• This I believe

    This I believe

    A little over seven years ago, I did a Crash Davis-like Things I Believe In blog post on the original Little Merry Sunshine blog. To this day, it ranks right up there with my all-time favorite posts.

    Oh, you’re not familiar with Crash Davis’s monologue from Bull Durham? I won’t judge you (much), but you must rectify that and watch one of the best movies of all time right this very second. I don’t care if you’re at work or in the middle of your wedding reception. Go into a conference room with your iPad and pull it up on Netflix or Amazon Prime or wherever you can find it and watch it now. Trust me. You’ll thank me later.

    Here’s what Crash believes in, which is also the greatest movie monologue ever. EVER.

    Bull Durham movie post from IMDB.
    Bull Durham movie post from IMDB.

    In speaking to Anne Savoy, played by the truly amazing Susan Sarandon, Crash Davis, played by Kevin Costner who was obviously born to play baseball heroes, says,

    “Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman’s back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.”

    If you’re a woman, you’re swooning. If you’re a guy, you’re wishing you had his swagger.

    Partly because it’s been seven years and partly because ChicagoNow bloggers are tackling the topic of what we believe in this week, I’ve decided it’s time to review the list, see what has stuck, what hasn’t, and what new beliefs I’ve developed.

    Let’s look at my 2007 list:

    I believe in love at first sight and have been blessed to have experienced it once.

    I believe that my never-ending belief in Santa makes Christmas morning more exciting. But if that Easy Bake Oven (that I asked for when I was 5) doesn’t show up soon, I might start doubting.

    I believe in the 10-feet rule – I smile at anyone who comes within 10 feet of me.

    I believe in the Golden Rule and surround myself with others who hold this belief dear.

    I believe that no one cares how much I know until they know how much I care.

    I believe respect is the foundation for the healthiest relationships.

    I believe that all food tastes better when eaten by candlelight and on good china.

    I believe that children are proof of God.

    I believe that the Cubs will win the World Series in my lifetime (if the BoSox & White Sox can, so can they!).

    I believe there is a man out there who will love me as much as I love him, who will treat me with respect, and for whom being a “gentleman” is a way of life – not a catch-phrase.

    I believe that our life experiences and the lessons we learn make us more interesting.

    I believe that quality beats quantity every time.

    I believe in the healing power of hugs.

    I believe in living life to the fullest and taking time everyday to stop, smell, touch, and taste the roses.

    I believe in monogamy and that true love can last forever.

    I believe that we all have baggage. What we do with it and how we deal with it defines us more than the baggage itself.

    I believe in “paying it forward” and helping those in need. It always comes back at least ten fold and usually when I’m least expecting it.

    I believe music speaks to my soul, especially first thing in the morning, in a way no amount of caffeine ever will.

    I believe there are no mistakes or failures in life, just opportunities to learn valuable lessons.

    I believe friends are the family I choose.

    I believe pets are the cheapest and most effective form of therapy available.

    I believe watching the sunset every night is the greatest test of faith. And watching the sunrise in the morning is evidence my faith was well placed.

    Well, look at that, I was pretty wise back in the day. I still believe all of that. I have developed some new beliefs though.

    1. I believe that writing is therapeutic and that I have a couple of amazing books in me that just need to be put onto paper.
    2. I believe that we can’t wait for our lives to start. The dreams we had as children, teens, or even as young adults may not come to fruition, so we can’t sit around waiting for them. We can, however, have entirely fulfilling lives filled with people we love and who love us back. It’s up to us not dwell on the past and our regrets, but to focus on the future and all the abundance surrounding us each day.
    3. I believe that everyone can benefit from therapy. Some need more, some need less, but having an objective perspective is priceless.
    4. I believe that unhealthy relationships will suck the life right out of me and they must be avoided at all costs. The best way to avoid them is knowing my worth and honoring myself in everything I do.
    5. I believe that when any relationship ends – friendship, romantic, job, or otherwise – it’s vital to step-back and ask “what role did I have in this relationship not going the distance?” No relationship ends entirely because of one person.
    6. I can find gratitude in every experience, even if I must search for it.
    7. I believe that one of the most important exercises I ever undertook as a young adult was examining my core values. Were they my values or just what I’d been told should be my values? I believe this is a vital part of becoming a healthy adult.
    8. I believe that none of us is promised a “someday” and it’s vital to live my Bucket List or Life List, as I prefer to call it, daily.
    9. I believe that experience, not things make us happy.
    10. I believe that taking time each day to decompress and reconnect with myself keeps me healthy.
    11. I believe that the only thing in life we can control is how we react to it.
    12. I believe that people come into our lives for reasons, seasons, or lifetimes and it’s not usually possible to know which one.
    13. I believe that just like the Rolling Stones said, “you can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need.”
    14. Just like my friend Brad Meltzer believes, I firmly believe that “ordinary people change the world.”

    What do you believe? I’d love to know in the comments?

    This post was brought to you as a part of This Blogger Life, a weekly ChicagoNow series, where CN bloggers are given a topic that we are free to interpret however we want. This week’s topic was “What do you believe in?” Check out all the posts here.

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  • 6 things I learned from my close encounter with breast cancer

    6 things I learned from my close encounter with breast cancer

    Regular readers of Little Merry Sunshine know that I recently had a too-close-for-comfort breast cancer scare. In the end, I had a benign papilloma, but throughout the process of multiple mammograms, ultrasounds, two biopsies, and a lumpectomy, there was no guarantee my story would have a happy ending.

    Over the last four weeks, I’ve learned quite a few lessons. Six of those lessons stand out and I want to share them with you.

    1. Sharing my story was vital. Not only was sharing my story cathartic for me, but it was educational for countless women. I can’t begin to tell you how many women have contacted me publicly and privately to thank me for demystifying the process for them because they’ve been terrified to get a mammogram.

    Frankly, this is an area where the medical profession as a whole, and primary care physicians and OB-GYNs in particular, could do a far better job. I’ve never met a woman who was given pre-mammogram counseling to tell her what to expect, how much discomfort would be involved, that it was imperative to communicate with the mammogram technologist about your pain tolerance, that almost 100% of mammogram virgins get called back, and much more.

    Breast health is a vital part of our overall health, yet there’s too much mystery surrounding it.

    2. Honor my feelings. Yes, I’ve told you over and over again through my blog that I was focussed on all I have to be grateful for and that’s completely true. I truly was focussed on the bounty of gratitude in my life.

    But I was also terrified as the process went along. I cried as I drove home from my ultrasound knowing that I was scheduled for two biopsies. I had a nightmare a few nights before my lumpectomy that the surgeon tried to kill me. When I saw my incision for the first time, shit got really real for me.

    I allowed myself to feel my feelings, while at the same time keeping them in check and knowing that all the worry in the world wasn’t going to change anything. Because of that, I actively chose to focus on gratitude.

    3. Don’t try to be a hero. My body is recovering slowly from all the squeezing, poking, prodding, needling, cutting, and anesthesia, not to mention the emotional toll it all takes. Everyone reacts differently to anesthesia. I have slept and slept and slept because that’s what my body needed.

    I’m not depressed or avoiding my life. Quite the opposite; I want to get back to normal faster than possible. My body is my guide though. Don’t let anyone bully you into being the hero and showing how you can rally back seconds after your biopsy, lumpectomy, or mastectomy.

    4. Get help and delegate. This is no time to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders. You are your #1 priority at this time, if at no other time. I delegated as much as I could off my plate including scheduling board committee meetings that are my responsibility to schedule, finding alternative rides for my mom (she doesn’t have a car and often relies on me for transportation), and much more.

    I had systems set up for post-surgery in case it turned out to be more extensive than we expected. The good news is that I didn’t need those Plan B’s, but knowing I had them was priceless gave me peace of mind. I also reached out and got some counseling. It helped keep me centered and was priceless.

    5. Ask every question until you feel you’ve got all the answers. I asked a million questions at every step of the process. Just like I was asked for my name, birthdate, doctor’s name, and what was happening a million times, I asked many questions over and over again.

    Sometimes I asked repeatedly because there was just so much information that it was tough to take in. Other times, I asked multiple people the same question in order to obtain different perspectives.

    Top-notch medical professionals will not make you feel like your questions are stupid and will give you the time you need to absorb all of the information. They know it’s scary and unknown. Some know the questions you’ll ask because they’re so common, but no two people react the same and no two people have completely identical questions.

    6. Do not put off the scary tests. I should have had my first mammogram at age 40, but I waited until now when I’m 43. The reasons don’t matter, but some included being scared.

    I got lucky and that’s the bottom line. I was lucky. There was no guarantee my papilloma would not be breast cancer.

    Take a buddy with you if that will make life easier. The hospital is fine with this. Your buddy can usually sit with you until the moment of your exam or test.

    But here’s the thing that I learned: I could either suffer through a bunch of feel-ups, mammograms, ultrasounds, two biopsies, and a lumpectomy now OR I could quite possibly lose my entire breast or worse later. It’s just like when your car makes a noise. Get it checked now and it’s no big deal and cheap to repair. Wait for six months and it’ll be something big, inconvenient, and expensive.

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  • Lumpectomy results: A benign papilloma

    Lumpectomy results: A benign papilloma

    NOTE: This is the conclusion to an unexpected five-part series about my first mammogram. To fully appreciate the context of what transpired, I encourage you to read the first three installments: My first mammogram saved my life, Respect my coping skills and I’ll respect yours, My lumpectomy was easy-peasy, and Post-lumpectomy recovery.

    By about 4:00 Monday afternoon, I was climbing the walls with anticipation of the call from my surgeon. What I haven’t previously shared is that although I had decided I would wait for my post-op appointment next week to receive my results, I changed my mind minutes before surgery on Friday. Dr. Ganshirt told me that he would call me on Wednesday, but that it could be as early as Monday when he got the results.

    I called his office, spoke with his nurse Laura and was assured that my test results were not yet in, but she checked and learned that they would be at some point on Tuesday and Dr. Ganshirt would call me.

    Our agreed upon system was that if it was good news, Dr. Ganshirt would leave that news on my voice mail or tell me directly. If the news was anything, but an all clear, he would call me and ask me to come to his office at my earliest convenience to discuss the results and next steps.

    After another night of off and on sleep, I got up, showered, and left the house for a meeting I had Tuesday morning. Not wanting to miss his call, I left the ringer turned on and my phone out in the open during my meeting. That’s not my normal behavior, but these were abnormal circumstances.

    As I showered and got dressed, a mantra for the day came to me and I repeated it to myself all morning.

    I am prepared to handle whatever today may bring.

    Just before 12noon, as I was standing in the middle of the Jewel parking lot, my phone rang and Dr. Ganshirt was on the other end. He explained to me that I had a benign papilloma (not to be confused with Pamplona, Spain, famous for the running of the bulls and the setting of The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, one of my all-time favorite books). This was not the phone call I was expecting. Tears of joy and relief ran down my face.

    WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD. Please skip this section if you don’t want to know the details.

    According to the information I received from Northwestern Lake Forest Hospital, a papilloma grows in the milk duct, on a stalk like mushrooms. The milk duct is necessarily located very close to the nipple, explaining the location of my incision.

    Women can have one or more papillomas, although if they have just one, they are often unfelt, only appearing on mammograms, ultrasounds, and biopsies. That said, they can’t be completely diagnosed without a lumpectomy and the standard protocol is removal. Although they are typically benign, they quite often turn malignant if left in place.

    Women between the ages of 35 and 50 are most at risk for papillomas, and although they may not feel them, that does not mean that papillomas are symptom-free. If you experience discharge from your nipple, especially if it includes blood, see your doctor immediately.

    RESUME READING: Graphic content over.

    I was fortunate. My papilloma was found early, removed, and I have been given the all clear. I’ll see Dr. Ganshirt next week for my regular post-op appointment. Then I’ll return in 6 months for another mammogram, in order to ensure that no other changes have occurred, no additional papillomas have developed, and that the calcified cells that were biopsied, but not removed, have not changed. If that mammogram comes back clean, then I’ll be back to my annual mammogram.

    Feel your boobies. Image via Marin on FreeDigitalPhotos.net.
    Feel your boobies. Image via Marin on FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

    During the course of this ordeal, I’ve been asked my opinion on whether breast self-exams even matter. They’ve been drilled into our heads as vital. Do they even make a difference?

    I’m not going to look up the statistics on this. Instead, let’s think logically. We get a mammogram once a year. A mammogram is a snapshot in time. Obviously, if you’ve had a baseline mammogram, it gets compared to your previous exams where changes can be detected. But that’s still one day out of 365.

    We live with our breasts daily. By knowing our breasts through regular monthly breast self-exams, we can detect changes that, if we waited for that mammogram, could result in much more invasive surgery or worse. Sure, we can also wait for our doctor to examine our breasts, but she isn’t going to remember our personal breasts from a year ago.

    So hop in the shower, get naked in front of your mirror, or lay down on your bed and feel yourself up. Seriously. Enjoy it. Feel for changes, but enjoy the process.

    In the end, I don’t have cancer. I’m incredibly fortunate and I remain focussed on my gratitude list. I’ve also learned just how important mammograms are for early detection and will be all over it from now on. I’ll never miss it again. Sure, they’re uncomfortable, but they save lives, including mine.

    And that incision that freaked me out on Saturday night? I can now look at it and know that I won.

    Oh, and I have a LONG list of people who’ve felt me up over the last month and owe me dinner.

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  • Post-lumpectomy recovery

    Post-lumpectomy recovery

    NOTE: If you haven’t read the first three installments of this unexpected series, My first mammogram saved my life, Respect my coping skills and I’ll respect yours, and My lumpectomy was easy-peasy, I encourage you to read them. It’s not necessary to read them in order to understand what’s happening, but they will give you more context.

    WARNING: This post gets a little graphic about my incision. I’ll give a trigger alert when I get there so you can skip that paragraph.

    As I mentioned in my last post, I came home on Friday night and went straight to bed. Per my post-op instructions, I slept wearing a bra, something I’ve become quite accustomed to lately. I also took ice packs to bed with me. Actually, I’ve worn a bra 24/7 since surgery. It’s provided a great deal of support and relief.

    If you find yourself in this situation, this is not the time to wear your sexy lingerie; comfort and function are your best friends. I actually went and bought a cheap cotton non-underwire bra for the occasion, but found that my stretched out “laundry day” bras were far more comfortable and provided more support.

    Surprisingly, Sammy and Zoey were okay with going to bed at 6:00 p.m. on Friday night and behaved themselves all night. I slept in fits and starts all night, but managed to get between 10 and 11 hours of sleep.

    Like with my biopsies, pain did not surface until the day after surgery when all the fun drugs they gave me had worked themselves out of my system. Saturday morning I woke up in not just discomfort, but pain. Although I picked up my prescription for Norco off at Walgreens, I still haven’t taken any. I’ve managed my pain with Extra-strength Tylenol, ice, and sleep.

    It's not pretty, but it's the Meatloaf, Mashed Potatoes, and Roasted Veggies I was craving. © Jessica L. Gardner
    It’s not pretty, but it’s the Meatloaf, Mashed Potatoes, and Roasted Veggies I was craving. © Jessica L. Gardner

    I slept most of Saturday finally getting up for good at about 4:30 p.m. in order to make the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and roasted veggies I’d been craving. It was the first meal I’d eaten all day and I am pretty sure I inhaled it. That night, I binge watched The Big Bang Theory reruns.

    I’d been told that I could shower on Saturday morning and remove the top layer of gauze bandaging then, leaving only the Steri-strips. Because I slept so much, I never made it to the shower, but about 10:00 p.m., I decided I needed to remove the top layer of bandaging.

    TRIGGER ALERT: Skip this section if you don’t want to know any graphic details.

    As I stood in my bathroom and attempted to remove the tape as painlessly as possible, I realized for the first time why I had tape on my nipple. My incision is between 1.5 inches and 2 inches in length and goes all the way to my nipple.

    At that moment, the shit got real.

    I did not know the incision would be so long and so far into the center of my breast. I had been told that the growth was at about the 9:00 location (if you think of the breast as the face of a clock, with 9:00 being towards the center) and thought the lumpectomy incision would remain in that area.

    RESUME READING: Graphic details are over.

    Although I didn’t cry when I saw my lumpectomy incision, I was certainly stunned. I realized that this surgery, no matter the outcome, would scar me forever. My mom called it my battle scar, but to me, at this moment, it’s just a scar that I can’t make disappear. Maybe someday I’ll feel differently about it.

    I now understand why women get so emotional about breast cancer. Our breasts are one of the most obvious symbols of our femininity. Our partners love them. My breasts have been part of my identity since I was eight (yes, I developed early). And now, one of them is scarred. Would mine still be lovable? I suppose the bigger question that went through my mind was, “am I still lovable?”

    Saturday night, I went to bed with many unanswered questions; questions I still don’t have answers to and maybe never will. Knowing that worrying wouldn’t help me answer my questions, I turned on a guided meditation, focused on clearing my mind, and fell right to sleep.

    Sunday I spent sleeping and binge watching Netflix all day. The pain worsened, but was remained tolerable with Tylenol, ice, and sleep. The one thing that had changed is that I’d lost my appetite and didn’t eat all day.

    I did finally take a shower, although I must have stood with my back to the downpour for 15 minutes because I was scared of getting the incision wet. When I emerged from the shower, I put pajamas back on without looking at my scar. I simply can’t look at it.

    Today I got up at 12:00 p.m. Once again, I was completely exhausted. I’ve been told that anesthesia has this effect and the best I can do is listen to my body. The good news is that the pain has lessened to moderate discomfort. I know this because I can lay on my left side for a few minutes without screaming bloody murder.

    That said, I’m quite tender and I imagine I’ll only want Duggar-like side hugs for the foreseeable future.

    As promised, the hospital called to check on me today. I told them I was doing pretty well and am even hungry. I thought I might head out of the house to take advantage of the gorgeous weather, but I never felt up for it. In the end, today was another day of R&R. I’ll probably take a shower tonight, but I still don’t want to see or touch my incision area.

    Although I’ve clearly got some scars, both physical and emotional, from my lumpectomy, I’m still focused on all that I’m grateful for. The phone calls, emails, text messages, tweets, Facebook messages, and more are constant reminders that I’m not alone in this. I’m grateful for incredible technology that allows doctors to see funky growths before they turn into full-blown life threatening cancers. I’m grateful for insurance that can’t kick me to the curb or raise my rates because I now have a pre-existing condition or even one that costs them a lot of money. I’m grateful for coping skills that allow me to see the humor in the face of adversity and a calmness that fills me.

    I’ll know the results later this week and I’ll share them when I’m emotionally able.

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  • My lumpectomy was easy-peasy

    My lumpectomy was easy-peasy

    NOTE: If you haven’t read the first two installments of this unexpected series, My first mammogram saved my life and Respect my coping skills and I’ll respect yours, I encourage you to read them. It’s not necessary to read them in order to understand what’s happening, but they will give you more context.

    My Needle Localized Lumpectomy was scheduled for this past Friday afternoon. Because I’m just a tad OCD, I had gathered all my necessary hospital supplies the previous afternoon. I had my Health Care Power of Attorney, fully-charged iPod, knit hat, socks, all the info they’d given me about the surgery, and my favorite honey lavender lip balm. My alarm clock was set for 5:30 a.m. because I’d been told I could eat until 6:00 a.m. and I went to bed early (for me). Oh, and my house was perfectly clean, of course.

    After my super early morning breakfast and a couple more hours of sleep, I picked up my mom and we headed to Lake Forest Hospital. I was quickly shown to a day surgery room where I was instructed to remove all of my clothes and put on the sexy hospital gown. Thank goodness this one was cotton and not those horrendous paper ones you get at the doctor’s office. My room was lovely with relaxing music and images playing on the television. Out the window I could see a tree on fire in its autumnal red. I listened to a guided meditation on my iPod and focused on gratitude to maintain my zen-like calmness.

    A nice nurse came and took my vitals and then gave me an IV to keep my hydrated. When will they figure out how to do this without needles? Luckily, they inserted it into my arm and not in my hand. My vitals were great with my blood pressure nicely normal in the 120/85 range. Yay me!

    The absolute best part of the pre-op process was the two Valium I was given. I tried to take just one, but it didn’t do anything, so I happily accepted pill number two. Pill number two was the Magic Happy Pill. Unfortunately, each pill was only served with a paper shot glass of water. I was super thirsty and they only gave me to shots. Ugh.

    Shortly after the happy pills kicked in, Dr. Ganshirt arrived to chat about my surgery. We were still on-target for 2:00 p.m. and he expected everything to run smoothly.

    One of the most annoying parts of surgery is everyone asking my name, birthdate, doctor’s name, and what part of my body we’re operating on. I must have answered those questions no fewer than 957,658 times. Fortunately, I made life easy for everyone with the sign I made and taped to my right breast. It gave everyone a good laugh, including me.

    About 1:15 I was taken for the needle localization prior to surgery. When you have a biopsy, they leave a minuscule clip  at the location of the biopsy for future reference. This clip would tell the surgeon what area to remove. In order to know how to get there, Dr. Miller, the head of radiology, inserted a hollow needle with a wire that essentially served as a roadmap. Although I’d never met Dr. Miller before, the ultrasound technologist, Jackie, and both nurses, Iva and Laura, were both part of my previous testing and remembered me. This made life much easier for me.

    When I arrived back in my room, I discovered my dear friends Paula and Kay were chatting with my mom. It was truly touching to me that they cared enough to want to see me off and help me remain calm in the face of surgery. I won’t soon forget this kindness.

    A few minutes later I was wheeled down to surgery where I had to personally learn the names and roles of each of the professionals taking part in my operation. Don’t ask me their names because I honestly don’t remember. My biggest concern was that it would only be Dr. Ganshirt actually cutting into me. I was promised about 487,625 times that he was the only one operating on me. Everyone else had very specific jobs. The two most important, aside from my surgeon, were obviously the anesthesiologist, Dr. McCune, and the guy who wrapped me like a mummy in heated blankets.

    Allegedly Dr. McCune informed me that he was beginning to give me the meds that would put me under, but I evidently I quickly forgot. The next thing I knew, I was screaming at him that we could not do the surgery because I WAS VERY DIZZY AND THE ROOM WAS SPINNING. He calmly told me this was because of the meds and was normal. I swear it’s a wonder that man woke me up.

    The surgery itself took about 45 minutes and they closed me up with Steri-strips covered in gauze and tape and lots of ice.

    Once I woke up, I was quickly whisked back to my room where my mom was waiting for me and I was given the choice between saltines and water or graham crackers and water. I’m fairly certain prisoners eat better. I wanted ice cream and the meatloaf I’d planned to have for dinner, but was told that I should stick to clear broth soups and sandwiches.

    Barely able to put coherent sentences together, it was time to get dressed and go home. Although I was adamant that I was just fine and dandy where I was and wanted a nap, I was this was in no one’s plan for me. I relented and stumbled into the bathroom to change clothes like a still-drunk person on a Saturday morning getting ready to do a walk of shame. They did send me home with a prescription for Norco (combination of Hydrocodone and Acetaminophen), so yay for that.

    In the end, the surgery went well. Nothing out of the ordinary and Dr. Ganshirt did not have to take any lymph nodes, which I understand to be very good news.

    Mom and I ended up having dinner at the Full Moon, one of my long-standing favorite restaurants, where I enjoyed a BLT and some chicken rice soup. We were home by 5:30 p.m. and I was in bed by 6:00 p.m. Although I slept in fits and starts, I ultimately got between 10 and 11 hours of sleep that night. And I didn’t even need to take the Norco.

    I have to give huge kudos to Northwestern Lake Forest Hospital and everyone associated with it. They worked hard to keep both my mom and me informed on what was happening and what I could expect post-op.

    Next up: The recovery

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  • Respect my coping skills and I’ll respect yours

    Respect my coping skills and I’ll respect yours

    Since sharing my mammogram and tomorrow’s lumpectomy story six days ago, I’ve been inundated with both public and private messages thanking me for demystifying the process of getting a mammogram.

    Women have shared their own lumpectomy and mastectomy stories, how they were scared, and how they dealt with their emotions in a variety of ways. Coping mechanisms included humor, religion, meditation, and journaling. Most women reached out for support from family, friends, and colleagues. Some sought out counseling through support groups or a therapist or spiritual advisor. Some fell into depression or had meltdowns.

    Although the coping methods differed, all women used a variety of skills developed over their lives. Just like no two women are identical, neither are their ways for dealing with breast cancer or breast cancer scares. As for me, I’m using humor, meditation, writing, networking for safety, counseling, and a couple of mini-meltdowns done in private. These are healthy coping skills and are signs of emotional intelligence.

    Quite a few women have thanked me for reminding them to schedule their mammograms either because it had been too long since their last check-up or because, like me, they’ve put off having their first exam. The entire goal of my first post was to inspire other women to get themselves checked. Goal achieved.

    There have been a few responses that have caught me off-guard. A few people have told me that they believe my positive attitude and attempts to find some humor in my situation are signs that I’m not taking this seriously. I’ve even been asked if I was considering suicide. Spoiler alert: NO. My lack of freak out seems to make some people uncomfortable.

    The fact is that I’m not freaking out and I’m definitely not suicidal. I plan to stick around for a very long time. Obviously, the Universe may have other plans for me, but my plan including living a very long and happy life.

    If I had become paralyzed by depression and unable to create an action plan, begun drinking to excess or using illegal substances, striking out at people emotionally or physically, or used other unhealthy coping skills to avoid dealing with what’s happening, that would be cause for concern. I’m not doing any of those things. In fact, I’ve consciously chosen healthy coping skills.

    Am I scared? Hell ya. I’d be a big fat liar if I told you no. I’m fucking terrified of anesthesia. I had a nightmare last night that a quack doctor (not my surgeon) was attempting to kill me. I won’t go into details of the dream, but I was clearly processing my own fears about tomorrow’s surgery. In the end of the dream, a friend whose mom actually died of breast cancer, saved my life.

    Have I thought about ALL the “what if’s”? You betcha. So much so that I’ve double-checked my life insurance and IRA beneficiaries. I’ve got my powers of attorney documents ready to take to the hospital. Trust me, my affairs are in order. I’m fully aware and understand that this surgery may just be the beginning of a process that could result in a mastectomy or worse.

    Can I control or change any of what’s happening? No, I can’t. I can’t make cancer appear or disappear between now and when I get my pathology results on November 17th. Believe me, if I could twitch my nose, all Bewitched-like, and make it all better, I would in a heartbeat.

    The only thing I can control is my attitude. And I’m choosing to be positive, hopeful, and grateful. Believe me, it’s not an easy choice; it’s a conscious one. One that I am choosing every minute of every day.

    Have I been emotional? YES! I sobbed on my way home after being told I needed the biopsies. During the stereotactic biopsy, I cried quietly because I needed to remain still. But you best believe there were tears running down my face. I don’t doubt that there will be more tears before I get a clean bill of health.

    What I know about myself is that when I spend too much time feeling morose, I end up deeply down a rabbit hole, one might call it a Jessica Rabbit Hole, that is 100% unhealthy and unproductive. I begin to focus on on the areas of my life I consider to be failures and dreams I’ve given up – some by choice and others by life circumstance. And I simply don’t see that this train of thought will help me get through what’s ahead of me.

    There’s no one-size-fits-all way to deal with life’s difficulties. The best we can all do each day is what’s best for us individually and not judge others for their coping skills.

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  • Ask Little Merry Sunshine: Bridezilla demands to know why guests can’t attend her wedding

    Ask Little Merry Sunshine: Bridezilla demands to know why guests can’t attend her wedding

    The editorial staff at Little Merry Sunshine has decided to get into the life coaching business because who better than Little Merry Sunshine to coach you to your best life? This new feature will run as often as you send in questions, so its success is up to you. If you don’t send in questions, Sammy gets fired because it was his idea. I can’t imagine that’s what you want.

    What kind of advice will Little Merry Sunshine dole out? All kinds. There’s nothing we’re not experts in and what we don’t know, we’ll make up. To receive life advice from Little Merry Sunshine, please email us. Note: Questions will only be answered in this column.

    Look at how adorable I am! Do you want me to get fired?  © Jessica Gardner
    Look at how adorable I am! Do you want me to get fired? © Jessica Gardner

    ———

    Dear Little Merry Sunshine,

    This past Friday, I received an email from Jane inviting my family and I to attend her wedding on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve 2014 – in approximately 8 weeks. The wedding is to be held out-of-state and her email stated that a formal invitation would follow, based upon our reply. I wrote her back on Saturday, thanked her for the invitation, informed her that our family would not be able to attend, and wished her well. On Monday, a formal wedding invitation arrived in the mail. Shockingly, early this morning, Tuesday, I received a second email from Jane, pointedly asking me why our family would not be attending her nuptials.

    Truthfully, the bride is the daughter of a college friend of my father’s, is 10 years older than me, and, aside from meeting her once as a kid, I don’t know her at all. In fact, I didn’t even know she was engaged. I’ve already spoken to my father and he and my mother are not attending either.

    In our family, holidays are sacred and are family time. We do have other obligations related to our children, our church, and our own Christmas plans. Additionally, asking my family to travel out-of-state over the holidays at this late notice, would be a significant financial strain.

    Frankly, I am speechless at her audacity to ask for a specific reason for our absence and do not know how to respond to such brazenness. How do I reply to her now without digging myself into a hole?

    Signed,

    Backed Into a Corner by Bridezilla

    Dear Backed Into a Corner,

    This is the original Nightmare Before Christmas! Although I don’t know Jane, I have a feeling I know why you barely know her. She sounds like a grown-up mean girl.

    I know there’s a popular belief that a wedding is all about the bride, but I beg to disagree. Certainly every couple is entitled to celebrate their wedding in whatever style they wish and at whatever time of the year they desire. What they’re not entitled to expect is that guests drop their lives and max out their AmEx Black cards in order to attend. If a couple wants to celebrate their wedding over the holidays, they need to give at least 6 months for guests to plan. I would give closer to a year, but I also wouldn’t get married on Christmas Eve.

    From what you’ve said, it sounds like the email on Friday was the Save the Date, although it asked for an RSVP. I’ve known many couples who are wedding planning on a budget and only send formal written invitations to those who RSVP yes to the emailed Save the Date. I think this is a smart move, but the fact that you received a formal invitation in the mail two business days later is just weird and flies smack in the face of what Jane told you would happen. You replied in a timely polite manner to her email. 

    A gracious bride would have thanked you for your prompt RSVP and wished your family happy holidays. You, however, are not dealing with a gracious bride. You’re dealing with the Bridezilla Who Stole Christmas.

    Maybe Bridezilla doesn’t have many friends, because, you know, she’s not just a Bridezilla about her wedding, and she’s worried that no one from “her side” will show up, which will make her look bad. Of course, I’m just speculating. Jane could be a lovely woman, who is overly stressed.

    In my heart of hearts, I believe you owe Bridezilla nothing more, but I can hear my late Nana whispering to me that one never goes wrong by going the extra mile with politeness.

    When you’re out and about tomorrow, stop by CVS and pick up a wedding card. Write a nice note inside the card that simply says, “Thank you again for the generous invitation to your wedding. My family and I are unable to attend, but we wish you a lifetime of happiness and love.” Put a stamp on it, drop it in the mail, and don’t give the event another thought.

    If Bridezilla continues to harass you about your upcoming absence at her wedding, ignore her. It pains me to suggest this next step because I believe parents should not have to intervene on their adult children’s behalf, but if that doesn’t work, let your dad work it out with his college buddy.

    Pour yourself a glass of wine and be grateful that you’re not marrying Jane.

    All the best,

    Little Merry Sunshine

    NOTE: This is a true story, although the names and a couple of key details have been altered to protect the guilty.

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  • Did I miss the memo that manners have gone out of style?

    Did I miss the memo that manners have gone out of style?

    Yesterday afternoon I took my mom to see the movie The Judge starring Robert Downey, Jr. and Robert Duvall, in roles that should earn them both awards, in my humble opinion. Go see this movie, it’s phenomenal.

    When we arrived I held doors for no less than five people, some young and some old. I waved an elderly woman out of a parking spot and let a few others walk by before I entered the spot. I let people with fewer items go in front of me at Petsmart earlier in the day. And after the movie, I stopped to inform a woman that her trunk was open at the gas station. Having manners is just the way my mama raised me. This will all make sense in a moment.

    We typically go to late afternoon movies because they are less crowded, which makes life easier because my mom uses a walker. She can’t climb the stairs in theaters with stadium seating, so we always sit in the seats in the aisle that crosses the theater and are reserved for people with special needs and their companions. These seats are located smack in the middle of the width of the theater, I suppose for the best view, which is nice. It also leaves room on either side for wheelchairs or walkers.

    For some reason, yesterday’s screening was very crowded with most seats taken. We arrived about five minutes before the previews began and got situated.

    Just as the lights went down and the previews began, a woman about my age who was sitting directly behind me, shoved my seat and me forward and squeezed herself between my seat and the railing in front of the first row of stadium seats. She said nothing to me as she rushed out of the theater. I was stunned speechless and said nothing to her.

    Once I regained my composure, I turned around, looked at the woman’s companion, now sitting alone, and said, “That was rude and I won’t be letting her back in.” Her reply was, “Everyone in our row is elderly! You want my friend to cut in front of them?” I turned back around saying nothing more. To silently answer her question, however, yes. I didn’t design movie theaters, but this is common practice.

    A few minutes later, the woman returned, assuming she could once again climb over me to return to her seat. Again, she spoke no words. I, however, looked at her, and firmly said, “No.” “I can’t get through?,” she replied. I leaned back in my seat obviously serious.

    Off she went mumbling, loudly enough for me to hear her, about how dare I make her squeeze through her row in front of elderly people and using a word or two that I won’t repeat in a family-friendly blog.

    Once she was seated and because we were still in previews, I turned around and quietly said, “If you’d said ‘excuse me’ or asked my permission to begin with, I would have graciously let you through.” The woman’s friend loudly barked at me, “SHUT UP! TURN AROUND! AND WATCH THE MOVIE!” Everyone in their row was staring at me. I’m certain my face was bright red with embarrassment.

    Throughout the movie, these two women, who again, were about my age, kept their feet firmly planted in the back of my seat. Sometimes they rocked it, while other times they simply made it impossible for me to sit back. Movie theaters, unlike airplanes, are made with plenty of leg room, especially in the first row of stadium seating, so there was no need for them to behave in such a boorish way. I ignored them because I have manners and I’d already been barked at once.

    Is this behavior of hopping over people sitting in seats reserved for people with special needs (remember, I was my mom’s companion and her walker was quite obvious) common practice? When did it become gauche to ask permission, say “excuse me,” or apologize when you’ve inconvenienced someone? When did manners go out of style?

    Although I was mad at the women and their behavior and it irritated me throughout the previews, which thankfully went on too long, I chose to focus on the nice day my mom and I were having. I also decided that their grotesque mean girl behavior was not a reflection on me, but entirely on them.

    Even if adults acting childish and rude is suddenly in fashion, I choose good manners and kindness.

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  • My first mammogram saved my life

    My first mammogram saved my life

    I’m 43. I was due to have my first mammogram three years ago, but I didn’t do it. I know I should have especially because my mom had a cancerous lump removed from her breast three years ago. I could tell you the litany of reasons why I avoided a mammogram, but those reasons don’t matter. What matters is that I finally summoned up my courage and just did it on October 15th.

    I’d heard how much it hurt, how awkward and embarassing it was, how my breasts would be squeezed until I thought they’d pop, and frankly, it just went against my long-standing policy of not letting someone play with the girls unless he bought me dinner first, although dinner does not automatically guarantee playing with the girls.

    None of those rumors were true. I did get a glass of water, so I guess that could be considered a cocktail, which in some places is close enough to dinner.

    The truth is that the Posy Krehbiel Breast Care Center at Northwestern Lake Forest Hospital could not be a more calming and supportive place, unless they served wine after mammograms. Seriously, how hard would that be? Can someone get on that?

    The mammogram technologist, Kathy, walked me through every step of the procedure and gave me a double-sided index card listing all the reasons why people get called back and a pink pen to memorialize my first mammogram. I wanted a sticker that said, “my boobs got squeezed today,” you know, like the “I voted” stickers, but was told those don’t exist.

    I learned that the vast majority of mammogram virgins get called back because the radiologist has nothing to compare the pictures to and doesn’t know if what she’s seeing is normal for you. Kathy was supportive, respectful, and we even enjoyed a couple of laughs about the procedure. Yes, your breasts are being squeezed tightly, but it only lasts for a second each time and is no big deal. She insisted I tell her if I was in intolerable pain so she could adjust things. Her goal wasn’t to kill me, after all. In the end, it took about 15 minutes and she took four pictures.

    Twenty-four hours later, I received the call I was expecting. My breasts were so beautiful that the radiologist wanted more pictures, or at least that’s what I told myself. I now needed a diagnostic mammogram, which requires about 10 to 12 pictures. Again, this didn’t hurt, although it was a tad bit uncomfortable because the poses were awkward. My pics were immediately sent to the radiologist who determined that she wanted an ultrasound done, which was done in the same appointment. Again, this is routine for mammogram virgins and doesn’t hurt at all. Actually, for women with dense and fibrous breasts, ultrasounds are routinely ordered. It’s actually relaxing because I was laying down and it was dark.

    At the end of the ultrasound, the Dr. Kanter, the radiologist, came in and we chatted about the entire process. She showed me a couple of spots she was concerned about and ordered two biopsies for this past Tuesday. I had lots of questions, but at no time did I feel she had more important places to be. She was entirely present and focused on me and my needs.

    Like the previous procedures, the biopsies were fairly easy and done with a local anesthetic. First, I had a stereotactic core needle biopsy. This was a bit awkward because I was on my stomach. Essentially, this is done using an mammogram machine that squeezes the breast, which hangs down through a hole in the table, to help the doctor find the suspicious area. Once that was completed, I was taken over to the ultrasound room where I had an ultrasound guided biopsy. Again, this was super easy and made better thanks to lots of lidocaine. If you ever have these procedures, ask for as much lidocaine as you need. Trust me. I was awake for both procedures, talking, and joking with the nurses and radiologist.

    Frankly, the biggest disappointment of the day was that it was Dr. Silcox, the radiologist performing my biopies, was the first person to sign my breast. I’d always hoped that privilege would go to Jon Bon Jovi, Rick Springfield, or Keith Urban. She took my disappointment well though.

    After the biopsies, I sat with nurses Iva and Laura, to review post-biopsy care and schedule my diagnosis meeting on Thursday. Once I left the hospital, I spent a few minutes walking through the labyrinth located immediately outside the Women’s Center. This helped me feel centered and focus on all that I had to be grateful for in this process. I drove myself home and slept the rest of the day.

    Labyrinth at the Posy Krehbiel Breast Care Center. #meditation #centering #lifelistyear2

    A photo posted by Jessica Gardner (@jessica_gardner) on

    //platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.jsAt my results appointment yesterday, the news was mixed. One area came back clean and simply requires a follow-up mammogram in six months. Easy peasy. The second area, turned out to be an area of greater concern. As Laura, one of the nurses from Tuesday, and Cathy, a nurse navigator, explained it to me, I need to have a lumpectomy. My 15-minute appointment turned into a 90-minute meeting because they spent so much time answering all of my questions, walking me through the entire process and what I can expect both pre- and post-op, and helping me find a surgeon. We had a phone consult with my primary care physician and made a surgical consultation appointment. We even discussed the “what ifs.”

    I feel really good about how all of this has unfolded. I’m grateful for having wonderful insurance that ensures I won’t go bankrupt because of this. I’m grateful that technology allows doctors to find these microscopic abnormalities in the earliest stages of cancer. I’m grateful that thanks to the Affordable Care Act, my annual mammogram costs me nothing, whether I’ve met my deductible or not, and that insurance companies can’t deny me insurance. Believe it or not, I’m also grateful that I didn’t get the job I so badly wanted earlier this month. It was clearly a sign from the universe.

    I’m grateful for the friends and family who have supported me throughout this process that I’ve kept very close to my chest (pun intended) until there was something to really talk about. My brother even surprised me last night when he offered to come back to town to help me if I wanted him to. He was just here, so I am going to play that offer by ear. The fact that he made it though means the world to me.

    Finally, I’m grateful for the care at the Posy Krehbiel Breast Care Center at Northwestern Lake Forest Hospital. They have all the details covered . . . warmed blankets because I am always cold, fully covering cloth hospital gowns, especially warm rooms so you’re not freezing while you’re half naked, and ultrasound gel that’s warmed. And, everyone I’ve met is a woman – the mammogram technologist, the ultrasound technologist, nurses, the nurse navigator,and the radiologists are all women. They understand how nerve wracking mammograms can be, so they are perfect for helping maintain the zen. Plus, they have a labyrinth!

    Admittedly, this wasn’t the post I’d planned to write when I set out on the new adventure of my first mammogram. The bottom line, however, is that my first mammogram will save my life.

    It’s also my hope that if you haven’t had your first mammogram yet but you’re due for it, or if you feel something in your breast that feels abnormal, you’ll make an appointment right away. The few moments of discomfort and awkwardness could save your life.

    I also thought about not sharing this story because it’s not exactly happy, uplifting and reassuring that mammograms are no big deal. I chose to share, however, because if this story reassures anyone that a mammogram isn’t miserable and the professionals are compassionate and go out of their way to make the process easy and comfortable, no matter what happens, then this post has served its purpose.

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  • My favorite name is Sister

    My favorite name is Sister

    October 5th marked the 40th anniversary of when I gave up the name “Only Child” and took on “Sister.”

    As I recall it, it was a bright early October day when my brother Dave came into the world. Fall had hit and we were wearing socks with our sandals in Ft. Myers, Florida. It was a rough existence. My parents dropped me off at the house of their friends, Jay and Colleen, where I watched cartoons all night and ate sugary cereal straight from the box. This was a major upgrade from life at my house, where my television viewing was limited to Mr. Rodgers and Captain Kangaroo, and cereal was typically Cheerios in a bowl with milk and eaten with a spoon at the kitchen table.

    But I digress.

    I remember being told that we would have a new addition to our family and I would become a Big Sister. I was about 2 1/2 and I was sold on the idea that whether this new child was a boy or a girl, I’d have a playmate. Imagine that! A built in friend for life!  This person would surely want to play dolls, play in my kitchen, build castles in our sandbox, and swing on our swing set. I would be a Sister and life would be grand.

    Can you imagine my surprise when my parents brought him this bundle of blankets who spent his days and nights sleeping, eating, and pooping?

    Do you know how much newborns play dolls or build sandcastles? Not. At. All.

    That’s right. My parents lied to me. To my face. For more than nine months.

    They carried on this lie, knowing that it would be years before my brother would be able to play with me and, by then, the novelty of being a sister would have worn off.

    Seriously. Who does that??? Jerks.

    Fast forward a few years. Dave learned to walk and to kick. He wore these awful shoes that helped with some walking problem he had. They had wooden soles and he had perfect aim to my shins. It turns out, kicking Sisters in the shins is the #1 job of Brothers. This was not in the hype my parents sold me.

    Eventually, I became accustomed to being a Sister. I almost didn’t mind Dave stealing my tights for his Superman costume. There were months where our only communications happened at levels requiring anyone in a 5-mile radius to be wearing noise canceling headphones. We didn’t always get along, but he was my Brother and I was his Sister. I could pick on him, but if anyone else dared to put him down, they got to deal with me.

    I was incredibly protective of Dave. One memory stands out clearly to me. In fact, it chokes me up to think about it 35 years later. When I was in 3rd grade, Dave was in Kindergarten. We used to walk to school by ourselves. It was the 1970s and we lived 2 blocks from school – don’t judge our mom. Normally we walked together, but on this particularly chilly morning, Dave stopped to play at his friend Christopher’s house. They were best friends and in the same class. When the school bell rang, I still hadn’t seen Dave on the playground. By the time I reached my class, I was a sobbing mess certain that something had happened to my Brother. I was inconsolable until my teacher had the brilliant idea of taking me to Dave’s class to confirm his attendance. Sure enough, Dave was there and all was fine. But I just had to be certain. (Aside: This incident should have been a clue I had high anxiety.)

    By the time we got to high school, we’d mostly given up our sibling rivalry ways. We’d both found areas in which we excelled and we were each others loudest cheerleaders. In fact, I was literally his cheerleader as a member of the soccer cheerleaders (yep, that’s how cool I was). We had figured out that no matter what else was happening in our lives, we could count on each other to help us celebrate our victories or console us when things didn’t quite go our way.

    Today, Dave is my best friend. He’s my go-to guy. He challenges me to be better and doesn’t laugh (too hard) at me when I can’t remember how to ride a bike, for example. In return, I challenge him to think differently and hear the full meaning behind words. We balance each other out and I can’t remember the last time a phone call ended without telling him I loved him and hearing him say it in return. Sometimes, he’ll even say it first.

    So as I celebrate 40 years of being a Sister, I raise a glass to my little Brother, Dave. I’m really glad I gave up the name Only Child in favor of Sister. It’s the name I’m most honored to be called.

    ——-

    This post has been brought to you as part of the This Blogger Life weekly series by ChicagoNow bloggers. Each week, we receive a suggested topic to write about. If the topic speaks to us, we can write. If not, that’s okay too. This week’s topic, “What’s in a name?” To read other posts on this topic, please click here.

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