Breast Cancer and the Stressed-out Dodo

Remember the Dodo birds from the Disney movie Ice Age? There’s a part where they all walk around chanting, “Doomed. Doomed. DOOMED. DOOOOOMED!” Just before they all accidentally walk, jump, fall or roll off the cliff one by one.

Well, that’s about how I feel every time I read a new article about breast cancer research. This morning’s article on Yahoo Health informed me that I was doomed from childhood.
According to the latest research by Dr. Ronit Peled of Ben-Gurion University of the Negev in Beer Sheva, experiencing severe life events at a young age (before 20) can increase your risk of developing breast cancer by as much as 62%. Well, shit.

Doomed.

Peled studied 622 women between 25 and 45 years old. 41% of them had been diagnosed with breast cancer, the other 59% had not. Their “Severe Life Events”, such as loss of a spouse or close relative were tallied as well as mild/moderately stressful events like bad illness, tragedy or job loss and they were given a questionnaire to determine their anxiety, depression, happiness and optimism levels.

Guess what? The women who had two or more severe or mild/moderate life events were 62% more likely to have beast cancer. Plus, those mild/moderate life events seem to build on each other for a cumulative effect. Oh, goody!

The good news? Women with a “general feeling of happiness and optimism” had a lower risk of being diagnosed. About 25% lower.

His conclusion: Women suffering severe losses at a young age should be considered at high risk for breast cancer and treated accordingly. Do you hear that AMA???

Also of note, Isreal has the highest incidence of breast cancer in the world. But it’s not like there’s any stress about living there or anything.

As I read the article I did a quick mental calculation of my pre-20 Severe Life Events.

• Age 11 – Dad clinically died for 5 1/2 minutes.
• Age 14 – Dad died.
• Age 15 – House burned down
• Age 15 – Close schoolmate committed suicide
• Age 17 – Schoolmate killed in freak car accident

Doomed.

Looking back, I had many risk factors for breast cancer that I was unaware were even risk factors. Of course, there is the ever-popular BRCA2 genetic mutation. But, hey, it’s not like I knew about that before hand. I had read, however, about the increased risk for women who had their first child after the age of 30. I was 33. What was I supposed to do about that, though? Go pop out a pup just to avoid the Big C? Hardly.

And this article brought to my attention the role early stress may have played in my disease. Also, the Mayor of Lemonland at World Wide Breast Cancer informed me that a history of benign breast biopsies is also a high risk indicator for breast cancer.

Huh. See what I mean? Me and the Dodos had a lot in common.

Cross posted at Mothers with Cancer.

Two hospitals, 295 miles apart, in less than 4 hours. Beat that!

4 am. That’s when my alarm went off this morning. 45 minutes later Danny and I were on the road to Bakersfield to see Dr. Tawansy, his retinal specialist. We don’t go often (once or twice a year) to the high risk / ROP clinic Dr. Tawansy holds at Kern Medical Center. We don’t really need to. But lately I’ve noticed that Danny’s left eye seems to be shrinking back into his head. So, off we trudged to the valley.

It’s weird to sit in a tiny room surrounded by non-English speaking mothers and their micro-preemies with my ginormous 3 year old who weighed in at a respectable 7lb 3oz when born 5 weeks early. I feel like a poser.

It was mostly good news today. They eye drops I stopped over a year ago without asking permission are no longer necessary. In fact, The good doctor said I probably did the right thing since he obviously doesn’t need them. Ha! Take that Daddy-O!

The Incredible Shrinking Eye, however, is every bit the harbinger of possible bad things to come that it would seem to be. It seems his eyes aren’t producing/generating – whatever eyes do – enough pressure to maintain proper eye size. This is fairly typical and to be expected. Unfortunately, if his eye shrinks below 50% of it’s normal size it can start affecting the growth of his eye socket. Which would require the use of schleral shells to help act as a “place holder” for the eye socket. They are sort of half-prosthetic eyes that fit over the real eye. Sound really uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Well, we’ll follow up on that later.

But here is the shocking news. Danny has light perception.

Did you see how calmly I said that? Like it’s no big deal? Yeah. No big deal. Except Danny can see something! Even if it is only light. It’s more than we ever thought he could see. More than we thought he ever would see. Can you see my smile from there?

When Dr. Tawansy shined his light in Danny’s eye, D squinched his eye shut, shied his head away and brought his hand up to block the source of the light. And the doctor had never touched him. But he did nonchalantly confirm the light perception when I mentioned it. Holy cow!

We got home at 1:30. Just in time for Ben to call from school crying because he’d fallen on his injured wrist again while playing soccer at school. sigh

I left Danny at the sitters, picked Ben up from school and headed to my second hospital in four hours. So much for working a few hours today.

Turns out Ben has a Buckle Fracture in his wrist. It’s when the outside of the bone buckles but doesn’t break. Like a green tree branch when you bend it.

They put a soft cast on it and we go to see an orthopedic doctor tomorrow or the next day for a cast. He may not be able to play soccer which starts this week (and which Daddy-O is coaching).

I finally got home for the day at 4 pm.

For anyone keeping track, that was 11 hours of driving/waiting room time, 295 miles, 2 hospitals, 1 splint and 1 medical breakthrough all in one day.

I’m pooped!

What goes up… must come down.

Ben started third grade today. Ben. The squalling, purple-turbaned, red-faced infant that slid into this world all covered in uterine slime a mere 8 years ago. Yeah. That Ben.

Yet, this morning (after his Focalin kicked in) he finished getting dressed, brushed his teeth without being yelled at and packed his backpack with his first ever 3-ring binder before sitting down to wait until it was time to leave. He had 10 minutes to spare. Sweet!

His new teacher is Mrs. Stiles. She was a 2nd grade teacher last year. Ben was a bit disappointed in that at first. “I got a 2nd grade teacher?”, he complained. This while we looked at the lists of classes posted on the school doors. Do you remember doing that? The excitement of rushing to school on Friday to see who’s class you were in and if any of your friends were in that class too? Flashback.

Anyway, all disappointment was gone as we entered his classroom today. Mrs. Stiles gave him a giant hug and told him how happy she was to have him in her class. “I was hoping and hoping all summer.” she said, “Please, let me get Ben. Please let me get Ben.” She looked to me and explained, “I had Ben for science last year. It was great. We both love science!”

Ben was all smiles and happily off to find his assigned seat – in the back row of the class. What a compliment. I had to explain to Ben that the teachers only put a certain type of student in the last row. Good students. Ones who don’t get in trouble. Students that don’t need to be babysat all day. By placing him there Mrs. Stiles was letting him know how much she trusted him.

What a far cry from our Kindergarten / First grade years. The pre-medicated years.

Here is my big, trustworthy 3rd grader.

Then he came home from school and went to the rope swing down the street. The rope got stuck. Through his tears he tells me how he climbed the tree and had it all planned out. Ugh. My stomach drops. I knew what he’d done. I looked him over from head to toe, the entire front of his body covered in a thick dusting of silty dirt. There were clean streaks down his cheeks and muddy spots under each nostril then smeared across his upper lip from his tears and running nose. He was holding his forearm immobile.

“You didn’t jump for the rope, did you? Oh no, Ben.” At my question the dam breaks, he sobs that he thinks his wrist is broken. Apparently, Tarzan he is not.

He also is not broken. I do think he is bent fairly well, however. Two hours post free-fall he felt well enough to go to the store with Daddy-O to get an ace bandage and be fitted for a sling.

And so begins the third grade.

The Mysterious Feeding Habits of Eight Year Olds

Ben doesn’t eat.

When he was but a wee babe and I, an impressionable new mother bombarded by advertisements on BabyCenter, I ordered his complete astrological chart over the internet. What can I say? I was curious and apparently in possession of much more discretionary income than I have now.

I have never believed in astrology. That is to say, I think it’s fun and interesting in a coincidental, “Ha! That is so you (and also me and her and sixteen other people that I know)!”, sort of way. Just like Taro Cards but not as creepy. In retrospect, Ben’s 20-something page astrological work up is uncannily accurate. Yes. I kept the damn thing. I paid like $20 for it in 2000. I put it in his baby book and ran across it a year or so ago.

What really sticks in my mind, besides the general right-onness of the whole thing, is the prediction that “food will not be a motivating factor in his life.” Truer words were never spoke, er, written.

Ben is far and away, the pickiest eater I have ever seen. He loves chicken nuggets. From McDonalds. Not the ones from Burger King. They are too spicy. But he won’t eat plain old chicken in any other form without a continuous barage of threats from all adult-types in the near vacinity. Ditto with fries of the french variety. Loves them. But just try to get him to eat tater tots. Tater tots, for God’s sake! I lived for those when I was a kid. He barely does pizza and he won’t touch a hamburger. Pasta must be sause-free with butter and, shudder, canned parmesan cheese only. He will eat Kraft Macaroni & Cheese but no other incantation of the stuff. On the other hand, he’s happy to eat vegetables with the exceptions of broccoli and asparagus.

I just don’t get it. If it weren’t for peanut butter and jelly I’m pretty sure he’d waste away to nothing.

Once we started him on ADHD meds things just got worse. At that point we could no longer count on the old “when he gets hungry enough, he’ll eat” adage. He was simply never hungry.

Until bedtime.

His medication wears off just about an hour before bedtime these days. That last hour can be trying, to say the least. Ben’s behavior can get extremely aggressive and confrontational. And he’s got a whole day’s worth of hunger built up inside.

The problem: How do you teach an eight year old boy to eat at mealtime, even if he isn’t that hungry? Because eating at bedtime just is not appropriate. Don’t get me wrong. We let him have apples and bananas, an probably way more dessert than he ought to have at that point in the evening. But he’s still hungry. It becomes impossible to tell what is true hunger and what is typical bedtime stalling tactics.

Ben’s solution: The other day I was straightening up Ben’s bed and I noticed two empty cookie packages and a full cheese it package under his covers. He is getting up in the middle of the night and sneaking food. He admitted as much when confronted. This is not the first time he has done this. We told him his punishment would be no sweets at all, nothing but fruit, for a week.

The next day I found frosting in his bed from the cinnamon twists we’d ordered with our pizza. Again, middle of the night snacking. I added two days to his punishment.

Yesterday Daddy-O found a bannana peel in his bed. OK. He’s at least eating better in the middle of the night but still.

Anyone have any bright ideas? We’re kind of at a loss here.

Vacation Vistas

Here are a few pictures from our trip to Oregon. What beautiful country.

Low falls on the Rogue

Cheeky Monk

Metolius River Wildflower

Bumble Bee

Feral Boy

Poetry in Motion

If I could save time in a bottle…

One of my new co-blogger friends has been victimized. She was given hope for a cure for her cancer. A radical new surgery, Pelvic Exenteration, was set before her like a glass of cool, sweet water to one dying of thirst. A cure. Hope against hope. Life with her 6 year old son. A future.

But like water in the desert it proved to be a mirage. Her cancer has already spread beyond her pelvic cavity, up towards her liver. This radical surgery in which she will lose so much of herself, cannot cure her any longer. It is too late for that. And it cannot give her greater longevity. Time, is the most precious of commodities.

What it can give her is quality of life in the time she has left.

A consolation prize at best.

Jen is feeling understandably down this week. Stop by and read her powerful words upon receiving this disappointing news and offer her support and encouragement.

Laugh Cancer Into Submission

Laugh, and the world laughs with you.
Cry, and you find yourself all alone in your room.

What? Is that only at my house?

Humor is the lubricant of life. It eases our way through tight situations, keeps the friction from getting so hot that it causes permanent damage and generally allows for smoother interaction between all the parts that make up our hectic lives.

Humor, it can be said, is a miracle fix-all.

Toward that end, Young Survival Coalition and Stand Up to Cancer (SU2C) are combining their significant resources and those of ABC, NBC and CBS to air a fund raiser on Friday, September 5, 2008. Money will go toward all the cutting edge research we read about in the news. Research the government doesn’t want to fund. Research that will save lives.

We are so close to a cure for cancer. So close. Close enough to a cure that our children may not ever have to worry about dying from over-producing, vagrant cells that overtake healthy cells and kill them. Close enough that many cancers are already considered “chronic diseases” instead of terminal.

Close enough that even the little bit of money that I am able to spare can help the cause.

Won’t you please help, too?

Mark your calendars. Program your TiVo or DVR. 8:00 p.m., Friday, September 5, 2008. Help laugh cancer into submission!!!

Credit where credit is due

Education is important. So is dependability. Both are valued by employers but usually only career jobs place a value on the first.

Yesterday we stopped in Bend, OR for lunch at Ben’s favorite restaurant, McDonald’s. I was shocked and pleasantly surprised to see this sign prominently displayed in the lobby.

My parents gave us money for good grades ($1 per A, $0.50 per B). The potential reward was never mentioned throughout the school year. Report card day would just arrive with it’s windfall… or not, depending on how hard we had applied ourselves. My sister and I heard the lesson loud and clear.

Work hard. Apply yourself. You will ultimately be rewarded.

Life is simple like that.

I am proud of the Bend McDonald’s for rewarding their young employees for good grades and work ethic. Keep up the good work!

We’re camping, damn it.

We camped at the KOA in Sisters, OR for two nights. We were supposed to stay there longer but we found the most incredible stretch of river and moved our stuff post haste.

I dropped Daddy-O off at the Metolius River to go fly fishing. Once I got a look at the campgrounds I was hooked. The trees were majestic. Tall and straight. The river, melodious.
Best of all, the campgrounds were mostly empty. Sigh. Everything a vacation ought to be. So I high-tailed it back to the motorhome, my Mom & the kids to convince them that we needed to pack up and move.

Next thing you know, we were completely broke down (camp wise) and waiting on the river before Daddy-O was done fishing for the day.

These cute little ‘monks were all over the place! I always thought Chip ‘N Dale were cute but the cartoons just don’t do them justice. They would run through camp, lickety split, in a crazy game of Chase the Ace. And they can stuff an insane amount of Cheetos in their cheeks all at once!

Danny was not a fan of the camping experience. While he loved the idea of a vacation in theory… the reality fell a bit shy of the mark in his book. There was no bike to ride. Music was hit and miss at best. And he got a nasty cold right off the bat.

Here are a few photos of the local flora & fauna as I practiced with my new camera.

Daddy-O is off to fly fish and Ben is following close behind. Trying to be just like Dad. He could do much worse.

And here is Daddy-O in action. The Metolius River comes directly from under the mountain not far from here (less than 2 miles). The water is a constant 45-47 degrees. Daddy-O is very cold here. The fish are not.

I will post about our reunion when we get home. We drive from Redding to SLO today. Yeah!

Look how big Ben got over the summer! I have been trying to upload other pictures but the stupid free wi-fi at the KOA won’t let me.

We’re in Cascade Locks outside of Portland. It’s a nice campground, sort of. But there is a RR track about 50 yards from our cabin (and my Uncle’s tent). The RR wouldn’t be bad except they blow their whistle directly behind us. All. Night. Long. The train whistle sounded no less than 6 times between 10:30 and 7:00 last night.

We are seeing such beautiful country. The vacation is awesome! But true to form, both boys have gotten sick. Listening to Danny whine and cry for 10 hours had everyone’s nerves on edge.

The reunion starts today. All my extended family is beginning to arrive. This poor KOA may never be the same…