GUY’S GOTTA TALK ABOUT 2…The RELAY FOR LIFE 2014 – Part Two

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…

All you have to do is Google “teen kills” and you come up with 74,200,000 hits.

Google “teen saves” and you get 22,800,000 hits.

*sigh*

On May 17, 2014 at 6 pm, it seemed like there was a picnic happening at Cooper High School’s Barb Lehman Stadium. The stadium was open as it would be for a football, soccer, or lacrosse game or a track meet, but instead of the crowd filing meekly to their bleacher seats, groups were pitching tents, awnings, and a jail on the inner ring of the running track.

Frisbee football broke out occasionally, as did real football scrimmages. But there were also games of tag, and serious set ups going on. Vendor standing selling everything from pink, purple, orange, red, and blue wrist bands to “tacos in a bag” and cream cheese wontons popped up between the tents. Sound systems were tested, and then white bags began to appear in front of the tents and across the track along the outside ring. Signs popped up a well, both announcing wares to be sold and the names of the groups hosting teams: CHS Faculty, Orange Orangutans, The Cure Crew, Violets Aren’t Blue, and fifty-four others.

While school colors appeared – orange and blue for hosting Cooper High School and red and blue for sister school Armstrong – the most common color was white with purple writing on T-shirts boldly proclaiming, “Finish The Fight”. Even more obvious as well as the most inspiring, were the purple T-shirts of the men and women who had SURVIVED cancer. The backs of the shirts carried the message, “One Day. One Night. One Community. One Fight.”

The teenagers on the field weren’t just there to entertain or be entertained – they were there to support a cause. They had worked hard, and under the calm eye of their advisor, the student planning committee made up of members from both high schools, planned and executed the entire event. In the end, the fifty-nine teams raised $35,746.07 that will go toward cancer research.

As my wife – who is now a three-year-plus breast cancer survivor – and I walked around the track for the survivor’s lap, I commented, “These are teenagers at their very, very best.”

These teens were excited NOT over the latest fashion, the latest iphone app, the latest itune release, the latest who’s-dating-whom – they were excited to be a part of the fight against cancer. Among the Armstrong students, the participation was driven even more strongly than among their Cooper counterparts because many walked for a classmate – a teenager! – diagnosed with cancer.

Sadly, the media didn’t cover the event at all this year. There were no articles in the Sun Post (a local paper) – the links below are for last year’s event. There were no news crews interviewing the teens. There were no awards. No public acclaim. No attention.

Which perhaps, in the long run, is best. We shouldn’t be doing fund raisers because we get noticed or are allowed tax write offs. We should be doing it for the sheer joy of knowing that we are helping others. THAT is what makes this event so exciting for me. THAT is why I grinned foolishly at the antics of the teenagers on the brightly lit field at ten o’clock at night.

THIS is what teenagers at their very, very best can DO!

Other links to a past event: http://post.mnsun.com/2013/05/armstrong-and-cooper-relay-for-life/, http://post.mnsun.com/2013/04/striding-toward-a-cure-cooper-and-armstrong-high-schools-host-relay-for-life/ ,

Image: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=516348678473639&set=pb.100002955335523.-2207520000.1401540051.&type=3&theater

GUY’S GOTTA TALK ABOUT 2…The RELAY FOR LIFE 2014

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…


The school district I work in hosted a Relay For Life event. This was the fifth annual event, and even though I “knew” people with cancer then, except for seeing the windows painted in purple and white with the event and year, the whole thing really didn’t affect me. Five years ago, I was riding either alone or with my son in the Tour de Cure for diabetes awareness and fund raising.


Three years ago, the Relay For Life came at a time when my wife had only just begun to recover from a bilateral mastectomy and chemotherapy was waiting just around the corner. I was in no mood, nor was a mentally prepared to join in the effort to “Celebrate. Remember."


Last year, I thought about joining the faculty team, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it. You’d think that with so many of the people I loved – my wife, my dad, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, a young adult friend – had been diagnosed with some form of cancer, I’d be ready and willing to jump in and walk for a cure as I’d been willing to bike for a cure.


You’d be thinking wrong. I wasn’t embarrassed – not exactly. I wasn’t afraid of the physical challenge – my son and I did the 45 mile Tour de Cure, and I’d done it once alone! I wasn’t afraid of fund raising – I’d done that for diabetes, the old March of Dimes, as well as helped with numerous other fund drives. So what was it? I didn’t figure it out until this year.


When it came time to form teams for Relay For Life 2014, I saw the kids in the hallway working to sign up teams and said I’d be willing to join the faculty one and who was the faculty team leader.


When she told me, I breathed a sigh of relief – it was one of the science teachers with whom I’d worked for years. Approaching her would be no trouble. As the date rolled around, I found myself getting more nervous. I’d convinced my wife to take a Survivor’s Lap that would take place after the Opening Ceremony, so she’d put up the courage to do so even though it involved walking a quarter of a mile around the school’s track.


When we got there and after checking in, we were talking and she said, “This is the first time I’ve publicly acknowledged that I had breast cancer.”


!BANG!


It was like a shot between the eyes for me. Of COURSE we’d told family and close friends when my wife was diagnosed – a half dozen of them sat with my daughter and I all day while my wife had the initial surgery. Of COURSE the people at school knew. I was, after all, a counselor and I told others.


People flocked to help me carry the burden.


But my wife had never “come out” in front of total strangers. Certainly she’d never been celebrated as a Breast Cancer Survivor with a shirt, a banner, and the thunderous applause of some 500 young (and not-so-young) adults and children. Certainly not in front of people who knew me as a counselor...


It was a big moment. A moment of admission; a moment of celebration.


It’s a moment I’ll never forget. Next time though, I want to tell you about how proud I am to be a part of a community, a school, and a district that worked together to bring up such fantastic teenagers.


Image: personal photograph

The Reconstruction Era – Part 12

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!”

You know, it probably seems like I’ve been harping on this whole subject of lymphedema WAY too much.

In the whole SCOPE of things, you might say, this is barely a blip! I mean the cancer is gone, the breasts reconstructed, she looks natural, and we’re even planning on taking part in a public event in which we, for the very first time, publicly acknowledge that she had breast cancer.

We will be walking in our local Relay For Life event. We’ve never done one before. Haven’t done the Susan B. Komen Race For The Cure. Nothing like that. I am on a school faculty team, my wife

will be doing a Survivor’s Lap, we will be in front of my students.

Lymphedema and all and, according to her therapist – lymphedema FOREVER.

For those of you who don’t know what lymphedema is: a swelling of body tissue “caused by a blockage of the lymphatic system (vein-like tubes that run parallel to veins and arteries but carry a clear liquid called ‘lymph’), which are part of the immune and circulatory systems. The blockage prevents lymph fluid from draining well, and as the fluid builds up, the swelling continues.”

Specifically as regards breast cancer...hang on, let me point out something to you. GOOGLE breast cancer lymphedema. After three ADS, a cluster of scholarly articles, you come to the meat of the thing, which is a listing of places you can read about lymphedema. My new problem is that few (if any) people talk about lymphedema as a side-effect of mastectomies – in which not only is a breast or both breasts removed – lymph nodes in the armpit are often removed as well

 The first article says: “a potential side effect of breast cancer surgery and radiation therapy that can appear in some people” (emphasis mine)

The second article: “Women who have been treated for breast cancer may be at risk for lymphedema in the arm, breast, and chest.” (emphasis mine)

The third article: “Lymphedema is one of the most common side effects of breast cancer treatments.” (emphasis mine)

Finally in the fourth article, we get: “It is common after a mastectomy, lumpectomy or breast cancer surgery and radiation therapy” (emphasis mine)

Do you see the progression there? The first practically guarantees that there won’t be any such thing as lymphedema; that it’s a “potential” problem. [So is water in my basement because we live on reclaimed swampland. But after 20 years here, we’ve never had it. To ME, that’s what a “potential” is.] My wife’s doctor assured her that there was nothing wrong after she rammed her hand into the wall on Thanksgiving Day two years ago. That was the day her arm began to swell as white-blood-cell-laden lymph rushed to the scene to make sure there was no infection after the injury. Once there however, the lymph had nowhere to go because 21 of 40-some lymph nodes – which when compressed, move the lymph – had been taken out during the mastectomy. So her arm swelled and the doctor continued to tell her it was no problem.

The next two admit that lymphedema is a problem, but only a “risk” or “one of the most common” [By implication, there are other side-effects that are more pressing, so don’t really worry about this one...] After she changed clinics, the therapist was appalled and gave us a number of things we could do, including massage that would push the lymph back to the remaining nodes so it could be redistributed. This worked. Sort of. She also prescribed a compression sleeve (that stopped about three inches short of the shoulder) and an oven-mitt kind of arm cover to be worn at night. While things got better, the lymphedema remained obvious and, for my wife, ugly. So things remained for about a year.

We continued to hear that “lymphedema can be cured!” from my sister, who works in a wellness center in a city far south of our home that is world-renowned for its medical center. Kings and presidents have been treated there. The problem was that regular treatment would involve a long, long drive, so my wife began to look closer to home. After half a dozen “referrals”, she finally arrived at a place where not only did people take lymphedema seriously, they also began an IMMEDIATE and immediately effective regimen. The immediately prescribed a tight set of wrappings alternating with heavy gauze, and prescribed a two-piece “body armor” kind of device worn for four weeks. Within two months, the swelling was down, they took measurements, and my wife now has a compression garment that not only fits her hand and goes up and over the shoulder, it’s also hard to see! It also came with a device that helps her get it onto her arm alone!

So we met the people who believed that lymphedema “is common” after mastectomy, who treated it aggressively, and who have in a comparatively short time, won. They were also very clear that this is a FOREVER thing. Health insurance also recognizes that it’s a forever thing because they will pay for TWO compression garments a year. This new one has also helped treat some nagging lymphedema over the breast implant. Once that went down, my daughter and wife discovered that: ““Blinkin’, fix your boobs! You look like a bleedin’ Picasso!”” (From the Mel Brooks movie, “Robin Hood, Men In Tights”)

*sigh*. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another...

Image: http://cdnpix.com/show/imgs/e563e4adcff26429de48a29ff869eddc.jpg

A Fantastic Cancer Voyage Chapter 2 VII

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!

Dr. Olubunmi Nwagbara – Ohloo to her friends, if not her family – sighed as she stared out the window. Late November sleet lashed the floor-to-ceiling window of her Mayo Medical Center upper story office. She was rarely here. But she used it when she wanted to emphasize who was the chief  decision-maker in projects she’d undertaken.

Even so, the room felt smaller again now that The Chief Right Honorable Mister Nnamdi Oko Nwagbara, Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of West Africa – who’d also happened to be her father – had slipped out. She sighed. There were more consultations, more meetings, more press conferences she had to pass through before she could even begin to prep for the surgery. She’d scheduled it for a week from this day. Even then, it was pushing the limits of technology to reach that point. She tapped her in-facility communicator, disguised as a lapel pin with her name and a hovering three-dimensional projection of the classic three shield logo. When she wondered what her purpose was, especially during contentious funding meetings, she came back to them: the central and largest of The Mayo’s three shields stood for patient care. The flanking shields stood for research and education, scholarly endeavors that kept patient care at the forefront of excellence.

A throaty alto voice answered, “Machig Rabten here.”

Ohloo said, “Come on up. I have a job for you, Machi.” She could hear the grin in her long-time colleague, once patient’s voice. A moment later, he door tweedled and she called her to come in.

Machig was older than she sounded. Approaching seventy, she was a physician’s assistant, having refused several attempts by friends and family to push her into med school. She’d wanted to work among people, not wrestle with bureaucracy. She’d served in Calcutta, Beijing, Lost Angeles, Mexico City and finally in the Mayo as Ohloo’s confidante and right-hand-woman. “So?” she said, “When do I start?”

“Start what?” Ohloo feigned surprise.

“Putting together the rest of the team. Obviously your father will represent the Christian interests of the planet while our guest all the others. I assume you’ve got Dr. Niazi in mind as well as Dr. Phan...”

“Who says I have anyone in mind? Maybe I could persuade Dr. Mean to join us.”

“Him? He’s been retired for four years. Besides, the feminists of the world would crucify you if you allowed him to be inside of the ‘the incarnation of the Buddha’. The metaphor would be entirely too juicy to ignore.”

“What about my father?”

“Old fathers are exempt from the rule because they are gender-free and merely symbolic of paternal support.”

Ohloo snorted. “You’ve got this all figured out already, don’t you?”

Unrepentant, Machi shrugged and said, “What can I say? You need me to make the smart political choices that also have the required professional credentials. More so in this surgery than in any you’ve ever chosen to perform.”

Ohloo made a face then nodded. “Agreed. Who’s my team?”

“Me, of course.”

Ohloo laughed, saying, “This has nothing whatever to do with your bid to direct the PA program at the University of United Africa, does it? I hear the Erg of Bilma is a wonderful place to be these days.”

It was Machi’s turn to lift her nose into the air, “I’m thinking no such thing. I have the pure motives of one devoted solely to your personal and professional success.” Ohloo shook her head but said nothing, content to let her right hand woman take the tiller for the moment as she continued, “You, your father, Kim Lin Ghandi’s body guard, Harini…”

“Wouldn’t it better for him to be awake out here?”

“No. Not at all. You’ll have the combined secret services of at least five super powers watching over you – our beloved CIA, the Chinese Ministry of State Security, the dear Soviet KGB's Russian successor, the FSB, our allied United Kingdom’s M16, and of course, India’s RAW agents...”

“RAW?”

“As euphemistically as we named our CIA, they call their thugs-and-goons association the Research and Analysis Wing. I’m sure they’ll be too busy spying on each other to bother much with what’s really going to be going on here.”

Ohloo frowned, going to her desk to sit down. “What’s really going on here?”

Machi straightened up, “The empowerment of women, of course. Once we’re free of breast cancer – which could have been a conspiracy of all male power figures,” she paused, glanced at Ohloo, then laughed, “Just kidding. Once women are free of this scourge and you take your methodologies to the streets of Calcutta, Lagos, and into the slums of Myanmar and Manila, women everywhere will sing your praises...”

Ohloo held up her hands in surrender, “I’m not Mother Teresa. I’m just a surgeon…”

“Who has the opportunity to free women everywhere! How can you not see that?”

“I see Kim Lin Ghandi laying in her bed while cancer eats her body up unchecked. I need the absolute best team with me while I dive into her bloodstream and operate. That’s all I see.


The rest of the details I’ll leave up to you.”

Machi’s lips twitched then she nodded. “All right. Leave it to me, Doc. I’ll shoot you a the team list with bios attached with an analysis of how the skills will interact.” She spun to leave and Ohloo stared after her a long time before she tapped her computer to life and set into answering her emails and queries.

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