldfish scales on your cheeks...and a string of fish guts hanging from your chin! Oh, my goodness! I looked up at the goldfish bowl on the dining table to find three dead goldfish floating in the bowl...each with perfect teeth marks in them! You literally caught the goldfish with your bare hands, chewed them up, and spit them back into the bowl. "Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Oh! My! Goodness!!" I kept repeating it, as if "Oh, my goodness" was going to make it go away! Quickly I cleaned everything up. You would never even know we had goldfish in the house. I called the doctor. We were new in town, and you didn't even have a doctor yet.

"My baby just ate three goldfish." Then there was silence.

The nurse said, "Okay."

"Not of the Pepperidge Farm variety, but of the swimming in the bowl variety!"

"Oh. Oh!" She said, as she tried to wrap her head around what you had done. "I'm going to put you on hold for a second."

As it turned out, there is no major issue with what you had done. We had to watch for signs of food poisoning, which you never developed. But from that point forward at the doctor's office, you became known as the Goldfish Baby.

Once you were 3 years old...we called you Parker then...except for when I picked you up at school. Because I called you Parker Dean, your classmates called you Parker Dean. You were having a hard time adjusting to Trinity after we changed daycare so that you and Logan were in the same space. You cried one night, saying, "They don't even know my name!"

"Yes, they do...your teachers call you Parker every morning," I said, confused.

"That's not my name. My name is Parker Dean!" And from that moment, you were Parker Dean.

On your third birthday, we took you to the waterpark. You could always take a 3 hour nap, and that day was no different. We had to wake you up to eat cake and ice cream. You know this story...you've seen it on video a million times. Logan is like a squirrel, jumping up and down, poking you in the face, talking about how excited he is that it's your birthday. You are barely awake and Logan is barely tolerable. He tells you that you are his best buddy ever, and you respond, "No, I'm not!" He says, "But I am your best friend, though, right?" You respond, "No!" But we all know better. I know that you love him. I know he drives you crazy because you couldn't begin to understand how he is so carefree and happy and head-in-the-clouds all the time. But that is only because you are so very different from one another. God does that. He takes the best parts of the parents and builds them into a child. And then he finds other best parts and builds them into the next child. If you look very closely, what you will find is that you and Logan are a very different mix of my best and your daddy's best parts. Love him. Love Jimmy. Love Lizzy. You are all awesome little beings.

Once you were 4 years old...you decided that you no longer wanted to share a room with Logan. And we had room to spare. It made perfect sense. There was only one problem...Logan wasn't going to like it, and we both knew it. I told you that you would have to tell Logan if you wanted to move into the other room. You were perfectly cool with that. We made a plan. You two sat on Logan's bed.

"Logan," you said, "I want my own room. I'm going to move."

He shrugged his shoulders like it didn't both him. "Which room do you want?"

"The one with the desk."

Logan thought about this for a minute, and then he responded, "Well that room is really dark."

"I know. Mommy will get me a light."

Logan responded, "It's kind of cold in there sometimes, though."

"I know. Mommy will get me a blanket."

Logan responded, "Sometimes when we play in there you get scared, though."

"I know. But I'm not scared anymore."

Logan started crying and said, "But then I will be scared!"

You see, Logan wasn't worried about you in the least. Logan was worried about Logan. You weren't worried about either of you. You were ready for the next thing. You were prepared. You held your ground. And, eventually, you moved into the other room. You were never scared or cold. You knew what you wanted and you went after it. I like that about you...you know when you are ready for the next thing. You are prepared.

Once you were 5 years old...you were in Mrs. Raben's Kindergarten class. You told me about a couple of kids in your class who told the other kids that they loved each other...a boy and a girl. You said it was "weird." I asked if there was anyone in your class that you liked.

You quickly answered, "I only love two girls."

"Whoa! Two girls? I'm not ready for that!" I thought.

"I only love my mommy and Mrs. Raben!"

I figured I could work with that. I did explain to you that one day you would love someone more than you love me and Mrs. Raben, but you didn't believe that was possible.

Once you were 6 years old...it was in this year that you really began to shine. You lost your first tooth...but you didn't just lose it. You pulled it out yourself. In fact, I have never pulled a single Parker Dean tooth. You have pulled all of them! It was a show of independence that I didn't expect from you. You discovered a love of the beach, Alabama football, playing baseball, playing basketball, the Country Club, Lake Martin, sushi, pizza, a mile high Mississippi mud pie, and the Cheese Bomb burger! When you prayed at night you almost always asked God to "make us helpful to our parents" and to "let us be thankful even when it isn't Thanksgiving." You became kind and generous and grateful. When your teachers talked about you, they talked about how good you are. And they were right...you are so good! You are the child who helps me pull weeds in the garden and decorate the Christmas tree and cook...so helpful. You did not like being in trouble...you came down to my office at the church once and stood in my doorway with a piece of paper in your hands. The moment I looked at you, you burst into tears and curled up into my lap. I didn't know if you didn't want to be in trouble, or if you didn't want me to be disappointed...or both. Whatever the reason, it kept you out of trouble moving forward...for the most part.

Once you were 7 years old...this last year has been just awesome. We discovered that you are a math whiz, which is not surprising. Math is practical. It makes sense. It is right or it is wrong. You have always been drawn to Legos in a way that an engineer would be drawn to Legos. You have what is called spatial reasoning...you can see things in your head before they are built...and then you can build them. You can see how things fit together and work together. That is a great gift that you have been given. I have no doubt that you will use it to do great things. You know what it is like to struggle. Reading has not been easy for you, but we have been working on it. One day it will click, and you will be unstoppable. I want so hard for things to be easy for you. But the fact of the matter is that life is sometimes hard. And we have to work at it. Some people learn this sooner than others, and you are one of those people. That will be a good thing one day. What I do know about you is that you never give up. You will work on something until you get it.

And now you are 8 years old...it's hard to believe, but it is true. You are good. You are smart. You are funny. You are kind. You have a love for Jesus. You are helpful. You are thankful...even when it isn't Thanksgiving. You have always been the very best snuggle buddy.

Soon you'll be 60 years old...Here are things you should always know:

2 rules: No ER, No Jail.
You stay out of trouble by staying away from people who get you into trouble.
If you get people into trouble, they will stay away from you.
Encourage others. If you can see how pieces fit together to make a whole, you can also do that with people...use people's strengths to build something great.
Say you are sorry. Forgive others.
Love your siblings. You will need them one day.
Keep faith. Your faith will help you through everything.
Never stop hugging your Mom.
Know when to make funny faces in pictures (and know when not to).
It's okay to be disappointed in yourself. It's not okay to let your weaknesses keep you from growing. Figure out what they are and never stop working on them.
Be thankful for what you have and do not focus on what you don't have. Hebrews 13:5
Keep laughing. Through it all, keep laughing.
Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely. It's a big, big world...see yourself as bigger, push each other to the limits and learn quicker. Remember life and then your life becomes a better one. Come and visit once or twice a month. (CR: 7 Years)

Happiest of birthdays, my one and only Moonbeam. My heart is always with you.

Mom

Little Jimmy Dickens

2018-12-14T12:25:00.001-05:00

Dear Jimmy,

It must seem funny that this family has come together like it has…and that love knows no distance of time or space. One day you will really get it. I have no doubt about that. You will really get it. You will understand the love and the sacrifice and the overall romance of it all.

I think you enjoy the distance…for several reasons. Mostly, you get to spend a lot of time with your Daddy without sharing him with me, Logan or Parker Dean. You have only Lizzy to contend with when it comes to his attention. And because you love a lot of the same things (baseball, the farm, hunting, fishing), it’s not too hard to get it. There is a lot of beauty in that. You two are totally connected.

Do you know when I first met you, I was so worried about whether or not you would like me? I wondered if you and Logan and Parker Dean would get along. But mostly I wondered if I would be able to love you and Lizzy like I love Logan and Parker Dean. I thought, “That has to be impossible, right?” How could I possibly love these two as much as I love my own kids? I didn’t know them as babies. I didn’t get to hold them and snuggle them and figure out how to help them. But the first time I met you, I knew instantly that everything was going to be okay.

You sat in Parker Dean’s stroller before we went into the zoo. And he was perfectly okay with that. In fact, he just wanted to push you! You, Logan and Parker Dean were instant friends. You played together so well that it felt like you always knew each other. You were always rocking a smile on your face. Your cheeks would light up all pink…your Daddy had already informed me about the little Jimmy Dickens smile, and he was right…it is awesomely contagious.

Over the past four and a half years, I have come to know you as the jumping bean who won’t sit still…even during a Yankee game. You are constantly clicking Nerf guns and bouncing balls on the floor (or the wall…or the ceiling)…always with a smile on your face. You are happiest with a ball of any kind, be it baseball, golf, or basketball.

And, boy, do we love watching you play! Despite the distance, I have had the great privilege of cheering you on at basketball games over the years...and you have really turned me into a baseball fan! I think your Daddy always felt like he could turn me into a baseball fan…but it was you! I absolutely LOVE watching you play. I like watching you sit in the dugout getting coached by your Daddy. I like watching you lean your arm against the fence with your bat down by your side as you cheer on your team. I like the hot Summer days, the exhausting All-Stars season (and the cool bag that came with getting into All-Stars), and sitting in the bleachers. You have really turned me into a fan. I even like watching MLB play. I love that you love Jeter and Judge as much as your Daddy loved(s) Mattingly. I love the you forgive me for loving Didi Gregorius, even though he’s not your favorite.

You have become quite adventurous…with your food choices. And, as a foodie, I love that about you. Do you even remember all of the different foods you’ve tried over the last few years? Gator tail and crab legs at Tacky Jacks during the Familymoon…Crab Claws at Lulu’s…you have even tried sushi! You even liked some of it! As it turns out, there are things out there other than Chic-fil-A and Moe’s. Now keep in mind I don’t knock those things…I love Chic-fil-A and Moe’s…so I get it. But there is this whole world of delicious food out there (I mean, I would never know that I love a peanut butter jalapeño burger if I hadn’t tried one!), and I am so glad that I have witnessed you trying some of it for the first time.

I love that you tell me when you don’t like something I cook. I get that, too. You don’t like the way I cook broccoli. Okay…I won’t make it for you. Believe it or not, I am not in the business of making kids eat gross stuff all the time. I find great joy in finding things that you do like, though. Like my famous sprinkle pancakes! I’ll be coming up to college when you go to Auburn…making sprinkle pancakes for your fraternity brothers…I can see it now!

You are considerate. You are so good at trying to think of stuff that other people like before you make a choice…even though the choice is yours. You love some Krispie Kreme. I know that you prefer that over Dunkin Donuts. And yet, you will choose Dunkin Donuts for breakfast because you know that Lizzy doesn’t like Krispie Kreme! That is really thoughtful, Jimmy, because you know good and well that she could eat dry cereal at home if you really wanted to go to Krispie Kreme. Really thoughtful. And there are plenty of examples of this.

We have so much fun teaching you things (like how to dive) and exposing you to new experiences through traveling. I know that this life we are all living seems a little crazy sometimes, but it has also opened doors to new experiences. I’m not sure you would have had an opportunity to learn to ski or go sledding if we didn’t have this crazy life. You are so good on the ski slope…and you have a blast sledding!

You just love to play and have fun. And we love to play and have fun with you. Some of my fondest memories of you involve games. Do you remember that I sent you and Lizzy a box of games to play with your Daddy before we met? I thought it would give y’all something to do together when you were with him…and you loved it! Guess Who, Uno, and Pie Face all evolved into FaceTime Game Nights. Do you realize that your Daddy and I used to make sure that if y’all were eating hamburgers for dinner on Game Night that we also ate hamburgers for dinner that night? Or spaghetti? Or pizza? I don’t think y’all ever caught on that we were all having the same thing for dinner on those nights!

Some of the best times we have had together have been at Lake Martin with DotDot and Bees (and all of the cousins). Your Daddy didn't grow up going up to the lake, but I did, and I was so excited to introduce you to the world of boating, tubing, and swimming around the boat. The first time we went up there, you Daddy told me not to be too concerned if you and Lizzy didn't like it...because he didn't think you would be "lake kids." I do love it when he is wrong! Kicking you off the inner tube is definitely one of my favorite memories...not just memories of you, but of all memories ever. It was especially fun when the tables turned and you pulled me into the lake when I tried to help you back onto the tube! That was so much fun!

I had the most fun putting together your Flat Stanley scrap book. I wanted it to be the coolest Flat Stanley scrap book that anyone in your class had…just so you would know just how much I loved you. Logan, Parker Dean and I went all over Wisconsin to assemble that thing…we wrote letters and took pictures and gave it a lot of pizzazz. I was truly honored that you asked if you could send Flat Stanley up to us.

You have a voice like an angel. Every once in a while I get to hear it in the car because you usually sit right behind me. And sometimes I hear it at night when your Daddy plays the guitar and we all sing before we say our bedtime prayers. I know it’s probably not your favorite thing to do because it doesn’t involve playing with a ball, but I love it when you sing. I love it when we all sing and pray together. That is my favorite family activity.

I hope you realize that, over the past few years, I have learned that it is definitely possible to love children who didn’t come out of your belly just as much as you love the ones who did. The biggest difference I can think of in how I treat them and treat you is this: Sometimes I feel guilty because I want to snuggle you like I’ve snuggled Logan and Parker Dean their whole lives…but I am trying to be respectful of your space because I don’t know if you would welcome that. But please know that I would welcome that if you ever felt like you needed a snuggle or a hug from me.

I also think that sometimes you think I am hard on you. And I am sometimes…just like I am hard on Logan and Parker Dean and Lizzy. Think of me as a Coach. Your Coach will ride you because they know you can be better. If your Coach stops riding you, it’s because they’ve given up on you. I will not give up on you. I will continue to coach you…all of you. But I will also be a cheerleader...cheering on all of your accomplishments...big and small.

Happiest of birthdays to you, Jimmy Dickens. You are a bright and shiny blue sky, a sunny day, and I am a Jimmy Dickens fan. I love you.

Bean

A Decade of Bear

2018-10-30T08:00:00.000-04:00

Dear Bear,

Today you are ten years old. On your third birthday, I
wrote you a letter

(http://beansbreastcancerblog.blogspot.com/2011/10/),
thinking that one day you would stumble upon it. Oh,
how I hoped to be a fly on the wall when that happened.
I imagined that it would be after I was long gone, and
that DotDot would show you how to find it…or that you
would be doing research for a paper and come across it
on your own. But I should have known better than that.
You like to ask questions, and I don’t like to feel left out!

I’ll never forget the conversation that we had last year
about blogs. I asked you what you knew about blogs,
and you blew my mind. You knew an awful lot. I told
you that I had a blog, and you immediately asked to
read it. I told you that you weren’t ready yet. You
negotiated a peek, in true Logan fashion. I let you read
the letter I wrote to you. We were sitting in the Dunkin
Donuts parking lot. You were silent. I turned around to
see if you had finished reading, and you put the phone
in your lap, still silent. Your eyes were swimming in a

pool of tears that refused to drop. I told you I loved
you, and your response was, “I know you do...now.
Thank you for letting me read that.” We both bawled.
You unbuckled and crawled into the front seat with
me, and I hugged you a big hug. I am so glad that got
to be there when you read that letter.

You have a wonderful curiosity about the world
around you. You love to explore. You climb trees. You
get stuck in them. You get cut out of them. Then you
climb them again. You know who you are, and you
are proud. You are so confident. You probe. You are
constantly asking me questions about when you were
a baby, and I think to myself, “Wasn’t that just
yesterday?” It wasn’t. We have come a long way since
I first wrote you that letter.

You haven’t changed much either. As I have read that
letter many times over the past 7 years, I have often
been in awe of how developed your personality was
at that age. Honestly I could tell a million stories
about pokie fish and triangles and beating bed bugs
(not literally) with a shoe. I could go on and on
about you singing “3 Little Birds” on stage at a
concert, or the significance of that song. I could
talk about sushi or flossing or cactus costumes until
I was blue in the face. Because you love to hear
stories about what an extraordinary boy you’ve
always been, I’m going to share some of my favorites
here. Roll your eyes all you want to. Pronounce the
word “ugh” as “uhhhhgg,” drawing it out long and
emphasizing the “g.” Nervously fidget with your
fingers touching your lips…whatever it takes to get
through this letter.

Your pre-school teacher stopped my hustle and
bustle at pick-up one day to tell me a story. I
thought, “Oh, no. What has he done now?” She
told me about how, at 4 years old, you wanted to
sort the foam alphabet interlocking tiles in order.
You assembled a group of girls from the class (4
or 5 if I recall correctly), and directed them to find
each tile and put them together. When the girls
got stuck, you did not tell them what letter came
next. Instead, you lead them in the ABC’s and yelled
“STOP!” when they reached the next appropriate
letter. The teacher pointed out your natural
leadership abilities, and at that point I laughed,
saying, “Yeah…I’m pretty sure he will be a lawyer,

a preacher, or (heaven help us) a politician.” I have
no doubt that stands today, given your love of rules,
your strong negotiating skills, your ability to lead,
and your charismatic story-telling ability. I do
wonder where those traits came from. ;-)

There was a night that we drove down Franklin
Street. Franklin is the steep hill that goes from our
house on the east side of town to the downtown
area. As the leaves change colors in Wisconsin,
Franklin is nothing short of magical. Between the
maples lies a view of the west side of town
blanketed by the dark night sky. If you catch it at
the right time, the moon lingers in that space
between the trees. I’m not sure where we were
going that night. I’m not even sure of what time
of year it was, or if the leaves were in full color.
But I remember silence. I remember you saying,
“Mama, I think that moon stole somebody’s smile.”
I looked to the sky to find the most perfect
crescent moon. I looked back at you…so peaceful,
so imaginative…just staring out the window, so
unaware of how you just touched my heart. Those
moments haven’t stopped as you’ve grown. You
even had a conversation with James this month
about how the moon looked like an orange slice.
I’ve caught your day-dreaming more times than I
can count, and I often wonder what vast
adventures are bouncing around in that head of
yours. I’ve wanted to join you every time. Keep
your head in the clouds, Sunshine…as you told
me sometime in the past year, “The clouds have
stories to tell.” You deserve to hear every one of
them.

There are times where your imagination kind of
freaks me out. Like the time that we were
snuggling in your bed and you were petting my
hair. You said, “I love your hair.” I had a
flashback to when you were 3, rubbing my bald
head, telling me that I was cute. And then you
said, “I wish I could cut if off and make a blanket
out of it so that I could sleep with it forever and
ever.” Ummm, that was the line from cute to
creepy, and you just crossed it. There was also a
time when you told me that I would always have
a place in your bed to snuggle you…right between
you and your wife. I rolled onto the floor laughing,
and I thought, “Your wife is going to love me!”
Mostly, though, your creativity helps you in areas
you couldn’t imagine.

You are so clever…and funny. We sat in church
one day…you were 4 or 5. Parker Dean was in the
nursery, and it was just you and me. You picked a
pew 4 rows from the front, and you would have
sat in the front row if I hadn’t talked you out of
it. I told you that the closer you sit to the front
the more responsible you have to be because
everyone behind you can see your every move.
You said you understood. The Sunday School
teacher gave you an M&M cookie in a Ziploc
bag. It looked delicious, and you wanted it
badly. In a moment of sanity, I told you that
you could have the cookie after church…if you
behaved. I was not counting on you getting that

cookie. I was gearing up for a fight. You were
pretty still. And I was proud that day. Then it
came time for the sermon. You got squirmy. I
wrote a note on the bulletin and slid it over to
you...you see, you were also an incredibly
advanced reader for your age. The note read:
"I will eat your cookie." I looked at you, and you
straightened up right away…still as a statue.
That may have been the first time I listened to
a sermon without distraction in over 4 years.
As the preacher wrapped up, I looked at you
and smiled. Then I noticed you glance at my
thigh. The bulletin was under my left leg. I
pulled it out and read the words: "Then I will
eat you." I wasn’t the only proud one that day.

I was so proud of myself for taking the Love
and Logic parenting class. I needed something
that worked. You were so independent that I
couldn’t get you to do anything without
yelling and fussing and crying and time outs
and spankings. I was exhausted. You were
winning. Then I learned that all I had to do was
to not lose my cool with you. Eventually, if I
said something twice, I would follow it with
“That’s two.” You no longer got a third chance.
You knew that “two” meant business. Now all
I have to do is say your name and hold up two
fingers and you do what I said the first time. You
know, that time you acted like you didn’t hear me
but really you did? If you argued with me (which
was all the time), all I had to do to leave the
argument was walk away while saying, “I love
you too much to argue about it.” Argument
ended. #winning. You crawled into bed with me
one night, and I groggily told you to go back to
your bed. You said no. No? Really? “Go back to
bed, Bear, that’s two.” You rolled away from me,
snuggled into my down comforter, and scooted
your little butt up next to mine. “I love you too

much to argue about it,” you said. You won that
one…hands down. Or did you?

You are a really good “big.” I mean it. You are so
loving and helpful with Parker Dean. You celebrate
when he does something well. You encourage
him when he doesn’t. You play so well with him.
You have never known anything to be just
yours…you share because it makes things more fun
when others can participate. You are genuinely
excited for others. Remember on Parker’s 3rd
birthday when he was a total grumpapotamus and
you were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? You were
like a chipmunk – all chipper and happy, bouncing
in his face. You kept saying, “It’s your birthday,
Parker! Aren’t you excited? This is the best birthday
ever!” You didn’t care that it wasn’t your birthday
…you were genuinely excited to celebrate him.
That’s just how you are…and I love that about you.
You are a nurturer. You are social. I have no doubt
that, one day, you will take care of me and Parker
Dean will provide the financial resources. This is
where you say, “Hey!” And then you throw your
hands up because you know I’m right.

You are also a really good “little.” From the day
you met James, Lizzy and Jimmy, they were your
family. You are like your aunt JayJay that way.
Whenever you are asked how many people are
in your family, you say “7” without skipping a
beat. There are always 2 dads and there are
always 2 brothers and 1 sister. Family is important
to you. You love your Mama and your Daddy and
your James...you love all 3 of your siblings. You
love all of your grandparents and
great-granddaddy. Your heart knows no distance.
I love that...so much. And I get it.

You are perceptive. One time, while you were in
the bathtub, I asked you a question. I asked how
you thought it would feel if I said, “Logan…Jimmy
is my favorite child. Then Parker Dean. Then
Lizzy. Then you are my fourth favorite! You’re
still one of my favorites, but my fourth favorite.”
You pondered for a second, and your response
was so astute. You said, “I don’t know what kind
of lesson I’m about to learn, but I bet it’s a good
one.” You never once thought that I loved any of
you over another. You knew better than that.
You knew that there was a lesson in my
example…even without me telling you that. And
I bet you will never again tell your friends about
how they rank in your world.

You deny that one day you will tell me that you
are too cool to hug on your mama, but I think
that deep down you know that it is coming. I
always try to tell you that, when that happens,
it will hurt me deep down…but that you are
not responsible for my feelings, and I am
allowed to have them. I also tell you that it will
be okay, because there will come a point when
you want my hugs again, and I will happily give
them to you. I do know, with all of my heart,
that you love me more than I think is fair.

Watching Alabama football with you is one of
my favorite things on this planet. I love how
excited you get, that you yell at the TV, that
you wear your Bama gear, and that you
genuinely love the game. I love it when you
tell me that you are going to play football at
Alabama in college. You dream big, baby.
Dream big. I’ll have the Campbell’s soup
waiting. Just make sure you move when you
fall…because your mama is watching, and
she needs to know your limbs and spine are
intact. Roll tide.

You are a Southern boy deep down. It comes
out when you lovingly mock my accent. It
comes out when you run off the pier into
Lake Martin, without a care in the world. As
much as you love the lake, you also love the
Country Club, formal church, button up shirts,
shaggy hair, and Chic-fil-A. Yes, Bear, in those
moments, I know that you are Southern at
heart. You tell me that you will move to
Alabama someday. Whether you do or you
do not, I hope that you do what makes you
happy and healthy, all the while knowing
that I love and support you with all of my
being.

What I never saw coming was your deep
appreciation for and love of Jesus. Bear, you
are faithful and forgiving and ready to
spread the Gospel beyond my wildest
dreams. You want people to know Jesus. I
cannot wait to see how the Holy Spirit
works throughout your life. Stay steadfast.
Be the spiritual head. Keep talking to God
like he’s the best friend you’ve ever had.
Know that He will never leave you. Say
the blessing. Share the good news.
Remember to pray…any time…any place.
Be strong. Be courageous. Let the wisdom
of Scripture flood your heart.

How are you 10 years old? Where did
that time go? It seems like just yesterday
that I was wondering why they were
sending us home from the hospital without
any training or instructions! Yet, here we
are...10 years later. You are no longer a
child, but a tween. My job now is to let you
take everything that I’ve taught you and
put it into practice, making good decisions.
And in 10 more years, you will be an adult.
That’s a tough thing for this mama to
imagine.

I cannot wait to watch you grow over the
next span of time. I pray that you do not
endure heartache or illness or trauma or
disappointment or drama, but I cannot
promise you that you won’t. What I can
promise you is this…this wasn’t the first
letter I wrote you, and it won’t be the last.
I am healthier than I have probably ever
been, and I plan on being around for a
very long time. My 7 ½ year check-up
was last week. Labs look good. No lumps.
No pain. No cause for concern. God
continues to bless me with more time to
get to know you. You, Bear, are stuck
with me. I will be with you through
anything that comes your way, and as
you grow my role will change from
protector to supporter, from coach to
cheerleader. Whatever my role, I hope
you know, without a doubt, that I love
you for everything that you are…always.

Happy birthday, Sunshine…Bear…Lo.
May we have many more.

I love you bluer than the sky. Mom

Forgive and Forget

2017-05-28T00:30:00.000-04:00

Big sis Tiff always tells me that I have the strangest memory. I can remember conversations in detail for years. I can remember what people were wearing on the most significant days of their lives, even if they weren't entirely significant to me personally. I can remember. And sometimes that plagues me. They say that mothers forget the pain of childbirth, and that's how they continue to have babies. Nope. Not me. I tend to remember things more clearly when my emotions are escalated. It's a blessing and curse. I remember pain, emotion, color, facial expressions, scents, even the way the brush of hand felt at a concert years ago.

I've had the privilege of attending numerous leadership conferences in my time as an adult. One of the most memorable was a session on "Change Leadership" while I was in Louisville. That came at an integral time in my career, during which I was navigating lots of change as a result of a merger, but also at an integral time in my personal life, during which I was navigating through treatment for breast cancer. Notably, the speaker said that change comes through 3 things: chance; choice; or crisis.

It was by chance that I was diagnosed. It was by choice that I became divorced. It was by choice and God's timing (we'll call that chance) that I have all of these children. And I've been through plenty of crises in my lifetime. And, while I have faith that it is all part of some grand design and master plan, it is still hard. Change is growth. Growth is painful and confusing. It requires transition. It requires adaptation. It requires forgiveness. It requires processing. It requires patience. And there comes a point where you've met these requirements...where you move into a maintenance phase.

Maintenance is a funny place to be - not funny like ha-ha-funny, but funny like uneasy-uncomfortable-funny. But every once in a while, you are granted a glimpse of peace...and in this peace you find forgetfulness. This is the type of peace that 6 short years ago I could only dream of.

Yes, 6 years. 6 years ago today I listened to my OB tell me that she didn't know how this was the case. That she didn't think it would turn out to be breast cancer. I will never forget the pure sadness that was in her voice. It was so kind...so personal. And yet, I wish I could forget that few minutes that forever changed my life. Forgetting is key to survival.

Today I woke up to two beautiful little boys. Logan is 8 and Parker Dean is 6. 6 years. Process, Bean, process. We had breakfast, and then we went outside. Parker Dean asked me if he could help me pull weeds. That child. He is so good. So Parker Dean and I pulled weeds in one of many beds at the house while Logan rode his scooter up and down the sidewalk. That child. He is so fun. By noon I had 2 beds weeded and bushes trimmed. It was sunny and warm, which was a nice change from the recent day after day rain that we've experienced. Change isn't all bad. Then we attended a graduation party for a babysitter who is more like a part of our family. I was told over and over again how polite and well-behaved my children are. It was a proud moment. We went to a movie store (yeah, they still have those here, and we love ours!), picked up a few movies since it's supposed to rain again over the weekend, and returned home. With the help of these amazing boys, I planted 2 plum trees in the backyard. We are growing together. I cooked a pork tenderloin and hash brown casserole tonight, and we spent the evening watching movies. We spent a little time with Jimmy and Lizzy on Facetime today, and i wrapped up my evening with James, playing a game of Yahtzee over Facetime. We do love a good game night. It was a perfect day. It was so perfect, that I am ending it with this entry because I forgot that today was my 6 year celebration mark.

I forgot. I actually said to James, "Tomorrow is my 6-year cancerversary!" To which he responded, "Happy anniversary, Baby...it's today." It took me a minute to realize it was actually the 27th. I forgot. For the first time in 6 years, I felt free in my body. It is no longer occupying my mind every minute of every day, counting. And for that I am so very grateful.

6 years is my happiest anniversary yet. I am so blessed with my family, my health, and this newfound forgetfulness. I love that I can live in the moment and celebrate the small victories of today as normal Saturday without the lingering "new normal." My 6-year follow-up was a great success. Labs and scans look perfect and no concerns otherwise. So blessed.

Lord, thank you for the gift of today. Thank you for the time I've spent with my family near and far. Thank you for allowing me to remember the joys and celebrations in my life, and thank you for bringing me to a place of peace in my heath journey. Thank you for bringing me to a place of forgiveness in my diagnosis. Forgiveness for the time it took to get there; for the time that was taken away from my children; for the anxieties. Help me to remember the good, and to delight in forgetfulness from time to time. Amen.

2016-05-27T11:37:00.000-04:00

Humility and Faith

By Tina Dickens — 3 hours ago

Five years ago I started writing this pseudo-diary. I was a self-proclaimed control freak, mother of two boys, and workaholic. And I was, in hindsight, supposed to be stopped in my tracks with a breast cancer diagnosis. I also think it was supposed to teach me some humility. But that didn’t stop me…it didn’t really even slow me down for the most part. And for a whole year (or more), I felt like a rock star…there was no humility. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Humility is no substitute for a good personality.” I used to love that quote. It was my mantra. If someone had asked me, years ago, who I would have dinner with, dead or alive, Miss Spitfire Eleanor Roosevelt would have been at least near the top of that list.

Faith, hope and love. These are the things I was taught by family, friends, family friends…my life was filled with these things. I grew up in a beautiful church in the heart of the Garden District in Montgomery,Alabama. Church of the Ascension (COTA) was my home away from home. Sunday nights were a time for fun, friends and fellowship. One of my favorite nights of the year was when the Youth Group trekked through the bones of the church and ended in the bell tower. Those bells were incredibly big. The view from the COTA bell tower was magical. And as the birds said goodnight, we settled in for an Order for Compline. I can still hear the acapella melody of the Song of Simeon: “Lord, you now have set your servant free…to go in peace as you have promised. For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see.” I sang those words throughout adolescence, but they never sounded as beautiful as they did in the bell tower. I always thought that the words were referencing new life after death…and I guess in a way they are.But not the “earthly” I-died-and-went-to-Heaven-and-met-Jesus kind of death…it’s the I-woke-up-and-smelled-the-coffee-kind-of-death…the I-once-was-blind-but-now-see-kind-of-death...it’s an awakening.

When I started writing, I wanted to be able to share my story with friends and family. I lived in Kentucky, and while I was growing a support system there that would stand the test of time, the people who grew me into who I had become at that point were both north and south…mostly south. And throughout the year of diagnosis, treatment, surgery, they were there in masses beyond my wildest dreams. You were there. And you lifted me and my family up in prayer and finally thanksgiving. You probably didn’t know it, but you strengthened my faith, and brought me closer to God through your prayers. You continued to grow me as you always had, and for that I am so very grateful.

What I didn’t know 5 years ago is how immature my faith actually was. Through childbirth and cancer and moving and divorce, I knew of God. I believed in Jesus. But my faith was a mustard seed.

Mighty has it grown.

Over the last year, the Holy Spirit has been working furiously within me. I have found the Word of God. I have grown thirsty for the living water, and I am free to explore that. I am so blessed to have James and my family, who together encourage and embrace that freedom. For that, I am eternally grateful. I have grown from faith, hope and love into grace, mercy and forgiveness. And it started with Hebrews.

I am working at Trinity Lutheran Church in the heart of Wausau, Wisconsin as the Parish Administrator. Working in a church is the most rewarding and challenging (paid) position I have ever had. When I first started working, I told Tiff that I didn’t think I could do it…after working in hospitals for 11 years, I just didn’t think there was enough “excitement” for me (I think the word I actually used was “drama”)! Boy, was I wrong! Two weeks later I was so happy to be at Trinity. My heart was hurting because I felt it was growing…like I was “called” to be there…like for the first time in my life I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Tiff told me that was the Holy Spirit working in me, and that growth often hurts. What words of wisdom! What truth.

Last Fall I attended a live, webcasted women’s faith conference called IF: Gathering. If you haven’t heard of IF, please look it up.Those women are so engaging and willing to share their stories of faith and healing. It was an incredible experience. There were many moments of clarity for me, but two moments in particular rang out to me like a bell in a church tower. The first was a moment where the women talked about abiding in the Word. One stated that if you wake up in the middle of the night, and you cannot go back to sleep, perhaps that’s God’s way of giving you some uninterrupted time to study the Word. Then there was a woman who had a stroke in her 20’s, when her child was 9 months old. She had an amazing story of faith, which she proclaimed was strong long before her stroke.And this amazing woman is using her story to spread God’s Word to others. She made a comment at one point that she woke after her stroke, and the first thing she consciously thought was, “This is not a drill, people!” And that awakening I could identify with. And she fought.

When I returned to work from IF, I was energized. I was inspired, and I was thirsty. I ordered 2 self-studies. One from an IF founder, Angie Smith, called Seamless.And one from Lisa Harper called “Hebrews.” I didn’t have any reason for choosing that one…it just stood out to me. While attending Bible study one Sunday morning, I found that I needed a pen. I searched in an 8th grader’s desk, and there it found me…a hand-colored book cover that read Hebrews 13:8. I wrote that down. I felt that God was pointing me to that verse. I awoke in the middle of the night shortly thereafter, and I remembered my first little nugget from IF…”Maybe I should take this opportunity to explore Hebrews,” I thought.

I talked to my mentor Phil and Pastor Schultz about where I should start in the Bible. I explained about how I was drawn to Hebrews, so I started reading it in the middle of the night. It put me to sleep. Not in a comforting kind of way, but in a “Why Hebrews? I don’t get it” kind of way. Phil and Pastor laughed at me…they were not surprised that Hebrews put me to sleep in the middle of the night. And although they appreciated my baby faith and strong desire to move mountains, they suggested that I start somewhere else. I started studying Seamless. But that didn’t last long.

I went to visit James in Montgomery shortly thereafter. And I had this amazing trip. There were so many beautiful highlights that I couldn’t pinpoint one…until, oddly, my trip home. I sat on the plane, ready to put my earbuds in and space out like I do, when I saw a hand extended in front of me and a voice saying, “Good morning, I’m Jay Wolf.” Now I didn’t know Jay Wolf (I know, Montgomery people, gasp!) from Adam. I introduced myself, and we immediately connected. We talked about church and faith…he shared with me that he is a Minister at First Baptist in Montgomery, and I gleaned some little nuggets from him. We talked about mission work, and how he was off to work with David Platt on mission planning. He asked if I knew who David was, and I answered that I did, but only because I had recently seen him speak at IF: Gathering. “You went to IF? My daughter-in-law spoke at IF!” He said her name was Katherine Wolf,and I admitted that I didn’t recall her name from the webcast (I know, gasp again!). He shared with me that she had a stroke, and I rudely but excitedly interrupted, echoing her, “This is not a drill, people!” We laughed, and he showed me pictures of his new grandchild. He shared with me about Katherine’s book and charitable organization, Hope Heals, further sharing that the organization is based on a verse from (you guessed it) Hebrews (I believe it is Hebrews 6:19, which states, “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain”).I shared with Jay that God was pointing me to Hebrews, and that I couldn’t wait to start my study when I returned to Wausau. He said that it was a “God wink.”And while I didn’t go through my blog posts over the last 5 years to find out,I’m pretty sure I used that term to describe how I met Dr. Quintero!

When I returned to Wausau, I found my Bible and looked to Hebrews 13:8. “Jesus is the same as he was yesterday, is today, and will be forever.” Hello, Holy Spirit. And then I learned the history of the book…the author is unknown – oh, God knows me so well, for He knew that this little bit of unknown history would keep me interested, as if I will be the person who figures it out after almost 2000 year! The verse that I connected with most in my study was Hebrews 12:1, “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” I love the metaphor of life as a race…I’ve used that once or twice myself.

And so my journey has changed, and how it continues. I pray with Logan and Parker Dean aloud every night. They are such faithful servants,and it fills my heart with so much joy to watch them develop with this beautifully strong foundation in this ever-changing world. I’m reminded of the body wash that a co-worker gave me that had a picture of Logan and Parker Dean on it…and it read “Mommy loves you better than the whole wide world.” We still say that daily. And I still wear that perfume from Philosophy, Amazing Grace. I never wanted the song “Amazing Grace” to be heard at my passing, or celebration of my life. What a silly thought. I once was blind, but now I see. What grace has been bestowed upon us through the life and death of Jesus Christ! How undeserving we are of that grace. How blessed we are. My chains are gone, and I am free.

I had my Oncology follow-up last week. I am so happy to report that I am free of any lumps, bumps or fear that brought me to this blog 5 years ago today. This has been such an amazing journey, and I cannot wait to see what the future holds for our family. Thank you all for your prayers of faith and thanksgiving, for your unending support, and for exposing me to the Light. There are no bells like the ones in the COTA bell tower, and I cannot wait to hear them ring again. And all the while, I’ll be singing the Song of Simeon in my head…and I will understand that I am free in this world.

Lord, you now have set your servant free;

To go in peace as you have promised

For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior;

Whom you have prepared for all the world to see

A Light to enlighten the nations;

And the glory of your people Israel

Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit;

As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.Amen.

Over time, my list of people, dead or alive whom I would have dinner with has changed. My family will always be there…any amount of time with James, Lizzy, Jimmy, Logan and Parker Dean is time that I do not take for granted. After losing two grandmothers in the past 4 years, my parents would be at that table…my sisters...and many friends. And the author of Hebrews! Because inquiring minds need to know.Eleanor Roosevelt no longer makes the list. I think I found a little humility…and it is far more valable than a “good personality.”

All glory to God.

Balancing Qi

2014-05-27T22:44:00.003-04:00

I was in Montgomery this past weekend, visiting from Wisconsin. Jayme hosted dinner Sunday night in her backyard, and I have never been so pleased to be exposed to 90+ degree temps (and mosquitoes). I was wearing shorts and a sleeveless top, but it was of course my shoes that stole the spotlight in that outfit. They are a sort of flip-flop/sandal, with dark brown soles and coral, cotton bands that wrap around the forefoot and ankle…they are not the cutest shoes in the world, but they are striking. And sincere or not, they attract a lot of compliments. And then comes the story (you know there’s a story). They soles of the shoes are made of yoga mats…they are so very comfortable. So as I told my family that I had yoga mats on my feet, I brought my hands together in what I believe to be “lotus” pose, bowed my head slightly, and quietly said, “Namaste.”

I have to admit that I’ve dabbled in yoga…and also Pilates. But I don’t have a clue as to what a downward dog or a child’s pose is. And I don’t have a clue as to what Namaste means. So I did a little research. Namaste is a greeting…a hello, as well as a goodbye, which acknowledges the receivers generous kindness. It is often accompanied by nonverbal communication of putting the hands together with a bow…when stripped down to word origin, Namaste means “bowing to you.” It is generally used to express respect, politeness and courtesy to others.

In essence, Namaste means:

My soul recognizes your soul.

I honor the love, light, beauty, truth and kindness

within you because it is also within me.

In sharing these things

there is no distance between us.

We are the same. We are one.

But my search for enlightenment didn’t stop at Namaste. I stumbled upon a little symbol that we all know well…the yin yang. You know, the black and white circle with little tear drops chasing each other…each with a spot of the other within it? Well, as it turns out that little dot is part of the charm of the yin yang.

The circle symbolizes two energies (or “qi,” which is pronounced “chee” – by the way, this is a perfectly acceptable Scrabble word in case you are trying to get rid of that “Q”), one feminine and one masculine.The energies are constantly changing, balancing each other out, trying to balance the qi, if you will. The circle is symbolic that all things are made of both yin and yang. The movement of the circle indicates that all things flow from yin to yang, and back to yin. And the dots within the yin and yang show that neither is absolute – each energy possesses characteristics from the other. The center line is the still point…the balance…peace.

Who knew all of this wisdom could come from a pair of shoes?!

Logan is now 5 – going into Kindergarten in the Fall. He is likely to lose his first tooth this week. He no longer tells me that I love him better than the whole wide world (though he makes a “world” symbol in sign language when he is scared, and that makes my heart warm)…now when I ask him, “Do you know how much I love you?” He answers, “Better than pink ribbons!” And boy is he right about that. He has a boundless imagination and incredible energy. Although he says he wants to be a scientist, I suspect he will be an actor, a writer, or perhaps a preacher!

Parker Dean is 3 years and almost 5 months old. It’s hard to believe that he was under 5 months when I was diagnosed 3 years ago today. He found Logan’s “boo boo takah” the other day in the sandbox, and he asked me what it was. Before I could answer, Logan did…and the boo boo takah it still is. We better hold onto that thing. Parker is brave, and he sounds like the kid from “Overboard” who always talks about Dr. Death. I wish I were kidding. He is the king of the legos in our house. If Lo ends up on Broadway someday, Parker is likely a future engineer.

The boys share a room, despite the space in the house. Logan is terrified of shadows. He won’t go to the bathroom by himself, which I think has largely to do with his vivid imagination. He will shutter and shake for 5 minutes until Parker says, “I’ll pwotect you, Wogan.” And with swords drawn, they conquer the darkness. It amazes me that bravery is contagious. I’ve tried to explain to Logan that you cannot have shadows without light – he is a pretty logical kiddo, but I cannot get that through to him. For now, I guess that Parker will have to pwotect him.

I had my 6-month checkup this month. All looks good. Labs are normal. Armpits are clear. Yvette and Shelby are free of lumps and shaping out nicely. I can hardly even feel them anymore (it used to feel like I had a couple of melons sitting on my chest, but not anymore). CT scan and Ultrasound show a clear abdomen and pelvis. And that brings me a lot of internal peace.

Work continues to be interesting. The healthcare industry is struggling to figure out how to remain sustainable while keeping up with the aging baby boomers, who are increasing the Medicare population by the masses. Throw Obamacare on top of that and you have the perfect storm. My only hope is that I get to be a part of the creativity and innovation that will improve this industry so that we can take care of those people who worked so hard to build it, all the while taking care of us.

I am still working with 2 breast cancer organizations. I am a PinkPal with www.bightpink.org - a great non-profit that connects young, high risk women with a community of survivors. They do truly great work. I am also proud to be the Vice President on the Board of the Central Wisconsin Affiliate for Susan G. Komen. What an amazing opportunity to impact women locally. I feel truly blessed to be a part of these wonderful and impactful organizations.

Life is full of ups and downs, successes and failures, shadows and light, yin and yang. And if we can find a balance in all of that, we can appreciate not only the love, light, beauty, truth and kindness in ourselves, but also in those we meet. And in that we get to come full circle. And isn’t that what it’s all about anyway? Namaste.

Defining New Normal

2013-05-27T13:13:00.001-04:00

Defining New Normal

Written 6 minutes ago

People often ask me if things ever go back to "normal." My answer is different every time because "new normal" is not only relative, it's evolving. I find that the more information I have about a topic, the better off I am as I experience it...knowing what to expect takes the fear out of the equation. This was especially helpful through treatment...knowing that I would lose my hair by the 2nd dose of chemo was helpful in my planning and preparation. Knowing that I needed to build my core strength prior to my mastectomy made it easier for me to heal because I couldn't sit up using my arms...I needed that core. Knowledge was power, and power was strength.

While researching new normal, I couldn't help but think, "If I know what that means, I will be okay." As it turns out, "new normal" is a difficult thing to define. It is different for everyone...spiritually, mentally, physically. Expectations change. Behaviors change. Boundaries change. This affects every aspect of your life, from work, to relationships with friends, spouses, children. It's just different.

I have found that I want to "make a difference." I want to give of myself so that I can somehow impact people in a positive light. I have found a way to do this through volunteerism. I serve the homeless once a month. I have found this to be a humbling and eye-opening experience that I hope to share with Logan and Parker some day.

I serve as a PinkPal to a not-for-profit organization that focuses on young women who are survivors or ask high risk for breast and/or ovarian cancer. The organization has matched me to 3 survivors with similar stories. We cover 4 corners of the States, and I will likely never meet them...but our stories have linked us for life, and I feel better for knowing them.

I serve on the Board of the Susan G. Komen Central Wisconsin Affiliate as the Educational Chair. This is a true passion of mine. I truly believe that Komen has been a pioneer of breast cancer awareness, and serves as one of the largest reasons that breast cancer treatments are as advanced as they are. And I am happy to be a part of that process.

New normal is also enlightening. I blogged a year ago today about a Don Draper quote from AMC's Mad Men: I've started over a million times, and trust me - this is the worst part. If only I had known how relevant that quote would be a year later. That quote was in part about ending a chapter of my life and entering into the darkness and uncertainty of "new normal." It was also in reference to moving. Nathan and I decided last year that traveling to opposite ends of the country to visit our families was more and more difficult, and that if we could be close to one of those families, we would only have to travel to visit one home. With Mama and Terry temporarily in Houston, it made sense for us to move to Wisconsin. So we set out on a 5 year plan to move back to Wisconsin. When the right jobs came along, our 5 year plan turned into a 5 month plan. We moved to Wausau (3 hours east of Minneapolis and 2 hours north of Madison) last June. And we have laughed over how this must have been the longest Winter on record (if was still snowing Mother's Day weekend).

New normal changes perception. What was once a happy place where we expanded our family and joined our friends at Derby is now an eerie reminder of how I came together as a Franken-Barbie. We stay with our friends Nick and Kerrie when we travel (it ends up being the perfect resting point in addition to spending time with them), and to say that I can't get out of there fast enough is an understatement...I would hang out with Kerrie, Nick and their kids for a lifetime, but I cannot get past cancer in Louisville...and it feels like a weakness, not a strength. Trust me, I know how strong I was during that fight...but I don't need to be reminded of it anymore than I am when I look in the mirror on a daily basis.

Every day I discover something else that is new normal. Every day I change. Cancer is a cluster of abnormal cells that divide, seemingly out of control. And that is new normal. It is good, it is bad, it is uncontrollable...and constantly changing. It is the birth of a new life and the death of an old one.

In February of last year, I lost Nannie, my father's mother. In April of this year, I lost Granny, Mama's Mama. I was fortunate to hold her hand before she passed...to pinch the loose skin of her elbows as I did in my childhood (which drove her crazy, but she let me do it anyway)...to sing to her and pray over her. Mama and Tina Wilson compared death to birth many times in that process. They said that it was as if Granny's body was mourning the soul as it left our space and entered into the next. I thought that was beautiful...and it felt honorable to be physically present with Granny in some of her last hours. She has left a lasting legacy in her stories, our memories, letters, and the love that she gave us.

My "bestie" Mere and I were discussing this process of death on the beach a couple of weeks after Granny passed, and she shared this with me. It was the first time I had seen it, although most people have probably seen it at one time or another on the internet:

The story is about twin babies who are having a philosophical discussion in the womb. Their dialog goes as follows:

A: Do you believe in life after birth?
B: Of course. Everybody knows there is a life after birth. We’re here now because we have to grow and get ready for what’s to come.
A: That’s ridiculous! There’s no life after birth. What could such a life be like?
B: I don’t know exactly, but there must be more light than in here. Maybe we’ll walk on our legs and eat with our mouth.
A: Nonsense! It’s impossible for us to walk. And eating with our mouth? That’s crazy. We get our food through the umbilical cord. And obviously there can be no life after birth because the umbilical cord is too short.
B: Well, I think it’s possible. It’ll just be different from what we’re used to in here.
A: But nobody has ever come back after birth. Birth is the end of life. And frankly, life is just meaningless existence in the darkness. There’s no point to it, and we’re going nowhere.
B: No! I don’t know exactly what it will be like after birth, but I’m sure that we’ll see our Mother and she’ll take care of us.
A: Mother? You believe in Mother? And just where is she then?
B: Where? She’s all around us! And we’re inside her. We’re her children. In her we live and move and have our being. Without her we wouldn’t exist.
A: That’s absurd. I’ve never seen this "Mother," so there’s no such thing.

B: I don’t agree with you. In fact, sometimes when it’s quiet, you can hear her sing and feel her caress our world. You know, I believe that we’re here to prepare for the life to come, and our true life starts after birth.

And so it is with new normal...the end is just the beginning...through all of our self-doubt and fear and loathing, we are reborn...over and over again. And if we are lucky, we find unexpected treasure through this process that curbs the fear and loathing, and helps us find our light again.

I am a survivor...2 years young...today.

The Sun and the rain and the appleseed

2012-06-09T00:06:00.001-04:00

The Sun and the rain and the appleseed

Written 8 minutes ago

For some reason, after pouring my heart and soul out to the world for the last 12 months, I am having a really difficult time getting out my last blog. It’s odd because I’ve never really had a problem with closure. Last night, Nathan and I were watching Mad Men, and Don Draper said, “I’ve started over a thousand times, and trust me – this is the worst part.” He was referring to the “end” of something being the worst part…because you have to let go, and move on. This is a valuable lesson about growing up.

I learned a lot of things about growing up at my Granny and Pop’s house. We spent a lot of time there during Summer months and holidays and Sundays, and we loved being there. There were a lot of restrictions at Granny and Pop’s house – we were really only allowed in the sewing room, the hallway, and the breakfast room…but we mostly spent our time in the sewing room. We played with paper dolls, learned how to sew pillows, played with Granny’s old make-up, Barbies, wrapped presents…what didn’t we do?

One time at Granny’s, Little sis Jayme and cousins Ann and Mary Katherine and I were playing with Granny’s make-up…undoubtedly taking a break from playing “Drs. Blackmon and Blackmon.” MKat and I were always doctors, and Jayme and Ann worked for us. And Ann was always singing something. I’m not sure what she was singing in the bathroom that day while we were rummaging through Granny’s old make-up, but whatever it was struck a chord with MKat. MKat cupped her hand over Ann’s mouth and yelled for her to STOP SINGING! Ann ran off to Granny, and the next thing I knew MKat was told to remove her make-up and come to the breakfast room table. It was the closest thing that 1988 knew to a time out. I was outraged that Ann told Granny that MKat “slapped” her, and I was mortified that Granny was punishing MKat for this outright lie. So I marched my sassy little butt back to the bathroom, removed my make-up, and marched right back to the breakfast room table. Granny was cooking in the kitchen – I will never forget the smell of that fried chicken. And she glared at me, “What do you think you’re doing?” I told her that Ann lied, and that if MKat had to sit there, I was going to sit there with her. And sit there we did, in complete silence. I was so proud. Until Granny said, “You can get up now and apologize.” MKat stood up on queue and apologized, and she quickly fled the tension of the breakfast room. I started to stand up, and Granny quickly said, “Not you. You wanted to sit, you can sit.” And it was in that moment that I realized two things. 1) Sometimes you have to stand up for what you believe in, even if that means going against the grain; 2) You have to be prepared to reap what you sow. And sow I did.

Our job as grandchildren was to set the table prior to dinner. It was a duty and a privilege to set the table, rather than a chore. There was always a fabulous display of the best fried chicken I’ve ever tasted, butter beans, sliced tomatoes with mayonnaise, iced tea, squash, and sliced bread. And when the table was set, it was time to get Pop. All of us would run to Pop’s chair in the dining room to coerce him from his chair. “Pop! Dinner’s ready, Pop,” we would say in unison. And every time he would ask, “Is it really ready? How many really’s ready is it?” We would count the really’s as we answered, “It’s really, really, really, really, really ready!” It took five minutes for Pop to get out of that chair because he was not going to sit down at the table until dinner was properly displayed on the table. And the lesson that I learned from this display is that you never called men to a table until it’s set and ready, because if you do, they will eat without you.

We sang Johnny Appleseed at the dinner table at Granny and Pop’s house. And it was no ordinary Johnny Appleseed. We stood in a circle around the table and held hands, beginning with the loudest, most obnoxious, “Ohhhhhhhhh,” that we could muster up.

The Lord’s been good to me (clap, clap)

And so I thank the Lord (clap, clap)

For giving (clap) me (clap)

The things (clap) I need (clap)

The sun and/(clap) the rain and/(clap) the ap-ple/(clap) seed (clap)

The Lord’s (clap) been good (clap) to me (clap)

A-men (clap, clap)

And as obnoxious as we were, Granny always said, “That was so nice.” And she was just as sincere as she could be. She loved our pure joy and love of song. And it was in that blessing that I realized that Granny felt blessed to have us there (probably because she could give us back)! And that was probably the first song I ever learned to sing other than my ABCs.

I sing Johnny Appleseed almost every night, although not in an obnoxious tone like when I was a young girl with my sisters and cousins. I sing it to Logan and Parker as a lullaby. And it makes such a beautiful lullaby with a slow tempo. Singing it this way made me pay attention to the words which have developed a new meaning to me over the last year.

Ohhhh, the Lord’s been good to me

And so I thank the Lord

For giving me, the things I need

The sun and the rain and the appleseed

The Lord’s been good to me

Amen.

Oh, so good. Thank God. What are the things we need, anyway? The sun – the good, the light, the new day. The rain – the low, the dreary, without which we cannot grow. And the appleseed – a beginning at the cellular level, a lesson, growth. Acknowledgement that the Lord has a plan, and that His plan is good. Amen.

I have had the opportunity over the last year to learn many lessons. I have had the opportunity to know my true self in the face of great adversity. I have looked inside myself and accepted what I cannot change and with grace I have changed the things I can. I have lived a lifetime in a year. In my short 33 years, I have experienced much growth. I am an old soul. And I have many more lessons to learn. This appleseed is just a sprout. I will see much more sun and much more rain before I grow roots and grow tall. I have much life to live, and many miles to go. I only hope that I can take what I have learned from this experience and grow stronger, stand up for what I believe in, reap what I sow, bait my own hook, find joy in the simple lessons of my youth, be a good wife and mother, and leave this experience behind with grace. I’ve started over a thousand times, and trust me – this is the worst part…closure.

Dear Mama

2012-06-09T00:04:00.003-04:00

Dear Mama,

It happened so much differently than I was prepared for. I knew when I felt that lump years ago that one day I would have to tell you that I had breast cancer. It happened in my head so many times…each time the same way. In my head, I had already begun treatment when I told you. I simply told you that I had breast cancer. You told me that I was over reacting, and that you were sure that everything would come out fine. You told me about lumps and bumps that were found in yourself and my aunts that turned out to be nothing…you had that much out before I cut you off and told you that I had already begun treatment and that we knew it was malignant. Grace under fire. That defines you. You have such a presence of calm in a crisis, and it is truly a gift.

That’s the only thing that was the same when I actually told you that I had breast cancer. Everything else was completely different from what I had imagined. I guess in some way I felt that if I told you in a different way that this premonition wouldn’t come true and that the report would come back benign. And yet, the end result was the same – grace under fire. And they wonder where I get it from. They do…I don’t.

In fact I know where most of my best assets come from – my ability to tell a story with a slight exaggeration in order to raise the emotional energy of the audience; my resourcefulness; my love for eye make-up artistry; my strength and courage; my faith; my work ethic; my charm; my love of cooking…and eating; my ability to build a colorful sandcastle on a white sand beach; and my legs (which have been, and will forever be my best physical attribute) – there’s no doubt they came from you.

There is no way to properly thank someone for what you have done for me (and for Nathan) in the last year. There simply aren’t words. There is no Hallmark card that says, “Thank you for giving up your life for helping me with mine. Thank you for not moving to Houston with your husband, but for moving in with us for more or less eight months. Thank you for quitting your job. Thank you for playing mother to my children and for keeping my husband fed. Thank you for keeping my house sterile when I was at risk for infection. Thank you for attending chemo with me every time but one. Thank you for buying groceries when I wasn’t getting a paycheck. Thank you for keeping a brave face when I needed someone to be brave with me. Thank you for handling this better than anyone – thank you for your grace under fire.” No, there is no Hallmark card for that.

There is a song, though, that reminds me of our time together over the last 11 months, and it isn’t that sappy Martina McBride (love her, hate the song) ditty about the person who stands beside the lady with breast cancer. I cannot tell you how much I dread hearing that song every October. Nope, it’s not that song. It’s one from American Idol contestant Lauren Alaina from 2011. I loved the song when I heard it closing night of Idol last year, but it means a lot more to me now.

"Like My Mother Does"

People always say

I have a laugh

Like my mother does

Guess that makes sense

She taught me how to smile

When things get rough

I've got her spirit

She's always got my back

When I look at her

I think, I want to be just like that

When I love I give it all I've got

Like my mother does

When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray

Like my mother does

When I feel weak and unpretty

I know I'm beautiful and strong

Because I see myself like my mother does

I never met a stranger

I can talk to anyone

Like my mother does

I let my temper fly

And she can walk away

When she's had enough

She sees everybody

For who they really are

I'm so thankful for her guidance

She helped me get this far

When I love I give it all I've got

Like my mother does

When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray

Like my mother does

When I feel weak and unpretty

I know I'm beautiful and strong

Because

I see myself like my mother does

She's a rock

She is grace

She's an angel

She's my heart and soul

She does it all

When I love I give it all I've got

Like my mother does

When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray

Like my mother does

When I'm weak and unpretty

I know I'm beautiful and strong

Because

I see myself like my mother does

Like my mother does

I hear people saying

I'm starting to look like my mother does

I wish I could say that I couldn’t have written that better myself, but as you know I just LOVE a little constructive criticism – no offense to the song writer(s), but no God-fearing country girl sings a song about her Mother…she sings about her “Mama.” And that’s the only thing I’d change about that song to make it mine. That’s my Hallmark card.

And with that, I wish you a Happy Mother’s Day filled with gracious love and thanks for not only the past year, but also the 32 prior to that. May you always know that your grace under fire gives me peace and inner strength, and may I someday be able to repay the unconditional support that you bestowed upon me in the last year.

I love you,
Beanie

The FINISH LINE

2012-05-06T16:05:00.001-04:00

The FINISH LINE

Written 3 minutes ago

At a party in high school, I literally bumped into a friend of mine. If I remember correctly, I took an elbow to Gretchen - my right, natural breast. Lisa and I laughed, said our sorries, and then she said, “I like your boob.” Lisa and I ended up as roommates our first Summer of college, and I can’t tell you how many times we said, “I like your boob.” It was kind of our inside joke way of complimenting one another. “I like your boob” translated to “You look hot! Your date is in trouble!” or “Remember that time when…” or “You are my friend.”

Friday was a perfectly Southern day. It was 85 degrees and overcast with an intermittent light breeze. It was a perfect day for the 138th Kentucky Oaks. Annually, Oaks is the day that the fillies race at Churchill Downs – the day prior to the infamous Kentucky Derby. Four years ago, Oaks began a PINK OUT! Churchill Downs is dressed in shades of pink in support of breast cancer awareness, and donations are made by Churchill Downs to cancer research. This year’s partner was for Stand Up to Cancer, broadening the awareness to types of cancer inclusive of, but not limited to breast cancer.

As you already know, Nathan nominated me, and I was voted into the 138th Oaks Survivors Parade. As a result of your support, we won 2 free tickets to Oaks. Our dear friends Matt and Athanasia (aka, “A”) came into Louisville Thursday night around midnight from Wisconsin. It was so wonderful to have friends with us Friday – their show of support was heartwarming. Matt and A were sitting in our section, so hanging out together all day was super easy. We had lunch, placed a couple of bets, and watched a few races. We had to be in our seats at 3pm, at which time I was handed a beautiful bunch of stargazer lilies by Dr. Hatmaker’s nurse Sofia! She was working the event, and it was so nice to see a familiar face. We lined up, and we were bussed to the other end of the track.

We were grateful that the school bus was air conditioned…this sparked a lot of communication amongst the survivors. Nathan and I met another couple (Dave and Lori) – Lori is a survivor of breast cancer, and they have two small children as well. We shared stories of children, treatment, and support from our friends and families as we were taken to the other side of the track. We were lined up outside the track, laughing about life in general when a lady came up to Lori and said, “I like your boots.” I turned to Lori and laughed, saying, “I am so sorry! I can’t help but laugh because I thought she said I like your boobs!” Lori remarked that she thought that was what the woman said, too, and she was thinking, “Out of all these women with fake boobs, mine are the ones you like?!” Nathan made the comment that there had to be more plastic in that line than a Barbie factory! And I couldn’t help but to think of that college compliment – “I like your boob.”

A sudden drop in temperature became the focus of conversation. Oddly enough, we were commenting on how beautiful the weather was when we learned that a potential hail storm was coming. The Churchill Downs staff loaded us back onto the bus and gave us the disappointing news that while the Oaks race would be postponed, they were cancelling the Survivors Parade. I know all of us were thinking, “This is what we came here for.” While other people are here to watch a race, we are here to finish one.

We returned to Matt and A to watch the storm blow over. We said goodbye to our new friends Lori and Dave, who decided to regroup with their friends and take off. We were wavering back and forth about whether or not we wanted to bail when one of the survivors grabbed me and said, “We’re going to get to walk! Are you ready?” I must have looked confused because she repeated herself until I smiled, and then I grabbed Nathan. “Text Lori and tell her it’s back on! She’s going to miss it!” Lori and I both expressed such disappointment when the walk was cancelled that the thought of someone missing it made me want to cry. But Lori’s phone was dead, and she didn’t get the message. As we walked out, I heard other survivors talking about how their husbands stayed back to protect their Oaks attire from the mud. I asked Nathan if he wanted to stay back, and he acted like that was a ridiculous question. “I am going to finish this with you, Tina.” Those words will forever stand out in my mind. “Then let’s finish this,” I thought.

We were in the line, ready to step onto the track when Lori and Dave came running up behind us. She told him that she wanted to go back to her seat to make sure it wasn’t going to happen, and when she arrived we had already been bussed to the track entrance. They literally ran outside and ran around to the other end of the track to walk the parade. I screamed and hugged her when I saw her. I know it sounds funny, but I felt as though I made a new friend through the earlier bus ride, and I couldn’t imagine the walk without her!

The parade was overwhelming. The crowd cheered constantly for us as we walked around a ¼ of the track. As we crossed the finish line, I heard my name to my left, where I spied my VP Shelly and blew her kisses. Faces in the crowd looked at us with respect and awareness…and sadness, probably at how young our overall parade was (but that’s what happens when you have an internet vote!). Nathan was constantly smiling as the media (or the paparazzi, as we referred to them) snapped away pictures. Every 10 steps I felt a squeeze of my hand that left me wondering if I would cry. But Nathan kept me grounded, and as we approached our supporting party of Matt and A at the end, we beamed. It was so nice to have our friends there with us – just an amazing show of support. And that was it…it was O.V.E.R.

We had a great time with Matt and A. I’ve known Athanasia for 10+ years, but after this weekend, I will consider her a best friend. We talked for hours last night, and she gave me an analogy that will stick with me always. She said that when her family was faced with great adversity last August, a nun told her that we should look at God like a father (which I’ve heard a million times before, but this time it resonates with me). As a parent, we often protect our children from great harm (like running out into the middle of the street). When we do this, sometimes we hurt them a little in the process (like if we jerk them back from the street, they may get a pinch...or a spanking as a reminder of what not to do). But when you look at the big picture, the pinch or spanking was not nearly what the street could have been. The message was to look at the big picture and realize that when we face adversity, we are actually experiencing the hand of God pulling us back from a greater danger, so we should thank him for the save. I would hate to have seen what was in store for me if I hadn’t been through the last year! I’m just glad that we have the opportunity to say that we made it through, that we finished - we might even say that we “placed,” as they say in the racing circuit.

Hope and the "Twins"

2012-05-03T23:51:00.001-04:00

Hope and the "Twins"

Written 59 minutes ago

What an emotional week! I returned to work Monday, only to get sent home because I still had one of my surgical drains in. While it might sound like fun to get sent home from work, I was totally prepared to celebrate my new normal now that I have Shelby and Yvette. So I was disappointed. Aside from that, I have once again drained any and all PTO I have built up since my last surgery.

I did take advantage of the time off, though. I had a mani and a pedi Monday...until that point, I was wondering when I would have time this week to do these things prior to Oaks/Derby weekend.

“Oaks” is the day before Derby. The proceeds from Oaks go to breast cancer research, and for several years now the day calls for a PINK OUT! This essentially means that everyone at Churchill Downs is wearing breast cancer's favorite color. So I went on this fabulous website www.zazzle.com, where you can find or design anything breast cancer. I ordered Nathan a tie - it was pink, and there are black and gray fleur de lis all over the tie. Each fleur de lis has a breast cancer ribbon in the center of it. It should have been perfect for Oaks! But when it arrived, it was wider than the average tie, the back of the tie was stark white, and it was an overall disappointment. So Monday I also went to Kohl's for a new tie. I called Big Sis Tiff from the store for a little style help. I asked her if I could buy Nathan a seersucker bow tie, and she advised against it. So I ended up with a very nice pink and blue paisley. Nathan found it on the dresser Monday evening, and he said, "I like this tie." I told him the story about shopping for the tie and calling Tiff about the seersucker tie. I told Nathan that Tiff told me that the bow tie was nerdy, so I couldn't buy it. Nathan said, "I'm kind of nerdy," to which I replied, "That's what I said!" It was good for a giggle, but he's stuck with paisley.

Tuesday was a lazy day. I hung out until I had my drain pulled, and then I went to the cancer center to get my monthly tic-tac in the belly shot. My nurse Bev is a rock star at that shot. I compare the Gossarelin to a tequila shot. I used to be a bit of tequila connoisseur, but those days are long gone. At any rate, I never liked "training wheels" (aka, salt and lime) with a tequila shot, and I feel the same way about the ice for the Gossarelin shot. Every month Bev asks if I want ice, and every month I say, "Give it to me straight, bartender. I don't need your training wheels."

Wednesday I had the great privilege to attend the First Lady of Kentucky's Celebration of Hope, supported by Horses for Hope, an apropos charitable organization for the great state of Kentucky. There was a fashion show, a brunch, a UK basketball player, and a very accomplished young lady who was the keynote speaker. Rachel Annette Helson (google her – she’s pretty awesome!) recounted her aunt's diagnosis (now a survivor), and how that essentially sparked her (15 when her aunt was diagnosed) to being a life of theater and philanthropy. This made me wonder what kind of wonderful things my nieces Olivia and Ann Marie might be doing 10 years from now, and what kind of shape I might be in to see them through it. It was very emotional for me to attend this event. The most emotional part was when the survivors were asked to stand when their # of surviving years was announced. When the 40+ year survivors (6 were in attendance) stood, I lost it. I know it sounds grim, but when I think about 40 years from now, I don't necessarily think about being around...but this gave me something I have heard about for 11+ months...hope.

Hope is like love or faith - you know what it is, but you can't see it...you can only feel it. Hope is more than wanting. Hope and faith are intertwined, but not the same. Hope is doing whatever it takes. And there it was - my epiphany. I have to do whatever it takes to be standing when someone calls upon 40+ year survivors. And whatever it takes is what I intend to do.

I worked all day today, and by the time I got home I was miserable. As it turns out, it was likely a blessing that I was sent home Monday, because I was in no way prepared to work all week like I thought I was. My body is still very much in shock from surgery, and I need to let it gently heal. I cannot speed up the process. It's hard to believe that underneath that tiny fuchsia dress I'm wearing tomorrow, I look like I've been beaten. I'm bruised from nipple line (or what otherwise would be nipple line) to hips...whatever it takes. If there is a wardrobe malfunction tomorrow, it is not going to be pretty! Shelby and Yvette are still in the healing stage, and they are definitely not ready for that kind of debut!

Steel Magnolias would be an obvious inspiration for Shelby. Shelby did things when she was told not to…in fact, the only way you could guarantee that Shelby would do something was for her Mama to tell her that she shouldn’t do it. Her “signature color” was pink, specifically blush and bashful. Shelby was a Southern lady with an Achilles heel…her health. She was strong and soft at the same time. And she loved her Mama. And she was willing to do whatever it took.

In high school, was the lead in my Spring musical, class president, and a member of Drama Club, the Chess Club and the French Honors Society. As involved as I was in all of these things, French Honors Society was something I was really proud of. French was easy to me – it was beautiful, and interesting, and guaranteed to confuse the heck out of me when I traveled to Italy years later!! I even studied French as a Major in college for a semester before switching to Communications. Yvette is for the boy in French class who used to cheat off of my French tests…and all the while I thought he was just trying to catch a glimpse of Bess and Gretchen! She is my adventurous side, my exotic side, my red patent leather peep toe heels side.

Tomorrow I will walk alongside 137 other survivors who were nominated to walk in the annual Oaks Survivors' Parade. It is an honor to walk, and I couldn't be more excited. I am expecting another emotional roller coaster of a day, and I've packed my waterproof mascara. Oaks will be televised on NBCSports all day. The parade will be roughly at 4:50pm Eastern time, just before the Oaks race (Oaks day is named for a single race). I chose to wear a tiny hot fuchsia dress (which will be complimented by red patent leather peep toes by the way) because I wanted my pink to signify strength and hope. Shelby and Yvette deserve nothing less.

Hey Soul Sisters!

2012-04-20T21:55:00.001-04:00

FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 2012 9:41 PM, EDT

Hey Soul Sisters!

A soulmate (or soul mate) is believed by some to be the person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity, similarity, love, sex, intimacy, sexuality, spirituality, or compatibility. A related concept is that of the twin flame or twin soul, which is thought to be the ultimate soulmate.

Plato

In his dialogue The Symposium, Plato has Aristophanes present a story about soul mates. Aristophanes states that humans originally had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces, but Zeus feared their power and split them all in half, condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other half to complete them.

Theosophy

According to Theosophy, whose claims were modified by Edgar Cayce, God created androgynous souls—equally male and female. Later theories postulate that the souls split into separate genders, perhaps because they incurred karma while playing around on the Earth, or "separation from God." Over a number of reincarnations, each half seeks the other. When all karmic debt is purged, the two will fuse back together and return to the ultimate.

I took the entries above from Wikipedia (I know, real credible source, right?). I’ve always held the romantic notion thateverything happens for a reason, that the people we encounter along the way will affect us in some great way that we may not recognize right away, and that we are rarely cognizant of the effect that we have on others. But this put a different spin on that. The sheer thought that God may split our souls and allow us to connect to them in human form is just lovely to me…Lovely, but I don’t know if I can wrap my head around that. What I do think is that there are people that you meet throughout your life who are a piece of your life puzzle…your life is more complete for meeting them…somehow they bring something to you that was missing. This is what I feel a soul mate is…and I believe that we have many of them. Jerry Maguire said it best when he said, “You complete me.” Every time we meet another soul mate, our puzzle is more complete than it was before. I could further theorize that when your life puzzle is complete, you have served your purpose. Romantically, we would not die until after we have served our purpose.

When we moved to Reno, Nevada, Nathan and I didn’t know a soul, more or less mates. I met a couple of people who I consider to be pieces of my life puzzle. One of these people was Christine Meyers. Christine and I shared an office together in the Radiology Department, and we shared a lot more than that! That girl truly knows more about me than I know about myself! She’s just one of those fabulous people you can truly put your trust in and tell her all the sordid details of your head…and I did. And I learned a lot from her. She had a theory that your life is a cup, and you fill it up as you go, and you get to choose what you put in your cup, or how you fill your cup. She would always say, “I’m going to ride (my horses) this weekend. What are youdoing to fill your cup?” She called me Bean as if she knew me my whole life. Love her. Christine was a free spirit, and I felt like me around her. She is one of my puzzle pieces…one of my soul mates.

Nathan is, of course, one of the biggest pieces of my puzzle. Our puzzles are fused. We have truly grown together through experiences that tear couples apart. And we built a beautiful family of two boys, Logan and Parker...also soul mates. My life would truly be incomplete without them - they were always missing before they were there.

I have always referred to my Granny as a soul mate. Sometimes I have so much of my mother’s mother in me that I feel like she’s around even when she isn’t anywhere close. I used to curl up next to Granny on the couch and pull her transparent and soft, aged skin between my forefinger and thumb. There was so much knowledge in that skin – so frail and thin, even when I was a little girl. And it is transparent and soft still. My Granny, my soul mate. One of few things that Granny can actually remember now is beauty. If I remember only one thing when I am in my eighties, I hope it is that I and the children who came behind me are forever beautiful. Granny and I have few conversations at this stage in her life that revolve around anything other than age and beauty…and it all starts with that skin. That skin has been passed down to generations, and we are lucky to have it.

People often ask me how I found Dr. Quintero. He was one of 3-4 people my breast surgeon recommended, and I interviewed all of them. I felt that my reconstructive surgeon should have a strong bedside manner. I was going to be working with this person for over a year, and the end results were to be permanent. So a relationship with this person was thought to be of great importance. Who would have known that my reconstructive surgeon would be a soul mate? I knew when I met Dr. Q that he was my choice for reconstruction, which essentially consists of the whole expansion process, implants, ongoing tweaking, and potentially adding nipples later down the road. And there you have it – relationship building. Who knew he would connect me to my new favorite girlfriends, Yvette and Shelby.

After a 5 hours surgery, I awoke with (finally!) my new body…and I mean that it is unrecognizable from just a few short days ago. My new friends are high and mighty (they will settle with time)…and HUGE! They were much larger than I expected them to be, but Dr. Q says not to get too attached because they are quite swollen. To put things into perspective, a cosmetic surgeon cuts into the breast with the smallest incision possible. The cosmetic surgeon then places the implant under the muscle, covers it with breast tissue consisting of fat, ducts and lobules, and then stitches the newly sculpted chest. This, my friends, is a boob job. I did not have a boob job.

Wednesday Dr. Q cut into the scars that were created as a result of my bilateral (double-sided) mastectomy (essentially my breast surgeon Dr. Hatmaker carved all of the breast tissue – fat, ducts and lobules). He pulled out the 650cc and 700cc expanders and evaluated the space for the new silicone implants. Dr. Q placed some pig skin (yes, there are so many jokes that we could work with on this, but they would be so obvious) underneath my “skin flaps.” Skin flaps are the very thin pieces of skin and remaining breast tissue that Dr. H left behind after the mastectomy. They were less than ¼ inch thick on each side. When he showed me the pictures of my very thin skin flaps today, I couldn’t help but think about my Granny’s fabulous but paper thin skin in all of its beauty. Dr. Q placed 700 cc and 800 cc high profile implants (the way that my ribs sit, one had to be larger than the other) into the pockets that the expanders created. He stitched me up and surveyed his work. The term high profile refers to the projection of the implants, or how far they stick out. Even though I have 750 cc implants in, they are not covered by breast tissue – so the implant is literally ¼ inch underneath the surface of my skin. This is notcosmetic surgery. This is reconstruction. So we worry about different things. With cosmetic surgery, you worry about the symmetry, the beauty. But with reconstruction, you worry that the skin flaps will die without proper blood supply. We will worry about this until next Tuesday. If the skin flaps die, I will have no Yvette and Shelby…ever. I welcome prayers specific to blood supply.

Because I have so little of my own tissue to work with, these massive new friends of mine would otherwise be misshapen if Dr. Q didn’t do what he did next…fat grafting. Essentially, he took fat from parts (as in multiple parts) of my body to inject it into my chest. He then molded it so that my chest appeared to have more padding. Let me start by saying that I don’t know why anyone would elect to have liposuction. This is one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life, and I say that after I’ve had chemotherapy! And yet, I just keep thinking what a nice tight body I’m going to have as a result of cancer – yeah, I know what you're thinking, but this isn’t exactly a great trade off, I can assure you of that. So for the next 3 weeks, I will wear a girdle that is equivalent to 3 sets of Spanx. It is tight! This will prevent blood clots and mold my body into a new shape. Suddenly I feel like I ought to be on a Weight Watchers commercial singing.

“Feeling Good”

Jennifer Hudson

Birds flying high
you know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new day
And I'm feelin' good

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River runnin' free
you know how I feel

Blossom on a tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn, a new day
a new life for me
And I'm feelin' good

Dragonflies out in the sun
you know what I mean
don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun
That's what I mean
Sleep in peace until the day is done
That's what I mean
And this old world is a new world

And a bold world
And I'm feelin' good

Stars when they shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
It's a new dawn, a new day
a new life for me
And I'm feelin' good

It's a new day
I'm feelin' good
It's a new day
I'm feelin' good
It's a new day
I'm feelin' good

It’s been a long year, but I like to think that my last surgery was Wednesday, and that this surgery introduced me to my newest soul mates Yvette and Shelby. That thought brings me a certain sense of closure, and an even greater peace. Throughout this life, and especially this process, I have been pieced together, like a puzzle. I know that there are soul mates out there who I have yet to discover, and as I find them I will find more of me. One thing is for certain, I have not yet served my purpose, and I’m not entirely sure that this life puzzle has any borders at all.

Dear PITAs...Farewell.

2012-04-14T15:06:00.001-04:00

SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 2012 2:51 PM, EDT

Dear PITAs...Farewell.

Dear PITAs,

I wanted to thank you for the space that you’ve created for Yvette and Shelby. They should be warm and cozy in those spaces.

I don’t really have anything else to say to you. You are hard as rocks, and you will not be missed. Soon I will be able to roll over in the middle of the night without feeling you not moving beneath my skin. Soon I will be able to nestle two young heads against a soft and supple chest, giving them hugs as a mother should be able to. And I will no longer feel that your hard surface will hurt their little noggins.

Wednesday March 18, you will be replaced – not because you are malfunctioning or broken, but because your purpose here has been served. Your time is over. One day we will all meet this fate, and I am grateful that your purpose helped me realize that mine is not yet fulfilled.

With a 4 hour surgery, you will be gone. At least with you, I know what I have! The fear of the unknown is getting to me a little with Yvette and Shelby...My mastectomy left me fearful of what the lymph node biopsy would show. When that came back clear, I was just relieved. With this surgery, I feel this pretty overwhelming sense of anxiety. I've always had a pretty decent confidence level, and I just want to be able to love my permanent body...and I hope that God doesn't use this as a lesson in patience.

Please accept this as your farewell. There will be no more tears shed for you. There will be no memorial. This is all you get.

Tootles,

Bean

God was here

2012-03-31T15:40:00.002-04:00

SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 2012 3:22 PM, EDT

God was here

There are 3 places that I can think of any time as places that created the mold that is Bean – like most people these are home, school and church. Each of these has subsets worth mentioning, but one that is especially important is Camp McDowell.

Every year I looked forward to the break from school, ballet, and home…the break that brought me to the Episcopal Camp McDowell for a week in the summer. And I loved every element of camp: the friendships foraged; kitchen patrol (KP) duty; the daily Compline service; the canteen; the care packages; the ropes course; the talent competition (where the Blueberry Gang sang Hard to Handle; hiking the swinging bridge to the cross. You name it, I loved it. Pretty sure I streaked a time or two to get my laundry from the dry line outside of the cabin. I took full advantage of the fact that the boys were on the other side of camp. I was free at camp. It was the first place I felt truly safe away from home. College boys would come to our cabin at night and we would swoon over them as they sang songs and played the guitar. Every year I dreaded the last service, knowing that after we sang “Surely the presence,” our families would be standing outside to greet us, removing us from the free world of camp to return us home. And every year, I took my nail polish and painted into the screen windows Tina was here (and the year). It was a rite of passage. It was my way of leaving my stamp on Camp McDowell.

I interviewed in Reno, Nevada in late October 2006. The organization flew me out, put me up in a fabulous hotel, and had a gift basket in my room upon arrival. The interview for my first management position in health care was 2 days long, included a dinner with prospective co-managers, and 2 free days to tour the city, look for houses, and sight-seeing. I felt as if I was being wooed. Closing my last interview, I asked what, if anything in Reno, I should see before I left, to which my prospective Director replied, “Well, Tahoe, of course.” I hadn’t realized that Lake Tahoe was only 30 minutes up a mountain from Reno.

The next morning, I awoke at 4am Pacific Time. It was a crisp 34 degrees. I bundled up, sent the Valet after my rental car, and had a quick cup of hotel coffee on my way out the door. I had an old-fashioned handheld map, which was difficult to use while driving alone in an odd place, and I ended up forgoing the map to rely solely on street signs. The mountain road was bumpy, and it was starting to change from mist to snow as my rental car was challenged to climb the altitude. I was finally around the northwest side of the lake, and I called BF Jacci. Jacci had just spent two years in San Francisco, so she understood the idea of living away from family and friends. She was on the phone with me as I watched the sun rise over Mt. Rose and the orange glow hit the lake. I burst into tears and said, “I know this is where we’re supposed to be.” It was a spiritual experience for me.

Tahoe is truly one of the most amazing and beautiful natural wonders of the world. That lake is the number 1 reason that Nathan and I moved to Reno, which will forever be in our hearts as the place we started our family (Logan was born there in 2008). I recall watching that sunrise on the beach of Tahoe City, and through my tears, thinking, “God was here.” It was as if He carved his name upon the earth and left his stamp on Tahoe.

People often ask me in a very round-about way what no one really wants to ask: What do you really look like under there? It would be easy to say that I look like Barbie…perky nipple-less breasts, but unfortunately it’s not that pretty. But it’s not ugly either. My scars have healed beautifully. They are straight across my chest (where the center of my breasts would be). Each scar is about 6 inches across, but they are flat and almost colorless. When I have my implants placed in mid-April, they should sit “naturally” on my chest, without the perkiness of the expanders. But for the next few weeks, the expanders will continue to project like the perky breasts of a childless woman, and I will enjoy it while it lasts.

I thought that the scars would really bother me. As it turns out, they are like my children in that they are a part of me that was always missing. It just took having them to realize it. They are battle scars that I wear with pride, badges of courage, signs of strength. And as far as I’m concerned God has left another stamp…but this time it’s on me.

Surely the Presence is still my favorite camp song. I sing it to the boys, and through this journey these words have brought me great peace.

Surely the presence of the Lord is in the place

I can feel His mighty power

And His grace.

I can feel the brush of Angels' wings

I see glory on each face.

Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place.

Miscellaneous Updates: I was filled for the LAST time on Friday!! Tootles to the “filling station” (at least as a filling station; I’ll still have follow up visits as Yvette and Shelby make their debut). Thanks for the PITAs. And to the PITAs…thanks for nothing.

On May 4, 2012, I will walk in the 4th annual Survivors Parade at the 138th annual Kentucky Oaks race. It will be on television at 4:50pm Eastern time on NBCSports. Thank you all for your support in the voting process! I am very excited about attending my first every Oaks on Derby weekend!! More on that later!

Queen B

2012-03-15T16:59:00.002-04:00

THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 2012 4:52 PM, EDT

The Queen B

I can’t remember the first time I saw my first Barbie. I imagine with an older sister, it was at a very young age. But I fondly remember many things about Barbie. Of course, she always had the best hair (except for my little sis Jayme, who has what I like to call Martina McBride hair because she can wear virtually any style), the prettiest make-up, and the sassiest wardrobes. But Barbie was more than just a pretty face (and a 17 inch waist) – she was a career woman! And she must have been pretty savvy because she had every job known to man (pun intended). She was an astronaut, a teacher, a doctor (or both the animal and people variety), and a rock star. She was the first thing out there that said that a girl could be beautiful and smart at the same time…she could be anything she wanted to be. Barbie was the Queen B.

My friend Anne had the best Barbie collection I have ever seen to this day. She had her Mama Marcia’s Barbie dolls, which were meticulously cared for. One thing about these Barbie dolls I will never forget because it seemed so strange to me at the time – Marcia’s original Barbie dolls had plastic hair. Yes, plastic buns piled up on top of their heads instead of long, flowing blonde locks that we are all so familiar with. And as Anne and I played with Barbie and listened to the tunes of the Beach Boys well into the 5th grade, I was mesmerized that in a trunk-like box, Anne had wigs for these plastic haired Barbie dolls. The wigs were coarse, but well-styled – bobs, pony-tails, and medium length hair styles, some with bangs. You name it, she had it. We could change the identity of those Barbie dolls in the blink of an eye…and we did.

I was at the Filling Station a couple of weeks ago – just a routine fill. Dr. Q and I got into a good discussion about nipples. He did say that he doesn’t normally have this discussion until he is prepping for that surgery (yes, another surgery), but that since I was inquiring, he would discuss it. When I told him I was done after the implants, he was horrified! “But that isn’t a finished product!” I’m paraphrasing, but for the most part he said that every surgeon wants to see the completion of his work…and in my case that involves nipples.

Forgive me graphic description here…but what “nipple” surgery is like when you don’t have any nipples is this: Dr. Q will take a piece of skin from my inner thigh. He will curl it between his sterile fingers, into the shape of a long nipple and sew it to a section of my now bare chest. This will conceal some of my scars. Over a couple of weeks, this skin graft will essentially dry out and die because it will have no blood supply, and I will be left with a couple of nubs of dead skin where natural nipples otherwise would have been. Then, after they are completely “healed,” I will get to choose the skin tone or color of my nipples, and they will be tattooed.

Take it from someone who doesn’t have a tattoo because in 33 years, she’s been unable to commit to just about anything permanently – the idea of having lopsided or discolored fake nipples makes me want to crawl into a corner and draw up into the fetal position. As if the scars and fake breasts aren’t ugly enough, I have to be concerned with how my fakenipples are going to look? And I was just starting to relish the idea of not wearing a bra for the rest of my life. It’s been fairly nice up to this point, and I quite frankly can’t imagine going back! So I hate to tell you, Dr. Q, but I’m not convinced that this product is ever going to be finished! But trust me - I won’t see you as anything less than the miracle worker and artist that you are!

I returned to the filling station yesterday…ahead of schedule. It appears that Parker grabbed my chest a couple of days ago and may have busted (or at the very least displaced) my other expander. PITAs. So I return tomorrow, and I am expecting Dr. Q to fill’er up as much as I “can tolerate.” Then we will schedule my implant surgery! If you are wondering, this is a GOOD thing! These expanders are hard as rocks, and I cannot wait to have a softer silhouette.

Logan, Parker and I went to Montgomery last weekend for Jayme’s baby shower (which was SO very nice – good job, girls). After all of the baby in the belly talk, we returned home. When I put Logan to bed Tuesday night, he cupped his hand around my expander, patted it and said, “You got a baby in your boobie?” It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I removed his hand, and looked at him. “No, I do not have a baby in my boobie.” To which he replied, “Your boobie is growed up?” I looked down at my numb right hard as a rock expander to find it covered once again by my 3 year old’s hand, which I promptly removed. “Yes, baby, my boobie growed up,” I said as a tear rolled down my face. To me, this is a moment of realization that he remembers my flat chest over the last few months…observant little creature.

While we were at the shower, I told Mama that I was ready to blog about Barbie. She asked what in the world the Queen B had to do with breast cancer. Well, she’s obsessed with the color pink; she has perfectly perky breasts…and no nipples. (I had to remind Dr. Q that Barbie didn’t have nipples…and she was “perfect.”) It’s so obvious that she’s a Survivor, right?! As it turns out, that plastic-haired original Barbie must have been in the chemo stage. But you know what, it didn’t stop her from anything…she’s still evolving, and she’s still a rock star.

Bad Boyfriend

2012-02-24T21:06:00.003-05:00

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 2012 7:43 PM, EST

Bad Boyfriend

What girl hasn't had a bad boyfriend? You know the guy - he's a sweetheart, doting on your every whim in the beginning, and then puts his own needs in front of yours when the relationship hits a plateau? Oh, yes, we all know that guy.

I should have recognized my first bad boyfriend when he kicked me to the curb, didn't return my phone calls, and spent all night "talking" to a girl on the beach. Yes, I should have recognized him then. Instead, it was Valentine's Day. I was a college student, pretending to be a struggling artist, so I had no money for extravagant gifts. So my gift was to clean, and I mean spic and span clean this college guy's 2 bedroom apartment. Have you ever been in a college guy's apartment? They use the same towel too many days in a row, don't clean a single hair out of a bathroom, and rarely do dishes. This was a hell of a Valentine's present is what I'm getting at. And it took longer than I expected. Saving the worst for last, I was on my hands and knees in the bathroom, literally scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush and Clorox (I told you it was spic and spanclean). Now in order for you to get the true image of this bathroom, you have to realize that framed on the wall behind the potty was a poster that depicted at least 12 different kinds of poo, each with a cartoon illustration, a title, and a description. Because what cartoon poo with a name wouldn't be complete without a description? Now, I'm all for a little potty humor, but really? Do we really need to name poo "The Cliffhanger?"

So I'm on the floor, scrubbing, and I get bonked on the head. I look up at bad boyfriend with a $5.99 bouquet of roses from Winn Dixie. And I know this because the lime green Winn Dixie price tag is still on the roses, which are now lying on the floor in front of me. As bad boyfriend walks toward the kitchen, he shouts, "Happy Valentine's Cinderella." And that lime green price tag got a little brighter. And that was that...Cinderella left for the ball.

Bad boyfriend number 4 (BB4) was the one who punched a hole through the wall when I told him I was moving to Wisconsin. The two in between aren't worth discussing. BB4 and I got back together when he met me halfway a couple of month after I moved to Wisconsin...I don't even pretend to need a lecture about why I let that happen. But when I broke up with him while falling for my study buddy Nathan, he called my house (or the basement of Mama's house) about 6 times in the middle of the night to berate me, telling me he was coming to get me and kick my you-know-what...blah, blah, blah. So I did what any self-respecting girl would have done - I took my phone off the hook. And then my Mama's phone started ringing. Oh, no he didn't. Bad move BB4. That was the last I heard of him. Thank heavens.

I know it sounds funny to compare cancer to a bad boyfriend, but it's kind of true. It's the ultimate bad relationship - unhealthy, out of control, affecting you in ways you never thought possible. He takes over your body, tries to kill your spirit, and plays with your head. He keeps you from spending time with your friends and family - he wants you all to himself. He can't think outside the box. He does a Mexican hat dance on your sense of humor. And it takes an army to get rid of him. And when he's gone, you're left wondering what you've learned from this experience...how has this changed you forever in a good way? How have you grown from this relationship?

I was growing closer to my study buddy (and best boyfriend I ever had) in 2002 when American Idol first aired in 2002. Nathan and I had been together for a year, been through a horrible car accident, and had absolutely nothing in common. And yet, we found a balance. We still believe in having some time apart to participate in activities that we enjoy separately. This helps us to keep our individual identities while we grow together as a couple. American Idol was one of my things. I watched that first season like the rest of America - engulfed in the idea that someone was going to live the American dream post-9/11. If you think about it, American Idol was a form of propaganda, allowing Americans to live vicariously through the lives of these teenagers singing for a big break. Suddenly Super Bowl commercial spots didn't seem like such a big deal...if you wanted a spot, you wanted it during American Idol. And who could forget watching Kelly Clarkson win the first title that year, blowing America away with A Moment Like This? Who would have thought that the winner of that show would win 12 Billboard Awards, 2 AMAs and 6 Grammys?

I was driving home today, and Kelly Clarkson was blasting away her newest song on Louisville's favorite pop station. The lyrics, while clearly about a bad boyfriend, reminded me that even though I had a couple of duds, I am stronger for the experiences. And I am ten times stronger for the worst "bad boyfriend" I've ever had - the one named Cancer.

Stronger

You know the bed feels warmer,

Sleeping here alone,

You know I dream in color,

And do the things I want.

You think you got the best of me

Think you had the last laugh

Bet you think that everything good is gone.

Think you left me broken down

Think that I'd come running back

Baby you don't know me, cause you're dead wrong.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

stand a little taller

Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone.

What doesn't kill you makes a fighter

Footsteps even lighter

Doesn't mean I'm over cause you're gone.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger

Just me, Myself and I

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller

Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone.

You heard that I was starting over with someone new,

They told you I was moving on over you,

You didn't think that I'd come back ,I'd come back swinging

You try to break me but you see

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

stand a little taller

doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone.

What doesn't kill you makes a fighter

Footsteps even lighter

doesn't mean I'm over cause your gone.

what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger

Just me, myself and I

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

Thanks to you I got a new thing started

Thanks to you I'm not the broken hearted

Thanks to you I'm finally thinking 'bout me

You know in the end the day I left was just my beginning..... in the end...

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller

Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

What doesn't kill you makes a fighter

Footsteps even lighter

doesn't mean I'm over cause you gone.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger

Just me, Myself and I

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller

Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone.

And now, it's 10 years later...the judges have changed, but it's really the same old fabulous American Idol. Since Steven Tyler has joined the judges table, Nathan has joined me in one of my favorite pastimes. And on Valentine's Day, I came home to Nathan sitting on the floor with our two boys, each of them with a sunflower in hand. Logan shouted, "You are our sunshine, Mommy!" It was the best Valentine's moment ever. Cinderella's come a long way, and the shoe fits. Our relationship has evolved over the last 11 years, and the things we like and are willing to do to spend time together have evolved. And Nathan is still the best boyfriend I ever had...but he needs to be gentle, because as strong as I am, I am equally fragile. After all, I've just recently ended a really, really bad relationship.

Taking the Long Way

2012-02-12T18:54:00.000-05:00

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 2012 6:47 PM, EST

Taking the Long Way

I have heard that it can be therapeutic for you to write a letter to your former self, and since I have made a habit of sharing my therapy with the rest of the world, I figured I would get some things off my chest (pun intended). I have always been a no-regrets kind of girl. Your experiences make you who you are, and I like the person I’ve become. But I was listening to a little Dixie Chicks this weekend (yes, I can get past their unpatriotic lack of support for the President a few years ago), and some words hit me square in the middle of the forehead. It’s not even worth sharing only a little bit of the song because in order to understand the message, you have to hear the whole thing.

Taking the Long Way

Words & Music by Emily Robison, Martie Maguire, Natalie Maines, Dan Wilson

My friends from high school
Married their high school boyfriends
Moved into houses
In the same ZIP codes where their parents live

But I
I could never follow
No I
I could never follow

I hit the highway
In a pink RV with stars on the ceiling
Lived like a gypsy
Six strong hands on the steering wheel

I’ve been a long time gone now
Maybe someday, someday I’m gonna settle down
But I’ve always found my way somehow

By takin’ the long way
Takin’ the long way around
Takin’ the long way
Takin’ the long way around

I met the queen of whatever
Drank with the Irish and smoked with the hippies
Moved with the shakers
Wouldn’t kiss all the asses that they told me to

No I
I could never follow
No I
I could never follow

It’s been two long years now
Since the top of the world came crashing down
And I’m getting’ it back on the road now

But I’m takin’ the long way
Takin’ the long way around
I’m takin’ the long way
Takin’ the long way around
The long
The long way around

Well I fought with a stranger and I met myself
I opened my mouth and I heard myself
It can get pretty lonely when you show yourself
Guess I could have made it easier on myself

But I
I could never follow
No I
I could never follow

Well I never seem to do it like anybody else
Maybe someday, someday I’m gonna settle down
If you ever want to find me I can still be found

Takin’ the long way
Takin’ the long way around
Takin’ the long way
Takin’ the long way around…..

I’ve been a lot of people, searched a lot of souls, smiled a million smiles to become the woman I am today…and when I look back on my former self, I have to admit that I would do some things a little differently if I could end up in the same place.

Someone once told me that in order to heal, you have to be at peace with yourself and with your world. Here is my attempt at that.

Dear Bean @ 13,

At thirteen, you couldn’t possibly imagine the world ahead of you. One day, you have the most important job you could possibly be given – you will be a mother. You will have boys (yes, BOYS!), and you will know exactly what to do with them as if that was the plan all along. You will cry when they are hurting; you will love like you have never loved before, and you will give up a whole year of your life to be with them as long as possible.

You know how Mama is your best friend? That will change when you are about 17. It’s a natural progression, and you will find at 22 that she is indeed your best friend, and has been all along. Go easy on her. She does everything she does and enforces every rule out of nothing but love. You will not have the capacity to truly comprehend this until you have become a mother yourself, and even then you cannot completely understand someone until you have walked in their shoes (red peep toe heels not withstanding). You will be more like her in looks, attitude, and mannerisms than you ever thought possible, or are willing to admit. This is a good thing…consider yourself lucky to have had her as a role model.

Your sisters are your friends. Although it may seem like the three of you are different, you are more alike than you like to admit. You are, after all, a product of the same gene pool. You will have a defining moment with Tiffany in a few years. You will embarrass her more than you could imagine, though that wasn’t your intent. She will tell you that she hates you and she never wants to talk to you again. This will break your heart, and you will never look at her the same. This moment will teach you that your actions directly impact the lives of other people. Jayme will be disappointed in you more than once. Live your life as if you know someone is looking to you for direction (even if she isn’t). She will kiss a boy before you do, and that will drive you crazy. She will have the best hair of anyone you’ve ever met, which will also drive you crazy.

As a result of Father’s Day weekend next year, you will make a conscious decision to halt any relationship with your father. Remember that you are a child. But even children have to make an honest effort some time. You will make a choice that will leave you wondering the rest of your life if you are wanted – this is a feeling that no child should ever have. This will affect almost every decision you make throughout your high school and early college life, most of them poor choices. Your struggle in life will begin with this weekend. You will lose your core values. You will constantly search for approval and for male attention. You will bear hatred and it will grow in you and fester. You will seek solace in unhealthy behaviors and an unhealthy self-image, and you will hold these things against your father. You will see him at his grandmother’s visitation, and you will hug him. You will feel that you have put the ball in his court, but the ball will not be returned. This will haunt you for many years, until you accept the relationship as it is – nothing at all. When your children are born, you will struggle with that absence further. You will wonder how a father could choose not to be a part of his children’s lives. Your grandmother’s death will bring you together in the same space. You will come to realize that there is a possibility that he views things about your past differently than you do. What will come of that reunion has yet to be determined.

You will quit ballet next year, and you will never wish that you hadn’t. You will find love in the theater, but this will not engage you physically. You will struggle with body image as a result of limited activity, and your love of food will further complicate this. You will learn to binge and purge as a way of life in your early teens, which will continue through early adulthood, as a means of control. Don’t let this rule your life. Take care of your body and learn to love exercise. A friend will tell you in your early 20s that if you exercise, you can eat whatever you want. This is good information that you should take to heart as early as possible.

Take care of your soul. In the coming years, you will find guidance at Montgomery’s Church of the Ascension. You will learn the importance of faith and love and acceptance here. Keep those things with you, and know that God is with you when you make all of those poor decisions, and that he loves you anyway. Your faith will get you through many stages of life.

At 17, you will fall in love with someone unexpected, and few people will ever have knowledge of it. It will be viewed as a betrayal, and as a result you will make a choice that goes against your heart to protect someone else’s feelings. If I had to do it over again, I would. Fall hard. Little relationships are worth the heartache that follows – this is one of them. You will have love and respect for this person for many years to come.

After kissing a few frogs, you will eventually fall in love with, and settle down with a man who grows with you, not against you. He will stand beside you through your darkest days, your hardest year. He will give you the greatest gifts in all the world – your sons. He will dance with you, comfort you, love and respect you, and he will put up with your nonsense. And you will love and respect him; you will be faithful; you will introduce him to fine food, travel and culture, and an accepting faith. Together, you will form a union that is strong and mighty. You will make an amazing team, and you will work together (both on and off the clock) well. You will pick at him too much. He will love you anyway. He will follow you across the country to allow you to follow your dreams. He will not resent you for this, so you cannot resent yourself. You make this decision together, and you are both better as a result of it.

You will be successful in school when you are ready. And you will be successful in your work. You find a blend of art and science in radiography (x-ray), and you find a natural ability in leadership. You must learn organization. It is not your strength now, and it will not be later in life. Knowing where to find things quickly is a must. You will draw from Mama’s resourcefulness. This will be one of your greatest strengths in business. Her cocktail parties will teach you three things: 1) Use your resources wisely; 2) Know where to find things; 3) and Make life fun when it doesn’t feel that way. Mama will tell you that your “charm” is your greatest strength – you will learn to use this to your advantage at an early age. You will draw from past experiences to succeed in the present. This is why you will excel in subjects like Math and Chemistry.

You will have 3 grandparents into your 30s. You will get to know them as adults, and this is a blessing. Treat them with dignity and respect always. They have mountains of wisdom and perspective that you will someday miss. Take advantage of the time that you have with them. Connect with them at every opportunity.

You will make lifelong friends in high school and beyond. Listen to your grandmothers and don’t judge a book by its cover – get to know someone before you determine that you aren’t a good match. Don’t spend too much time trying to repair a trust that is broken. But spend lots of time on the relationships that are totally worth it. Meredith, Nicole, Jacci, Paul, Cathy and Kerrie are names you should remember. They are spread far and wide, and you will lean on them each from time to time in different ways.

You will over analyze everything – to a fault. Just because you can figure out the story line to Days of Our Lives before the dramatic irony sets in does not make you a psychic in real life. Have a little more faith in people. They have other things to worry about than what impact their decisions will have on you. The sooner you realize this, the less stressful your life will be. That said, try to see what impact your decisions will make on other’s lives. Live your life with an air of Southern hospitality…no matter where you are.

Love who you are, not who you will become. If you are disappointed in your actions, chances are that someone else is, too. Learn to apologize for your actions, not for someone’s feelings or perception. Check your ego from time to time. Fight hard for what you believe in. Fight hard…period. Love and laugh and cry a little bit. All of these things are healthy. Take care of yourself so that you can take care of those you love. Don’t smoke. Drink lots of water. Eat clean. Exercise. Take time to play with and teach your children – when they have left your home, will you wish you had spent more time at work, or more time with them? Say I love you even when you are angry. Find work-life balance. Choose to be happy…always. Love your body – there is no telling how long you will have it…or what parts of it you will get to keep. And never give up on life. Life will never give up on you.

Love always,

Bean @ 33

As we drive along this road called life, occasionally a gal will find herself a little lost. And when that happens, I guess she has to let go of the coulda, shoulda, woulda, buckle up and just keep going.

~ Carrie Bradshaw

Old Faithful Addendum

2012-02-02T23:00:00.001-05:00

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 2012 10:30 PM, EST

Old Faithful Addendum

When I look back on my blog from Tuesday, I can't even begin to say that I have done it justice. In the last 3 hours, I have reclaimed more memories from the Big Horn Country Field Trip than I ever thought possible. So forgive the addendum, but it is painstakingly necessary to record these events.

While Nannie was disappointed that we didn't show up in the airport in our Tatum's Taterbugs t-shirts, she was even more disappointed that we (all five of us) refused to wear them throughout the trip. Grandaddy called us Taterbugs (still does), and when they found out that we had been referring to "field trips" all of these years, they thought it would be fun for us to have the souvenir. We each had two t-shirts, and the idea was that we would wear and wash, wear and wash, alternating days. Seriously, the plan was to wear them every day. No way was that going to happen, and I selfishly led that little anarchy battle. We did, however, compromise and agree to wear the shirts one day. We had talked Nannie into taking us white water rafting down the Shoshone River. It was kind of a joke at first, but when she agreed, we were all on board. We each showed up, gleaming in our Taterbugs t-shirts, ready to have them promptly covered up by a bright orange life preserver. That was strategy - please Nannie by wearing the t-shirts, but all along knowing that we wouldn't have to endure the embarrassment of wearing the same t-shirt. What brats!

Only the tables were turned. To our surprise (lesson learned), two smoking hot tour guides came up to us to ready us for the rafting excursion. I couldn't get that life vest on fast enough. And then he said it, "Where are you guys from?" I've never been so embarrassed to say, "Alabama." To which he quipped, "What are y'all some church group?" And he chuckled. That might have been my first anxiety attack.

Nannie was a pro on the raft. We were all soaked, and it was the most fun I had ever had with my Nannie up until that point. We have a great picture of the end of the tour going over rapids. Nannie later admitted that she was terrified, but that she did it for us. That's what grandmothers do.

And as much as I hated that t-shirt as an eleventh grader, I still wear that t-shirt to sleep now. It is my favorite shirt, and every time I pull it from my closet, I smile. It is more than a t-shirt, it is a memory. A memory of a time in which I didn't appreciate what I had, but the moment I learned to.

While living in Wisconsin, Nannie and my aunt Paige were planning a trip to Chicago. Nannie was a big fan of Swarovski crystals, and she was a member of a club. She could go and get a signed piece. I wanted to show her a great time, so I met them in Chicago and we had creme brulee at Bistro 110. We went to the crystal signing, and Nannie got all of her gifts...It was just fun to spend some time with her as an adult who appreciated her. And it was on that trip that I saw my Nannie purchase a pair of Ferragamo shoes for the first time - a love we would have in common for many years. Years later, she gave me a pair of Ferragamo boots that she had worn maybe twice. I was happy to give them a new home.

I am so very fortunate to have had 3 grandparents into my 30s. I can honestly say that my grandparents know me as an adult, which is rare and beautiful. I love that I talked to her Tuesday for an hour, and that she told me about how she met my grandfather and that she was soon to celebrate her 59th wedding anniversary.

My Nannie passed away today. She is loved by many, and will be missed by more. It came as a big shock to us, and the timing on my blog Tuesday was quite coincidental. I love that Jayme shared it with her yesterday, and that it made her laugh. Peace be with you, Nannie. I will see you again someday, and I will live life to the fullest as you did. You were one hip Nannie, and I love you. Thank you for sharing so much of you with all of us.

Love.

Expander Half-full

2012-02-02T08:26:00.000-05:00

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 2012 7:44 AM, EST

Expander Half Full

It's no secret that when Dr. Hargis made the "Now, this doesn't really makes sense" face and dubbed my 32 year-old breast tumor an "old lady tumor," I made a not-so-tough decision to go to MD Anderson for a second opinion. During that trip, Mama and I visited MD Anderson's Cancer Resource Library, which was just that - a library that had every book, periodical, or medical magazine dedicated to cancer. It was mesmerizing, and somewhat entertaining. That was where I found the book Lopsided by Meredith Norton. While I only read a few excerpts before shelving the book, I vowed to revisit the memoir of a breast cancer survivor after I made an effort to publish my own (which I still haven't found the time to do). Her words were striking, and I giggled at the idea of being "lopsided."

In Chapter 10, Meredith (a 34 year old mother of an 11 month-old at diagnosis) explains how she felt while telling her friends about her diagnosis of Stage III Inflammatory Breast Cancer:

"Then there were people I ran into around town. They were initially angry that I was home and hadn't called them. One woman said I had better have a damned good reason. When I said I was about to start chemo she laughed and then burst into tears in the middle of the street, where I left her. I had to get to the bank before it closed. Although tempted to feel bad about abandoning her there, I couldn't be bothered. There was enough on my mind without adding other people's mourning processes to my plate."

Can't say I haven't been there. At any rate, Lopsided is not for the easily offended...but then again, neither am I.

Now, of course, the idea of being "lopsided" isn't as funny. Surgery went very well yesterday. My right expander was replaced with one that does not leak, and in less than an hour at that. Recovery was quick - I am fortunate to handle anesthesia so well. The recovery nurses commented on how nice it was to see someone smiling in recovery.

Dr. Q replaced the expander and filled the new one up to about half the volume of the first...hence, lopsided. Quite honestly, I don't notice a difference in the size of it now and the size last week. The reason for this half fill is that my incision has to heal before he can start stretching my skin and muscle again, otherwise the incision would stretch instead of the skin. I'll see Dr. Q in a couple of weeks to see when we can start the expansion process again. Until then, I'll just have to be lopsided, or as I prefer to look at it: an expander half-full!

Old Faithful

2012-01-31T21:23:00.002-05:00

TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 2012 7:43 PM, EST

Old Faithful

It was a standard hot Summer in Alabama in 1995. I was fit to be tied when I found out that Nannie was taking us on a "field trip" during the last week of Summer before my Junior year in high school. I mean, what self-respecting 11th grader wants to spend the last week of Summer with her sisters and cousins on an 8-day trip?

We called them field trips for years. We were in a fortunate position in which our grandmother took us on these fabulous trips across the United States, mostly to historical places. We went to Nachez, Mississippi once and toured Antebellum homes. We rode on a train from Alabama to Washington, DC, which was amazing! We visited the Cheeha Mountains, the Cabbage Patch Hospital, Disney World. As children, we were jet-setters. It was kind of a private joke between the 3 of us that Nannie was taking us on yet another field trip. So imaging our surprise when the week prior to our trip, we were each handed two red, screen-printed t-shirts that read in white, "Tatum's Taterbugs Big Horn Country Field Trip." I looked at Tiffany and thought, "You have got to be kidding me." I remember seeing Nannie's look of disappointment when we didn't show up in the airport in our field trip t-shirts, and I thought, "This is going to be the longest 8 days of my life."

The trip was a blast. We went to Mount Rushmore, the Badlands, the rodeo in Cody, Wyoming, and Yellowstone National Park. If memory serves me correctly, Nannie told us that she and Grandaddy honeymooned there in a cabin. At one point during the drive through Yellowstone, Nannie rolled her window down to call a donkey (yes, it was a donkey, though I'm not quite sure why it was roaming around Yellowstone) over to the van with Tiffany, Jayme, myself, and our cousins Joshua and Amber. Nannie was driving, and the donkey came over more quickly than she anticipated. She rolled the window up, but not fast enough. Its lips were reaching further and further into the van, and we were of course belting in laughter. We must have said a million times during that trip, in our deepest, silliest of voices, "Give me a kiss, Nannie!" Jayme and I still crack up over that moment.

Another memory from that trip was watching Old Faithful. There is something terribly interesting about what's going on under the surface of the earth. And that over thousands of years, something can be so predictable as this geyser that more or less erupts on cue. It is fascinating, and under-rated. I'm sure that Nannie was disappointed in our reactions to the trip at the time. She probably thought that the only memory we'd have of that trip would be going to see the movie "Clueless" in the movie theater. I came back with many new favorite phrases like, "What? I totally paused!" when I ran a stop sign. Or using the word "sporadic" over and over again. Cher never would have appreciated that trip, and neither did my eleventh grade mind. But looking back, it was one of the most significant trips of my life, and of course, applicable to what is going on now.

I went to the Filling Station Friday for my routine 2 week fill. My right expander was oddly half the size of the right. Dr. Quintero's face told me that this was not going to amount to good news. He looked perplexed. It was a similar look that Dr. Hargis gave me when he told me I had an "old lady tumor." So Dr. Quintero doubled the contents of the right expander. When he pulled the needle, I could feel the saline solution dripping down my rib cage on the right side...he removed the gauze pad, and there it was - Old Faithful, right on cue. The damn thing was leaking at the port site...likely a manufacturer defect. I knew this wasn't good. I asked Dr. Quintero if we could just place the implants, to which he said no. My right skin isn't stretched enough to get the implant in, and placing the implant now may pull too much on the incision. And so we take a different route...Plan B.

Plan B starts tomorrow. I go in at 8am for what I like to call an "additional" surgery. Dr. Quintero will replace my faulty expander with a working one. The surgery is quick, only about an hour. Then the recovery should be pretty easy. It's after recovery that gets me. This lengthens the expander process (which has been just so much fun!). Dr. Q can only fill me about halfway on the right until my incision heals. In about 2 weeks, we will continue the expansion process until the right catches up with the left in volume. Until then, I will giggle about being lopsided. They say that one breast is generally a little bigger than the other...I don't think this counts!

Nannie has taught me many things...things she probably doesn't even know about. She taught me to love other places, and to learn about them before I visit. I love to travel. Some day Nathan, the boys and I will travel again. And we will appreciate it more when we do. Nannie taught me to love fine things. I have a great love of shoes and other accessories that stems from my Nannie. And Nannie taught me that you have to be nice...that's the legacy you want to leave. Until then, I was just totally clueless.

(Insert fortune here)...in bed!

2012-01-22T15:28:00.000-05:00

SUNDAY, JANUARY 22, 2012 1:41 PM, EST

(Insert fortune here)...in bed!

Mama used to take us out to dinner for Chinese about once a month when we were little. Every month she took us to the same restaurant - Bamboo Garden. The staff from the hostess to the wait staff watched us grow up, and in turn, Mama watched them grow up and have babies. We ate the same thing over and over again, most likely because it was an inexpensive way to feed three children on a nurse's budget. It was an standard Chinese restaurant appetizer that came with a couple of spare ribs, a couple of wontons, shrimp, and beef skewers. It was called the Pu Pu Platter (yes, pronounced "Poo Poo Platter"), and it still makes me giggle to say it out loud (however immature that may be). Month after month, Pu Pu Platter after Pu Pu Platter, we expanded our taste for ethnic food. Honestly, I couldn't have cared less what was in the Pu Pu Platter, as long as I got my fortune cookie at the end of the meal.

And so began my love of cookie fortunes. I keep them now when I feel they are applicable to life. They are on a peg board in my office at work - a simple reminder of what the future holds..."a new journey will change your direction in life." Or perhaps a reminder that I have everything I need, just a phone call away..."friends are closer than they appear."

I have admittedly placed the phrases "in bed" or "with no pants on" at the end of a fortune to entertain a group at a sushi dinner. There's no shame in a little entertainment. But I secretly have hated that game because it somewhat ruins the fortune for me. And yet, I cannot remember the last time I opened a fortune and didn't think, "...in bed!"

Yesterday I posted about Pollyanna, which was followed by a resounding reminder from my sister Tiffany who said, "GIVE IT TO GOD." And give it to God I did. Nathan and I took a break from stress last night and joined our first Louisville friends, BFs Kerrie and Nick, for dinner. I read that reminder from Tiff on the way to the restaurant, and silently gave it to God.

We met Kerrie and Nick at the YMCA just a month after we moved here. Logan was 8 months old, and Nathan and I decided he needed to have some exposure to the water. We enrolled in swim lessons at the YMCA down the street. There were several parents and children in the class, but one couple looked like the kind of people we would have things in common with. We left swim lessons, and I told Nathan that we would both go to the YMCA the following week dressed for the pool, but whoever stayed out of the pool needed to come home with a phone number. We had been in Louisville for a month, and we needed to make some friends.

The following week, Kerrie was in the pool, so I jumped in with Logan. Nathan was aware of the expectations. Kerrie and I spoke a little during swim class, and Nick and Nathan had good conversation about snowboarding and wake boarding. So when we got into the car, I asked Nathan excitedly if he got the number. I will never forget the feeling I had when he said, "Tina, do you know how awkward it was going to be for me to get a grown man's number?!" I understood.

The next week was the last week of swim lessons. We all went to lunch afterward, and we've been connected ever since. As it turns out, Kerrie and Nick were married at the same resort in Mexico where we were married...just one month earlier. Kerrie has also been hit by a car. Neither of them are from Kentucky. Their son is 10 days older than Logan. We continued the trend, and their daughter is 5 weeks younger than Parker. We have an enormous amount of fun together, and we love having them so close.

So dinner last night was a nice break from reality. We ate at Louisville's Napa River Grille - a place that is known for its Tomato Soup (topped with a puff pastry over the top) and Caesar Salad served in a parmesan crust bowl, as well as their steaks. Nathan ordered a Pad Thai - interesting choice I thought, given the specials. But I, too, love a good Pad Thai. Nick had the pork tenderloin, Kerrie had the salmon, and I had an Ahi Tuna special. Dinner was wonderful, and the company was fantastic, but something special happened last night that I feel compelled to share. Nathan's Asian-themed dish earned him the only fortune cookie at the table, and I do love a good God-wink. It read, "Happier days are definitely ahead for you. Struggle has ended." Without paying attention to the words I had heard, I ended it with "in bed!" which earned itself a good laugh...and then beep, beep, back up the truck! "WHAT did that say?" He read it again, slowly. And in that moment, fortune in hand, my husband and a couple of great friends by my side, I felt relief.

Praise God.

Pollyanna, this is Anger...

2012-01-21T16:56:00.001-05:00

SATURDAY, JANUARY 21, 2012 2:21 PM, EST

Pollyanna, this is Anger...

When we were kids, we watched a lot of movies. I still watch a lot of movies. In some circles (very small ones made up mostly of Mama and BF Nicole), I consider myself a critic. I fondly remember many movies from my childhood: The Wizard of Oz, Grease, and Pollyanna to name a few. The Pollyanna attitude is something that I think I’ve adopted throughout life, and certainly through my cancer experience. I am a “glass half full” kind of gal – it’s who I am. I like crystals and prisms, the Glad Game, and I would have steak and ice cream for dinner every night if I could. But honestly, my favorite thing about Pollyanna was the intro, in which a naked boy runs bare-bottomed to a rope swing and releases over the lake, arms flailing. Tiffany, Jayme and I would rewind that VHS tape 15 times to see that poor boys bottom run across the screen…and we would laugh every time like it was the first time we had seen it.

I can probably count on one hand the number of times that I've been really angry. I'd say I've been hurt, or even sad, more than I've been "angry." But as we all know, anger is one of the 5 stages of grief. And I have officially met Anger, who introduced me to Pissed Off.

I'm not the whiny "Why me?" kind of person. But there's nothing like cancer to make you look back on 8 months of your life with contempt. Please excuse me while I have an all out bitchfest for a second. I think we can all agree that it is long overdue, and my therapist is encouraging me to get things out. This happens to be a more amicable method for me to use than penciling something on a piece of paper then burning it.

First, let me start with diagnosis. This is the most terrifying experience (next to labor) that I can think of. Keep in mind that I've never been a trauma patient (unless you count that whole hit with a car thing...yeah, D-Day was worse). God, please keep in mind that this is not an invocation to introduce me to something more terrifying that a cancer diagnosis. I am clearly at my breaking point, and I my little red wagon is full, full, full.

Diagnosis to treatment is fast and furious. You know how a movie makes it look like a place gets bombed one day and the next day there is a war? Well, this is how cancer is. It gives you little time to process what is really happening to you. Treatment breaks you down. Take every good thing you have in your life, and file it into a mental drawer. Then imagine that someone comes into your mental file and rearranges everything in there. Everything that happens over the next year goes into that discombobulated file, mixed in among mismatched memories and current realities. Suddenly you feel like an Alzheimer's patient, scared of what might come out of your mouth and scared that memories may be lost forever; wondering if you can ever recover the words you can't remember or meanings you can't match up. You wonder what else you will forget, and whether or not people notice. You get frustrated when people bring it to your attention because so much of your energy goes into hiding it. You decide how treatment will affect the way you look at yourself – literally the way your “self” looks. You rock the scarf, or you try to keep your life as normal as possible by wearing a wig, only to find either choice hot, sweaty and unnatural. Treatment breaks you down - not just your cancer, but your strength, your memory, your emotional balance, your drive.

And then you realize that chemo was the easy part. But you are broken down, and you are wondering how you are going to get through the surgical experience. As if 4 1/2 months of chemo isn't enough to get to you, it's time to undergo a 6-8 hour surgery, which will render you nipple-less and breast-less alike. You wonder if your husband will ever find you attractive again. Suddenly it becomes pointless for a random person from a gas station or grocery store to give you a look of lust...those people can't see what's underneath your clothes, and they never will. There's only one person who matters, and whose "luscious look" matters moving forward. You wonder if your kids will ever catch you after a shower or while you are dressing and mistake you for a disfigured monster that they dream about hiding in the closet. You fear the next time you are asked, "Do you have a tattoo?" And the only response you can think of is, "Yes, my nipples." That's not edgy. So the surgery is over, and you are in pain...all the time. Except where you can't feel anything – nerve damage is unmistakably irritating. You don’t know how permanent the effects are, and it is surprising when you start feeling pain where you were just numb yesterday. The pain is sometimes startling…sharp, as numbness ebbs and tides.

You recover. You are sad when you hear about others who are sharing in your experience, because you feel like no one should have to endure all of this. Not the girl who stole your boyfriend in college, or the neighbor who didn’t want you to build a fence. Not the guy who cut you off on the way to work, or the teacher you hated the most in high school. No one should know this terror, this sadness, this strength. 1 in 8 women. 1:8 women is diagnosed with breast cancer. Anger, meet Pissed Off.

Tissue expansion is its own blog, and I won’t go into the PITAs, except to say that the process is extremely painful for about 6 days, and then just subsiding pain for the next 8 days…only to start over again. Pain does horrible things to you. It makes stress less easy to cope with, your fuse shorter, and your bang banger. You are unpleasant to be around, and you know it. It makes you want to crawl into a hole for 2 whole days just to save your loved ones from your eager wrath.

And don’t even get me started on the hormone medication. You know when you are pregnant, and you have little to no control over your temper? Yeah, cutting off your hormones at 32 years old after the hardest year of your life intensifies that feeling. Think pregnancy on steroids. That is what menopause is like. Only just like pregnancy, you can’t explain to someone who’s never been through it what it is like. Am I right? You can’t truly put words to the hot flashes and the anxiety (borderline paranoia), and the sheer embarrassment that comes along with them. As if the feeling and internal struggle of the hot flash isn’t bad enough, you have an incomprehensible physical symptom for all the world to see…like a big old scarlet letter tattooed on your chest. But you coast through yet another hardship and continuation of this disease we call “breast” cancer. Let me just tell you…calling something “breast” cancer when it affects your whole life is ridiculously unfair. Oh, you are Pissed Off? Nice to meet you, I’m Tina. They call me Bean.

I have about 2-3 more visits to the Filling Station before I get my new boobs. I swear every time I’m in there, Dr. Quintero tells me that I have 2-3 times to go, but as he says, “It’s not rocket science!” I’ve put myself on a realistically strict diet to lose ten pounds before I will allow myself to go through with my surgery. As if my body image isn’t suffering enough, I have to talk myself into dieting. This really isn’t a bad thing since I’m supposed to be eating “right” and exercising for the rest of my life anyway to reduce my chance of a recurrence. So I put a reward on it – my new ta-tas. I can’t have them until I lose the 10 pounds. This is the thing with a reconstructive breast surgery. I don’t have breast tissue, or padding over the implants. So the actual implants have to be larger than the typical implant because I have no padding (hence the multiple “fills”). Because I have no breast tissue, my breasts won’t grow and shrink as I grow and shrink, as we naturally do. So when I do have my surgery, it is ideal to be at a goal weight so that Dr. Quintero and I are setting the expectation. The drugs that counterbalance the side effects of chemo inevitably make it easy for your body to gain weight, which is exactly what happened in my case. And I can’t exactly count the 4 pounds that Bess and Gretchen took with them! It’s about fit, not about pounds…yeah, yeah, yeah. Tell it to my self-image.

So yes, I’ve met Pissed Off. I hung out with her for a while. I took her out on Mama, who was on the undeserving end of my tirade. While our perceptions of what was said are very different, I shouldn’t have said the things that I did say. All she has done over the last 8 months is be there for me forevery chemo session, hold my children when I couldn’t, keep my family fed in Paula Deen style, and love me and my family. I shouldn’t be posting this before I have an opportunity to talk to her, but I’ve attempted, and I can’t stop my creative mind from rambling once I sit down at the computer. So however unfair that may be, sometimes I am better at an apology on paper than in person. That doesn't make me a coward; it just makes it easier for me to express my thoughts.

Hey Anger, I met your friend Pissed Off. She’s a bitch. In fact, you both are, and Mama always said you are who you hang out with. Why don’t you take a hike so that I can surround myself with positive energy and get my Pollyanna attitude back?

Bean

PS I do have some amazing physical attributes to be grateful for...like hair and eyelashes!!