Old friend

Hello, my old friend
How long’s it been, fifteen years?
I’ll see you next year

My baseline mammogram was done when I was 35. I just lost a close friend to breast cancer who was only a couple of years older than me. She found a lump during a self-exam and put off getting it checked by doctors for six months. By then it had metastasize into her lymph nodes. Even after very aggressive chemo-therapy and a bone marrow transplant, she lived less than a year longer. She left two kids and her newly wedded husband.

It pissed me off that she waited. If the cancer was caught earlier, she had a great chance of surviving. It also scared the bejeebus out of me. There is a long history of cancer in the women of my family, and I didn’t want to be added to that list.

In the 15 years since that first screening, I haven’t missed a date. One test revealed a lump in my right breast, something I missed in my self-exam. A biopsy showed it to be benign, but it re-enforced my decision to continue my annual mammos.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Wearing pink shirts or ribbon pins won’t do squat to help fight this heinous disease. You have to be proactive. Do monthly self-exams, have a mammogram, learn about your own body. Be familiar with what feels normal and when it doesn’t, don’t wait to get it checked out. It’s the not knowing that kills you.

Guys… don’t think you’re not affected. Men can get breast cancer. Self-exams are just as critical for you too.

Haiku Friday is hosted by Lou at LouCeeL

TMI with a spoonful of sugar

You may remember me mentioning that I’m turning 50 this year. With great age, comes great responsibility. While I’m not quite old enough for AARP, at this advanced phase of my life I am expected to submit participate in a list of various and sundry screenings and tests that in medieval times would be considered torture.

One such test will be conducted on Wednesday, and with the entirety of Tuesday set aside to prep for this test (I was actually told it would be better for me to stay close to home all day), I thought I’d bore you with the TMI details early. I’ll no doubt be sitting a lot on Tuesday, but I won’t want to carry my laptop with me into the reading room.

For this particular test, I’ve already had a baseline, so I know what to expect. Tuesday morning and evening I have to ingest a sodium/potassium/magnesium sulfate solution, along with as much clear liquids as I can tolerate, minimally a half-gallon of water each time. I can have broth, non-pulpy juice, peach or lemon jello, and Gatorade – as long as it’s not red, orange or purple. I’m also allowed coffee or tea, so I can at least have my daily dose of caffeine. Dairy and solid food is verboten.

The goal is to not retain any of the fluids, hence the recommendation to remain at home.

Wednesday I am undergoing my second colonoscopy, having had my first at age 45. The early baseline was done because I have a family history of colon cancer. Because I also have a family history of stomach cancer, and have been a smidge acid-refluxy lately, I’m getting a two-fer and doubling up with an endoscopy.

Due to the family history and my own medical issues, every burp and fluff since making the appointment has been suspect, and very good reasons why should have stayed away from the quackery of Dr. Google and WebMD. The worry gene I inherited from my grandmother and mother is working overtime.

I’m expected to arrive at the hospital for the outpatient procedure before the sun rises, hopefully flushed out and ready. An anesthesiologist will put me into twilight sleep (sans glittering vampires and hunky werewolves) and the doctor will snake my entire intestines for polyps and other tell-tale signs of the c-word, then change out gadgetry and do the same thing to my upper gastrointestinal tract. I should be clean as a whistle when all’s finished.

Since I’ll be groggy from the anesthesia, the Mister is driving me to and fro. The Boy, no doubt, won’t be awake until I’ve already been home a few hours. I plan to go to bed and sleep most of the remainder of the day. If I get bored I may try to surf the ‘net while under the influence, that has the potential to be either amusing or embarrassing… or both.

A red kimono

Red silk kimono
Glass plates stand at the ready
The squishing begins

Went in for my annual mammogram/ultrasound this week. I’ve been a client at the same radiology clinic for years. The staff there is wonderful. They use heating pads to warm the glass plates, offer patients silk kimonos to cover up, have warm wet wipes to remove u/s gel, and will bring your shoes to you if you forget them in the exam room.

Several years ago, a routine ultrasound discovered a small lump. A large-bore biopsy was performed and found to be benign. To help keep tabs on the lump, the surgeon inserted a marker. All this time I thought that it was the shape and size of a large BB. I found out during this recent exam the marker is actually shaped like the looped cancer ribbon. Appropriate, don’t you agree?

Have you had your mammogram yet?

* Haiku Friday is hosted by Lou at LouCeeL.

Clip art © by Bobbie Peachey

Hold your breath and count to ten

I am apparently quickly becoming a woman “of a certain age.”

This is my birthday week… yeah, I am going to celebrate all stinkin’ week, that’s how I roll. Yesterday I turned 49, and I’ve got a lot going on to celebrate – not my birth, but my life.

Monday I went in for my yearly physical. My doctor gave me a copy of this magazine. Yes, she actually told me it would only be a few years before I was dealing with… well, you know… *whispers* menopause.

My response was a resounding, “bring it on!” My body temp is about two degrees below normal all the time. I am incessantly cold. I embrace the idea of hot flashes and night sweats. During the summer I keep going behind the Mister and bumping up the settings on the thermostat, trying to keep it warmer inside the house. And, I still wear fuzzy wool socks and sweats. Winter months find me bundled up like I live in Antarctica and not on Florida’s Gulf Coast. I will welcome the natural heating.

Tomorrow is my annual knead-n-squeeze. Since I have a very high incidence of breast cancer in my family (really, many types of cancer) I have conscientiously had a mammogram every year for the last 15 years. (I got my baseline when I was 35.) Ladies! Do your monthly self-exams and if you’re 40 or older, start getting those mammos. Find a friend and go together, make it a spa day, anything you need to do to get it done. No excuses.

Men! Listen up…. you can get breast cancer too. Because screening in men isn’t as routine as for women, it’s typically found in later, more critical stages. Get any tissue changes or lumps checked out by a physician. It could easily save your life. According to the American Cancer Society, about 2,100 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2011, and 450 will die from the disease.

I am a huge proponent of mammograms. Sometimes I make fun of all the horror stories about how traumatic these screenings are, but trust me on this… they are not that bad. If you can hold your breath for 10 seconds, you can make it through a mammogram. What is more important? A few seconds (and it really is merely seconds) of discomfort compared to undetected cancer and possible death?

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I always schedule my annual health screenings during this month mainly because it’s easier to remember if it’s tied to my birthday. If you’re not of an age where a mammogram is recommended, and you haven’t started self breast exams, start now. Have annual gyno exams, read, ask questions, be familiar with your own body, do whatever you have to do, be proactive in protecting yourself against this insidious enemy. Early detection of any cancer is vital. Don’t let fear keep you from doing something so simple that could quite literally save your life.

Submitted as part of Shell’s “Pour Your Heart Out” writing prompt at Things I Can’t Say. Please stop by to read the other posts, and give a little comment love.

Rest in peace, Maxx

Rest in peace, good and true friend…

Last night we said good-bye to a cherished member of our family. Our Maxx, a black Lab, succumbed to lymphoma. She was 15 years old. This was a difficult decision for us to make, but it was also the kindest one. We could no longer allow her to suffer, and chose to end her pain.

We will all miss her terribly.

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This is her story (originally posted May, 2010):

This is Maxx, not Maxine, not Max, just Maxx. We had the name (think ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’), before we had the dog.

Maxx is our alpha female (just don’t tell Pollo, it would hurt her feelings). She is pushing 14, which for a Labrador is OLD. She’s actually a Lab/Chow mix, with more of a chow head shape and coarse coat.

When she was a puppy, as puppies will, she chewed on everything. One day I noticed what I thought were ink stains in her mouth. Worried she had gnawed on a pen and perhaps still had dangerous shards of plastic in her mouth, I wrestle her to the ground (even then she was a big dog), rooting around trying to find these potential choking hazards.

It was only once I had a good look at these ‘ink spots’ that I remembered that Chows have purple tongues. What I thought were stains, were actually purple freckles.

For an old girl, Maxx is doing pretty well. She has arthritis and doesn’t move as fast as she once did. Having to leave harassment of our squirrels to Hershey, even though she still insists on being the first one out the back door.

Lately Maxx’s favorite pastime is sleeping… on her comfy bed in the living room, in a patch of sunlight at the backdoor, in wallow of soft sand in the yard, or at the foot of my bed. She dreams a lot now. I watch her twitching and gruffing, maybe she’s still chasing those squirrels.

Her once jet black coat is turning a russet shade, grey peppering her muzzle and chest. Her eyes dulling with age and cataracts, but her bark deeper and more resonant. She still commands the other pets with a single bellow.

She has been a cherished member of our family since the day she arrived, small enough to fit in the crook of my arm. Even at 80 pounds, she thinks she’s a puppy, wanting to snuggle when she no longer fits on anyone’s lap. After being away from home, Maxx meets us at the door, demanding we acknowledge her need for a warm hand on her back and scratch behind her ear before she lets us into the house.

When JM and WK were small, and we would be rough housing with them, if Maxx thought we were getting too rough, she would insert herself between me or Hubs and the kids, often grabbing our arms in her mouth and trying to pull us away… protecting ‘her’ kids. Thinking of that today, I feel that familiar lump in my throat, knowing Maxx would fight for my kids, even against me and their dad.

She did the same thing with Pollo and Scruffy if she thought Hershey was being too mean to the littlest furkids. Always the mommy, always the protector.

Maxx is more than just a dog, or simply a pet, she IS family.