tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87460514312701842992024-03-13T11:39:48.569-07:00My life, distilled.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-74151834109130250712017-11-18T22:12:00.000-08:002017-11-19T13:09:38.841-08:00Aggressive Optimism<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
***Note: The following is one of many blog posts I started once upon a time and did not make public for one reason or another. I am sharing now because although unfinished and imperfect, it made me smile tonight and helped me to remember some important lessons. So cheers to quieting the inner skeptic and continuing to "fight evil with flowers" the best we know how. ***<br />
<br />
Back when I worked at the magazine, my editor and I often shared a private joke about my use of what we coined 'aggressive optimism'. I'd chuckle about "fighting evil with flowers" as I wrote a lengthy email back to some disgruntled reader dissatisfied with my perspective/hair color/use of pronouns. And though - thankfully - not many retorts were required throughout my employ, I learned valuable lessons by responding to critics. <br />
<br />
Namely, you can't please everyone. <br />
<br />
Also, readers should find something more constructive to do than counting the number of times the word "because" is used in any given story - you know who you are. But I digress.<br />
<br />
Somewhere between the cryptic notes left in my editors' red ink and the sweet smell of the latest edition literally "hot off the presses"- I learned to be brave. I learned to tell the stories I believed in - despite the ridiculous 'letter to the editor' which would inevitably come. <br />
<br />
And at the end of the day nothing else matters beyond that - speak your truth and do your best to leave the earth a little brighter.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXjKze-czijqe4lJEsJuU-_lMfc6wP7SDRuLZmiE82B7PBfEoCk2a8Az5NSb-5JZFaD5subtcOUj4i2MQduPimcLoCV3S_FeqrhuMwrJte_kVc2dtGt6omZIXLNrJ_ldTeWGebYUR5cM/s1600/389014_4152703794262_106358227_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXjKze-czijqe4lJEsJuU-_lMfc6wP7SDRuLZmiE82B7PBfEoCk2a8Az5NSb-5JZFaD5subtcOUj4i2MQduPimcLoCV3S_FeqrhuMwrJte_kVc2dtGt6omZIXLNrJ_ldTeWGebYUR5cM/s400/389014_4152703794262_106358227_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weeds are all about perspective.</td></tr>
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When I became sick, in so many ways I believed I had failed.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I could not protect my children from darkness. I could not save them from fear, or the cruelty of a world that could so easily strip them of innocence, of a childhood without a mother's protection. </div>
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<br /></div>
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In fact, I couldn't even save myself.<br />
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I agonized over my decision to be open with the children. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But then, one day, I found this scrawled in the driveway.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihY5gkW0sL_uQm1AvHqk21zITlLcMArtd1xEOV-spEXrpMeVuYreoV-59V1vOCxNWn0ragGo4y4crLimXbPMa5OfufnxPlHu1c-_0uk2CUS0LlxrdLRfvne7Eh_0nYuI7_y1YgdZMYxFc/s1600/216321_4180689333883_2119727616_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihY5gkW0sL_uQm1AvHqk21zITlLcMArtd1xEOV-spEXrpMeVuYreoV-59V1vOCxNWn0ragGo4y4crLimXbPMa5OfufnxPlHu1c-_0uk2CUS0LlxrdLRfvne7Eh_0nYuI7_y1YgdZMYxFc/s400/216321_4180689333883_2119727616_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And I knew - without a doubt - I was doing something right.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-51659351830413346002016-07-14T18:03:00.000-07:002016-07-15T11:12:04.265-07:00Packing for India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjfzz6QScu3h_9Kh6SrdytioHK1YFLhJhCdprds-1-p7KkhDxNnSH4RDFv8fkVZo2WJwgkZJQwE7CSu7UKY6_kg57HBQ7FxoFYDYUjar4VKCO5lSMs4guwx5wzYZhkE7pLfcPoHpXoD8/s1600/IMG_8165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjfzz6QScu3h_9Kh6SrdytioHK1YFLhJhCdprds-1-p7KkhDxNnSH4RDFv8fkVZo2WJwgkZJQwE7CSu7UKY6_kg57HBQ7FxoFYDYUjar4VKCO5lSMs4guwx5wzYZhkE7pLfcPoHpXoD8/s320/IMG_8165.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I travelled more than 7,000 miles to get this picture.<br />
Totally worth it.</td></tr>
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When I traveled to India with <a href="http://mylifedistilled.blogspot.com/2016/01/carpe-diem.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">A Fresh Chapter </span></a>in March 2016, I frankly had no idea what I was getting into.<br />
<br />
I'd never traveled internationally, let alone to a third world country with a bunch of strangers. But despite my newbie status, I am happy to report I managed to pack like a champ (with a little help from some fab travel blogs) and there are very few "do-overs" items I would have packed differently. I am also happy to report the former "bunch of strangers" are now counted among my closest friends. (Life's funny that way isn't it?)<br />
<br />
So, because I get asked this on a regular basis, I wanted to share with you just what made the international carry-on cut and what I probably should have kept at home - as well as introduce you to a few of the <a href="http://www.afreshchapter.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Fresh Chapter</span></a> lovelies who mean so much to me. <br />
<br />
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</div>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<b><u>If You are Headed to India, Don't Leave Home Without:</u></b></h4>
<div>
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<b>Baby Wipes </b>- Trust me, you'll thank me for this one. There's a whole lotta sticky on the other side of the world - there's no reason you need to be.<br />
<br />
<b>Ear plugs </b>- India is a noisy place. Best bring a pair of these if you want to catch some z's.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Hand sanitizer</b> - I actually brought too much with me, which is much better than the other way around. A little goes a long way, but be sure to stow a bottle or two for your trip.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Extra Plastic baggies and space bags </b>- Space saving bags are the world's greatest invention for people who purchase too many souvenirs while abroad. (Not that I would know of course.) Throw in a dozen with a few regular baggies for good measure.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Sunblock/bugspray </b>- You can purchase these abroad but the ingredients aren't always clear or regulated. Best to bring 'em along if you want to avoid a burn or bites.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>International power cord converter</b> - India uses two prong power converters which you can buy in the luggage department of most department stores or Amazon. Worst case scenario you could pick a couple up at the airport if you happen to forget.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShOjIJsXHLs2jqtg4Nqm_ZQ288wB9KKgiq5B8e9sqfCYshgthqeW0z4v8JRUTHZ_SWGqQZl7ysJJdOh6apTDkc37heBeujQaZf2pc7ERqxbhZtjVvw7A0IQeo6WqtPYcIUPduiR8D168/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShOjIJsXHLs2jqtg4Nqm_ZQ288wB9KKgiq5B8e9sqfCYshgthqeW0z4v8JRUTHZ_SWGqQZl7ysJJdOh6apTDkc37heBeujQaZf2pc7ERqxbhZtjVvw7A0IQeo6WqtPYcIUPduiR8D168/s200/Unknown-2.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't decide what's better: The<br />
tingly mint afterglow <br />
or the moderately insane label.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Dr. Bronner's Soap </b>- I'm always amazed by how many people don't know about <a href="http://drbronner.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">this stuff</span></a> (If you are one of them, there's a fab <a href="http://magicsoapbox.vhx.tv/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">documentary on Netflix</span></a> about the nutty soaper and his cult-like following). My fav is the peppermint castile but they are all good and versatile enough to clean everything from clothes to toes.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Pillow Case</b> - So you'll always have a place to lay your pretty head (that isn't itchy or smell weird).<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Powerbars/peanut butter </b>- Having easy, familiar snack options close at hand may save you from an unfortunate hangry episodes on the road. Bring plenty of both.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Microfiber Towel </b>- Snag a lightweight, absorbent option for when going gets damp.<br />
<br />
<b>For the ladies:</b><br />
<br />
<b>Tampons</b> - Tampons do not exist in India. I repeat: TAMPONS DO NOT EXIST. Bring them with you or consider yourself warned.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIR4BMOwr_DTsrI9yhPjZDJkY_1W5a_KSKdk1uBnbWUfjwQM5TkbBE1aUALYnf5FU14eKWRp4zld4ivYX1VWu03xBzWOOkkZzr_N6lDA-3bjSWrITzn87cTXtgwFreCIMyv9Ks6cW7Hys/s1600/31775281-548e-4f4b-b43d-c12dbe204f2a_1.f1edb0c5617fe6225cf2009046424dd1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIR4BMOwr_DTsrI9yhPjZDJkY_1W5a_KSKdk1uBnbWUfjwQM5TkbBE1aUALYnf5FU14eKWRp4zld4ivYX1VWu03xBzWOOkkZzr_N6lDA-3bjSWrITzn87cTXtgwFreCIMyv9Ks6cW7Hys/s200/31775281-548e-4f4b-b43d-c12dbe204f2a_1.f1edb0c5617fe6225cf2009046424dd1.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, it's a thing. <br />
And they're awesome.</td></tr>
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<b>GoGirl</b> - There are times in life when you just don't want to lower your Brit Bits any closer to the ground than is absolutely necessary. As it was, <a href="https://go-girl.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">this little gadget</span></a> saved me from questionable exposures more than once in India. In fact, it was so useful I'm including it on my gift giving list for all the ladies in my life who backpack/camp/attend outdoor concerts. Pop this in a ziplock along with baby wipes and some sanitizer spray and you may have 99 problems but bathroom conditions won't be one of them.<br />
<br />
<b><u>What to Wear</u></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Western women have a bit of reputation in India for some reason (*cough*The Kardashians*cough*). In short, they think we're slutty. Not to say that you will be stoned in the street if you choose to wear American style clothing but you very well may be groped. (Just the messenger here, folks.) Frankly you are going to be attracting a LOT of attention anyway and your adventures may run smoother if you blend with the locals as much as you can.<br />
<br />
Clothing in India is <i>very</i> conservative. Women should wear at least cap sleeves and pants/dresses should be knee length or longer. This can be challenging when temperatures are in the 90's (as they were when I visited). Stick with lightweight, flow-y materials and loose pants. Avoid plunging necklines and whatever you do keep your shoulders covered. (Again, I'm just the messenger here - I don't make the rules.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjShqCAo76tRSCZIKiWSOMzk_so34wxoucDwf_-yWC4E0w-d71M1WO5Dmr3kleS2PjLBmqVBWec02JfT1XiBvr5ID3_rOmC6Qjp9B5FHtk1lYdCBVTpqAKLOak9NFmRSpNp9Q5wZ80X4/s1600/IMG_8316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjShqCAo76tRSCZIKiWSOMzk_so34wxoucDwf_-yWC4E0w-d71M1WO5Dmr3kleS2PjLBmqVBWec02JfT1XiBvr5ID3_rOmC6Qjp9B5FHtk1lYdCBVTpqAKLOak9NFmRSpNp9Q5wZ80X4/s320/IMG_8316.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few of FC lovelies touristing it up in Delhi.</td></tr>
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<br />
If you want to try your hand at local garb, the easiest route is purchasing a <b>kurta</b>. These knee length shirt/dresses are unisex and have a slit up both sides that are worn with lightweight pants/leggings underneath. They are super comfortable, you can mix and match basically any color combination plus they camouflage any "flaws" so you can eat as much delicious Indian food as you want without fear of popping a button. Basically they are the world's most brilliant clothing. <i><b>**Bonus: When I got home my mom made mine into cute dresses by shortening them a tad and sewing the sides. I absolutely love them.</b> </i><b>Sari's</b> on the other hand are basically origami dresses and unless you have a connection to a local who can walk you through wearing one, my advice is skip this cultural experience in order to avoid an unfortunate unraveling in public.<br />
<br />
<b>Shoes</b> - Bring a pair of broken in closed toe shoes to walk in that you will not be bringing back with you. Seriously. You will step in things you cannot even imagine. I went with Tom's knock offs and burned them at the airport gate.<br />
<br />
<b>Flip Flops</b> - For the shower. It's a little like middle school gym class over there.<br />
<br />
<b>Scarves </b>- There are many places in India which require head coverings for women, so consider stowing a couple in your bag or purchase something lightweight and colorful when you get there. Wearing a scarf is also an excellent way to detract attention when you are walking through the streets and they create a little extra shade to protect you from the sun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAepfHfgfkueMZuahq9oz3SVNy37Im6nukXA9n5F2MTGMDnRsIKv3ljIub_l47widwEm7stceeQ7M8k5ODzl1SEtbDeJhw0FrJbWp8ijKicpGSWHXZVgUAZpj9ZizE4gRtSHnwqKkpyM8/s1600/IMG_8313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAepfHfgfkueMZuahq9oz3SVNy37Im6nukXA9n5F2MTGMDnRsIKv3ljIub_l47widwEm7stceeQ7M8k5ODzl1SEtbDeJhw0FrJbWp8ijKicpGSWHXZVgUAZpj9ZizE4gRtSHnwqKkpyM8/s320/IMG_8313.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ashley, Katrina and I - All smiles despite toasty temperatures.</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Zippered, over-the-shoulder day bag</b> - I threw this in at last minute and I'm so glad I did. Mine was water resistant, big enough to toss in the essentials - extra scarf, camera, water bottle, money, souvenirs I purchased - but not so large it created a hassle. And because of the style, I could pull it in front of me while walking through a crowd or a particularly skeevy neighborhood without looking like a paranoid idiot.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Emergency medical kit</u></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Medical supplies are actually fairly easy to obtain in India. In fact, I found it rather lovely to be able to waltz into the neighborhood Chemist (pharmacy) and have virtually any request honored (including rabies shots but more on that later) without need for those pesky doctor's prescriptions we require in the US.<br />
<br />
That being said, medications aren't regulated the way they are in the states and there is a bit of a language barrier to contend with each time you make a transaction. So, save yourself some trouble and be sure to stow these "just in case" medications for minor emergencies. I didn't use the majority of my kit but was certainly glad I had it with me.<br />
<br />
<b>Neosporin</b><br />
<b>Chewable Maalox</b><br />
<b>Chewable Benadryl (allergies or sleep aid)</b><br />
<b>Bandaids (blisters or minor scrapes)</b><br />
<b>Tylenol/Advil</b><br />
<b>Travel antibiotics - Cipro (GI), Zithromax (Respiratory)</b><br />
<b>Electrolyte tablets</b><br />
<br />
<b><u>Nice if you have the space</u></b><br />
<br />
<b>BYO coffee with french press/aero </b>- The coffee situation is a little unpredictable in India. And although there is plenty of amazing chai to be had, if you <strike>are an addict</strike> enjoy your morning routine, you may consider throwing a few beans in your bag. For an easy-to-pack alternative consider packing some Starbucks Via. <b><i> *Bonus: If you bring some to share (I'm looking at you here, Morgan) you'll make fast friends with caffeine starved fellow travelers.</i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Small individually wrapped candies/gifts </b>- The poverty in India is overwhelming and you are <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBAEFoEO8aUKOCGC56kkulFsF8hM9FBYcgfrfWhyphenhyphenRwrlZpJGLv4iMeOp_FkDVAialIO7C1AwtyNuPEd3MNLy3JWvpiNzoIjH8MI2HK1wDEP-IIpE87WXkb_B6u8U4kF0P05c9bUoEfgQ/s1600/IMG_8336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBAEFoEO8aUKOCGC56kkulFsF8hM9FBYcgfrfWhyphenhyphenRwrlZpJGLv4iMeOp_FkDVAialIO7C1AwtyNuPEd3MNLy3JWvpiNzoIjH8MI2HK1wDEP-IIpE87WXkb_B6u8U4kF0P05c9bUoEfgQ/s640/IMG_8336.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet street babies will pull your heartstrings.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
certain to encounter beggars who will break your heart into a thousand pieces - especially the kiddos. That being said, you <i>cannot </i>give money in these situations without perpetuating the problem or endangering yourself (more on that later) so it's nice to have candies nearby to fill needy hands. Also, consider bringing a few inexpensive gifts to leave behind if you travel with Air BNB or are a guest in someone's home.<br />
<br />
<b>Toilet Paper - </b>TP is sometimes available in India, but it is in limited supply and a little on the "rough" side. Consider stowing some ultra posh 4-ply to have on hand (so to speak) so you don't have to use what I lovingly refer to as the "self-serve bidets" the locals are accustomed to. Unless you enjoy a damp undercarriage that is.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Lavender/eucalyptus/peppermint essential oil </b>- India can be a rather "fragrant" place. And while there is plenty of incense, flowers and spice, there are also less pleasant smells to contend with. Stowing a few essential oils in your bag may come in handy on particularly pungent days. **<b><i>Bonus: Mint is a great remedy for nausea and there is a rumor it wards off lice. I don't know if that's true but I didn't come home with any unwanted tag-alongs.</i></b><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaKDtVtOMuhXzL5CzPvPvQcLSB_N8AbvDFL7YSBogBXVRyroEghHQuTIm6u5R0wGvgN1E4t1IaCB7Ob3P5yVtPi825BsdKg0cDfUfYur295M9IQAGekqC2t31lxBBcXSx6d0530dx3Fk/s1600/IMG_8149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaKDtVtOMuhXzL5CzPvPvQcLSB_N8AbvDFL7YSBogBXVRyroEghHQuTIm6u5R0wGvgN1E4t1IaCB7Ob3P5yVtPi825BsdKg0cDfUfYur295M9IQAGekqC2t31lxBBcXSx6d0530dx3Fk/s320/IMG_8149.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Come prepared for glorious mayhem! India is a place like no other.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><u>Not as helpful</u></b><br />
<br />
<b>Reusable water bottle</b> - I am all about "going green" whenever I can, so it pains me to say consider keeping this at home depending on your itinerary. While I stayed with the <a href="http://www.afreshchapter.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Fresh Chapter</span></a> crew there was plenty of "foreigner safe" water stocked at our flat and I used the heck out of my favorite Liberty bottle. But once I got out into the real world it was easier (and safer) to purchase sealed drinking water in order to avoid any inadvertent exposures. Many upscale hotels do have suitable drinking water available but tap water is out of the question if you want to avoid praying to the porcelain hole-in-the-floor for a few days.<br />
<br />
<b><i>** Note: Be extra careful when purchasing bottled water on the street and listen for the seal when you open it. We didn't have any trouble, but apparently bottles are sometimes refilled with local water and resold. When in doubt, toss it out - it's just not worth the risk.</i></b><br />
<br />
<b>Electronics - </b>If you want to avoid undo stress, consider keeping any unnecessary electronics at home on this trip or at least try to be inconspicuous. I travelled with an <b>iPad mini</b> that I bought a folding keyboard case for and it was perfect. I could take notes for future blogs and face time when the internet was good but it was small and durable enough to throw in my day bag without worry. I also brought a nice <b>camera</b> which made me nervous until I got there and realized theft wasn't quite as big of a deal as I thought. Use common sense to protect your belongings and you should be just fine.<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Backpack of my dreams</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
There were very few decisions I agonized over as much as which bag to bring along on this epic <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWM4W-MkZvaEiQ4RNO8kuzSM7HRJQEDTqTTTGsJlie2fIvTDQQHssoJ9RMq7RXBUm4mulfjVgaHR8aiZVdylR51v7J-YohKddQu7EGx6LNfw8l0nnF0-WXgalBU3R7F72Dr_QhDAEOm8/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWM4W-MkZvaEiQ4RNO8kuzSM7HRJQEDTqTTTGsJlie2fIvTDQQHssoJ9RMq7RXBUm4mulfjVgaHR8aiZVdylR51v7J-YohKddQu7EGx6LNfw8l0nnF0-WXgalBU3R7F72Dr_QhDAEOm8/s320/Unknown.jpeg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did I mention this gem is sold by a Seattle-based company?<br />
Seriously - if you don't know about<br />
<a href="http://www.cascadedesigns.com/sealline/commute" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Cascade Designs</span></a> be sure to check them out!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
journey. There are about a jillion options out there - but in the end I opted for a <a href="http://www.cascadedesigns.com/sealline/commute" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Seal Line Commuter Tote</span></a> Chris had on hand for camping/riding trips. It was the best decision I could have made. This bag was practically custom made for India: waterproof and durable with limited pockets and adjustable straps. Best of all, it was comfortable enough I could hoof it around town without achy shoulders (and that's rare for someone who happens to be pocket-sized). The good (and bad) part about this bag is you can only enter it one way, so it does require space bags to stay organized. But that feature also makes it practically impossible to pickpocket. All around - two very enthusiastic thumbs up for this bag.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, due to the obscene number of souvenirs I purchased while venturing around India, I ended up buying a roller bag suitcase there as well - and that puppy was a giant pain in the kurta to lug around. Mostly because the roads in India are questionable and laden with all sorts of unmentionable disease vectors. Anyway, my advice would be to either show some self restraint by not purchasing the giant hand-sewn elephant quilt you eye at the market or plan ahead by packing a foldable duffle for souvenir overflow. <br />
<br />
I did neither - but regret nothing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-15473483878144224712016-03-11T00:21:00.003-08:002016-07-15T12:38:14.394-07:00New Delhi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqsw_ZG0SK_AyIWmsylVsvw1vdGSF3zoqbghSef4b1utDnA7WS9lUBTD3AjVSNsH_FjMS89jwLLs0cg97exc0d08IreDD2_3se4iiW7gUjFSuI6pkxo6SChO5NCsvrvyi1rool6kv6gM/s1600/IMG_7736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqsw_ZG0SK_AyIWmsylVsvw1vdGSF3zoqbghSef4b1utDnA7WS9lUBTD3AjVSNsH_FjMS89jwLLs0cg97exc0d08IreDD2_3se4iiW7gUjFSuI6pkxo6SChO5NCsvrvyi1rool6kv6gM/s320/IMG_7736.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made it to India!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's 4:30 in the morning Delhi time. I'm sitting cross legged on the cool marble floor of the guest house bathroom listening to a honking horn and street dog symphony just outside my window while attempting to make good use of the limited wifi signal and get caught up on writing. It has been four days and I still haven't fully adapted to the 12 hour time difference here. Though frankly, I seem to need less sleep - as though the energy of this vibrant city has somehow made its way into my veins.<br />
<br />
Delhi is like nothing I could have ever imagined.<br />
<br />
I touched down at DEL around 8 pm Saturday night, rummy from the long flight and bleary eyed due to my protesting, overworked contact lenses. Despite the haze and a stiff language barrier, I somehow managed to make my way through a gauntlet of finger printing, photos and signatures finally culminating in my very first passport stamp and a green light to enter the country. After months of trepidation and nearly 24 hours of travel time, I had finally made it to India.<br />
<br />
Just outside the airport I was met by Ashwani from Cross Cultural Solutions who instantly put me at<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivazdkpJBF_q2Jr2VGeAhEKuTBEFEDx1_o_hM1d_lp7i5r9vaRsLlR0NgzE1OGBmw4reqDgfoat94XRgfCCZ_GywSQ1WjCihP_NcyWCQKlTUzPDciB7Wurwa0FZ6r7QnWqf5zwm3e9EQg/s1600/IMG_7733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivazdkpJBF_q2Jr2VGeAhEKuTBEFEDx1_o_hM1d_lp7i5r9vaRsLlR0NgzE1OGBmw4reqDgfoat94XRgfCCZ_GywSQ1WjCihP_NcyWCQKlTUzPDciB7Wurwa0FZ6r7QnWqf5zwm3e9EQg/s320/IMG_7733.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first introduction to India traffic was...terrifying.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
ease with his gentle demeanor. He was well versed in wide eyed travelers and expertly guided me through the sea of brown eyes greeting passengers just outside the terminal, though he did chuckle softly when I tried to get in the wrong side of the car. Finally with all the grace of a rabid animal we made our way through the unnerving Delhi traffic, which is every bit as chaotic as its reputation has afforded. Drivers stare straight ahead and make decisions based purely on the sound of honking horns, which are incessant but necessary as a means of communication in an environment moving so fast it is impossible to see every danger. Like the rest of India, personal space is a luxury not often afforded and drivers travel in a fluid river of movement, with every space filled regardless of speed. Seeing my white knuckles, Ashwani assured me there were "lanes", though we both knew this was a sweet lie meant to ease my Western mind.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL9R_nT5LY9-oMhOnp7w3hNLxi25IzI1apHpphF-66z-NAie6eOMHgIdw8CDGAJbNWP1BNDnPhYHqmdhajyDApDCuM6KkxJaS4_XnAhWIQwqN2BRhtKZYLorJENSHLEGO49vCcMdgheo/s1600/IMG_8150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL9R_nT5LY9-oMhOnp7w3hNLxi25IzI1apHpphF-66z-NAie6eOMHgIdw8CDGAJbNWP1BNDnPhYHqmdhajyDApDCuM6KkxJaS4_XnAhWIQwqN2BRhtKZYLorJENSHLEGO49vCcMdgheo/s400/IMG_8150.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These guys take being a courier to a whole new level.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIt2u0-CNDMVeEEqihyDSqHe3KGweUJX5Rv8bHiqLh0xRXaJfnuafMLjkL0D4jJ-vOd6AbLH_XJKefkZvZx9WC2wHjU1Xpi_kfZPGfX_kYIec9IQ3fdLbh3uf6qmaFDo6cUgS2NuAn1ck/s1600/IMG_7941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIt2u0-CNDMVeEEqihyDSqHe3KGweUJX5Rv8bHiqLh0xRXaJfnuafMLjkL0D4jJ-vOd6AbLH_XJKefkZvZx9WC2wHjU1Xpi_kfZPGfX_kYIec9IQ3fdLbh3uf6qmaFDo6cUgS2NuAn1ck/s400/IMG_7941.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trucks are often elaborately decorated and all include<br />the same closely followed instruction: Blow Horn! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiS1gjdayk91x86HiRdC0SOX07BRn0KX4VwclDkGkIYzz3xF1WTqjPJemsNc05ApJ_TrbsMd0OpKWayVsuf5ycBeWYSILHkyeupmhyphenhyphenM2XNA_jyaRbhhkmRa-Whl9qbScaTbBAZ9VwW1r0/s1600/IMG_8149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiS1gjdayk91x86HiRdC0SOX07BRn0KX4VwclDkGkIYzz3xF1WTqjPJemsNc05ApJ_TrbsMd0OpKWayVsuf5ycBeWYSILHkyeupmhyphenhyphenM2XNA_jyaRbhhkmRa-Whl9qbScaTbBAZ9VwW1r0/s400/IMG_8149.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical street view.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Delhi driving is a total free for all populated by packed cars, ancient bicycles, precarious rickshaws and endless taxis. Motorcycles loaded up with entire families zip through traffic at death defying speeds - especially considering passengers sit side saddle and seem to hold on by will alone. One particularly shocking motorcycle held a family of four, including a baby, which gripped the gas tank like a tiny monkey clinging to its mothers fur. To add to my health care provider neurosis, helmets are uncommon and only required for the driver - though even this regulation is not often followed or enforced. But as shocking as the transit system appears to outside eyes, I've learned the accident rate here is relatively low. The noisy chaos works here because everyone moves to the same rhythm - and it was surprising to me just how easy it was to be lulled by this city's stride.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3Fn6bZwO9sv5aVTM4X0sf8F6WCvMVmvRbZL41Sh4nYJNsfxqzlME_j8IdsR4pB71ol9fAeBqadtDrofYcBov496Xb587_dhfwezLGOorIPUszWVzTFtoGjv7olRicQhMzSBYDK22apQ/s1600/IMG_7790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3Fn6bZwO9sv5aVTM4X0sf8F6WCvMVmvRbZL41Sh4nYJNsfxqzlME_j8IdsR4pB71ol9fAeBqadtDrofYcBov496Xb587_dhfwezLGOorIPUszWVzTFtoGjv7olRicQhMzSBYDK22apQ/s400/IMG_7790.JPG" width="383" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rickshaw - Coming in Hot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwIZocQOa0AszOP89GSLuQtOFs9rAzPKWIfOWu2B_jyYpE-qG0QEQNYT9YNxHxC2KWrjmhksPhvYaeNBlYKoMDJL_dVqFwTYkjyrvHZXTg3kW4KxGJp5-LVpKXANT39mzypoRXQ6r-8E/s1600/IMG_3067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwIZocQOa0AszOP89GSLuQtOFs9rAzPKWIfOWu2B_jyYpE-qG0QEQNYT9YNxHxC2KWrjmhksPhvYaeNBlYKoMDJL_dVqFwTYkjyrvHZXTg3kW4KxGJp5-LVpKXANT39mzypoRXQ6r-8E/s400/IMG_3067.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy cow (just to keep things interesting).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4udMLamFTiiiNWPYNx3jFRdV3KNP5VTmMXMw2a4kfwOEepxCHyHEOSHGnkikevnU98bnlT6YadsgyuoKrfrF2S5Nh4_CvX3J-bL2p6o7y4vlPuw0HCmmERxsrSKtLo-6wGetRNasl7w/s1600/IMG_7866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4udMLamFTiiiNWPYNx3jFRdV3KNP5VTmMXMw2a4kfwOEepxCHyHEOSHGnkikevnU98bnlT6YadsgyuoKrfrF2S5Nh4_CvX3J-bL2p6o7y4vlPuw0HCmmERxsrSKtLo-6wGetRNasl7w/s400/IMG_7866.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As a nurse, it made me cringe every time I saw families loaded onto a motorcycle without helmets - including babies.<br />There is a law that requires the motorcycle driver wear a helmet but even this is not closely followed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ashwani dropped me off safe and sound at the Guest House gate and I bid him good night as I traipsed in to meet the 12 strangers sharing this adventure into the unknown. Soon I would discover Delhi is a city which toes the line between unfathomable grace and utter devastation. It is a place mired in 7,000 years of ancient baggage and filled to the brim with tradition, dogma, color and sound. But all this would wait - first on the agenda was sleep.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQ_cyj_MFRNZgQBXv841OQkiVKypfm7K5of7H-BFD1hHj0KBZekL1HuNlW2BvyqFLJF8M1u6h3OG0DiiblzsLQDwAnvguB_Yu4b1Wxtm0ReSZzzLucme6kD0N0iw-_Ia84iud2HifBxY/s1600/IMG_2885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQ_cyj_MFRNZgQBXv841OQkiVKypfm7K5of7H-BFD1hHj0KBZekL1HuNlW2BvyqFLJF8M1u6h3OG0DiiblzsLQDwAnvguB_Yu4b1Wxtm0ReSZzzLucme6kD0N0iw-_Ia84iud2HifBxY/s400/IMG_2885.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Market Mayhem<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlWRcYRLpMvVpSBkvJN3zApl8tyjNIGVkY715dTq-JmaEwB4Rs18uu7P57-VJJObUAD02YMLNKQvuybSbTNU67BG5AcmZ4VAs-cX63oHvy-FM2L6g9jMyGQ_htKoQWYun9fqZwBF1MYM/s1600/IMG_3500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlWRcYRLpMvVpSBkvJN3zApl8tyjNIGVkY715dTq-JmaEwB4Rs18uu7P57-VJJObUAD02YMLNKQvuybSbTNU67BG5AcmZ4VAs-cX63oHvy-FM2L6g9jMyGQ_htKoQWYun9fqZwBF1MYM/s400/IMG_3500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the street - frogger style.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f1UDdOeudPxHLBHLF2osb8klG70Jig1CC2Hh36bYFxGR6zaB7S6a7PsykznBPi3wAdEyqCFA8mLVNw5yIGqdBLzposMRSKfjfUzzUIzk2XD8n8bHshjHCxPYuiGbl7WTXy_RKNGWqcI/s1600/IMG_3068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f1UDdOeudPxHLBHLF2osb8klG70Jig1CC2Hh36bYFxGR6zaB7S6a7PsykznBPi3wAdEyqCFA8mLVNw5yIGqdBLzposMRSKfjfUzzUIzk2XD8n8bHshjHCxPYuiGbl7WTXy_RKNGWqcI/s400/IMG_3068.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">India traffic reminds me of a Richard Scary children's book. Now to find Goldbug.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-37448594665542367322016-03-05T01:10:00.001-08:002016-07-15T12:56:30.317-07:00Emirates<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs09N_syU7eKLsiIYV_Z5nhBy4RNDHVLlBHz_RbFydozP4Es_n12B36b0TahM_L5Rp6qjiPGEEMDEIBV6w1U-gpeQzT6gUMts5Me6c2vdMPsOaZuB07TbPOTMeKIM_pyPGLgslnUHU1zE/s1600/IMG_7718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs09N_syU7eKLsiIYV_Z5nhBy4RNDHVLlBHz_RbFydozP4Es_n12B36b0TahM_L5Rp6qjiPGEEMDEIBV6w1U-gpeQzT6gUMts5Me6c2vdMPsOaZuB07TbPOTMeKIM_pyPGLgslnUHU1zE/s400/IMG_7718.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning flights are much more pleasant when<br />there are citrus infused hot towels waiting for you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Like many Americans these days, I am constantly on the look out for viable places to refuge should Donald Trump gain entry into the White House. I am happy to report I have added a new locale to this list - namely Seat 22E on Emirates flight EK228 with service to Dubai.<br />
<br />
This being my first international flight (and a daunting 17 hour flight time) I didn't<br />
know what to expect but I wasn't particularly looking forward to the forced downtime in cramped quarters. I shouldn't have worried. Frankly, I didn't know airline experiences like this existed outside of an episode of Mad Men - minus the misogyny and cigar smoke of course.<br />
<br />
First off, let me assure you I did not splurge on this flight. I chose a seat firmly in the Economy class, and the round trip ticket only set me back about $1,000 - not too shabby considering I am literally traveling half way around the world. <br />
<br />
I think it's important to talk about this, because it's easy to believe travel - especially international travel - is unattainable due to cost, inconvenience or even risk. I know, because I was squarely in this camp until about a year ago. But I've found if you want to do something big - travel the world, write a book, change careers or whatever your quiet dream happens to be - it will not happen until you decide to make it happen. It will never be the "right" time, you will never have "enough" money and it will never feel less scary. But I promise you, it can be done and it will be worth it. I'll save the Zen talks for India, but in my experience, if you start walking, the way will open up. <br />
<br />
Now, back to what's happening in seat 22E.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRq1zOVGkvoI3quPrcaqS2isV6Av743DD3ebhrfpyxfkGsOlfZ1GYikfTvpYe0_iYsZ1X3HOi4NBaWg1Kl_DXLP2_uD5CJup7pdvBHsuEDpgMe7qXnDdSbbHfBUd5Eh7lQSk6QlPbDJX4/s1600/IMG_7725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRq1zOVGkvoI3quPrcaqS2isV6Av743DD3ebhrfpyxfkGsOlfZ1GYikfTvpYe0_iYsZ1X3HOi4NBaWg1Kl_DXLP2_uD5CJup7pdvBHsuEDpgMe7qXnDdSbbHfBUd5Eh7lQSk6QlPbDJX4/s320/IMG_7725.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Text message convo with my sister in law - <br />because I'm classy like that.</td></tr>
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<br />
So, what exactly does the "Economy" experience with Emirates look like? Glad you asked. Really glad. Because right now I'm watching the sun rise somewhere far, far above Russia and trying hard not to make loud exclamations about how amazing this freaking airline is. But, as none of the other passengers seem to even be raising an eyebrow, I'll play it cool on my tiny laptop instead.<br />
<br />
Emirates clearly strives for a "wow" factor right away and the boarding process was punctuated with pilots, copilots and staff waiting to greet passengers. (As a side note, in typical Heather form, when a pilot held out his hand to take my ticket and tell me where to sit, I thought he was trying to shake my hand - and so I awkwardly did. Thank goodness he didn't "air kiss" my cheek or there could have been an international incident right off the bat). Finally, I was directed to my seat which was stuffed with a blanket, pillow and headphones. Each seat has its own television with retractable remote as well as USB and plug in - a must for such a long flight. Free WiFi is available but it's spotty at best though the television and movie options are phenomenal (I'm watching the new Star Wars movie right now - Teague was right, <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYK21_mtPqB3iseCLWJm_RjtIrXKcDOOSZ9EvaInEm_H67Un7k1I2CCJuHcnkFIiBhmXpFlgdS3sdCDFDJ-7H3XjXrKa55ONi1cQ7j8Sj9e1z6jZNYXVUE0Cj2BxBclb_DvjodQqSnjQ/s1600/IMG_7723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYK21_mtPqB3iseCLWJm_RjtIrXKcDOOSZ9EvaInEm_H67Un7k1I2CCJuHcnkFIiBhmXpFlgdS3sdCDFDJ-7H3XjXrKa55ONi1cQ7j8Sj9e1z6jZNYXVUE0Cj2BxBclb_DvjodQqSnjQ/s320/IMG_7723.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Menu. *sigh*</td></tr>
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BB8 is pretty cute). They also have a huge international selection, music and podcasts.<br />
<br />
We were still waiting to exit the Tarmac when we were provided with the first of three hot towels that smelled like lemons, a gift bag with fuzzy socks, eye mask and a travel tooth brush as well as the menu which included multi-course options with specialty selections for dietary or religious restrictions. Once up in the air, the service was continued with frequent food and drink offerings by the stewardesses. Meals are very good, plentiful and actually nutritious but should you want an extra snack all you have to do is ask. There is a small kitchenette at the back of the plane where you can request fresh fruit, sandwiches and candy bars. Beer and wine are also gratis and champagne is available for a small fee. Just watching a staff member walk down the isle induces a Pavlovian effect and I've probably gained five pounds over the duration of the flight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcAEwA8AIrAXDqWgwYvcCP8NfiCiKCucBOXTvWvhC2xwLbDdbpw7hIm088EmEURZ0FOSLpn4fOXmhpsM4ANfpG4ghZ7Z0sCZ6PJz3hZqb1ciLbTIJixsuRmc2riH0g2lewm7JFaaAShOo/s1600/IMG_7726+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcAEwA8AIrAXDqWgwYvcCP8NfiCiKCucBOXTvWvhC2xwLbDdbpw7hIm088EmEURZ0FOSLpn4fOXmhpsM4ANfpG4ghZ7Z0sCZ6PJz3hZqb1ciLbTIJixsuRmc2riH0g2lewm7JFaaAShOo/s320/IMG_7726+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite part of the trip was being able to watch our<br />progress in real time. I had a glass of wine above the North Pole.<br />You also have the option of changing the screen to view from<br />cameras beneath the plane.</td></tr>
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Should you have slightly deeper pockets, an upgrade to Business Class (visible through a crack in the drawn curtains separating the front of the plane) would earn twice the space, bigger television screens and a "bed" that completely reclines. The meal choices are more elaborate, champagne is included and if you ask for a glass of wine they bring out an entire bottle (According to my seat mate who had the great "misfortune" of being upgraded on his first flight with Emirates and is now spoiled for life).<br />
<br />
First Class passengers board separately through a mysterious hallway where they are seated in individual rooms and enjoy services I can only imagine must include a personal chef, mani/pedi and a hand job. For $5,000 a ticket I would certainly hope so.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBA90GejjBerzygzpiWZ4lwLOhncpp8x6Jm1H9nGGDHTtNEoNI7ztAf-5LRACIRrE9ER44pK2V5coVjNSFLbdoVHgtmDwp3pbm2Pe0_1Cm8G-mbzLAhKS3lzdMcpeWZMqaUqTSAYH_lpk/s1600/IMG_7728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBA90GejjBerzygzpiWZ4lwLOhncpp8x6Jm1H9nGGDHTtNEoNI7ztAf-5LRACIRrE9ER44pK2V5coVjNSFLbdoVHgtmDwp3pbm2Pe0_1Cm8G-mbzLAhKS3lzdMcpeWZMqaUqTSAYH_lpk/s200/IMG_7728.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dubai from the sky.</td></tr>
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To round it out, thus far my adventure is off to a luxurious start which may turn me into an unbearable wench on my next flight with Southwest. But for now I'm enjoying being spoiled before the culture shock waiting at my destination and placing my breakfast order of fresh fruit, potato frittata, croissant and hot tea.<br />
<br />
Heck, it's a long flight - might as well be comfortable.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-60210652177704877602016-01-30T10:31:00.002-08:002016-01-30T17:24:24.996-08:00What Dreams May Come.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What dreams may come.</td></tr>
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I have always had a rather overactive subconscious. My dreams are vivid and complex experiences - set to music or even spoken in foreign languages that slip away the moment consciousness creeps back in. But they took a decidedly sinister turn in the days when poison and fear laced through my veins. Soon I came to dread the sleep I so desperately needed.<br />
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I began recording my dreams at the suggestion of my therapist - though saying the words out loud would often induce great heaving sobs which would continue the rest of our scheduled session. Reading these accounts years later, I cannot fathom how I managed to find the strength to continue through treatment. The only explanation is I knew no other way.<br />
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***<br />
Day 2 post chemo: The wasps plagued me through the night once again. Heaving bodies crawling across vulnerable flesh. Never stinging but ever present. They are an oddly morbid presence with often gruesome attributes - some with wings ripped from their bodies. And crawling. Always crawling.<br />
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<br />
Week 3 post chemo: I dreamt I found a small duck with a broken neck covered in oily sludge. I cared for it, gingerly bringing it down to the river to swim. The weight of its flaccid head dragged it under over and over again, in effect drowning it with the cure. I refused to give up, could not let it go, yet could not bring myself to kill it. I kept holding out hope that its neck would heal if only I could let it swim in the water.<br />
<br />
I awoke and knew it would die.<br />
<br />
****<br />
At the time I was going through treatment I would have never dared to talk about the dreams that held me hostage each night and exposed this inner angst. While still so close to the fire it felt a dangerous invitation to give these fears a name - and it was clear my subconscious was not as sure footed as I liked to believe I appeared.<br />
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I share this with you now because I recently began journaling my dreams once again, as I've found when I record the messages from my subconscious I am somehow able to be free of them. And thankfully, the terrors which once held me captive have been replaced by much more comforting <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-IyIBknym2o3YK5zWUMEm4-Re3FrDx0FVI6AAGcYctnQ6yUabIh7IfwiFT8wngNvQEX4ciPh5pN-iiUhgYs55KMipI6LF0GPXzywRvCS_tGMcnv_LL2Ak7FD7od4rzLTXASJhkiGUCU/s1600/IMG_7443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-IyIBknym2o3YK5zWUMEm4-Re3FrDx0FVI6AAGcYctnQ6yUabIh7IfwiFT8wngNvQEX4ciPh5pN-iiUhgYs55KMipI6LF0GPXzywRvCS_tGMcnv_LL2Ak7FD7od4rzLTXASJhkiGUCU/s320/IMG_7443.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little boy, big dreams.</td></tr>
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imagery.<br />
<br />
January 2016: I dreamt I was pregnant with a baby girl. She lay still within my body but I knew she was merely resting. Then I felt her jointed movement stir. I looked down to check on her and my skin became translucent - lit from within. There she was - a tiny perfect beauty swimming in a saline sea, eyes closed in restful waiting, dark hair swirling all around. <br />
<br />
She is content to wait until her time. There is no rush to this process. It is nearly time to be born.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
It is no secret our family endured some trying times over the last few years. But while I wish our steel-y backbones were not forged through such intense flame, I am endlessly proud of how far we have come - and the way we have chosen to mark our path. This is, in no small part, due to being born to a family deeply rooted in reinvention and the importance of togetherness.<br />
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<br />
And so, on one of the first snowy evenings in January, our family (complete with my lovely new <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkkxzyPlbCHLwkv6ucMGTW-Dz6VGk8Ep8BsH-LM6TL6dDKZ8In5FtObZRFVhYu8jb1Zn4_9MXbhOviJZ2rSYT1fUGnbgC4oy6ttI5ngoF0dkqT6IpURmxIN0sFtsgdlauIiKfiQhGA4E/s1600/IMG_7454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkkxzyPlbCHLwkv6ucMGTW-Dz6VGk8Ep8BsH-LM6TL6dDKZ8In5FtObZRFVhYu8jb1Zn4_9MXbhOviJZ2rSYT1fUGnbgC4oy6ttI5ngoF0dkqT6IpURmxIN0sFtsgdlauIiKfiQhGA4E/s320/IMG_7454.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><i>Little by little, one travels far. - J.R.R. Tolkien</i></span></td></tr>
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sister-in-law) decided to build a new tradition - a tradition of hope. Armed with our dreams and a cocktail or two, we set off into the frosty orchard which envelopes my childhood home. Here we lit Japanese lanterns, along with our wishes for the new year until they filled the air and probably confused the neighbors.<br />
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And though it was a little dicey until we got the hang of lighting the tissue paper and twine contraptions, I am happy to report not a single hope or dream went up in a flaming ball of fire that night. <br />
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All things considered, we took that as a win. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-47941302013617811132016-01-21T21:54:00.001-08:002016-01-22T18:12:07.768-08:00Carpe Diem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If ever there was a time to panic, it would probably be now. <br />
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With less than two months to go before embarking on the trip of a lifetime, I have yet to determine accommodations for a third of my stay in India. I also have not figured out how I will make my way from city to city, in a foreign land where I do not speak the language. To make matters worse, in India, meeting even basic needs will be at best unfamiliar and at worst, downright hostile. As a result I've become completely fixated on avoiding "Delhi Belly" (the cutesy nickname for the not so cute gastrointestinal disorders afflicting anyone unlucky enough to drink the water in New Dehli) and use an Indian bathroom (or what I refer to as the original "squatty potty") without managing to get myself into a - literally- crappy situation. <br />
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There are vaccines to receive, visas to obtain and a particularly rousing game of "life" whack-a-mole to play as I attempt to stabilize the rest of my world long enough to discover my place in it once again.<br />
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To put it lightly, I'm in over my head. <br />
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But thankfully, I also happen to know the value of allowing a story to unfold- in both the literal and figurative sense.<br />
<br />
In the medical world we don't often discuss how little control we have over the outcomes of the people we devote our careers to helping. We create endless lists of codes to categorize and make sense of each diagnosis as though naming an ailment will somehow give us power against it. Yet for all the knowledge we compile, we fall down the rabbit hole of misdiagnosis with patients more often than not. And anyone who has spent much time behind hospital doors will tell you - this is far from a perfect science. In fact, though we rarely admit to this, the very best the medical world can possibly provide for a patient is simply the provision of optimal conditions<i> so that the body may heal itself. </i><br />
<br />
And just when you think you have it all figured out, a patient will prove you wrong and survive insurmountable odds or succumb with the odds in their favor. The challenge, for those who devote their lives to the medical field, is not in being able to control every outcome - but rather to acknowledge that we cannot.<br />
<br />
In medicine - and in life - sometimes the very best way to care for someone is to allow them to heal themselves. It is there, in the space you hold for them that their story is able to unfold - whether or not it is in the direction you believed it would go. <br />
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*****</div>
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It's been said every journey has three legs - the trip you plan, the trip you take and the trip you remember. The trick is making sure these never overlap. So as I continue to work out the details of the first leg of my journey to India, I will leave you with memories of another.<br />
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Two years ago in November, my lovely parents surprised our family with a trip to San Diego where we rented a house on the beach and soaked up the sun with the ones we love best. It was a blissful reprieve from the demands of the of the world and we loved every minute of it (except the traffic - that we could do without). The respite would prove to be even more poignant when soon after this my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and we were faced with dark fears once again. <br />
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But this - this is what I remember of those precious stolen days between the sand and sea. And because it's looking pretty January out my window right now, I thought you might enjoy reminiscing along with me. Enjoy. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Blue.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good Morning Encinitas!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTI5g5CQ7HM6pzb1VqYBQeyxuWupCqlsIzWckJMcKtt6_3IvImgv6_Fx0UwZ6uwdKIvmCXhazOS55ZRsboNHgbyDen2ajGDptrQGSZW3xSpw02Gs6HBX_D9vHDO8EEkVThkvwK6P2yA8/s1600/IMG_3544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTI5g5CQ7HM6pzb1VqYBQeyxuWupCqlsIzWckJMcKtt6_3IvImgv6_Fx0UwZ6uwdKIvmCXhazOS55ZRsboNHgbyDen2ajGDptrQGSZW3xSpw02Gs6HBX_D9vHDO8EEkVThkvwK6P2yA8/s400/IMG_3544.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You will find me where the sand meets the sea.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5rWodWUQG5s6D-BdpmA_GZ6R-wDMny7Bo83eLz6WpWTReyHGypqzHmoueMKpLlOkrtOM9McLx11pSWLPxvuQA6MTxymgpfo_-3Fxxt3SjpDT5sX_jBlvVlIZQtIszIvkm23NMClTlLk/s1600/IMG_3643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5rWodWUQG5s6D-BdpmA_GZ6R-wDMny7Bo83eLz6WpWTReyHGypqzHmoueMKpLlOkrtOM9McLx11pSWLPxvuQA6MTxymgpfo_-3Fxxt3SjpDT5sX_jBlvVlIZQtIszIvkm23NMClTlLk/s320/IMG_3643.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Locals.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oQeznrB2SScBElL4bAXfDseyiSf5Mg0U5ucmWYowU72alwLu5YcckcQiEccKb1rAT34YC8-CwFrbGsf3vxtIMVMMQATuusQPHD3_X-O4PwdbZmvs6QPskXnGxdHml6sguUemN9SpmHI/s1600/IMG_3545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oQeznrB2SScBElL4bAXfDseyiSf5Mg0U5ucmWYowU72alwLu5YcckcQiEccKb1rAT34YC8-CwFrbGsf3vxtIMVMMQATuusQPHD3_X-O4PwdbZmvs6QPskXnGxdHml6sguUemN9SpmHI/s400/IMG_3545.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catching up on Vitamin D.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UQVmvoW3IPHrGKZoUNX23sceVOFfz0oINDLkuNNyPFmuumuq0ULeH1vT8NXAflb403MysI-D_Cm2aRyM0jkmlImlbN1RuSveKakqtcf6ZJfH8J595xE_MuLDyDbw9gfMGZJNUAPk5sg/s1600/IMG_5447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UQVmvoW3IPHrGKZoUNX23sceVOFfz0oINDLkuNNyPFmuumuq0ULeH1vT8NXAflb403MysI-D_Cm2aRyM0jkmlImlbN1RuSveKakqtcf6ZJfH8J595xE_MuLDyDbw9gfMGZJNUAPk5sg/s400/IMG_5447.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPS5Rm5MSYkObQj6HzRrcx05LdZ3eU99nV1VrvI6MJOQxIeLDPkSRRivb-J19oziijpQMKRtRlLrAX6h_6F-St6orRMsyhi5rtyFol41YgqWaFj8sYjtfZhFgds9b18I-HrBP8f-ONUM/s1600/IMG_3548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPS5Rm5MSYkObQj6HzRrcx05LdZ3eU99nV1VrvI6MJOQxIeLDPkSRRivb-J19oziijpQMKRtRlLrAX6h_6F-St6orRMsyhi5rtyFol41YgqWaFj8sYjtfZhFgds9b18I-HrBP8f-ONUM/s400/IMG_3548.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet yoga moves with J & B.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaebQ4ceRagoyjxg0M37v7_MD7b1S8Ny0z9znIm91YDSmiJhJ8dtl1as_3QJs0jtu0MGmX7K1MBUjfc-o6O4LvgY31UbI9HTmJRMWWjoxqw-qvBrCI1E13cw2nCFt-JZgDkwodpqhmVzo/s1600/IMG_5227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaebQ4ceRagoyjxg0M37v7_MD7b1S8Ny0z9znIm91YDSmiJhJ8dtl1as_3QJs0jtu0MGmX7K1MBUjfc-o6O4LvgY31UbI9HTmJRMWWjoxqw-qvBrCI1E13cw2nCFt-JZgDkwodpqhmVzo/s640/IMG_5227.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjna1cML_r7Gw-RK6AIcgdSct4KARxIR_nDvefxvbHKJrm7wFwzyMZmHmj22R9cVN33Z_ZbRL5k8m4yRgDzamQt6BmjuUtmztBKz2SrsKBlRKh5chkd5y7NoMihDfOOAF06EBrTDk0-_rg/s1600/IMG_5353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjna1cML_r7Gw-RK6AIcgdSct4KARxIR_nDvefxvbHKJrm7wFwzyMZmHmj22R9cVN33Z_ZbRL5k8m4yRgDzamQt6BmjuUtmztBKz2SrsKBlRKh5chkd5y7NoMihDfOOAF06EBrTDk0-_rg/s400/IMG_5353.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The winter sunsets were unlike anything I've ever seen. <br />
These photos are completely untouched. No filter needed.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UBVfaJU_eJuRd5pCEhwOn710_weQ56zrhsL5s9bNnrr_9Tzbh_zAptwiJSPB7mUh1Ko44KjCrwisFPZJRt26uT65JDxzWjZeyF8CJq1cSDnaVNtSYHtoI2M2DrUBgbDoJyl6NLmVvTc/s1600/IMG_3888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UBVfaJU_eJuRd5pCEhwOn710_weQ56zrhsL5s9bNnrr_9Tzbh_zAptwiJSPB7mUh1Ko44KjCrwisFPZJRt26uT65JDxzWjZeyF8CJq1cSDnaVNtSYHtoI2M2DrUBgbDoJyl6NLmVvTc/s400/IMG_3888.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-Jw9tf7HvzDO3S5t8vDd5qJj_WxfjiyaCbgxq8l6jwUi4YaX9ykS9eqoR6qSoeD38D2sDlcJK06vKKbCD1MKVZ2Rtog0CUg2j4OBTxqbILg3YJ54X-C_vnUx7sVYEJmfbBmK9LNtW4I/s1600/IMG_5274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-Jw9tf7HvzDO3S5t8vDd5qJj_WxfjiyaCbgxq8l6jwUi4YaX9ykS9eqoR6qSoeD38D2sDlcJK06vKKbCD1MKVZ2Rtog0CUg2j4OBTxqbILg3YJ54X-C_vnUx7sVYEJmfbBmK9LNtW4I/s400/IMG_5274.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears or the ocean.<br />
~Isak Dinesen</td></tr>
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</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-67048837807482011362015-12-03T11:50:00.003-08:002015-12-03T18:09:44.424-08:00Optimism: The Road Less Travelled.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-CDMTZif0064d19SVINsMHgO20DM-eCAuLgPN1iwQakNK3mTzlLVU4K6mdYQsBMIcOm1lZLS26_aFSBvGK_F-ISj3whFxOd_oKIbfD6CkFy_lAm4G-YXXm14596n-WyJnEMxq1VpRmE/s1600/%2522Darkness+cannot+drive+out+darkness%253B+only+light+can+do+that.+Hate+cannot+drive+out+hate%253B+only+love+can+do+that.%2522-+Martin+Luther+King+JR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-CDMTZif0064d19SVINsMHgO20DM-eCAuLgPN1iwQakNK3mTzlLVU4K6mdYQsBMIcOm1lZLS26_aFSBvGK_F-ISj3whFxOd_oKIbfD6CkFy_lAm4G-YXXm14596n-WyJnEMxq1VpRmE/s320/%2522Darkness+cannot+drive+out+darkness%253B+only+light+can+do+that.+Hate+cannot+drive+out+hate%253B+only+love+can+do+that.%2522-+Martin+Luther+King+JR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donations can still be made to my CrowdRise account <br />
and are much appreciated!<br />
Here's the <span style="color: red;"><a href="https://www.crowdrise.com/afreshchapterindia/fundraiser/heathercaro" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">link</span></a>.</span></td></tr>
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For those of you who don't know this, I grew up in a very small town. In fact, if you listen to John Mellencamp's "Small Town" he was probably singing about the slightly larger neighboring town near the town where I grew up. <br />
<br />
Want more proof? My husband's high school graduating class was larger than the entire population of the town where I grew up and I already had kids of my own when the first stoplight went in. (The stoplight was pretty big news at the time and whether or not it is necessary still gets brought up in regular conversation. Spoiler alert - not really.) <br />
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Though I never would have admitted it at the time, a childhood spent in Smalltown, USA helped shape the way I see the world - and my place in it. But nowhere are these roots revealed more clearly than through my navigational skills. For you see, the world I grew up in was a place where if ever I found myself lost - and drove/walked/rode my horse far enough - <i>I would eventually find what I was looking for. </i><br />
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To be truthful, the misguided belief in my own innate ability to "find my way" is not particularly helpful when navigating cities with more complex roadway systems than what I am accustomed to - which is, you know, <i>everywhere</i>. But it turns out, believing you will eventually get to where you need to go (even when you aren't certain you started out on the right road) is a pretty great way to <em>get through life</em>. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimQM84ipU9MF7ONfP-BXU1dQ9dXKq3PziY-Z4ZGvN9TR1Poxg9PmDR4kXrTkYDKREkdQQeAPpw84S2mzsDBF_pWeEFrlsETWRcF_1OpckiUqJTkQvANA0384aVYML7O3mMx6MIsLIT48o/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-08-09+at+8.46.26+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimQM84ipU9MF7ONfP-BXU1dQ9dXKq3PziY-Z4ZGvN9TR1Poxg9PmDR4kXrTkYDKREkdQQeAPpw84S2mzsDBF_pWeEFrlsETWRcF_1OpckiUqJTkQvANA0384aVYML7O3mMx6MIsLIT48o/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-08-09+at+8.46.26+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Light and love with the not-so-littles.</td></tr>
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I share this with you now because, given the state of our collective news feeds (HOW is DonaldTrump still a viable presidential candidate at this point??!?) we could probably <em>all</em> use a little inspiration. And something pretty amazing happened this week that I can't in good conscience keep to myself.<br />
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The last month has been a busy one here at Casa de Caro. I put together a <a href="http://www.mylifedistilled.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">new website</span></a><span style="color: red;">,</span> checked a few items off my travel to-do list, and most importantly I began fund raising my face off to <a href="http://www.mylifedistilled.blogspot.com/2015/11/turning-page-of-fresh-chapter.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">be</span> <span style="color: red;">able to volunteer in India with A Fresh Chapter</span></a><span style="color: red;">.</span> <br />
<br />
Frankly, this process has not exactly been an easy one for me. It turns out it is <i>really uncomfortable</i> to ask people for stuff - especially when that stuff is money. But as I often say - it takes a village to get through something as big as cancer, and survivorship is no different. <br />
<br />
Despite my discomfort, all month long I've been amazed by the wonderful people who have contributed to this crazy dream of mine - and especially by the notes sent of encouragement, gratitude and even remembrance of those lost to this disease. Friends, loved ones and fellow advocates have filled me with enough optimism about the human spirit to sustain me through a thousand Trump presidential campaigns (and that's saying something).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTyG0iN-H4RiFEr0t0PpeAdDgk069Mfcw-Y-i95tG1mFCpdNqCWezI-nMvA4SkKMxdVVvl4-k7WsUZ_059_2Tjtb0QsbOWCtPztTkNyWief9T6zUxs86yVKA9oBWnmmwni5R2jDy7gSI/s1600/Fill+your+bowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTyG0iN-H4RiFEr0t0PpeAdDgk069Mfcw-Y-i95tG1mFCpdNqCWezI-nMvA4SkKMxdVVvl4-k7WsUZ_059_2Tjtb0QsbOWCtPztTkNyWief9T6zUxs86yVKA9oBWnmmwni5R2jDy7gSI/s320/Fill+your+bowl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Need a little optimism right about now? <br />
We have you covered.</td></tr>
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Then, on Monday - the last "official" day of my CrowdRise campaign - something happened which caused me to instantly dissolve into a puddle of tears at my desk. <em>I received an anonymous donation of $3,500 - putting me slightly over the $5,000 I needed to cover the program costs.</em> <br />
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(**Side Note: Although this generous donation was made anonymously, I was notified through CrowdRise who had made it. Incredibly, not only was it someone I have <em>never met</em>, but when I sat down to write a tearful thank you to the person who had just made my dream come true, their response was simply: "No thanks necessary. Live joyously." If there has <em>ever been</em> a more profound statement of giving, I've not yet heard it. May we all live with such a mantra.)<br />
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This means I've managed to reach my goal - even before our big Fill Your Bowl, Feed Your Soul fund raiser event set for this weekend. It means that not only is my insanely big, amazing dream attainable - <em>it is happening - </em>and it's all thanks to my incredible, supportive tribe! <br />
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<em>So there you have it folks - humbling, indisputable proof that humans ARE amazing, that there IS goodness to be found in this world and that if you SAY YES to your dreams, the way will open up to you. The hardest part is being brave enough to say "yes".</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>****</em><br />
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With this recent turn of events, we've decided to switch fund raising gears a bit on Saturday. Although I still need to raise money to pay for my plane ticket to India (and those suckers aren't cheap!), all additional proceeds <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6w8JAl2Qa7pzwC3o67mT-D71qmQiF39T_oVDRz_X01wfS-uscdfjU9IB7V_QVmeIleKKTMNMhEbRV0gDjLarU2JuXQRo8Br0aIDK-dsgGndSyAvilYDGjVTVofUupPJaE9TUruLJ6Vg/s1600/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6w8JAl2Qa7pzwC3o67mT-D71qmQiF39T_oVDRz_X01wfS-uscdfjU9IB7V_QVmeIleKKTMNMhEbRV0gDjLarU2JuXQRo8Br0aIDK-dsgGndSyAvilYDGjVTVofUupPJaE9TUruLJ6Vg/s320/1.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These brochures went up all over town - <br />
bald head and all!</td></tr>
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received from the event will be donated to two very worthy cancer related causes:<br />
<br />
* Half of the money raised after my travel costs will go back to <a href="http://www.afreshchapter.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">A Fresh Chapter</span></a> in order to help someone else affected by cancer create a positive ripple effect in the world. <br />
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* The other half of the proceeds will be donated to <a href="http://www.metavivor.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Metavivor</span></a> - an organization which directly funds metastatic cancer research. As a reminder, around 30% of all early stage breast cancers will eventually return as metastatic disease. Metastatic breast cancer is fatal and though it is the only type of breast cancer that kills, currently only 3% of research funds are dedicated to metastatic disease. This organization is working to change that.<br />
<br />
The donation to Metavivor will be made in memory of Bonnie Myers, my dear friend Bret's mother, who lost her life to triple negative breast cancer this year. We love and miss you so.<br />
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****<br />
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So if you are free Saturday, please join us for an inspiring evening of community, light and love. With any luck we should have enough soup to fill your belly and silent auction items to fill your stockings. But more importantly, we will have plenty of hope and optimism to renew your soul. (No matter what your facebook feed throws at you this week.)<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-84455066996489566432015-11-01T16:46:00.002-08:002015-11-01T16:53:07.509-08:00Turning the Page of a Fresh Chapter.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Throughout the long days and nights of cancer treatment I often fantasized about crossing the finish line. I imagined how victorious I would feel after completing the last of the seemingly endless surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation treatments. </div>
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But to my great surprise, when the end of treatment <i>finally arrived</i> I felt far from from victorious. And as my friends and loved ones gathered at my favorite restaurant to celebrate - I cried in the bathroom and begged my husband not to make me go. With a ten-year follow up schedule in hand, celebrating the end of cancer seemed both ludicrous and premature - perhaps even an invitation for fate to smite me once again. <br />
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I had trained for a 5k then discovered I was running a marathon. And somewhere along the line I realized the elusive finish line at the end of cancer treatment is merely an illusion. Today, three years after my diagnosis the weighty truth is - this will never end for me.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEz5ZGmNKoHue4ha7g1EVYNOz2hB6oW1YvU7hWRPdnKrkklp15vAd2o0atQ7noQN3cwa6efWDcyczXb-Nr6dllRV9watuQUAxX5-nyy7F26DdFxbN_ioO9Btsl4MN6Ov7fk_MnG_qG4BU/s320/54168_article_full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How "survivor" feels.</td></tr>
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There are many side effects associated with the treatments I have endured. Chronic pain, memory loss, premature menopause, and osteopenia punctuate my H&P's these days. And as much as I would like to tell you otherwise, I'm not completely out of the woods with this diagnosis. </div>
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<i>Thirty percent</i> of breast cancer patients will go on to develop metastatic disease which is fatal and has no cure. This means I must stay vigilantly aware of twinges of pain, lingering cough or fatigue which could signal the return of disease - effectively keeping me captive in a body that once betrayed.</div>
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But the heaviest burdens come from watching my friends and family struggle with their own cancer diagnosis - knowing I can do nothing to save them from this fate. And the nearly unbearable grief as voice after voice is forever silenced by this disease while seeing my own children's eyes in the family left behind. </div>
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There is no "finish line" with cancer. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either delusional or trying to protect you. And unlike active treatment - when roads are lined with well wishers - the post treatment course is often traveled alone.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FCFTGIU68u_sqGZvuqV8rYesv0dI3zsM04gja0WjhgywvEznCZOjGvUoKksBkrNi6JQ5hBxsm26nXtVT7-ynUZfDeZ-nO_Rrq5t3urXnalAykZ-_gNoV97t67I0QXyGN_51ZOO0O0Dc/s1600/l-96826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FCFTGIU68u_sqGZvuqV8rYesv0dI3zsM04gja0WjhgywvEznCZOjGvUoKksBkrNi6JQ5hBxsm26nXtVT7-ynUZfDeZ-nO_Rrq5t3urXnalAykZ-_gNoV97t67I0QXyGN_51ZOO0O0Dc/s320/l-96826.jpg" width="271" /></a></div>
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But although I did not choose this road - I <i>can</i> determine my stride and the impact I make along the way. <span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Which always requires stepping out of my own comfort zone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">This leads me to my latest venture into </span><strike style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">scaring the heck out of myself</strike><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">personal growth </span><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> - an extraordinary trip with <a href="http://www.afreshchapter.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">A Fresh Chapter. </span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">This March I have been selected to join a small group of people who have experienced cancer on a humanitarian partnership in India. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Once we arrive in New Dehli we will join with <b>Cross-Cultural Solutions</b> - an organization that places volunteers depending on interest and experience with local community projects such as teaching English in underfunded schools or working at <b>Mother Teresa's Home for the Destitute and Dying</b> (Fingers crossed there is a good chance this is where I will be).</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">For two weeks we will volunteer in some of the most poverty stricken areas of the world while serving as cancer ambassadors in an area where cancer is often associated with secrecy, shame and stigma. In the afternoon we will (safely) experience the vibrant culture of India - sip chai with fellow cancer survivors, experience the Color Festival and watch the sun rise over the <b>Taj Majal. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">It is a once in a lifetime experience. Frankly, the idea of participating in this program simultaneously terrifies me and is all I can think about. I've never travelled internationally - let alone with strangers to such desperate conditions. I also will need to fund raise my heart out in order to be able to finance this crazy venture.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">But I also know big dreams <i>should</i> scare you a little - t</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">hat's the place where you grow. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And simply changing one's perspective can be a powerful catalyst.</span><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> <i>I should know.</i> </span><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I've been able to reach more people and create more change than I ever imagined possible through simply sharing my journey from nurse to patient. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">So perhaps it is fitting the next phase in my recovery would also begin with a journey. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.crowdrise.com/afreshchapterindia/fundraiser/heathercaro" style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Click here to donate.</span></a><span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="color: red; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><i><b>Please consider making a donation to help me turn the page to my own fresh chapter. Any amount helps </b>(fund raising deadlines are closing in fast)<b> and I appreciate it more than you could know. </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">A Fresh Chapter (Alliance Foundation) is a Project in affiliation with Social and Environmental Entrepreneurs (SEE) a non profit public charity exempt from federal income tax under Section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code. Donations will be used to cover program related costs and all US Donations of $100+ are eligible for a tax receipt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Thank you for your support!</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-2793197513415574722015-10-23T22:33:00.003-07:002015-12-03T18:33:41.090-08:00The (Political) Games We Play.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojP_10h0gJGCvyfQUmZseTPvGY-vj01bBAqoKgGKVcQl1DANhoPmmLc3PkaSz4ZcJZx1R1Q1_E0Pi-3JcMdIOOdxamer3Ok6fPluLr7bscrObGZa50_hPkdXbc919r-HiaG5_uLsU-bs/s1600/IMG_6392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojP_10h0gJGCvyfQUmZseTPvGY-vj01bBAqoKgGKVcQl1DANhoPmmLc3PkaSz4ZcJZx1R1Q1_E0Pi-3JcMdIOOdxamer3Ok6fPluLr7bscrObGZa50_hPkdXbc919r-HiaG5_uLsU-bs/s320/IMG_6392.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under construction - seems about right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If there are two topics that go well together it is politicians and rectums - <i>amiright folks</i>?<br />
<br />
But, seriously.<br />
<br />
What if I were to tell you <i>bipartisan politicians and the rectums of the elderly are locked in an epic battle on Capitol Hill even as I write this</i>? While you attempt to scrub that image out of your brain, let me explain. <br />
<br />
Once upon a time, there was a little ole' piece of legislation which ensured Americans across the land received access to health care screenings. Or at least that was the idea. Once this legislation was decreed (Let's call it Snowshama Pear) cancer screenings such as mammograms and colonoscopies were offered to patients <i>without a co-pay</i>.<br />
<br />
You know - because the citizens of the land generally had better outcomes if they were healthy. And healthy people cost the other citizens less money to take care of in the grand scheme of things. <br />
<br />
Anyhoo, thanks to <i>Shoshama Pear</i> and regularly scheduled colonoscopies, many happy colons were eventually liberated of perilous polyps - thus thwarting the evil colorectal cancer. <br />
<br />
<i>The End.</i><br />
<br />
Or at least that's how the story was supposed to go.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4ycvvcGfYQ8iHvBT1Mise2TQuhcm-7qE9Z7hAgAbZRivd3ShfdlBTtNXFLP3m6hl77oDkst4XFuWDtyQGLkP9DFd5uUo4qQdSUmK0IyE-RPsNCoi3XlePrk_ClVhMBiQMjH-6oyyn4c/s1600/IMG_6393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4ycvvcGfYQ8iHvBT1Mise2TQuhcm-7qE9Z7hAgAbZRivd3ShfdlBTtNXFLP3m6hl77oDkst4XFuWDtyQGLkP9DFd5uUo4qQdSUmK0IyE-RPsNCoi3XlePrk_ClVhMBiQMjH-6oyyn4c/s320/IMG_6393.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't mind if I do...</td></tr>
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<br />
Here's the deal. Regardless of how you feel about - er...<i>Shoshama Pear</i> - insurance companies currently allow patients access to free cancer screenings. Which frankly - this fair maiden believes is a pretty great idea. <br />
<br />
But, as it stands, there is a glitch in the law which discriminates against Medicare patients and needs to be tweaked.<br />
<br />
Because of the way the guidelines are written, Medicare patients have access to free screening colonoscopies - like everybody else. But if a polyp is removed (the whole point of a colonoscopy) it is then billed as a diagnostic procedure - which can come with a steep price tag.<br />
<br />
This means if Grandma goes in for a colonoscopy and her doctor finds a polyp - she could wake up with a sore bum - AND a giant (and unexpected) bill. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-KLiHJcQ3qXoE9n9C-oi4hZf5eSYkpqy_AlWGuwV83abEQcUCYQRZeKPMgdKxki1iL1m8cewAxDYpdPeKexhVwi-FcE9xxXRtHJpZeW2v9vEe15NSCRE4NWYObcnfUfVycR_iZBq2tI/s1600/IMG_6406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-KLiHJcQ3qXoE9n9C-oi4hZf5eSYkpqy_AlWGuwV83abEQcUCYQRZeKPMgdKxki1iL1m8cewAxDYpdPeKexhVwi-FcE9xxXRtHJpZeW2v9vEe15NSCRE4NWYObcnfUfVycR_iZBq2tI/s320/IMG_6406.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This disparity in services is particularly concerning because Medicare patients are often on fixed incomes. They are also the population who are most likely to benefit from the screening in the first place. As a reminder, colorectal cancer is one of the <i>only</i> types of cancer that can essentially be prevented if polyps are found and removed. <br />
<br />
Luckily, once the flaw in the intent of this law was realized, a bill was put into place - HR1220 - which would end the current discrimination against our elderly population and allow free colonoscopies for Medicare patients. <br />
<br />
Because nobody wants Grandma to get colon cancer.<br />
<br />
Giving support to this bill seems like no-brainer for any politician. In fact, when I met with our Idaho politicians in DC last month there was <i>resounding support voiced</i> for this bill. And yet, the last time I checked, not a single Idaho politician has signed on to support this bill. <i>Not a single one.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
What the poop, Idaho?<br />
<br />
I'm going to go out on a limb and say this has something to do with hurt feelings over <i>Shoshama Pear</i>. And I get it - there are lines to be drawn. But I don't believe Grandma should suffer because our politicians aren't playing nice in the sand box of our nation's capitol.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv89LFq_diU0cg2njB17gPYLU8H6aGL9X1Mx8lA8_ag4RhiMhXDQM3GzWMeDQkn-iQxmkKdBRedyDOanBSdCEOVnGLfvkviBmDUeyQPf_uUSK2751FAcRSG7b-pL3Vzp0n7mAskRQ5RPs/s1600/IMG_6453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv89LFq_diU0cg2njB17gPYLU8H6aGL9X1Mx8lA8_ag4RhiMhXDQM3GzWMeDQkn-iQxmkKdBRedyDOanBSdCEOVnGLfvkviBmDUeyQPf_uUSK2751FAcRSG7b-pL3Vzp0n7mAskRQ5RPs/s320/IMG_6453.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain Rally with ACS.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There is one way to get <strike>your very own personalized form letter </strike>our voice heard - and that's to speak up. Technically these guys work for us - or at least they should be working for us. But - much like cranky toddlers - if we don't hold our representatives accountable for bad behavior it's only going to continue. <br />
<br />
So, lets start a new trend - getting involved.<br />
<br />
<u><b>How to "Be the Change you Wish to See in the World"</b></u><br />
<br />
<b>1.</b> Figure out who represents you. (H<a href="https://legislature.idaho.gov/about/12districtmap.pdf" target="_blank">ere's a link</a> to our Idaho legislators by district but all state legislators are just a google search away).<br />
<b>2.</b> Send an email or leave a voicemail with this message: <br />
<i>My name is (insert name here) I live in (insert county here). I am your constituent. I am contacting you to request that you cosponsor bill 1220 - Removing Barriers to Colorectal Cancer Screening Act. </i><br />
<b>3.</b> Hang up.<br />
<b>4.</b> Keep sending messages until you can recite the phone tree by heart. My motto is - if you can't beat them - you might as well annoy them.<br />
<b>5.</b> Wait for your personalized form letter from your representative in the mail.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmYEfN52qrrdlQIOPAzxYAaqugmhn-v-U3ePZYIRlaB4Z-gwTMTZuUtRr0MyQo0G0RgE4k-8LbBn1HXiykVQcBfK2uiTrVF7ukEFawArvEVOxWZq5FaXRAXBk4qJ7vIPSayOe3IXX92M/s1600/IMG_6452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmYEfN52qrrdlQIOPAzxYAaqugmhn-v-U3ePZYIRlaB4Z-gwTMTZuUtRr0MyQo0G0RgE4k-8LbBn1HXiykVQcBfK2uiTrVF7ukEFawArvEVOxWZq5FaXRAXBk4qJ7vIPSayOe3IXX92M/s320/IMG_6452.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behind Hope.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Being involved in our political system can sometimes be frustrating - but deciding to be informed and speaking up is pretty easy once you get used to it. Frankly, the decisions these guys are making will affect us whether or not we are part of the decision making process. Being involved is also the best way to start your very own political autograph collection. At the very least it helps to pass the time between elections.<br />
<br />
And if you want to change the world - Grandma's colon is a good place to start.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-9525342998654226292015-10-10T09:18:00.002-07:002015-10-10T10:16:33.543-07:00How to make a difference in three easy steps.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
<i> I'm not a big fan of pink fluff. </i>And by "not a big fan" I mean - the entire month of Pinktober I carry around my own soap box and mutter a steady stream of pink-centric obscenities ala Yosemite Sam. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdxHpkoyWHeTE3yYxeJxyCiRVPnpLY1inxS41uGVdvh5jir4wvso5YpiV0dz0yQc8iO2j-UeFZFOfJevF7_LGAQt_q-4qkS_5aL0ssBwlyPzoCYQlmJHguDTV0bH6L_UaHrFLWfLBViY/s1600/Sambia.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdxHpkoyWHeTE3yYxeJxyCiRVPnpLY1inxS41uGVdvh5jir4wvso5YpiV0dz0yQc8iO2j-UeFZFOfJevF7_LGAQt_q-4qkS_5aL0ssBwlyPzoCYQlmJHguDTV0bH6L_UaHrFLWfLBViY/s320/Sambia.gif" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heather Caro just spotted a pink ribbon display at the<br />
grocery store.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm sure I'm a real treat to be around.<br />
<br />
There are just <i>so many examples </i>of pink ribbon commercialism being used to exploit well-meaning consumers, I find myself on an advocacy warpath for the entire month. <br />
<br />
But as exhausting and frustrating as it can be to fight the "system" - giving up is not an option. Because as pink ribbon merchandise continues to sell like hot cakes and politicians continue to underfund research - people I love are diagnosed and my friends continue <i>to die</i> of this disease. <br />
<br />
<i>Pink is not a cure. </i> And as long as I am able to work toward real progress against this disease (less caustic treatments, increased research funding, regulation on the use of pink ribbons) I will do so. Lucky for me - and the many advocacy voices who carry around soap boxes of their own - we are not alone in this.<br />
<br />
I am so proud of the many, many people who contact me with ridiculous pink ribbon products, comment on Facebook or speak up when they see the audacious way this disease is being exploited for financial gain. There is no higher compliment I can receive than "I hear your voice each time I see a pink ribbon" - and I hear that a lot. Thank you for standing beside me in the trenches, for listening and especially for being brave enough to speak up. <br />
<br />
We are making a difference in perhaps the only way possible - <i>one person at a time</i>.<br />
<br />
So, in honor of my <i>third</i> Pinktober after my breast cancer diagnosis in 2012, I'd like to share an excerpt my Tedx speech - <i>Think Beyond Pink</i>. Someday I hope these words will no longer be necessary. But I am grateful for each year I am able to be here to work toward bringing meaningful awareness to this disease - and away from the fluff.<br />
<br />
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Breast cancer has become the shopping disease because altruism sells and marketing gurus know that. And while people <i>do have</i> the ability to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others - you won't find it in a bucket of chicken. In fact, products that provide a false or overinflated sense of contribution may be doing more harm than good.<br />
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What I've learned is, there are no regulations on the use of the almighty pink ribbon. In fact, many pink-ribbon-wielding products contain actual known carcinogens. And donations provided to cancer causes are often either limited, unstated or capped. Which means despite the onslaught of Pinktober breast cancer "awareness" campaigns, there is precious little progress being made towards preventing<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIyRqFH_0ZRmF8zLgaXshZYCrt-rbAbijFEWoRm0Zb9m1uRQKxSsIHEsqgEcnX16Eia03GkgFad_Sx80vhCwHzi7cxlx92GJSYutVW_unk1tI5uGbKRLlqyl1YyDoTVsBT6Jqnbe6lXo/s1600/c700x420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIyRqFH_0ZRmF8zLgaXshZYCrt-rbAbijFEWoRm0Zb9m1uRQKxSsIHEsqgEcnX16Eia03GkgFad_Sx80vhCwHzi7cxlx92GJSYutVW_unk1tI5uGbKRLlqyl1YyDoTVsBT6Jqnbe6lXo/s320/c700x420.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">This pink ribbon placement is oddly appropriate.</td></tr>
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or curing breast cancer.<br />
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It turns out - awareness - just isn't enough. Awareness won't even get us out of the driveway on the journey to find a cure. And if we are to continue to make gains against this disease, it will require a more mindful and intentional approach.</div>
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Thanks to the wonders of the internet, each day we have laid out before us a great feast of information. Every dish imaginable is available at our fingertips 24/7. But the catch is, there is so much out there and most of us lead such busy lives we only have time to lick the <i>frosting</i> from a single cupcake.<br />
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And there is very little substance in frosting.<br />
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But making a difference is possible - and it's easier than you'd think. And because, thankfully, it doesn't take a personal health crisis to bring about real change - I'd like to share with you some of the ways I've learned to practice more mindful philanthropy.</div>
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<b>1. Question Everything</b></div>
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This is a big one. And if there is one take-home message to glean from my time with you, let it be this: </div>
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<i>Teach yourself to ask questions.</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqleH0MHdeufpmEDtelL0PbWBuIuIMmFe544Wj7mjpr7qEEMPQoFevO4TDvTiA9YwOwzDJoFU0eZf0F2FaC8vz74jJ6ZW3feLiCI5PEanA4TY0vkvHja47EpoYudD5pkIntIEidkqKnrY/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqleH0MHdeufpmEDtelL0PbWBuIuIMmFe544Wj7mjpr7qEEMPQoFevO4TDvTiA9YwOwzDJoFU0eZf0F2FaC8vz74jJ6ZW3feLiCI5PEanA4TY0vkvHja47EpoYudD5pkIntIEidkqKnrY/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Apparently breast cancer is finger-licking good.</td></tr>
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Learn to read the fine print whether purchasing a product or participating in an event. Ask: Who profits from this, and how? Will people benefit directly or with the money raised be funneled into expensive marketing campaigns or administrative wages?</div>
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And perhaps most importantly - learn to question yourself. Before you buy in to a request, analyze your own intentions. Will posting a "no-makeup selfie" spread knowledge or raise money? If you find yourself participating out of vanity or social-media induced peer pressure, how - exactly - this that help others?</div>
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And if you can't find the answers to those questions, don't be afraid to walk away. Or keep scrolling. </div>
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If we are to move beyond awareness - for any cause - we need depth, we need buy in, but we don't need more frosting.</div>
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<b>2. Dig Deep</b></div>
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I'd like to say I found my cause, though in reality, it found me. But perhaps that's the way it should be. Perhaps connecting deeply with an experience is the only way to discover where you can do the most good - no matter how painful that process may be.<br />
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After my diagnosis there were people in our lives who slipped away once the harsh realities of my illness set in. But there were many others who chose to stand beside me in the trenches. The bond we share today transcends any I have ever known.<br />
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Though surgeries left me marred and forever altered, I chose to fill the scars that laced my chest with color as I began work on a mastectomy tattoo. The process - on my own terms this time - helped me <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Altruism sells - and marketing gurus know that.</td></tr>
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to reclaim some of what was taken and transform the grit to grace once again. Through it all, I documented my journey on a blog that started out as cheap therapy but eventually reached thousands of people from around the world. By simply sharing my story I was able to inspire mammograms, genetic testing and an honest look into the state of our health care system from both sides of the hospital bed. We each have unique stories and perspectives others may benefit from. And though I cannot tell you what your message should be, I can tell you it is already within you.<br />
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Meaningful philanthropy should be more about who you are as an individual - and not just a bandwagon to jump on. We can make a real and tangible difference in the lives of others if we take the time and effort to be intentional about it. And though the real issues are not always convenient - or even pretty - they will reach others more deeply than any ribbon or bucket of ice ever could.<br />
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So don't be afraid to tell your story. You never know whom you may reach through the telling. And it may just set you free.<br />
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<b>3. Be the Change.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>The truth is, pink - the color - won't save me or anyone else. Pink won't help pay my medical bills or limit the use of carcinogens in our environment. It can't help bring about new, less caustic treatments or provide the efficient cancer detection methods we so desperately need.<br />
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Pink can't do that. <i>But I can.</i><br />
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I can volunteer. I can tell my story. I can <i>speak up</i> when I see that from my vantage point - we have jumped the track with our awareness campaigns. I know that we can do better. But it's up to all of us to make sure that happens.<br />
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At the end of the day, no matter what your cause or which colored ribbons you stand behind,<br />
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impactwill only be as powerful as what you put into it. Real progress can only be made through choosing to partake in more of the "meat and potatoes" of the big issues and less of the frosting. So as you peruse the ribbon bedecked merchandise this Pinktober and beyond - please - read the fine print, ask questions and choose to be more involved.<br />
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With more than 40,000 deaths attributed to breast cancer in the US each year, we can't afford to waste a single penny on more pink coffee mugs.<br />
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And for those of you who enjoy wearing pink - by all means - continue doing so. Each of us must find our own way to survive this disease, and if pink provides a rallying cry or gives strength in any way then it certainly has its place. But I urge you - please do so responsibly.<br />
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As for me - I'm going to sit this one out. Pink's just not my color.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-70698630094774055002015-10-08T23:01:00.003-07:002015-10-14T17:37:51.668-07:00Best and Worst Pink Products (and How to Avoid Being Fooled)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My mom is a smart lady who is full-to-the-brim with great advice. </div>
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When I've questioned my ability to raise tiny humans, she taught me to be a good parent all you need is to love your kids and the rest will work out. On days when I run in circles and nothing seems to work out, Mom reminds me the secret of life is to get plenty of sleep and wear comfortable shoes. But there are some occasions which call for my Mom's favorite piece of tough-ish love advice: "Pull your head out of your ass."<br />
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This is the particular piece of advice I find myself muttering to the advertising world throughout the entire month of October as they roll out gems such as pink ribbon dog poo bags or pink ribbon cleaning supplies (complete with actual known carcinogens). So in the spirit of the season - and while channeling my mom - I'd like to bring you a round up of the best and worst pink products I've happened across in the last few years, as well as a few tips to avoid falling prey to less-than-sincere advertisers.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_aK-6GWC9_VMFeJF6ZXw85-TwhW6YsEIm7AoSEYEljqD-XPqUnbtZQYddx_Qe3_wbzX4Lw8kr3deo8Uthct763qxlOCvFvKoR6Z_3n4-gE6z3O-6KYIO_Mm7EXWOGtEfFPdDVPBfhEU/s1600/6a00d834cd4f5769e20120a610a503970c-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_aK-6GWC9_VMFeJF6ZXw85-TwhW6YsEIm7AoSEYEljqD-XPqUnbtZQYddx_Qe3_wbzX4Lw8kr3deo8Uthct763qxlOCvFvKoR6Z_3n4-gE6z3O-6KYIO_Mm7EXWOGtEfFPdDVPBfhEU/s200/6a00d834cd4f5769e20120a610a503970c-800wi.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
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<b>What it is: </b> Pink NFL Football Gear<br />
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<b>Pink Peeves:</b> Although the NFL has been quick to jump on the bandwagon with everything from pink football uniforms to pink fan gear - a <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/small-amount-of-money-from-pink-nfl-merchandise-goes-to-breast-cancer-research-2013-10" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">paltry small amount </span></a>of the proceeds raised actually benefits any cancer cause. Which means that although the NFL is making money hand-over-fist by aligning with this previously untapped market, the end result is a philanthropy fumble.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AA3K5lMgPi8lJELZ_W0mx6becYSGirdM7fFfKFCQfVTQL1EpYi7_TYJDbA4cROKaY2hYZ_pMs9DH4dJwx2hsjWW8BYzlX3ors1O2ZMYSTsIg2VsxJOHqI8vSUIy7rNiD_-ECspqGqYc/s1600/conair-breast-cancer-brush.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AA3K5lMgPi8lJELZ_W0mx6becYSGirdM7fFfKFCQfVTQL1EpYi7_TYJDbA4cROKaY2hYZ_pMs9DH4dJwx2hsjWW8BYzlX3ors1O2ZMYSTsIg2VsxJOHqI8vSUIy7rNiD_-ECspqGqYc/s200/conair-breast-cancer-brush.jpg" width="67" /></a></div>
<b>What it is: </b>Pink Hair Brushes<br />
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<b>Pink Peeves:</b> Let me just state the obvious - people diagnosed with cancer usually lose their hair to breast cancer treatments. For many of us (myself included) our hair never returns to "normal". Putting a pink ribbon on hair care products does not win any points with the chemo crowd - certainly not this member of the club. At best, pink ribbon hairbrushes come off as a bit out of touch with what the breast cancer cause is all about - and at worst it is a really dick move.<br />
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<b>What it is: </b>KFC Pink Bucket of Chicken<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNUkyY12cCf3V3sGvpL44zOlO4hCXtB2oCYjr9UdDK0QJlGC4d9cER9MUlm4DpStJ0jOyba7o6OEly2_rmY7gIKKbPYwrC2Yr7T3yMMenjfdMR_iFXSl47uxPqheAgicHRi0cmEDDDQI/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNUkyY12cCf3V3sGvpL44zOlO4hCXtB2oCYjr9UdDK0QJlGC4d9cER9MUlm4DpStJ0jOyba7o6OEly2_rmY7gIKKbPYwrC2Yr7T3yMMenjfdMR_iFXSl47uxPqheAgicHRi0cmEDDDQI/s200/Unknown-1.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>Pink Peeves: </b>This was a brainchild pairing between Komen and the good Colonel. Because - why not combine the number one (heart disease) and number two (cancer) killers of women in the US along with 11 secret herbs and spices. Finger licking good. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OgUFFit0-axToNRewLxPSugwH-CHCDY1xkdCCLLSMW48D66srzzznboXxHnlt3AiAevXoxIPAPmPDm1UPCyfLYLZDE16Zyercake5HnLZaKkQxW_ym5W-38yz1ig-MAtHKn4sOvD2RI/s1600/drill-bit-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="104" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OgUFFit0-axToNRewLxPSugwH-CHCDY1xkdCCLLSMW48D66srzzznboXxHnlt3AiAevXoxIPAPmPDm1UPCyfLYLZDE16Zyercake5HnLZaKkQxW_ym5W-38yz1ig-MAtHKn4sOvD2RI/s200/drill-bit-2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go Home Komen, You're Drunk.</td></tr>
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<b>What it is:</b> Pink Fracking Bit<br />
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<b>Pink Peeves: </b>In 2014, oil and fracking giant Baker Hughes went down in PR nightmare history when they made a sizable donation to Susan G and produced 1,000 pepto bismol pink fracking bits. Now regardless of your stance on fracking, it's hard to imagine a more controversial pairing than an organization whose mantra is "For the Cure" and a company whose practices "Might be a Cause" of cancer. And yes - <a href="http://www.nbcnews.com/health/cancer/pink-drill-bits-bring-complaints-komen-tie-fracking-n223166" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">this really happened.</span></a><br />
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So here's the thing - I am well aware not all pink products are created equal. And though I personally avoid pink like the office flu-bug, I can certainly appreciate the supportive sentiment - as long as there is a little substance behind all that saccharine. So for those who may want to support the chemo kids but don't want to be duped in the process - here's what to look for (and a few of my favs). <br />
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<b>Anatomy of a Pink Product<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEtUPBbWv_0gFvvd3emUDHue2WN81Y8MEunR6bm1IDX1z4sbcA7oiw0ESfhWJ_MemX2-xCRKdqE6irlepMRvTs3IBrjrSnwsZPm-d4Co03iuUDQYhbbeZqv6zboLsO3gJ56UEoDeKeOE/s1600/Hey%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEtUPBbWv_0gFvvd3emUDHue2WN81Y8MEunR6bm1IDX1z4sbcA7oiw0ESfhWJ_MemX2-xCRKdqE6irlepMRvTs3IBrjrSnwsZPm-d4Co03iuUDQYhbbeZqv6zboLsO3gJ56UEoDeKeOE/s320/Hey%2521.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Not all pink products are created equal. Learn to<br />be a label reader to avoid being duped!</b></td></tr>
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<b>What to look for: </b>Be sure to read the fine print associated with any pink ribbon packaging. There should be a clear statement of how much money will be donated as well as which organization will benefit. Also, watch for funding caps - many organizations make a set donation to a cause which will not change regardless of product sales.<br />
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<b>What to avoid: </b>Steer clear of vague statements such as "a portion of proceeds will be donated to a cancer cause" or "supports breast cancer awareness". If you spy a ribbon package without a donation disclaimer - shelve it and keep walking. <br />
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<b>Pass-ably Pink Products</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfLMZm7dHtUA5IxVqSZwHSKYDVoow2pp3yZ80ZXT9zsg-X5P04MbbS1ZQLWnUqQ6aekLNT3GIT60mFFKpIhKOB2yoqfHPvVO0mZZ60D7WgcoMkQKFu4urQOqWFNwVnNtBDmhb-_x7augA/s1600/donate.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfLMZm7dHtUA5IxVqSZwHSKYDVoow2pp3yZ80ZXT9zsg-X5P04MbbS1ZQLWnUqQ6aekLNT3GIT60mFFKpIhKOB2yoqfHPvVO0mZZ60D7WgcoMkQKFu4urQOqWFNwVnNtBDmhb-_x7augA/s200/donate.png" width="178" /></a></div>
<b>What it is:</b> Anything for sale on the Metavivor website.<br />
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<b>Why I like them: </b>If you don't have Metavivor on your radar yet - be sure to do so, pronto. This crew is shaking things up in the breast cancer community and the big ole' world by changing the face of metastatic breast cancer. Through the use of in-your-face tactics, these brilliant minds are making big waves - like the Met-Up DC Die-In Event scheduled for October 13th. (<a href="http://nancyspoint.com/the-met-up-washington-dc-die-in-event/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Here's a link</span></a> to a Nancy's Point write up about the much anticipated Capitol Hill happening.) One of Metavivor's primary objectives is to increase the research funding for metastatic breast cancer. This is essential because while nearly 30% of all patients diagnosed with early stage cancer will eventually become metastatic, only 2% of all research funding is spent on metastatic disease. Metastatic or StageIV breast cancer is fatal, associated with less than a 5 year life expectancy and has no cure. Proceeds from Metavivor website sales go towards keeping their operations afloat and nearly 100% of funds raised goes toward directly funding metastatic breast cancer research grants.<br />
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<a href="http://www.metavivor.org/"><span style="color: red;">http://www.metavivor.org</span></a><br />
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<b>What it is:</b> Sevenly T-Shirts<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG1Qf3X9aHM9SJVmWUlcXcWDMxsfQyMgCl1ZnydTgK6U-QPC34j2NCzxsqyPMkyEdOaDz15gTFzW_GAFQA7XJu4iUIGuqLoS541HytJuxxYjzETPF2h18wl4f05WnOUYjJQB1SG0b7TE0/s1600/MG_9861_grande.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG1Qf3X9aHM9SJVmWUlcXcWDMxsfQyMgCl1ZnydTgK6U-QPC34j2NCzxsqyPMkyEdOaDz15gTFzW_GAFQA7XJu4iUIGuqLoS541HytJuxxYjzETPF2h18wl4f05WnOUYjJQB1SG0b7TE0/s200/MG_9861_grande.jpg" width="161" /></a></div>
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<b>Why I like them:</b> Sevenly is a company whose business model makes the lofty goal of promoting a "culture of giving". They partner with nonprofit organizations to produce a clothing line with true-to-mission-statement clothing and sell it on their website. Sevenly then teaches about and promotes the heck out of the featured cause - and 7% of all sales go right back to their non-profit partners. Sevenly's designs echo what the organizations stand for - which is probably what I like most about them - and they are clear about what percentage of proceeds go back to the non-profit. My fav is the line benefitting <a href="http://firstdescents.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">First Descents</span></a> - an organization which provides free outdoor adventure trips (think white water kayaking, surfing and snowboarding) for cancer survivors under the age of 40 as a way of helping them reconnect with the world. But there are plenty of other great designs and organizations so be sure to linger a bit - you might just learn something.<br />
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<a href="http://www.sevenly.com/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">www.sevenly.com</span></a><br />
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<b>What it is:</b> Bravery Bags<br />
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<b>Why I like them: </b>One of the good things that came from my own cancer diagnosis is that I have met some amazing, inspiring and just plain fun people who are making a difference in this world. Ann Marie Otis of Stupid Dumb Breast Cancer fame is one of those peeps. In between raising money for various cancer causes and working as a fierce advocate for the metastatic breast cancer community, this dynamo (and her children) collect items for what they dub "Bravery Bags". These she fills with comforts and delivers to her local cancer center to lift the spirits of those undergoing treatment - no small feat. Anyway, the project is the epitome of kindness and it makes an immediate impact on those undergoing treatment - plus it keeps her kids busy stuffing bags. So, the next time you are doing some online shopping, be sure to throw a few items in your cart from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/wishlist/5VXTXRLD8M92/ref=sr_1_1_acs_wl_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1393793429&sr=8-1-acs" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">their Amazon wish list</span></a>. I criss-cross my heart it will go to good use - and you will rack up some good karma points in the process. <br />
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<a href="http://www.stupiddumbbreastcancer.com/"><span style="color: red;">www.stupiddumbbreastcancer.com</span></a><br />
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<b>What it is: </b> Ford Warriors in Pink<br />
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<b>Why I like them: </b> Ok, full disclosure, I was pretty skeptical of this organization when I first learned <br />
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about it. At first glimpse, it appears to echo any of the multitudes of companies who have scrambled to brand themselves using the pink ribbon popularity contest. But, after doing a little more digging, I'm pretty impressed. 100% of the net proceeds from the organization sales are donated to one of four cancer organizations - Young Survival Coalition, Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation, The Pink Fund and yes, even Komen Foundation. But the best part about the site is that when you purchase an item from the site they tell you the exact dollar amount that will be donated - and you can choose which of the organizations will receive your money at checkout. Pretty cool.<br />
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<a href="http://www.warriorsinpink.ford.com/"><span style="color: red;">www.warriorsinpink.ford.com</span></a><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-78292448154505334732015-10-04T19:17:00.001-07:002015-10-04T19:27:58.646-07:00Real advice from a member of the club nobody wants to join.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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1. Know your body. Be aware of what "normal" looks like and speak up when you notice any changes. <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">If your doctor doesn't listen to you - speak louder. </span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Be your own advocate. No doctor will be as invested in your own well being as you should be. The medical world is a complicated place and it is all too easy to fall through the cracks. Don't be afraid to ask questions, to call back and to make requests. And never assume that no news is good news.</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Remember that cancer does not discriminate. It affects every race and every age - and statistically speaking you will probably hear those dreaded words at some point in your life. Awareness is important but not in the tie-it-all-up-in-a-pretty-pink-bow way that is so often portrayed. Cancer awareness is important because if it could happen to me - it could happen to anyone. </span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. Finally - pink is cute but it's not a cure. Don't get sucked in to marketing geniuses who profit from a disease that has affected far too many of our family and friends. </span></h3>
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We need research - not more ribbons. Please send your money in the right direction.</span></h3>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">This is what awareness looks like.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-86627577300021732502015-08-29T11:40:00.003-07:002015-09-01T18:34:12.362-07:00Kesem means Magic.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Being a parent with cancer is tough. It takes the resources of an entire village to make it through brutal treatments and financial devastation. But through all of that mayhem, it's the littlest members of the tribe who may suffer the most. <br />
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Children with parents who have cancer are forced to grow up too fast. They experience fears and realities that no child should. Heck - no grown up should. And because children may be afraid to cause more stress for their already stressed-to-the-max family, these fears may go unspoken - only to reemerge at unexpected times in the future. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rSK0oALojC2lqMs4IMGl6s7PkCXXI0bu2EPG6Z-gUwRSXputrrdQxgZDAZG_zJ92rbUGFSLsc96NY54HT0-2F9sKLFepGUWHgn92QHBf2R8dJ-RRzKNQhOHXT3XPw-8NNFOaon4np1o/s1600/1150816_4624187381057_1369648214_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rSK0oALojC2lqMs4IMGl6s7PkCXXI0bu2EPG6Z-gUwRSXputrrdQxgZDAZG_zJ92rbUGFSLsc96NY54HT0-2F9sKLFepGUWHgn92QHBf2R8dJ-RRzKNQhOHXT3XPw-8NNFOaon4np1o/s320/1150816_4624187381057_1369648214_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken the summer of 2012 - their first<br />
time at Camp Kesem (and our very first weekend with Finn)</td></tr>
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<i>Because that's what happens when you don't deal with difficult stuff.</i> The emotions swallowed down into the depths of your psyche will eventually need to be puked up again - like a cat with a hairball. And frankly, <i>I don't want my kids to have emotional hairballs</i>.<br />
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So, I do what any good mom would in this circumstance - I send my kids to camp. <br />
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Now this is not just any-ole'-camp. Camp Kesem is a national organization which focuses on supporting children who have a parent affected by cancer - an often overlooked population in need of TLC. These week-long, non-denominational camp experiences are provided free of charge to the campers and run by uber-dedicated college students around the country. And though trained staff are on hand to deal with emotional hairballs that come up - the goal is to provide a safe place for kids to just be kids. <br />
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In short, Camp Kesem provides a jam-packed, amazing week of childhood spent with others who "get it". For families like mine, it is Kid-topia. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYthjk_VOAFUcHoFAqTvw3r0GTh11zg3b2tJdeTz5kKUWH1mbulullzGz4V0G47M3jZ5sRJrHKumWEsHtOz_ESOsHshxxTKXyAgTtQ3TIl8vpi9W_lyhYeBC49QXeg2K5IlTNVxYVrq4/s1600/11911347_667263173373316_1156566397273484859_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYthjk_VOAFUcHoFAqTvw3r0GTh11zg3b2tJdeTz5kKUWH1mbulullzGz4V0G47M3jZ5sRJrHKumWEsHtOz_ESOsHshxxTKXyAgTtQ3TIl8vpi9W_lyhYeBC49QXeg2K5IlTNVxYVrq4/s320/11911347_667263173373316_1156566397273484859_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home away from home.</td></tr>
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In fact, even the name "Kesem" was chosen by the Stanford University students who started the program in 2000 because it means "magic" in Hebrew. That was their goal - to provide a magical experience for these children and their families. <br />
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All these years later, Camp Kesem certainly lives up to its name.<br />
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What's more, this program provides the college student counselors - many of whom have personal ties to cancer - with solid leadership, fund-raising and project management skills as well as a boat load of feel-good stories that look great on a resume but even better on a bucket list. In short, Camp Kesem is a goodie - worthy of philanthropy dollars if you have 'em and word-of-mouth if you know of families who may benefit. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CNbVggh7s3bgThBvQqOdTTkvQ8xtBVW6QiQQqA8mMJKJx7hYiZ7bskIM4aw94ndAy1XW00kMbKeOf6H3ymclZ_2FINqLsA8w2hrhkfYx_yJeLR_oNAD8WgNXj2ipl73Y67v-WSQROmY/s1600/11880539_666719110094389_6625232473616233049_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CNbVggh7s3bgThBvQqOdTTkvQ8xtBVW6QiQQqA8mMJKJx7hYiZ7bskIM4aw94ndAy1XW00kMbKeOf6H3ymclZ_2FINqLsA8w2hrhkfYx_yJeLR_oNAD8WgNXj2ipl73Y67v-WSQROmY/s320/11880539_666719110094389_6625232473616233049_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Herding Cats - Photo credit Camp Kesem UW</td></tr>
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Still can't wrap your head around what goes on there? Here's what camp is like from a parent perspective.<br />
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Our kids attend <a href="http://campkesem.org/uw" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Camp Kesem UW</span></a>, which takes place at a picturesque site near Cle Elum (about 4 hours from our home but well worth the drive). However there are more than 62 chapters across the country. (Find a Camp Kesem chapter near you<span style="color: red;"> <a href="http://campkesem.org/find-a-camp"><span style="color: red;">here.</span></a></span>)<br />
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With more than 90 kids in attendance this year, camp check in (which can take place at either the UW campus or at the camp depending on preference) can feel a little like "herding cats" as the kids recognize friends, hug their favorite counselors and compare cabin notes - all the while hauling around bedding and luggage approximately twice their weight. But once contact information is verified, medications are collected and luggage is loaded up on the bus, the hive begins to calm down a bit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGFJlg0bNT_nmACs0yR9lf4YykyAbRAcCn17bUKg8_YEL8wZtb5vKkta8WaOP3MuoKZRG0gwa9HkA8q4KFxpt_z5au31PPOndYKhOHImk0jaE6Vt8pmVV9PFN2pMY4TcCuwhRZiD01Z0/s1600/11896223_10203449824204639_6484033855819528115_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGFJlg0bNT_nmACs0yR9lf4YykyAbRAcCn17bUKg8_YEL8wZtb5vKkta8WaOP3MuoKZRG0gwa9HkA8q4KFxpt_z5au31PPOndYKhOHImk0jaE6Vt8pmVV9PFN2pMY4TcCuwhRZiD01Z0/s320/11896223_10203449824204639_6484033855819528115_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year's photo - a little taller and different hat logo.</td></tr>
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Next comes name selection. All counselors and kids choose a name for themselves which will be their camp persona for the entire week. This is a brilliant move, in my mind, because choosing a new name effectively allows these kids the ability to shed "real life" and step into the camp world. This year my not-so-littles dubbed themselves Hershey's and Ace but in years past we've had a Pancakes, Ninja and TRex.<br />
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Finally, I finish dropping the kids off (once they start giving me the "Mooooom are you seriously still here" look), listen to a David Sedaris audio book on the way home, cry a little about how grown up my kids are and then spend the entire week stalking Camp Kesem UW's Facebook site hoping to catch a glimpse of what my kids are up to. (Also I go on lots of guilt-free dates with hunky hubby - there are many perks to this program!)<br />
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Meanwhile, the kids are up to their eyeballs in kid-tastic events that include archery (T got "about 10 <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugco_min-BlDru1Nc6P06S_geE3zvrBf78doTjO89sMwqLjUXrzhqmHzvYpO9Bbh0Y63Qi05LHK8I-m4MrW8O2VDsRuCRnRgA3dAVGeeG9BokLovJW646cKGBMtQuwV1xRldlXGK5D_s/s1600/11870765_666721946760772_8291497637875897740_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugco_min-BlDru1Nc6P06S_geE3zvrBf78doTjO89sMwqLjUXrzhqmHzvYpO9Bbh0Y63Qi05LHK8I-m4MrW8O2VDsRuCRnRgA3dAVGeeG9BokLovJW646cKGBMtQuwV1xRldlXGK5D_s/s320/11870765_666721946760772_8291497637875897740_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hersheys and crew.<br />
Photo Credit Camp Kesem UW</td></tr>
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bulls eyes"), swimming (both passed their "deep-end" swimming test), prank wars (M packed an entire roll of saran wrap this year - I didn't even question it), tie-dying, hikes and various shenanigans lead by the seemingly tireless counselors with quirky names of their own such as Scout, Marshmallow, Squid and Wonderbread. <br />
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A perennial favorite for my kiddos is "Messy Olympics". Each year, the campers are instructed to bring an outfit that can get <strike>messy</strike> absolutely destroyed - and it will be. In fact, this year's inspired Messy Olympic line-up may as well have been thought up by sadistic Oxi-clean execs - Paint Twister, Pancake Batter and Syrup Slip-and-Slide, Shaving Cream and Flour Fights, as well as something involving butter and sticking cheerios to faces. All of this culminated with a giant food fight with the game "left overs" followed by a group picture and good old-fashioned hose down. <br />
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Once the dust (and flour) settles, the kids look like cereal-encrusted Braveheart extras - but are <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClIvuWDfmL_GOAibYCetJDrCfug0PLGCxbxrjjbNy5aL7crN_kPhTb_2MPVdzm4l_QcMysHZbrhWu7wsxyyx35ZloymO_KwCq9hiCvRniw3kas8dmkxtuk1gYqXU0JVpoVO0dF77I-i8/s1600/11903792_667291326703834_6624907418809478931_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClIvuWDfmL_GOAibYCetJDrCfug0PLGCxbxrjjbNy5aL7crN_kPhTb_2MPVdzm4l_QcMysHZbrhWu7wsxyyx35ZloymO_KwCq9hiCvRniw3kas8dmkxtuk1gYqXU0JVpoVO0dF77I-i8/s320/11903792_667291326703834_6624907418809478931_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not entirely sure my kids are in this photo <br />
but I think it captures Messy Olympics nicely.<br />
Photo credit Camp Kesem UW</td></tr>
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grinning from ear-to-ear.<br />
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There's also an "Empowerment Night" where the kids are encouraged to safely share with their cabin-mates and support each other as they talk about their experiences with cancer. This powerful night helps teach these kids to trust others, to express empathy and to talk about their feelings - lessons that will help them long after their days of camp are done.<br />
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At the end of the week, our kids are finally <strike>extracted</strike> collected and they spend the next few weeks speaking in camp code, singing songs and reminiscing about the adventures they have shared. Then school starts up and the busy business of the year sucks us under for a while. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finn's spot on the couch while the kids are at camp.</td></tr>
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But typically before the first frost the kids begin their countdown of the days before Camp Kesem starts up again.<br />
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And I can't say I blame them - <i>Kesem is magic</i>. <br />
<br />
In fact, the only one who could possibly have a negative thing to say about Camp Kesem is Finn. <br />
<br />
But that's only because he wishes he could go too.<br />
<br />
(*Note: Camp Kesem is able to accomplish all this magic because of generous donations and year-round fund raisers. Go to <a href="http://campkesem.org/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">http://campkesem.org</span></a> to learn more about this amazing program and how you can help keep the magic flowing!)<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-67950807975542995922015-07-11T18:37:00.003-07:002015-07-12T11:56:24.302-07:00The Young and the Breast-less<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbD5kUPRHSlsCdYlAw_PopO0h5ZfrGv5n-uOmD2yqhG_YS2FIeNJzC6Tj7LfKtovVoRBICZEU1S5rqyryOD4lwGBgh75wEcSevRNTO3mM3Mkoe7Swd9dR_H7Y8RsXxr8S0vSbDISOxzs/s1600/5-31-12+425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbD5kUPRHSlsCdYlAw_PopO0h5ZfrGv5n-uOmD2yqhG_YS2FIeNJzC6Tj7LfKtovVoRBICZEU1S5rqyryOD4lwGBgh75wEcSevRNTO3mM3Mkoe7Swd9dR_H7Y8RsXxr8S0vSbDISOxzs/s320/5-31-12+425.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2012 Bon Voyage to the Ta-Ta's<br />
boobie cakes- complete with marshmallow<br />
nipples and suspicious malt-ball lumps.</td></tr>
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Don't get me wrong, I think breasts are great. <br />
<br />
They make fabulous accessories, hold up a sundress, are the personification of womanhood, heck - they can even make <i>food</i>. <br />
<br />
And of course the media loves them too. Each day in our country, breasts are coveted, idolized, regulated, fixated on, demonized and discussed. <br />
<br />
America -for the most part- is "a boob guy."<br />
<br />
Which is why it often comes as some surprise when I divulge I am happier without them.<br />
<br />
Full disclosure - choosing to remain breast-less after cancer treatment wasn't exactly my first choice. In fact, as I learned about my breast reconstruction options, I would have rated this game plan somewhere between "S" and "V". But after suffering through excruciating pain and various complications, a surgical site infection landed me back in the hospital a month after my bilateral mastectomy. Before you can say double-d's, my best-laid-plans made a sharp left turn and the breast reconstruction was urgently reversed. It was then, lying on a hospital gurney in the twilight moments before anesthesia took hold, that I made the bravest decision of my life - I would not pursue reconstruction in the future.<br />
<br />
Knowing what I do now, about complication rates and satisfaction scores, I'm not sure I would have gone down the reconstruction route in the first place. Ironically, three years after losing my breasts and letting go of "conventional" standards of beauty, I feel more confident than ever. And I got to that point not through obtaining surgically constructed lumps on my chest, but rather by discovering that I am still me without them. <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong - I am well aware the decision not to pursue reconstruction is not for everyone. Many women are very happy with their breast reconstruction results - and that's great (Team boobie - remember?). But for the ladies out there who are on the fence and finding, as I did, that the "breast-less" camp is a little on the quiet side - this one's for you.<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Perks of Less-than-a-Handful</u></b><br />
<br />
<b>1. There are better ways to be served sugar-free jello. </b><br />
<br />
Hospital food is not all that great and frankly, if you choose breast reconstruction you will be eating a lot of it. <br />
<br />
Even in the best case scenario, reconstruction procedures are incredibly complex and are often riddled with complications such as scarring, required revisions and unfortunately in my case - <a href="http://www.mylifedistilled.blogspot.com/2012/06/and-its-1-2-3-what-are-we-fightin-for.html" target="_blank">infection.</a> Before all is said and done, most women who choose reconstruction will require 3-4 major surgeries to complete the job and some women I've known have endured eight or more. To make matters worse, methods involving implants tends to be a little on the high maintenance side. Even routine follow up includes frequent MRI and implant change out every 10 years - a fact that is often glossed over by surgeons peddling their wares. <br />
<br />
Surgeons are also quick to note there have been many advances made in the field of breast reconstruction - which is true. Tram-Flap, Lat-Flap or DIEP procedures are the new gold standard in surgically obtained boobie bliss - but also come with their share of risks. For those of you who may not be fluent in recon-lingo, here's a synopsis (but you can read more about the various procedures <a href="http://www.breastreconstruction.org/TypesOfReconstruction/tram_flap.html" target="_blank">here.</a>):<br />
<br />
First the latissimus dorsi (back) or abdominus rectus (stomach) muscle is removed and transplanted to the woman's chest. The muscle is cut into a breast shape, fashioned into a pocket and surgically re-attached. Later, the pocket is filled with fat obtained from elsewhere on the woman's body such as her butt or abdomen. Then bing, bang, boom - you've got a couple of boobies. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
It turns out, a lot - including tissue necrosis, infection, pain syndromes and even death. <br />
<br />
And don't get me started on nipples which, in some cases, can be removed and reattached, constructed from tissue grafted from the thigh or even colored in via 3-d tattoo methods. <br />
(Strangely, it was the nipple options that were most distressing to me when I first met with my plastic surgeon. At one point I just about lost my shit and demanded to see a photo gallery of previous work done by their "nipple artist". It was not my finest moment - and turned out to be a moot point - but you can read about these shenanigans <a href="http://www.mylifedistilled.blogspot.com/2012/06/yes-theyre-fakemy-real-ones-tried-to.html" target="_blank">here</a>.)<br />
<br />
Regardless of the reconstruction option chosen, nothing will result in returning the breast(s) stolen cancer and all require logging a whole lot of hospital hours. Frankly, in the immortal words of Ms. Sweet Brown - Ain't nobody got time for that. <br />
<br />
Certainly not this kid.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Options are a good thing.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
By some estimates, more than 58% of women who undergo mastectomy will either chose not to <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ugxsqiAnj3VZ5wSRalyWB_61vnMHRbPmG9WqHyirU1z_VnMSJyUjeToyTBMU7VqBc_97NA1TiK_irAKm9B-hyheXQPpxzDEaeQ_m6lkiZBFJrw7pd_oe7BR-6jIcfl-pvX5RkzdO0H0/s1600/10369878_10201151061457007_8008096619818284776_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ugxsqiAnj3VZ5wSRalyWB_61vnMHRbPmG9WqHyirU1z_VnMSJyUjeToyTBMU7VqBc_97NA1TiK_irAKm9B-hyheXQPpxzDEaeQ_m6lkiZBFJrw7pd_oe7BR-6jIcfl-pvX5RkzdO0H0/s320/10369878_10201151061457007_8008096619818284776_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course - this <i>would </i>be my egg.</td></tr>
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reconstruct or later deconstruct. And yet, even in the medical world the decision is still treated as an anomaly. I've heard stories from women who were forced to undergo psychiatric evaluation when they opted out of reconstruction and others who requested a flat chest only to awaken from anesthesia with baggy pockets of loose skin retained -against her wishes- to allow for easier reconstruction if she happened to change her mind in the future. <br />
<br />
The audacity of a surgeon who would make such a decision - because a woman couldn't possibly live a valuable existence without the presence of breasts - is astounding to me and fodder for a malpractice suit. But thankfully, my surgeon respected the decision to stop when I did - even if it was not the route he would have chosen. <br />
<br />
Three years out, I feel no reduction in my femininity and am thrilled with the options this route opened up to me - including the ability to choose when, or if, I wear breasts. <br />
<br />
It took about a year for nerve pain to quiet enough for me to be comfortable wearing prosthetics and today I do so about half the time. For those not in "the know" - wearing a prosthetic is sort of like donning a Victoria's Secret water bra - but on crack. Though they come in just about any size, shape or material you can imagine, the ones I wear most often are silicon and slip easily into a pocket which can be sewn into just about any regular bra or swim suit.<br />
<br />
And because I am bilaterally flat and not bound to matching with a contralateral breast, over the last three years I have amassed a collection of boobies which amuses me to no end. I have work boobs (B cup, regular) and date boobs (C, perky), swim boobs (weighted to avoid an unfortunate "float") and cotton boobs (great for working out). I have boobs for every occasion and collect the latest models the way some girls do shoes. But the best part is, depending on what I am wearing, I often opt out of boobs entirely - which is just about the most comfortable thing imaginable. Puts a whole new spin on "casual Fridays" at the office, doesn't it?<br />
<br />
***Side note: Having a bilateral mastectomy has also lead to great conversations with my kids about boobies not being bean bags and interrogations about where they put my "work boobs" - which should be great material for them when they eventually need therapy as adults. <br />
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<b>3. Decreased Risk.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
As much as I'd like to tell you having a bilateral mastectomy instead of a single improved my survival odds after cancer popped up in my right breast - I can't. Actually, the odds of a new primary tumor in the contralateral breast is pretty small - probably a 3% reduction in risk overall. <br />
<br />
What many doctors do not take into consideration is that even when cancer treatment is complete, it's never really over. If I had chosen to keep my left (cancer-free) breast, I would have been subjected to increased scrutiny and imaging for the rest of my life. And because of my history, every blip on the monitor would result in more testing and painful biopsies as well as the often understated scan-xiety - not to mention being compelled to complete reconstruction or wearing a prosthetic at all times to maintain symmetry. <br />
<br />
In short, I would have been prisoner in my own body, which was something I had <i>absolutely no interest</i> in signing on to. <br />
<br />
There is more to living than just survival statistics and I've never regretted my decision. <br />
<br />
***Side note: by choosing a bilateral mastectomy I decreased my risk of purple nurple by 100% - and that is no small thing considering who I am married to.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPyrI9w_jSctQCXfvTH_Pxhojb_-UKSMC7GjzC1Muu_I-KAPRyZ9TLDJVVxMKs8-hQysR6cfGIpVqIWW1Qhyap_C2aYcHfP0P5Km_gfY2sQx2QULl8LNUkyYhgnHksmCetk2KNN-KrLg/s1600/10686911_10201999328103143_7236868512489309626_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPyrI9w_jSctQCXfvTH_Pxhojb_-UKSMC7GjzC1Muu_I-KAPRyZ9TLDJVVxMKs8-hQysR6cfGIpVqIWW1Qhyap_C2aYcHfP0P5Km_gfY2sQx2QULl8LNUkyYhgnHksmCetk2KNN-KrLg/s400/10686911_10201999328103143_7236868512489309626_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span aria-live="polite" class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" style="color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; outline: none; text-align: left; width: auto;" tabindex="0">Cancer has taught our family many valuable lessons. <br />But none quite so poignant as how to stuff a <br />mastectomy bra full of snacks.</span><br />
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<b>4. Mastectomy Bras have Untapped Storage Potential.</b><br />
<br />
Speaking of awesome future therapy fodder, here's a little trivia for you: Granola bars fit nicely into a mastectomy bra. I know this for a fact because I once filled said mastectomy bra with a variety of snacks and then strapped it to my then 12-year-old daughter as she headed off to DisneyLand with her aunt and uncle. <br />
<br />
Don't judge - Disney food is crazy expensive and strategically placed snack items are a great thing to have. Plus, I just about died laughing when I hugged her good-bye and it made crinkle noises.<br />
<br />
Because of this experience, I believe I may have stumbled upon an untapped storage market for mastectomy bras - and I am ready to test out my theory. And, because I'm a big believer in sharing the life lessons I manage to acquire, I've accumulated a partial list of easily stash-able stuff for your own inspired sneakiness:<br />
<br />
Banana chips.<br />
Fruit snacks.<br />
Money.<br />
A flask of rum.<br />
Gummy bears.<br />
Ice packs on hot days.<br />
Hand warmers on cold days. <br />
Candy boxes the movie theatre.<br />
Capri Sun juice box.<br />
Gum.<br />
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<br />
So, there you go. The next time you hug me and you think you hear a faint crackle - it's not your imagination. <br />
<br />
And yes, I will probably share.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<b>4. Because - Screw Convention!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Though writing this may cause the editors of Cosmo to inflict a plague of great proportions (think: hipster mullets and shoulder pads) - convention is pretty overrated.<br />
<br />
And to be perfectly honest, most people won't see whatever it is you don't like about yourself because they are far too busy with their own weird hang ups. So be healthy, love who you are and make peace with your body.<br />
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Life is just too short for any other route.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-60396511683892483852015-07-06T23:53:00.002-07:002015-07-07T07:07:16.135-07:00Running In Circles.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2_P9d66lY8oDD8SUMCNBawSDwvgyPWVyfKUCPh9IGssAvitIKqOSSEXgOeuoW_31E55UP8G3YcWHCdIWmveF8e0mTJoHh_ca3feKZdn7INxTPCwvwyOEQq4ZGxZ6-UomxpeRcemWj5E/s1600/11220482_10203160662335773_9037033500066086651_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2_P9d66lY8oDD8SUMCNBawSDwvgyPWVyfKUCPh9IGssAvitIKqOSSEXgOeuoW_31E55UP8G3YcWHCdIWmveF8e0mTJoHh_ca3feKZdn7INxTPCwvwyOEQq4ZGxZ6-UomxpeRcemWj5E/s320/11220482_10203160662335773_9037033500066086651_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Procession of the Unknown Soldier.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Cancer years are a little like dog years - each is filled with enough loss and love, decisions and determination to make up at least seven "normal years". And in the circles I run with, these years are unfortunately punctuated with more than our share of grief. <br />
<br />
The reality is, more than 40,000 deaths are attributed to breast cancer each year, and some of these will be my friends and fellow advocates. Each and every death inflicts loss - to the families left behind, the breast cancer community and society as a whole. Each carries with it a shroud of stories and perspectives forever silenced by this insidious disease.<br />
<br />
These deaths are a tragic reminder of the importance of advocacy and why we cannot afford to lose focus in our quest to end this disease.<br />
<br />
But some losses will inevitably hit closer to home than others.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBC37lvvfsOqDoN5PRVhgs2QFDXID8NfBsbT9mAdIiVryS2YlDFZ1dv0gYCCHlEVmG7bPMxJPRwicCutc3OcdmrtbDGpQeF8thFvYYUfyUo45RWredGohS4cnrlDIEngeE6ovllsYhH2Q/s1600/11401283_10203160628694932_4995203419317143133_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBC37lvvfsOqDoN5PRVhgs2QFDXID8NfBsbT9mAdIiVryS2YlDFZ1dv0gYCCHlEVmG7bPMxJPRwicCutc3OcdmrtbDGpQeF8thFvYYUfyUo45RWredGohS4cnrlDIEngeE6ovllsYhH2Q/s320/11401283_10203160628694932_4995203419317143133_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">As far as the eye can see.</td></tr>
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<br />
When <a href="http://www.mylifedistilled.blogspot.com/2014/09/soldier-interrupted.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Barbie Ritzco died</span></a> earlier this year it was a crushing defeat for the breast cancer community. She was a great woman known for her strength, bravado and a feisty can-do spirit. And though I knew her for only a short time, it was easy to see why she had earned the respect of those who spent time in the trenches alongside her.<br />
<br />
Barbie and I bonded over a shared love of tattoos and the decision to forgo reconstruction. At that time she was the only other young person I'd known who was as vehement about this choice as I was. And when Barbie died it was the first time I fully realized the gravity of the disease we shared. <br />
<br />
She was many things to many people, but to me, Barbie represented all of us. So, last month, while in the DC area for a <a href="http://www.mylifedistilled.blogspot.com/2015/02/talk-science-to-me.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">BCRP panel</span></a>, I decided to make good on a promise to meet up with the great Warrior Queen the only way I possibly could - at her final resting place in Arlington Cemetery. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsx-uyyppOL8zv5sHDp1MaiQ-bFWvWsxd48Xq9vQtsLwU3Ys5Y-uxF-31Gc196j3J9iAcfOBxYZUJtnCfGmExGS5gnwD_5IAaFO5uIwONeMRuvVc1x9S631YWC8bTGoxXXOJGHGHRD-t4/s1600/11407123_10203160664055816_5419469366395089219_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsx-uyyppOL8zv5sHDp1MaiQ-bFWvWsxd48Xq9vQtsLwU3Ys5Y-uxF-31Gc196j3J9iAcfOBxYZUJtnCfGmExGS5gnwD_5IAaFO5uIwONeMRuvVc1x9S631YWC8bTGoxXXOJGHGHRD-t4/s320/11407123_10203160664055816_5419469366395089219_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eternal.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
At the risk of sounding hyperbolic, Arlington is much more moving than I could have ever imagined. The sheer magnitude of those perfectly placed marble tablets standing at attention across endless rolling hills would cause even the most hardened cynic to wipe a tear or two. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Arlington embodies American sacrifice and honor in a way that is nearly impossible to put into words - though many have tried. It is also a very real testament to the tragedy of war and life cut down too soon. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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And it was here, amid this reverent landscape that I finally met my friend.<br />
<br />
Though the grounds were solemn and steeped in ceremony, as I made my way to Barbie's grave, I didn't feel as sad as I feared I might. Arlington is something special, and perched high on a wall amid all those brave men and women - the young soldier didn't seem quite so alone. <br />
<br />
This, of course, was not the meet-up we should have had - shared drinks and tattooed tales. But being able to pay my respect in person is something I will always be thankful for. As I gazed upon that marbled wall, I realized that although Barbie's life was far too short, the flame lit through her message and spirit will live on through all she touched.<br />
<br />
And perhaps, that is the most any of us can ever hope to accomplish.<br />
<br />
Perhaps, this alone, is enough.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQRofFof2oO_bi3F9ANKgub9vZdF7yDeQojy2vA8QOUo3Tm38TY3PrB-cbM3tl1MtbT-VKtriLVXfSP_YndSA3D7HWpEh-MWM4Q5zGoNBQ1kgzgfdJufidnwg_ayFp_bONABsuJPBubBw/s1600/11391181_10203160246285372_4737004457916972554_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQRofFof2oO_bi3F9ANKgub9vZdF7yDeQojy2vA8QOUo3Tm38TY3PrB-cbM3tl1MtbT-VKtriLVXfSP_YndSA3D7HWpEh-MWM4Q5zGoNBQ1kgzgfdJufidnwg_ayFp_bONABsuJPBubBw/s320/11391181_10203160246285372_4737004457916972554_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rest at ease, dear Soldier. For we shall carry your post.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-10643760445216556432015-04-28T17:12:00.002-07:002015-05-05T20:13:10.504-07:00What to Expect When You're Expecting, Cancer.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><b>(***Writer's Note: I have a big time nerd crush on oncology guru Dr. Susan Love - and for a variety of reasons. Not only did she literally write "the book" on breast cancer <span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dr-susan-loves-breast-book-susan-love/1103138666?ean=9780738213590" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Breast Book</span></a>,</span> she is also a fierce advocate for quality of life issues and a leader in supporting meaningful research. Plus, I love a lady who's not afraid to tell it like it is. So, when I was approached by one of the higher ups from the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation asking if I'd be interested in writing a Mother's Day post for them - I jumped at the chance. The following is the result of that request, along with a few throw back photos just to pique your interest. You can read the original version at <a href="http://blog.dslrf.org/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">http://blog.dslrf.org</span></a>**)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Armed
with an overconfidence only youth can supply, I entered into motherhood the way
most newbies do - under the false pretense of knowing what the heck I was
getting into. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5enCu1buHxNb_pI7mVwHXFuDbPBQgU6WmqGRuWPd4xZcSjhCjUUYmObKomekLWVEg8b5F2opFprbwBy032M7IOX6xEQJABibNxej95KyzY2ZMQLblIKpGEIZd7FMfKmWNA9llmjIeErc/s1600/IMG_4866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5enCu1buHxNb_pI7mVwHXFuDbPBQgU6WmqGRuWPd4xZcSjhCjUUYmObKomekLWVEg8b5F2opFprbwBy032M7IOX6xEQJABibNxej95KyzY2ZMQLblIKpGEIZd7FMfKmWNA9llmjIeErc/s1600/IMG_4866.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing off the baby belly when clearly we should be sleeping.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">In
hindsight, there was probably no way to prepare for the experience of having
ones heart take up residence in the bodies of tiny people intent on running
amok. Though my husband and I certainly tried our best to get ready. Before each
pregnancy I dutifully checked off each "mandatory" item on the infant
layette, not realizing the most valuable purchase would be a new french press. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Over
the years, my husband and I have muddled through parenting the old fashioned
way - by making mistakes and realizing that even the most trying times can
often be endured through tincture of love, humor and very strong coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> But
even still, there are times that humble us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Before
I became a mother I could certainly never have fathomed the grief I would feel
nearly ten years later when I received a diagnosis that changed the course of
our lives. This grief would threaten to swallow me whole as I struggled
to explain to my young children that their mommy had breast cancer. In
those first broken-hearted days before invasive treatments would shake our
family to the core, I struggled in vain to hold back tears as I answered the questions
that bubbled up from beneath the fragile innocence of their childhood. If
my job was to protect my children against the dark fears of the world - I felt
I had failed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">There
is no "What to Expect when You're Expecting Cancer" parenting
handbook - at least none that I've ever found. Probably because few
people truly expect something like this will happen to them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">I
certainly didn't see it coming.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RShjefGDFmJFV4q1RT5KnKXtnrq_reY998HvUXTQSb-2ez3GyIJQFZ60qz4HccOkEX1hHM8xB6uVzjC8MUF9yxmqNtWagaGlispHxlAI3s8mRqCYedFdC0RF0eeNJQR09Wqruv_DrLM/s1600/IMG_4865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RShjefGDFmJFV4q1RT5KnKXtnrq_reY998HvUXTQSb-2ez3GyIJQFZ60qz4HccOkEX1hHM8xB6uVzjC8MUF9yxmqNtWagaGlispHxlAI3s8mRqCYedFdC0RF0eeNJQR09Wqruv_DrLM/s1600/IMG_4865.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brand Newbies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">At
32, with no family history or significant risk factors, I was woefully
unprepared for a diagnosis of invasive breast cancer. And though, as a
nurse, medical lingo held few mysteries and I understood the implications of an
aggressive tumor laced through my lymph nodes - I could never have predicted
the ripple effect this diagnosis would have on my friends, family and life as I
knew it. Let alone the effects cancer treatment would have on my children and
my confidence as a parent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Several
months ago, just two years after my own diagnosis, my confidence was further
shaken when my mother received a call from her physician after a routine
mammogram. Before you can say "genetics counseling" my own
sweet momma had joined the club nobody wants to join and our family was thrust
back into Cancerland. But, like more than 70% of all breast cancers,
there is no genetic link yet discovered that would explain a familial
predisposition toward developing this disease. Regardless, our family
tree has become a much more ominous presence in day-to-day conversations.
Though no cancer gene has been identified, blighted tendrils seem to lurk
in the shadows of each branch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">The
truth is, there is no "fair" in cancer. Breast cancer does not
care that I have stories to write, children to raise and a mother to love.
It is not concerned that caustic treatments left my once strong body
broken and scarred or my finances in ruin. Cancer does not care.
But thankfully, others do. Because of the work by organizations such as
the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation and Army of Women, meaningful
research is taking place every day which may lead to the breakthroughs of
tomorrow. This is important because for the sake of our mothers, our
daughters and ourselves, science <i>must</i> stay one step ahead of this disease.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Being
able to watch my children grow up is one side effect of cancer treatment I am
happy to take on. And thanks to the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation, I
believe we are well on our way towards moving beyond a cure and eradicating
this disease. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCdk8a5O64PGjqhYbtG6sjQZxMZt1hKKJX8CEpFt7XKa7bTllZVjvaBNNF-0QH5rUcc9SRP-An-cVLLfos3f8_lE94C9FfVJQOQFbnZGsEjBE7yAUbkiH5DWWl4NnR_JJ10MKUtdPOCQ/s1600/IMG_4864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCdk8a5O64PGjqhYbtG6sjQZxMZt1hKKJX8CEpFt7XKa7bTllZVjvaBNNF-0QH5rUcc9SRP-An-cVLLfos3f8_lE94C9FfVJQOQFbnZGsEjBE7yAUbkiH5DWWl4NnR_JJ10MKUtdPOCQ/s1600/IMG_4864.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quality time with Peanut.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">A
task this formidable will require all hands on deck.
And because, I am well aware of how daunting it can be to cross
"Make the World a Better Place" off a to-do list, here are a few
ideas to get you started.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Money Talks.</span></b><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Money may
not buy happiness, but it can fund research studies - which is almost the
same thing. But if your couch cushions are all tapped out these days, you
may want to take a tip from the elementary school crowd and host your own fund
raiser. From car washes to yard sales or even a mother-daughter bake sale
- you may be surprised by the funds that can be raised in a weekend with just
some elbow grease and a little good will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Donations
to the Dr. Susan Love Foundation will be used to further breast cancer
research and allow them to invest in the research that
will ultimately take us beyond a cure to end this disease. <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Walk with Love.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">On May 17, you have the opportunity to join the good doctor and more than 1,000 of
her closest friends on a journey to end breast cancer at the annual Walk
with Love fundraisers. Last year the event raised more than $248,000 with
all proceeds benefiting breast cancer research at Dr. Susan Love Research
Foundation.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">But
movers and shakers not local to the Palisades need not feel left out - there
are virtual options for the event as well. Sign up today or read more
information at <a href="http://dslrf.org/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">http://dslrf.org</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Donate to Science - Literally.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIphfDW1GwIIdvP4ez5AkMCx4gqrSwQZl_T1Gu-ZHSi3qZD5xHywXph6FTVbPzavXnwnps1pWDgTV7vgUsRg97cW2DoYhDTvAfvw97WK4VD6nCXSmIBwJBrPH9s8E1UyNNHdg12oBflXU/s1600/IMG_4863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIphfDW1GwIIdvP4ez5AkMCx4gqrSwQZl_T1Gu-ZHSi3qZD5xHywXph6FTVbPzavXnwnps1pWDgTV7vgUsRg97cW2DoYhDTvAfvw97WK4VD6nCXSmIBwJBrPH9s8E1UyNNHdg12oBflXU/s1600/IMG_4863.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Love Circa 1983.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></b><span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> It's
no secret women are underrepresented in clinical trials. But instead of
shrugging shoulders at the obvious gender disparity in research Dr. Susan Love
decided to do something about it. Namely, she found a way to connect
women to oncology research trials across the country through a novel program
called <a href="http://www.armyofwomen.org/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Army
of Women</span></a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Here's
how it works: 1. Determine that you are, in fact, a woman. 2.
Go to www.armyofwomen.org and fill out a short questionnaire. 3.
Wait for researchers to contact you about research trials you may be a
candidate for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Boom.
Science - it's that easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Some
of these trials require a history or family history of cancer. Others do
not. Most require some sort of tissue or blood sample which can be drawn
the next time you are at the doctor's office and shipped to the corresponding
research lab to evaluate for genetic markers. (There is a particularly
fascinating trial going on right now which is enrolling pregnant women with no
history of cancer that will evaluate potentially protective biomarkers found in
breast milk.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Participation
in any of these trials is the most effective way to "donate to
research". In the process, your contribution will also help to end
gender disparity in medicine and may even help lead to the scientific
breakthroughs of the future. Not a bad way to spend the morning, if I do
say so myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-87706838164686744412015-04-25T18:58:00.003-07:002015-04-26T09:15:44.449-07:00Ingredients for a Perfect Mom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><b>(**Writer's Note: Full disclosure - at any given time I have approximately one kazillion blog post ideas floating around in varying stages of completion. This was one I started last year after T gave me one of my favorite Mother's Day cards of all time. I'm finally getting around to finishing the post nearly a year later but I'm fairly sure these ingredients won't ever expire. Or at least not until he becomes a teenager anyway.**)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKJ8H7y-yFzHILNQhYrxKU-ixNhh5UqvwL_FXC6kjctl7poQLxkOajQgoBTtYiMDrjY-F3st7jaUlddXj9gQ2krdecCzvsN08E1pXH73BoREoCqlhrRAIrVXUQ5bGTCYYcmFdBui2KIw/s1600/IMG_2548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKJ8H7y-yFzHILNQhYrxKU-ixNhh5UqvwL_FXC6kjctl7poQLxkOajQgoBTtYiMDrjY-F3st7jaUlddXj9gQ2krdecCzvsN08E1pXH73BoREoCqlhrRAIrVXUQ5bGTCYYcmFdBui2KIw/s1600/IMG_2548.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Snips and Snails and Puppydog Tails.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</b></span><br />
<br />
As any good mom will tell you, guilt is all part of the gig when it comes to raising kids. In fact, in spite of having what are for all accounts two good-hearted, kind, sweet and well-behaved children, I still spend a fair amount of time worrying I'm going to screw them up. <br />
<br />
And this special blend of <i>mommy neurosis</i> was only compounded once I was diagnosed with cancer and their little lives were etched with the harsh realities of disease.<br />
<br />
This may be why I was particularly pleased when Teague handed me a Mother's Day Gift with an itemized list of mommy ingredients carefully scrawled out in crayon. <br />
<br />
Entitled "Ingredients for a Perfect Mom", I knew this was my chance to crawl inside his little psyche and find out once and for all exactly what my son felt I was made of. <br />
<br />
<b>What Mom is Made of: (According to Teague)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>1. </b><b> Two cups of spoils and sweet.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
I hate to be a naysayer, but this ingredient may have something to do with T's recent campaign for a <br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Minecraft figurine he saw at Target. Well played, my friend. But I cannot shell out that kind of <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kDhRfyJ4Gbsudq20IwQaqi1c1Na_DL24ldIltw1WTkaAbHuWBoFvGZqO3ISAzXZfx4vwyx6xvrdUWadA4jamVm_Okd2GiXbu_nt6h9Vgz8NzqYKmKjAfFWM-gbYHDV7uKHQMGB-V-YM/s1600/IMG_2547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kDhRfyJ4Gbsudq20IwQaqi1c1Na_DL24ldIltw1WTkaAbHuWBoFvGZqO3ISAzXZfx4vwyx6xvrdUWadA4jamVm_Okd2GiXbu_nt6h9Vgz8NzqYKmKjAfFWM-gbYHDV7uKHQMGB-V-YM/s1600/IMG_2547.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puppy Love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
money for a block of plastic. (Seriously, someone is making a mint off of that toy line.)<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>2. Two teaspoons of cooking.</b><br />
<br />
Two teaspoons of cooking is actually a pretty accurate measurement of my culinary abilities. Although well meaning, I am afflicted with terrible seasoning instincts and a short attention span - a combination that does not often bring about Anthony Bourdain-worthy entrees. You'll notice T does not mention the quality of this two teaspoons of cooking. His inclusion is merely a nod to the fact I provide the family just enough edible material to keep us all alive. You're welcome son. There's a clove brownie in it for you.<br />
<br />
<b>3. One ton of smart.</b><br />
<br />
One ton of smart is probably one of the best compliments I've ever received. One ton of smart is <i>a lot</i> of smart. I plan to laminate this list and use ingredient number three as a solid reference for all future arguments. <br />
<br />
<b>4. </b><b>One gallon of blogs and love.</b><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
When I read this I first thought I was misinterpreting my 7-year-old's learning-to-be-a-lefty hand <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhCPRsTrRwYhuuiz6-FEN2OBOK_XUDpbr1ZneKpoVE8cOHm0-vQX5VGO0igncfSVpXKU3Om8y6GpQ1XdyqU5d4o0xGEjDbIcoKv59DUfftPNjtZW6q6ayPN8W0F4Ytui7rhbbDlGnU6I/s1600/IMG_2536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhCPRsTrRwYhuuiz6-FEN2OBOK_XUDpbr1ZneKpoVE8cOHm0-vQX5VGO0igncfSVpXKU3Om8y6GpQ1XdyqU5d4o0xGEjDbIcoKv59DUfftPNjtZW6q6ayPN8W0F4Ytui7rhbbDlGnU6I/s1600/IMG_2536.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lashes for Days.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
writing. "Blogs?" I questioned with one eyebrow raised. Teague shrugged his shoulders, looking for all the world like a miniature Charlie Day and squeaked, "Yeah, you know - 'cause you do the blogs and you're full of love." <br />
<br />
Kid nailed it.<br />
<br />
<b>5. A pinch of athletic and fun.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
This appears to be a reflection on my gym attendance and football throwing abilities. Noted.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>6. 1/2 teaspoon of amazing.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>A half teaspoon may seem an insignificant amount of amazing - but frankly, a little bit of amazing tends to go a long way. Actually, amazing is sort of like cloves that way.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>*****</b></div>
So there you have it: Indisputable proof that despite my many flaws, mistakes and missteps in the realm of parenting I'm still ahead - at least in the eyes of this boy. Which, to be perfectly honest, is more than enough for me. In fact, after all that sweetness, there may be a new Minecraft figurine in it for him after all.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyFCxgyDScx2QTtmI6MkOjBKXHjsWCKWqYIGqmzFYphXM3uX2lg6tO48U2OUMLt9k0pK7EK-CudtTHIp1U2MWywyzQ2Y9flqNxR9eq-3bfc89yw0k5wQcKZMIEN7XFdSNF-kSsXy_Vsc/s1600/IMG_4869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyFCxgyDScx2QTtmI6MkOjBKXHjsWCKWqYIGqmzFYphXM3uX2lg6tO48U2OUMLt9k0pK7EK-CudtTHIp1U2MWywyzQ2Y9flqNxR9eq-3bfc89yw0k5wQcKZMIEN7XFdSNF-kSsXy_Vsc/s1600/IMG_4869.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-52403497988387139012015-02-28T11:23:00.001-08:002015-03-02T06:20:49.893-08:00Army of Women<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am a big believer in women's rights. Heck, I might even go so far as to describe myself as a feminist. Which is why it pains me a little to write the following statement: Men and women are <i>not</i> created equal. At least not where medicine is concerned. In fact, I believe <i>the treatment of women and men as equals is a dangerous practice and must be stopped</i>. <br />
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Ladies, before you speed dial Emma Watson to notify her there is traitor in the camp - hear me out. Women are not the same as men because - biology.<br />
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Now, unless you happen to be a Republican lawmaker in the <a href="http://www.usnews.com/opinion/blogs/laura-chapin/2015/02/25/vito-barbieri-and-personhood-bill-backers-dont-understand-reproduction" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">news these days</span></a>, I'm betting the average reader has a fairly strong understanding of female anatomy. But, should a refresher course be in order, please allow me to summarize the finer points: our junk is just - different. <br />
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In addition to being unable to accurately portray the SNL <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbgPcwLTMWo" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">classic</span></a> D*** in the Box, women's bodies are generally smaller and have a higher fat composition than our male counterparts. And as most men, PMS memes and sitcom episodes will gleefully confirm - women have higher estrogen, progesterone and other hormone levels which fluctuate throughout the month.<br />
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Women's bodies function differently than men's because <i>they are</i>. So it shouldn't take that big of a leap to make the assumption that medications and medical treatments would also <i>affect women differently</i>. <br />
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It turns out that's true. Studies have shown women may have an altered response to treatments ranging from aspirin to anesthesia due to variations in metabolism and absorption rates. Some <a href="http://www.longwoods.com/content/22918" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">treatments</span></a><span style="color: #990000;"> </span>currently in use today may not be as effective for women. <a href="http://www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/news/20130515/fda-lower-ambiens-dose-to-prevent-drowsy-driving" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Others</span></a> may require dose changes to avoid potentially toxic side effects. <br />
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But here's the kicker - we don't really have a lot of information about that.<br />
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Until the year 1993, women of childbearing age were actually <i>banned</i> from participating in <i>any clinical trial</i>. This means there were essentially no studies which involved women of childbearing age for any medication, device or procedure approved prior to <i>not-very-long-ago</i>. <br />
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If you are a woman and this statement doesn't concern you - you're not paying attention. <br />
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Underrepresentation is scary stuff. And although the FDA has since lifted the "no baby-makers" regulation and encourages both male and female participants in trials, currently less than <i>one in three</i> clinical research subjects is a woman.<br />
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So why the perpetual clinical sausage fest? As a research coordinator in charge of enrolling patients for trials, I can tell you "enroll more women" is not as simple as it sounds.<br />
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Women are often caregivers of children or other dependents and may be unable to schedule appointments around their other obligations. We are also less likely to have quality insurance benefits or jobs which allow time off for medical appointments. And there are other enrollment obstacles to contend with such as pregnancy or lack of transportation in rural communities which limit trial participation. <br />
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But instead of shrugging shoulders at the obvious gender disparity in research, oncology guru Dr. Susan Love decided to do something about it. Namely, she found a way to connect women to oncology research trials across the country through a novel program called <a href="http://www.armyofwomen.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Army of Women</span></a>. <br />
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Here's how it works: 1. Determine that you are, in fact, a woman. 2. Go to www.armyofwomen.org and fill out a short questionnaire. 3. Wait for researchers will contact you about research trials you may be a candidate for. <br />
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Boom. Science - it's that easy. <br />
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Some of these trials require a history or family history of cancer. Others do not. Most require some sort of tissue or blood sample which can be drawn the next time you are at the doctor's office and shipped to the corresponding research lab to evaluate for genetic markers. (There is a particularly fascinating trial going on right now which is enrolling pregnant women with no history of cancer that will evaluate potentially protective biomarkers found in breast milk.)<br />
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Participation in any of these trials is the most effective way to "donate to research". In the process, your contribution will also help to end gender disparity in medicine and may even help lead to the scientific breakthroughs of the future. Not a bad way to spend the morning, if I do say so myself.<br />
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So sign up today.<span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span>Let me know when you do. Heck, while you are at it, sign up your mother, your sisters, your grandmother and aunts. Share this <i>with every</i> woman on your Facebook friend list. Because the only way to secure a seat at the decision-making table - in medicine or otherwise - is to drag it there our damn selves. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-8136540069871194392015-02-18T21:01:00.004-08:002015-02-18T21:01:59.479-08:00The Best Party.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Though he would never admit it to anyone willingly, my husband can be a bit of a sentimentalist. <br />
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Even after more than thirteen years, two kids and a cancer - there are still days when he surprises me. Today became one of those days when Hunky Hubby sent me a quote by Bill Murray from a Saturday Night Live interview which made me stop in my tracks and instantly brought tears to both of our eyes. </div>
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Now, sentiment tends to be contagious - and because I won't be able to sleep tonight until I make sense of what this story means to me - It's apparently time to pull on my writing pants (Oh, It's a thing). So hold tight and thanks in advance for being the world's most affordable therapists.</div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white;">"Gilda got married and went away. None of us saw her anymore. There was one good thing: Laraine had a party one night, a great party at her house. And I ended up being the disk jockey. She just had forty-fives, and not that many, so you really had to work the music end of it. There was a collection of like the funniest people in the world at this party. Somehow Sam Kinison sticks in my brain. The whole Monty Python group was there, most of us from the show, a lot of other funny people, and Gilda. Gilda showed up and she’d already had cancer and gone into remission and then had it again, I guess. Anyway she was slim. We hadn’t seen her in a long time. And she started doing, “I’ve got to go,” and she was just going to leave, and I was like, “Going to leave?” It felt like she was going to really leave forever.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">So we started carrying her around, in a way that we could only do with her. We carried her up and down the stairs, around the house, repeatedly, for a long time, until I was exhausted. Then Danny did it for a while. Then I did it again. We just kept carrying her; we did it in teams. We kept carrying her around, but like upside down, every which way—over your shoulder and under your arm, carrying her like luggage. And that went on for more than an hour—maybe an hour and a half—just carrying her around and saying, “She’s leaving! This could be it! Now come on, this could be the last time we see her. Gilda’s leaving, and remember that she was very sick—hello?”</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">We worked all aspects of it, but it started with just, “She’s leaving, I don’t know if you’ve said good-bye to her.” And we said good-bye to the same people ten, twenty times, you know. </span><span style="background-color: white;">And because these people were really funny, every person we’d drag her up to would just do like five minutes on her, with Gilda upside down in this sort of tortured position, which she absolutely loved. She was laughing so hard we could have lost her right then and there.</span><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></i><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white;">It was just one of the best parties I’ve ever been to in my life. I’ll always remember it. It was the last time I saw her.”</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px;">As I read these words it brings me back to the days of my own precious farewell parties and the people in my life who have refused to allow me to slip quietly into the night. They have held me as I've said my goodbye's - to a life I once believed I would lead and a body which unexpectedly betrayed. And s</span><span style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px;">omehow, through the darkest of times, they kept me laughing - sometimes hysterically and while in awkward positions (looking at you here, Ali). </span><br />
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px;">There is no way to know exactly when we will walk out those doors for the last time - but we <i>can</i> choose who is invited to the party. Though we may not see each other as often as we like, I am ever so thankful for the amazing people who keep the party going in sickness and in health. There is no question, I could not do this without you.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px;">Especially a certain hunky hubby who reminds me every day that life is worth fighting for. </span><span style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px;">I love you so.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px;"><i>"The goal is to live a full productive life even with all that ambiguity. No matter what happens, whether the cancer never flares up again or whether you die, the important thing is that the days that you have had - you will have lived." </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px;"><i>~ Gilda Radner</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-83991805936768709002015-02-08T15:03:00.001-08:002015-08-19T18:17:21.444-07:00Talk Science to Me.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For all the fuss about the importance of funding medical research, it has come to my attention that the <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have severe metro envy after visiting DC.</td></tr>
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average bear has no idea what "research" really looks like. But of course, before my own diagnosis with a serious disease, I was one of those average bears too. Don't get me wrong, I knew research was important. I read and kept myself updated about the latest study results but frankly I had only a vague idea about how the results in those research papers were formulated.<br />
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Fast forward a couple of very full years and I am not only a participant in two important research trials but I also work as a cardiology research coordinator as well as dabble in patient and cancer research advocacy. <br />
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So - lest you think research is something found exclusively in the pages of medical journals, I'd like to take a moment to blow your mind:<br />
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<i>Research is happening all the time, right in your own back yard.</i> <i>And you can help medicine make progress through doing things </i><i>other than purchasing pink ribbon coffee mugs</i>. (Need a reminder? Watch my Tedx pep talk <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3oTAKHCr7s" target="_blank">here.</a> )<br />
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This summer I had the opportunity to travel to Washington DC to serve as a Consumer Advocate for the Department of Defense Breast Cancer Research Program. This is a very fancy title which means I was on the board that helped decide which research proposals received DOD funding for FY 2015. <br />
<br />
Allow me to geek out a little here - but this was pretty much the coolest thing I have ever taken part in. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFp_-tWhptF6jyhecUimf4VsX24F5h8NbY39YDnNu5KyS6azNYmzqKB_3UJ5q5noq0BjJleStpjEECF9zamOIYxVqfwnVN_c114HdWXi1UUxFNxpMwc3otvwXhVMy_R4aEUpIFpdywss/s1600/IMG_3080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFp_-tWhptF6jyhecUimf4VsX24F5h8NbY39YDnNu5KyS6azNYmzqKB_3UJ5q5noq0BjJleStpjEECF9zamOIYxVqfwnVN_c114HdWXi1UUxFNxpMwc3otvwXhVMy_R4aEUpIFpdywss/s1600/IMG_3080.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was my first trip to the capitol and I was blown away by<br />
this amazing city. </td></tr>
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Hundreds of highly-trained, uber qualified people from around the world - both scientists and consumers - took part in this program, which meets whenever DOD research funding is doled out (frankly, not often enough, these days). We were assigned to various panels and provided with several research proposals many months in advance. These we were required to review in depth and provide our recommendations based on a set criteria. Our recommendations were then <i>presented</i> <i>and voted on </i>during a confidential, closed door session. <br />
<br />
Now, the BCRP is technically a military operation and the proposals we reviewed were proprietary. In fact, everything about this experience - from military assigned computers to the security guards positioned at each door was a reminder that we were not in Kansas anymore. It also turns out the government tends to take their investments rather seriously. There were even torrid tales of panel members being arrested and stripped of their credentials for leaking information in the past. So, it goes without saying I can't share any of the fascinating information I gleaned in my time there (orange may be the new black, but it does not go well with my complexion).<br />
<br />
But just between you and me - many of the details about this science were so far over my head that even if I <i>wanted</i> to leak information it would sound something along the lines of: "So there's this new pathway they found on aggressive tumor cells that may make it so targeted treatments can be developed in the future which will allow my friends to live long lives, raise their children and hopefully not experience brutal side effects in the process." <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHTCAq6miOEqnB2Ml83iHuaI_oW2bdOIR67CjXkj8CchZYYDr7Ggs74h21AHEImD-KZMpwRjGB3ZSNFfO0rVhIm6C2a_OL7OZTZXvcydw3QSqfjSGYSW1Ew3nIh1H0SxCFUnihDEo194/s1600/10424359_10201418830751072_64281373869442404_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHTCAq6miOEqnB2Ml83iHuaI_oW2bdOIR67CjXkj8CchZYYDr7Ggs74h21AHEImD-KZMpwRjGB3ZSNFfO0rVhIm6C2a_OL7OZTZXvcydw3QSqfjSGYSW1Ew3nIh1H0SxCFUnihDEo194/s1600/10424359_10201418830751072_64281373869442404_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I must have seen this view a thousand times in photos, <br />
but there is something very powerful about actually<br />
standing where great men (and women) have stood before.</td></tr>
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Now at this point you may be questioning the validity of our American government that someone with such a rudimentary understanding of ridiculously specialized science would be placed in a decision-making role in charge of funding THE FUTURE OF MEDICINE. <br />
<br />
You would, of course, be correct. <br />
<br />
The scientists submitting proposals, as well as those who served on this board have, in many cases, spent their entire careers studying a single molecular pathway in the hopes of discovering a breakthrough. These are brilliant minds who accomplished more before the age of 20 than most people (myself included) could even comprehend. And these are also people who dwell almost exclusively beneath the soft neon glow of laboratory hood lamps.<br />
<br />
The research we were reviewing was brand-spanking-new-baby-science and the proposals which eventually receive funding will take place in petri dishes and mice models within progressive research institutions around the world. But while it was exciting to witness "science in action", there was no mistaking, it was not the present generation of cancer survivors I was representing. Best case scenario, the technology discovered within the fine print of these research protocols will be 10-20 years away from being tested on a single human.<br />
<br />
But that's <i>exactly</i> how each and every medication, device and treatment on the market today started out. <br />
<br />
Want proof? Herceptin - the game-changing chemotherapy drug that will hopefully allow me and thousands of others diagnosed each year with aggressive, HER2+ cancers live long enough to raise our children - originated through funding provided by BCRP.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKslwgY3lzC7G2Pfxjrh0ttBtsS5F3rpCvMclJ9qfxE6BOvGS-1Hj5RzfVmfPoDLBKuwD79FGlwKXjI97_L9gjSLaNuLYMoiyHD1DdAPEPLkWJXmf_BHqMxVqUTuN-xDhlcAIN-iIVTdg/s1600/IMG_3091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKslwgY3lzC7G2Pfxjrh0ttBtsS5F3rpCvMclJ9qfxE6BOvGS-1Hj5RzfVmfPoDLBKuwD79FGlwKXjI97_L9gjSLaNuLYMoiyHD1DdAPEPLkWJXmf_BHqMxVqUTuN-xDhlcAIN-iIVTdg/s1600/IMG_3091.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If these walls could talk...</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
All medical progress starts with an idea. The idea must be tested and retried until it can be proven. The idea must be able to be replicated in petri dishes, animal models, tissue samples, in healthy people and finally in those who are affected by the disease. And then this same idea must prove to be more effective - and be accompanied by less toxic side effects than the current therapy. And all of this must take place prior to receiving approval by the FDA. <br />
<br />
Because of these strict requirements, any medication that actually makes it to market has basically won the research lottery. And if you have ever questioned why new medications come with such a steep price tag - it is often because investors must cover the costs of the myriad failures it took to discover a single success.<br />
<br />
But that's what it takes. This is exactly why funding research is so important.<i> Progress is a building block, and it takes time, money and the expertise of people who have spent their whole, damn lives evaluating molecular pathways under microscopes. </i> Ultimately, even among the most promising proposals, around 99% of them will fail. They will fail because that is also how medicine evolves - not because the scientists were not doing their job, or being wasteful. Certainly not because of some "big pharma" conspiracy theory. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqE8HLrh2NCEKki8H-dnoL7G-BehBCcUxfFdyRbOe8x51FyDpcfyS8ckAUe_5hCi0IjgtoR2x8JAgQ7JeEWJ-qxTNxnZgZ0gbkMYvxh7sRr5obxkJi-zz9EnSVpxKnvaaMUWvh57HrEA/s1600/IMG_3083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqE8HLrh2NCEKki8H-dnoL7G-BehBCcUxfFdyRbOe8x51FyDpcfyS8ckAUe_5hCi0IjgtoR2x8JAgQ7JeEWJ-qxTNxnZgZ0gbkMYvxh7sRr5obxkJi-zz9EnSVpxKnvaaMUWvh57HrEA/s1600/IMG_3083.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abe-y Baby.</td></tr>
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<br />
Anyone who believes that a cure for cancer exists but is kept safely behind lock and key has grossly underestimated the foe. Frankly, I have seen the inner workings of cancer research and I am here to tell you - if there is a fault, it lies not in our stars - but rather our organization. <br />
<br />
This is why, programs such as the BCRP are so monumentally important. It is essential that each precious research dollar goes toward studies that will be effectively carried out by people who are knowledgeable and skilled. But it is just as essential that at the end of the day, the research approved will help us to inch closer to common goals - decrease cancer related mortality rates, improve quality of life for those who undergo treatment, and ultimately find a way to prevent or eradicate this disease.<br />
<br />
Which is where I come in.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, my role in this panel was <i>not</i> to determine if the "elegant science" presented in these research proposals was promising or sound. Rather, it was to determine the impact this science could potentially have on the breast cancer community should it prove to be true. By requiring consumer reviewers be part of this process, the scientists gain the perspective of the people they eventually want to benefit. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7a4W9szQBBcyQEWwo6yhdBtKY3_K-us0IlN3_Ej89FaSvf0YfV_n2rrY_vCh84yzp1lLqTZWkhdcIGlYrwaxBpQcVJUqUzWrK8STS6bbEw1AWjpJp6oC8u-ADQ1JiOMH8yK4sGpUzrU/s1600/10487600_10201421761224332_7330309523535200213_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7a4W9szQBBcyQEWwo6yhdBtKY3_K-us0IlN3_Ej89FaSvf0YfV_n2rrY_vCh84yzp1lLqTZWkhdcIGlYrwaxBpQcVJUqUzWrK8STS6bbEw1AWjpJp6oC8u-ADQ1JiOMH8yK4sGpUzrU/s1600/10487600_10201421761224332_7330309523535200213_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously - this city is stunning. <br />
If you've never been, find a way. You won't regret it.</td></tr>
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I was far from alone in my role as a consumer reviewer. In fact, the orientation room was filled to the gills with strong, dedicated men and women intent on representing the tens of thousands diagnosed and living with breast cancer each year. Some of us had medical experience, many did not. But all of the reviewers had two things in common - we each had experienced breast cancer first hand and we were all currently active in advocacy. I was nominated by Young Survival Coalition however there were also representatives from ACS, Komen, Tiger Lily Foundation and many other organizations.<br />
<br />
Though I cannot discuss the panel I served on or identify the brilliant minds who served with me, I can tell you it was an amazing experience - and though it is a commitment of time and brain power, I would certainly encourage others to serve as well. Flying home from our nation's capitol, I left with a renewed sense of optimism about the future of breast cancer research - as well as with a few awkward nerd crushes on the scientists who are helping to make life better for people like me.<br />
<br />
And who doesn't need a good nerd-crush now and then?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SS44_fCckVfaAWVVzuPFvNQvO1c0neKCoerOHTZ4d_jEY2SAr9pl1XRIG8gdP-Lr2DrGEIT0_8c5rA2Kl0ldV_oTh7yUi-kjBVqCVLI8FE2SE13cN9Zhk-FMt3jHPCJwqQozzfRETe8/s1600/IMG_3078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SS44_fCckVfaAWVVzuPFvNQvO1c0neKCoerOHTZ4d_jEY2SAr9pl1XRIG8gdP-Lr2DrGEIT0_8c5rA2Kl0ldV_oTh7yUi-kjBVqCVLI8FE2SE13cN9Zhk-FMt3jHPCJwqQozzfRETe8/s1600/IMG_3078.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DC - especially the Smithsonian Museums is <br />
probably my version of Disney Land. <br />
I could spend weeks exploring. <br />
I hope to come back some day soon.</td></tr>
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<br />
<i>Nerd note: Amazingly, this same careful review process occurs every time DOD research funding is doled out. (Interested in participating as a consumer reviewer? Learn more about the Breast Cancer Research Program <a href="http://cdmrp.army.mil/bcrp/" target="_blank">here.</a>) Actually, there are also programs relating to other types of cancers, autism, spinal cord injuries, orthopedics and a multitude of other diseases. These panels need representation from consumer reviewers in order to effectively point research in the right direction. Interested? Here's a <a href="http://cdmrp.army.mil/default.shtml" target="_blank">link.</a> </i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-41502100793643545832015-01-10T18:15:00.001-08:002015-01-10T22:27:18.188-08:00Nothing is Going to Get Better, It's Not.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInA6eTwyKJK_nkWPRHYigxbvqK7gIV0nOAztfiyaKXI4p_l16bSHHLdkNTjqxU8VfsEUwx9p1CT9G5YJ_4R1xT1oOep-YrdhCDToP4mbaJ713QvOwgHWroth4JmFcjja3jfG13d9o7tk/s1600/IMG_3780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInA6eTwyKJK_nkWPRHYigxbvqK7gIV0nOAztfiyaKXI4p_l16bSHHLdkNTjqxU8VfsEUwx9p1CT9G5YJ_4R1xT1oOep-YrdhCDToP4mbaJ713QvOwgHWroth4JmFcjja3jfG13d9o7tk/s1600/IMG_3780.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
Chances are, anyone who has come in contact with a Hallmark card has at some point read a version of the Starfish Story. As a recap, it goes something like this: Child walks along the beach, sees a zillion starfish washed up on the shore and begins to throw them back into the ocean. Parent to child: You can't possibly make a difference. Child throws another. Child to parent: I made a difference to that one. <br />
<br />
Perfect right? Here's the untold part of that story:<br />
<br />
Parent rolls eyes at child and sits down to eat lunch. Child neurotically throws as many starfish as he can while glancing over his shoulder at said parent. Child accidentally cuts hand on a piece of glass while trying to chuck a starfish. Forty starfish later, child becomes exhausted and decides perhaps lunch is a good idea after all. <br />
<br />
The moral of the story is: It can be tough to stand up for what you believe - especially when the odds seem stacked, impact isn't immediately obvious and lunch is so darn delicious. <br />
<br />
Taking a "lunch break" from changing the world (or yourself for that matter) doesn't have to mean throwing in the towel. But once you are rested, don't forget to get back out there and throw more starfish - this time with friends who like to throw starfish too. And never, never doubt the impact you can make by simply choosing to stand up. **Note: This post may or may not be a pep talk to myself. <br />
<br />
Because making a difference is possible. And it's easier than you'd think.<br />
<br />
<b>Don't be Duped</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It's no secret I am not a fan of organizations who take advantage of well-meaning givers (Watch my Tedx talk <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3oTAKHCr7s" target="_blank">here.</a>) It turns out, just because a non-profit organization "looks good" doesn't necessarily mean they "do good". And the amount of money funneled into unnecessary fluff and CEO salaries is enough to make a girl think twice before chipping in to any cause. But as easy as it is to rage against the philanthropic machine, it's important to remember we each have an obligation to do a little research <i>before</i> we send our dollars and time. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbRsI0cpEqTf8YjSqaK_PBvvqjLLOv8inNAvTOT2ZMm28mUY5yANqL3DMIELaKAFXk7sZaSC6tXaWoyMjsw7yQdISWzo_H1oxNvACaEuFc2OHmavdZLve2NswwSM9IYEHhAJt7GM_Vxc/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbRsI0cpEqTf8YjSqaK_PBvvqjLLOv8inNAvTOT2ZMm28mUY5yANqL3DMIELaKAFXk7sZaSC6tXaWoyMjsw7yQdISWzo_H1oxNvACaEuFc2OHmavdZLve2NswwSM9IYEHhAJt7GM_Vxc/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="281" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Of course, that can be easier said than done.<br />
<br />
Luckily, there are resources out there that make it easy to sort through the bad apples and find organizations whose values align with your own. This helps ensure your dollars are doing the most good and packing the biggest punch. Because - let's face it - we have enough proverbial pink coffee mugs to go around.<br />
<br />
<b>Charity Navigator </b><br />
<br />
This uber inclusive website displays the good, the bad and the ugly about every non-profit organization who files for 501-3 tax exempt status - including health, education and animal related causes among others. Want to see how your fav stacks up or curious about the annual salary of the Komen Foundation CEO? (Hint: It's more than the president) It's all here.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.charitynavigator.org/" target="_blank">http://www.charitynavigator.org</a><br />
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<b>Give a Little</b><br />
<br />
As a nurse in a busy ICU, there was a time when I could hang blood tubing in my sleep. But although those precious red bags were just "part of the job", I never thought for a moment I would one day find <i>myself</i> staring into the business end of a blood transfusion. (Read why <a href="http://www.mylifedistilled.blogspot.com/2012/11/underrated-bodily-fluids.html" target="_blank">here.</a>) Two years later, it's a gift I am incredibly thankful to have received - and one I will never take for granted.<br />
<br />
Blood products helped put the pink back into my cheeks and saves countless lives every year. But not everyone can donate due to exclusions ranging from international travel to tattoos. This makes receiving donations from those who can all the more imperative - especially during this time of year when stockpiles often run dangerously low. <br />
<br />
According to the American Red Cross, a single donation can help up to three people and it's an easy way to - quite literally - give of yourself. So if you can donate, please do. If altruism isn't enough to get you off the couch - they also serve cookies. And I'm fairly certain altruistic cookies don't have calories.<br />
<br />
Find a donation center <a href="http://www.redcrossblood.org/donating-blood" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
<br />
<b>Choose to be More Involved</b><br />
<br />
In a few short weeks, I will be embarking on yet another sweaty palm inducing endeavor. This time as a volunteer lobbyist for the American Cancer Society - something I know absolutely nothing about. <br />
<br />
(Want to throw some starfish with me? Read more about American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network <a href="http://www.acscan.org/" target="_blank">here.</a>)<br />
<div>
<br />
Frankly, I don't know that I will be successful in this endeavor as the odds seem impossibly stacked against meaningful change. The state of Idaho boasts some alarmingly poor health statistics. Its citizens have some of the highest rates of skin cancer and lowest rates of insurance coverage or access to health screenings in the entire country. And when I look at the sheer magnitude of what needs to be done and how small my tiny (blue in a very red state) voice truly is - it can be overwhelming to say the least. <br />
<br />
But if not me - then who? <br />
<br />
We cannot possibly save them all, but we must each choose to throw those dang starfish back into the ocean. We must sign petitions, discuss issues bigger than the size of Kim Kardashian's bum and most importantly - we must vote. Because action - great or small - is the only way to bring about change. <br />
<br />
In the immortal words of the great Dr. Seuss - <i>Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better - it's not. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Now get out there and chuck some starfish.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-12445175167575580632014-12-13T22:19:00.000-08:002014-12-14T10:12:02.754-08:00Four-Legged Therapists<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I never considered myself a dog person - at least not in the typical sense of the word. Though there were certainly plenty of dogs who have played a role in my life.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2RoBfCrOuLAKWY-7pVxIiw1lBDQvnEYSlhOQuBPvPUcRSG6s1DPYeyXIy_HyNjO8zRxB_JIJOoHih4W8TgU9TZOcbyd34mUfNIAZZEK7JB-vr6S-9nx0toioMj0PeJLItcLJFyg48Qrc/s1600/l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2RoBfCrOuLAKWY-7pVxIiw1lBDQvnEYSlhOQuBPvPUcRSG6s1DPYeyXIy_HyNjO8zRxB_JIJOoHih4W8TgU9TZOcbyd34mUfNIAZZEK7JB-vr6S-9nx0toioMj0PeJLItcLJFyg48Qrc/s1600/l.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heather Caro, Age 8</td></tr>
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Growing up, my rural childhood home was a veritable revolving door of farm animals in the process of being "saved" by my brother and I. Much to my father's dismay - and despite countless lectures - I liberated the Magpies from the carefully placed bird traps which speckled our cherry orchards and named each stray dog dropped off within a five mile radius. Abandoned barn kittens, a horse, turtles, an ill-fated muskrat and several rescued bunnies were literally my "pet projects". In fact, I spent much of my time nursing tiny creatures in the hopes of accomplishing my ultimate goal: dressing them in doll clothes. <br />
<br />
And, because "aggressive nurturing" is sort of my thing, these antics have continued into my adult life as well.<br />
<br />
Over the course of our marriage my husband has put up with countless additions to our family <br />
including pregnant cats, stray dogs, doves, love birds, chickens and two children. The next time you see him, ask hunky hubby about the time I brought home "Meatball" - the tiny yowling kitten with an intestinal disease who followed us around the house leaving a brown liquid trail. (He loves telling that story).<br />
<br />
But, although I have loved animals dearly, there's always been a distinct separation between "us" and "them". And I can't say I ever had that intense Marley-and-Me, call-your-pets-kids bonding experience that dog people all seem to share.<br />
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<br />
That is, until I met Barley.<br />
<br />
Barley was a sweet, fat, milk-chocolate lab who we found roaming through the orchard near my parent's home. He was overweight, had hot spots and a nasty ear infection so par-for-the-course we took him in. Later we would learn that Barley had a congenital disorder which would cause him to lose his sight. But none of that mattered to either Bar or us and he quickly settled in as part of the family. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-XPeuLtQw7Z9XgC2hVTzqWTi1q9WEkyE6ILYXkz3iVxT0uBGJpU76fj9vAgzBsMlWC5jK3mrtGcbRsZx8eSGz1OnpW1zk0K6vmCruf2ehEYZgNo3eRH25fUEB6twpqsiIXJ6Q6r63y4/s1600/156278_3529611297339_1224799464_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-XPeuLtQw7Z9XgC2hVTzqWTi1q9WEkyE6ILYXkz3iVxT0uBGJpU76fj9vAgzBsMlWC5jK3mrtGcbRsZx8eSGz1OnpW1zk0K6vmCruf2ehEYZgNo3eRH25fUEB6twpqsiIXJ6Q6r63y4/s1600/156278_3529611297339_1224799464_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barley and his seeing eye kid.</td></tr>
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<br />
Barley was the best of what his breed is known for. He loved "food that fell on the floor", camping trips, swimming at the lake and just being close to the family. He put up with the children when they used him as a pillow and - because they are my kids - dressed him in doll clothes. But despite the best care we could give, Barley's vision declined rapidly. By the time we moved to Coeur d' Alene, Barley's eyes were nearly opaque and we could no longer take him to the lake or outside without a leash, for fear he would wander or become lost in our yard.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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However, instead of becoming irritable as many creatures do as they lose autonomy, Barley seemed to appreciate his human guides all the more. He would follow our voices and eventually memorized the floor plan of our new home, though something as simple as a laundry basket could send him into a tailspin. Guests watched in amused horror as Barley made his way around the house with all the grace of a pinball - stumbling down stairs, running into walls and upsetting his water dish before finally settling into his "spot" on the couch, regardless of who happened to be occupying it at the time. <br />
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<br />
But as fond of this goofy dog as we were, it was my own illness - and Barley's role in my recovery - which finally clenched my personal membership into the "dog person" club.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu19y1MDL4dl2xlB8TFM-qETQjYl1G-W1rdw7zzOcvnzXODRLhxZuCgyZS_GeQhW1LFzKRB3Z3C1-7iOiESP2VKaSEWSoelh-br33U8aGfe8RK4m6ot9O9V5mPrPeFVEo-qC9RxYWiGF0/s1600/1017220_4348452087847_737260856_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu19y1MDL4dl2xlB8TFM-qETQjYl1G-W1rdw7zzOcvnzXODRLhxZuCgyZS_GeQhW1LFzKRB3Z3C1-7iOiESP2VKaSEWSoelh-br33U8aGfe8RK4m6ot9O9V5mPrPeFVEo-qC9RxYWiGF0/s1600/1017220_4348452087847_737260856_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note: My primary coping mechanism is sarcasm.</td></tr>
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<br />
Barley had always been a fantastic napper, but as my days ground to a forcible halt and the weeks stretched into months throughout my recovery period, he seemed to sense how much I needed him and never left my side. Often, before I opened my eyes from a nap I would allow my hand to drop to the side of the couch to find his soft fur to help ground me as I came back to reality. Barley's "spot" transitioned to wherever I happened to be resting and there he stood guard throughout my illness - his milky eyes fixed on the wall in front of him and his head in his paws. <br />
<br />
Barley taught me more about patience and acceptance than any formal doctrine ever could. Sometimes when I gazed into his patient, milky eyes I felt certain that he must be the Buddah incarnate. <br />
<br />
But then he would poop on the couch again and I felt fairly sure the Buddah would never do that.<br />
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Ever so slowly - one nap at a time - I began to gain strength again after being ill for so long.<br />
But just as surely as I began to find my footing in the world, my sweet chemo nap companion began to lose his. By the end of the year, Barley had lost his sight, hearing and often his continence - and yet I could not concede that perhaps the kindest thing I could do for my friend was to let him go. <br />
After all, there were probably days when Barley looked at me and thought to himself - "Why don't they put that poor, suffering girl out of her misery?" But eventually there came a day when even<i> I</i> could no longer deny it was time. Saying goodbye to my "fur-baby" was one of the most difficult things I've ever done and something that I don't like to think about even today.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSkO6Cvmn4NcLbgoorZiqprxWwFGMWbwg2gf332HfiVJlE3rmqq1wO36Gl2KmMi-IvxAi7Z74Z7_yY0Fm9iegslyjOMMqo8AZA1suJmMUNDSV_-Mys_9BtOvjxGEd7so8zPVuv_yzOQA/s1600/1380315_4923268657902_45437348_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSkO6Cvmn4NcLbgoorZiqprxWwFGMWbwg2gf332HfiVJlE3rmqq1wO36Gl2KmMi-IvxAi7Z74Z7_yY0Fm9iegslyjOMMqo8AZA1suJmMUNDSV_-Mys_9BtOvjxGEd7so8zPVuv_yzOQA/s1600/1380315_4923268657902_45437348_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think I posted more photos of Finn than my own children <br />
during his puppyhood.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
******</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">For too long, death played a leading role in our day-to-day existence. We danced with death through my treatments, prepared for it, fought against it, cursed it and grieved it. And when we finally began to rise up against death's oppressive rule over our lives - it took our dog. And frankly it was almost too much to bear. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">So, following in the footsteps of so many widows and widowers who remarry soon after the loss of their beloved - we decided to get a puppy.</span></div>
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Looking back, this was a ballsy move and it certainly could have backfired. But thankfully, we lucked out with Finnigan - the Boston Terrier mix who breathed life into our grieving family. Since his entrance into our lives, Finn has brought light, love and only one shoe chewed beyond recognition (which is pretty good all things considered). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieTD12mmqS4JxsjEoaKFnMqa0iy4chnbMpoN0W5ThMvs2gZ11eSpIkO8wlfiYYqfL7L9f9LRDivjJlKAnVgXT-6JlrSlVDE63aeUh_xCZnTkzMLDUVRpnRCZ_uMqu2qLGJ3GyyjV0-Wew/s1600/10294257_10201055804555644_378711191751444015_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieTD12mmqS4JxsjEoaKFnMqa0iy4chnbMpoN0W5ThMvs2gZ11eSpIkO8wlfiYYqfL7L9f9LRDivjJlKAnVgXT-6JlrSlVDE63aeUh_xCZnTkzMLDUVRpnRCZ_uMqu2qLGJ3GyyjV0-Wew/s1600/10294257_10201055804555644_378711191751444015_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puppy dog eyes.</td></tr>
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<br />
Finn was the first friendship I made "AC" (after cancer) and it was through his big, brown puppy eyes that I finally began to make the transition from cancer patient back to caregiver and beyond that - just me. <br />
<br />
The months after I completed treatment were a dark time. Awash in a sea of grief, I struggled to find my bearings or even put words to the questions that lurked in the shadows. Life felt unexpectedly heavy and uncertain in a way that I had no experience with. And because I left no breadcrumbs to mark my way, even my most devoted support team could not lead me from the woods.<br />
<br />
But here was this little creature who did not care that my body lay broken and scarred. He did not know, nor need to know, the girl who was lost along the way. Finn loved us unconditionally - because we were his. <br />
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And eventually that's all that really mattered. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvrYzP1NE9-pL5IlxaBTNAsz2WqQOtP4MsrgwiW2WSLTENDf36rusJV7GWwYmkn4DF15DH7w2Yqn2W9UER5QSwhAu-wJnhX4fnLAAiXjHHtlZU1fnuNk2qktoqz-B6mTkYH4ygWbipRs/s1600/10464284_10201336186005005_5057574312848227144_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvrYzP1NE9-pL5IlxaBTNAsz2WqQOtP4MsrgwiW2WSLTENDf36rusJV7GWwYmkn4DF15DH7w2Yqn2W9UER5QSwhAu-wJnhX4fnLAAiXjHHtlZU1fnuNk2qktoqz-B6mTkYH4ygWbipRs/s1600/10464284_10201336186005005_5057574312848227144_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is there anything better than puppy snuggles? I think not.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWE0Nd-Lwf-v-1N7UKeMxyPPWbwZta6FvGjIbqpgDmTgUabZNaduwVUwA-dMV1_1l5xAwjrhV0vs-P2WXhHuI-K1EMWMtW7_sn9ElsyVt0u9YVmXU6MWEul0-eJW8LNRPl0yX8IE0IG5w/s1600/993401_4857113884074_334331082_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWE0Nd-Lwf-v-1N7UKeMxyPPWbwZta6FvGjIbqpgDmTgUabZNaduwVUwA-dMV1_1l5xAwjrhV0vs-P2WXhHuI-K1EMWMtW7_sn9ElsyVt0u9YVmXU6MWEul0-eJW8LNRPl0yX8IE0IG5w/s1600/993401_4857113884074_334331082_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four-legged therapy sessions.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYVDlad_DlWKultmj4hPlqVNUfZWNF3FffUJ4G9B9_wvpGuUJGVbwgQ7p0uE7pYukvH39a1sIG8rxogGZeXOBZqvddILK9zmbcyl98gBxrbkVI2VVr4GqbM8nZWYZ6zbJteUrhBz47xs/s1600/10267771_10200995852856889_3774494068308077168_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYVDlad_DlWKultmj4hPlqVNUfZWNF3FffUJ4G9B9_wvpGuUJGVbwgQ7p0uE7pYukvH39a1sIG8rxogGZeXOBZqvddILK9zmbcyl98gBxrbkVI2VVr4GqbM8nZWYZ6zbJteUrhBz47xs/s1600/10267771_10200995852856889_3774494068308077168_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puppy Love.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2Z0X273PYYtI-cv-S-zA3QKwuQbYkVBq-SqHe09lpvGOhzpvrfWLiCn9QjCbtHKd-AxiaaDf-vwUqFK-3qz2MpVEETmBvFW7xJGNg8jz8JXCYJHEjpnkusRJgTLz8dmYS3CnjVt0l5s/s1600/1621940_10200995819776062_5465531416311329354_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2Z0X273PYYtI-cv-S-zA3QKwuQbYkVBq-SqHe09lpvGOhzpvrfWLiCn9QjCbtHKd-AxiaaDf-vwUqFK-3qz2MpVEETmBvFW7xJGNg8jz8JXCYJHEjpnkusRJgTLz8dmYS3CnjVt0l5s/s1600/1621940_10200995819776062_5465531416311329354_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rebel without a cause.</td></tr>
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There are not enough doggie treats in Petco to repay my fuzzy little fur-babies for all they have given to our family. <br />
<br />
Sweet Bar stayed beside me while the proverbial rug was ripped from beneath our feet. And little Finn taught our whole family how to pick up the pieces and move on. In their own way, they each helped us to heal. And through their friendship I finally achieved official "dog person" status. <br />
<br />
So, to all the people out there who take their dogs to visit Santa, allow them to take up 2/3 of the bed, purchase ridiculously expensive food for them and put up with chewed footware - I get it now. I really do. <br />
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Four-legged therapists are worth every penny and sacrificed hours of sleep we could possibly give. And I wouldn't have it any other way (even if it means opening the sliding glass door for the umpteenth time this morning).<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-6971080376002706362014-12-03T18:49:00.001-08:002014-12-04T18:58:26.522-08:00Ted talks and drinking games.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Well, many weeks and countless neurotic checks of the Tedx Spokane website later - the grand reveal is finally here! Watch it and weep (seriously, this might make you cry a little - fair warning if you are watching from work). And so, without further adieu - here are the 18 minutes that turned me into a crazy person for the months leading up to TedxSpokane: <a href="http://tedxtalks.ted.com/video/Think-Beyond-Pink-How-To-Practi;search%3Aheather%20caro" target="_blank">http://tedxtalks.ted.com/video/Think-Beyond-Pink-How-To-Practi;search%3Aheather%20caro</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="321" scrolling="no" src="http://tedxtalks.ted.com/video/Think-Beyond-Pink-How-To-Practi/player?layout=&read_more=1" width="416"></iframe></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And, because I am all about getting the most <strike>YouTube hits</strike> enjoyment packed into every blog experience, I have also taken the liberty of putting together a companion piece. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Official Heather Caro Ted Talk Companion Drinking Game</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">
Disclaimer: Any beverage may be utilized for this game, however drinking copious amounts of grape soda may cause participants to develop sudden-onset diabetes. Coffee is also not a good idea. In fact, utilizing any beverage other than filtered, purified or vitamin enriched water to play <b>The Official Heather Caro Ted Talk Companion Drinking Game</b> is not advised. Proceed at your own risk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Each player must take one sip of their drink each time Heather Caro:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Says "cancer".</span><br />
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</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mentions "pink".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Talks about "ribbons".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lists a product which has been pink-washed at some juncture. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mentions a pink-washed product you yourself have witnessed and/or purchased in the past.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Makes you want to eat take-out fried chicken against your better judgement.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Each player must take two sips of their drink each time:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Heather Caro laughs at her own jokes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Heather Caro, an audience member or you gets something in their eye. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Each player must finish whatever is left in their glass when:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Heather Caro finally makes it off the TEDx stage without tripping, barfing or sobbing uncontrollably and breathes an enormous sigh of relief - We did it!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">****</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I hope you have chosen your beverage wisely and are now sufficiently hydrated. Thank you so much to all of the wonderful local and not-so-local peeps<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"> who managed to shirk their work responsibilities to come see me that day. I cannot tell you how much it meant to see your sweet faces in the audience. And to all of those who couldn't be there but wanted to - please know you were up on stage with me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">And - because it takes a village to cross something this big off the ol' bucket list - special thank you's belong to: </span></span><br /><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">Hunky Hubby-who talks me off the "I'm-not-at-all-qualified-to-be-doing-this" ledge more often than I'd like to admit. I love you. Thanks for always being my biggest fan.</span></span><br /><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">My amazing, talented brother, Justin Howard who made time in his busy schedule to craft the slides I used for the second half of the speech. He puts up with my terminal lack of tech-saavy on a regular basis and can interpret my hair-brained ideas with surprising ease</span><span style="line-height: 19px;">. He's a gem, that one - and one of my very best friends. And of course my talented best-ie Jenny Borst, who illustrates my story with her stunning photography, all the while playing a leading role in keeping me sane through the process of living it.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">Rebecca Schroeder, Terri Lovins and my amazing speech coach, Mike Poutiatine who listened to my ideas, red-lined multiple drafts, gave not-too-harsh critiques and helped me hone my story. </span></span><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">Thank you for being in equal turns the best editors, therapists and friends a girl could ask for. *Muah*</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">And thank you to the rest of my family, friends and supporters as well. I cannot emphasize enough </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7fGET-Jjh6mhWq4vQJ6DRvEtlArfvua7TNomrClfRY8BDTpIskblPkz0Wo06kleZ8wiHO0azU3AS_gP64iVR2wSTw5D1blLRFEJDr2N2bxTHDZ7MGAHivcteiVW5U5sjcI5Bb4fqWfQ/s1600/heather_tedx_kfc_graph_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7fGET-Jjh6mhWq4vQJ6DRvEtlArfvua7TNomrClfRY8BDTpIskblPkz0Wo06kleZ8wiHO0azU3AS_gP64iVR2wSTw5D1blLRFEJDr2N2bxTHDZ7MGAHivcteiVW5U5sjcI5Bb4fqWfQ/s1600/heather_tedx_kfc_graph_2.jpg" height="320" width="284" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">just how important giving this speech was for <strike>keeping my bowels regular</strike> my personal healing process. Finding a way to summarize my experience with breast cancer as well attempt to impart a singular message of wisdom within such tight time constraints was no easy task - but I am so proud of where the journey has taken me. And being able to stand up on the TEDx stage while sharing my story with the world - all the while saying a giant f-you to cancer - was one of the most cathartic experiences of my life. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">Literally, figuratively, and in all the ways possible - I could not be here without each of you. I am so grateful for your love and support. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">And, with that sentiment, I'd better wrap this up before we all end up taking another drink. </span></span><br /><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19px;">Love you. That is all.</span></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-14630275162579552802014-10-12T17:10:00.000-07:002014-10-12T17:10:04.520-07:00There are some things we do because we believe in them.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If I had to make a top-10 list of my least favorite things, public speaking would rate right up there with emptying bedpans and having my blood drawn. In fact, public speaking makes me so uncomfortable that every time I type the words "public speaking" my palms start to sweat - which is really going to gross my husband out if he uses the computer after me today.<br />
<br />
But it's not as though this is a new phenomenon.<br />
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I was the nerd-before-it-was-cool kid who usually knew all the answers in school but would sooner chew off their own arm than raise it. I blush easily, sweat frequently and prefer the view from the sidelines. And though as an adult I've learned how to succeed in spite of a predisposition toward awkwardness - being front and center is certainly not something I enjoy. Which makes my latest endeavor all the more insane. <br />
<br />
On Monday, October 13th, sweaty palms and all, I will be giving a TEDx talk entitled "Think Beyond Pink: How to Practice Meaningful Philanthropy".<br />
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For those of you not familiar with the TED talk series - get thee to youtube. TED talks are thought provoking, succinct speeches given by amazing people from all walks of life and are enormously popular in nerd circles. Being asked to take part in this speech series is my version of The Super Bowl - and something to check off the ol' bucket list. This is one of my all time favorites:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kSR4xuU07sc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br />
Now I have given a fair number of cancer-issue-related speeches over the last couple of years but nothing like this. The bar for TED talks is set outrageously high. And because of the nature of my talk, I will be sharing incredibly intimate details of my life with a crowd of strangers - while somehow managing to impart wisdom - all in about 17 minutes. To make matters worse, because the speech is filmed, if I mess up, trip, sweat excessively or vomit - it will live on the inter webs forever. <br />
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*Cue sweaty palms*<br />
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Giving a Ted talk is an introverts greatest nightmare. And I <i>volunteered</i> to take part.<br />
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Some of you (namely, my mom) may ask why I feel compelled to do something which causes me to lose sleep, fret and generally act like an insecure crazy person for two solid months in preparation for the big day. Fair question. <br />
<br />
It is because I must. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVnRJKUWMl9ZKFb9MqAUtHFoNwA53zYzMgEzjdZTKWKMLOmI4zYKLCgwYMptT2Z7y3qPwRX66m_Mewlz7j6B_VtbaF5VSjGIkRBBzRc6giyVTgp7_fwCX_iynLc67Fi1IrTtpiaAfWSE/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVnRJKUWMl9ZKFb9MqAUtHFoNwA53zYzMgEzjdZTKWKMLOmI4zYKLCgwYMptT2Z7y3qPwRX66m_Mewlz7j6B_VtbaF5VSjGIkRBBzRc6giyVTgp7_fwCX_iynLc67Fi1IrTtpiaAfWSE/s1600/images-1.jpeg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Fair Warning: Anyone who shares this image<br />on Monday may be unfriended on the spot.</td></tr>
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Though of course I did not plan it this way, the TEDx Spokane event takes place smack dab in the middle of Pinktober - the month I have grown to despise for its commercialized exploitation of a very serious disease. And of all the 31 days in Pinktober, the day of my speech - October 13th - happens to fall on Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day. <br />
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Now, metastatic breast cancer is a topic that is not discussed often in the month of pink. Probably because people don't die of early stage breast cancer so it's easier to paint a pretty pink picture.<br />
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But there is no cure for metastatic disease, and despite what early-detection awareness campaigns will have you believe, an estimated 30% of those diagnosed with early stage breast cancer will go on to develop stage IV disease - no matter what the treatment or stage at diagnosis. And even more concerning, despite abysmal 5-year survival rates for those diagnosed with advanced disease, only around 7% of all research funds are devoted to metastatic breast cancer treatments. <br />
<br />
All of this combined should make Metastatic Breast Cancer Day a pretty big talking point in a month devoted to "awareness".<br />
<br />
But interestingly enough, October 13th also has been deemed "No-Bra Day"(I could not make this up). Because encouraging people to "set tatas free" is much more fun than worrying our pretty little heads about the 40,000 people who fail to meet Survivor criteria each year. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutXfxYqyttEX8qm0qLfgblw6rxrVzTK6HbPQVL6CCPOHVCXm8uC3Q4npc8uX4ARsHKsybh7mxWtZ3TlWnmycM2J2wFl1RCgXC54nT9iZCqdauTYnqQzj0TDKPIsxcgd_UnwM80w4Ha4I/s1600/1014426_10201793607200249_7301140550251526883_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutXfxYqyttEX8qm0qLfgblw6rxrVzTK6HbPQVL6CCPOHVCXm8uC3Q4npc8uX4ARsHKsybh7mxWtZ3TlWnmycM2J2wFl1RCgXC54nT9iZCqdauTYnqQzj0TDKPIsxcgd_UnwM80w4Ha4I/s1600/1014426_10201793607200249_7301140550251526883_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This. Is. Happening</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Because - <i>PINK</i>!<br />
<br />
And guess which message will be spreading like wildfire on Facebook pages throughout the land Monday morning? <br />
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My money is on the liberated Ta-tas.<br />
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To be fair, before my own diagnosis I probably would not have keyed in to how insulting it is to devote a day to not wearing a bra in conjunction with a disease that causes people to have their <i>breasts surgically removed. </i>But come on, people - we have got to do better.<br />
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Which is why, in spite of the fact that my stomach may churn and my palms may sweat - I will take the stage tomorrow and tell my story. Because it will take many, many voices to bring about real change - even if one of those voices shakes every so slightly while on stage.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8746051431270184299.post-52164951954892633102014-09-28T17:55:00.002-07:002014-09-29T18:17:50.924-07:00Soldier, Interrupted.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I will never forget the first time I saw her.<br />
<br />
I had recently returned home after my second hospitalization in less than a month. This time for sepsis after a surgical site infection put an end to my breast reconstruction efforts - and very nearly to me. Still encased in bandages with more drain tubes protruded from my body than an extra from a sci-fi movie - it seemed impossible to imagine this broken body would ever be whole once again. And as insomnia held me captive within the cocoon of blankets and pillows where I took refuge, I searched the internet in vain for answers to questions that I could not yet voice.<br />
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And then, one day, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks.<br />
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The picture was a gritty black and white image of a nude woman standing in a doorway. Deep scars laced across her young chest, mirroring my own fresh wounds. And I could not help but see myself in her eyes - or at least a vision of what could be. <br />
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This woman was unequivocally beautiful. </div>
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I cannot tell you how just long I stared at her image, trying to reconcile my own mutilated chest with this portrait of strength and resilience. Time dripped like honey as these two dramatically different versions of self were gradually superimposed and allowed to meld.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWKyA9cg8CGjlMpym6PlN0gFGr0_hubKGyjsXTfXrpAFQhmuE14M9caUMHB_lh_9zP0nccy1tMEM7RWfj7ZsNnxfVyOMaDN0cSJ2spzoOn3Bi4SaUoBg29e4tHqUZGkv7GY3KQHSWeyU/s1600/252330_10151589406733744_651179591_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWKyA9cg8CGjlMpym6PlN0gFGr0_hubKGyjsXTfXrpAFQhmuE14M9caUMHB_lh_9zP0nccy1tMEM7RWfj7ZsNnxfVyOMaDN0cSJ2spzoOn3Bi4SaUoBg29e4tHqUZGkv7GY3KQHSWeyU/s1600/252330_10151589406733744_651179591_n.jpg" height="318" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by David Jay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Finally, in a narcotic-induced haze I read through every single comment listed beneath that picture. And though the majority were kind and supportive, there were also the predictably negative comments made by the anonymous trolls who lurk on the inter webs. </div>
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Their words struck a nerve as raw as my own unhealed wounds and I cried - hard - as I came face to face with dark fears I had yet to verbalize even to myself.</div>
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"I'd kill myself if that happened to me". "Is that your brother?" "Nice tits".</div>
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Some of the words were so harsh I winced from the pain. And yet, they could not detract from the truth. <br />
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This woman was still stunning. She was strong and brave. Most importantly she was still standing after cancer had done its worst. There she was, gazing back as if to say "Is that all you've got?" </div>
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Seeing this image was the first time I had ever seen mastectomy scars portrayed honestly. It was through this portrait that I would learn to see myself in this same lovely lighting and not just the neon glare of a medical textbook. Later I would learn the image was part of a larger collection by David Jay, aptly named the <a href="http://www.thescarproject.org/" target="_blank">SCAR</a> Project and the brave women he portrayed instantly became my idols for their fearlessness and ability to face this disease with such brutal honesty.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSI31L1HlUqmJGJKw5IeJO8A-3hcEUQDWLZOZW1HvBLgy9Vx7pHcKV9HuzxwC38N5leiVdNSwc5jzgpQzvc-UCEXufQY1gE4Cg5YNQhpxfoRMircYUm4AJVc17cq2p5HxttSt5dl4z30/s1600/dsc_3735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSI31L1HlUqmJGJKw5IeJO8A-3hcEUQDWLZOZW1HvBLgy9Vx7pHcKV9HuzxwC38N5leiVdNSwc5jzgpQzvc-UCEXufQY1gE4Cg5YNQhpxfoRMircYUm4AJVc17cq2p5HxttSt5dl4z30/s1600/dsc_3735.jpg" height="400" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barbie Ritzco in Soldier, Interrupted. By David Jay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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One of the women - Barbie Ritzco - made a particularly strong impression on me. She was a member of some of the support groups I belonged to and had made a name for herself as a leader in the breast cancer community. Her nickname there was The Warrior Queen - and the title was well deserved.<br />
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Barbie was diagnosed with stage IIIb invasive breast cancer at the age of 36 while deployed in Afghanistan as a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines. There were no medical facilities where she was stationed and because she did not want to leave her fellow Marines, she chose to wait several months to address the lump she had found in her left breast. Finally, she could wait no longer and in February of 2011 Barbie was sent home to begin the battle of her life. Though her treatments were intense and the tumor did not respond to chemotherapy, Barbie said it was being forced to abandon her post with the Marines which she struggled with the most. <br />
<br />
Barbie was a soldier in every sense of the word.<br />
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This year I was lucky enough to get to know her a little - though our paths never crossed in "real life". She was spunky and kind and a little rough around the edges - and much, much tougher than I could ever imagine being. She ran marathons while still undergoing radiation treatment and was a single mother of a young boy. Besides participating in the SCAR project, Barbie was a fierce advocate for breast cancer issues and BRCA gene testing. To further educate others, she shared her story in The Pink Moon Lovelies: Empowering Stories of Survival, a book written by her friend, Nicki Boscia Durlester. Barbie also co-founded <a href="https://www.facebook.com/FlatANDFabulous" target="_blank">Flat and Fabulous</a>, a support group dedicated to women who choose to forgo reconstructive therapy after mastectomy - the first of its kind.<br />
<br />
We bonded over tattoos, our shared decision to forgo reconstruction and a disdain for pink fluff. I followed her accomplishments as she prepped for the Tough Mudder run and cheered her on when she was named Ambadassador for <a href="https://www.handful.com/" target="_blank">Handful</a> - an awesome lingerie company that offers options for mastectomy forms. And I also followed along this summer when she announced that her cancer had returned - and this time it had spread to her liver. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBj7hSqmAxe8LWoubNK_6Bd636GXpGBGk6mKZsc9qdJS_O7oNnpD1agkTAxBWraaWKPgrzh4FShXmyzcwogTxg8sOu5YITDyCK4HvLw-gXXJ6Vk6ey9Vk9Knh9Trr6bzNXXBxVVsKStZ4/s1600/1013295_862049050472463_4342689842525275927_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBj7hSqmAxe8LWoubNK_6Bd636GXpGBGk6mKZsc9qdJS_O7oNnpD1agkTAxBWraaWKPgrzh4FShXmyzcwogTxg8sOu5YITDyCK4HvLw-gXXJ6Vk6ey9Vk9Knh9Trr6bzNXXBxVVsKStZ4/s1600/1013295_862049050472463_4342689842525275927_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the sunset in Cd'A on the day Barbie died. <br />
I have to say, this was one night when pink just seemed fitting.<br />
Photo by Alex Castagno</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But we knew Barbie had been in tough spots before and pulled through with flying colors. And, doing what we do best, the entire breast cancer community cheered her on and stayed updated as she once again faced aggressive cancer treatments. The treatments were severe and she became ill - critically ill - and was intubated in the intensive care unit. <br />
<br />
Typical of Barbie, she fought back, grew stronger and was discharged home. And as tough, positive and full of life as she was, we knew that if anyone could get through this, it was Barbie.<br />
<br />
But tough doesn't matter when it comes to cancer.<br />
<br />
Barbie Ritzco died Friday September 26th, surrounded by loved ones. And our hearts, collectively, were broken.<br />
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There is, of course, no question that Barbie lived an amazing life. She accomplished more in her years than most of us could in 10 lifetimes. She was strong in the face of adversity and she did her best to make a difference. She was a good Marine and a great mom. She wanted desperately to live. Barbie Ritzco was her own woman. Barbie Ritzco was all of us. <br />
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And she is gone.<br />
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So rest easy, Soldier. Your job is done. We who are left will carry your post - but we will never forget.<br />
<br />
Fuck Cancer.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17061022052158466391noreply@blogger.com3