BREAST CANCER WISDOM 10: From Others and From Life Here…

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…

This week the Wisdom comes from: http://www.webmd.com/breast-cancer/features/mans-guide-to-breast-cancer

When I started this site, I was looking for a title for it and stumbled across STA ND BY HER. Excited, I began to skim through the site. When I discovered a forum, I was nearly ecstatic. I’d finally be able to talk with other men about how they felt about breast cancer in their wives, sisters, aunts, mothers, and friends!

Not.

The forum had been overrun by spambots. I tried it today – and it’s dead. As a doornail. Here’s the message: 

General Error

SQL ERROR [ mysql4 ]

Unknown MySQL server host 'standbyherbbphp.db.5015781.hostedresource.com' (0) [2005]

An sql error occurred while fetching this page. Please contact an administrator if this problem persists.

Men continue to say nothing about breast cancer and their feelings. There is no international network. No national clearinghouse. There’s barely state and local fora for men to talk.

Is that because men generally DON’T talk? That was the premise of my website. Three years later, most of the men I know STILL don’t talk. There is a man at work whose wife went through breast cancer treatment around the same time my wife did. Do we talk? Commiserate? Share?

Nope.

Shortly before my wife was diagnosed, an old acquaintance of mine eventually came out to an online group he ran and I participated in that his wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I offered what comfort I could – but it was a cold comfort because we hadn’t seen each other in decades. Four months later, my wife got the diagnosis. This friend offered more than comfort – he was THERE for me. We still hadn’t seen each other, but through him, his wife offered support to my wife. Some time later, we met for lunch and while we STILL didn’t talk about breast cancer and how it affected us and our wives, we sat at the same table and simply “were” together.

The late Madeleine L’Engle once wrote, “When I am constantly running there is no time for being. When there is no time for being, there is no time for listening.” (Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art)

I think I’m beginning to see that men are never going to talk to each other – they find it helpful instead just to “be” with each other. Knowing that there are others like them who struggle with their beloved women dealing with breast cancer is, maybe, enough for most men.

John W. Anderson and me – and others – though will talk with our computers. After all, since I started the blog, I’ve gotten nearly 16,000 hits. I figured out in my head last night as I was coming home with Chinese food, that that is roughly ten hits a day. Who hits the site? No idea; there have only been 16 comments. *shrug* I am not only resigned to that now, I’m actually OK with it. I may never know if I helped anyone by doing this site – but now I understand that just BEING here may help some.

And that’s OK with me.

Resource: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stand-by-her-john-w-anderson/1100313600?ean=9780814413913

Image: http://img203.imageshack.us/img203/1834/irobot12.png

Easter Saturday Reflections of Over Three Years Since I Started This

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…

Fifty posts, fifty weeks.

Good Friday was last night.

Why do they call it good? Strangely enough, the best explanation I have ever heard or seen popped up on Friday on my niece’s FaceBook post in the form of a comic strip drawn by legendary artist, Johnny Hart, creator of the strip “B.C.” and co-creator of the strip, “The Wizard of Id”:

This is the only reason such a day, such a celebration could be called “good”.

My daughter and I were talking about Good Friday on the way to the service and back. She observed that this the only specifically Christian Holy Day that the secular world has been unable to co-op. We decided that there’s no way that such an event could be made cute or represented by cuddly animals, people in costumes or from which candy companies might not spin adorable commercials or bunnies laying chocolate eggs. Any attempt to “cute-i-fy” Good Friday is doomed to failure by the nature of the day.

It’s grim. Gruesome. Dark.

It’s all about torture and execution.

Outsiders – those who don’t know of, believe or otherwise acknowledge Christianity find it offensive and inexplicable; perhaps even insane. “Why would you possibly want to remember the horrific execution of your rabbi and teacher?”

Last night I realized for the first time that the events leading up to the execution of the Christ are NOT about the failure of God to accomplish His mission on Earth. The crucifixion was NOT a backup plan for the enlightnement of Humanity (and a bad one at that).

The events prior to Good Friday were an exhibit.

An exhibit of everything that is rotten in Humanity and a display of ample proportions of exactly why it needed forgiveness and saving.

The infant Jesus was born a slave to an empire both global and cruel. His birth sparked the slaughter of hundreds of other innocent newborns by decree. His life exposed the tedious, unremarkableness of thirty years of growing old in an ancient world and the loss of his father during adolescence; his three years of ministry exposed him to corrupt government, avarice and greed, ridicule by the intelligentsia, betrayal and abandonment by friends, public adulation turned mockery, lies, a corrupted justice system that did not represent slaves, gambling and drug abuse.

What does this have to do with my wife’s breast cancer? Last night, I was shamed by His suffering because I have for some time now begged and challenged Him to explain, “Why have you made me suffer so?”

He hadn’t answered my plea until last night when He said, “I can’t explain that, Guy. But I can say that I have been with you in that suffering because I understand suffering. I understand despair. I get you. That’s why I haven’t cast a lightning bolt in your direction for your impertinence. I understand, as few others can, your suffering, and I’ll stand by you and answer what questions I can. Look at your blog – lots of answers there. Not ‘the answer’, that won’t come until we can talk face-to-face; but you got a lot of them. See you later, bud.”

I know this isn’t about breast cancer exactly; I suppose I pulled a Johnny Hart on you all. Be that as it may, my prayer is that you might find some answers to your suffering. If you can’t find answers, then I’d be happy to talk with you. Just leave me a comment and I’ll reply…

image: http://images.tcj.com/2012/03/Hart-6.jpg

The Reconstruction Era – Part 11

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…

“It appears that the next event is breast reconstruction!”

While it may seem an obvious choice to some who are outside of the breast cancer community (is there ANYONE who is?) breast reconstruction is not an easy choice.

After months that include radical mastectomy, chemotherapy, hair loss, and recovery, the decision to “go under the knife” again is not one that women take lightly.

Even so, new research shows that more and more women are undergoing the procedure to rebuild what was once there. “Researchers found that 46 percent of patients received reconstruction in 1998 but that figure rose to 63 percent by 2007.”

While this article was informative, from a layperson’s point of view, I find the authors somewhat narrow-minded – perhaps even “ignorant” – about certain things, and that bothers me.

For example, “The study also revealed dramatic variation in reconstruction based on geographic region, from a low of 18 percent in North Dakota, to a high of 80 percent in Washington, D.C. This was largely associated with the number of plastic surgeons working in each state…Any time we see geographic variations in practice patterns, we worry that care is not being appropriately individualized and that patients are not being offered all their options. It’s important to make sure women have all the information they need about breast reconstruction and are aware that it is an option...” (emphasis mine)

REALLY? REALLY? Have any of the authors even visited North Dakota? Clearly not! I actually have friends from ND – and some from DC. As a whole, ND is a very conservative state with a preponderance of farmers and has a frontier attitude. A “I can take it” sort of way of looking at the world. I would say THIS has a larger effect on the number of women getting reconstruction after mastectomies than “the number of plastic surgeons”. Did the authors consider that the attitude of your average NoDak would drive out plastic surgeons; they’d be seen as superfluous parasites. And DC’s plastic surgeons? REALLY? REALLY? In a city where the highest rollers are broadcast nationally and internationally with close-ups and in press conferences on a minute-by-minute basis, plastic surgeons would FLOCK there to make sure our politicians look pretty on TV and in webcasts!

That seems such a no-brainer, it makes me wonder about the rest of the study.

This seeming blindness brings into question another statement: “The researchers also note that more women are receiving implants rather than recreating breasts using tissue from other parts of their body, called autologous reconstruction. Autologous techniques tend to deliver better cosmetic results and higher satisfaction, but it’s a time-consuming, demanding operation that requires a longer hospital stay and recovery time. The researchers raise concern that current medical reimbursement discourages surgeons from offering autologous reconstruction.”

REALLY? Choosing a long, difficult surgery with a lengthy recovery time after…a long difficult surgery with a lengthy recovery time doesn’t seem a natural aversion-reaction by breast cancer survivors and can be more sensibly ascribed to INSURANCE COMPANY PRESSURE????

Hmmm. My further comment here would be that perhaps the authors – maybe even more breast reconstruction plastic surgeons – should cast more widely when interpreting their research data. Even so, the update on the subject was reasonable and even though the interpretation was narrow-minded, the DATA was sound.

Resource: http://www.mcancer.org/news/archive/more-women-receiving-breast-reconstruction-after-mastectomy-study-finds

Image: http://www.breastreconstructiondc.com/NAV09/header1.jpg

A Helpful Graphic From Healthline...

Another resource  that clearly summarizes some of the effects breast cancer chemotherapy MIGHT have on the body:


http://www.healthline.com/health/cancer/effects-on-body

A Fantastic Cancer Voyage Chapter 2 VI

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 my fondest memories as a kid is watching the movie FANTASTIC VOYAGE. In it, a group of scientists and their ultra-futuristic laser-packing “submarine” are reduced to cell size and injected into the blood vessels of a world diplomat in order to destroy a blood clot in his brain.

What would a FANTASTIC VOYAGE: Breast Cancer look like? I’m going to write a novel here, short chapter by short chapter and I’m going to include the latest research and I’m going to imagine the entire story here for your delectation. If you want to start at the beginning, look left. Scroll down to LABELS. The first one is “A Fantastic Cancer Voyage”. Click on it. Scroll to the bottom and you will find episode one. Let me know what you think after you’ve read the whole thing!

The Chief Right Honorable Mister Nnamdi Oko Nwagbara, Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of West Africa opened his lips, pressed them together between two fingers, then said, “It is true. I can do nothing to please God. My hope is in Jesus Christ alone.”

Dr. Olubunmi Nwagbara – Ohloo to her friends, if not her family – nodded slowly, startled by her father’s unusual candor. Following that lead, she said, “I have no god anymore, Ediye,” it was an Efik term of intimate endearment, “So I don’t try to please a metaphysical construct.” She paused, waiting for an explosion. Waiting for a shout. Waiting for a denial. All her eyes met were his eyes, studying her, without judgment, though she thought she saw a bit more water collecting on the lower lid than a moment a go. She hurried on, “I want to help the world. I want to be a tiny instrument in the hands of all the world’s people to bring possible peace. I can do that by treating this woman – whether she believes as you do or not. I think she can bring peace to Earth.” She closed her eyes and waited for the tirade sure to follow her declaration of faith-less-ness…

“If that were your only accomplishment, Boomie, I would be proud to call you daughter. Your accomplishments overshadow most of Creation’s inhabitants.” He stood slowly, went to the window to look out over the sleeted city. “Yet in this woman, I think you may have met one who might match you word for word, deed for deed, resistance for resistance.” His robe of office had pooled around his feet, some threads catching the recessed lights of the office and faintly spangling, as if he stood in a bit of moonless night on the Recovered West Sudanian Savanna.

“What do you mean ‘resistance for resistance’?”

Her father sighed but didn’t turn around. “You plan to attack the breast cancer cells in her body with pure, unadulterated science.”

Ohloo frowned, pursed her lips, then said, “You’re not asking a question, so I have no answer.”

A humorless laugh puffed from him. He remained still for some time then finally said, “For most of us, life is more than chemical reactions, neuronal interfaces, and protein-mediated responses. There is the intangible, the ‘spiritual’ if you will.”

She snorted, “I’m still the daughter of your nurture. Of course I understand that some people have a spiritual component to their world view. I just don’t see what possible impact metaphysical ideals could have on breast cancer surgery.” He lifted his chin and opened his mouth. She turned to her computer, tapping the screen in order to brace herself for the inevitable, “There are things even the most brilliant doctor cannot explain!” harangue. But all she heard was soft exhale. She looked up.

Father was looking at her from the window. He nodded, “That’s all I wanted to know, that you still understand that there is more to the world than what we can see with our eyes. Your patient has strong beliefs. As to the impact of such things on such a radically new technique as your team proposes to use on Kim Lin Ghandi, she seems to have covered all of the bases. Isn’t she a ‘Catholic-Buddhist-Hindu-Daoist’?”

“That’s what I hear.” Her father nodded. She added, “She’s an incredible speaker though – easy to listen to, positive in her attitude without being preachy or insipid. I can see how she’s inspired the people of both China and India to listen to her. Too bad she can’t get India’s president, the Rajya Sabha, and the Lok Sabha to meet face-to-face with China’s Congress, State Council, Premier, and the Central Military Commission.”

“I hear that’s almost what happened.”

Ohloo started, “What?”

Father smiled a bit and said, “I understand that medicine is your life, Boomie. Politics is mine. But your patient is the embodiment of both now. The world waits with bated breath as you move forward here.”

“I didn’t ask for the world to watch. I’m not concerned with the rest of the world. I have before me a woman with a supposedly incurable breast cancer, who is still young even by the standards of the countries with the lowest Human Development Indices and who might potentially bring peace on Earth.”

Her father opened his mouth and lifted a finger then nodded slowly and lowered his hand, slipping it through an invisible slit in the side of his robe. Ohloo waited. Waited. She finally sighed and said, “True. Whether I want it or not this work is going to have a profound effect on the world.” She gestured to the door weakly, and said, “Would you stay with me, Father? I imagine I’ll need to tap your perspective during this world event.”

He hung his head, sighed, and said, “I’ll stay if you want me to, but I’d rather you show me the door if you have another political advisor you’d rather work with.”

Startled, Ohloo said, “No one has a better grasp of politics than you, Ediye!” She cleared her throat, feeling her face warm in embarrassment. She hadn’t meant her response to be quite so...enthusiastic. When she looked up again, she caught her father pressing the inner corners of his eyes. He cleared his throat as well. Exactly as she had, she noticed.

He bowed from the waist, deeply as he said, “Then I will be honored to sit with the others you’ve chosen for your team.”

“What makes you think I have a team?”

His smile was broad and genuine as he spread his arms and said, “Please remember, my daughter, I am a great politician! It’s my business to discover who is allying with whom.”

She sniffed but couldn’t help grinning as she said, “As long as you remember that I am a world-renowned breast cancer researcher and surgeon.” She bowed as well and when she straightened up, found herself in a paternal embrace every bit as engulfing as it had been when she was six years old.

Image: http://medgadget.com/wp-content/uploads/2006/11/Fantastic-Voyage-200x290.jpg