Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Thoughtful Thursday

Now normally, I'm not too big into obligations.

As I've gotten older, I realize that there is a real distinction between your garden-variety obligations and their more foundational cousin, commitment.

As I start to really acknowledge the enormity of what I went through during my time with cancer, I feel committed to bringing awareness and tools to others, so that they may not ever have to experience such suffering.

A couple of weeks ago, all three major U.S. networks aired a special called "Stand Up to Cancer". Not only do I always find this broadcast inspirational, I also find that the up-to-the-minute research they present is enpowering and hopeful.

Like most shows of this kind, the buzz is there the first day; it dissipates pretty quickly thereafter. I encourage you to visit the site,


and to read the following - a piece that they started the show with - a piece that calls out cancer for the tenacious, apathetic, unwavering, body terrorist that it really is:

"Cancer doesn't care if you've won the Olympic gold medal.

Cancer doesn't care if you're beautiful, or brilliant, or just got into college, or just bought your first car.

Cancer doesn't care if your song is number one with a bullet.

Cancer doesn't care if you have your whole life in front of you.

Cancer doesn't care how many Oscars you've won, or how many tough guys you've played.

Cancer doesn't care that you have young children who need their mother.

Cancer doesn't care how well you sling a sledgehammer.

Cancer doesn't care that it just took your father.

Cancer doesn't care what time you have to get up in the morning, every morning.

Cancer, schmancer...

Cancer only cares if you sit still and do nothing. Cancer loves that...

Cancer doesn't care where you came from, or where you're going.

It just.

Doesn't.

Care. "

Monday, November 9, 2009

In Pursuit of Hirsute

I'm not sure if any of you fine readers are aware of late Autumn/early Winter on the West Coast of Canaderrr, but baby, it's cold outside. And not the cold that you can really dress against. This is the insidious moist cold that wriggles its way between your bazillion layers of clothing and magically penetrates down to your sinew and bones.

There, now I've set the scene of yesterday afternoon. Sure, the sun was out (kinda) and mocking us from its spot up in the solar system - fat lot of good it did way up there. Down on the ground, I was on my way to my niece's soccer game.

OUTSIDE.

[This should earn me not only your admiration at my fortitude and commitment, but also a truckload of karmic credit. I did not want to be there. I do not really like soccer. But I am crazy about my niece. So I go.]

As I approached the field, I had to call my son to ask where he was; I had scoured the crowds on both sides of the field (from the pleasant comfort of my car) and could not find him. It is such very bad form when you ensconce yourself amongst the opposing team's family and friends and start berating the referee for not calling more penalties against the goon-ish hermaphrodites playing against your niece.

Very bad form. Trust me on this one.

It turned out that he was right in front of me, along with my brother-in-law. I didn't notice them, as they were hunkered down so far in their lawnchairs, they appeared to be the height of toddlers.

Walking up behind them, my son turned around to say hi. Then, my brother-in-law.

"Yarrrrgh!" I screeched. [*please note that this is not a usual family greeting nor something charmingly regional].

"What the hell happened to your beard and moustache???" [*note: this was me asking him, not the other way around. This is a usual family greeting...}

In the entire 27 years I've known him, this is the first time I've ever seen my outlaw without any facial hair. He usually has a moustache/goatee or moustache/beard combo.

Now he's just beginning to sprout it back.

"Whateth uppeth with the baby 'stash?" I queried.

"It's Mo-vember", said Monsiuer Hairless.

"Ohhhhh! Of course. Mo-vember. And just what is that, again? Some 3 Stooges thing?"

It turns out that Mo-vember is fun little campaign to raise money for Prostate Cancer.

Originally started as a beer-fuelled challenge between some Australian buddies, Movember has mushroomed into a significant fundraiser. Men either clean their facial slate and begin again from scratch, or start to grow where nary a follicle grew before. It's a time to get in touch with one's Magnum PI or Fu Manchu. Or maybe Rolly Fingers. Or that cranky dude from American Chopper.

The clever thing about going this route with fundraising is that it can't but help start a dialogue. There's the shock value of seeing those who rocked the beard start afresh, and the curiousity about those who would usually never choose to 'mo' up. It's a little less startling than head-shaving, and maybe a little more edgy. Oh, and ladies? It's a guy thing. Except for you , Chaz Bono.

To quote the article that I read about it today, "Men will want to be you and women will want to be with you." I have to admit, promises like that sound pretty attractive to me. Rahwr. . .

Gentlemen, I urge you to drop the razor, have some fun & preen away for a good cause:

For more information on Mo-vember or to register and participate, go here:
ca.movember.com (canada)

us.movember.com (united states)

Sunday, September 7, 2008

The Sun Will Come Out - You Know When

Something I said I might do - someday.

A veritable picture of the of-the-moment Baroness:



That's me in the corner.

That's me in the dark light - losing my religion.

I now enter the dark, 2 week phase between having my routine blood work done and getting the results.

Masochist that I am, I am currently reading a very disturbing book (The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold) , and watching very sad things (my DVR'd Stand Up to Cancer), where tears freely flow.

I know full well what happens in these coming two weeks. I should be stocking up on David Sedaris, Archie Double Digests, and Austin Powers movies.

But I resist.

Why?

Maybe I think that if I get into a really dark corner, any wee speck of light at all will be blindingly beautiful.

Maybe I think if I weep (under the pretense of a sad movie), all of my anxiety will flow away.

Maybe I'm Swedish.

I heard one of my favorite Dixie Chick songs while driving around this morning - "Not Ready to Make Nice" - where they quote some of their hate mail as telling them to "shut up and sing".

Maybe I should just shut up and be funny.

And I'll try - tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

I love ya - you know when.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

The S-Word

I suppose, if one is open enough to coincidence, happenstance - and all the other "-ce" words that involve inspiration - one can find something to write about every day.

I would shamefacedly admit that I have not been too open as of late. Much physical and emotional activity swirls around the von Bloggenschtern abode, and in the frenzy of it all, I tend put on both blinders and armor, and do my best to just clunk through every day.

But, sometimes...

Sometimes, when it's first thing in the morning, and when the house is still and I know my little chickies are all sound asleep in their nests, and I can hear the dog snoring away his doggy dreams on the couch, sometimes then I can prise open the plating just a little, and be aware of that which is set in front of me.

So.

As I leafed through an issue of one of my magazines that has sat on the counter, sad and unread for a month, I came across a sidebar in the Health section that made me sit up and take notice. Got my dander up. Stuck in my craw.

Quoted was an excerpt from Kris Carr's book, "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips". The title of the piece?
"Tip No. 36 - Replace the word patient with the word survivor"

Don't know about Kris Carr? She made quite a stir not too long ago with her documentary "Crazy Sexy Cancer", about her diagnosis of a rare and incurable cancer and her subsequent journey back to health through organic nutrition. She has since had a TLC special, and written a book.

She's also one of our blogspot neighbors, and her site is all at once informative, humorous, humble, inspirational and wise.

However.

There is one particular topic on which Ms. Carr and I part ways. Let me first quote the excerpt:

"Until recently, I didn't dare use the S-word. That was a special term reserved for remarkable, strong people. 'Survivors' belonged to a ritzy, dress-code-only country club, a place where the jet-setting cancer-free toasted themselves and hobnobbed. 'Dahhhhhling, I'm a survivor, pass the Grey Poupon.' I wanted so badly to join. But, in my mind, the only way through the emerald gates was remission, or maybe a job as a dishwasher...

Are we not 'surviving' while managing the demands of a busy life? Whether you've made it through the battle or are still in the trenches, pink hats, special ribbons and raised hands for everyone - not just the 'winners'. When I started to call myself a survivor, my whole attitude changed. I put cancer behind me (even though it was still full blown Stage IV) and started living again."

Let it be known, officially, right here and right now, that Shelley Jaffe (a/k/a The Baroness) loathes and despises the word "survivor".

For, as Ms. Carr, points out- it is an exclusive club. But on a much larger scale than anyone cares to think about.

To refer to oneself as a "cancer survivor" means, in my mind, infers that yeah, yeah, yeah - you once had cancer, but you don't anymore. You survived it.

Hence the exclusivity.

What about all of those people who, as Ms. Carr points out, manage to make it through the demands of their busy lives while still in the throes of the disease?

The ones who struggle day after day to put on the brave face for their spouses, their children, their friends - even when all they want to do is to curl into a fetal position and sleep for 3 days straight?

What of the ones who daily, hourly, semi-hourly barf themselves inside out to the point of being a dessicated shell of their former selves?

What about those "survivors"?

The "survivors" that die?

What do we call these brave, courageous, tenacious souls? They tried. Valiantly, with any atom of strength and grace they had left. They faced their mortality, eyeball to eyeball, and they still died.

How on earth can anyone have the audacity to call themselves a "survivor" in the face of all that?

I know that I can't.

At the outset of my diagnosis, I knew right away that I would have a fair bit of work ahead of me, just dealing with the vernacular that goes along with all things cancer-related.

I called my chemotherapy time "sessions" rather than "rounds"; the latter sounded too much like a UFC match with a clear winner and loser.

I said I was "receiving" chemo, rather than "undergoing"; the latter sounded like I was a victim, strapped to the table and writhing in opposition.

And most of all I hated the phrase "battling cancer", for while those of us afflicted try our hardest to deal with it, the whole battle scenario seemed to empower the cancer, making it a worthy and powerful opponent. The whole battlefield allegory was just not my scene.

My good friends Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster describe the word "Survivor" in one respect as
"to continue to function or prosper despite... syn. withstand."

So maybe I'm a Cancer Withstander.

I like that much better.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Butt Really, Darling....

Happy March, dear readers! After perusing past posts, and analyzing my fellow bloggers, the Baroness has realized that she may have been a little remiss in disclosure about who she is, and what it's all about, Alfie. Truth of the matter is that I'm much better in writing than conversing, and while I love, love, love to read blogs where they just lay it all out there, I cannot believe that someone would even be vaguely interested in my crap, and I'm a little skittish about being very forthcoming. But today, I am literally willing to spill my guts. Or part of them, anyways. To offer a glimpse into the world of the Baroness and the vonBloggenschtern villa, we're a winning combination of high-brow, with liberal dollops of low-brow thrown in. We are conversant in both French and fart jokes, and things gross and poopy are very familiar territory for us. We have seen the dark side, you see, and lived to tell the tale. The gaseous, bootylicious tale.

It's funny how in the world of internet chit-chat, a semi-colon and a bracket ;) infer some sort of sly inside joke or a secret. In another world that the Baroness travels in, the semi-colon refers to the secret club that tells of one's insides - that you've have part of your colon removed. In my case it was a mere 10 inches, due to colon cancer. March is Colon Cancer Awareness Month, and the following is part of a presentation I gave last March - I thought I'd share it with you, in hopes that you might send it along to the ones you love. For those of you here for "How About That?", do not despair; it will return tomorrow. For those of you ready for a stonkin' good crapload of valuable information, read on, McButt.

I would like to start with a little game. Here goes. Name this planet:

If you guessed Uranus, you're correct! Treat yourself to a high-fibre cereal and some fruit!

So today's topic is Uranus. Well, Uranus, my anus, everyone's anus.

You may or may not know this, but March is Colon Cancer Awareness Month. You also may or may not know that in August of 2006, I was diaganosed with Stage II colon cancer, and have had radiation, surgery, and chemotherapy to treat it. I'm hoping that by the end of this chat, you will be just a little more aware, and hopefully feel compelled to make an appointment to get screened. Oh, and that you'll tell 2 friends. And they'll tell 2 friends. And so on. And so on.

And so on.

Colon Cancer has the second highest fatality rate behind lung cancer, although it's also one of the most curable cancers with early detection. It's an equal opportunity disease - the rates of occurrence are nearly the same for men and women. There's a myth that colon cancer only affects older people. The fact is, while the median age is 62, risks start rising at 40 years of age. And there is an increasing number of cases of people under 50 with no known risk factors (I was 45 when diagnosed). Another myth is that colon cancer occurs only in people with a family history. The truth is that approximately 75% of all new cases occur in people with no known risk factors for the disease.

It's sometimes referred to as a "silent" cancer, as the symptoms may not appear until the cancer has progressed significantly. If they do appear, indicators such as fatigue, abdominal pain, bloating or changes in bowel movements can mistakenly be attributed to other conditions such as ulcers, gallstones, hemorrhoids or reactions to certain foods. In doing so, early detection can be missed. This leads to a strong argument for getting screened as soon as possible. While most doctors won't suggest screening before the age of 50, if any of the above symptoms seem significant to you, you should insist on a colonoscopy immediately. You know your body better than anyone else.

Another factor that makes people hesitant to take the first step is the stigma surrounding the screening process. Even though I knew something wasn't quite right "back there" (or in Scarlett language, the Sea Captain had a nosebleed), I felt incredibly embarrassed about having to bring up the subject to my GP. But I knew it had to be done. Something just wasn't right, and I finally conceded that it wasn't going away on its own.

After the barrage of tests I've been through, I can assure you that a colonoscopy itself is not so bad (given the alternatives). Everyone involved is a complete professional, although why they chose this particular profession will always remain a mystery to me. I liken the colonoscopy staff to spelunkers - they're really not too interested in how the cave looks from the outside; they're far more interested in what's actually inside the cave.

Humour, they say, is the best medicine. I can personally assure you that without it, you are sunk. So here are a few ice-breakers that could ease your tension, and - dare I say it? - tight-assedness:

Ice-Breaker #1: "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

Ice-Breaker #2: "You know, in Arkansas, we're now legally married."

Ice-Breaker #3: "Hey, now I know how a Muppet feels!"

Ice-Breaker #4: "Doctor, let me know if you find my dignity"

All kidding aside, I urge each and every one of you to make an appointment for a baseline colonoscopy. You may feel great discomfort at taking this step, but knowledge is power, dear readers, and this only takes one day of your life. Listed below are resources that I found to be extremely helpful.

Thank you so much for your time, and as we semi-colons say(keeping with the solar system theme): Prevent Colon Cancer - Moon a doctor!

Affectionately Yours,
The Baroness ;)

Web Resources

American Cancer Society www.cancer.org

National Cancer Institute www.cancer.gov

Canadian Cancer Society www.cancer.ca

Colorectal Cancer Association of Canada: www.colorectal-cancer.ca

Colorectal Cancer Alliance: www.ccalliance.org

Books

Pezim, Michael E. and Owen, David, The Intelligent Patient Guide to Colorectal Cancer, Intelligent Patient Guide Publishing, 2005 (ISBN 0-9696125-7-5)

Pochapin, Mark Bennett, What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Colorectal Cancer, Warner Books, 2004 (ISBN 0-446-69412-6)








 
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