When your best friend has cancer; Long distance love

A few weeks ago, I posted about what to do or say when your best friend learns she has cancer. It seemed that many people read and took those words to heart, and I want to make sure that it is clear: I am speaking from hindsight. Much of this I got wrong. I wasn't really very good at it, but I tried to pay attention and learn from my mistakes. 

When you live five hours away, it's hard to give advice for the everyday. Impossible really. Susan was so lucky to have a strong church community, school community, blogger community, and some really awesome friends who organized her meals, her childcare, and her transportation when needed. She also has the most amazing husband, parents, and in-laws who stepped in. The only things I know about supporting your friend in person when they are in cancer treatment are these:

• Don't show up sick. Don't show up if you've been sick in the past week. Don't show up if anyone in your house is sick. Germs are the absolute worst thing to bring them.
• When you want to help - have an idea. Don't call and say, "Let me know what I can do to help." They shouldn't have to think about it. If you have a skill or an opportunity, then step in and do something. Don't put it off on your friend to think up something for you to feel useful.
• And please - don't say that her problems make you rethink your own life or make you feel badly for having less life threatening problems. It's annoying to be the barometer of how much someone else's life sucks.

If you live five hours away, it's easy to think that you are useless, and that's not true. In fact, it's a little easier for you to be that person with whom your friend can still be "normal." When you aren't seeing the treatment first hand, it's a little easier for you to be the one who can still call and ask for help with your uncontrollable three year old. 

You can be the one who still needs her. And trust me, she needs to still be needed.

It felt selfish to me - to call and cry to her about my problems. What I learned though, was that in crying to her about my problems, she knew that I still saw her as my friend, Susan. Not my friend with cancer. 

Again, it's about living. The more you focus on the cancer with your friend, the more the cancer takes over. She needs people to still be who they were with her so that she can still be herself. If the cancer is terminal, then you both know it's going to take her life in the end - don't let it take her being while she is still here and breathing.

There will be times when you want to know what is going on with her treatment, and that is alright. Tell her that you would like an update when she is ready to give you one. Remember that she needs time to process information from the doctors and to go over it with her family. She will tell you want she needs you to know in her own time.

Living apart doesn't mean that you never see each other though. Get in the car, on a plane, or on a train and get there. This is the one area where I don't recommend trying to maintain the norm. Get there. Every chance you have to see her that you don't take will be time that you regret. Trust me on that one. Get there every single chance that you can. Take your children with you so that they can know her. Spend time with her children so that they can know you. Be friends with her partner - after all, you chose the same person as the bomb diggity. Of course, I already adored Susan's husband, so that last one was easy, but you get the point.

The phone line only goes so far. Make your choices wisely. Sacrifice. Get there. Because if you are life long best friends, then you may be one of the only people she feels like she can stay in her jammies around. She knows that if she needs to nap, you will amuse yourself or wash the dishes. She knows that she doesn't have to be strong around you - that you can and will handle her pain and her sorrow - because it's what you do for each other.

You won't be doing anything for her that she hasn't done for you all along - it's just in the context of cancer now.

When your best friend has breast cancer

It's October. Tis the season for everything pumpkin and oceans of pink vomited upon every product known to mankind.

It's October. Tis the season for me to think about Susan twice as much everyday and remember the one equation my astrophysicist best friend taught me that I actually understood:

ACTION > AWARENESS

There isn't much that I can add about what you can do during October that hasn't already been said. Susan said it best, of course, and new voices are rising all the time to remind us that living with breast cancer isn't made any easier by us posting the color of our bras on Facebook or not wearing a bra on October 13. 

What I can add is something for the friends of women living with breast cancer. It's something that I've wanted to write about for years now, but I realized that I wasn't really that great at it, and certainly didn't have enough knowledge to fill a book.

I can tell you what I did wrong, and maybe think of something I got right.

In the beginning . . .

One night, your best friend calls you on the phone. She has a three year old and a five month old. You are pregnant with your first child. Conversations had turned from babies to breast cancer over the past week because her mother-in-law had just been diagnosed and was about to start treatment. With you being the child of a breast cancer survivor, she turned to you to answer questions about helping a family member and dealing with telling the children. 

Only this night, she says, "In my internet research about breast cancer, I found something. Something called Inflammatory Breast Cancer." 

"I've never heard of it," I reply.

"I think I have it," she says slowly.

Here's where you can go right or wrong. 

Wrong thing to say, "Oh, Sus. There's no way you have breast cancer. You have no family history. You're breastfeeding. You're only 34. I'm sure it's just mastitis."

No. Don't do that. Don't dismiss a friend's concerns. Don't slide down a tear filled slope of worry with them, but don't dismiss them. EVER.

Right thing to say, "Wow. That must be scaring you. Have you made an appointment to have it checked? Do you need me to go with you?"

Listen.

Support.

Encourage.

After the initial diagnosis . . .

There will be a diagnosis. A diagnosis is not answers. Let me say that again. The diagnosis creates more questions that you can ever imagine. It does NOT provide answers.

Your best friend will tell you the diagnosis even before she has fully processed the news fully herself. There will be silence on the phone. Stay in it. Stay with her.

Wrong thing to do next is pepper her with questions, "What will they do? Is there treatment? Have you told the kids?"

A question you could ask are, "Do you need me to come?" 

Right thing to do next is possibly cry with her. Calmly. It might be to curse. It might be to apologize for saying the wrong thing the day before. You won't know exactly until you - 

Listen.

Support.

Encourage.

The thing is, with a diagnosis of Inflammatory Breast Cancer in particular, everything about what you thought you knew of the future is gone. The appointment you thought would give you answers, the one where you get your diagnosis? That appointment only turns everything into uncertainty.

Living in uncertainty is one of the hardest things to ask someone to do. 

Asking a billion questions of someone living in uncertainty is never helpful. Don't do it.

Something right I learned along the way was to ask in the first couple of minutes of our conversations, "What do you want to talk about? Life or cancer?" 

Most of the time, the answer was "life."

Because really, what your best friend with a new cancer diagnosis wants more than anything? Is to live. 

So do it. Live with her.

Listen.

Support.

Encourage.

The Hubble Collection

Something spectacular happened today.

LympheDIVAs released a new line of sleeves in memory of Susan. They are sleeves designed using images from the Hubble Telescope - The Hubble Collection.

Not only are they a perfect tribute to her, they are beautiful. Really gorgeous.

For every sleeve and gauntlet purchased from this collection, LympheDIVAs will make a donation to Crickett's Answer for Cancer, a cause very dear to Susan's heart.

Here's what Josh from LympheDIVAs had to say about it:

"In 2010, Susan Niebur of ToddlerPlanet arranged a discussion between LympheDIVAs, manufacturers of medically correct and fashionable compression garments for lymphedema, and the 501(c)3 charity Crickett’s Answer for Cancer. These two organizations with similar geneses quickly realized the potential of a partnership and established a working relationship to help provide lymphedema sleeves and gauntlets to those who could not afford them. LympheDIVAs has donated thousands of dollars worth of garments to Crickett’s Answer for Cancer, but that is not enough. When Susan Niebur passed away last year, LympheDIVAs wanted to honor both her memory, her fight and her legacy and design a sleeve in her honor that would give back to Crickett’s Answer for Cancer."

I know that a LympheDIVA sleeve isn't something that all of us need, but it's something that if you DO need it, then it's very important. So, I hope that you will help me spread the word about these new sleeves. Every woman who needs one deserves for it to be this beautiful.

More than anything, it's a beautiful way to honor Susan's memory, and nothing makes me happier than when people remember and honor this woman I love so much.

Thank you, LympheDIVAs.

Aren't they stunning?

Metastatic Breast Cancer Day

Today, October 17, is Metastatic Breast Cancer Day. Only one day out of the whole month of Pinktober is dedicated to metastatic breast cancer, which is technically, the only breast cancer that kills women. If you die because of breast cancer, then you die from breast cancer that has turned metastatic.

Metastatic Breast Cancer is what took Susan in February. Metastatic Breast Cancer still needs awareness, I think. So today, and every October 17 from now on, I'm going to send you back to her blog to read this:

"I am a woman with metastatic breast cancer.  My cancer was first detected as inflammatory breast cancer nearly 4.5 years ago, although I’ve also had invasive breast cancer, Paget’s disease, and recurrences as the cancer spread to lymph nodes under my left arm (2010), to lymph nodes in the center of my chest (New Year’s 2011), and then to my bones in March 2011.

Metastatic breast cancer means that cancer cells have spread from my right breast to other sites, made themselves at home, and reproduced so many times that now each cell has become a mass of cells detectable by today’s x-rays, CT scans, PET scans, and MRIs.  I have those tests frequently now, to determine how well my current treatment is proceeding, whether the cancer is progressing or held at bay, and when we should change treatments to something that might be more effective.  Last week’s tests and scans showed that there is still cancer in my neck, spine, ribs, and hips.  The blood tests had been showing a reduction in the total load of cancer cells in my body, but as the numbers slowed to a standstill, they agreed with the increasing pain in my hips, left ribs, and neck, one that agrees with the scans; we will have to change treatments."

Please. Please click over and read the rest of Susan's post at her blog, Toddler Planet.

Because they get it

I only met Susan one time. We were at the Type-A-Mom conference, and I had my baby with me. Susan got down on the floor with her and started to play. It was so cool.

"Ah," I say. "You must be @mamadweeb."

This is how is was this past weekend without Susan. I could not sit with her. I could not hold her hand. I could not laugh with her until we both cried.

But she was everywhere. Everywhere.

I remember walking into the Serenity Suite and finding Susan laying on the bed with her hands folded on her chest. She was sleeping, and I was thrilled that the Suite was being used so perfectly. I took out my phone to take a picture, and she opened one eye big just enough to give me the stink eye. The stink eye, and permission to go ahead and snap a picture.

"I remember this. It was right before she was to go speak on a panel. She needed to rest so badly. She laughed about that picture you took, Maggie. She told me about it."

I sat in the Serenity Suite and clutched my tissues as story after story as told from the other perspective. And I realized more and more all weekend long that she had told me every single bit of it.

It's not just that she wanted me to know because I couldn't be there with her that year. It is because every moment of her time at those conferences - no - every bit of human interaction at those conferences meant something to her. She loved people. She loving meeting you. She loved seeing your babies.

****************************************************************
Thursday afternoon, Amy and I were in front of the American Cancer Society's Hope Lodge, a place where cancer patients can stay for free while receiving long term treatment. We were about to go in for a reception honoring the #morebirthdays campaign and also honoring Susan.

We stepped onto the sidewalk, and I felt the panic rise all the way from the tip of my toes. In pulses, it moved through my abdomen, calling up my recently finished lunch, made its way to my throat, closing it tightly, and finally tried to escape through the tears welling up in my eyes.

I stopped. Amy stopped. She waited on me. Calmly. Patiently. It didn't take that long. I called up the techniques I've been learning in therapy the past few months, and in few deep breaths, I could move again.

That was how it was at BlogHer without Susan. Without Susan, but with friends who understand.

****************************************************************
Friday morning, the first panel I attended was Blogging for the Love of It. Bon was the moderator. She was one of the first bloggers I started reading in 2006 as per the advice of Susan. We love Bon, and Susan had the privilege of meeting her in D.C. one afternoon. Bon's posts were often a conversation topic for us, and Bon has been a tremendous support to me over the past year.

Walking towards the front of the room to hug Bon, I lost it.

Big, ugly, gasping, sobbing, tears. It came without warning and without being able to stop. I cried on her shoulder (great way for her to have to start her panel), and then excused myself to find some tissues.

With cocktail napkins in hand, and Sarah by my side, I began to pull it back together. Sitting in that session, I realized, this was going to be it. This weekend would be the weekend where I could cry freely because people would get it.

And so I did. I cried when I needed to or felt like it. Jean reminded me that it was okay. Kristen held my hand. Jess cried with me. Amy waited with kindness.

And they understood why I miss her like I do.

The tiles we painted in Susan's memory at the American Cancer Society.

They will be complied into a mosaic by Darryle Pollack, and hung at ACS in NYC or Atlanta.

LympheDIVAs and Liz Lange. In memory of Susan.

Yesterday, yet another of Susan's legacies came to fruition.

Susan connected Crickett's Answer to Cancer with LympheDIVAs, helping provide beautiful and necessary, but expensive, compression sleeves to cancer patients needing them.

It didn't stop there though. Of course it didn't. This is Susan I'm talking about. She then brought Liz Lange, who you might know best for her maternity line in Target, into the mix. Liz agreed to design a sleeve to be sold by LympheDIVAs with the proceeds to benefit Crickett's Answer to Cancer.

A couple of days before Susan died, we spoke about the sleeve. She was so proud of making that connection and helping women in need obtain the compression sleeves they so desperately needed.

This is a great day for Susan's work, advocacy, and legacy.

I hope you will help me spread the good news.

And now I know.

Posts I wrote over the past two months will be popping up. Things I needed to say, but it wasn't the time to say them. This is from December 8, 2011.

My best friend is dying.

Of course, by the time you are reading this, my best friend will already have died because this isn't something I want her to read.

When your best friend is dying, who do you talk to? I mean, she is the one I always called for everything. When my momma got sick, when my daddy got sick, when I got divorced, when I fell in love again, when I got pregnant, when I miscarried, when I need parenting help - always when I need parenting help - I call Susan.

I call Susan for everything. I call Susan for nothing. She is Christina to my Meredith.

This afternoon, I'm coming to grips with the fact that Susan is dying. We've known this for awhile now. It's what terminal cancer means. But Susan is doing a beautiful job of living with cancer instead of dying from cancer. It is Susan who taught me to quit mourning the upcoming deaths of my parents from terminal illnesses and start enjoying the time I have with them more. It is Susan who taught me that a terminal diagnosis is not an immediate death sentence, so love the life you have and live it to the fullest.

I love her.

I miss her today, right now. Not because she is sick, but because she is my best friend and outside of my immediate family, the person I would rather be with above all other people.

I miss her.

The thing is, I am supporting her the best that I can. My sorrow is not her sorrow to bear. She has her own sorrow. When your best friend is dying, you've got to find another shoulder to cry on. That doesn't mean that we haven't cried together - we have. It means that the selfish oh woe is me feelings that I have when I think about losing her - those feelings are not for her ears.

She has enough to deal with without me making her feel guilty for being sick and leaving too too too soon.

My prayers are for pain relief. I tell this to people very matter of factly because on the outside, and out of respect for Susan, I'm not praying for a miraculous healing anymore. I want her to be free of pain. It's that simple.

When your best friend is dying, you want to encourage her to fight as hard as she can, but you have to know when she has had enough. You have to listen more than you cheer. You have to stand by her decisions to treat or to stop treating. You have to be ready to let her go with grace.

I'm trying so hard. I'm trying so hard, but my heart is breaking into a million tiny pieces.

A million tiny tiny little pieces.

Guppy love

These are the boys' new guppies. They aren't just any guppies, though. They are guppies from their Aunt Susan.

Today, those guppies kept me company on the ride home from a whirlwind visit to see my dear friend. We had Christmas to celebrate, but pneumonia (her) and strep throat (me) had delayed and shortened my trip considerably.

Still, Kevin sent me on my way this past Sunday. He and one of our fabulous neighbors made sure that the boys were well cared for, and today, their favorite sitter came to play. When I walked in the door, having picked up Mallory on my way home, they were more excited to see her than they were me.

I'm happy they have so many people in their lives to love.

And now we've added some guppies. Guppy love.

I'm so happy I got to spend time with Susan and her family, and I'm so happy that I had my own family to come home to.

This being happy thing isn't so bad.

Let's all be copycats. Raising money for Cricket's Answer.

A few months ago, there was this emotional disaster. It was my hair that served as the proverbial straw.

Here's the thing. I didn't admit because it is tres embarrassing. You see, there was a picture of a haircut that I took when I chopped my locks. It wasn't Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts.

It was Kristen Chase.

(pausing to die of embarrassment)

I'll be the first one to tell you that I adore her. I've stated many times that hers was the first blog I ever read. But I can also say that I don't want to BE her. Not like creepy stalker BE.

I just liked her haircut.

Of course, on me, it looked like a mullet, but that's water under the bridge.

There is something FAR MORE PRODUCTIVE that I am going to copy from Kristen now. And that is a donation to Cricket's Answer for Cancer.

While we wait for answers, action, movement - wait to be lifted from limbo - I'll collect your comments. For every comment you leave, I'll donate $1 to Cricket's Answer up to $100. I'm pretty sure I can scrape that together in these tight times. It might require me to hit up Craigslist for some random selling of stuff, but I'll brave it.

It's a great cause. Cricket's Answer is teaming up with LympheDIVAs to provide medically necessary, yet not covered by insurance, compression sleeves for the lymphedema that so many breast cancer survivors experience post mastectomy.

$100 will require all five of my readers to make up different accounts and each comment 20 times. It will also provide just one sleeve, but one sleeve that someone didn't have before.

So. You can leave me a comment and send a dollar. Then, you can click over to Kristen and leave a comment and send another dollar. THEN, you could decide to write a post in this same vein and donate your own dollars. You know. If you wanna.

I'll leave comments open on this post until I wake up Thursday morning. I would say something fancy and professional like Kristen, and close them at 12 EST Wednesday, but I think we've established that I'm no Kristen Chase.


Oh, and GO TEAM WHYMOMMY!!!

Lymphedema sleeves for every survivor

After my mom's mastectomy, there were lasting repercussions.The scar that marked where her breast used to be could be hidden by clothing and an expensive prosthesis. The prosthesis wasn't medically necessary, but her insurance covered both the prosthesis and the special bras that she needed to use it.

Lymphedema is localized swelling and fluid retention due to removal of the lymph nodes during a mastectomy. For most breast cancer survivors, this means that her arm swells tremendously throughout the day and that she has to be extremely careful not to burn, cut, bruise, or get a bite on that arm. For the rest of her life.

The arm is the visual marker for my mom. And I guess because it's such a public part of your body, people feel no obligation to not stare or ask invasive questions about why it might be swollen in the first place. My mom's arm couldn't be hidden and kept her from doing things she used to do in the past, like playing tennis.

Sometimes, Momma would wear a dark tan compression sleeve during the day to keep the swelling down. It was ugly, hot, and uncomfortable though. She didn't have the option of LympheDIVA, and I don't know that she would go for it now. But I can totally see her rocking this:

Here's the thing. Even though Lymphedema is a real and debilitating after effect of breast cancer treatment, insurance doesn't cover the compression sleeves.

I know, right? 

My friend Susan has helped joined forces to make sure that women who can't afford them, will have the compression sleeves and gauntlets that they need.

Enter Cricket's Answer to Cancer. Crickett's Answer for Cancer (CAC) is a registered 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization providing free wigs, mastectomy products, and pampering services to women with breast cancer across the US. Now, they will be helping make it possible for every woman who needs a compression sleeve get a compression sleeve.

You can help too. You can donate directly, or you can simply help spread the word. We have done so much for breast cancer through social media. Please join us in this new project that will mean so much to so many women and their families. 

In which I whine about cancer again

Tomorrow morning I'm headed to the TypeAMom conference in Asheville.

The reason I started blogging was to have an anonymous place to vent the dust bunnies in my mind. My parents were sick and across the country. I had just been through a divorce. My soon to be husband had just been through a divorce. I had job issues. Stress abounded. Of course we all know how anonymous the internet really is . . .

I didn't know what a blog was until my friend Susan introduced me to Kristen's blog, Motherhood Uncensored. I was instantly hooked. I popped open Blogger, signed up, and never looked back.

Not too long after that, Susan started Toddler Planet. For months, we were our only readers. It was a great way for us to stay connected. In high school, we often shared our writing with each other. In fact, I still keep a journal that she gave me 20 years ago in my nightstand. It has lived right next to my bed for years and will continue to do so - even though my poetry in it is so cringe worthy, I won't even let Kevin read it.

But Susan has. She's read it and still likes me. A friend that can see through your cheesy poetry is a good friend indeed.

In 2007, we both bought our passes to BlogHer and looked forward to attending the conference together in Chicago. Then, shortly after a phone conversation in May that went sort of like this (and I'm wildly paraphrasing because only the last line really stuck with me):

Susan: Do you remember how your mom knew she had breast cancer?

Moi: She found a lump one morning under her arm. It was the size of a baseball.

Susan: There is something weird going on with me. Do you think it could be cancer?

Moi: Heavens, no. Of course not. You are too young. You have no family history. You couldn't possibly have cancer. I'll probably be the one to get breast cancer. You know, genetics and all.

Oh my dear word, how many times have I wished I never uttered any of those words to her? Could I beat my own head against the wall any harder? Could I have chosen something MORE stupid to say? Bad poetry AND my stupid mouth, and yet, she's still my friend.

Our BlogHer plans went out the window. I went without her and felt a giant hole in my heart the whole time. I wore my Team Whymommy shirt, cried on people's shoulders if they pressed me too much about her, and felt terrible that I was there, while she sat back home, starting her battle with cancer.

In 2008, we both made it to San Francisco for BlogHer. It was a whirlwind. I had Christopher with me. He was six months old, and I was still so full of anxiety that I kept him on his regular schedule which put me back in the hotel room at 3:00 PM for bedtime. I was a crazy woman. Susan was busy. I was crazy. But we were there together, and that was wonderful.

Last year, Susan hit BlogHer and I hit TypeAMom. Again, I had a good time, but for me, blogging is so much a part of our friendship now - I just felt like she should have been there.

Fast forward to 2010, and we were planning again. We both had our TypeAMom passes. I have another infant, but am far less ridiculous. Susan is just coming off of an amazing time at BlogHer where she rocked the crowd as one of the Voices of the Year. I know I would be sharing her with an awful lot of women again, but it just felt right that we were going to be there together.

DAMMIT.

I know that I am not the one who has cancer. I know this, and I understand that to many people, this probably means that I shouldn't complain.

But for CRYING OUT LOUD. Could cancer please leave the people I love alone??? There will be no trip for Susan again this year. Chemo has got her resting at home.

I miss her.

And while I'm griping about it, chemo has knocked Momma on her rears as well. Colin has yet to be baptized, and I can't decide if I'm being ridiculously selfish even asking her to come administer the sacrament. I mean, I really want his Nana to baptize him, but it's not the best thing for her.

So forgive me. I'm sad today. I'm feeling really put out with the not only the effects of cancer on the two women I love most in this world, but I'm really freaking pissed at how it's messing with our plans.

We have things to do, Cancer. There is LIFE TO LIVE. Why don't you just leave us the hell alone?

/pityparty

BlogHer Voices of the Year

In a couple of weeks, a few thousand million women will gather in New York City for BlogHer 2010. I won't be one of them this year.

I was lucky enough to go in 2007 and in 2008, but last year I chose not to, in lieu of a vacation with my family It was one or the other, and it's not any shocker which one I chose.

When I survived last year without going, it got harder to justify going back this year. Tickets sold out quickly again, and I didn't even blink at them. Plus, I am in love with the Type A Mom Conference and am definitely going back to it this year. As should you. Yes, you. There might even be a few early-bird tickets left.

I figure a laid back blogger such as myself really doesn't need more than one conference.

Then I found out about the Nestle sponsorship of BlogHer this year, and I was really glad that I wasn't going. I'm not too keen on them, and I was relieved not to be attending something where their presence was not only welcome, but where they would be paying to try and win people over to their brands.

HOWEVER.

My BFF and person I said I love most who isn't a family member IS going, and dadgummit if she isn't going to rock the whole conference. Especially the part where she raises her voice, reads her words, and wins the hearts of everyone in that room.

She has been chosen from 1000 entries as one of the BlogHer Voices of the Year. Wow.

I am SO proud of you, Susan, and I really wish I was going to be there in person to hear you, support you, and cheer for you. You are probably glad I won't be there though, because I would be the one doing the loud-ugly-sob-cry-of-pride the whole time you were trying to read. So I'll stay here and cheer for you from afar. You're welcome.

Another battle in the war

I hate cancer.

That's a really stupid thing to say. It implies that maybe someone out there doesn't hate it.

Momma's numbers are down and her scans show improvement. Not enough to get a break from chemo, but improvement nonetheless.

My friend Susan, however, did not have clean scans and is facing another battle.

The thing that makes me so angry is not the cancer itself. It's the freaking inconvenience. Susan has things to do. Great things because she is a freaking genius. Great things because she is an awesome mom. Great things that the world will have to wait on because of cancer.

We're brushing off our Team Whymommy badges. We're remembering when the wall of support started. We're lifting prayers and positive energy.

Keep fighting, SuSu. It's worth it. You make the world a better place.

Had to change the title of this one

This summer, we will head to the beach with Whymommy and her family. For a celebration. Not a goodbye. I cannot put into words how thankful I am for that.

Susan has always been my "see it from a different perspective" friend. The friend who makes me think outside of my box.

In high school, my box was very very tiny, so that wasn't a hard thing. One foot in either direction had me reeling outside of my box. She was very patient with my tiny little private school mind.

Over the years, we have talked, traveled, cried (but not much because we are oh so strong women who really need to get more comfortable with a tissue), laughed, and learned together. She lasted in the learning part far past I did. I bored easily with school, and she tackled it with a vengeance.

She was on the same trip to Mexico which generated the most embarrassing story of my entire life. And she still loves me. I don't know why.

She read my angst filled, totally rhyming poetry in high school. And she still loves me.

She listened to my angst filled, I'll never be Debbie Gibson or Amy Grant, songs in high school. Even sang the harmony. And she still loves me.

She stood up for me at my first wedding even when she knew it was a mistake. Even when her grandmother had just passed away. Even when the dress I made her wear was distinctively pink. And flowy.

She told me the truth about those first weeks of motherhood. She called to check on me, not just the baby. She coaxed me through the darkest days with wisdom and compassion. And she still loves me.

Blogging is funny sometimes. I sat down to write an entirely different post. A post about getting Bird prepared to go to the beach with little hats and swim trunks. And yet, when I let my fingers go, freely typing without thinking (which gets me into trouble more times than not), this is what appeared.

After almost a year of holding my breath and praying for a miracle, here we are planning to meet up at the beach. To celebrate.

It's clear to me that she is worth celebrating. It's clear that I'm lucky to have her as my friend.

It needs to be said that I am so thankful for her treatment and results.

So very very thankful.

Survivor

In case you missed the news, my best friend kicked cancer's ass.

Please go congratulate her.

Woot!

Boobless

Thank God.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is the day.

I want nothing more than to get in my car and go sit with WonderDaddy tomorrow. Or stay at the house and play with the boys. Have a cup of coffee with the parents. Anything.

Just to be there.

All I can do though, is sit here and hold her hand virtually.

We've waited for this day for a long time now. Please go over and leave Susan a comment.

Better yet, I think it would be awesome if there were posts all over the blogosphere that wished her luck. All of them titled "Tomorrow."

Please? Just a quick post, link to her post, and title it "Tomorrow." Thanks.

Harmony In Motion
Two Is Now Three
Two Lines on a Stick
It's Not About That Anyway
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Countdown

Single digits. The counter on the left is in single digits. That doesn't mean a whole lot I suppose. It is only an estimated due date, after all. The fact that the word "February" came out of the doctor's mouth today did not slip past me. I heard it.

Someone else is in single digits. Whymommy, my dear Susan, is five days away from her surgery.

This has been floating around in my head all month, as I've been watching our respective countdowns. I thought there would be something poetic to say about it. Some sort of literary bit to compose.

But there isn't.

We just find ourselves both waiting.

And it does feel like we are both getting our second chances at the same time.

In case it hadn't struck you yet

Today is Thursday.

And Whymommy didn't have to have chemo today.

This is the bestest Thursday in quite awhile.

Team WhyMommy: Another post to steal

This is the email I have sent to my local TV news stations. Each of them has a health reporter of some kind or another. My theory is that the stations need a new spin on Breast Cancer Awareness month. So why not focus on IBC?

I would encourage you to steal this post, paste in the appropriate call letters where indicated, and send it to the TV stations in your area. We don't need them to do a story on Whymommy specifically, but we do need them to talk about IBC. We need them to help us get the word out there.

So steal it. Edit it. Send it.

Go Team WhyMommy.

***********************

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and I've noticed that enter TV call letters here has always been pretty involved in stories and psa's about breast cancer during that time. Maybe everything is already planned out and such, but I wanted to make sure that you were aware of a little known type of breast cancer where early detection and correct diagnosis is crucial to survival.

Inflammatory Breast Cancer is an often fatal type of breast cancer of which most people are not familiar. I only know about it because of a friend who was diagnosed recently. She is a 34 year old mother of 3 year old and 8 month old little boys and a scientist with no family history of breast cancer.

A quick look at IBC from the National Cancer Institute:

• Inflammatory breast cancer (IBC) is a rare but very aggressive type of breast cancer .
• IBC usually grows rapidly and often spreads to other parts of the body; symptoms include redness, swelling, and warmth in the breast.
• Treatment for IBC usually starts with chemotherapy, which is generally followed by surgery, radiation, targeted therapy, and/or hormone therapy.
• People with IBC are encouraged to enroll in clinical trials (research studies with people) that explore new treatments.
  

By the time women are diagnosed with IBC, it has almost always spread to the skin, making treatment difficult and categorizing it as a late stage metastatic cancer. Chemotherapy is first, followed by a mastectomy, which is followed by radiation. It wasn't long ago that IBC was a death sentence. Advances have been made, and now, "what was once universally fatal is now a disease that results in half of women diagnosed being alive in five years and one-third of women diagnosed surviving 10 or more years." (CNN) Improvements are great, but 50% survival rate? Surely we can do better than that.

Still though, if you ask 100 people, even 100 women, about IBC, it is likely that only 10 of them will have even heard of the disease. There aren't big drives for awareness or research due to the low percentages of breast cancer cases that are IBC, and also the fatality rate. It is hard to convince companies to invest in research on a disease that has such a high fatality rate. Not really a profit building move for them to make.

But it's out there. And women are dying from it because they don't seek help soon enough. Even doctors misdiagnose IBC as breast infections, delaying that necessary treatments weeks or even months. Early detection and immediate treatment is always a matter of life or death with IBC.

A group of bloggers and friends have been trying our best to spread the word about IBC. Let women know that you don't have to have a lump to have breast cancer. There is a team of over 100 bloggers dedicated to getting the word out about IBC and supporting my friend through her journey. She has written a psa about IBC which has been reposted over 350 times across the internet, resulting in most recently having the story picked up by Parents magazine for their October issue. The best place to start tracking where all we have reached is on Toddler Planet, her blog. I've linked you straight to the media page.

She goes by the name WhyMommy on the internet, trying to save some anonymity for her family. Team WhyMommy is the group of over 100 bloggers who offer her daily support by commenting on her blog, sending emails, gifts, and with local friends organizing playdates, house cleaning, and meals.

I know this is long, and if you are still with me, thanks. The point is though, that people need to know about Inflammatory Breast Cancer. Women need to know that what appears as a breast infection isn't always a breast infection. They need to know that you don't have to have a lump to have breast cancer.

I'll leave you with a few more links to get more information. If you can, please please make sure that in all of insert your station's call letters here coverage this month on breast cancer, that at least once, make sure that someone mentions IBC. You literally could save lives.

WhyMommy's PSA

IBC Symptoms

DC Metro Moms

Other news coverage


Thank you for your time and coverage on this incredibly important topic. Hopefully your station will be helping to get the word out about IBC. October is the perfect month to do it!