Gone Too Soon

Some people teach us how to live; some teach us how to die. Some teach us both.  And some just die too soon.

I hadn't opened LinkedIn in almost a week, and when I did, the lead post on my wall was one from my college alma mater.  You may have heard of the tragic fire in the Bronx (a borough of New York City) that killed 17 people in an apartment house.  Well, one of them was a sophomore at that college, a young woman who was planning to become a social workers. Her name was Sera Janneh.

The rest of her family made it out; she got separated in the terrible smoke and zero visibility the tenants faced when they tried to flee. One of her sisters was in critical condition the last I knew, her lungs damaged from smoke inhalation.

Every parent's worst nightmare is losing a child   That's not how things are supposed to work. And some of these families lost several members, all from smoke inhalation.  Nightmarish.

Gone too soon.  Then, there's other tragedies.

Bonnie was a Facebook friend and fellow blogger.  She was from Hawaii and lived in Brooklyn.  An avid sea kayaker and lover of the ocean, she expanded my horizons and showed me a side of New York City that I had never experienced in my 21 years of growing up in the City.  She was also a participant in the boat flotilla of September 11, 2001 which transported stranded workers from lower Manhattan  back to New Jersey so they could get home. 

I enjoyed Bonnie's photos of Brooklyn and her kayaking adventures.  She belonged to a paddling club in Jamaica Bay and was a fearless kayaker.  Her last job was with Scholastic, which must have been like heaven to a book lover like her (and me!)

Bonnie touched many lives in many ways.  I had no idea how many lives until she started her final voyage Wednesday, January 12.

Social media has brought people together who otherwise never would have known each other.  I don't remember when I discovered Bonnie but I am grateful I had the opportunity to experience a small slice of her adventures.

Yes, another pair of my socks.

Bonnie battled breast cancer once before (in 2016).  In March, 2020 it returned, just as COVID-19 hit New York City like a bomb.  Bonnie knew that metastatic breast cancer wasn't curable, but the doctors at the Manhattan hospital where she was treated bought her as much time as they could under the circumstances.  Bonnie remained upbeat on the outside all through the last almost two years of her life.  In December, she started to post pictures and reminiscences of the past on her Facebook wall, but didn't reveal (at first) that she had started home hospice care.

On January 8, she posted her last picture - a view of a group of kayakers in front of her, as they embarked on a voyage.

Rest in peace, Sera (and the others who died in the Bronx fire) and Bonnie.

An October Walk and Drive

I was planning to post this on Sunday, but the death of Jay Black of Jay and the Americans prompted a tribute post. So I'm changing this a little and posting today.

Our part of New York State isn't the only area where the foliage show has been below average.  Part of this is because our temperatures, for the most part, have been above average.  In fact, we haven't received our first frost yet.

But climate change definitely has something to do with it. 

At our house, it got out to 70 degrees F (21 C) yesterday but I was working and couldn't enjoy much of it.  Today, we are getting rain and we are under a flash flood watch (yet again).  Meanwhile, the Eastern coast is getting a nor'easter. 

These first few photos were taken Thursday.

On the Rail Trail, trees are finally starting to turn but the color is still muted.  The clouds don't help.

Another view of the trail.

After our walk, we decided to drive on some of the back roads in more wooded areas of our area.

The fall foliage is behind where it normally would be, and the color isn't there the way it should be.

Here and there you see traces of what should be, though the colors are muted.

Ah, a little better. (Please forgive the dirty window - it was too cold to open them).

Still another view near the last view.

Oh, those clouds, with the sun popping in and out.

One more view.

By Sunday, the color was a little better. 

The reddish tree to the left is a dogwood, planted at a memorial to a woman who passed away years ago from breast cancer at the age of 38.  Her memory lives on in a charitable organization.

Virginia creeper.

Hoping the foliage gets better before the leaf peeping season ends or the leaves are blown off by a storm, whichever comes first.

The Pink Tsunami of 2019

It's October.  It's time to wear pink and support the fight against breast cancer.  Also, it's time for what has become, for me, an annual rant.

The Pink Tsunami makes me wince, even as I wore pink to work yesterday and put on my pink socks with the breast cancer "loop". I knew I would be in a meeting with a former co worker who's spent a lot of this year battling (and I have no other word for it) breast cancer.  She wore pink, too.

I will say up front;  I have never had cancer.  I have been a bystander and, at one point in my life, a caregiver to someone who was undergoing cancer treatment.

Don't get me wrong.  I know there is a history behind the pink tsunami.  I know  some of the details of what my mother in law went through battling her two distinct breast cancers during the 1970's (more on that a little later).  So many people alive today do not know the horrors of breast cancer back then - how women were given no support, how women would be put under while a "frozen section" was run on their tumor. The woman would not know, when she woke up, if she would awaken with their entire body intact or not. Cancer in those days  (not just breast cancer0 was something you fought privately, with little or no support.

My late mother in law, to be blunt about it, was butchered by a well meaning surgeon and had an extensive scar on her chest to prove how men treated the removal of a breast in the bad old days.

So what is my issue?  And do I have a right to even have an issue, given I have never had cancer?

Well, yes.

I think the "pink" campaign trivializes breast cancer.  How many of you are aware, for example, that there is no such monolith as "breast cancer" but instead a whole spectrum of cancers affecting the breast?  My mother in law had two different types.  One was a tumor.  The other manifested itself as a discharge.  Her doctor "poo pooed"  the discharge but finally an instinct told my mother in law that she had a problem and had to seek help elsewhere.  Even after the cancer diagnosis, it was diagnosed incorrectly. Fortunately, Memorial Sloane Kettering in New York City (the same hospital where the woman I wrote about above is being treated) made the correct diagnosis (so correct treatment could be given).  There is nothing cute or pink about this killer.

And, not everyone survives.  Not only that, but sometimes there is a tendency  to "blame the victim":  those with Stage IV, well, they didn't eat the right foods, or they didn't exercise enough, or they didn't do their self exam well enough, or they didn't get enough mammograms or...they didn't fight hard enough.  Really?  I know I still don't understand as I've never faced cancer and a part of me hopes I never have to understand.   But blaming the person in treatment I do understand.  It's wrong.

There is no cure for breast cancer.  You are in remission, or you are not.

This one is really important.
Men can get breast cancer too!  I worry about my dear husband - with his family history-mother had it twice, and three of her sisters had breast cancer also.  Yes, he's at risk.

Did you know that men have breast tissue?  I read a statistic online saying that one out of every 100 breast cancers is diagnosed in a man.  These men are drowning in the pink tsumani of misunderstanding.

There is a high risk breast cancer clinic in Binghamton, New York (where I work) and I've talked to my husband about calling them just to talk.  So far, he won't, despite his family history.  He is scared off (or so he says) by the sea of pink.

Why not read the story of a man who lives an hour or so from here, Bob Riter.  In his 60's he's a survivor and an advocate.

4.  I believe the pink tsunami of breast cancer funnels money from other cancers.  Maybe breast cancer gets the publicity because there is a test for it or because of the horrible past history I touched on above.  Let's face it, there are no reliable tests for many cancers.  But women (and men) die from other reproductive cancers.  My former neighbor did, leaving a 12 year daughter and a 6 year old developmentally disabled son and a grieving husband to raise them.  

Or let's think about pancreatic cancer.  Alex Trebek thinks about it daily.

A cousin's wife died from brain cancer earlier this year.  Not too many people survive the cancer she had.

A co worker's brother died of colon cancer.  He was in his 20's. His sister fights to get insurance to pay for colonoscopies for her two grown children, both now in their 20's.  Rates of colon cancer are increasing among young people, according to the New York Times.

There are all the 9/11 first responders and civilians who have passed on from 9/11 cancer.  They will be passing for years to come. Where are their canned soups, marches and colored clothing?

For this coming October, why not forget the pink and raise money for research into fighting all cancer, and raising awareness and funds for the support of family and friends?

Day 2 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge #blogboost

Throwback Thursday - The Ugly Stepsister of Cancer

This is a repeat of a post from 2016, with a lesson as fresh as today.

A former New York State Senator from our area passed away from prostate cancer.  He was 63.  He represented our area for years and was in the news for years.  A county official, meantime, has been battling lung cancer for several years.

In mid-April of 2016 a former co worker passed away, from breast cancer.

The rest of this post  is originally from May of 2014. And if I was to update it, it would contain even more sad news.

Since I blogged this, the person whose news caused her friend to break a lunch date with me passed away, as did the friend I gave the "Ugly Stepsister of Cancer" essay link to.  The person who broke the lunch date got her own cancer diagnosis in late 2014 (continuing NEC in April of 2018). And since then, a high school and college friend has battled breast cancer.

When will it ever end?  Certainly not today, and if you want to read more about male breast cancer, check out this post that starts out with a man who makes kettlecorn.

The Ugly Stepsister of Cancer (from 2014)

While I would love to blog about spring today, there is something going on that I need to blog about.

But first, a picture for my blog readers to enjoy.  In the language of flowers, hyacinth can mean consistency.  Or, it can mean "I'm sorry, please forgive me."
Last week, I got an email from someone I had a lunch date with.  She had been in communication with a woman she knew.  That person had "a cold that wouldn't quit." Finally, the person sought medical help.

It wasn't a cold.  It was lung cancer.  And before that woman could blink twice, she was being put into hospice care.  Her family called my friend and told her the woman was asking for her.

It was, needless to say, overwhelming. What do you do when you go to the doctor and find out you have something you never expected?  Well, my friend broke her date with me (good for her!) and went to her other friend - one who is suddenly making the acquaintance of the Ugly Stepsister of Cancer.

I decided to go to the library, now that I was without a lunch date. I found a wonderful book there, written by a local (well, from Ithaca, but Ithaca is only an hour from where I live in upstate New York) breast cancer survivor, called "When Your Life is Touched by Cancer". The author is Bob Riter. 

Yes, the author is male and is a breast cancer survivor.  Yes, men get breast cancer.  And, in fact, my spouse is at risk due to his family history.

There is one cancer that Bob Riter, who has worked with cancer patients as the executive director of The Cancer Resource Center of the Finger Lakes, calls "The Ugly Stepsister of Cancer".  It is lung cancer.

Lung cancer patients bear a burden no other cancer patients bear.  They find themselves required to explain their cancer, over and over.  "Do you smoke?"  "Did you smoke?" they are asked when they tell others of their cancer.

If no (which is the case of someone I know who has been battling lung cancer for over two years),  the patient has to explain that yes, some 15% of people who get lung cancer never smoked.

If yes - well, it's your fault.  No support for you!

Why, ever, would we EVER want to blame someone who has cancer for their cancer?  But my friend has been through this, and now my friend's friend will have go to through this, too.

Also, last Tuesday, I gave four trees to a work friend who lives out in the country to plant in honor of a late neighbor,who died while I was on vacation in April.  I can still remember the day he told me, matter of factly, that he had cancer, and how he was trying to make his peace with it.  (And no, I won't describe "his battle", because that's another thing Bob Riter talks about.)

Finally, last Tuesday, my mother in law found out that her cancerous tumor is dead, but she still needs testing to make sure the cancer didn't spread.  And, meanwhile, she has bills coming in.  She's elderly, she does not have boundless energy, and she asked us to help investigate some of the bills.  She seems to be falling through the cracks of help. Wrong cancer. Wrong place of residence.  Wrong wrong wrong.

Cancer has been on my mind a lot lately.  So what I did was....email Bob Riter.

And he emailed me back!

What a marvelous person, and the people of Ithaca, New York are so lucky to have him in their lives.

He gave me some starting points with which to help my mother in law.  And, he recommended that I give my friend with lung cancer a copy of the "Ugly Stepsister of Cancer" essay. He's generously posted it online for any of us to read. (To my friend,  I'm sending her the essay.)

If you have cancer, or have a loved one or friend with cancer, I highly recommend this book.  It is a treasure.  It covers so much, in simple language and in easy to read bites.  Bob Riter has thought of everything.  Well, everything but the line of Hallmark cards I'd REALLY like to see, but that's a blog post for another time.

And now, I hope I don't have to talk about cancer again for a long, long time. But, sadly, I know that is not going to happen.

The Pink Tsunami of October

In a week, we will have the annual breast cancer walk in Binghamton, New York.

I can imagine what it will be like, based on past events.

It will have a large turnout.  Crowds of women and men dressed in pink, or in white shirts with the breast cancer symbol, or sporting pink boas, will start out from Rec Park, and march through the streets of the West Side of Binghamton.  Perhaps it will be a beautiful fall day like yesterday was (crisp and clear, beautiful blue skies).  But I won't be part of the crowd.  I will be on the sideline, fighting the conflicting emotions that always rise in my - excuse me, chest-  when I think of breast cancer.

Why?

Don't get me wrong.  I was quite alive and well in the "bad days" of breast cancer. I know some of what my mother in law went through battling her two distinct breast cancers during the 1970's (more on that a little later).  So many people alive today do not know the horrors of breast cancer back then - how women were given no support, how women would be put under while a "frozen section" was run on their tumor.. Women would not know, when they woke up, if they would awaken with their entire body intact or not. If they woke up minus a breast (no chance to think about it) well - cancer in those days was something you fought privately, with little or no support.

My mother in law, to be blunt about it, was butchered by a well meaning surgeon and has the scar to prove how men treated the removal of a breast in the bad old days.

So what is my issue?

Several issues.

1.  I think the "pink" campaign trivializes breast cancer.  How many of you are aware, for example, that there is no such monolith as "breast cancer" but instead a whole spectrum of cancers affecting the breast?  My mother in law had two different types.  One was a tumor.  The other manifested itself as a discharge.  Her doctor "poo pooed" it but finally an instinct told my mother in law that she had a problem and had to seek help elsewhere.  Well, even after the cancer diagnosis, it was diagnosed incorrectly and fortunately Memorial Sloane Kettering made the correct diagnosis (so correct treatment could be given).  There is nothing cute or pink about this killer.

2.  Not everyone survives.  And I truly think there is a tendency today to "blame the victim":  those with Stage IV, well, they didn't eat the right foods, or they didn't exercise enough, or they didn't do their self exam well enough, or they didn't get enough mammograms or...they didn't fight hard enough.  ???????  Some of this comes down to the old American attitude: we don't want to face death.  That isolates the woman fighting cancer even more.  I saw this happen to an aunt I loved very much and I was a little too inexperienced (in my 20s) back then to understand.  Know what?   I know I still don't understand as I've never faced cancer and a part of me hopes I never have to understand.

There is no cure for breast cancer.  You are in remission, or you are not.

3.  Men can get breast cancer too!  I worry about my dear husband - with his family history-mother had it twice, and four of her sisters had breast cancer also-is he at risk? .  So, women...did you know that men have breast tissue?  I read a statistic online saying that one out of every 100 breast cancers is diagnosed in a man.  And every one of those men is drowning in the pink tsumani of misunderstanding.

Don't believe me?  There is a high risk breast cancer clinic in Binghamton, and I've talked to my husband about calling them just to talk.  So far, he won't, despite his family history.  He is scared off (or so he says) by the sea of pink.
I recommend you read the story of a local man, Bob Riter.

4.  I truly feel the pink tsunami of breast cancer funnels money from other cancers.  Maybe breast cancer gets the publicity because there is a test for it or because of the past history I touched on above.  Let's face it, there are no reliable tests for many cancers.  Let's see, how about another dread women's cancer (and this is one only women get):  ovarian cancer?  Women die every day from ovarian cancer.  My former neighbor did.    My late neighbor, who was a middle school music teacher beloved in the community, left a 12 year daughter and a 6 year old son.  Where are all the ovarian cancer soups and cosmetics? 

Or let's think about pancreatic cancer.  This is the cancer "sword" dangling over my head:  I've lost an aunt, an uncle and a great uncle to this killer that rarely gives a sign until it is too late. Or stomach cancer?  I lost an aunt to that. 

A co worker's brother died of colon cancer.  He was in his 20's. He isn't alone.  Rates of colon cancer are increasing among young people, according to the New York Times.

My childhood best friend survived ovarian cancer, only to die, almost 35 years later, from non-small cell lung cancer.  Exposure to 9/11 smoke may have contributed to her cancer.

I've rambled on enough, but I want to make one more plea. 

Stop the pink.  We need to fight cancer.
Cancer.  Not one type of cancer.  All cancer.

Now.

Day 7 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge #blogboost

Row Well and Fight Breast Cancer

Today, on a day we will probably break a high temperature record, I wonder about the women I wrote about before back in 2012.  I wonder how many of them are still alive, still thriving.

How many of you don't know someone who has had breast cancer?  I would be willing to bet the answer is "not many".

I prefer, for fundraising purposes, that we raise money to fight all cancer (I've blogged about my belief from time to time), but I also want to pay tribute to the women in my life who have waged this particular fight.

My mother in law (a two time breast cancer survivor) fought this fight back in the 1970's, back in what one might call "the dark ages". She didn't get much support, something that all people with cancer need.

For those who have survived breast cancer, this program is so empowering.  I applaud it.  I am happy to find the dragonboat/breast cancer movement is international, and continues to thrives.

Day 18 of the #Ultimate Blog Challenge

Row Well and Live (from 2012)

Today's quiz:  in what sport can a boat of 60 year old rowers win a race against 20 year old racers?

In Ithaca, New York, on Bastille Day 2012, we were treated to a sport where that can happen.

The secret is coordination. The elderly team, if coordinated, will beat out the young ones, as a dragon boater explained to the crowd.

Dragon boating is a sport where adults of all ages can participate and breast cancer survivors can make rude gestures at the obsolete medical advice that, after breast cancer surgery, they should give up activities such as carrying grocery bags. (More on breast cancer survivors dragonboaters later).

Maybe no more grocery bag carrying for these survivors, but they sure can row a boat.  So can the seniors.

Welcome to Dragon Boat racing.  Once something combined to certain countries in the Far East, dragon boats have caught on all over the country.

I've wanted to see a dragon boat race since I visited Philadelphia about 10 years ago, and the news shows were full of coverage focusing on the races to begin - right after I left.

It was love at first sight. Love as a spectator, that is. To my knowledge, there are no teams where I live in the Binghamton, New York. (2016 note - there still aren't).

The boats are simple.

In the front, next to the dragon head, a caller sits.  He or she beats the cadence (yes, like in that famous ship battle scene in the movie Ben Hur.)  Around 18-20 rowers are in each boat, along with a steerer.

Here is another view of the empty boats.

And, of course, there is the beautiful scenery of Ithaca, NY.

The names of the teams were amusing or inspirational.  My favorite was "Dragonboat Z" (Cornell's team), who won a bronze metal.  Other teams included the Puff Puff Dragons, the Wall Street Dragons, Big Red October, and Water Viper.

After the "Dotting the Eye" ceremony (more on that in another post), the breast cancer survivor team came  on stage and talked about their sport.  The speaker, a retired nurse in her 70's, had been an oncology nurse (ironically) and remembered the hundreds of post-mastectomy patients she had talked to, cautioning them about all the things they could no longer do.  Now, as a breast cancer survivor, she dragon boats.

The woman explained that only breast cancer survivors could race on her team.  Later, I did some research about the link between dragon boating and breast cancer survivors. It's symbolic and I understand the symbolism (knowing several breast cancer survivors) although I could wish they would take survivors other cancer survivors into their program.

If you are a breast cancer survivor, would you consider taking up dragon boating?

Facing Our Mortality

I hesitated a lot - a lot, before writing this post. 

I suspect that most bloggers practice some degree of self-censorship.  Don't discuss certain topics.  Treat other ones lightly.  But I saw something on Facebook the other day that, as the current saying goes, I can't unsee.

Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend.  Her husband died from a combination of causes, including stroke and several cancers and spent his final year or so in a nursing home.

Earlier this year, my friend was treated for breast cancer.

We were chatting about "this and that" when I brought up a topic that I normally don't bring up in conversation.  No, instead, I opened my mouth and out it came.

I started to talk to her about an article I had read online yesterday called "How Doctors Die".  It was published a couple of years ago by an online magazine and made it to my Facebook timeline earlier this week. It was written by a doctor.

Doctors don't die like the rest of us, said this doctor.  The difference is extraordinary, according to this article. 

Many doctors, faced with an advanced life threatening illness, choose not to be treated.

What grabbed me was the beginning - a mentor of the author, and a doctor himself, found a lump in his stomach.  It was pancreatic cancer.  This doctor made the decision not to get treatment.

I have thought about pancreatic cancer from time to time over the years.  Three of my relatives died from it.  I don't know what type they had, but I do know the life expectancy statistics are not good.  I also know there is a genetic component.  My doctor has confirmed that, but he has nothing to offer me.

Right now, there is no test - no pap smear, no mammogram, no PSA test, for pancreatic cancer.

Why did this article grab me?  Because one of my three relatives who died from this cancer was a doctor.  I had lost touch with that branch of my family so never knew the details, only the death.  But now, I started to wonder if he had sought treatment. This man was a brilliant doctor, known for his ability to diagnose cases that stumped others.  He must have known the odds.

My aunt, who was in her early 50's, did know her odds of survival, I suspect.  She worked in insurance (I'm not sure if it was life or health but it was one of them) - in claims.  But some other family members were in total denial. "You'll get better", they said, even as she wasted away.  I moved to where she lived (a move planned before her diagnosis) while she was in her final months, and saw her decline. 

My son's pediatrician died several years ago.  I suspect he chose not to be treated for his condition, either.  Instead, there was a party for him, all his former patients invited, and he died not that long after.

This article suggests that Dr. Murray is not alone in his view.

My friend has told me, more than once, that if her cancer returns, and doctors want to give her chemo, she will not do it - except, perhaps, in an experimental program where she can benefit others.  My friend is deeply religious, and is comfortable with her decision.  So when I opened my mouth yesterday - we had a friend to friend talk.

I have other friends who faced a grim diagnosis by undergoing the treatments the medical profession suggested.  In fact, I know several people who survived when the odds were against them.

Treatment is an extremely personal decision and I would never give anyone any advice on facing their mortality.  I haven't had such a diagnosis. My time has not come yet and I have no right to think any less of anyone who takes a path that works for them, whether it is full treatment or no treatment, or something in between. I am not a deeply spiritual person, but knowing a number of people in the past few years who have faced death with dignity has  made me think a lot about what I would do.

There is no easy way to face our mortality, or the mortality of a friend or loved one.

I usually end my blog posts with a question. Not this time.  Because right now I just don't know what to think.

And no, I can't unsee the article.

The Mistaken Invitation

I wasn't surprised when I opened my mailbox yesterday, and the letter was there.

I knew what was in the envelope before I opened it, because I've gotten that letter at this time every year for the past few years.

It begins:

"You are invited!
(date in June)
to Celebrate a World with...."

I am happy to report that, once again, I am not eligible to attend.  The rest of the invite reads:

"..to Celebrate a World with Less Cancer and More Birthdays".  Why wouldn't I want to attend?

But first, I need to back up a little.

For several years, I participated in the American Cancer Society (ACS) Relay for Life, when my employer had a team. The Relay is a walk where you participate as a team.  One person must be on the track at all times, for about 18 consecutive hours, so many team members (I never did) camp out on the track.  There are giveaways, entertainment, and a lot of high school and college students have a good time as they try to stay awake all night.  They cook dinner - coffee is provided - and breakfast.

 Of course, as a team member, you are expected to fundraise for the ACS.  I would usually donate an afghan to our team to raffle, too.

Many people in my life have been impacted by cancer.  Three of my friends (the first one when I was 13) have died from cancer.  Several others are survivors.  Two dear friends are currently under treatment.

When you register for the Relay for Life, you indicate if you are a cancer survivor or not.  Survivors get a participating T-Shirt of a different color than people who have never been diagnosed.  I always registered as a person who has not had cancer.  I have never received a cancer diagnosis.

I was been a caregiver for someone with cancer, but it wasn't for a long period of time, and that person is no longer in active treatment.  One day, that person may be living up here, and I will pass the invite on to her.

Survivors of cancer are invited to attend a free dinner at the Relay, where they are honored.  A caregiver of their choice can also attend at no charge.

Somehow, I am on the ACS's list as a cancer survivor.  For over five years, I've been getting this invitation letter, long before someone I am a long distance caregiver for received a cancer diagnosis.  I've sometimes passed the letter along (the invite is not personalized) to a local cancer survivor in my life, and I will do the same this year.  And, I suppose, I could contact our ACS chapter and ask them to take my name off their survivors list.  But I'm not going to.

In a way, this invitation reminds me of how fortunate I am to not be able to attend this dinner.  I am grateful for their mistake.

What are you grateful for today?

It's Lump Day

Do you know what day it is?

A good friend of mine does. But before I go into the details of this special day for her, I need to backtrack a little.

Yesterday, I blogged about a friend who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.  The next step after the biopsy that diagnosed her was for her to have an MRI to stage her (to find out how far along the cancer was)  So, she had her "girl" MRI'd, and, let's just say, you don't have this test done with many clothes on.

Let me have her tell you (with her permission!) what happened next.

Of course, after it was over and I was standing in my little cubbyhole [not dressed enough for public display], the fire alarm went off. I finished dressing, peeked out and lights were flashing and the PA system said, “Code Red in Atrium”, but nobody was running away. The fire trucks were there, too, but guess it was a false alarm.

THEN I decided to hit the ladies’ before going out in the cold. Hung my coat on the door and placed my purse on the edge of the sink. While I was, let’s say, unable to jump up and run across the bathroom, my purse fell into the sink which activated the faucet. I dumped everything out when I got here and ran my heater on the inside  lining. Nothing got ruined.
 And you thought YOU had a bad day.

Well, when she saw the surgeon, he told her that her lumpectomy would have to be done on a Wednesday, because he only does lumpectomies on Wednesdays.

 For most people, this is what Wednesday is.  It's - well, let the camels tell the story.

For my friend, it's Lump Day.  Hopefully, the hospital won't have a fire alarm in the middle of her surgery.

My friend loves puns. And so, I'm busy trying to round up greeting cards with pun themes.  I've got one I will send out to her soon.

There is nothing funny about cancer, yet, her stories have a way of making me smile.

My friend reads my blog regularly, so those who left well wishes or offers of prayers yesterday will be read by her, and appreciated.  Thank you.

You, my readers, are the best.

A Tale of Two....

Once upon a time, there were two friends.  They had been friends for over 16 years.

These two women, on paper, have little in common.  One is big city bred, one small town bred.  One an only child, the other with full and half siblings. Different religions.  Different life experiences.  An animal rescuer and a petless person.  One is an expert punner.  The other is her victim.

Yet, they had become friends.

One day, one confided in the other.  There was something wrong. A suspicious lump where no woman wants a lump.  She had had a mammogram and an ultrasound.  The results required a biopsy.  She was waiting for the results of the biopsy.

The other friend said, funny you should mention that.  On my recent exam, my gyn found a suspicious lump in my dense breasts. She showed me, and I felt it.   I had a mammogram and an ultrasound.  Negative, the other friend continued, but I just got a call from my gyn.  She felt something didn't add up between the results and what she (and I) had felt.  My gyn wants me to come in for a followup....

They hugged, and talked about what would happen if the results were positive. They would support each other.  In case treatment took their hair, they decided on the color of their wigs.


One friend's biopsy result: Positive.

The other friend's followup:  Negative. 

A good writer would write such a good, punny, ending to this, but, knowing my friend will be operated on tomorrow, I just can't.


I just know something about tomorrow is going to make me smile, because that is the kind of person my friend is.

And tomorrow, you are going to smile, too.