Road Signs

From the first moment my wife discovered she had breast cancer, there was a deafening silence from the men I know. Even ones whose wives, mothers or girlfriends had breast cancer seemed to have received a gag order from some Central Cancer Command and did little more than mumble about the experience. Not one to shut up for any known reason, I started this blog...

I was travelling yesterday and had to cross the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Having been born and bred Minnesotan – as well as learning to drive here – I know that there are certain road signs that are the same everywhere and there is some variation between states. The example above is one that’s obvious.

What I didn’t realize until yesterday was that the PHILOSOPHY of signage is different between the two states. Not on the Interstate – they keep that uniform for a reason! – but it becomes apparent when you cross over.

Minnesota’s signs are concerned with where you are going. Your destination is the information communicated on the signs with frequent reports of “Duluth 96 mi” and “Next Rest Stop 44 miles”.
Wisconsin signs are concerned with where you are.

I pulled on to US 53 northbound and drove with no idea of how far I was from my destination – but quite clear that the intersection I was passing through at that moment was Black Dog Road. The next one, when I arrived was Lone Oak Lane...

There is something to learn on this continuing breast cancer event – which surfaced again after I returned home and my wife noticed that after several hours of house work, her right arm seemed swollen. I did an exercise that, while it’s not a CURE for lymphedema, can help return slight swelling back to more normal levels.

After the initial diagnosis of breast cancer, it seemed like everyone was intently focused on the destination: cancer freedom. Like my native Minnesotans, we were regularly and constantly informed that we were well on our way to the destination.

After a year of surgery and chemo and endless doctor visits and the apparent arrival at the destination, it seems someone has switched philosophies on us without saying anything. Like my Wisconsin fiends, we are now focused on where we are.

Now that I finally have the signs right, I’m pretty sure I can get over my confusion – and pass on the philosophy!

Image: http://addins.whig.com/blogs/ihavealottoshare/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/deer_crossing.png, http://rvingwithpleasureland.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Deer_xing_thumb_640.jpg

Equal Rights For ALL Women! (Even ones we want to be INVISIBLE!)

From the first moment my wife discovered she had breast cancer, there was a deafening silence from the men I know. Even ones whose wives, mothers or girlfriends had breast cancer seemed to have received a gag order from some Central Cancer Command and did little more than mumble about the experience. Not one to shut up for any known reason, I started this blog.

 Earlier this week my wife, who is also a cancer survivor and who had a double mastectomy, told me about a woman who had also survived breast cancer and who requested permission to swim at a Seattle, WA pool topless. (http://www.vancouversun.com/health/Double+mastectomy+cancer+survivor+gets+swim+topless/6830468/story.html)

At first the city turned her down, citing a pool rule. When she explained her situation – they made an exception, but only for her. Any other woman who had survived cancer and a double mastectomy, and who would want to swim topless in order to be comfortable while exercising, would have to go beg for the permission of Seattle Parks and Recreation Superintendent Christopher Williams. (Boy could I say something about THAT…) I am quite sure that my wife would be too shy to do that and would put up with the pain that accompanies wearing virtually ANY clothing over healed mastectomy incisions!

I find it ironic and irritating that in a society that openly promotes, celebrates, encourages and markets the ritualized exposing of women’s breasts (just not the nipple – but any other part of the gland is completely and enthusiastically endorse by the judicial system of the land (which, I could point out, is heavily male…)) would hassle this cancer survivor in ANY way!

Maybe this is just part of the Post-Cancer Crash, but maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s righteous indignation that our society is set up for the “well” and while happy to make “exceptions” (for veterans, women, people with physical and mental handicaps, and small children), would just as soon carry on business as usual, excluding those who do not meet the requirements of the Real Competitors and who may have suffered in any way that would leave them (in the opinion of the Real Competitors) weak and unworthy and who have been FORCED to make concessions…

Ugh.

This whole incident leaves me feeling violated and disgusted – because, if you must know the truth, I am one of the Real Competitors and have been all my life. (Well, maybe not a REAL Real Competitors, I am, after all, only a teacher and not in Business (omar, sharif. omar, sharif.)) This past year has continually opened my eyes, challenge my preconceptions and prejudices, and forced me to reconstruct basic assumptions I’ve made all my life.

Image: http://sphotos.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/c48.0.403.403/p403x403/168563_10150917738404091_1179796902_n.jpg

THE POST-CANCER CRASH

From the first moment my wife discovered she had breast cancer, there was a deafening silence from the men I know. Even ones whose wives, mothers or girlfriends had breast cancer seemed to have received a gag order from some Central Cancer Command and did little more than mumble about the experience. Not one to shut up for any known reason, I started this blog…

Right after the literal and economic “boom” of WWI, came the Roaring Twenties. Life was good, coming together as Americans during The War Against The Kaiser had been followed by the heady rush of becoming a World Power, and it looked like the future was going to be bright, indeed.

Right after WWII came the Fabulous Fifties when America could do no wrong and we invented everything from hula hoops to the H-bomb and Elvis Presley.

The Great Depression came crashing down on the heels of the Roaring Twenties and the Fabulous Fifties were followed by the riots and assassinations of the Tumultuous Sixties.

For me, the bravery, positive outlook, and grand support of the Diagnosis, Surgery and Treatment year has come crashing down around my ears as the Post-Cancer Crash. Chemo is done, regular “How’s your wife doing this week?”s have dwindled to the occasional, off-hand query usually briefly answered.

My pink shoelaces are frayed and my wristband is dirty and faded. I am, quite frankly, left feeling depressed. No one’s fault but my own as there appears to be no more battle to fight. There’s no more heart-stopping terror to overcome. And really? My wife is alive and hasn’t felt better in YEARS!

So what’s up with me? I should be dancing on streets of gold, lolling about in Paradise, praising God from the rooftops, the skyscraper tops. Instead, I’m feeling quietly contemplative and a bit sad.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-9 talks about the fact that there are times in a person’s life that are given over to various things. Perhaps the past year was “a time to kill (cancer)...weep...be silent...war (on cancer)...hate (cancer)”.

In the same way – and in a NOT BAD way, perhaps now is “a time to heal...build up…a time for peace.” Perhaps now is the time to start growing again as well.

Perhaps now is a time to come back to life again. Perhaps now is “a time to throw away” the bitterness, anger and fear I’ve lived with for the past 18 months.

Take a deep breath. Hold it. Now release. Repeat.

There’s a faint smile on my face right now, so this must be the right thing to do...

Image: http://iselfcreate.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/man-breathing.jpg

Putting It All Together: EXERCISE ISN'T MAGIC -- BUT DO IT!

From the first moment my wife discovered she had breast cancer, there was a deafening silence from the men I know. Even ones whose wives, mothers or girlfriends had breast cancer seemed to have received a gag order from some Central Cancer Command and did little more than mumble about the experience. Not one to shut up for any known reason, I started this blog…

Doctors harp on exercise and this is the last time I’ll harp on it at length, too!

Despite the harping – or in my case, perversely because of it – I avoid exercise like the plague.

Even so, as I read more and more sites promoting the “exercise makes you better if you have breast cancer” meme, I found that almost none of them give any kind of evidence as to WHY exercise fights cancer and promotes healing.

So I dug into the sites and finally found some evidence supporting this wild, “Do this one weird thing…” kind of meme.

10) “The complicated nature of the physical activity variable, combined with lack of knowledge regarding possible biological mechanisms operating between physical activity and cancer, warrants further studies including controlled clinical randomized trials.”

Translation?

We haven’t got a good, clear idea of why exercise makes some kind of difference because we can’t quite dig deep enough or look small enough into the Human body to really understand this.

It seems clear that we know a few things: exercise gets rid of fat cells that make estrogen and estrogen drives cancer cell growth; exercise makes insulin more effective; exercise reduces the amount of leptin (which gives cells more cancer receptors) in your blood because you have fewer fat cells to make it; exercise suppresses the production of LH, FSH and “other ovarian hormones” like estrogen and progestogens. At MUCH lower levels, exercise can mimic the effect of the anti-cancer drug, tamoxifen; exercising means that more fat is metabolized and you don’t need as MUCH of the hormone to do the work of fat destruction so there are fewer hormones to drive cancer cell growth; exercise decreases the markers of inflammation; exercise boosts the immune system by circulating more wbcs and T cells, lowers the chemicals that cause swelling, lowers the number of fat cells which make estrogen which strengthens breast cancer cells and keeps the immune system working like this LONGER; and lastly, even the exercise of DAILY MOVEMENT can increase the effectiveness of insulin in those who are insulin resistant.

So we know that exercise is helpful in preventing and recovering from breast cancer. I guess that’s a big “duh” for me. Of course keeping the body healthy would prevent and fight breast cancer.

But now we know the HOW – and that’s been my goal all along!

Image: http://ak3.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/895183/preview/stock-footage-attractive-woman-runs-on-beach-against-dramatic-sunset-hd.jpg

Of Pink Shoelaces and Pink Wristbands

From the first moment my wife discovered she had breast cancer, there was a deafening silence from the men I know. Even ones whose wives, mothers or girlfriends had breast cancer seemed to have received a gag order from some Central Cancer Command and did little more than mumble about the experience. Not one to shut up for any known reason, I started this blog…

One of the main events of my life (after my wedding day, birth of my kids, marriage of my son, and birth of my grandkids) is my almost annual Young Authors Conference.

The event is planned and executed with elan and has been held at various colleges in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area for the past 22 years. I’ve been a part of the event – first as a chaperone and eventually as one of the workshop leaders – for at least fifteen of those years. There are lots and lots of people who have made those events special, but there was one yesterday that makes me smile and feel warm inside…

I’ll back up a little to explain that about a year ago, early on in my wife’s breast cancer story, a god friend of ours ordered (what she thought) was a pair of very, very pink shoelaces. She found out, on delivery, that she’d ordered TEN pairs of shoelaces. I took a pair for my own black Reeboks and laced them up.

As I am a high school counselor who was recently a classroom science teacher, I come into contact with 14-18 year olds on a daily, moment-by-moment basis. The day after I put in the laces, a student dashed into my office, stopped abruptly and said, “I like your shoelaces.”

“Oh,” I replied, “I got them because my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“Oh, man, I’m sorry Mr. Stewart. I hope she gets better…”

From that day forward, I got some sort of comment or other on the shoelaces at LEAST once a week.

Yesterday at the Young Authors Conference, I was heading downstairs for the last time, pulling a suitcase full of books behind me. Passing a pair of young ladies – probably 7th or 8th graders – one of them snickering, said, “I like your suitcase!”

Smiling grimly and knowing EXACTLY how me – a big, old, fat white guy – must look pulling a hot pink suitcase on rollers (that actually belongs to my daughter!), I laughed and said, “Thanks!”

Then she said, “I like your shoelaces, too!”

I stopped, held out my foot and said, “Oh, I wear these because my wife is a breast cancer survivor – a little over a year now!”

Her eyes got big and her face went from teasing laughter to seriousness as she said, “Oh! My grandma had breast cancer!”

Right there, we had a connection – the horror of the initial diagnosis, pain of watching someone we loved go through the treatment, and the joy in a clean diagnosis after a terrible nightmare. For a moment our lives touched and we smiled at each other, two people who had been able to do nothing but love a suffering “someone” we knew and be there for them and pray for them and do anything else we could possibly think of…like wear something pink so that we identify ourselves as a sort of “Pink Horde”...

That made my day. It made my week. It made me thankful for the support I’ve gotten and the support I’ve been able to give.

It made me thankful my wife is healthy, happy and very much alive!

Image: http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4111/5007873691_079890a749.jpg