My Cancer . . .

When NPR reporter Leroy Sievers asked his cancer blog readers to finish the sentence, "My cancer. . . ," he received more than 350 replies. The responses were as diverse and dynamic as the individuals.

To celebrate the amazing community that Leroy has created, Beth, an NPR staffer, published a photo gallery of moving pictures and inspirational words. Be sure to go to the June 26 post to take a look. You may recognize at least one of the contributors.

None But the Brave

I've been smiling a lot more lately.

No, I'm not happier. I'm just more vain.

You see, if I'm smiling or animated, I like the way I look. But when I'm writing or reading or thinking or just sitting around doing nothing, the little corners of my mouth curl down into a sad frown. It's a very unattractive look that doesn't necessarily reflect the way I'm feeling.

Even the animated Ellen DeGeneres, who turned 50 this year, commented on how beautiful and serene a 20-something guest actress looked without turning up the corners of her mouth. "If I'm not smiling," Ellen explained, "I look sad or mad."

I was tired of looking sad or mad when I felt happy and serene. The solution was just a syringe of Radiesse away. My dermatologist used my face as a pin cushion and punctured my mouth area 40 times (yes, I counted) with the miracle solution. Some of the punctures were painless, others felt like gnat stings, and a few were like bee stings.

And they say cancer patients are brave.

Vita Interruptus

Right after my initial diagnosis , I met Brad, a fellow "cell mate" with the same disease (MCL, blastic variety) going through a similar regimen at the same time. We became cheer leaders for one another through our treatments and recovery.

After I posted the good news about my six-month clean scans, he sent an upbeat reminder about the positive prognosis for us blastics. Just a few years ago, the diagnosis was a death sentence with a one-year survival rate. But today's aggressive treatments have pushed that time line so far out that, as Brad quipped, we could easily outlast our non-cancer counterparts.

But the very next day Brad reported that his oncologist decided to order a CT scan for a swollen lymph node. He learned yesterday that, ten months after treatment completion, the MCL is back with a vengeance.

A few weeks ago, Brad and his wife decided to "just do it" and pursue their dream of living in the country. They both found teaching jobs at a rural school district and were planning to sign the contracts today.

But sometimes life gets interrupted, or "vita interruptus" as I like to call it. Because of insurance and medical leave issues, they've decided to stay at their current school district. Their dream of country living will be deferred until Brad completes a donor stem cell transplant at MD Anderson.

Please keep Brad and his family in your good thoughts and prayers.

The heat is on . . .

In the natural ebb and flow of things, my mind is off cancer (for at least another six months) and on to more critical things, like food.

Check out my food blog to find out one of my favorite hot-weather indulgences.

Plenty to shout about!

I received great news today:

- My PET and CT scans are CLEAN.
- My blood counts continue to rise.

When I heard the news from Dr. Forman, I felt as jubilant as Tiger Woods after he sunk that difficult putt on the 18th hole.

As Newsweek editor Jonathan Alter wrote in his "My Life With Cancer" article, the semiannual scans are like a visit to the parole officer. "When the scans are clean, it's worth another six months of freedom, though with no guarantee of extra time for good behavior."

My EOS (a type of white blood cell) counts are still abnormally high at 53% (0-4% is normal). I'm also losing weight again (three pounds in two weeks) even though I'm still trying to pack on a few more pounds. (These two things may or may not be related.) At any rate, I'm going off the minocyclin prescribed by my dermatologist to see if it's causing these whacky side effects.

Audacious

The entrance to the auditorium at the Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center has a plaque with the definition of the word "audacious."

Audacious:

1. bold or daring; fearless
2. not restrained by a sense of shame or propriety; rudely bold; brazen

As soon as I walked through those auditorium doors, I knew that I ran the risk of being branded as "audacious."

Instead of simply reading "Pole Dancing," I performed in a hospital gown and red feather boa with my trusty IV pole dance partner. We strutted and gyrated to Robert Palmer's "I Didn't Mean to Turn You On" and "Addicted to Love."

I was in a "fight or flight mode" for the entire 36 hours before the performance. But, once I got on stage in front of an audience of 300 who'd come to see "The Big C," I realized I was having fun. When the audience started clapping and whooping, I really got into it.

Best of all, I witnessed some amazing performances and met some passionate, positive people.

I had "met" the beautiful model and "actorvist" Sharon Blynn online at her
"Bald is Beautiful" website before meeting her in person at the Big C event.

Michael Goldberg, Sharon, Susan and talented writer Beverly Ward

Our producer, Christian Meoli, with Michael


I finally got to meet the delightful Christine Pechera ("Saffron Butterfly"), the CoH
patient who met her bone marrow donor at the 2008 Celebration of Life.

I was so happy to find out that Cindy and George were proud,
not embarrassed, by my audacious behavior.

Someone was videotaping the event, so I hope to receive a copy.

I should . . .

I sit on the chaise lounge
sipping a solitary mimosa,
soaking in the sun
like a clever cat.

And then a load of "I shoulds"
washes over me
like unwashed laundry.

I should deadhead the David Austin roses.
I should decapitate the Shasta daisies.
I should pour sunflower seeds into the bird feeder.

I should, but I don't.
Instead, I stroke the cat,
sip my mimosa and
fall asleep in the sun
with no regrets.

[Anyone who has seen me in the last three weeks knows that I've been in a frenzied, accomplish-everything-you-can-before-manic-Monday mode. Aren't you relieved that I slowed down today?]