An improvised life

I finished chemo last week. By some minor miracle, I still have a respectable collection of intact eyelashes – almost 20 on the bottom of each eye and too many to count on top, according to Brian. Likewise with my eyebrows. I wish I could say the same for the friendly flora in my gut, which seem to have taken a beating, but I figure in about ten days I’ll be clear of residual toxins, if not entirely over their effects. Here’s hoping I’ll also be clean of cancer – the surgeon plans to cut it out in five days.   I never did break into the make-up haul I scored at a free Look Good … Feel Better® workshop I attended in July. I thought it would offer tips or encouragement for dealing with hair loss and keeping skin healthy through chemotherapy and radiation. There was some of that, but mostly we just went through our goodie bags and put on make-up under the guidance of a 60-something esthetician who volunteers on the side to help women like me. When we signed up for the class, w

I’ve been corresponding with a friend who, like me, experienced traumatic loss. When she returned to her church, she said, people gave her forlorn looks and asked, "How are you doing?" While everyone meant well, it was stressful. Finally, someone came up to her with a smile and said, “We’re so glad you’re here.” That felt better.       I can relate, I told her. Not long after John died, I was invited to a holiday party. I wanted to go – I wanted to be surrounded by warm laughter and smiles, to soak in the good energy. But I dreaded the pitying looks and meaningful “How are yous.”  Finally, I got a marker and an 8.5” by 11” piece and wrote, “I’m ok, thanks! Can we talk about you?” I taped the paper to my chest and went to the party.   It worked. I saw people catch my eye, begin to assume crestfallen demeanor, then take in the sign and – smile! I had an evening of laughter and escape, and didn’t have to talk about myself.   One of my mother’s key pieces of

In July I met with a genetic counselor; it was a hoop I had to jump through in order to get genetic testing. I figured I had learned what I needed to know from the pamphlet, “Your Jewish Genes: Hereditary Breast Cancer and Ovarian Cancer,” [i] which I found in my oncologist’s waiting area .     But no! Bob Resta was a fast-talking, information-dense fount of facts [ii] . My attorney friend Layla and my physician father happened to be with me, and we were all fascinated, so I thought I’d share some of what we learned as I decimated Mr. Resta's bowl of Dove chocolate and madly scribbled in my notebook. [iii] American women as a whole have a 12 percent lifetime risk of breast cancer. Ninety percent of breast cancer cases do not have an obvious genetic component. There are six genes known to cause breast cancer, at least four of which he said I clearly did not have. Some 30 percent of women who have a breast cancer gene don’t have a family history of breast cancer.