Cancer Messed With The Wrong Girl

The End

2011-05-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

Yeeeikes! I posted some pretty complainey stuff in the last post and then disappeared into thin air for a couple of months! Makes me wonder why I was posting about my Carac experience at all in the first place. I guess I was trying to be as useful and helpful as other bloggers were to me about the subject. But, it's no good when suddenly there is a 2 month silence and the posts that ARE there are not that inspirational. Can I get an "A" for trying at least? The good news is that I finished up the chemotherapy a little early. It was brutal, but in the end, it was doable.

The result has been baby soft skin on my face and oddly, it has returned to the prepubescent oily state it once was when I was only 13 or so. I did lose some of the wrinkles, all of the dark spots, all of the rough spots, and it seems that all is well for now. I actually don't think about it or dwell on it at all. If I have to do the chemo again, then so be it.

For now, summer is nigh and after great amounts of thought, I will not be staying out of the sun. For me there is no life out of the sun, and I refuse to hike in a big floppy hat. So, I have found industrial strength sunscreen and that is the plan.

Please don't fret if you have to go a round of Carac. It is very difficult, but you can do it. You will be cancer free and everybody will say you look 10 years younger. You CAN do it! :-)

Into life I merrily go!

Paix - Jen

Jennifer Bunker CRS GRI
Utah Real Estate Broker

Carac Days 7 - 13 BRAVERY

2011-02-02T10:55:00.000-08:00

Boy, I've been a bad blogger. Honestly, I wanted to wait to blog until I had something positive to report, little bursts of hope that future readers would glom onto, as I have done on so many other blogs and forums.

But I couldn't muster the positive. Can't find it. There isn't much I'm afraid.

My case seems to be going along exactly as the other photojournalists/bloggers have reported. Each day seems exponentially worse than the last, and this makes thinking about going all the way to the end (28 days) a sheer impossibility. You can officially call me the poster child for the "take it day by day" mentality.

I am getting ready to apply Carac on day 13. As with all of the other days, I try to find something else to do first that would be less painful, like a root canal or the removal of my spleen with a butter knife and no anesthesia. I fiddle and diddle around until I finally get the guts to get in the shower, around noon each day.

My face is basically red over the entire surface, with the exception of next to my hairline. I am surprised that I even have lesions under my chin. I have some scabbing already in the very worst areas - underneath my eyes on the apples of my cheeks, my chin, above my eyebrows (whole forehead, really) and my entire nose. To put Carac on these places is an act of bravery that is only matched by the feeling that I had when I was being wheeled in the OR for my mastectomy ("MUST BE BRAVE AND JUST DO IT"). Here's the thing though, I only had to do that once. This is putting chemicals on open, increasingly angry wounds again and again and again and again and again. Did I say, again and again? I would take another mastectomy over this any day of the week.

Seems as if there is an blow torch that blows directly onto my face right before and for 3 hours or so after the Carac application. This, while akin to a first degree burn IMHO, is tolerable. What continues to be intolerable, what is the insanity maker, is the constant millions of sharp, knife-like, electrical pricks that barage me from the inside of my skin. In. Tol. Er. A. Ble. Period. I spend my day micro-focused on trying to survive this.

So, the positive is that once ice is applied after 2 hours of Carac pricking living hell, the nerves do seem to settle down enough to be bearable. I find that I can talk (not too much as face movement appears to excite the nerves and then I am back to icing) and eat small bites. I get up in the morning and do some cooking while I feel pretty good, so I think I have actually gained weight. Oh well.

Others around me have noticed that I go from normal to cranky in .02. I won't deny this. I truly feel for anybody in chronic pain. I don't think I could do it. My hat's off to you who manage to make it through that on a daily basis.

I find breathing and meditating helps, ala Lamaze. I find rocking myself gives me something to do while the insane prickling is going on. Sometimes I yell out, but curb that when the kids are around so I don't alarm them too much.

Each day, as I apply Carac to my bone dry, peeling, cracking, scabby skin, I ask myself, "Can I do this one more day? Can I do this just one more time, tomorrow?" If I decide that I CAN get through it one more time, I then commit to one more day ONLY. Thinking about 16 more days isn't doable. Only one day at a time, peeps.

"Lemonade from Lemons" Girl is struggling. Off to the shower ------>

XOXO Jen (Yes, I do realize that I am very very lucky).

Carac Days 3 - 6, ICE PACK!!!!

2011-01-26T17:53:00.000-08:00

Day 3 went fine, with minor burning and itching, along with minor headache and eye swelling.

Day 4 was a killer. I put the Carac on and 15 minutes later my face felt like white-hot fireworks were going off under my skin, with the small pieces of ash searing into the under layers of my dermis. It was all I could do not to claw my face off, the feeling was was "itching" crossed with pain that was truly miserable. I ended up rocking myself in a fetal position in order not to scratch at my face, counting every second to the end of the two hours when I could put something on it.

15 minutes before the end of the two hours, I remembered I had left my Clobetasol prescription at the pharmacy but not filled it. The Derm had told me that was for itching and redness. I got in the car and drove like an insane person to the pharmacy. I purchased the steroid and put it on my face in the parking lot. The searing pain that ripped through my face was a welcome relief from the insane "itching" I had just experienced.

Back at home I read on Google that different nerves convey the itch urge than the nerves that convey pain signals. I learned that the "itching" system always forces an instinctive scratching response, where the pain system compels the person to keep their hand away from the stimulus. It claimed that cold water will settle the twitching itch nerves. It was here that I got the brainstorm to put an ice pack to the itching. After about an hour the itching completely stopped.

Day five and day six, I was never far from my ice pack. That is going to make all of the difference from what I can tell. That, and the Clobetasol.

Today is day six and I am beginning to see the red spots emerge. I am somewhat surprised to find that there is more activity on my left side, the side that is next to the driver's side window. I seem to have them everywhere, including my eyebrows, hairline, along my chin line, and especially my temples. I have worn bangs all of my life so I thought my forehead would be exempt, but that is the area that has the most "firework" activity.

I am sleeping okay and wake up feeling good. I take a shower and put the cream on at about 1:00. p.m. I deal with the fireworks for two hours as well as a headache and some dizziness. I find that if I can nap after applying the ice that makes the evening bearable.

At night I splash water on my face and cover that with Stevens Cream. That causes more major itching and takes another hour of ice. But I figure it is worth it to get some hydration going on overnight.

I can't imagine 22 more days of this, but I find that a day by day attitude makes it doable.

Paix

Carac Chemo - Day Two

2011-01-22T18:31:00.000-08:00

Am applying the cream around noon because my work starts getting demanding about 7:00 a.m. and I just can't seem to squeeze the application session in any sooner. The process is fairly straightforward. I wash my face first, then wait 10 minutes as told, presumably to let the water totally leave my skin. I am using Dove bar soap to wash with because that is what my sensitive and picky skin is used to. I also have some Eucerin sensitive wash that I was going to try until I read on the CSL forum that brand has ingredients that actually encourage skin tumor growth. So, no bueno, at least until I get desperate enough for that kind of relief. (The whole arsenal is in the picture).

The chemo cream itself rubs right into the skin, so I am finding that I have to pay close attention and even make a game plan about how to apply it so that I don't get too much in one spot, or miss other spots. I read where somebody used petroleum jelly to cover and protect eye corners, lips corners, nostrils, and sides of the nose, so I apply that first with a modified q-tip. This system seems to be working okay so far. I can see the spots on my cheeks, nose, and chin where I am going to have trouble, but I'm also applying right to the hair line and down a little under my chin because if I am here and doing this now, I am going to get it right.

After the application my skin feels very dry, like I need lotion on my face after a long day at the beach. There is no real redness yet. I wait the required 2 hours and then apply Steven's Softening Cream, and then apply again a couple more times until bedtime. So far so good there, 2 thumbs up. I am happy that 2 of my 28 days went well and my mindset is 1/14th down, 13/14th's to go.

I had diarrhea both days within 3 hours of application. This doesn't surprise me as this is always how my stomach reacts to emotional upset or invasion of something new. I napped a few hours today as well, and just general feel more tired than usual. Nothing too terrible so far.

The worst part of this has been what this has done to my girls. Throwing a monkey wrench into their lives hardly describes it. Sara is trying to rearrange her schedule so she can come to Utah for a few days. Liz works a crushing workload of three jobs and is trying to get ready for a major showing at the SLC library, so she is completely bogged down. I would rather have them with me through this but accept that I must do this mostly on my own this time.

I was thinking today that when the three of us are together, I would give them some instructions on some things that I want done at the end of my life, as well as tell them some things about their mama that they don't know. The last time I tried the "end of my life" instructions it was soundly rejected by them. I finally just wrote them an instructive note and put it before the first page of my trust so they would know what to do when the time comes. There is nothing like the feeling that the end is nearer than not, but not being able to talk about it with anybody because all they want to do is poo poo it away. It's lonely and I have asked my angels for somebody to talk to about end of life issues and decisions that I have a gut feeling need to be made. It is not a scary feeling knowing this needs to be done now, but what is scary is trying to get everything in order before you can no longer do it. I will definitely look out for counsel on that point.

It was a better day emotionally. I met a wonderful couple this morning at a listing appointment. I appreciated staying busy before "chemo time" and thanked my angels for my new friendship there. Working is how I deal with stress, and I believe all of my clients to be heaven sent for keeping me engaged and for believing in me. I remember last time, some very special people to me who live in Colorado but occasionally come to Utah in search for a ranch at which to retire, called me the week of my mastectomy. They wanted spend a day looking at ranches and the only day available was the day before my surgery. I explained what was going on to them and he said, "Good! We'll get you out working hard for 8 hours because that is exactly what you need that day!" I am eternally grateful for their no-nonsense attitude and for keeping me busy and laughing on that day. Sometimes it's just the little things that matter so much.

Well I really blabbered on this time. It's nice to post somewhere where no one reads what I say. I can really say what I am thinking without fear of reprimand because it's not always pretty.

Paix :-)

Carac Chemo - Day One

2011-01-21T05:27:00.000-08:00

I've done everything I can think of to prepare myself for what is to come. At this point my blog will just become a diary with the goal of paying forward the enormous amount of help and consolation I have received from other blogs and forums.

I've decided to do my chemo in the mornings rather than evenings. After the application, you have to wait 2 hours before applying any kind of cream or soothing lotion. I consider these 2 hours "hell time" and since I already have chronic insomnia, I don't want to add "hell time" to the insomnia drama. Better to do it in the morning and then stay as busy as possible.

Yesterday I descended into despair. I texted my kids that I didn't think I could do it. I sat at my desk and sobbed huge heaving sobs, not just for the chemo and the cancer, but for the whole situation in general. Huge tears dropped loudly onto my desk calendar as I despaired away on many issues. Like with any good cry, I felt better afterward having purged a lot of toxins that have been interfering with the process of getting my game face on. As with the cancer I had before, my game face is on, but slightly ajar and not secured fastened. I am just keeping a brave face for my kids and the people around me who unanimously agree that I should fight this like a warrior. I don't really feel like fighting, and I don't feel like a warrior.

So I do what I have to do to keep the peace between how I feel inside and what the outside world thinks I should feel. It is a lonely place. The key is to stay busy. I am busy with real estate, and my clients have been exceptionally understanding. Today I am going to stock up on my meds, get more hair clips to keep hair out of my face, get lots of water, do some cleaning, sign up for audible.com and arrange my yarns so I can knit. I've decided to make the best of my 6 week downtime and am actually excited to investigate some advanced social media tools I haven't had time to explore.

"My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry; to get my work done and try to love somebody and have the courage to accept the love in return. – Maya Angelou"

Peace. Until tomorrow ... J

Google: The Best Frenemy a Cancer Chick Ever Had

2011-01-19T07:08:00.000-08:00

What is it about Google? Its allure is more tempting than a gallon of butter brickle ice cream after a really crappy day.

Like most people, I Google everything, even spellings of words that I am unsure of. Google is the exciting and enticing world of "others" at your finger tips.

But for a person grappling with cancer or other medical issues, it can be the biggest mixture of SOB/godsend/head trip/insomnia-maker there ever was. It got to my core the last cancer, but this time I am a smart veteran. I particularly love the forums where real people share real experiences and great tips with others who are about to embark on the same experience the poster just finished.

The problem is many of them could be saying things are aren't accurate or true. You have to decide, am I reading a friend or an enemy? You can't really know. Common sense prevails. Reader beware.

Of particular interest, I found a forum that had 1,450 posts to a Carac discussion board starting in 2006. I stayed up all night after my diagnosis reading each post to the end of the thread. I learned a ton of tricks which I believe will save me from inordinate pain and possible insanity during my Carac chemo run. Those voices, many from the distant past who have long ago moved past their own Carac experience and back into life, soothed like no other could. What a gift.

Some of them went beyond that and did something truly extraordinary. They photo blogged their experience. They put down the real "meat" (pun intended!) of the situation, no makeup, swollen bloody faces ... daring to look as ugly as they have ever looked ... to the world. I am going to try to do the same, if for no other reason to inspire someone to move forward through this scary experience like these people did me.

No promises, vanity may prevail. Here are two of my favorites. If you are squeamish, don't do it.

1) Just forehead: http://www.sannerud.com/people/efudex/

2) Whole Face, view in IE only: http://www.sannerud.com/people/efudex/My%20Carac%20Diary_files/frame.htm

Two days until I start. There is less depression today because there is a lot to do.

Paix - Jen

Round Two: Let's Get Ready to Ruuummmmble!

2011-01-18T18:17:00.000-08:00

Here we are, back in the ring for cancer, round 2. This time it's skin, squamous cell carcinoma (SCC) and its baby sister, actinic keratosis (AK). The similarities between the this cancer experience and the last one are eerie, but this time I am a veteran. I am stronger, smarter and even more resilient. Breast cancer one was a good teacher, and I was a good student.

Last time I was trying to figure it out. This time, I'm in charge. I won't make the same mistakes, maybe different ones. But I'll learn from those, too.

It's the same roller coaster though - shock - disbelief - anger - depression (lots of that) - self pep talks - friends who care - belief that it's all good. Then shock - disbelief .... around and around.

Other things are the same. The amount of sleep to be had is an inverse relationship to the time spent on Google researching. I have another really crappy doctor. Oddly, I haven't thought of Kris Carr in a long time, but when I woke up this morning she was on GMA pushing her new nutrition book which is actually just what I need now. Odder still, my Oncologist's office called just after that to check up on how things were going.

Some things are different. My health insurance bagged me after the breast cancer, turns out they don't like people who actually get sick, weird. So this time I have no insurance. Also I decided to make my cancer public, unlike last time I kept it quiet. I need the support this time. Last time the answer was to lop off a body part, this time the answer is a long, brutally painful round of chemo. I may decide to photo-document the chemo process here as there is nothing else like it that I can find on the Internet anywhere. I already took my "before" picture. What's to come after the "before" can barely be described. I don't know that I could get through it without having some purpose to it all.

Ding Ding, let the fun begin.

Cancer, you are one stupid piece of DNA

2010-02-04T12:13:00.000-08:00

Jennifer Bunker CRS GRI
Utah Real Estate Broker

Communication That Matters

2010-01-31T10:59:00.000-08:00

I so badly want to sit down with another person who has cancer, look into their eyes and have a meaty, meaningful discussion about their experience. I am so sick of the platitudes and the nonsense things that some people and the media say about what is happening to us and how we should deal with it. Is there a real discussion out there?

Jennifer Bunker CRS GRI
Utah Real Estate Broker

The Problem With Pinkwashing and Other Corporately Sponsored Cancer Events

2010-01-10T11:51:00.000-08:00

I want to briefly express my concern over a couple of issues. I've provided links that will help you do your own research, should you be interested:

Pinkwashing. Defined as a company who prominently displays the breast cancer pink ribbon all over their products and in advertising, and then sells products with one or more component in them that have been linked to cancer. This is why I personally place little personal importance in the ever-present pink ribbon campaign. Somehow, corporations have managed to take a once-good idea and twist it around for their own financial gain based upon an emotional trigger. This REALLY irritates me.

I wanted to provide that brief definition of pinkwashing because I will discuss pinkwashing in a future post. Here is some more in-depth information about the concept in case you are interested:

* A good blog entry on the subject by Anne Landman (scroll down a bit once you get there)

* Think Before You Pink - watchdog organization started in 2002

* A "Pinkwashing" Google search for more information

Another concern. Big deal walks (and other events) like the Susan G. Komen "3-Day for the Cure." Again, a great idea that I am wondering about. Has it become overly corporately directed as well? I have avoided these events in the past because I am not sure where the money raised is going, or what percentage goes where. Can Google help me find this information out? Yes, of course. Today I am musing over my general concern about this type of bigger-than-life stuff that goes on in raising money for "cures" but in reality may provide profit streams for something other than research or a cure. Because of my hesitation over this, in the past I have avoided these types of events and instead chosen to donate my money to a place where I know FOR SURE the money goes directly to the cause I want.

A related example: The Jerry Lewis Telethons. Now, please understand that I do not know anything about these. They seem to have been doing good work for decades. But common sense begs the question, "These telethons have raised 1.6 billion dollars since their inception in 1966 (43 years ago) towards finding a cure for Muscular Dystrophy. Is there some kind of cure or progress in sight in 2010? Where is all that money going anyway?" C'mon, I'm just asking! Aren't you wondering, too?

* According to Google, the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon debate rages on, make your own conclusions

* Susan G Komen Wiki

* Susan G Koman Spending Scores High Marks - AllBusiness.com

* Google Susan G Komen

The reason for this blog post? Next post: After much thinking and research, I've overcome my hesitations and decided to participate in a Susan G Komen 3-Day.

Peace and love, Jen

Jennifer Bunker CRS GRI
Utah Real Estate Broker

Secrets of the Sick Kid

2010-01-10T09:38:00.000-08:00

Been thinking lately about extending an apology to a group of people who I admire and respect very much, the South Ogden City Planning Commission.

In December 2007, I went through an interview process and to my delight, was appointed to serve on the Commission by Mayor Garwood for a 4-year stint starting in February of 2008.

It was just a couple of months after the appointment that I learned I had breast cancer. A lot of "stuff" happens to a person when you learn that, not the least of which is the process of telling your friends, family, colleagues and clients the news.

As I have blogged before, this was excruciatingly difficult for me. I ended up hoping that people would tell other people, thereby sparing me the duty of having to inform others of the situation. I really despised that part of cancer, but there was one other part I hated even more. After the news got out, everywhere I went, I was now the "sick kid."

People want to be kind and caring, and they are. I was blessed. But sometimes all I wanted was somewhere to go where my illness wasn't the focus. Somewhere where I was the same as everybody else, where my illness wasn't the start of every conversation, where if the subject of "boobs" came up, there wasn't a sudden awkward silence because mine were sick (or eventually absent).

So, towards this end, I never told the other Commissioners that I was struggling with cancer. I stubbornly attended the monthly meetings in various points of disarray. I was truly a hot mess that year ... often disheveled, distant, muddled, medicated ... but I was always there. And I wasn't the sick kid. I wasn't the sick kid because they didn't know that I was sick.

I can't tell you how much it means to me that I was able to keep a sense of "normalcy" in that one special place. Now that I have blogged this, I'll have to fess up to the Commissioners at the next meeting. I don't know how they will react. Probably with disbelief and disappointment that I didn't confide in them. I hope that I can make them understand how much it meant to me not to.

I didn't like being the sick kid. To me, that is a state of mind that I didn't subscribe to. I was the well kid who was taking on a temporary health project. But I believe that others unknowingly can contribute to making you "sick" by thinking of you that way and I didn't want that. I am forever grateful to the SOCPL for giving me a place to continue to be the oddly disheveled WELL kid.

Peace and love, Jen

Jennifer Bunker CRS GRI
Utah Real Estate Broker

Dear Mom, Today Senator Kennedy Died of Cancer

2009-08-26T07:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom -

One of your favorite people, Senator Ted Kennedy, died today of cancer. Even though it's been twenty three years since cancer took you off this planet, a Kennedy's passing always makes my mind wander back to our days together and the memories of your love for the Kennedy family and ideals.

I remember that day in 1968 when Senator Robert Kennedy was assassinated. I was a 7-year-old sleeping in my quiet room in our little house on Arkansas Avenue in Denver. You came in quietly sobbing and sat on the edge of my bed. I woke up to the feel of you pulling me up into your arms, felt you cry quietly into my my hair as you held me tight.

You were beyond broken-hearted. You told me then about the man who you had so believed in, had campaigned endlessly for, and how his life had ended that day. I remember clearly that you believed in the same ideals that the Kennedy's believed in, and how you tirelessly worked towards those same goals as a young woman and mother. You were sure then that my hopes and dreams depended upon the world changing into a better place for everybody.

Mom, you died so long ago that these memories are the only things that I have left of you. I cling to them looking for all the sweetness I can squeeze out of them, hoping to know just a little piece of the long ago heart and soul that you were. My sadness today is that we could have been so good together now, if you were still here.

Tears spill down my face as I think simultaneously about how much I miss your wisdom, friendship, and wit, but also how grateful I feel that today I have survived the cancer that ultimately killed you and Senator Kennedy. I have so much now, Mom, and I am so very grateful. But I don't have you. I feel as though when one of the Kennedy's passes, a little bit more of you passes from me too. Like the whole era of you is slipping away from me.

But I go on, because I have to and because I want to. I have been a strong and able matriarch for many years now. I know you see your granddaughters and they are the lights of your life as they are mine. "You did good!" I hear you say, "WE did good!" You were there too, next to me, through the good and the bad of escorting these two amazing human beings to adulthood. We did it despite cancer, and we did it together Mom, even if you were on the other side. I have the relationship with them that I yearn for with you. I almost have it all.

Today in particular, with the passing of Senator Kennedy, the little girl in me yearns to turn back the hands of time so that I could feel your reassuring arms around me again. I worry about the world for my children and grandchildren just as you did. I don't know how it will all turn out. But I do know you are there and cancer will never break our amazing bond.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I miss you. I love you and am so thankful for you. I will see you again in time, when I am ready.

I Love you, Jen

(The picture is of my 3-year-old Mom, Carolyn Mason Storke Mueser, in 1940)

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way to My Cancerversary

2009-08-23T11:47:00.001-07:00

I guess you could say that I'm feeling a little more experienced at cancer than I was last year. I feel as though I've hit my 20's in my cancer life ... sort of quieted down, less drama driven, more mature and reflective.

Like the dating rule which stipulates, "spend at least 4 seasons with someone before you even consider settling down," I have found that spending for seasons with cancer and its aftermath has given me a more peaceful perspective than I had before cancer.

I have always been one to live in the moment. After all, there is no point rehashing the past or worrying about the future. But when cancer moved in, the first thing my mind did was go right to the end, or at least what I envisioned *might* be the end ... an end due to cancer.

Like anybody first diagnosed with a potentially debilitating disease, you don't know much. This leaves lots of room the for mind to go nuts. Mine did. Did yours? This was the worst part.

But then, you get information, you have your surgeries, you talk with your professionals, you Google, and mostly, you figure out how to get on with life.

Now that 4 seasons have come and gone, I know a few things; I can make this life work no matter what. I know that cause I just did it. For a year.

I have said, and I still maintain, that cancer made me stronger, more determined, more focused, happier, more loving, more accepting, and way less resistant. I would not be the person today without it. More importantly, I would not have gotten to know many of my life heroes, my friends and inspirations.

And so, one year later as I move into my 5th season, I am as grateful and as peaceful as I ever was.

Paix and love, Jennifer

Friendships Are The Cornerstones of Our Lives

2009-07-06T20:07:00.001-07:00

A dear friend emailed me after reading a few posts from this blog and apologized to me for initially saying "I'm so sorry" to me after hearing that I had cancer. He did this because several posts below, I went on a cranky rant about the things that people say to you when you have cancer.

Let me just say that it was my goal when I started this blog to honestly express my feelings and to record my journey for my girls. I never really thought that anybody else would read this. I told my kids that I would be as absolutely honest as possible no matter what. And I was.

Sometimes I look back at some of my blog entries below and it is all I can do to not erase them because certainly they do not show me at my best. However, for as dense as I am, I can learn. And I have.

Now that I am a year out, I have a new stance on "the things that people say" when they learn you have cancer. And that is ...

... People are doing the best that they can. No matter what words they use, they are saying, "I am shocked, I need to process this, I am concerned for you, and I don't want you to die." They are just loving in whatever way they can at the time. And guess what? That is good enough for me. Others around us need time and space to journey through their own feelings of shock and fear about our cancer. Cancer people would do well to remember that their disease is not always just about THEM. It's about everybody around them, especially their close community of friends and family.

In reflecting back, I think my irritation about the things that well-meaning people would say to me was more about how these interchanges often required that I step up and take care of the speaker. "I'm so sorry" is indicating that the person is fearful about what you've just shared. It was hard for me, as a long-time Mom, to not immediately step in to console, or try make things okay for everybody else about my own sickness. As a result, I spent a lot of time consoling others. And that was wearing to the point where I often avoided events like REALTOR gatherings and meetings. I was tired anyway, so going to an event like that would have resulted in a LOT of care taking on my part. Exhausting!

So, what's the lesson? Cancer hurts and baffles everybody. Cancer is about everybody, not just the patient. Everybody involved is entitled to have the feelings that they have about the situation. We can all love and care and empathize and nurture everybody else involved in the situation and that is awesome. People will get cranky. They will say dumb things. So what? At least they come in love, and that ultimately is what we are called to do. Who cares what form wonderful, marvelous, amazing LOVE comes in, just so long as it's there?

If your eyes are here, know that I love you very, very much. Paix - Jen

The Bionic Woman? Will We Build Her Better Than Before?

2009-07-01T14:46:00.000-07:00

A friend just Twittered me to ask if my Doctor's appointment yesterday resulted in plans to "take stuff out, put stuff in, or move stuff around."

Pretty accurate actually, on all three counts. My one year "cancerversary" came and went uneventfully enough. But recent events have had me thinking that it might be time to revisit the idea of breast reconstruction.

For those not in the know, I had my left breast removed last year in August when biopsy results were unclear about what kind of cancer I had or how far it had spread. It was very difficult and messy to decide between having an amputation vs having a lumpectomy. The lumpectomy would have required follow-up radiation for 8-weeks, but the mastectomy did not require any further treatment, assuming the cancer was contained in the breast (it turned out that it was).

I remember vividly in 1984 when my Mom was being treated with radiation for her cancer. It caused her misery beyond description. Think about having a very painful burn, and then being burned again and again on top of that burn. That was no good and definitely not for me. So, I chose amputation instead. I wasn't at peace with the decision and was questioning myself even as I was being rolled into the operating room.

One year later, I am okay with the decision (what's the alternative, to not be okay with it?) However, now a messy new decision has arisen. Breast reconstruction. My less astute friends ask, "What's to decide? Get a new rack!" Oh how I wish it were that easy.

Not being a plasticky surgery kind of a gal who is not really okay with putting foreign substances into my body, this was a hard one. I learned in this year that there were "flap" procedures where you could have your own body tissue moved and molded into a new breast. I even heard that would result in a tummy tuck as well. Welllll okay, that was interesting and required taking in no foreign objects, so I looked into. Tummy tuck was definitely an inducement.

Several hundred Internet viewings later, I decided not to go that way. I didn't like the resulting look and I didn't want to sacrifice any other perfectly good body part for the cause. (I learned that the "tummy tuck" wasn't truly that, and that abdominal muscles would be removed and relocated. Definitely not for me.)

So, armed with this info and a million questions, we (the cancer army of angels who stick by my side) went to see Dr. Kristina Cheng, a highly recommend plastic surgeon and breast reconstruction specialist in Salt Lake City yesterday.

Of course, I was terrified to go. And for no good reason, by the way. Just cancer saying, "Ha ha! I got you BEFORE when you weren't expecting me and I'll get you AGAIN! ::: Evil Cackle ::::" For my uncancered readers, that is how cancer keeps a hold of you forever, even if it isn't in your body any more.

So with more than a little fear in tow, I showed at my appointed time with Dr. Cheng. I liked her right away. She listened, which is key. In fact, I was there for over two hours exchanging information with her about my health, my desires, and her recommendations. Turns out, I am getting what I knew would be right for me all along. After the struggle I had last summer, that was totally awesome.

For the squeamish, this is where you end. Trust me.

If you feel that you must go on from here, I'll show you in picture form what I have chosen to have done and what will happen next to me.

I'll be receiving a silicone implant placed into the left side, underneath the muscle. This is not enough to hold the implant in (because I have no breast tissue there, only skin) so my surgeon will be laying in a cellular mesh that will hold the implant firmly in place. This tissue is made from human protein material, and the plan is that my body will accept it as its own (hopefully).

On the other side, I will get a smaller saline implant into my good breast. This is simply to match what is going to happen on the left side. Since we don't really know what it all will look like, Dr. Cheng says I will be in surgery several hours while she fixes, prods and pokes to make them as symmetrical as possible. That is the last surgery (hopefully) and will take place in February 2010.

The first surgery will be in October when an expander will be surgically placed underneath my left side skin. Then at one week intervals, the Dr. will increase the amount of fluid in the expander by 50 cc's or so. She will do this by shoving a needle through my skin and into the expander itself. Sounds fun, huh? She promises it doesn't hurt too much.

The skin stretches and grows accordingly until there is room for the implant. That will take from October to February, although between you and me, I will make that a lot shorter because I have races I want to run next spring.

I did a lot of research on this topic because many women chose not to do any reconstruction, but instead to remain with one breast and a prosthetic, which is what I use now. Actually, that works out surprisingly well as long as I am on constant "bra patrol" making sure the thing doesn't move everywhere. It's been okay, but working out is harder, swimming is simply not an option, I had to sacrifice many of my shirts and tops, and many activities in my previous life are not a option when you are "one breasted."

So, I am doing what I never thought I would do ... buying a new rack. It certainly seems painful, and after looking at endless pictures, I now know that the result is generally not symmetrical, or even pretty. But like my dear friend Jill once said, "Do it and at least you'll look fantastic in a sweater." That is actually what swayed me. True story.

So now everybody asks, "What size are you going to be?" Tempting question for this lifelong double A-er. Probably a really chubby B. Not any bigger because just today I saw a woman jogging while trying desperately to keep her chubby C's from bouncing all over. Meh, don't want that. So chubby B's it is. I suspect any bigger would interfere with my golf swing anyway.

The Doctor, tactfully alluding to my ... ahem ... age, said "We will try to get some of the droop of your other breast into the new one." To which I said, "Droop is not in the picture, sister. Make 'em nice!" To which she said, "Will do." Hey if I'm going to pay for it and go through the pain, I'd better get something to show for it, right? (And by the way, a Federal Law requires that breast reconstruction be covered by insurance after mastectomy due to cancer. SWEET.)

I'm posting some links now, and I am telling you, they are hard to look at. None of these pictures is me, but I literally do look just like the before pictures. We all do. It is interesting and something that nearly all of you will likely come across eventually in your wives, sisters, mothers, friends and lovers. Might as well get your first look now.

It's simultaneously very difficult for me to put such personal information forward to strangers and at the same time kind of freeing. This is *MY* reality. Know I am SO grateful to be alive and living this reality. Thank you for living it with me.

This blog post is dedicated to Lori Stauffer Wood and her Mom, Pat Stauffer, who died from cancer this past weekend.

Love life like there's no tomorrow people, have no more resistance to what is good, get your mammos, and I love you from the bottom of my heart - Jen

1. Mastectomy before and after pictures. WARNING! Clicking this will bring up breasts! LOL

2. A great "picture documentary" of what I'm going to be doing, as demonstrated over several months time by a brave young lady who had a double mastectomy 2 months after getting engaged. She wanted to be "whole" again for her wedding. Her story is so inspiring.

3. Most Doctors Do Not Talk About Mastectomy Options (Mine didn't, I had to Google everything. The state of women's health care in Utah is atrocious. But that is another post.)

4. The bottom picture is of a friend from my favorite forum, Crazy Sexy Life. She had a double mastectomy and chose not to reconstruct. She is a hero of mine. Bless you Deb for the open and honest picture. I am busy spreading the word ... AN EARLY DETECTION MAMMO SAVED MY LIFE. Hear it. Do it.

UPDATE: After all of that talk and then more research, I didn't do the reconstruction and have no immediate plans in the future to do so.

Paix.

One Year Cancerversary: Love, Life, Lessons

2009-06-06T04:38:00.000-07:00

June 6th hasn't ever been that great of a day for me. It's the day in 1986 that cancer finally killed my beautiful, vibrant, witty, intelligent mother. It didn't get her without a fight, but it did get her. And it got a piece of me along with her.

Fast forward to June 6th last year. I was sitting in the waiting room of an outpatient surgical clinic in Ogden. I was there because only a week before a spot had come up on a routine mammogram of my left breast.

That had happened many times before, and as I sat in the waiting room for my turn to get my biopsy, I wasn’t worried. I took my daughter Sara's hand in mine and enjoyed a rare moment of quiet with her.

As I sat reflecting, I was somewhat startled to realize suddenly that the day was the anniversary of my Mom's death. Almost instantly afterwards, the thought came to me that I was the same age that she was when she died of cancer.

And it was then that I knew. I came crashing into my being with all the certainty as if the building around me had just collapsed. I knew, I just KNEW, that I had cancer.

There are really no words to describe the icy fear that shoots through you when it becomes a reality that you might die. I looked at my beautiful daughter sitting next to me and as the terrifying fear sank in all around me, I suspected our lives were about to go on one hell of a roller coaster ride.

And I was right. I was so right.

I had the biopsy and a few days later I got the news that I did indeed have cancer. Although we find it difficult to schedule time together in the daytime hours, my girls happened to be standing behind me when I got the news on the phone. I could only imagine the silent looks that they exchanged with each other as they heard my voice say, "It IS malignant? What kind? How big is it? Has it spread? What are my options?"

I wish that I had something profound to say right here about the whole experience. I really don't. But I did learn that cancer, like anything else in life, is an able teacher. Oh, and the miracles, the miracles.

Lessons learned:

The conventional medical establishment, the staff, and the process get an F-. The lack of compassion, basic competence, and even working office systems is so shocking you never could have convinced me if I hadn't experienced it myself.

Cancer never leaves your head. Once you have cancer, you always have cancer. Going to the doctor for the simplest things is traumatic now and often I need somebody to go with me to hold my hand.The things that people say. Everybody means well and that is the good news. But let me share a quick tip. Don't, I repeat DON'T launch into a story about how your great Aunt Mildred had the same thing and bla bla bla. DON'T say, "Oh my God I am so sorry." People with cancer don't want to hear your stories and they aren't sorry so you shouldn't be either. "What can I do for you now?" is a great thing to say.

I spent a few days contemplating dying. This was before I knew conclusively that my cancer was in one place only and that I would recover fully. That took 3 months to find out. That was a wicked 3 months. Ever looked death in the face? You know it if you have.

I began to notice the most amazing vibrant details in things. I became more peaceful, more plugged into now. I stopped working so hard and allowed myself to feel all the emotions. I took afternoon naps if I needed the time alone or the rest. I got a housekeeper and yard people to do things I was too weak to do. I noticed the insides of flowers and the soul in people's eyes. I still do all of that - treasured gifts that cancer gave to me.

I had never been a good one for amputation. As it turns out, my choices were to remove my breast or to go through a series of chemo and/or radiation lasting for months. It was a very, very difficult decision, but I finally chose amputation. I just wanted my life back. A few days before my surgery, I Goggled "Mastectomy pictures" and let me tell you, a massive freak-out ensued. I had doubts about my decision even as I was being wheeled into the operating room. For the first time in my life, I was not confident about what to do. Yet it had to be done because there was no more time to wait. I learned that ...

Cancer is messy. To a person who ties up ends neatly and normally has all her ducks in a row, that is was a hard one. But I learned that it is indeed survivable, even pleasurable, to leave some things undone now and again, and instead go out and enjoy the world.

It was difficult being a cancer patient AND a Mom. A Mom's instinct is to make everything okay for your kids. But I knew I couldn't make it okay for my daughters. And so, the cancer patient not only suffers, but they get to watch their sun and moon suffer too. It was very difficult to be the patient. However, I do know it was a gift to my kids that they were there, nurtured me back to health, and watched me survive a battle with the beast. I couldn't have done it without them, but to this day I RAGE inside that cancer hurt and scared them so much.

I underestimated my clients. I was afraid to tell anybody that I was battling cancer because I was afraid that they would think I was weak and sick, fire me as their listing agent, and find someone else. Eventually I had to come clean to each one of them for various reasons. I could not believe how kind and caring everybody was. My clients Bill and Nancy came into town a few days before my mastectomy to look at ranches. When they heard what was going on with me, they were supportive, and yet still expected me to work hard for them. I so appreciated that, that when I got home I cried with relief. All I really wanted was to get my life back. My clients who trusted me throughout were critical to my rapid recovery. I knew you needed me to heal and get back to work for you. Thank you so very much.

My neighbors were unbelievably kind to me.

I did not like being the “sick kid.” I serve on the South Ogden Planning Commission and I never admitted to them that I was battling cancer or that I was having surgeries. I just wanted one place where I could go and be as “normal” as everybody else there.

I still wonder today what happened to my breast. Morbid, maybe, but that breast fed my babies and was an active part of my life for 48 years. Did they throw it away after they tested it? Why would they not offer you your own body part back? Like in cremated form? It was a good breast and it didn't deserve to end up in the garbage out back.

I lost friends over cancer. Yes, I did. Don't know why. Maybe they couldn’t handle it. But I made so many more that it was worth the trade.

I recovered and I am okay. My scar is 10 inches straight across my chest, just like what you see on Google. Everybody says the surgeon did a good job. It is what it is. I am planning on several reconstructive surgeries this summer and expect to do well through those and be fine.

I saved the best for last, and this will make me cry as I type it. I found early on, a forum called Crazy Sexy Life where people of all ages from all across the world hung out and discussed their cancer and all issues related to it openly and honestly and with words of such strength and truth and integrity that it was hard to imagine it was real. I became a part of that community and literally those people held onto me for dear life as I rode the choppy and bewildering waters of cancer. My love and gratitude to my friends there can never be overstated. I love you guys more than you would ever know. You see, YOU are the gift that cancer brought to me. You funny, goofy, caring, loving, wise, silly people. Please live for a long time for me, and I will for you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

So, happy one-year cancerversary to me. I miss you Mom. I'm hanging in there for the both of us now.

Have an awesome day. I’m going to.

But ... I Just Came Here For My Itchy Ears!

2009-04-08T07:36:00.000-07:00

So, I was putting some days between me and my little cancer experience and feeling pretty good about things overall. Business has been great and keeping me fully occupied. The girls and I took a trip to New York City where I attended an Internet Marketing Conference and they played all through the city in the daytime, then we went out at night and had fun. I was beginning to think about getting a reconstruction, but when I heard about the magnitude of the surgeries and the time frame they took, I knew I would have to ponder it for a while and that's what I was doing. So, life was going along fine.

One day last month I woke up with itchy ears. I normally don't have ear issues, but when it got worse, I took them to see my Physician's Assistant, Laura Colvin. While there I mentioned the ever growing bump over my rib cage. She examined it and was surprised to see that it was the size of a goose egg. I told her that I have to sit slumped sideways sometimes because the thing is so uncomfortable. She also took a look at my latest bloodwork, and the pathology from my surgery. There was a lot if silence as she read the volumes of papers.

I left with stuff for my ears and an appointment to see an Oncology Specialist in Salt Lake City. Now here's the thing. If you are a cancer survivor, and you aren't expecting that kind of outcome from a simple doctor's visit, that is devastating. This where you realize that cancer never leaves you. It's the head games mostly. And there's other people. Do you tell people - the ones that will start to worry all over again, the ones who had cancer through my experience, the ones who stood by my side every step of the way? Their disappointment is no less than mine. The problem is, WE ALL THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH THIS!

Two weeks flew by and I was driving to SLC for my appointment. I became more and more terrified as I went. I wouldn't let anybody go with me, because you see, then cancer wins. It wins because it has scared you and all your loved ones again, and again they are taking time off from their lives to sit in the waiting room with you, waiting.

I was mad, too, because I've braved my way through some amazingly scary situations in life including going to DC to testify before a Senate Subcommittee, telling our Governor his community plan stunk, heading mutli-national grassroots groups of very powerful people, been a firefighter, etc., but that day cancer turned me and my courage into a blithering wreck. It's the not knowing that really gets you. And on that drive to Salt Lake, when cancer snuck in and stole my bravado, I felt as though I was truly stripped of the very things that make me me.

I pulled myself together and found the office near Salt Lake Regional Hospital. My new Oncologist was a woman my age. I liked her right away. We did a major work-up and my tests will be back May 7th at which time I'll see her again. She didn't know what my lump is, but her attention was instead on my disastrous liver situation. Even though my cancer was estrogen positive, I can't take Tamoxifen because my failing liver can't process it. This leaves me vulnerable to getting cancer again, both in the other breast and in my ovaries. She looked right at me and and said, "If your genetic tests come back positive for BRCA 1 & 2, you'll need to have to have your other breast and your ovaries removed. Further, if we can't somehow figure out what to do about this liver situation, you have at most 10 years to live."

Hey, pretty cool info for a girl who just went to get her ears checked. NOT!

You see, this is what I mean by "cancer never goes away." Even if you don't "have" it any more, you still "have" it. You have the emotional, physical, and medical repercussions as your most constant companions. Your friends and family go through an endless roller coaster until finally they get so sick of it they can't stand it any more. Cancer carves you up and is completely unapologetic about the scars it leaves behind. Cancer stole my family, leaving me the matriarch on my mother's side of the family by the time I was 25 years old.

I cried on the way home and then threw a pretty rockin' pitty party for one for a few days. But if you know me, you know I came back to the light knowing that I am so lucky to have all of you, a beautiful day outside, clients who are kind and care about me, little flowers coming up through the snow, and of course my wondrous kids and handsome dogs.

Cancer strips away all the trash and leaves just the raw truth of who you are, what your dreams are, and in some cases, that you'd better HURRY UP and get those dreams accomplished. That's not bad, because as we know there is no such thing as "bad", only things that happen and how we choose to react to them. It is all good and I will stand by that concept that until my dying day.

The sun just peeked through my window reminding me that my day has begun and that I need to get to work! I feel great, fantastic actually, and by May 7th, I will be standing ready for whatever comes my way next. Cancer (or my dumb liver) will not win over me, or my bravado, or my life.

Paix to all - Jen

Fear-based Thinking is Highly Overrated

2009-02-13T03:02:00.000-08:00

I use this term, "fear-based thinking" a lot in my writings and my daily verbiage, so I got to thinking that it might be good to get it down as a precursor to something else I want to discuss in a later blog post.

Fear-based thinking is a way of life. A lifestyle. It is a choice. Many have it as their default because they are unaware there is another choice. I lived that way for a long time myself.

Several things in my life made me aware of the concept of fear-based thinking around the mid-90s. At that time, I was taking a series of Sociology classes at Weber State University. I learned that one basic foundation of Sociological thinking is that upon birth, man (and many animals) are helpless babies and therefore necessarily must belong to a group of others in order to survive.

Therefore, it follows that by taking on the practices and beliefs of the group you are born into is critical as to whether you survive or not. To what degree you soak in the group's norms is also good indication as to what degree you will thrive within the group. We all begin to learn this groovy survival stuff on day one of our lives.

Certainly, in the early days of man, if one person detracted from the safety or common beliefs of the group, they might be expunged from the group and left to fend for themselves in the wild. This would mean certain death of course.

Today's society is really no different. Newborn babies quickly learn which caretakers they are 100% dependant upon and nature makes sure that they direct the entirety of their efforts towards endearing themselves with these people. This of course, ensures their short- and long-term care and therefore survival within the group. The cuter or more interactive the baby, the more positive feedback they receive, which in turn teaches the baby which actions get him what he wants. Soon enough, he learns to fall into step with behaviors and belief systems the caretaking group approves of.

Fear-based thinking evolves from this. It is formed at the root of our deepest desire for survival. It is a physiological reaction. We are taught and we believe that if we make our choices to "go along" with our groups (parents, siblings, neighborhood, schoolmates, church beliefs, political beliefs) that we will not be cast out of these groups, and certainly be loved and thrive within them.

Hence, we carry a subconscious sociological fear that keeps us, to varying degrees, in tow with what society deems is right and wrong. Cross that line, and you will be ostracized, disinvited, head to jail, or put another way, be somehow isolated from your groups. Instinctively, we do not want that scary ultimatum. As a result, we spend our entire lives working towards the approval of our groups. This is what keeps most of us humans in line.

I took this concept and applied it to my own life by asking, ""What things am I doing to please my parents, spouse, friends, church group, classmates, fellow volunteers, and colleagues that don't REALLY resonate with my own truth? What actions am I choosing from a subconscious fear that I will be excluded from the groups if I don't follow the unwritten "rules" of the group?""

The answer was, a lot. This was the beginning of a new lifestyle for me away from fear-based thinking and towards living my own truth, or what I term, "love-based thinking."

Many of us are shifting in this direction, towards love-based thinking. And just in time, too.

My recent experience with cancer gave me a wide variety of examples to use to illustrate fear-based thinking. There is a lot of "automatic" fear-based thinking out there. People reacting before they think DEEPLY through an issue for themselves, deciding how the issue resonates with their own personal truth. People who react one way because that is how they have learned how to react from their groups, or their subconscious fear of being separated from the group.

For example, after learning I had cancer, I took a couple of days to grapple with the idea that I might die. That was a new one to me, and it was a trying test of all that I believed on a faith level. I worked through the initial fear, then thought about practical matters (i.e. must finish up the paperwork on my Living Trust) and then was able to regain a stable mindset, back to love-based thinking. Being momentarily afraid to die was a teaching journey for me, but at the end I returned to my own truth a little wiser for the trip.

However, I quickly grew to absolutely hate sharing with others that I was going through a cancer situation, for I learned that would quickly attract instinctive fear-based thinking from many people outside of my family group.

"Oh my God! I am so sorry!!!" was the most common response. If you think about this response, it is a response based in fear. Fear that the responder has from previous cancer experience, or fear they have for the fear that they assume I have, or from many possibe places. The response actually has nothing to do with the person who has the cancer, and therefore becomes an instant energy drain because it turns the table for the responder to need reassurance. It happens all the time that way, because people are so instinctually filled with fear that we just don't seem able to respond any other way. Let me tell you, it was exhausting fending off other people's fear all day long!

One relative, who I barely know said, "I am just devastated." Well, certainly. My cancer has big ramifications for her own health genetically. Of course she was devastated. She is a fear-based thinker and fear quickly became inflamed when cancer came too close to her. Many people fearfully made my cancer all about themselves. This was exhausting also, because it took some measures from me to actually reassure these people that I wasn't coming to cancer with a fear-based attitude and therefore there was no need for them to do it either.

Every person has the right to react to things in their own way, according to their own paradigm. But fear-based thinking will turn a conversation instantly into a discussion about the responder's fear even if the participants are unaware of it. A love-based reaction would be along the lines of, "How are you managing this new thing?" or "How can I help you?" or "How has your life changed?" or "What things have you been learning from this new experience?" or "What coping mechanisms are you using?" or "What can I bring you?" or "What are you finding is the most comforting right now?" or "How do you feel about (fill in the blank)" etc. These are reaffirming the notion that fear doesn't have to be part of the mix when you get cancer, or at any other time. It's another learning experience which can be shared lovingly and positively with other members of the group.

I think the thing about cancer that feels so scary to everybody and sending them spiraling into fear-based thinking is that it is our perception that cancer could potentially take the afflicted person away from the group. The very thing that at our most instinctive levels, we don't want. It scares everybody all around. "Oh look, somebody is about to be taken from the group. That is not good!" Instinctive Reaction 101, herd style. I had some friends who I didn't hear from after they learned I had cancer. The prospect of possible separation of a group member from the group was just too much for them to deal with, so they didn't deal with it at all. Understandable, when you are a fear-based thinker.

Now I'm not knocking anyone from coming from a place of fear. But I do want to point out that is a choice. Human beings have the capability to think past their fear-based reactions to ANY event, and make anything they want a total love-in. It is a choice. In fact, it is a lifestyle. The saying, "It's all good" came from this. It is totally true. It is all good if you choose to overcome your instinctual reaction and instead apply love as best you can as often as you can.

Choosing love over fear is what we are here to awaken to, in my spiritual opinion. If everybody on the planet made honest efforts to make choices in love and not fear (also called lack, jealousy, or any other negative emotion) then our planet would be in perfect peace and harmony much more often.

Never be afraid to stand up and defend your truth, even if you have to stand alone. Get off autopilot. Step back from the herd. Think about it. And then choose love.

Love, Jen

Take a Hike 2008; Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

2008-12-29T15:34:00.000-08:00

I'm not being overly mean to 2008 am I? Everybody agrees it was a stinker year. Like I always say, nothing like a dose of the bad to make you appreciate the good.

So, this is the blog entry where I get to look over the whole cancer experience from the past year and say profound things. Ummm ... nothing profound comes to mind.

When I started this blog, I was staring death in the face (warning: do not try that at home or anywhere else for that matter). I had no idea what I was in for. To tell you the truth, I thought that maybe my blog would serve as a good record of my thoughts for my kids to read after I died. I never knew what my own Mom was thinking as she fought and lost her battle with cancer, so I wanted to be as open and honest for what was to come so they would know that no matter what happened, I was okay.

Thing is, now that I look back, it just wasn't all that life shattering. I had a heck of a time with my medical staff and my insurance, but in the end that all worked out. I was totally freaked out that I would wake up after my mastectomy and have a *major* freak out, but I awoke to realize that I was just fine. I did learn a lot about the people around me: who ultimately steps up, who doesn't, the things people say, who I can count on and who I can't. That was a big one. I found out what amazing stuff my daughters are made of. Another big one.

In 2008 cancer was a good teacher. It changed my life for the better. I am softer, kinder, gentler. While I have to wait for the five year mark to officially claim that I am cured, I already know that I am. So, what's to say about that? It is what it is, not good or bad, just is. A short, meaningful encounter. Kinda like a 6-month stand.

Guess like the blog says at the very top up there, I can check cancer off my list and get on with my life. I am thankful it turned out that way.

How I can ever thank you, all of you, is something I will never be able to do adequately. Just know you'll always be able to count on me. Cancer taught me that together we can do anything.

Thanks, love, and a joyous 2009 - Jen

The First Followup

2008-12-01T10:02:00.000-08:00

Well it's December 1st and for me that means "the day" has finally come.

It's the day that my Surgeon, Oncologist, Radiologist and Internist all told me to schedule my six-month followup mammogram on the right breast. This because it contains all the same specks of calcifications that my left one did. So it has to be watched. Closely. From now on it's a perma-date. Me, the mammogram machine, and my right breast. Every six months from here to eternity.

At least the mammogram will only cost half as much now, har har!

It's funny, but in September when my Oncologist kicked me lose and told me I was done with all doctors, I hightailed it out of there fast. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Out of there. Less one breast, I didn't look back. And trust me, life has been sweet.

But because it is December 1st, I am forced to go back. Back there. Again.

I opened my day planner to "the page" in the back that has all the doctor's numbers, addresses, fax numbers, emergency numbers, and more. It's been several months and unexpectedly my gut fell straight into my shoes. It feels like being forced to open a doorway to the past. A rush of old emotions. And not in a good way.

I remember that my ex-mother-in-law, who had her own harrowing encounter with breast cancer many years ago, absolutely hated her follow-up visits. Days beforehand, she would become filled with anxiety and it seemed there was nothing we could do for her except be supportive. I remember distinctly at her 5-year-mark when she was FINALLY declared CANCER FREE. It was a great day in many ways, but for her, to never to have to go back for another damned follow-up visit was one definite perk of the 5-year milestone.

She is a hero to me, by the way. Like all women with this disease who do what they have to do, she did it with grace and calm and strength. She remains cancer free to this day.

So, my appointment is for Wednesday, December 3rd. I very much wish I could report that I am not apprehensive. That I am going in with all the confidence in the world. But, I will say that like many women before me, I will go and endure and that will be good enough because I have already proved my bravery and taken my stand against cancer.

Fingers crossed.

Love, Jen

20/20 Vision

2008-11-24T17:19:00.001-08:00

Recently a dear and treasured friend emailed after we had been out of touch for some time. Having lost my email address, he Googled me. As a result found this blog at which point he learned I had cancer. He then sent me a note asking, "Your blog just went cold! Did you die? Please say you didn't die!"

Funny! But he's right, it's been a while since I've been here so here I am.

I titled this blog post "20/20 Vision" but it really should be titled "1/1 Vision." I am a little distance away from the cancer now, so I can look back and gain *some* perspective. However, time will provide me with a lot more. It's a lot of learning, so slow is good.

I am back to what I was, plus. I still have the unknown lump on my ribcage, having not found the time to go back to the doctor just yet. Or maybe I just haven't found the inclination. Either way, little lump is safe there for now.

My scar has healed and it does not physically hurt. If you google "mastectomy pictures" you can see what it looks like (well, not MINE exactly, but mastectomy scars in general). I will warn you that it is very alarming to look at. Somehow, despite my own 10 inch long scar, I've made a pretty fast peace with how it looks and feels. Except for an occasional cattie-wampus bra incident, I look and feel the same from the outside looking in. So, all is well there.

I don't worry much about getting more cancer. Rather, I simply accept that more is in my future due to a high-level family history and my young age at first occurrence. Knowing this does affect the choices I make. For the better. Mostly.

And I feel much more at peace than before, internally. The difficulty that is coming into play for me now is dating. I have a very picky criteria list, to which I must now add, "person who is willing to put up with one boob and a 10 inch scar." To be honest, it's not much of a dilemma for me. My attitude is that if a person can't do that, then they are not for me. So, I go back to a state of being thankful for the pretty day and not worrying about much. It's just how I roll these days. Peace has its advantages.

(By the way - the picture above was taken from our ocean front cottage at Cape Cod in October. I'm still trying to get a picture slide show together ...)

Peas, Jen

Congratulations America

2008-11-06T10:48:00.001-08:00

"Judge a man not by the color of his skin, but by the content of his character."

~Martin Luther King

How Did You Find Out You Had Cancer?

2008-09-26T11:10:00.001-07:00

I get this question a lot. Here's the answer.

Picture me at home, peacefully working at my desk.

Phone: Ring Ring.

Me: Hello!

Voice: Hi, this is McKay Dee Hospital. We're calling to schedule your surgery for next week.

Me: ....

Voice: Hello?

Me: Surgery for WHAT?

Voice: Ummm ... err ..... ummm .... Hasn't your doctor called you yet?

Me (voice escalating): What would my doctor call me about???????

Voice: Well, er.... your mammogram results.

Me (working up to a combo yell/shriek): MY MAMMOGRAM RESULTS!?!?!?!? WHAT ABOUT THEM?!?!?!?!? WHY DO I NEED SURGERY?!?!?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!?!?!?!

(This would be my first, but not my last, encounter with icy-cold fear running rampant through my veins - the kind that dumps in when you intuitively know that the news is not good.)

Voice: Er ... we need you to call your doctor and then call us back. Click.

That's how I found out I had cancer. Pretty 1950's eh? I felt bad for the voice because that must have been awkward to say the least. I called my doctor at the speed of light. I was told, "She is in a meeting and is not to be disturbed."

I said, "DISTURB HER. NOW."

They wouldn't. I was told to call back in 2 hours. I waited. Called back in 2 hours.

"She's still in a meeting, call back tomorrow." Compassion is not dead, it's just completely absent in Utah. Trust me, this is true.

Then I said some choice items that are not repeatable here. Later that day, the doctor found some spare time to call me and to confirm that I did indeed have cancer.

Some days are worse than others. That was a bad one.

Loves to all - Jen

One of My Heroes

2008-09-18T15:29:00.001-07:00

Find more videos like this on My Crazy Sexy Life

My Friend Henry Writes About His Son's Passing, September 13, 2008 (UPDATED)

2008-09-13T13:58:00.000-07:00

Henry writes:

Dear Friends & Family:

The hospice nurse was here this morning to examine Cameron. He is showing clear signs that he is at the end of his earthly life, and heading off on his next adventure.

He is in no distress or pain, and looks so beautiful. The nurse described him as regal. Take comfort that this process will be gentle and pain-free. We have days or hours left, and are now in vigil mode.

I am sad, of course, and yet strangely relieved. I do not intend to despair or fall into a dark depression. How can I? My son's life was not a tragedy. It is a triumph! This is a passing that he is worthy of. If it were me instead of him (and I wish it were), this is how I would want to go. With such grace. Such grace.

As the full moon approaches (Monday), imagine Cameron rocketing through space on the back of a comet, his laughter ringing through the universe. Free. Free of cancer. Goal met!

Please light a candle in Cameron's honor, and read the following passage to your children and grandchildren. A friend sent it last week, and it brought me much comfort. It warrants repeating here.

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says: 'There, she is gone!''

Gone where?' Gone from my sight. That is all.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: 'There, she is gone!' there are other eyes watching her coming, and the other voices ready to take up the glad shout 'Here she comes!' And that is dying.

~Henry Van Dyke

Peace out, my son.

Henry

Cameron's Place

UPDATE: Cameron passed on the next day, Sunday. Here is an incredible poem one of Cameron's friends wrote:

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2008 11:32 AM, CDT

That Joy Thing

I stopped by the creek.

It was flush and triumphant again,

from the rains.

The waters were singing your laugh,

crashing over rocks in a crazy dance—

you know—

with that joy thing you splash everywhere.

Tonight the moon is

cradling her swollen belly.

Her light is soft.

Not as bright though

as those stars we dusted off your shoulders

—while you lay in grace.

I felt the warmth of your breath yesterday

as I leaned in to gather more memories.

The flame from your warrior’s heart scorched mine

And I tucked it away, a treasure.

This earth can be cold.

For you,

for us, I will tend and share your fire.

I won’t hold you. (As if I could.)

Your trail is blazing across one landscape,

moving to the next.

Lay your body down, dear.

I see that it is too small now

to hold all of you.

It is hard work to wrap that much radiance—

But it was so lovely to bask in yours, as it spilled over

into this little moment we call life.

by Kerry Miller, in loving tribute to Cameron David Allen

Sunday, 04/16/95 - Sunday, 09/14/08

Nothing That a Little Art Won't Cure

2008-09-07T09:39:00.000-07:00

Hey all, just to check in to let you know that I am healing exceptionally well and feeling fine. As it turns out, the lump below my incision (see the blog post below) was just a byproduct of the surgery. It hurts less each day and I am doing great.

In the meantime I am back to my full time shenanigans including a weekend trip to Denver with Liz to view some of her paintings in a First Friday showing in the Chac Gallery on Santa Fe in the Art District. We had an amazing time and she saw many of her old friends there. We also spent time hunting for an apartment for her because she will be moving back there shortly. Great fun!

Here's a couple of pictures from our trip:

Several highlights included having dinner with Liz's good friend Sophie (above) at Watercourse (an amazing vegetarian restaurant) and lots of reminiscing about Liz's old haunts.

Love you all - Jen B.

Icy Fear Through My Veins

2008-08-25T16:52:00.000-07:00

Recently I made quite a splash around my town and e-town when I announced to the world (well, just my friends and clients) that I was cancer-free. I was kinda loud and proud about it actually. Friends from high and low were full of congratulations for me. Then we all did what we all do, got back to work.

I've been healing nicely (officially 2 1/2 weeks after surgery as of today). My horse's patoot of a surgeon did a very fine job by leaving only the teeniest of scars straight across my chest. Apparently this isn't always the case with mastectomies according to those in the know. So, even though I don't like the guy, I will say that he did a really good job on me, and I have enjoyed the lack of complications.

All is well then. Or it was until I looked in the mirror this morning and saw a lump protruding from my rib on the left side. It's true that I've been feeling some pain there since right before my surgery, but dismissed it as nothing. Now, I could clearly see it protruding, 1/4 inch out, maybe 3 inches straight down from where my tumor was located before it was removed.

ICY. FEAR. SHOOTING. THROUGH. MY. VEINS.

That is the only way to describe what happens to your mind and your body when you think it might be possible that you have discovered more cancer. Or that the original tumor left a little present. Or a baby. Or whatever the hell it is.

I had heard of this icy fear thing happening to other cancer folks, but didn't think I would be the type to fall into the I-once-had-cancer-so-now-every-little-thing-might-be-cancer-hypochondriac pit. But in I went, and fast. There was no stopping it. Balls to the wall full out fear. It definitely wrecked my day.

I have a followup with my stink-ball surgeon tomorrow and I will ask what it is. Hopefully ... well, I don't know, why speculate? I'll keep you posted.

As always, I couldn't do it without you. But if you could hold my hand for a minute, that would be great - Love, Jen B.
http://www.jenniferbunker.com/

It's Over

2008-08-19T16:54:00.001-07:00

Two and a half months, 22 doctor's visits, and one mastectomy later, I am officially done with cancer.

My Oncologist said that I will not require any further radiation, chemotherapy or even Tamoxiphen. I have no more increased chance of contracting cancer than any other person on the planet. It's over for good.

I have been released back to my regularly scheduled life.

I'm not the same. I'm better.

And I couldn't have done it without you.

All my love and gratitude - Jennifer

36-Year-Old Christina Applegate - Double Mastectomy

2008-08-19T08:40:00.000-07:00

I thought that this article about Christina Applegate was interesting. (Article on MSNBC). After her diagnosis with Breast Cancer, she decided to have a double mastectomy after also learning that she tested positive for the BRCA1 gene. This meant that she had her healthy breast removed at the same time as her cancerous breast. In the article she jokes that after her reconstruction is finished she'll have the perkiest breasts around!

I really commend Christina for making that decision. I'm sure it was agonizing to make. I will also be tested for the BRCA1 gene and if that test is postive, it is likely that I too will have my good breast removed and then do reconstruction on both of them.

But unlike Christina, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to both of them. I am glad that I still have one. Maybe it is baby steps, but it was right for me.

My hat is off to her and others like us who are forced to make such difficult decisions, and then do it with grace, style, humor, and positive energy. We are pretty amazing women if I do say so myself.

I feel great today, how about you? Be sure and give yo momma a hug today, okay?

I see my Oncologist later this afternoon. I'll report in about what he says.

My love to all - Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

The Surgical Follow-up

2008-08-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

I went to see the surgeon today for my one-week post-surgery checkup. I was excited and nervous because I knew that I would be getting my drain out, all the bandages off, and then going over the pathology to find out if the cancer has spread or if we got it before it did.

To be honest, I'm not sure what I was more anxious about. Just thinking about it all gave me a mild freak-out in the Doctor's waiting room but sweet Liz managed to settle me down before the lid blew. Sara is in Montana on a well-deserved vacation, so poor Liz had to endure this one all alone. She hugged me sweetly and soon it was my turn to go back to an examining room.

I was terrified that the staff or my doctor would remove my 12 inch X 5 inch dressing by ripping it off my body. After seven days of melding into my chest skin and underarm areas, that sucker was on for the duration. I went back and forth in my mind about would they, or would they not remove that bandage by ripping it off or by prying it off lovingly instead. Either way, I knew that my skin was in for a tough time as the bandage covered a very large amount of skin.

I had also had heard that the drain removal is super painful. I could feel that my drain was into me a good 6 inches, starting underneath my arm and going to the center of my left chest. I had read about both the drain removal and the tape removal on the Internet and had become very nervous about both things. (Note to self: Never read about scary things on the Internet after 3:00 p.m.)

You would think that my mind would be fully on the pathology, instead of these issues, wouldn't you? As it turned out, my surgeon came into the room and ripped that bandage from one side to another in one fell swoop before I even knew what hit me. The pain, though monumental and causing involuntary twitching, lasted only a few minutes. The surgeon who is never one for ceremony, compassion, or even words, took care of THAT issue. One down.

Next, he had me lay down on my back. He artfully distracted me with small talk while fiddling with my drain site. In the next second the stitches were cut and the drain was out with no pain. The man does not fool around. Two down.

I looked down to see what I looked like. Well, for sure my breast is gone and it is not pretty. I have a scar straight across with some skin left for my reconstruction. My friends, I don't know if I can ever get used to what is there now. It is very difficult to see, but there was no other alternative. Even though I don't like it, I have to learn to live with it. I will consider losing a breast one of my great life tragedies, but I traded it for my life and I will always stand by that decision.

Or .... did I trade my breast for my life? Maybe not. What if my cancer had just been a teeny pre-cancer? This was information that we had not known because I had two vastly different pathologies on my June biopsy, one reporting a serious cancer the other a stage 0 pre-cancer. What if I had given my breast up for a teeny pre-cancer? I had been thinking about that and the moment of truth was at hand.

The Doctor pulled out the pathology report and began. As it turns out, my surgery was "curative". Likely no need for radiation or chemo, although I now must go see the Oncologist to confirm this. My tumor was mildly estrogen positive, a condition that requires most women to take Tamoxifen for several years afterwards to control future cancer growth. The tumor itself was bigger than everybody thought. It was also a high-grade comedo type DCIS tumor. This means that it was the bad cancer, and it had been poised to become invasive.

But it didn't. And now it won't. The pathology also showed a proliferation of other calcifications which is how this cancer begins its journey. Think of them as baby pre-cancers, just a twinkle in their mother's eye at this stage, but poised to grow and mature into more cancer.

I had done the right thing after all. I followed my own intuition, fired two surgeons who wouldn't, and endured a third who just didn't care. But I did it. And, I think it's over. Mostly. Hopefully.

Love you all, I do. Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

Home From the Hospital and Doing Great

2008-08-09T08:22:00.000-07:00

Thanks so much to everybody who called, emailed, and brought flowers and cute teddy bears. I don't know what I would have done without my sisterhood through this.

I am back, one boob short of when I left. My family jokes that maybe I lost a pound (due to my famously small breasts). Jeepers, everybody's a comedian!

Like all my hospital stays I had a great experience. What's not to like? Nice nurses bring you warm blankets and keep you from barfing after surgery. They are kind and sweet and even reminded Sara why she once wanted to be a nurse.

I have had literally NO PAIN at all. We don't know why, but I did not need my pain meds in the hospital nor have I needed to take any percoset at home. I am taking 2 Tylenol for swelling and that is it. Why a person would have an 8 inch gash/amputation and not feel pain is beyond me. I have loads of energy and I feel great. I even managed a shower this morning.

My boobless area is bandaged tight. I see the surgeon next Thursday to get that off. That will be a low moment, but was the right choice.

I woke up in the hospital and realized with a start .... I am free of cancer. I won, you dirty bastard! Even if I had to give you a boob to do it!

(Actually, that is hopeful thinking, because we really won't know if the cancer was invasive until the I get the pathology back sometime next week. If it was invasive, we are talking a whole other ballgame. But we'll talk it then, not now. Today, in my mind, I am free of cancer.)

So, here's the details of my surgery, if you are interested. If not, you are done here. :-)

What strong woman doesn't have strong women behind her? Liz and Sara postponed their lives to be with me through 18 doctor's office visits and one mastectomy. They prepared my home before I left, secured any doggies and kitties and made me one heck of a hospital basket of soft comforting goodies. Precious adorable Josh has been checking in when he can even through the excess of estrogen and emotion. He is to be commended for his continued love and support. Love you, son.

I headed off for surgery at 7:15 a.m. on Thursday. With entourage and many pillows in tow, I arrived resigned and ready to get on with it. They checked me in and gave me the world's worst hospital gown along with the poofy hat. I didn't don the hat out of defiance and they let me get away with it, for a while. The girls toddled along behind my bed as I was pushed around the hospital to my various stations. (Note: They push you through the halls where regular people are walking. I would have been mortified to see someone I know!)

My first stop was to have radio active dye injected into my breast. This is done to check the sentinel modes for any cancer. The dye is injected, then you must wait two hours before it makes its way to the nodes. You are totally radioactive and that time, which is worrisome. Once the dye "seeps" to the right place, the surgeon uses a Geiger counter while in surgery to test the nodes. Because this kind of cancer attracts the radiation molecules, if there is cancer in a node, the Geiger counter will find it and then the surgeon removes it. I probably didn't explain that right, but anyway, I waited my two hours with my faithful servants, and finally it was my time for surgery.

I liked my anesthesiologist who listened carefully to my heart issues and made the appropriate notes. A resident who told me he was just finishing up medical school then rolled me into the operating room. On the way, he told me I was going to get the best "margarita" ever and that it would make it so that I just didn't care any more. He was right, I saw the stark white of the operating room and everybody in masks, but I just didn't care. They asked me to move myself to the operating table, which I happily did. Then, the best part ever ... I just went black.

In previous operations I had to play the game ... "Now count backwards from 100 ... here we go ..." That's when you know you are going out and it causes such anxiety in those two seconds before you go. This time, the wonderful med student simply filled my IV with the juice and didn't say anything as he did it. Bless his heart for that.

The surgery took 2 hours and then (for reasons we don't know yet) I was in recovery for two hours longer than we expected. This caused the girls some anxiety as somebody had told them I would be in my room shortly, but I then didn't show up for several hours. However, I woke up feeling fine in the recovery room and and had no pain at all. They wheeled me to my room where my nannies were waiting for me.

I immediately had the best nurse in the world, a guy who asked me if I felt nauseous (I did) and did I need some meds (I did). He took care of my and though I was dozy I noted that he talked at length with my girls and answered their questions. He was kind and sweet and that means a lot.

The rest for me was a lot of napping. Josh visited later that day which is a big deal for him as he hates hospitals. I had low blood pressure issues, 88/50 through the night along with a high heartbeat. It was concerning but the nurses kept a good eye on it all while I dozed. I slept all night long and woke up already to go around 7 a.m. I never saw or talked to my surgeon even though I asked all day long to talk to him. That is how they roll in Utah, and it is kinda sad. But, he did what I hired him to do and I guess that is okay enough.

I have a drain which is such a drag and kinda gross. I will get that out on Thursday. I'm already anxious to go to the nice ladies at the one-boobie-bra store and see what they can fix me up with. I just feel ready to get back to my life.

I need strong prayers that my pathology shows the cancer was not invasive. Then, I need prayers that my insurance will not be any more mean to me than they already have been. Then, I need my clients to call me cause I am ready to get back to work.

Thanks AGAIN, there are no words to describe how much your support means to me and my kids.

Love (the one pound lighter) Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

Canser is Messy

2008-08-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

I've put off blogging for some time now while I pondered a big decision I had to make. When I started my blog, I wanted to be honest and open and it's been really beneficial for me, more so than I originally anticipated actually.

But for a while I just needed to hang back while searching for an answer that truthfully still hasn't come with any real clarity. Normally confident and decisive, I don't know what's been toughest to bear, the decision that I have to make or the indecisiveness that I still feel in making it.

It just goes to show that cancer is messy. There are no clear answers. In the end, I had to trust my gut and instincts in order to move ahead.

So today, after many agonizing days of thought, I decided to have a mastectomy instead of a lumpectomy.

I would equate the difficulty of coming to, and accepting, this decision along the lines of when you have a cherished pet who you decide to put to sleep. You know that you must do it, but there is no peace in the decision, and the days leading up to the final event are filled with what-ifs, a zillion mind changes and second guesses.

Ultimately, I had to choose from two horrible choices. One just happened to be a little less horrible than the other and that is why I chose it.

Cancer is messy. The decisions are agonizingly difficult. The friends are dear. The waiting is torture. But I choose to live and so I do what I do.

My surgery is Thursday the 7th. I am as uneasy and as unsure as I have ever been about anything. I'm not sure which is worse, surgery or the resulting aftermath. But like many people before me, I'll troop into the hospital and do what I have to do. And I know that I chose life.

Cancer is messy.

http://www.jenniferbunker.com/

Living With Cancer: Kris Carr's Story in Scientific American

2008-07-24T17:17:00.000-07:00

Kris Carr is featured in Scientific American this month. Click here to see the article. Kris founded the social networking site, "My Crazy Sexy Life" where I have learned immeasurable gems and wisdoms about my health, myself, and my journey.

I believe that the information learned there has likely saved my life.

I would never have found Kris or her site without first getting cancer.

In this regard, having cancer has probably saved my life.

(Hey, that's one of those logic thingies :-)

Paix - Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

Juicing Queen

2008-07-16T09:01:00.000-07:00

The thing about getting cancer and having to wait for many weeks for a diagnosis and prognosis is that it gives you a lot of time to think. And search the Internet. As I have mentioned before, I came across a website which has been my rock throughout this ordeal. When 32-year-old Kris Carr was diagnosed with incurable liver cancer, she started a social networking site called My Crazy Sexy Life for people with cancer and other debilitating diseases to trade information, chat, and educate each other.

And in my case, I learned fast and got a good education. I've learned so much there that it's still hard for me to assimilate it all. However, the one thing that I let sink into my stubborn noggin is that I don't have to sit around and wait for somebody else to do something about my situation. There is a lot I can be doing to reverse my bad health, and then stabilize it for the future.

After researching and encouragement from friends at Kris's site, I bought an Omega 8005 juicer. I've learned that humans can get full protein from living foods (plants) and that ingesting animal products is a direct causative for cancer and many other ailments. I took this information and cross checked it, researched it, and came to the obvious conclusion that eating compassionately is the way our bodies want to eat, were born to eat, and the way to ensure incredible, optimal human health.

Soooo, even though I don't really like vegetables OR fruits I dug in and began to juice. Thankfully my online posse provided endless green juicing and green smoothie recipes, along with other amazing raw recipes. I actually LOVE the juice that I make, and am putting things into it that I would never have eaten otherwise. Vegetables taste different when they are juiced, and not in a bad way!

Here's my typical morning recipe:

1 big cucumber (substitute zucchini if making for Liz)

2 - 4 celery stalks

1 apple

1 lemon

2 leaves kale

2 carrots

hemp protein powder

powdered milk thistle

It is so delicious! It also gives me about a 2-hour buzz in the morning after I drink it. Since I've been juicing (twice daily, then a third vegan meal like potato leek soup and vegan spring rolls) I've lost all of my aches and pains, I no longer retain water, my chronic sinus pain/allergies are gone completely, I am no longer tired with malaise, I no longer use any deodorant (think about it, there's no "smelly" waste this way), I have way more energy, and I am sleeping like a baby. That's a big deal for this chronic insomniac!

Many of the peeps at Kris's site are devoting their lives to this idea of eating compassionately. It certainly isn't a new concept to me. One of my heroes, Liz Bunker, has been a devoted vegetarian for 12 years. She is a roll model and an unbelievable help to me in the journey. She has quietly lived her compassionate beliefs through the most egregious of questions, probing, and downright disapproval from friends, family and strangers. I really could not have made the journey without her.

Here's to a long and "fruitful" life!

Peas - Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

Have Medical Records Will Travel

2008-07-16T08:32:00.000-07:00

Because I haven't have medical insurance for the past 10 years and didn't see the doctor much in that time frame, it has been an interesting journey into how medical care has evolved since I last participated. I am amazed at the new way my surgeon takes my blood pressure, and the way almost everybody takes blood now with a "butterfly". Now if only there was a way to look inside a woman's breast without smashing it. How come we don't have that one handled yet?

Anyway, one of the big disappointments is that medical offices seem to be in constant chaos. I learned early that just because I ask one office to send my records to another office doesn't actually mean that it will be done. If fact, I've learned that it pretty much won't get done.

So, now I arrive to every appointment with my up-to-the-minute medical records file in tow. This file holds every single paper generated from every single visit. I offer each physician the updates and they always happily copy them. This was so odd to me at first, but I realized that if I were to step up and take responsibility for the distribution of my own records, I would be the ultimate winner.

It's interesting to see what they write about me in the files. Each visit offers an assessment of how I "presented" such as, "is pleasant and upbeat", "seems informed and knowledgeable," and there is always mention that I have been "chaperoned" (my girls are with me).

Getting the records is much easier than BI (before insurance). I remember that offices and hospitals wouldn't give you your own records under any circumstances, but instead they would send them directly on to the requesting physician. It's probably because of the things that they said about you that they didn't want you to see. Thanks to new HPPA rules, records must be given to a patient who requests them. I bet physicians are kinder now, knowing that patients will be reading what they wrote about them.

But regardless of what they write, it's kind of comforting knowing that I have my whole file with me and can produce my health situation in its entirety at any moment. Dear friends Lucki and Sandy Latimer recommend a complex filing system that includes dates, notes, and all records held in a single journal. They advised to always bring along another set of ears, eyes, and hands so that second person can take notes enabling the patient to dialog freely.

Good ideas that have served me well so far.

Have a peas-ful day!

Love, Jen

Unbelievably Inspiring

2008-07-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

Check out what 10-year-old Mimi Ausland of Bend Oregon has done:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/25675151#25642902

Visit her website and play the trivia game to donate dog kibble.

AND...

... look at what this family did. Amazing.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/25675151#25568850

Love ya - Jen

It Was Even Scarier Than Cancer (For a While)

2008-07-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

While I'm driving the Gloom and Doom bus, I'll blog about something else that I have found can be even more scarier than cancer.

My insurance company is trying to prove that I applied for insurance with them under fraudulent terms, and then drop me without paying for any of my coverage.

Here's the back story. It has been my good fortune to become acquainted with several individuals who have the inside "know how" on how insurance companies work (one of whom works for and insurance company herself). When I began to sense trouble on my own insurance front, I consulted the bunch of them and here is what they said:

"Insurance companies are in the business of making money. They are not interested in losing money on any patient for any reason. If you are self-employed (as I am) and you have an individual policy (as I do) and you get cancer (as I did) they will move heaven and earth to drop you. This is because you are a lone little nobody without a group to back you therefore making you easy pickings for the kill. People at the insurance company are specially trained to weed out lone cancer patients like you."

In my case, my insurance company has frozen all payments to any of my doctors pending a five year review. According to my friends in the know, this means that the insurance company will closely examine all of my medical records for the past 5 years, and then try to catch me in a lie from my initial application. Not only will they be looking for evidence that I lied about having cancer, but they'll also be looking for any tiny foothold to prove that I lied about anything and then will drop me.

The stories: One lady was dropped by her company after they discovered she had not disclosed a visit to a psychologist. When she asked them how that could have anything to do with her current cancer, they said "You were probably depressed about having cancer." They promptly dropped her from coverage.

Another woman was dropped when the insurance company learned that she had fudged her weight on the initial application by 10 pounds. They declared this "fraud" and dropped her even though it had nothing to do with her cancer.

An third woman was given consent for a cancer surgery by her insurance company and proceeded with it. Afterwards, the company demanded a 5-year-review at which time they rescinded their approval of the procedure, refused to pay for it, and left her holding the $40K bag. Spiffy!

I have no idea what my own status is. Limbo I guess. I get letters in the mail every day explaining that payment is being held pending examination of the records. Sad stuff, huh? I'll keep you posted as the saga unfolds.

Paix - Jen

Five Weeks In; No Game Plan and None in Sight

2008-07-10T20:34:00.000-07:00

Saw another surgeon today. He is associated with the hospital in my town and came recommended by the Oncologist that I saw last week. The visit was just so-so, I'll spare you the details. However, when we went to schedule a possible date for surgery ... surprise! My insurance doesn't cover surgery at that hospital.

So, to recap, my insurance covers surgeons who work at the hospital the insurance company doesn't cover, but the insurance doesn't cover any surgeons at the hospital where I can have surgery. How's that for a pretty good racket?

Ah the hilarity. That literally leaves me with absolutely nowhere to go to get this cancer out of me. Five weeks and still no game plan. I have a call into the Cancer Treatment Centers of America, but I am not hopeful.

So, the options are, do nothing and hope for the best. Treat myself with alternative therapies and hope the cancer goes away or at least doesn't spread. Or pay for the surgery myself at my local hospital. (Sure thing! Let me just run and get my checkbook.)

I told my girls afterward that my work has been hanging in limbo for over a month now and that I have to get back to it. I am a self-employed single mom who runs a busy business and who has agents and clients who depend upon me to show up and work everyday. If I don't work, I don't get paid. So, cancer in tow, that's what I'll do for now.

Here's hoping for a better day tomorrow. Jen

Compassion at Long Last

2008-07-03T22:14:00.000-07:00

Information and kindness has arrived in the form of Dr. Hanson, white-haired Oncologist at McKay Dee Hospital. He and his wonderful physician's assistant (who's name I actually did not catch) were unbelievably compassionate and actually gave me information that I can use. AND, they treated me like I am a whole person with thoughts and concerns and questions. In the end, the doctor gave me some options and then .... drum roll please .... asked me what *I* wanted to do. What a novel idea!

It seems that it should always be that way, especially with those of us who come armed with mega amounts of knowledge about the whole thing (thank goodness for the Internet) and are ready to have a good decisive discussion about the various options. The relief in my daughters' faces was as close to heaven as I could get.

Unfortunately there is nothing for me to decide yet, because I have still another appointment with another Dr. However, one month after diagnosis, we finally feel we are on our way.

It's All Good

2008-06-29T08:59:00.000-07:00

Cancer is nothing if not a fast-lane course in what is important and how a life course can be altered for the better. After stomping away mad from the Huntsman Cancer Institute, I did some (more) reading and research.

In quick succession I read Quantum Wellness by Kathy Freston, Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips by Kris Carr, and the China Study by T. Colin Campbell PhD. These books present compelling facts and information regarding our modern day diets and cancer.

Many of you would agree with my doctors in saying that these notions are silly putty. But I don't believe they are. They resonate as complete truth to me. In the time frame of about a week, I have gone from vegetarian (once you read Kathy Freston's book you'll go there too) to vegan (the China Study) to some percentage of raw diet mixed with vegan (Kris's book).

I feel much better actually in terms of energy and several low level physical complaints that I had have now hit the road. There is no doubt that this will become a lifestyle for me. I am resolute and will not change my mind. Thank goodness for my daughter Liz, who has been a vegetarian for nearly 10 years. She has become my rock in this.

I appreciate Huntsman for the push they gave me. As we already know, it's all good no matter how it seems at the time.

I recommend that everybody digest each of these books. Share Kris's with somebody you know who has cancer or some other long-term or debilitating illness. Share the China Study with anybody that you care about.

Paix - Jen

Take Your Power Back

2008-06-26T12:33:00.000-07:00

A few days have passed since my rant below. I'm no longer mad about the Huntsman experience. When I get mad, not only do I give my power away to somebody else, but the energy it takes to sustain the anger is exhausting. In the case of the Huntsman visit, we all agreed (daughters and I) that we went to the visit with the expectation that the experts would provide answers, and many of them. Silly? Maybe. When it became clear that my only role in the Huntsman scenario is to simply deliver to them a bouncing baby tumor on their timeline on their terms, well you already know how I reacted.

We now see that our expectations of a caring holistic experience were off-the-chain silly. Or, were they? Utah isn't exactly the holistic capital of the world. But it seems like a basic to me. Regardless, having collected my power back where it belongs, I stand ready. We stand ready.

Paix - Jen

Well. Well, well, well. Hmm.

2008-06-24T10:30:00.000-07:00

I had my appointment with my surgeon at Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City yesterday. My gut reaction is to explode into a long, ranting tirade. My girls and I came away completely bewildered, with more questions than answers. We are still angry today.

Friends are calling and wanting to know how it went. I'm avoiding their calls because I don't know. Okay, it didn't go well. Not at all.

First off, Huntsman's pathology report came back different than the original. Very different. When I told the surgeon's Physician Assistant (PA) what the pathology was on the original report, her jaw dropped open. You see, Huntsman's was a better report. Good news, right?

No. When I asked the surgeon how the reports could be so different, he condescendingly said, (I am not making this up) ... "Well, here's your breast. You have a "thing" in your breast. This kind of cancer is here on the scale (draws a rudimentary line on his scrubs), this kind is here." THAT was his explanation. We were DUMBFOUNDED!

Sorry Charlie, no go. Let's back up. I wait (accompanied by my constant companion, terror, and my daughters, who also have their own terrors tagging along) a prolonged period of time to see you because you are on vacation and only see patients only on Mondays. I waited 2 hours on the waiting room (no problem, I have all the time in the world) to be told by you that you don't know what kind of cancer I have, that I should not worry about financing it, that this is only step one and don't worry about the other steps. You give me only one option, do not ask me how I am, what are my goals, what do I need, what are my other medical issues, what are my fears, what about nutrition, other choices, what are the next steps (don't worry about that, pat pat), poo poo the fact that my insurance is trying to drop me (Well, c'mon now, Huntsman won't let the surgery take place if your insurance won't cover it, and then that will take care of whether or not you continue here), and can't explain why in the world are the pathologies so different.

"You are going to have a lumpectomy" he says. "Then, depending upon what we find, we'll do more surgeries." Oh really asshole? You don't even know me. How dare you have the cajones to dictate to me what I am doing with my body!

Is this the effing 1950's? God I hate Utah for this! Shovel the nice on-Zanax ladies through the line. Don't give them info, poo-poo their concerns, no reason to "worry" them with actually facts and straight talk.

Well, here's the deal. The surgeon gave me one option. And I don't like it. And I'm not going to do it. In fact, I will head off for what is now a third opinion in the matter. Wish me luck. Wish me somebody competent AND compassionate. Is that really too much to ask?

Premonitions

2008-06-23T06:44:00.000-07:00

About a month ago (before cancer) I had a dream that I later described to my friend John as such:

"I was standing in line to check out at a clothing store (Old Navy actually) when the woman in front of me in line turned to me and in a Russian accent said, "You have the plague." She was of kindly energy and I knew that she was a being not of the earth. I said, "How do you know that?" She said, "Because I am psychic." I believed her and told her, "So am I". She winked at me and I winked at her as though our souls have had a good connection for a long time and we were sharing a long known secret friendship."

I woke up after that and spent some time considering this vivid dream. I reasoned that regular plagues such as the Bubonic et al are long under control. "Maybe she means a the modern plague - cancer," I wondered. I didn't think any more about it because surely *I* didn't have cancer!

I would find out within a week, after a routine mammogram, that I did indeed have cancer.

Listen to your dreams, get your mammograms!

Love ya - Jen

He Said It Best

2008-06-21T16:40:00.000-07:00

"My life did not stop the day I was diagnosed with cancer. I simply woke up to what matters most to me and I came that much more alive."

That says it all. Thanks to Bert Scholl for that beautifully constructed sentiment.

Bert's Blog

The Things People Say

2008-06-19T07:28:00.000-07:00

Well one thing we know for sure, everybody knows somebody who has had cancer. And everybody's got a story to share. (Note to people who share stories: feel free to share ONLY if the story is uplifting, hopeful, amusing, and doesn't end in a person's death from cancer. Just a tip.)

From Leah: Her friend Pam was diagnosed with a grade 4 tumor in her breast. She's had her surgery doing well and as far as Leah knows, Pam didn't miss a single day of work. That's great news to this workaholic.

From Irene and Maurice: They have a friend who had liver cancer, but was able to regenerate a healthy liver after 1/3 of it was found to be cancer free. Doctors removed the cancerous portion and the patient promptly got back to living life.

From Judi: A family member of hers was diagnosed with cancer and given 6 months to live. He decided to go see Dr. Gonzales in New York City, a well-known alternative medicine doctor. The patient is in remission and doing well. (Let me look for the link to Dr. Gonzalez. I will come back and post it here).

From Dawn: She said, "You can do it, go baby go!" So adorable. Sometimes a person just needs a cute and energetic cheerleader.

Everybody else: Incredible love and support. What an amazing thing.

You help me to remember to live my best life. And that is why cancer is a gift.

Paix - Jen

Update 6/19/08

2008-06-19T07:23:00.001-07:00

Just back from the GI Guy. Seems my liver enzymes have moved must closer to normal and my iron levels have dropped, too. I believe this is totally due to recent diet changes. Super encouraging!

Ever the doctor, he still wants me to have a liver ultrasound. I may or I may not. For now I'll just enjoy the most recent good news.

Paix - Jen

I Own My LIfe

2008-06-19T07:10:00.001-07:00

I'm currently reading Kathy Freston's book, "Quantum Wellness." I'm amazed by the way she presents this life changing information in such a refined and subtle way. Instead of trumpeting, she whispers truths that you instantly know are true. I highly recommend this book for anybody.

She wisely says, "We are all wounded in some way. We each have a sacred soft spot, the thing that cuts to the bone and gets our attention and forces us to awaken to our deeper selves, For some it is illness, while others it is constant drama in our relationships. But as I see it, the purpose of our lives is to grow and awaken to the most powerful potential that is seeded within us, and our most sacred mission is to apply our focus to getting unstuck where we feel stuck."

Maybe this explains why, as the days go by and I get used to having cancer, I feel empowered, strong, and wide open to whatever comes. Maybe not peaceful yet, but strong and ready for what the days ahead dish out.

It's a gorgeous day here in Utah and I'm going to do something fun.

Love ya - Jen

A Wise Tidbit From George Carlin

2008-06-17T08:37:00.000-07:00

"Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again."

Thanks to CSL for the wise words of the day. Your day will be sweeter if you hold somebody's hand. Trust me on this. ;-)

(UPDATE: Never in my wildest dreams did I think that George Carlin would die less than one week after my post. People, hold someone's hand TODAY.)

Paix - Jen

Crazy Sexy People

2008-06-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

I was thinking that I should find some good support communities online before I roll into the technical details of surgery and stuff. I looked around for a considerable amount of time, but could only find pink ladies with pink ribbons standing around in sweatsuits before or after a 5K event to raise money for breast cancer.

That's all good and I love them for it. But it's kinda stereotypical and not exactly my thing. Where were the cancer-ettes with attitude? The ones who were more "in-your-face?"

The Internet produced a link to My Crazy Sexy Life, a site that was created by Kris Carr (pictured), the producer and subject of the documentary, "Crazy Sexy Cancer" which showed on TLC Discovery Health a few months ago. Kris also has a blog which is full of attitude, great recipes for going vegan/raw, and a bunch of other people hanging around who have kick butt moxy. I love it. Please check it out when you've got time. My Crazy Sexy Life.

Paix - Jen

Night Monsters

2008-06-16T06:28:00.000-07:00

I'm realizing that as nighttime snuggles in with exhaustion from the day, little doubt monsters sneak into my psyche. After a few nights of terror, I realized that this is the most low-energy and therefore the most vulnerable part to my day. Negative thoughts creep in and wreak havoc in my otherwise sunshine-filled mind.

I've learned to counter the nighttime goonies by taking frequent rest breaks in my day, ensuring a longer night's sleep, and conserving energy on daily tasks. Also, I've banned all Internet researching at night. This is helping a lot. The best thing by far however, is to snuggle up to one of my beautiful daughters and admire their pretty fingers or study a beautiful curve in their face. If they aren't around, then I sit under the stars and breathe in the miraculous night air.

Cancer is gift that I am appreciating more and more.

Paix - Jen

Update 6/14/08

2008-06-14T13:47:00.000-07:00

I'm on tap to meet with a surgeon on June 23, 2008 for a consultation. For those of you who don't know, I have a high-grade comedo type DCIS tumor in my left breast. That is all we know for now. The team that I will be working with at the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City will include an Oncology Surgeon, a Radiology Oncologist, a Medical Oncologist, and a Plastic Surgeon. I am told by my Ogden team of doctors that I will need surgery immediately. However, I am also investigating alternatives and look forward to hearing more about what those are.

Paix - Jen

How to Tell People 101

2008-06-14T12:46:00.001-07:00

Damn! I've misplaced my "How To Tell Your Family, Close Friends, Acquaintances, Clients, Neighbors, and Others That You Have Cancer" manual again.

I hate it when that happens.

A quick little primer:

Family: Share immediately. This is a good opportunity to cry and get it all out. Get it all out here because you'll need to regain your strength for ...

Close Friends: Share the news as you have the energy to do so because these folks won't take it well. You will want to make sure you call them personally (no email, snail mail, Morse code, note in a bottle, etc.). From your mouth to their ears. Make it your business to call them before they hear it from somebody else because you would want the same from them. Ask these people to kindly share the news with ...

Acquaintances: People who you love but don't talk to on a regular basis. This is where the news will spread like wildfire due to little or no effort on your part. Places like your work, the gym, the church choir, the guys in the prison yard, and your Bag Hoarder's Support Group will all know in .2 seconds flat if you let somebody else tell it for you. This will leave you with some energy to figure out how to tell your ...

Clients: This is a tough one. My business, Real Estate, is an unforgiving line of work where I need to be available 24/7. If my clients think that I am too sick to be out working with them, then my (considerable) medical bills don't get paid. Even more importantly, I want to work to feel connected and stay useful as I journey back to wellness. For now I am opting to not say anything about it to the clients. If I ever arrive to meet a client while attached to an IV pole, then maybe I'll have to explain. Until then, nada. This brings us to ...

Neighbors and Others: I adore my dear neighbors. They are last on the list because I know that they will the most forgiving. Others include people like the nice policeman who pulls you over for speeding. I read in c blogs that sharing that you have cancer with these types is commonly called using the "c-card." I guess cancer is good for something after all.

I know that some people prefer not to say anything except to close family. Completely understandable and that gets my full support. For me, I appreciate the prayers, resources and good wishes that come my way from my extended support group. In fact, they've become my manna.

Paix to all, Jen

What Does Cancer Feel Like?

2008-06-14T12:01:00.001-07:00

A friend asked me what having cancer feels like. I told her it doesn't feel like anything. Physically anyway.

But your head changes. Your head says that cancer feels like death. Your head thinks that way because that is the way that the world taught it to think. The fear-based world.

So, I went with that for a while. I wasn't really scared, but I did think over my recently created family trust account. Was it in good order? Anything else I needed to add in? What about a burial plot? Should I get one? Would I hurt at the end? Who will pluck my chin hairs and color my gray roots when I can't anymore? You know, that kind of stuff.

Then I decided 47 is too young to die. Surely there must be an alternative.

I thought about my friends and family. I carefully watched their reactions to my news and discovered that I have a strong, no-nonsense, ready-to-do-battle team standing right behind me.

I thought a lot about simple things. The sky is bluer today, did I have those flowers last year, wow that tastes good. Stuff like that.

Then it dawned on me. Cancer feels like a paradigm shift. A new opportunity. A means to refocus a meandering life journey. A new appreciation of those that I love. A chance to give the gift of giving. An excuse to eat more shushi. And many more new medical terms to Google.

That's what cancer feels like to me.

Look's Like Mama's Got a Brand New Gig

2008-06-14T11:41:00.000-07:00

You get a diagnosis like cancer and a lot goes through your mind. You find out who you are and who your friends are in a hurry. It's an interesting journey and I've decided to blog it honestly and openly. Thanks for looking in. Love, Jen