December

The spirit of Christmas is everywhere. I love this time of year. I love the music, the hot cocoa, the candy canes, the snow, the old TV shows, Christmas trees, baking cookies......ALL of it. It's December and for one month of the year, we give and receive. We reach out to those less fortunate and we spend just a little extra on the little things. I love getting dressed up in red and white, wearing my girl shoes and my holiday sparkles and holding a martini glass. 'Tis the season for Santa and pomatinis.
This year is a little different. Budgeting my energy, i have to tone it down this year. Way down. I can't pull off shopping all morning, baking holiday cookies, wrapping gifts and stuffing christmas cards into envelopes. I have a whole 'nother tote of decorations I don't have the energy to put up nor the heart to ask my overloaded husband to do it for me. I want the outdoor Christmas lights to work so badly, but the task of hooking them all up is indescribably daunting. This is the time of year to spoil the family that spoils me all year long and I haven't a shred of energy to do it. Instead, I must learn to let things go, and to look to others for help. It is such a HUGE lesson in humility for me. However, I have had an epiphane of sorts. Yes, another one....
Christmas is the season of giving. While I sit here and lament my own situation of not being able to make music CD's for all of my friends, Soccer DVD's for my daughters' soccer team(s), witty Christmas letters that make people smile, or plateloads of elaborately decorated sugar cookies, there is one thing I can give others: the gift of giving to others. I know. Sounds crazy but lately, i've noticed that we are so wrapped up in our own independence that we rob others of the opportunity to do something nice for us. For example, what do you get the 44 year-old woman who has everything? How many of us are trying to think of that special gift for someone that we want to honor this holiday season but can't come up with anything because they have it all? Most of my friends seem to be doing pretty well. They are fortunate enough to have not only the basics of food, shelter and water, but a few trinkets as well. In my minimal attempts of going shopping, I have witnessed people buying items for others just to give something but not really getting something that the other person wants. I have literally, heard people say, if they don't like it, they can bring it back and get what they want. True. Its kind of missing the point though. If a friend takes the time to get a gift for you and really puts some thought and effort into it, is it ever something you would take back? Probably not because the thought and effort they put into it is the true gift right? Someone knitted me a hat recently that isn't EXACTLY what I would wear, but the fact that she knitted it for me, with absolutely no free time of her own due to a job and two kids and the fact that she genuinely picked something that she thought I would like, makes me wear that hat everyday. I used to think that people wore things that I gave them to make ME feel good but I now believe that they wear them because it makes them feel good inside.
I've always been a terrible receiver. Feeling unworthy of such efforts, I have always felt undeserving of people going out of their way to give me something, so I feel compelled to give them something back, which prompts a frustrating attempt at trying to find something meaningful and noteworthy. I am often that person who gives a gift certificate which pretty much says, I tried and failed, unless of course it is a gift card to Peet's coffee or iTunes. Unless you are REALLY good at knowing what people want in coffee and music, these cards are sometimes the better way to go, although I will admit they are the easy way out. It's the gift that says, "I'm thinking about you. I know you like coffee but the holidays have me on the ropes and filling up your house with useless crap is not going to be my gift to you this year." I mean really, that too, is a gift. There's nothing to maintain, store or clean. However, there is nothing memorable about a cup of coffee. How long are you going to remember that grande, skinny, latte? Probably as long as it takes for you to get through an afternoon of returning unwanted holiday gifts, thankful for the extra energy. However, tomorrow's morning coffee will be the first step in forgetting that very special gift card.
Traditionally, I have been a gift retaliator. Rather than appreciate the true kindness of a gift, I worry about what to get that friend in return. This tends to be a real problem as a cancer patient. People bring us gifts everyday. The gift of food, of friendship, of companionship and in this very trying time, those are memorable gifts of time and effort. I am constantly at a loss of what I can get that friend who has given to me. I don't want to be that person who gets something just to get something or give my friend the job of taking back a gift they don't want in exchange for another.
This year, I am choosing to be gracious. With very little energy to waste and an overloaded shopping husband, I have decided to simply say "Thank You." I am really hoping that my appreciation is going to be enough, in lieu of a gift card or gift that I can't put any effort into. I'm hoping that the homemade gift i was able to muster matches whatever they are wearing this holiday season or that the Christmas cards that sucked me dry of positive energy are enough for people that get one every year. I have big plans for next year though.
Recently, a friend gave me the most memorable and incredible gift of the season: the gift of joy for my family. Each year, the El Dorado Hills Fire Department does this thing called the Santa Run. They mount a sleigh and reindeer to the top of a giant fire engine, put Santa in it and drive around the neighborhoods picking up toys and canned food for less fortunate families. This year, the incident commander invited us to ride along for an evening. Imagine my two girls, ages 7 & 9: "Okay girls, tonight we get to ride in a fire engine. Oh and by the way, Santa will be riding on top of it. You girls get to sit with Mrs. Claus and Papa gets to sit in the passenger seat with a headset and honk the horn...Want some hot cocoa and candy canes to go with that?" Yeah, two girls have never been so ecstaticly excited and my husband was happier than a tick on a fat dog letting that horn fly as we went through every intersection with full lights and sirens. The pure, unadulterated joy in both my children, my husband and the hoards of people that came out to see this spectacle was enough to push me over the edge. Whether I get to see it on a Thursday night the week before Christmas or Christmas morning, my holiday season is now complete. The gift of my family's happiness during a pretty challenging time is better than any other gift there is. With nothing to store, clean or maintain, it is the gift that gives all year.
It's not even my birthday yet.

Tax All

My chemo is going well. Taxol is brutal in its own way. I started with a regimen of Adriamycin and Cytoxan (AC) which was toxic and awful. It beat the crap out of me. I lost all of my hair...and I mean ALL of it friends. Well, except my eyebrows. I'm fighting to keep those. I considered shellac-ing them to my face but so far, they seem to be holding out. My eyelashes are gone, which is a little weird. AC also induced a sort of "brain fog". My reaction time was reduced and recall was slow. I couldn't think without totally focusing my attention. The AC also nuked my GI tract which means that eating and going the bathroom are an entirely new adventure. It pretty much feels like drinking flaming gasoline. I'll save you the gory details but just know that garlic stuffed olives make a great breakfast food. When I was getting the AC, I felt like a toxic waste dump. I had piercing headaches and endless nausea. I have mentioned that it was like being on a fishing boat in 60 foot seas and someone hands you a shot of jagermeister...barf. Food repulsions were intense. The thing I needed most was water and water was absolutely repulsive. Just the thought of drinking water made me shudder. The chemo changes your taste sensation too so the thing you think is going to taste really yummy, tastes like cardboard. I resorted to strong cheeses, garlic, olives and sourdough bread because that pungent bite seemed to overcome the toxic taste in my mouth. I lost no weight. I was thinking that a rockin', skinny body that I could shape later with a few arm curls would be an upside to all of this but alas, I am not the patient that loses weight. I get to be the one that gains. Such is life. However, It's better to have reserves with 4 more months of treatment ahead. Skinny people die when conditions get tough and I'm here for the long haul. I got the AC once every two weeks. Week one, I was a bit of a wreck, but felt really good the second week. I had a lot of energy and was pretty motivated to get things done on my "week off". I had settled in to this routine and felt that I could manage.
November 22nd, I switched to Taxol. I have infused and mixed (prepared) Taxol for patients as an Oncology nurse, a cruel sort of joke to have this experience and then have to have it infused into my own body. Taxol is derived from the yew tree. It is a thick, viscous, gummy substance that is mixed with saline so they can drive it into your veins. I can't help but wonder why it doesn't gum up the system, but magically, my heart still beats on the days I get it, so go figure. I was worried about the Taxol regimen. I get the Taxol every week. No week off in between to gear up and prepare. It was definitely increasing the difficulty level. However, the Taxol side effect profile is not as toxic as the AC. Tastebuds sort of recover, the headaches and the nausea go away and the brain fog isn't as big of an issue. The big effect of Taxol is fatigue. Fatigue is sobering. It's not like feeling tired where you go take a nap and wake up recharged or a workout that leaves you tired. Fatigue is the debilitating feeling of apathy. The slightest movement seems monumental. It's a lot like being at altitude where every step is an effort. Climbers of Everest will tell you that climbing to the summit is not the challenge. The desire for the summit inspires the brain to overcome the fatigue in exchange for the reward of standing on top of the world. It's getting down from the summit that is the real test because once summited, the tangible rewards are no longer lying in front of you. Every day on Taxol feels like you are trying to get off of the mountain. The fatigue factor is overwhelming and the tangible rewards are absent. You feel like you simply "can't". It's not a feeling I'm very familiar with. Every effort requires a focus of global proportions and inertia is not your friend. There are times when I have literally "hit the wall", where I have absolutely nothing left and my ability to deal with the simplest of tasks becomes greatly impaired. My eyelids start to fall, my body slows to a staggeringly inefficient pace and the need to lay down becomes a vital necessity. It is unrelenting, so much so that I will lie on the kitchen floor. It's just about this time that the kids start bickering over who got more milk in their cup or whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. Suddenly, I realize that not only is operating heavy machinery a really bad idea, but so is parenting. My ability to be rational with even the simplest family crisis is non-existent. And in this moment I have a choice. I can either start yelling and screaming at my kids for being so inconsiderate of my condition, which they are not remotely perceptive about, or I can simply cry for help. "Can somebody help me up off the kitchen floor?" I tried yelling once (expelling far too much reserve energy). It was extremely ineffective and all of us felt really crappy afterward. Now, I choose to opt out. I say to my kids "okay girls, Mom is done. 3 things have to happen. Homework needs to be done, dishwasher needs to be unloaded and dog and cats need to be fed. Put yourselves to bed and I will see you in the morning." It sounds cruel but it's not. My girls, ages 7 & 9, step up. They get the job done and then either climb into bed with me or go to bed on their own. Give them the responsibility of being their own people and they rise to the occasion. The bickering ends. The teamwork begins and we start to gel as a family. I have to let go of the fact that the dishwasher doesn't always get emptied or the poor dog goes without food one night but that in and of itself is the lesson that cancer tries to teach me every day. Acceptance. It's a beat-down for sure, but how I deal with that beat-down is a choice. How I choose defines me because my outward appearance no longer does that for me. Bald, one-breasted and poisoned, I know longer exhibit my character of an organized, strong, independent woman. I appear weak and frail and incapable. My actions are now more important than they have ever been. I am trying to learn how to be a good person all of the time. It's a daunting task. What I have come to realize is that people genuinely want to be of assistance. If you let them, it empowers them. I used to think that doing everything myself was noble, that not asking others for help and dealing with my own life was a testament to being a good person, a good skier, a good river guide, a good nurse. However, it is exactly the opposite. Give others an opportunity to shine and they do, even when they don't because every little bit helps and as long as I choose to view it that way, both parties win. This is probably elementary for most people but for me, it took cancer to teach me this very important lesson. Fatigue. Who would have thought it would take fatigue to propel me into adulthood.
Last week, I had my third infusion of Taxol. Prior to that infusion, they drew my blood to make sure that I was tolerating the stuff. My blood counts were extremely low, almost low enough to have to cancel the chemo. What this means is I'm not making enough white and red blood cells fast enough. The chemo nukes this process as blood cells are rapidly dividing cells. Generally, you can nuke your blood cells but because they multiply so quickly, the body recovers. Mine did not recover between my 2nd and 3rd week. My white cell count was 2 (4-7 is normal) which predisposes me to infection. My hemoglobin (hgb) was 9 (12 is normal) . Hemoglobin is the oxygen carrying part of a blood cell. If I can't carry oxygen then I can't function. The heart and brain take available oxygen first which leaves the rest of my body nothing. No wonder fatigue has been a factor. The other element of my blood that was low was my platelets which cause clotting. No platelets equals risk for bleeding, making beating my head against the wall another undesirable activity. So, last week, I had to avoid crowds and sick people, prolonged exercise and trauma, 3 of my favorite pastimes. Just to be safe, my Oncologist ordered a life-saving injection called Neupogen. Neupogen stimulates the bone marrow to make more blood cells. This week my counts not only recovered but skyrocketed. White cells jumped up to 13, Hemoglobin is up to 10 and Platelets are up to 300 (from a dangerous low of 100). All good news for the thriving cancer patient, except for the bone pain caused by the neupogen which is basically beating my bones to produce more. Neupogen is the Vince Lombardi of my bone team. My bones are doing up-downs all day. That's just gotta hurt.
In the midst of all of this, I have amazing people inspiring me to be at my best. Last week, two friends flew all the way from Vermont and New Hampshire just to drive me to chemo. We went to San Francisco the night before and hooked up with 3 other friends who drove all the way from Santa Cruz to be there. I can't describe how monumentally important a gesture like this is. I am completely blown away that these amazing girlfriends who are beautiful, brilliant and talented would take the time to make this happen. It inspires me to earn it and my vision of earning it is to live and survive and smile as much as is humanly possible. This gift of presence is huge in a way that it makes me feel worthy of surviving. It makes me want that $9000.00 shot that boosts my blood counts. It makes me get my fatigued, apathetic rear end out of bed to engage with the world outside even though it seems impossible. When I'm feeling a little down, I look to email or facebook where more friends are posting and commenting and encouraging me to not only fight but win. I am surrounded by Vince Lombardis and I will continue to do up-downs and burpees of cancer treatment because it's clear that the world is not done with me yet. More importantly, I am also not done. I got a new bucket list, a few new life lessons and blood counts to spare. Only 8 more Taxol treatments and a little radiation therapy to go. I'll be good as new by April. Until then, I'll be writing, and knitting, and quilting, parenting and budgeting energy with grace and style.
Feel free to come by and help me with inertia anytime.

Bucket List

"I believe you measure yourself by the number of people who measure themselves by you."

~ Morgan Freeman, "The Bucket List"

When I was first diagnosed with Cancer, I thought to myself, well, you've had a pretty good run. At 44 years old, I have chased after an Olympic podium, traveling the world with some of the United States' fastest skiing women. I broke myself into ten pieces after hitting a finish post at 55 miles per hour and survived to tell that tale. I graduated college....twice. I've run marathons and triathlons. I've been to every continent except Antarctica, visiting over 20 countries, learning a language and living in a country other than my own. I've hiked the Inca Trail in Peru, the Everest region in Nepal, and kayaked rivers all over California and even Ecuador. I've helicopter skied in Alaska, driven to Baja Mexico 15 times over, and hiked the Circuit in Torres del Paine, Chile in the southern tip of South America, once by myself. I waited tables, guided rivers, coached skiing and soccer, and cooperated with teams of people who save lives in busy emergency rooms. I've loved a man for 18 years and raised two beautiful, healthy daughters that I have carted to Thailand and Morocco in search of social conscience. Given that I have only lived 44 years, my life's resume is pretty darn good. Hard to be bitter or resentful that this life might be over. That said, I decided to be grateful, for once, for what I have or have had. I thought, It's okay, that I have cancer. I have checked off just about everything I have ever wanted to do.

Well, sort of.

In the book. The Survivor's Club, the author outlines the "Rule of 3" prescribed by survivor's everywhere including the American Military. It goes something like this:

You can live 3 seconds without hope; 3 minutes without air; 3 hours without shelter; 3 days without water; 3 weeks without food; 3 months without companionship.

What really gets me about this list is the 3 seconds without hope part. Air, shelter, water, food etc. do not really matter if you lose hope. Without hope, there are no prayers, no solutions, no last ditch efforts. Without hope, you are doomed. It makes perfect sense to me that it is first on the list because if you don't have a hope to live, then why bother breathing, finding warmth, water or food or human companionship. Hope is the most important ingredient to survival. For anything to get better or to survive, one must first believe it to be possible. Hope provides this in the first 3 seconds of any situation. From there, the race to survive is on.

So did I run out of hope in the first 3 seconds of my cancer diagnosis? I wonder only because I question my drive to survive. My bucket list is extensive and well......checked off. I found myself lost for a moment (approx. 1.3 seconds). What could possibly be left? In this moment, I realized that it was time to re-create the bucket list of a 44 year-old woman and no longer that of the 20 year old adventurer. Epiphane: I am not the same person I was 24 years ago. I realized that I was at the end of my bucket list because I was at the end of who I used to be. Now a wife, a mother of two, a contributing member of society, and a Cancer patient, I must revisit my values and desires. time for a new bucket list. So I thought, what can I look forward to, really?

Grandchildren. I hear they're pretty great,

The next thing that popped into my head is I've never been to Tahiti and would like to visit this place before I kick that proverbial bucket. And finally,there's a boy out there I meant to kiss when I was 12. That got the idea stream rolling, despite it's elementary school origins.

Small potatoes. But nonetheless, something left undone.

Most of my bucket list items always had to do with travel. Why? Because by changing the setting or the environment, I was transformed. I was required to adapt. I learned something new. However, simple travel items tend to run together. At some point, you find yourself on the road chasing the meaning of life instead of life giving meaning. I decided that there must be guidelines in choosing bucket list items. First, it has to be possible. Second, it has to have intention and substance. Third, it must create a deep and significant change. Now, in my fifth decade, there must be something about the travel that increases the difficulty level or nuance. So instead of visiting Fiji, the task might be to surf Tavarua (in Fiji), presuming that is, that I already know how to surf. Time is no longer on my side. Learning a new skill will have its limits. I must choose my list items carefully, mindful not to choose unattainables or hollow distractions that take me away from rule number 2.

Strangely, reinventing the bucket list of a 44 year-old woman is more about connecting with people. Instead of simply heli-skiing in Alaska, I want to stand on top of the mountain with my friends Edith, Kristi, Tamara, and Minnow and watch them drop into waste-deep powder while we all lay down huge arcs, coming within inches of one another, each of us confident that our paths will never collide. I want to windsurf in Hawaii with Eva and Erin and watch them fly across the top of the water and jump the waves while kicking back in their harnesses like they're not really going 40 miles per hour. It may even be something simple like sitting by a roaring fire, with a cup of hot chocolate in a snow-covered landscape or drinking fresh-brewed coffee somewhere off the beaten path. The connection with people is a strong motivator and the possibilities are endless.

When I start to brainstorm a new bucket list, I think of places like the Taj Mahal, the Amalfi coast of Italy or the Egyptian pyramids, but being there alone would not suffice, so who's with me? Marek and I will definitely hit Tahiti before time's up, but what else is there besides travel?

Well, I'd like to learn an instrument and command a language. I would like to write a book and learn to sew. ("I'd like to teach the world to sing/in perfect harmony....I'd like to buy the world a coke/....and keep it company." That song just popped in my head. Couldn't resist.)

As I think of things I haven't done or would like to do, I realize that perhaps I have unfinished business here on Earth.

One day, I would like to meet my grandchildren. To do this, I must first raise my own kids. Again, time might not afford me this luxury. I will have to make the most of this one however I can. Suffice it to say that every day with my kids is a bonus and leads to deep, significant change.

I would like to bring joy to my husband's life. I've been putting this off in my limited capabilities to be both devoted wife and mother of two. I focus well on one thing but not several and sadly, he has taken the backseat to all the other things that motherhood, soccer coach and ER nurse require ( like "Sleep"). We have so many plans to relive our 20's and satiate that constantly-postponed desire for each other. Our biggest goal was to drive a giant 4 X 4 or 6 X 6 Mann overland vehicle from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego. Full of adventure and a lust for new experiences, we are energized by the prospect of digging our truck out of a South American mudhole or muddling our way through a Central American milintary checkpoint. It's what marriages are built on.

I have come to realize that my bucket list is not nearly checked off. I've got way too much to do and a lot of stuff that requires time learning how to do it, but more importantly, getting together with the people I care about to share these bucket list experiences. Perhaps the activity itself is not the bucket list item but rather the person that you wish to encounter it with. I hope and pray for as many days as I can have with my kids, maybe a grandchild, and of course, my husband. And all the people that strengthen me everyday.

As for the 12 year old boy, well, he is happily married and so am I. This might be the one thing that remains undone, unless of course Winona Ryder wants to make out with my husband in which case, I might be able to trade for a free pass. However, the remote possibility of checking this off the list still provides hope and proof that the end of my story remains unwritten. I'm pretty sure my husband feels the same way about making out with Winona Ryder.

Hope. It's what keeps us going. It's what gives us the desire to dream and wish and seek the things we want in life. I hope to surf the big waves someday. I hope to drive to Tierra del Fuego. But I will also "settle" for Tiramisu and Cappucino on the Amalfi coast, an Irish Car Bomb (a libation of Irish whiskey, Bailey's Irish Cream and Guinness) in Ireland, or Lobster in the Maldives. And as we all know, the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step. A single step called chemo. Thank goodness for a resurrected bucket list to help me get through it.

Round 4

I hate to complain. There is a positive in everything and I will find it, but sometimes it takes me awhile.

Round 4 of my Adriamycin-Cytoxan (AC) regimen was particularly difficult. I felt toxic and polluted. My headache raged on, my body dehydrated quickly from my inability to take anything by mouth due to the intense nausea and seasick feeling I was experiencing. I didn't eat and lost 8 pounds in a week. I started to get feelings of urgency, pain and frequency with urination which could only mean one thing: a pending urinary tract infection. I'll save you the gory details of bowel movements but the constipation worsened and the frank red appearance of the product was worrisome. My heart rate was elevated. I was hopelessly exhausted and for the first time ever, I thought that I might not survive 3 more months of treatment. I started to lose faith. When my light starts to flicker, I log on to my computer. Primarily for diversion but also in hopes of a surprise email or FB message that might help. Again, my friends came through with well wishes and inspirational messages. I was ashamed for my feelings of doubt. I would get through this and the reason I felt so sick is because the medicine was killing cells effectively, which meant that it was eradicating my body of cancer cells. Self talk changed from "not another day" to "Man up girl cuz this is what we're here for!"

Round 4 of the AC was to be my last round of the hideous red syrup they pushed into my veins on a bi-weekly basis. The Adriamycin was bad enough, but followed by a chaser of Cytoxan was adding insult to injury. I immediately felt inebriated. I was unsteady, off balance, and my brain was swimming in fog. I couldn't think straight. I was repulsed by food.

People ask me "What's it like?" and I search for analogies that might paint the picture but to no avail. The best I can come up with is you feel drunk (really drunk, like sleep-in-your-party-clothes drunk in the back seat of your car), and pregnant at 18,000 feet of altitude. Not many people have either been pregnant or at 18,000 feet so I have to come up with something else. Seasick is close. Better yet, on a boat in 60-foot seas, seasick, and drinking Jagermeister. Are you shuddering yet? It's like that. I felt like a toxic waste dump. Despite the anti-nausea meds, the steroids, the force-feeding of soup, cheese and garlic stuffed olives, I was miserable. There was nothing but time and sleep that could save me and I swore that the effects were permanent.

I began to dread the rest of my treatment. The next regimen includes Taxol and Herceptin. Taxol is a thick, oil-like substance that looks like it would take the paint off of your car. Nurses double glove to mix the stuff. It's hideous. Herceptin is a hormonal adjuvant with no side effects. It's not chemo but they give it after the Adriamycin because both drugs are detrimental to the heart. I had to have a diagnostic test called MUGA scan between the two to make sure my heart muscle was not damaged. I got good news that my heart is just fine. Anyway, I began to worry about the Taxol because I get it every week for 12 weeks. There is no recovery week in-between and I was worried about side effects and the cumulative effect without time in between to recover. In essence, I was scared.

Three days ago, I got my first dose of Taxol and Herceptin. Because Taxol has a potential side effect of hypersensitivity, they premedicate you with Steroids, Benadryl and Pepcid. Why Pepcid? Because aside from being great for heartburn, it has an antihistamine effect that stymies allergic reactions. Kinda cool eh? What's not cool is as I was sitting there, I got the paradoxical reaction of restlessness that is associated with Benadryl . It's a strange feeling much like restless leg syndrome, only all over. You get really fidgety and want to jump out of your skin. My nurse was proactive and helpful with offers of more meds to sedate me, but I refused. I felt a greater need to deal with my situation rather than impair my mental status and turn me into a psychotic nightmare. Healthcare can be a slippery slope. Luckily, it resolved after a half of an hour, but for awhile, I was having to focus on staying calm and keeping myself from throwing a very, public fit. Marek had that worried, helpless look on his face. It's hard to assure your husband that you are going to be fine when you are tweaking on the inside.

This did not set a very reassuring stage for chemo. I was nervous. Being nervous is different for me now. It used to be I got butterflies or shaky but now, nervous is more manifested in my ability to communicate. I am short, irritable, and generally unpleasant. Conversation is an annoyance. My new mission is to find ways to process this so I am not so crotchety.

Anyway, my nurse began infusing the Taxol. In the first fifteen minutes, I anticipated that feeling of inebriation or some sort of toxic feeling but there wasn't any. After a half of an hour, I began to get sleepy, probably from the Benadryl. I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, my Taxol was done. I was fine and there was no toxic waste dump feeling. The Herceptin was the same and I was so elated, I could hardly stand it. I cried on the way home. I was so consumed with relief that this regimen would not take me down week to week and that I might actually make it with some semblance of a life outside of my cancer treatment. It was also the first time I admitted to myself that the AC regimen was brutal and hard and awful. I wanted to be strong and positive throughout the treatment and I was, but when it was over, I allowed myself a moment of tears. A moment that validated that it was hard, but that I had made it. And with the Taxol being far less toxic, the increase in my quality of life brought tears of gratitude.

We were silent most of the way home. Marek was faced with the reality that I had cancer, and I had just experienced the epiphane that I was going to survive it. Conversation was difficult, so we didn't speak. I don't think we had to. We've moved into phase II. We are a seasoned cancer family now.

Thanks

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I am completely overwhelmed with this holiday. Everywhere, I see posts on FB or hear DJ's on the radio asking what I am thankful for this holiday season. Seriously? Are there rules to this? How much can one be thankful for publicly? Everyday, I shed a tear of gratitude. I started to think that if I listed everything I was thankful for I would be here until next year. I've decided to do a little exercise of what I am thankful for to see what pops into my mind as I go along. This might be a little tedious for the reader but important for me to process. Feel free to let me know how far you got.....

I am thankful for teachers, nurses, soccer coaches, and mothers. They will be solely responsible for saving humanity.

I am thankful for the gift of a meal. In my darkest hours, I could not nourish myself the way others can.

I am thankful for Stephanie Pope and Syd Shainholz who have inspired me to and taught me how to beat cancer with grace and style. I am determined to be a happy ending.

I am thankful for my Park City posse who continues to include me and love me like I still live there.

I am thankful for Holly, Andrea and Becky who got the bad news first and said all the right things.

I am thankful Spencer is still of this planet and fights everyday to stay here.

I am thankful for rain that washes away the dust, sun that gives light and heat and the moon that waxes and wanes without fail.

I am thankful for Russ and Rob Reed who can drive a backhoe and a dozer better than anybody I've ever seen and have hearts of gold.

I am thankful for Louis and all the people who have built me this gorgeous home that I live in.

I am thankful Subaru makes cars that last for ten years and 200,000 miles even if you drive them through a lake.

I am thankful for my Mother-in-law who tries all the time to be a good grandma and a helpful person. I do not make this easy and neither does she, but I am thankful she overlooks this.

I am thankful for lemon fruit bars without which, I might be hospitalized.

I am thankful for Andrea Hirsbrunner who brings fresh apples, farm fresh eggs, homespun honey, and homemade bread. It is a gift of love with a swiss flourish.

I am thankful for Edith who makes me laugh and inspires me to do the same for others.

I am thankful for Polly who calls all the way from Vermont out of the blue and cracks me up on her way to work.

I am thankful for Monique who keeps my head warm everyday.

I am thankful for Jennie because she is Jenny and she knits really cool hats that I don't know whether to frame or wear.

I am thankful for all the messages, notes, emails, cards and correspondences I receive each day that tell me others are there. It keeps me positive and strong

I am thankful for all the women who have suffered before me so that I have a better chance to live.

I am thankful for a ski racing career that provided me with opportunity and friendship that continues today.

I am thankful for UCSF and a team of rockstar healthcare professionals that sacrifice everyday to treat people like me.

I am thankful for Heather and Laurie who give and give and give and listen to me rant and rant and rant.

I am thankful for the river that flows through my front yard and reminds me that all things wash downstream eventually.

I am thankful for the California Montessori Project where my girls can go to school safely and not be judged.

I am thankful for Alice.

I am thankful for the Jazz Soccer Team who surrounded me and held me up the last two months.

I am thankful for AJ and Adrian Utush who will teach, inspire, and test my girls in the greatest sport that ever was.

I am thankful for Todd Thalhamer and his family for single-handedly showing me how to inspire, uplift, and galvanize an entire community.

I am thankful for Pam B., Dawn, Christy and Pam T. for helping me pass through denial.

I am thankful for Noelle, Sueanne, and Natalie for always being there, ready to take my children on a moment's notice.

I am thankful for Dr. Katy Rutherford for being friend and shaman to all of Coloma.

I am thankful for Buddhism for teaching me to see things in different ways.

I am thankful for Christianity for giving me a framework with which to lead my life.

I am thankful for Islam and Judaism for providing perspective.

I am thankful for my parents for teaching me how to rise out of adversity over and over again.

I am thankful for my formal education.

I am thankful for sarcasm and my ubiquitous use of it.

I am thankful for my job and the amazing people I work with.

I am thankful that Theresa knows where the wig store is.

I am thankful for long, rolling lefts that you can surf forever.

I am thankful for snow and mountains and high-speed chairlifts.

I am thankful that I do not have to shave very often.

I am thankful for modern technology, facebook and Apple products.

I am thankful for the mist that settles in the canyon over the river with the trees floating out of it early in the morning.

I am thankful for decaf coffee.

I am thankful for my friend Eva who inspires and motivates, keeps a close eye on the latest in nutrition and her passion to share it.

I am thankful for Havarti cheese and garlic stuffed olives.

I am thankful for OR nurses and scrub techs who keep brilliant surgeons brilliant.

I am thankful for the men and women fighting for our country, day in and day out, despite a poorly run government.

I am thankful for Krista Campbell who taught me about the importance of Choice and that spilled milk is not a tragedy but an opportunity to learn how to use a sponge.

I am thankful for Music and the digital industry that makes it accessible.

I am thankful for Zach and Tessa who bring joy and laughter to our home.

I am thankful for forgiveness.

I am thankful for Dick and Joe and ECHO: the Wilderness Co. for the life they gave me and taking nothing but family christmas cards in return.

I am thankful for jumper cables.

I am thankful for Mixed Martial Arts and two Kwan Jang Nims and a Bu Saba Nim that inspire students everyday.

I am thankful for Lori L. and Mary R. who keep me on the warrior path despite only meeting them 5 months ago.

I am thankful for chenille and fleece.

I am thankful for Marian Fitzpatrick who keeps me moving.

I am thankful for all of my scars and the stories they tell.

I am thankful Miss Angela beat Hodgkins.

I am thankful that people read my blog.

I am thankful for a friend named Rusty.

I am thankful the Propane guy, who comes at the most inconvenient times possible.

I am thankful that no matter how prepared I am, how smart I think I am, or how many plans I make, life remains completely unpredictable.

I am thankful that my husband's family loves me anyway.

I am thankful for AC/DC, Zac Brown, and the Grateful Dead.

I am thankful for Eclipse 02 and their support despite leaving the team earlier this year.

I am thankful that our family dog is deaf and blind and not incontinent.

I am thankful that I don't have to look at our broken down shed anymore when I look out the window.

I am thankful for the myriad of stars you can see while lying on our roof.

I am thankful for a roof, and a meal, clean water to drink, and warmth.

I am thankful that Taxol is a much easier drug to handle than the Adriamycin-Cytoxan (AC) regimen.

I am thankful for so much more.....

Most importantly, I am thankful for two daughters who teach me more about myself everyday. I am thankful that they are beautiful inside and out, that their love of life is infectious. I am thankful that they love me despite all of my many inadequacies and the fact that I am a one-breasted, bald-headed mom, unlike all the other moms. I am thankful they chose me and I am so thankful that they are healthy and happy and wise beyond their years.

And I am thankful for a husband who gives without getting. I am thankful for his tenacity, his gentleness and his love for family. I am thankful for his honesty and his vivid description of my strengths and flaws. I am thankful that he is a sexy beast and a patient one. I am thankful that we met when we were poor and happy and have built a life together that we can be proud of. I am thankful that he is not his mother, at least not entirely. I am thankful he knows his way around a power tool and that he can go from a tailored suit to a pair of Carharts without issue. I am thankful that ER stories don't scare him away and that he listens to them despite hating them. I am thankful that he tries to get me to drive to Baja every year instead of flying to a Hyatt Regency in Oahu.....well, sort of. I am thankful that he is not afraid to do laundry. I am thankful that he has hope even when I don't. I am thankful that he is left-handed. I am thankful that Cancer has not scared him away. I am thankful he is a good person and that he loves me regardless.

There is more, but I would be here all night, and frankly, I'm starting to get sleepy. Everyday. I have gratitude in abundance and I am convinced that it keeps me from going to dark places. So many people do so much for me all the time. I am both inspired and paralyzed by gratitude. I have so much to be thankful for that I feel an intense and overwhelming need to earn it every second of everyday. By this, I choose to be positive and upbeat, to smile as much as I can even if it means keeping excrement from squishing between my teeth. Let's face it, I'm no saint, but I choose happiness. There is no way to give thanks that is worthy, but I can choose to live responsibly and earn the kindness that has been shown to me by making the best of every moment. It's the best I can do... for now, and I am grateful for the understanding of others.

AND I am thankful that you read this far.....

Chemo, chymo, someone ate a rhino....

Chemotherapy.....Well, I still haven't resorted to smoking, eating or considering pot but I've been to places with my side effects that have caused me to think twice. Years ago, starting with 8 to be exact, a close friend of mine delivered all three of her babies at home (not at once). This was no small task as most of her children were 8lbs plus and she delivered them naturally without pain medication. I couldn't imagine, and I am still in awe standing next to this amazing woman who brought her family into this world all on her own. When I asked her how she did it, she had no explanation. She did say that if she had a bottle of heroine, she would have drank it. At least, I felt a little validated.

Sometimes, I think that I would do anything to relieve my chemo side effects. Chemo feels a lot like seasickness or high altitude sickness. I get severe headaches and nausea. Just this round, my MD prescribed low dose, short-term steroids which is exactly what you do when you are standing at the south Col on Mt. Everest finding yourself too dizzy or too tired to get yourself down off the mountain. You inject Dexamethasone. Why this didn't occur to me before, I still don't know. Probably not thinking clearly. Glad to be getting off this mountain this particular time. I wonder now, how I will respond at high altitude. I do know that I probably won't hesitate to inject myself with Dex sooner than later.

Then there's the weirdo food stuff. Repulsed by most foods, I have a hard time choosing something to eat. I have to eat to recover. Otherwise, it's just prolonged. Exercise and food are good ways to move all these toxins out of your system and the last thing you want to do is eat or exercise. So, I find myself often rummaging through the fridge or the pantry looking for that one thing that doesn't smell too awful or might be mildly appealing or specifically, not repulsive. Smell is heightened and worsened by my chemo. Even if I feel like eating, by the time I prepare something, the smell ruins it for me. One day, I was desperate for something warm to eat. I put a clothes pin on my nose and made a spinach tortilla with jack cheese, a.k.a. a quesadilla. At the last minute, I removed the clothes pin and ate as fast as I could before the smell made me hate it. It worked but it was a lot of energy to make that happen.

Currently, frozen fruit bars seem to be the easy choice. Lemon and Pineapple are my favorite. After 3 or 4 of these delectables though, my mouth gets sore. With delicate mucosa from the chemo, it's easy to suck a hole in my palate or suffer the swollen tastebuds that result. Then, I really don't want to eat anymore. So, I search for better options. Yams have been strangely appealing lately. That sweet orangey flesh with organic butter, salt, and just a hint of Agave nectar seems heavenly. The other thing is tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches on fresh (warm, squishy,) sourdough bread. Finally, revisiting my childhood and the "Chalads" of the Utah Coal & Lumber Restaurant, I love a bowl of butter lettuce, with a mound of organic monterey jack cheese on top, swimming in sweet vinaigrette. Recently my friend Katy brought me some awesome red seedless grapes that I popped into the freezer wondering when I would ever be able to eat them. I delved into these this week and they turned out to be little snacks of heaven. They are small, sweet and cold and seem to satisfy my need for something quick and odorless without sending me into acidosis or ripping up my esophagus on the way down. Did I mention Kombuchaaaaaaah? Fizzy, cold and sweet it coats and soothes, but only for a moment. Most of the time, I take one or two sips or bites and then I'm done. The rest goes down forcibly in hopes that it is what my body needs.

Cancer makes you something of a food chemist. I wonder why I crave the foods I do. Is it some sort of nutrient need my body must have? Or is it purely based on my inner Id requiring instant gratification because I am so miserable? Still struggling with this one but not opposed to tomato, mayonnaise and sourdough over the choice of Cannabutter so far.

It's hard to make great choices all the time. I do my best. The catch-22 of trying to eat foods that will make my body healthy vs. make my psychology better is dizzying. Certainly, I try and err on the side of health. Plant-based diet with lots of cancer-fighting foods is the goal. However, I also try to avoid the stress that goes with, "Oh no, I just ate wheat."

There are all kinds of cancer-fighting foodstuffs out there and I am eating them. I eat the kale. It's actually pretty good dehydrated and salted. My friend Terry delivered two bags of the stuff, and ironically, it looked just like pot. Kinda funny. I eat the seaweed when I can, but usually it's wrapped around sushi that might take my GI system down given that I have no more floral bacteria to combat the smallest insult of a bad fish. Since I am mostly constipated, I am not worried....yet. And speaking of constipation, it can't go without being said that I get most of my hydration from a gallon of prune juice and Barsotti's unpasteurized Apple Cider. Keeps me on the move so to speak.

So it's not just the polypharmacy in my bathroom medicine cabinet giving me relief and keeping me going but also the food chemistry, however odd it may be. Thankfully, at the end of my rope, someone delivers dinner and there is just the thing that my body wants and needs. It happens every time. Last night's curried chicken with grilled vegetables did just the trick. I am looking forward to eating again where everything I want, tastes as I remember it, and the smell of it is as appealing as the flavor. I am excited for my tastebuds to return to normal and the aluminum taste in my mouth to subside. Until then, I revel in odd food adventures and am grateful for the safety net of a frozen fruit bar. Or a good friend who comes to call with Yams and Pomegranate juice.

Headgear

Back in the day, it was tricky being paid as a ski racer. If you had any designs on skiing for a college team or the Olympics, you could not accept money directly from anyone other than your national governing body, in our case, the U.S. Ski Team. The U.S. Ski Team generates fundraising on its own to cover basic costs for athletes such as cheap, fleabag European hotels and fizzy water at dinner. They did this by selling exclusive sponsorships and all of us wore a uniform with 4 or 5 patches indicating that Reebok was the "official shoe" of the U. S. Ski Team or "Subaru" was the official vehicle. Most of the money generated went to Race entry fees, Coaches salaries, and rental vans to drive athletes and ski bags all over the European continent. None of this money went to the athletes directly and the athletes had a hard time generating income to pay the bills they left at home, like rent and car insurance that they left behind for half the year. If you were winning, raising funds was not difficult, but if you were still climbing the ladder, you had to be creative. Ski companies (and boot companies and binding companies etc.) were able to give equipment, but in doing so, did not have money to give the Athletes unless they were at the top of the list. Athletes could generate funds by doing promotional events for ski shops or participating in events, and any money that an athlete received would be funneled through the U.S. Ski Team and distributed as long as it was a "training expense". However, with the U.S. Ski Team covering the uniform and all the "official" gear, it was difficult to make ends meet when you were an up-and-comer. Then came head gear. The F.I.S. Committee allowed each athlete to rent out approximately 1" X 5" of real estate on their forehead. Companies would pay an athlete to wear their logo for the ski season and in return athletes would get media exposure that would bring that company loads of advertising. It was a win-win.

For me, my hometown ski area, Park City Ski Resort (now Park City Mountain Resort) paid me to wear their name on my helmet and ski hat. I was proud of it. I chased TV cameras and photographers around and tried to have my picture taken as much as possible. I made a complete ass of myself wherever I could as long as I got attention and as long as someone got my picture. I never took it off. I had that logo on everything: ski hats, headbands, baseball caps etc. Wherever I went, I had Park City on my head and everyone knew I was promoting Park City no matter what. Park City sponsored a number of athletes with head gear contracts, but I was the only athlete that was actually FROM Park City. I milked this for all it was worth and gave back whenever I could. I was supremely grateful as the money I received from Park City kept me competitive. It allowed me to pay my rent, keep my car and pay for the gym membership that I needed to train. Ultimately, it helped me buy the house I live in today. Yep, I saved. Headgear was a godsend for me because I was still making my way to the top of the start list in World Cups and I was grateful to make enough to keep me training and racing.

Cancer is not much different from training and racing. It requires knowing your physical limitations, preparation for chemo day and recovery and intense mental focus. And it requires a whole new set of headgear. I have traded in my barrettes, ponytail holders, hairbands and clips for wigs, scarves, baseball caps and winter hats. And Park City is still sponsoring me. My high school friends recently sent me a box filled with wigs, hats, scarves and various ginger based candies and cookies to keep my nausea at bay. The pink wig is my favorite but there is also a blue wig and a purple wig which I will wear often, I am sure. There is also a Jennie Hat. Jennie and I went to school together and ski raced on the Park City Ski Team. She is now known for her very cool ski hats and I am now the proud owner of one. I am very grateful for this box of love as I can just see all of these girls shopping together. I know the stuff that DIDN'T make the box was putting them in fits of laughter in the middle of the store, and probably getting them into all kinds of trouble...The idea of my friends shopping together for me makes me laugh. I wish I could have been there with them. They are a really amazing group of ladies that have put me back on the Park City Gravy Train. I am super grateful for this wonderful home town. It is and always will be where I am from and filled with some of the greatest people I have ever known.

But that's not all. One of my former U.S. Ski Team buddies also sent me a box of headgear. Her husband is a DaKine representative of sorts and inside a box that came in the mail were a whole slew of different style hats. They have come at a perfect time because the weather has recently gotten a little chilly and my head is freezing! It's such a weird sensation to have your entire head exposed to the elements.

I am so grateful for all of the love and kindness being shown to my bald and freezing head and I love the fact that the people looking out for my head (and well-being) are the very people who did so 20 years ago. Now, I just have to figure out how to get the "Park City" patch on the wigs....

Thoughts on Life

12 years of ER nursing is a drop in the bucket. Anyone who has been there that long and longer will tell you that this particular milestone is where you are just getting started. By this time, you are slightly jaded from too many methamphetamine users, or alcoholics who spit on you and call you a cold-hearted bitch. If you started out a Democrat, you were probably starting to swing to the right by now. Or if you started out a Republican, you were probably drifting left. At this point, you are the nurse wishing for a really good trauma to come in the door.....There are all sorts of characters in the ER and the most colorful of them are often the people you work with. I could write all day about my colleagues but the patients are why we work there. And the patients are diverse.....The ER is where you see all walks of life in their moment of crisis. Everyone's determination of crisis is different. From a hangnail and a toothache to a massive cardiac arrest, I have seen a lot of things walk through that front door, and the great irony is that I know I have not and will never see it all. The perk to this job is that you sort of get the cliff notes to life. Certain lifestyles beckon certain emerging physical conditions, like if you smoke all your life, you get a nasty case of emphysema, or if you drink everyday you can consider gastrointestinal bleeding or liver problems to be the means to your end. There is trauma, my personal favorite, most of which could be avoided, and probably the biggest attraction for ER nurses because it's so darn interesting and what we are trained for. Then, there are the social visits; Visits from patients that are simply lonely and need something to do on a Friday night. We see all sorts of patients from all walks of life in all sorts of situations and you can bet that many of us have asked ourselves the question, "what if it was me?"

It is about this time that I started wondering what I was going to die of. I was physically fit and no family history of heart disease so I was pretty sure I could rule the big one out. Darn. I liked the idea of going out fast. My parents were smokers and while I didn't smoke, I thought perhaps that a lung condition due to secondhand smoke might take me out. This was further considered with a post-pregnancy diagnosis of asthma. However, by comparison, it was not looking like this was to be my path. I don't drink very much so liver problems were probably out. That leaves, stroke, kidney failure (which is awful), or Cancer.

Ding Ding! We have a winner!

Well, sort of. One thing I have learned is that many Cancer patients do not die of cancer. They die of complications related to treatment. Infection is the worst of them and it is the one I worry about most. A case of bronchitis can lead to pneumonia fairly quickly and from there, it's a slippery slope. There are also clotting problems that can develop. After awhile, the body cannot produce platelets which causes the blood to clot and well, you get the picture. Unfortunately, there are far too many patients that simply die of being lonely. Cancer is a tough disease because it takes away your friends with Cancer and makes it hard to relate to friends without cancer. We see these folks in the ER a lot because the next best thing to a friend with cancer is a nurse who gets what you are going through and is not easily deterred by a bald head and tubes and wires coming out of your body. Mostly, these patients need to be fluffed. They need their medications sifted through and education on how best to take them. They need to know that there is someone listening and that in their darkest hour, they will not be left alone.

It is in these moments that I am reminded of how important we are to one another. Even total strangers can be there for each other. I believe we all have a purpose here and when we are satisfied that we have fulfilled that purpose, we are content to leave this world for the next journey, whatever that journey may be. It is not for me to say what that journey is but having met so many different kinds of people including murderers, domestic abusers, and the mentally ill, I truly believe that we are all going to a better place regardless of religion or politics. I am also convinced that almost none of us will arrive in a well-preserved body.

Perhaps I'm a bit cryptic. It should also be stated that I have seen amazing displays of the human spirit from patients, family members, doctors, clinical technicians, unit secretaries, paramedics, housekeeping staff, admitting clerks, hospital volunteers, and perfect strangers. I am always amazed at what one person will do for another in a moment of need. This is humanity at its finest moment. It is the basis of every miracle and the seed of hope. In the last two months, I have witnessed, first hand, the kindness of strangers and friends to whom I could never come close to returning the favor. From nourishing meals, and interesting headgear, to a 5 word text or an impromptu visit, the connection to other humans is vital to my personal survival. It's somewhat of an epiphane, (which makes me wonder about my personal psychology). Regardless, it's a step in the right direction.

Perhaps I have gone a little too far because I have fallen in love with everyone lately. Every hand-delivered yam, every heart shaped rock, every goofy sequined headband brought to my door fills me with intense emotion and love. I want to reach out and hug everybody, who lately seem to smell so good...weird. I want to buy the world a coke and keep it company. Peace, Love, Popsicles. I want a second chance to show the world that I am not the cold-hearted bitch that my father raised me to be but rather, the inspirational wife, mother, and friend that brings out the best in others. My journey appears to be just beginning. I might actually survive this and if so, I will be left to wonder how my life will end. Who knows? I might get hit by a bus tomorrow. Trauma....my favorite.

The Church of Facebook

Religion. Yeah I said it. It's out there and I have found it. Call Mark Zuckerberg what you want. Many do not have kind words for this guy because he founded a revolutionary medium for millions of people to network socially and professionally via ill-intentioned means. He was a computer programmer scorned, the second greatest fury that hell hath no.....But he has turned that vengeful act into one of the biggest communication ventures in our history and millions of us are benefitting from it, for free. It's brilliant. Use it for bad, and lives are ruined. Use if for good and people like me are no longer exiled and isolated from a world of friends that lives and skis and kayaks and travels and raises kids just down the street. And thanks to Steve Jobs, may he rest in eternal peace, I get to view it on a snappy, little operating system with a big beautiful screen. Facebook is a way to reach hundreds of people you know, you knew in high school, you knew in college, you knew in your first job, or the people you went down the river with in 1993. It is also a way for me to share my life with others, the cool trips and photos we've taken around the world, the river adventures, the soccer games and the martial arts tests we've done. It is a way to tell people where you stand on issues, to express your political views and for sharing differing points of view. It is also a place to find inspiration, divine if you will.

Despite being convinced I've been there a few times already, I do not believe in Hell. I do not believe that there is a purgatory that awaits corrupted souls to punish them for all of eternity. I'll probably burn for that but really? With all of the love and joy in this world and the human kindness that exists globally, I cannot believe that a single human being, faced with their own end will pass to the next life without one shred of goodness. Granted, there are evil people out there and I have had impure thoughts for some, but sending them to eternal hell is not the answer for a species that thrives on positive spirit. Besides, eternity is a really long time and hell exists right here on Earth. You can dabble in Hell all you want without having to go "down" to the fiery furnace below. Later, you can repent your evil ways and be accepted into the Kingdom of Heaven, find enlightment, take your seat next to Allah or come back as an elephant on your way to Nirvana.....That's the really good part about religion. Make a comeback, accept Jesus into your soul and BAM! You are in. That is an awesome escape clause, one of which I am counting on.

In the last few months, my life has taken an obvious turn and my mortality has been dangled out in front of me like a carrot on a string. I'm not even close to looking into the abyss and already, I have had some big conversations about what the end of my life might look like. Do not misunderstand that I have any intention of going in for a closer look. I am here to stay for awhile and thrive in the glory of heaven on Earth known as social networking. Yeah, I said it. Heaven. THAT I am sure exists because that too, is right here on Earth and is represented by the collective consciousness of hundreds of people sending positive inspiring thoughts in the same direction.....in my case, via Facebook. The outpouring of kindness I have received is overwhelming. Old school friends, ski racing friends, river friends, soccer friends, new martial arts friends, nursing and work friends, have all chimed in to say, "Hey, we're thinking of you, sending you good wishes, thought and prayers and standing behind you while your life changes in ways you didn't anticipate." And I swear I FEEL it. How do I know? Because every other Tuesday when I go for chemo, I feel great. Yep, great. I feel like there is energy flowing in my direction and it gives me so much courage, and lifts me up in ways I cannot explain. In return for this gift, I feel it is absolutely necessary to find whatever good there is in this experience and to send it back in the spirit of the Physics law of conservation of energy where energy is neither created nor destroyed but transformed to one form or another and transferred. I can do this via social media, and in return, it makes me feel better about myself. It's like a twofer really.

Here is a thing about people with certain illnesses. Whether they have Cancer or an auto-immune disease or any disease that affects the way they fight infection, it is dangerous and difficult for them to leave their home or inner circle at certain times throughout their illness because it can mean the difference between life and death. They have no ability to fight an opportunistic infection that regularly healthy people can fight. Expose a cancer patient receiving chemo to the flu and it's curtains. One little sniffle or cough can mean a hospital visit and a hospital visit can expose them to REALLY bad stuff. The idea is to stay away from hospitals when your immunity is in the tank and the safe bet is not to go where the germs are flying around in search of the weak animal in the herd. Let me just add a little sidebar that modern medicine has created a magical new drug that inspires your blood cells to give your immunity a bump. It's called Neulasta or Pegfilgrastim. It's produced by Amgen and at $9000 per injection, it's worth every penny. It will literally save my life..... as long as I don't do anything stupid like lick the bottom of someone's shoe. But, I'm off topic.....again. Throw in a nasty case of fatigue with compromised immunity, and a trip to the grocery store is an event that can require a 3 hour nap for recovery, best done in the confines of one's own fluffy, bed. The fact is, these patients don't leave their homes much, if at all which can be isolating. People don't visit for fear of passing on a bug or a germ that might be cataclysmic for their friend. It can cause a nasty case of depression for a social butterfly such as myself. I must interact, share ideas, impart my limited wisdom and make at least one social blunder on a regular basis. I can do this with Facebook and email, and with the new mobile technologies of laptops, smartphones and tablets, I can do all of this at some of my most unpleasant moments and no one is the wiser. Its genius.

I am truly in great spirits right now and even when I feel really crappy (especially when I feel crappy), if I can find a positive thing to share, I throw it out into the Facebook collective and I get ten positive ones back! AND IT'S FREE! It's awesome! And it doesn't hurt anyone! It takes someone less than thirty seconds to write a positive post, well, for most of my friends...... I think my friend Polly is still hunting and pecking out there, but most everybody can get the job done in a small amount of time and it goes a LONG way. I am here to tell you that a simple gesture of quoting a movie line, or engaging in a little fun sarcasm or posting a photo about milk being the 2% makes me giggle out loud! I especially like music posts from the 80's...reminders of one-hit wonders and the like...It is THERAPY! You should all get $95 an hour which in 30 seconds does not equate to much ($0.80 cents to be exact) but the value of that 80 cents is huge. It may very well save my life. Between Facebook, and the phenomenal cooks in my community nourishing my body, I've got body and soul covered.

I am willing to bet Mark Zuckerberg did not intend this outcome. It's an application of an idea that is sort of a bonus, a negative turned positive, kinda like the billions of dollars in his bank account. Certainly, social media can also be used for less than savory ways of social destruction but in my case, it's a tiny bit of salvation. Don't get me wrong. I am not going to start exalting Mark Zuckerberg and start drinking his particular brand of Kool-Aid. I've got my own. It's called Adriamycin. It's bright red and it makes your hair fall out. However, I must applaud him for being brilliantly smart (whether he stole it or not) and putting social networking into action. I am a believer.

A few words of friendly caution: don't forget to check your privacy settings for the occasional stalker or unsavory person who is a little further from enlightenment than the rest of us. I highly recommend either embracing your political polar opposites (after all, they do present good arguments from time to time) or simply blocking them. There are some people out there who feel a need to give the gift of negativity, woe and despair. Here is another great thing about Facebook: you can flood them with positive energy of peace and love and strawberry ice cream thoughts and if that doesn't work, simply unfriend them, digitally. It's painless! It's the new cyber purgatory and if your friend repents with kindness, love and light, you can re-friend them! Salvation! Forgiveness! All at your fingertips. And if things get unbearable, switch to email.

So if you are wondering how to make a difference in this life from the comforts of your own home, get yourself in a positive frame of mind and then share it. Share a funny quote, post a funny picture about a found cat (which was actually possum or a badger or something....funny!), post photos of your last adventure, post a video about an autistic kid who sings the star-spangled banner and needs a little help (loved that one!), or just say hey, I'm thinking about you. It WORKS! It will make a difference to the person you sent it to and it will make you feel good inside and it's free, for now. I love to hear from people. I encourage any interaction you can muster, even if it's a way to process grief. It's what makes me feel human in a world that has lost its humanness (through the same technology of which I exalt...). If you can be funny or happy or witty or clever, great. In case you can't, don't let that shut you off from those of us that can. Connecting is more important and allows us to be present in the moment, a moment that may pass as easily at came and allows for a better feeling or idea to bubble up. Plus, it gives others an opportunity to do something good which in turn makes them feel good, which makes you feel good, and so on. The bad news is none of us are getting out of this alive. We are all terminal. The good news is (if you share my view) there is only one way to go, so we got that going for us. We have choices. I am choosing happiness as often as I can. I am choosing to give my best each day because it is good for the positive current of the universe and I am convinced that this current uplifts people no matter where they are. If I can't muster happiness then gratitude is the next best choice. I share it whenever possible and it comes back to me in spades. Look for me on the internet. I'm out there, And if you can keep those awesome comments, "likes" and posts coming....I am deeply grateful that you took 30 seconds of your time to save my life.

Weed

Chemotherapy-induced nausea is unpleasant. I have tried the anti-emetics (anti-throw-up medications), eating profuse amounts of ginger, ginger snaps, crystallized ginger, ginger ale and sushi ginger without success. The nausea remains. I thought I could just power through it. I was determined to eat even if I didn't feel like eating or that it would cause me to expel my gastric contents. However, the repulsiveness of food is an amazingly formidable opponent. I am stymied and feel that not eating anything is far more appealing. However, not eating anything only exacerbates the nausea and the vicious cycle begins. Granted, I have not been very good at nausea management. I have not taken the medications until the nausea gets so bad that I am deep in the nausea hole that no small rope can get me out of. I should know this being a nurse, that managing symptoms starts with early management and acknowledgement of symptoms...Healthcare workers are the worst patients. I guess part of it is curiosity: "How bad can it get?" Well, last week, I got my answer. It is not pleasant as I have mentioned before. I must take full responsibility for my misery, and I do.

In the last two months, I have received overwhelming bits of information about medical marijuana. Whenever I mention (read "complain") about the intense nausea, people have asked if I have started "smoking weed." Nurses, teachers, parents, all responsible individuals recommending that I start toking. Even some of the older ladies I know (well into their 70's...), "Honey, you gotta try smoking some herb!" I can't help but laugh. Me? Smoke pot? I'm a responsible mother of 2 and registered nurse who took an oath not to partake in such nefarious activities! Besides, I smoked enough weed back in High School that would put even the stoutest Rastafarian to shame. Now, don't get me wrong. I have nothing against my Mary Jane-loving friends. They are good people with jobs and families and probably more inner peace than most anyone else I know. The plain simple truth for me is that pot makes me stupid. I mean really stupid and just a little bit paranoid. Smoking pot to alleviate my nausea would only be trading one miserable condition for another. I would no longer be nauseated, but I would then be unable to focus on my daily activities. I would require more assistance from my husband and family because I would be forgetting why I was rummaging through the pantry for anything resembling potato chips or gorp.

I mean if I am going to recreate pharmaceutically, give me an opiate narcotic any day of the week and I'm good. Why would I prefer the poppy over cannabis? Who knows? Both of them are organically grown, exist in nature and have their desirable central nervous system effects. However, pot is variable in its potency and molecular structure. Opiates are, well opiates, extracted in labs, measured in milligrams and dispensed by someone who is legally required to know the exact contents. I find this a little more comforting than the machine-gun toting groups that bring Cannabis to market. Who knows what's in that stuff besides the naturally occurring tetrahydrocannibinol (THC)? Sure, there is also Marinol which is the pharmaceutical version for those people who do not wish to go the natural route and can get it from their local pharmacy. However, I'll say again that it just makes me stupid and really, I'm just trading one undesirable condition for another. I do not partake of the poppy very frequently. When I do, it is usally post-operatively or when I am not responsible for children, cooking, driving or anything else, which is pretty much close to never. I view pot in very much the same light. The conditions must be right and the planets must line up perfectly and since they rarely do, smoking pot is just another recreation I simply cannot afford.

However, now I am a Cancer patient. So why not start smoking pot? Marijuana (and opiates for that matter) affect the central nervous system, a.k.a. the brain, spinal cord, and corresponding nerves, more widely accepted as your conscious ability to deal with stressful situations, and flee from the sabertooth tiger that is standing in front of you. When I was in labor with Stella (approximately 9 years ago), I tried to deliver naturally. After 28 hours of intense 90 second contractions every 2-3 minutes, I finally cried uncle and begged to be relieved of my misery as any sane pregnant woman would and has done for millennia. They administered a drug called Stadol a.ka. Butorphanol, a morphine-like synthetic analgesic and safe for pregnancy. Up to that point, I was dealing with my contractions. I knew they were coming and I would focus on breathing and anything else to get myself through these intense contractions. The Stadol did not reduce my pain at all. It made me sleepy and took away my ability to focus and handle my situation. Essentially, I felt like I was crazy and had the irresistible urge to scream and assault people. I begged them not to give me anymore of that stuff and I am pretty sure my OB nurses were relieved to oblige after subsequent hours of my many Linda Blair impressions.....

I have choices in my treatment. My goal is to do this as gracefully as possible with little impact on my family and community. I would like to do this bravely and with courage which means I need my mental clarity. Polypharmacy is a slippery slope. I have a whole basket of supplements I keep in the kitchen, Vitamin D for my deficiency, Vitamin E for tissue healing, Milk thistle for my liver, Juice Plus for the phytos I simply can't eat enough of, Kyo-green for immunity, Probiotics to re-colonize my gut, Glutamine for mucositis and gastrointestinal symptoms, Prune Juice and Miralax for the obvious.....In the bathroom, another basket of meds, Emend, Zofran, Compazine and Ativan all for nausea, Docusate Sodium to potentiate the effects of the prune juice (chemo and all the anti-emetics are constipating), special fluoride for my teeth, and special mouthwashes to keep my mouth moist and free of mouth problems. Adding one more drug to the mix just seems like way too much to manage, especially a drug that varies in potency and effect. If I managed the drugs I already have a little better, the need would probably not be so great.

It's funny when I resist the urgings of friends to start smoking weed. They are incredibly persuasive.

"Patients report it works for them!"

"Well, you would be smoking it legally and they have many different kinds of marijuana now that are not as potent, not as contaminated, not as....."

".....I'm growing a particularly mild version that I think you might like!"

Despite explaining my misgivings to my good-intentioned friends, and politely turning down free offers from well-meaning suppliers, I sense a sort of angst. It is as if they are frustrated with me for not heeding their advice or implementing their suggestion. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's more for them than for me. No one wants to see a friend suffer for any reason and almost everyone I know wants to help in some wonderful way and make the difficult parts all go away.

I am honored that people would reach out and try to take away my nausea or my misery. And if you are reading, may I just say thank you for your kindness. However, sometimes life is just hard. It's what makes the good times, .......good. I have these moments everyday. They come out of nowhere and they are wonderful.

In the movie "Braveheart", towards the end when Mel Gibson's character, William Wallace, is about to be drawn and quartered in a public display, the Queen, who is smitten with him and carrying his child (we find out later)....brings him a numbing poison that will help dull the pain of the horrible death he is about to endure. He refuses, claiming, "I must keep my wits about me." Now granted, this example is a little dramatic, but I feel much the same way. As horrible as things might be sometimes, I feel that I must "keep my wits about me" and remain clear to be able to focus on enduring the task at hand, and be open to the really good things that happen. It is the experience of life, and when you are faced with your mortality at an early age, you start to appreciate every experience, bad or good, as a gift of living. The life I choose to lead after the chemo and radiation are done, and the side effects are no longer as awful, will be a life of clarity, and hopefully a life free of any pharmaceuticals. Hopefully, this choice will remain mine to make. It is a choice that is formulated deep from my humble beginnings, and bears no judgment on the choices of others.

I have a very long road ahead of me (much like my first labor and delivery). There may come a time when I've had it, and all I need is a really good joint, a bag of Salt & Pepper Kettle Chips, and a jar of peanut butter, but for now, I will pass the pot brownies, the pot pizza, and the cannabutter to my friends who have had more years of experience with this sort of thing and politely refrain from adding one more chemical compound to my already chemically toxic wasteland. Thanks to all who are looking out for me any way they can. Please feel free to smoke a bowl for me anytime. It will probably do wonders for my nausea......or at least your experience of it.

Tambushka

Many years ago, I was working in the emergency room (ER) as a registered nurse where I had been working for quite some time. We had recently hired a new nurse into the ER and I was making an attempt to welcome him to our new team. He was an interesting character. He came out of Detroit, Michigan, and he had a teardrop tattoo, two of them, on the left aspect of his neck. I never got a chance to ask him about this, but the traditional meaning of the teardrop tattoo is that he knew someone who was killed or went to prison. I believe the practice originated in gang culture, which did not seem likely of him. He was professional, rough around the edges, rode a Harley Davidson motorcycle and wore his hair spiked and dyed blonde in Billy Idol fashion. He was funny and very sharp-witted and I liked him right away. I nicknamed him "3-1-3", for the Detroit area code where he came from. He called me "5-3-0" and we had a strong, working friendship.

One day, he approached me after learning that I had once been a member of the U.S. Ski Team. He asked me, with eyes wide in admiration, "Did you know Picabo Street?"

I admitted, somewhat abashed, that yes, I knew her and long before she became a household name. I had stories that would embarrass both Picabo and myself and decided I'd save those for later. However, my friend, 3-1-3 then proceeded to tell me how great it was that I knew Picabo because she was, ( in his words) "The greatest American female ski racer that ever was."

First off, nothing against Picabo. I did know her and she is an energetic, upbeat, and very nice person. She is a beautiful skier with a wonderful touch on the snow, and strong and graceful in the air. In short, I respect her for turning all eyes on U.S. Skiing and winning a gold medal for our country in the Olympics.

However, when I knew Picabo, she was coming up through the ranks. She was younger than I was, and our relationship was more characterized as one of an old dog and a new puppy. She was bouncy, effervescent, always asking questions, full of cheerful smiles and a party attitude. I was more of an old dog, kinda grumpy at times, saving my energy for race day and wishing I was training with the big girls who probably felt the same way about me as I felt about Picabo.

So, when my new colleague and friend managed to tell me that Picabo had not only achieved greatest American female skier status, he was comparing her to all those went before her.

I begged to differ.

My tirade started by asking him if he had grown up in a closet, in the dark, on Mars....If he were really a ski racing fan, he would have done a little more research before challenging me on this subject that is nearest and dearest to my heart.

Most people recognize Picabo Street as one of the winningest female skiers because she won a gold medal in the Olympics. The Olympics are the Coups de gras of most sports because it's publicized as the competition of the best of the best of each country. In some sports, this is true. Swimming and Track for example are sports where the very best compete against each other and the winners represent the true upper echelon of those sports. Skiing is different. The reason is because the Olympics require that each country has a quota for each event. For example the United States can only have 4 competitors in any one event. That works out great when the field of competitors is generally well-balanced. However, Switzerland, Austria and Germany have a long tradition of skiing, ski racers and skiing excellence. It is the National sport in those countries unlike the United States, Italy, and well, Jamaica for that matter. While Jamaica might be hard-pressed to have 4 competitors to meet the quota, Austria has 8-10 per event that could decimate the entire field of Olympic competitors. It is a distinct advantage for the Olympic field that countries like Austria and Switzerland must whittle down their Olympic teams to 4 starting racers. Therefore, an Olympic win is sort of a gimme. Take 12-15 of the world's best out of the field and everybody's got a fighting chance. In ski racing the World Alpine Ski Championships allow rosters of 8 competitors per country meaning that each country gets to fill its quota with the best it has to offer. The World Championships are held ever two years and are the true testament as to who is the best ski racer in the world. For Men's Downhill, there is another true test of excellence: The Hahnenkamm Downhill race held every year in Kitzbuhel, Austria. The other coveted titles are World Cup titles. Each country submits its best skier to a year long series of World Cup races in Slalom, Giant Slalom, Super G, Downhill and Combined events. Winners of these titles are the athletes who best the world's best in those disciplines and they are the true basis for bragging rights in ski racing circles.

So, getting back to my defense of the "Greatest American Skiing female that ever was," I proceeded to educate my friend, 3-1-3 in the error of his judgment. At that time, there was only one woman with the kind of results that afforded her this title. She stood on her first World Cup podium at the age of 16, 5'4" tall and a svelte 115lbs light. She was a game changer, changing the way the game was played from large, power-driven technique to finesse and grace at high speeds. Her touch on the snow was unparalleled and I often tried to mimic that touch which brought me podiums of my own on my own rise to success. She won 4 World Championship medals, one of them gold, stood on 45 world cup podiums, won 4 World Cup titles with 18 World Cup wins and did it with grace and style. She was kind, she nurtured those of us "new puppies" that had stars in our eyes when we had the good fortune of racing with her, and she was a professional who promoted the sport of skiing through her big smile, "southern belle" kindness, and positive attitude.

While Lindsey Vonn has recently earned the title of Greatest American female skier, she may not have realized that title if Tamara McKinney had not set that bar so high and inspired generations of ski racing girls such as myself. Today is Tamara McKinney's birthday. It's probably some anniversary of her 29th birthday as each birthday is for all of us but no matter. She is still as beautiful inside and out as always, and is still inspiring generations of young ski racers in California. I wish her the happiest of birthdays and hope that one day we will get to ski together again.

As for 3-1-3, despite my historical (and hysterical) ski racing tirade, he still wanted Picabo's autograph. (sigh) I was trying to find a way to contact Picabo to see if I could get this for him, but I halted efforts when 3-1-3 died in a terrible motorcycle accident some years ago. His spirit is missed.

So if any of you would like to discuss Greatest American Female Ski racers, I'm always game, but know your stats, because I'm a fan and I'm determined to give credit where credit is due.

Happy Birthday Tambushka!

Irony

"Sometimes the only sense you can make out of life.....is a sense of humor." ~ Unknown

Cancer is a mutation of cells; Cells growing out of control without a stopping point. It is not a venereal disease or an invasion of an antigen that takes over its human host. It's a genetic anomaly induced by environmental or hereditary conditions that cause the mutation of a gene. It can be awful and fatal but it can also be entertaining. Recently, I went to a movie called "50/50" with J. Gordon Levitt and Seth Rogen. It's based on the true story of someone who had an absolutely hideous cancer experience. I was mortified by the professionalism of the patient's healthcare team and the unbelievable treatment of his shallow, self-absorbed girlfriend. Then there was his relationship with his therapist. He was her 3rd patient ever and she was trying to counsel him as if she were reading from a manual. It was so ironically awful and tragic that it was funny. I was thankful that someone put all of this in a movie.

Irony. I had almost forgotten how important irony is for finding humor in tragedy. Alanis Morissette neglected to make reference to the irony of having a whole drawer of hair products, i.e. barrettes, combs, ponytail holders, headbands, hair spray and hair gel etc. and a Cancer diagnosis......"It's like a drawer of combs....with a clean shaven head.......And isn't it ironic? Dont chya think? It's like raaaaaaiiiin.....on your wedding day......" I could talk about irony forever. I find it tremendously ironic that the food I crave the most is refined sugar. Refined sugar or any sugar feeds cancer cells. Cancer LOVES the stuff, and I have a hankering for Mango Sorbet....Isn't it Ironic?

It's ironic that I got cancer while working as an oncology nurse....As my friend Jim said, "I know you're dedicated....but this is taking it just a little too far." Now that's funny.....and quite ironic.

I like to write with wit and sarcasm. I like to make people laugh when I share stories and I was determined to keep my posts light and funny while describing the human side of battling cancer. The problem is, cancer is not funny. Mention the "C" word and people get this awful, frightened look on their face that is hardly ready for a punch line. I have tried a hundred ways to make light of my experience, but recognize early that my gallows humor, born out of 12 years of Emergency nursing, only appeals to a select group of friends. Even when I am in a jovial mood, making light of my situation in groups of friends, I still sense deep sadness and tragedy that has since been magnified with the shaving of my head. This morning, my husband and I were discussing the last few days and the intensity of my symptoms with this last administration of chemo. I admitted that it was difficult and that I would probably be someone very different after all of this was over.

He responded, "Maybe you'll be nicer."

It was funny. His timing was perfect. It made me laugh and I was reminded that there IS humor in all of this, very deep, and rooted in tragic psychology that many people are not conscious of or are completely uncomfortable with. The key is timing and delivery and finding the really funny aspects of all of this that everyone can relate to.

Not everybody speaks "chemo". If I were to tell you a joke like,

"How many chemo patients does it take to change a light bulb?"

Answer: None, they don't have to change a lightbulb because they already glow in the dark.

One would have to know that the agents used in chemotherapy are often brightly colored (like antifreeze) or that they are so toxic, glowing in the dark almost seems like a plausible side effect. Most people don't get it. How can you be funny if you tell jokes that people just don't get? Or that people don't want to laugh at. Lately, I've been getting courtesy laughs and blank stares of "does she really think that's funny?"

The recent shaving of my head has created a new challenge for me in keeping things light. People stare and look away or tell me I have a "beautifully shaped head." It's sweet, but it makes me laugh. How do you respond to that? I like your head shape too? I try to come up with quotes from G.I. Jane or break into renditions of Sinead O'Connor songs but people don't laugh except for my friends with the same sick sense of humor who take it one step further with Kojak or Grace Jones references. Being bald is funny and so are the other side effects. One of the major side effects of the chemo is the nausea. When asked what it feels like, I explain, "It's like the hangover that follows a 3-day drinking binge of Jager-tee, Jagermeister, and Stroh rum at high altitude without eating anything prior." Most people have not had this unfortunate experience or anything similar to it. I wonder if I should be embarrassed that the wealth of my experience affords this analogy. Some people laugh because it is totally like me to have done something so wild and unbelievable, and lived to tell the tale. Others find me sad and unrefined. I say, drink the Jager-tee but stop there. It's enough to get the idea....

Another side effect is the intensification of one's sense of smell and taste. I can smell a ripe pineapple from a mile away. I can smell an oncoming rainstorm. I can smell my daughter's shampoo 3 rooms down the hall. Imagine the unpleasantness of this new heightened ability.....Yeah. Getting rid of the cats smells like a great idea.

Then there's this weird thing with appetite and taste. For women who are, or ever have been pregnant, they can probably relate. Once, when I was pregnant with my daughter Stella, I had an intense craving for chocolate cake. I wanted it freshly baked and frosted so I spent the greater portion of my day, while on bedrest, baking and frosting a cake. At the end of this laborious process, I was so excited to cut a piece of chocolate heaven and enjoy what was to be an experience of culinary mastery despite its Betty Crocker origins. I giggled with anticipation. I took one bite and then two. After three bites, I wanted to hurl. I cried for an hour that the joy of eating chocolate cake was so fragile and so fleeting. Marek gained 20lbs when I was pregnant, largely because this phenomenon occurred frequently and there was no one else to eat a perfectly well-baked chocolate cake. I was saved by an intense need for refrigerated, Entemann's, buttermilk doughnuts that never waned and thankfully, kept me out of a deep psychological despair. However, it also kept me out of a size 6 and my favorite bikini for quite some time too. Chemotherapy is much like being pregnant in that respect. One minute, I want huevos rancheros and the next, I am shuttering at the thought of an egg or anything resembling food. Water is repulsive. Despite the throbbing headache from being severely dehydrated, the thought of drinking water resembles the abhorrent act of eating a cockroach. I simply cannot do it. I can take small sips of Kombucha or fizzy drinks but water is detestable. My body needs it and I know it, but I swear it will kill me if I drink it. It's easier to curl up and wait for my ER friends to bring me IV fluids, .....which they never do of course because that is illegal, unethical and unprofessional.....I am still hoping that the healthy equivalent of refrigerated Entemann's buttermilk doughnuts will soon present itself. My psychological well-being depends on it.

The good news is my bikini still fits....well, sort of. Having one breast instead of two makes the bikini presentation a little....uneven and disturbing. The question is do you flatten the right side or build up the left with a silicone prosthesis? It's hard to hide the duct tape so flattening is a challenge. The problem with the silicone prosthesis is that it looks far better than the 30-year old, post-breastfeeding, slightly downward-turning breast on the right. (Yes, I said 30. I did not get breasts until I was 15.....so shutup). So, the bikini fits on the bottom but not on the top. After years of ski racing, cycling, and playing soccer, with far too much junk in my trunk, it is the first time in 37 years that this has ever happened. Now THAT is ironic.