Bone scan was clear.
Tumor was tiny (3.5 mm).
Margins were clear.
Tomorrow we meet with the surgeon and oncologist again.
Thank you all for your unwavering love and support.
2010
Location, Location, Location
For six years now Mary and I have lived two blocks from the local hospital and today it finally paid off. Not that I’ve wished us ill, of course, but years of sirens blasting past the house felt like a reasonable price to pay today for the convenience of not having to schlep 70 miles to Indy (AGAIN). Instead, at 9:35 this morning Mary and I sauntered out the door arm-in-arm for my 9:45 appointment. By 10am a nice woman named Michelle was injecting me with radioactive liquid. Then Mary and I ambled back home, stopping to smell the peonies. Three hours later, after my bones soaked up the juice and were certainly glowing like a skeleton on Halloween, we eased back down the sidewalk again. The trip took 5 minutes door-to-door. The 22-minute bone scan left me plenty of time to try on a few of my new mantras, including “I am at peace with my decision [to get a bone scan]” and “Neal [the tech who scared the shit out of me last week] is a tool.” When the mantra-thing got old, Mary (who sat nearby but out of range) plied me with jokes from her new joke app. (My personal favorite: What did the Buddhist say to the hotdog vendor? Answer: Make me one with everything.) Bone scan? Check. Sense of humor? Check. Radioactive pee? Check. Not having to waste 2.5 hours of a beautiful Spring day in the car? Priceless.
Quick Update
Just a quick post to let you know what’s up. Monday’s early-morning surgery went well. I bounced back super-duper fast. Within 24 hours I was out walking the dog and doing some light gardening. I’m a little sore but otherwise have zero pain. I even practiced a bit of yoga last night, and my muscles seem to be in working order (a relief because my surgeon took a notch out of one). Thank you all for your supportive notes, thoughtful emails and good vibes. Really, you’re amazing. Unfortunately, we still don’t have any details from pathology or about what the future holds in terms of treatment. I’m working hard to be in the moment. Of course it helps immensely that Mary and I have been chillin’ with the Dalai Lama this week during his sixth visit to Bloomington (our second teach-in). And, if anyone can bestow a little serenity on the situation, it’s the DL. As always, he awes and inspires. Next step? Bone scan tomorrow. Taking things one day at a time.
Cancer Redux
Last month, my dermatologist removed a small but suspicious-looking mole from my chest. The growth was suspicious alright but it wasn’t a mole—on April 27th she called to tell me it was breast cancer. I have a lot of questions. I’m sure you will too. Unfortunately, Mary and I have very few answers. I can tell you that we are both about to lose it. We’d love support but we have no idea what we need. Neither one of us can (or wants to) talk about it. Name a toxic emotion and we are feeling it: anger, sadness, fear, confusion and frustration. The new tumor appears to be an outcropping of the original, not a new cancer. That’s all we know for now, but I’ll update the blog when I can. Oh, and I’m scheduled for surgery Monday morning, May 10th.
What The Cluck?
Holy crap. I thought pink washing had hit rock bottom, but cause marketers have one-upped themselves with a new pinkwashing campaign linking Kentucky Fried Chicken to the Susan G. Komen Foundation.
KFC’s campaign, called Buckets for the Cure, donates 50 cents to the Komen Foundation for every pink bucket “purchased by restaurant operators” between April 5th and May 30th, 2010. In an effort to raise $8 million in six weeks, according to Komen’s web site, “The lids of these special pink buckets will have a call to action to get involved. Names of breast cancer survivors and those who have lost their battle with breast cancer will be listed on the sides of the bucket.”
The same bucket that packs up to 2,400 calories and 160 grams of fat. Hello? Does anyone at Komen care that obesity causes breast cancer? Or are they too busy selling us out to the lowest bidder? Seriously. You can’t make this stuff up. The web site comes complete with a rotating pink bucket of fried chicken plastered with thumbnail-sized pictures of breast cancer survivors. Click on the picture to find out more about these poor saps being manipulated by the marketing geniuses at KFC.
I borrowed my blog headline from the clever folks at Breast Cancer Action who’ve skewered breast cancer marketers for years with their “think before you pink” campaign. The non-profit’s web site notes that Buckets for the Cure is “especially egregious because KFC, like most fast food chains, is overwhelmingly present in communities that have poor health outcomes.” Click here to visit Breast Cancer Action’s web site and send KFC and Susan G. Komen an email telling them where they can stuff their bucket.