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Marjie
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Sunday, December 25, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
A little shaken, but still alright
Life is a funny thing. Though the fault of nobody, I got the results of my genetic mutation tissue test last night, on my birthday. I knew they were coming any day now. And I knew, as soon as my genetic counselor received them she would call me, because she's great like that. She knew we were waiting. And we were. But with nearly weeks of no talking about Li Fraumeni Syndrome and cancers, I was in a different place. I was enjoying Hanukkah and my birthday and the wedding planning. But *BAM* There it is AGAIN. Something to crush my spirit - hopefully temporarily. But it's always something.I said to Sean last night: "Is this it? Is this all they can tell us? Are we waiting for any more results?" Because honestly, as soon as I'm "happy" again or beginning to move on, or at least trying to move on, we hear other news, other test results. BUT, in all fairness, we were expecting this. We were first expecting the first results, if I had the mutation at all or not. Then we were expecting my mom's results, from when she got tested. When her test came back negative about two weeks ago I was ecstatic, thinking maybe I didn't have the mutation everywhere. Maybe it was just in my blood, and NOT in my breast tissue.
But, of course, life is a funny thing and it works in funny ways. Last night my genetic counselor called to tell me the mutation was found in both my healthy breast tissue, and the tumor tissue (taken from my mastectomy on May).
Having even a mosaic (in some cells, but not all) form of Li Fraumeni Syndrome significantly increases cancer risk and alters your life. There's endless and in-depth screenings and tests. For life. But if the mutation HADN'T been in my breast tissue, I could maybe, JUST MAYBE have lived with the other breast for two or three years. We would have kids, and THEN I would get a mastectomy. But now, knowing the mutation is in my tissue, and at any moment can form another tumor in my healthy breast (whether that's how it works or not, but that's how I picture it), I want my mastectomy sooner. I don't want to live with the risk, and even moreso, the anxiety. I don't want to live with the high-risk screenings of self exams every month, mixed in with MRIs alternated with mammograms every six months. I don't want to wait for results from those tests, and think that I find a lump every time I do an exam, or WONDER if a lump is benign or not when a spot shows up on a mammogram or MRI. I don't want to live like that. So, scratch the whole kids thing right after marriage. (Life sucks, doesn't it? Because I wanted that.) Scratch that, and insert, instead, a left prophylactic mastectomy. After the honeymoon. So, late June, early July time frame. Six months. I can do that. Barely, but I can.
There's no peace of mind until the other breast is gone. I can talk with my therapist, talk with my family, talk with my friends, talk in this blog. I can talk and try to achieve some peace of mind. But the fact is that there's a mutation IN MY BREAST TISSUE and I have one breast left. GET RID OF IT.
This also opens up many other doors I wish would have stayed closed, like the higher chance this could be passed onto my children, and the fact that since this mutation is in my breast tissue, it is in ALL my tissue all over my body.
When I was diagnosed with LFS my world undoubtly changed. I knew health issues would be a part of my life forever. I knew I'd always be screened and scared and screened. But when there was a glimmer of hope the mutation wasn't in my tissue, I was managing. I held onto that, thinking it was just a fluke that I got breast cancer, that the mutation was only in my blood, and that while my chances of getting another cancer were high, they were less high than if the mutation was also in my tissue. I really had that hope. I had that belief. I was aiming for that. I almost believed it. But now, I am devestated all over again and must force myself, again, to "come out" of this whole, to come out of this slump. This little ditch. I'll have to think, again, how this affects my life, in a different way now. Not all that different, but definitely different.
That my plan for 2012 is get married, go on a honeymoon, have a mastectomy. That having kids is this whole huge, big and possibly expensive and worrisome ordeal. That my chance of cancer is HIGH.
What hasn't changed between yesterday, before I got that call, and now? I'm still going to live with the attitude that I can't control getting cancer but I CAN live my life the best way I know how, I CAN get screenings and tests, and I CAN control how I handle what happens to me.
And that's what I'm going with now.
Despite that, my birthday was amazing yesterday! I am now a thriving 27-year-old! Sean brought me two dozen BEAUTIFUL red roses, and got me my favorite dinner, which is (though simple, but always yummy) veggie sushi with brown rice. And I got SO many beautiful, amazing birthday wishes from friends and family! Thanks to everyone who helped make my day a special one!
Tonight one of my best friends, and bridesmaids - Jordanna - comes to visit for the weekend! I am so excited to spend time with her and show her State College, and to have a very Jewish Christmas Eve with her tomorrow night, consisting of a night at the movies and a Chinese food dinner! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it!
Happy 24th birthday today to my amazing brother, Drew! Happy fourth night of Hanukkah! And happy 99 days until me and Sean TIE THAT KNOT!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Happy birthday to ... ME!
Hi everyone!Just a quick post for today, my 27th birthday, and also the 100-day mark from our wedding!
I've had so many birthday wishes already, including a midnight text from my brother! Thanks, Drew!
Other highlights, thus far, include my free birthday Starbucks coffee, and me decked out in my favorite designer, Betsey Johnson! I wear her a lot, but don't usually go all out unless it's a special occasion. My friends and family have been generous over the past few months and because of them I have plenty of Betsey items to wear. Today I'm wearing Betsey earrings, bracelet, socks and perfume! It may sound both silly and materialistic, but wearing Betsey makes me happy. I admire her for her bold, feminine style, and also because she's a breast cancer survivor. She's taken her experience with breast cancer and used that strength to raise money and awareness, through both her fashion and charities.
Thanks to everyone for all the happy birthday greetings today!
So, here's to ME on my birthday (and everyone else who's celebrating today), the third night of Hanukkah, my brother's birthday tomorrow, and 100 days TODAY from our wedding! Another year has gone by, and my, oh my, has it been an eventful one.
*Picture: me and Sean on the first night of Hanukkah! 12/20/11
More pics from our Hanukkah party to come later!
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Get up, dress up and show up
One of my new favorite quotes, that I discovered a few days ago, reads: "No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up."
I find that to be my current mantra for many things.
Despite how I feel on the inside or outside, I force myself to keep on keeping on. I have found, that living life in full, no matter how I feel on the inside or outside, increases my quality of life. Doing things helps put other stuff in perspective. Living life and having fun makes me realize, each day, that there is so much more to life than what I've been through medically the past few months. It also reminds me of the life I have and the people in it will get me through anything that comes my way. It takes my breast cancer and Li Fraumeni Syndrome, and physical pain, and puts it away a little bit. It makes it smaller. It puts it in a box. It takes, what normally is a huge rock or cloud, and shrinks it a little. Makes it less scary. Despite my many attempts not to, I give SO much energy to the breast cancer, future of my health, and my worries and anxieties. They get so much attention. But when I live my life and keep my plans and make new plans and surround myself with the people and things I love, I give more energy to the good, and less to the bad.
I still have pain. I still have worry. I still have anxiety. And sometimes, I still feel that none of those three things have improved at all within the last few weeks. But I make sure to keep making plans and to participate in what I have already planned, whether it's work or parties.
I have also learned, that despite my worrying that I won't enjoy an upcoming event BECAUSE of my worries, anxieties and pain, that I actually DO. I enjoy things fully, even if I think I won't. Does that make sense? I had always worried, since my diagnosis, that the breast cancer and everything that came with it, would rob me of these fun, meaningful, once-in-a-lifetime moments that come with planning and preparing for a wedding. That I would miss out. That my worries would take away from my fun. That I wouldn't be able to fully concentrate, or enjoy, or engulf all the wedding planning and pre-wedding fun BECAUSE of the breast cancer and the Li Fraumeni Syndrome. But I always do, and I always have. I don't know if it's just me being me or life being life or if I am really, really trying hard to NOT let my health take over everything. Either way, the good shines through the bad, and I enjoy every moment as fully as I think I would, had I not been on this breast cancer journey.
My three bridal showers were the most amazing, memorable moments of my life. And take yesterday's Hanukkah party. Sean and I had wanted to host our own Hanukkah party since last year. And last night we did it, and it was incredible. About eight of our friends came over. We made latkes, lit the menorah and played dreidel. Our friends brought amazing, yummy goodies, like peanut butter and jelly cupcakes, persimmon bread, cheese from Wisconsin, donuts and other treats. It was the PERFECT first Hanukkah party for me and Sean. Just perfect. Friends and fun and food and cheer. Everything Hanukkah is supposed to be.
This always goes back to me trying to picture my life now had I not had breast cancer. I always wonder if I would have had more fun in my "other life." If the wedding planning would be better. I've touched on this topic many times in my blog, mostly because it keeps coming back to me. But I've figured out, that while yes, some things ARE different now in a bad way (the actual physical pain I feel, and the worry about getting cancer again and getting another mastectomy), many things are different in a good way, and that's I think I may enjoy life more and treasure and cherish every moment.
I know it's not productive for me to picture my life had I not had breast cancer. Even if I find good in the situation. That's because it's not the case. I DID get breast cancer, and it DID happen while planning my wedding. And I DO have pain and worry and anxieties. So much more so than if I didn't have cancer twice or Li Fraumeni Syndrome. These things are true. But, they are what they are. I could picture me and Sean hosting our Hanukkah party if I never had breast cancer. I'm not sure what would be different except the fact that I wouldn't have pain. So, I have pain. It's not fun. But I have it. I'm still healing from surgery.
But I guess the most important thing is that I'm getting uo, dressing up and showing up. To everything, every day. Sometimes there's crying and yelling beforehand. Sometimes there's a panic attack. But I have to, HAVE TO, keep doing it. Why? Because the alternative is not good. Doing nothing. Not good. And why else? Because I have learned, and now KNOW, that living my life, despite how I feel physically and emotionally, HELPS ME. It helps put my worries and pain in perspective. It takes away their power. It takes the breast cancer and health worries and pushes them to the side. And in their place puts in the aspects of life I cherish and enjoy: friends, family, parties and planning my wedding. And the more the good aspects of my life dominate, the more hope I get. The more I want to keep on keeping on. Because I realize, with each good part of life, that I do have a good life. Not all of it is good, but most of it is. Like 99 percent. And, sure, it takes some effort to remind myself of that. And sure, I have to KEEP reminding myself of that.
101 days until the wedding. A little more than three months. I'm wondering ... when will it feel REAL?! One month until? One day? I still can't picture it. This big, amazing thing we've been planning since February. My dress is in. The invitations are sitting in our kitchen, next to our Ketubah. Our wedding bands are picked out and ordered, and a deposit has been put in. My bachelorette weekend, something I've literally been excited about since August, is coming up in only a few short weeks. This.is.really.happening.
I guess I thought, by now, it would be easier to see it all ahead of me. I thought most of my worries about getting breast cancer again BEFORE the wedding would be gone, especially after my last ultrasound in October, the day before my reconstructive surgery. But I guess it's not that easy, or that simple. I guess I'll have worries all the time. Until the day of the wedding, and every day after. They don't just go away. I'm not sure why I thought they did.
But the important thing is that I'm still moving on and moving forward. I haven't stopped, and don't plan to. And one day, I'll write a blog post, and I'll say it's 50 days until the wedding. And I'll ask myself: does it feel real yet? And what will I say? Will it ever feel real? I think, breast cancer or no breast cancer, LFS or not, it won't feel real. Or maybe it doesn't feel real BECAUSE of those very things - this journey I've been on the last few months. But I don't know. I don't know about the "old me," the me that didn't go through this. I can't picture it. I can't even try to. And that's because that's not my life. It's definitely not my life. THIS is my life. It's not always fair or easy, but I'm doing it. I'm doing MY life. I'm doing THIS life. I guess what's funny is that I didn't realize it. I kept thinking I hadn't gotten to living THIS life yet. This life, as a breast cancer survivor. That's because I kept trying to imagine my other life. But that life doesn't exist. THIS is the one that exists, and I know, deep down inside, that this is the only one I want, and this is the best one there is, despite the terrible things that have happened in it. THIS is me. There is no OTHER me. It's time to understand that, in full.
Or maybe I already knew, but didn't realize I already knew. Maybe that's why, every day, I get up, dress up and show up. Because I know I have no other choice. It's simple really, and sounds silly, but the only way to live THIS life is to keep living it. And part of that whole process is both knowing you're living it, and not knowing you're living it. But I guess, if I look at my life now, at the end of December, with my 27th birthday tomorrow, and look back to April, which seems worlds away and yet like it was only yesterday, I HAVE been living THIS life. A whirlpool of a life. But it's mine, and it's time for me to stop imagining another life. Not only is this one just fine, it's amazing.
So why "no matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up?" Because that's how you move. And perhaps the scariest thing in life is living a life that doesn't change, and being a person that doesn't grow.
Sometimes I feel that while I'm moving at a snail's pace in terms of healing physically and emotionally, my world around me is moving very, very fast. I've had to deal with a lot these past few months. I've had to fight breast cancer, prepare and heal from three surgeries, learn I have Li Fraumeni Syndrome and somehow "deal" with that news and how it will change my life, all the while planning my wedding and keeping up with what makes me ME, and what makes my life tick. (and this is not to mention the literal emotional rollercoaster I'm on every day.) All of that is fast. We're only a week away from 2012. A new year. The year I'll get married. My 27th year of life.
Ironically, my birthday tomorrow also is the 100-day mark of the wedding. Two very important things in one day. So how can life move so slowly, yet so fast? How can I feel like a snail in the middle of a whirlpool?
I could easily see myself, as a snail, drowning in a fast-moving whirlpool. Swishing, dangerous waters. And little me, tiny and frail and slow. But if I look a little bit harder, that's not the case at all. This snail is surviving. Swimming. And, somehow, someway, thriving. Even if just a little. (Do snails swim?)
Anyway, I could be a million different animals or insects, and my world could metaphorically be any natural force on earth. But I'm fine being a snail and I'm fine living in a whirlpool. Because this is my life now, and this is how it is. So I better enjoy it. Because frankly, it doesn't get much better than this. This, my friends, is an experience. A fast, slow, scary, happy, terrifying, enjoyable, hopeful, depressing, inspiring, devestating, blessed experience. It's called life.
Like it or not, GET UP. DRESS UP. SHOW UP. This is it.
I find that to be my current mantra for many things.
Despite how I feel on the inside or outside, I force myself to keep on keeping on. I have found, that living life in full, no matter how I feel on the inside or outside, increases my quality of life. Doing things helps put other stuff in perspective. Living life and having fun makes me realize, each day, that there is so much more to life than what I've been through medically the past few months. It also reminds me of the life I have and the people in it will get me through anything that comes my way. It takes my breast cancer and Li Fraumeni Syndrome, and physical pain, and puts it away a little bit. It makes it smaller. It puts it in a box. It takes, what normally is a huge rock or cloud, and shrinks it a little. Makes it less scary. Despite my many attempts not to, I give SO much energy to the breast cancer, future of my health, and my worries and anxieties. They get so much attention. But when I live my life and keep my plans and make new plans and surround myself with the people and things I love, I give more energy to the good, and less to the bad.
I still have pain. I still have worry. I still have anxiety. And sometimes, I still feel that none of those three things have improved at all within the last few weeks. But I make sure to keep making plans and to participate in what I have already planned, whether it's work or parties.
I have also learned, that despite my worrying that I won't enjoy an upcoming event BECAUSE of my worries, anxieties and pain, that I actually DO. I enjoy things fully, even if I think I won't. Does that make sense? I had always worried, since my diagnosis, that the breast cancer and everything that came with it, would rob me of these fun, meaningful, once-in-a-lifetime moments that come with planning and preparing for a wedding. That I would miss out. That my worries would take away from my fun. That I wouldn't be able to fully concentrate, or enjoy, or engulf all the wedding planning and pre-wedding fun BECAUSE of the breast cancer and the Li Fraumeni Syndrome. But I always do, and I always have. I don't know if it's just me being me or life being life or if I am really, really trying hard to NOT let my health take over everything. Either way, the good shines through the bad, and I enjoy every moment as fully as I think I would, had I not been on this breast cancer journey.
My three bridal showers were the most amazing, memorable moments of my life. And take yesterday's Hanukkah party. Sean and I had wanted to host our own Hanukkah party since last year. And last night we did it, and it was incredible. About eight of our friends came over. We made latkes, lit the menorah and played dreidel. Our friends brought amazing, yummy goodies, like peanut butter and jelly cupcakes, persimmon bread, cheese from Wisconsin, donuts and other treats. It was the PERFECT first Hanukkah party for me and Sean. Just perfect. Friends and fun and food and cheer. Everything Hanukkah is supposed to be.
This always goes back to me trying to picture my life now had I not had breast cancer. I always wonder if I would have had more fun in my "other life." If the wedding planning would be better. I've touched on this topic many times in my blog, mostly because it keeps coming back to me. But I've figured out, that while yes, some things ARE different now in a bad way (the actual physical pain I feel, and the worry about getting cancer again and getting another mastectomy), many things are different in a good way, and that's I think I may enjoy life more and treasure and cherish every moment.
I know it's not productive for me to picture my life had I not had breast cancer. Even if I find good in the situation. That's because it's not the case. I DID get breast cancer, and it DID happen while planning my wedding. And I DO have pain and worry and anxieties. So much more so than if I didn't have cancer twice or Li Fraumeni Syndrome. These things are true. But, they are what they are. I could picture me and Sean hosting our Hanukkah party if I never had breast cancer. I'm not sure what would be different except the fact that I wouldn't have pain. So, I have pain. It's not fun. But I have it. I'm still healing from surgery.
But I guess the most important thing is that I'm getting uo, dressing up and showing up. To everything, every day. Sometimes there's crying and yelling beforehand. Sometimes there's a panic attack. But I have to, HAVE TO, keep doing it. Why? Because the alternative is not good. Doing nothing. Not good. And why else? Because I have learned, and now KNOW, that living my life, despite how I feel physically and emotionally, HELPS ME. It helps put my worries and pain in perspective. It takes away their power. It takes the breast cancer and health worries and pushes them to the side. And in their place puts in the aspects of life I cherish and enjoy: friends, family, parties and planning my wedding. And the more the good aspects of my life dominate, the more hope I get. The more I want to keep on keeping on. Because I realize, with each good part of life, that I do have a good life. Not all of it is good, but most of it is. Like 99 percent. And, sure, it takes some effort to remind myself of that. And sure, I have to KEEP reminding myself of that.
101 days until the wedding. A little more than three months. I'm wondering ... when will it feel REAL?! One month until? One day? I still can't picture it. This big, amazing thing we've been planning since February. My dress is in. The invitations are sitting in our kitchen, next to our Ketubah. Our wedding bands are picked out and ordered, and a deposit has been put in. My bachelorette weekend, something I've literally been excited about since August, is coming up in only a few short weeks. This.is.really.happening.
I guess I thought, by now, it would be easier to see it all ahead of me. I thought most of my worries about getting breast cancer again BEFORE the wedding would be gone, especially after my last ultrasound in October, the day before my reconstructive surgery. But I guess it's not that easy, or that simple. I guess I'll have worries all the time. Until the day of the wedding, and every day after. They don't just go away. I'm not sure why I thought they did.
But the important thing is that I'm still moving on and moving forward. I haven't stopped, and don't plan to. And one day, I'll write a blog post, and I'll say it's 50 days until the wedding. And I'll ask myself: does it feel real yet? And what will I say? Will it ever feel real? I think, breast cancer or no breast cancer, LFS or not, it won't feel real. Or maybe it doesn't feel real BECAUSE of those very things - this journey I've been on the last few months. But I don't know. I don't know about the "old me," the me that didn't go through this. I can't picture it. I can't even try to. And that's because that's not my life. It's definitely not my life. THIS is my life. It's not always fair or easy, but I'm doing it. I'm doing MY life. I'm doing THIS life. I guess what's funny is that I didn't realize it. I kept thinking I hadn't gotten to living THIS life yet. This life, as a breast cancer survivor. That's because I kept trying to imagine my other life. But that life doesn't exist. THIS is the one that exists, and I know, deep down inside, that this is the only one I want, and this is the best one there is, despite the terrible things that have happened in it. THIS is me. There is no OTHER me. It's time to understand that, in full.
Or maybe I already knew, but didn't realize I already knew. Maybe that's why, every day, I get up, dress up and show up. Because I know I have no other choice. It's simple really, and sounds silly, but the only way to live THIS life is to keep living it. And part of that whole process is both knowing you're living it, and not knowing you're living it. But I guess, if I look at my life now, at the end of December, with my 27th birthday tomorrow, and look back to April, which seems worlds away and yet like it was only yesterday, I HAVE been living THIS life. A whirlpool of a life. But it's mine, and it's time for me to stop imagining another life. Not only is this one just fine, it's amazing.
So why "no matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up?" Because that's how you move. And perhaps the scariest thing in life is living a life that doesn't change, and being a person that doesn't grow.
Sometimes I feel that while I'm moving at a snail's pace in terms of healing physically and emotionally, my world around me is moving very, very fast. I've had to deal with a lot these past few months. I've had to fight breast cancer, prepare and heal from three surgeries, learn I have Li Fraumeni Syndrome and somehow "deal" with that news and how it will change my life, all the while planning my wedding and keeping up with what makes me ME, and what makes my life tick. (and this is not to mention the literal emotional rollercoaster I'm on every day.) All of that is fast. We're only a week away from 2012. A new year. The year I'll get married. My 27th year of life.
Ironically, my birthday tomorrow also is the 100-day mark of the wedding. Two very important things in one day. So how can life move so slowly, yet so fast? How can I feel like a snail in the middle of a whirlpool?
I could easily see myself, as a snail, drowning in a fast-moving whirlpool. Swishing, dangerous waters. And little me, tiny and frail and slow. But if I look a little bit harder, that's not the case at all. This snail is surviving. Swimming. And, somehow, someway, thriving. Even if just a little. (Do snails swim?)
Anyway, I could be a million different animals or insects, and my world could metaphorically be any natural force on earth. But I'm fine being a snail and I'm fine living in a whirlpool. Because this is my life now, and this is how it is. So I better enjoy it. Because frankly, it doesn't get much better than this. This, my friends, is an experience. A fast, slow, scary, happy, terrifying, enjoyable, hopeful, depressing, inspiring, devestating, blessed experience. It's called life.
Like it or not, GET UP. DRESS UP. SHOW UP. This is it.
Monday, December 19, 2011
My Hanukkah column 2011
Holiday brings new year of stories
December 16, 2011
Lewistown Sentinel
In the past two years in my Hanukkah columns, I've written about how although the holiday brings many familiarities, it means something different to me each year.
Now, more than ever, is that true. As Hanukkah approaches Dec. 20, I am forced to reflect back in this past year's events, what they mean to me now, and how they'll help shape my future.
At the age of 26 I got engaged, but I also fought breast cancer. I planned my wedding, but also underwent three surgeries.
This year has been, and is, the best year of my life. But it also has been the most challenging, stressful and devastating.
When I think back to Hanukkah last year, I feel like I'm looking into a small window at a different person in a different life in a different world. Sure, back then my life wasn't untouched by hardships. But it was untouched by breast cancer. And although I was with my now fiancee back then, we weren't engaged, and weren't planning our wedding.
Now, in the midst of China patterns and thank-you notes, I am a glowing bride-to-be. We've had numerous engagement parties and bridal showers. I never thought I could be this happy. Every moment has been a delicate, memorable experience, from choosing our flower arrangements to me trying on my veil. But in the middle of my happy moments, I've been dealing with the physical, emotional and mental aspects of a breast cancer diagnosis.
It seemed ironic to me that at the highest point and the healthiest time in my life, I would get cancer. I had just started running 5Ks, and wore the same jeans size I wore in high school. But my very own planet Earth, swirling joyously and carefree in space, came to an abrupt, dust-in-the-air, halt. And silence. I felt like I was waiting in a dark room, paralyzed by fear and shock, unable to move, unable to see the next step, unable to see any sort of light. That was April.
And then what?
Do we move forward with planning the wedding, or do we wonder if we're having the wedding? Do we imagine what kind of treatments I'll have? What do we do? What do we think? What do we say?
When I think back at those months that followed I have a hard time believing I went through it all. Now, it's December, and I'm starting to think about our annual family Hanukkah party, and the party my fiancee, Sean, and I will throw at our home, for the first time, in which I will actually be making latkes! (A sight to see, I'm sure.)
In no way are my health issues over, especially after recently learning that I carry a rare genetic mutation that makes me susceptible to cancer. But with three surgeries later and a "clean bill of health," I can say that this specific breast cancer journey is behind me.
It's amazing that my journey was so short - about six months in total. But that doesn't take into account the lifetime I still face of mammograms, MRIs and ultrasounds, and the fear of recurrence, or getting another new breast cancer.
In no way was my journey emotionally short, though; each day felt like a year as we waited for test results, surgeries, more tests and more test results. Time moved at a snail's pace. And why wouldn't it? I was waiting to hear, every day, how my life would change.
Waiting was excruciating, and it made the last six months feel like six decades. But I was lucky in the fact that my cancer was caught so early that I didn't need chemotherapy or radiation. When I say my journey was "short," I am thinking about the many women who face breast cancer for years. No two diagnoses and situations are alike, and no two treatment plans are alike. I was, and am lucky, in that my cancer was treated and today I am able to get back to life.
So what makes Hanukkah this year?
I've always been an optimistic person. Fighting my first cancer (funny how it became my "first" cancer) at age 12 did that to me. I became strong, and decided I wanted to enjoy every moment of life.
So while breast cancer didn't "make" me a better or stronger person, because I believe I was strong before, it gave me something else. That's not to say I don't have my moments. Especially the past few months. I've had the crying and screaming and case of the "why me?"s. I've been mad at the world and called it unfair. I've compared my life to others and wondered why other women my age got to be healthy. And trust me, I still have those moments. But I decided, from the moment I got diagnosed, that I was going to turn this situation into something better.
Although I couldn't control getting cancer, I could control how I handled it and how I lived my life. I started a blog. I gave an interview on the Lifetime website for the movie "Five." I decided to raise awareness of breast cancer in young women. I decided to give money to research and resources. I decided I would tell my story because I didn't want to hide it.
This experience has taught me that I have some incredible people in my life. My family and friends have reached out and supported me in ways I could have never imagined. And my amazing fiancee, Sean, has stood by my side, from the time I told him I found a lump, to the day my doctor called me at 8:30 in the morning on a warm April morning to tell me the news. From the debilitating pain of having a tissue expander under my chest wall, to the preparation and recovery from my surgeries. To today.
In previous years, Hanukkah has always been about celebrating family, friends, food and life. It's about our crazy family traditions and reflections on yet another year gone by.
This year I'll plan my outfit weeks ahead of time, like I always do. I'll save my Weight Watchers points so I can "nosh" (Yiddush for "snack") on latkes and chocolate. I'll look forward to hugging and kissing my family. I'll try to imagine what gifts I'll take home from the gift game - socks or hot chocolate? We'll sing around the piano our traditional Hanukkah songs, and light the many Menorahs all at once. We'll look on with awe as the candles burn bright and we remember who we are as a people and why Judaism is so meaningful to us.
Today I look to this holiday with hope and inspiration. This year, I'm blessed. This year I'll be me. Sure, a new me, a changed me. But me. I'm still here and I'm doing just fine.
Hanukkah, and all that's associated with it, is my soft pink pillow, that even through life's scary thunderstorms, remains soft.
And I'm a tree. In the rain I get soft and peel. In the wind I sway, and maybe even fall over. In the lighting I split in half. But the sun always comes out again, and the seasons always change, and I'm still standing.
During Hanukkah this year, I'll be my tree, with my soft pink pillow beside me, resting atop my roots, lodged deep in the ground.
Thank you for opening your minds and hearts to my experiences. Happy holidays, and L'Chaim! (To life!)
Marjorie Stromberg is the health and human services reporter for The Sentinel.
December 16, 2011
Lewistown Sentinel
In the past two years in my Hanukkah columns, I've written about how although the holiday brings many familiarities, it means something different to me each year.
Now, more than ever, is that true. As Hanukkah approaches Dec. 20, I am forced to reflect back in this past year's events, what they mean to me now, and how they'll help shape my future.
At the age of 26 I got engaged, but I also fought breast cancer. I planned my wedding, but also underwent three surgeries.
This year has been, and is, the best year of my life. But it also has been the most challenging, stressful and devastating.
When I think back to Hanukkah last year, I feel like I'm looking into a small window at a different person in a different life in a different world. Sure, back then my life wasn't untouched by hardships. But it was untouched by breast cancer. And although I was with my now fiancee back then, we weren't engaged, and weren't planning our wedding.
Now, in the midst of China patterns and thank-you notes, I am a glowing bride-to-be. We've had numerous engagement parties and bridal showers. I never thought I could be this happy. Every moment has been a delicate, memorable experience, from choosing our flower arrangements to me trying on my veil. But in the middle of my happy moments, I've been dealing with the physical, emotional and mental aspects of a breast cancer diagnosis.
It seemed ironic to me that at the highest point and the healthiest time in my life, I would get cancer. I had just started running 5Ks, and wore the same jeans size I wore in high school. But my very own planet Earth, swirling joyously and carefree in space, came to an abrupt, dust-in-the-air, halt. And silence. I felt like I was waiting in a dark room, paralyzed by fear and shock, unable to move, unable to see the next step, unable to see any sort of light. That was April.
And then what?
Do we move forward with planning the wedding, or do we wonder if we're having the wedding? Do we imagine what kind of treatments I'll have? What do we do? What do we think? What do we say?
When I think back at those months that followed I have a hard time believing I went through it all. Now, it's December, and I'm starting to think about our annual family Hanukkah party, and the party my fiancee, Sean, and I will throw at our home, for the first time, in which I will actually be making latkes! (A sight to see, I'm sure.)
In no way are my health issues over, especially after recently learning that I carry a rare genetic mutation that makes me susceptible to cancer. But with three surgeries later and a "clean bill of health," I can say that this specific breast cancer journey is behind me.
It's amazing that my journey was so short - about six months in total. But that doesn't take into account the lifetime I still face of mammograms, MRIs and ultrasounds, and the fear of recurrence, or getting another new breast cancer.
In no way was my journey emotionally short, though; each day felt like a year as we waited for test results, surgeries, more tests and more test results. Time moved at a snail's pace. And why wouldn't it? I was waiting to hear, every day, how my life would change.
Waiting was excruciating, and it made the last six months feel like six decades. But I was lucky in the fact that my cancer was caught so early that I didn't need chemotherapy or radiation. When I say my journey was "short," I am thinking about the many women who face breast cancer for years. No two diagnoses and situations are alike, and no two treatment plans are alike. I was, and am lucky, in that my cancer was treated and today I am able to get back to life.
So what makes Hanukkah this year?
I've always been an optimistic person. Fighting my first cancer (funny how it became my "first" cancer) at age 12 did that to me. I became strong, and decided I wanted to enjoy every moment of life.
So while breast cancer didn't "make" me a better or stronger person, because I believe I was strong before, it gave me something else. That's not to say I don't have my moments. Especially the past few months. I've had the crying and screaming and case of the "why me?"s. I've been mad at the world and called it unfair. I've compared my life to others and wondered why other women my age got to be healthy. And trust me, I still have those moments. But I decided, from the moment I got diagnosed, that I was going to turn this situation into something better.
Although I couldn't control getting cancer, I could control how I handled it and how I lived my life. I started a blog. I gave an interview on the Lifetime website for the movie "Five." I decided to raise awareness of breast cancer in young women. I decided to give money to research and resources. I decided I would tell my story because I didn't want to hide it.
This experience has taught me that I have some incredible people in my life. My family and friends have reached out and supported me in ways I could have never imagined. And my amazing fiancee, Sean, has stood by my side, from the time I told him I found a lump, to the day my doctor called me at 8:30 in the morning on a warm April morning to tell me the news. From the debilitating pain of having a tissue expander under my chest wall, to the preparation and recovery from my surgeries. To today.
In previous years, Hanukkah has always been about celebrating family, friends, food and life. It's about our crazy family traditions and reflections on yet another year gone by.
This year I'll plan my outfit weeks ahead of time, like I always do. I'll save my Weight Watchers points so I can "nosh" (Yiddush for "snack") on latkes and chocolate. I'll look forward to hugging and kissing my family. I'll try to imagine what gifts I'll take home from the gift game - socks or hot chocolate? We'll sing around the piano our traditional Hanukkah songs, and light the many Menorahs all at once. We'll look on with awe as the candles burn bright and we remember who we are as a people and why Judaism is so meaningful to us.
Today I look to this holiday with hope and inspiration. This year, I'm blessed. This year I'll be me. Sure, a new me, a changed me. But me. I'm still here and I'm doing just fine.
Hanukkah, and all that's associated with it, is my soft pink pillow, that even through life's scary thunderstorms, remains soft.
And I'm a tree. In the rain I get soft and peel. In the wind I sway, and maybe even fall over. In the lighting I split in half. But the sun always comes out again, and the seasons always change, and I'm still standing.
During Hanukkah this year, I'll be my tree, with my soft pink pillow beside me, resting atop my roots, lodged deep in the ground.
Thank you for opening your minds and hearts to my experiences. Happy holidays, and L'Chaim! (To life!)
Marjorie Stromberg is the health and human services reporter for The Sentinel.
The direct link:
Friday, December 16, 2011
My story on the PA Breast Cancer Coalition's blog!
Hi everyone,
I am so honored to be featured as one of two survivor story winners for the Pennsylvania Breast Cancer Coalition's September Pink Link Contest!
Please read my story and pass it along!
Thank you SO much to the PA Breast Cancer Coalition for this opportunity to share my story, and for all they do for women, and their families, dealing with breast cancer in Pennsylvania. I am so excited to get this opportunity!
I am so honored to be featured as one of two survivor story winners for the Pennsylvania Breast Cancer Coalition's September Pink Link Contest!
Please read my story and pass it along!
Thank you SO much to the PA Breast Cancer Coalition for this opportunity to share my story, and for all they do for women, and their families, dealing with breast cancer in Pennsylvania. I am so excited to get this opportunity!
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