FMLA and Beer Pong: Social Media Is the Cause of – and Solution To – All of Life’s Problems

The following blog was authored by Matthew Zachary, a sixteen year young adult survivor who is the founder and CEO of the I’m Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation.   Matt will be a guest speaker at this year’s C4YW, which is being held in New Orleans, LA from February 24-26, 2012. Be sure to catch his interview with Living Beyond Breast Cancer’s CEO Jean Sachs and Young Survival Coalition‘s Deputy Chief Executive Stacy Lewis on The Stupid Cancer Show, Monday, February 6 at 8:00pm EST.

21st Century Suggestion: Do not post photos of yourself on Facebook (FB) vacationing with your family in Cabo when you are on disability leave from your job. Additionally, if you happen to be applying for a job, applying to school, applying for a financial assistance grant or any other “put yourself out there” personal pitch opportunity, please remember – it’s 2012 and not 1980. 

In this day and age, if you do not automatically assume that recruiters, admissions officers, and human resource managers are going to firebomb the Web for your social media footprint, then you deserve all of the FB comments littering that photo of you planking on a beer pong table.  Considering FB changes its privacy settings on an hourly basis, there is no guarantee that the video of your absinthe-induced Justin Bieber karaoke #epicfail will be publicly viewable or just limited to your specified inner circle of friends.

“But wait!” you say. “I have two email addresses. One for FB and one for business! They’ll never be able to find me. Also, my LinkedIn profile will protect me and give off the impression that I am an inherently upstanding citizen and generally nice person.”

Lest ye forget, my grasshopper snowflake, that social media has the word “social” in it. Therefore, it would be categorically unwise to assume anything nor underestimate the power of the dark side of the Interweb. After all, you never truly know who knows who and, by proxy, who knows your past. Gone are the days of Kevin Bacon separation. It’s one degree to you.

Besides, your LinkedIn profile may intentionally or unintentionally connect to your FB profile, Twitter feed, Tumblr or Blog – all footprints of your online social identity which can – and will – give prospects the Scooby Doo clues they need to discover the aforementioned “Bieber incident,” thereby potentially wiping out any chance you have of matriculation or employment.

In fact, it doesn’t have to be work or school. It could be a date, a business meeting, holidays with the family or even securing a loan. Everything you post online is global public knowledge, whether you want it to be or not. No matter how hard you may try, something will eventually give probably due to no fault of your own. Subsequently, the world won’t be your oyster, the world will see your oyster. Awkward.

Notice, I haven’t even mentioned the word “cancer” yet. What is stated above serves, I hope, as common sense practical advice to the general counsel. Toss any chronic or debilitating disease on top of these already complex cultural understandings, and you are potentially opening up a whole new can of ignorance-based stigma, social injustice and downright stupidity. The very meaning of the word “privacy” changes in an instant when you are facing a life-altering, or potentially catastrophic, medical condition that threatens to uproot your life. Economic, physical, career and spiritual issues notwithstanding, the social implications of these circumstances are what will most likely be the most stressful to deal with.

This is where the fine lines of social media, personal privacy and one’s own need for peer support will intersect. Just when you’re at a time in your life when the need for self-expression and a steam valve release is most important, you’re potentially confined in how you wish to say what you need to because your oyster may be on display. You are the star of your own reality show and the camera watching your every action is social media. Your privacy is in the eye of the beholder and only you can choose what makes the most sense for you. Should you create a custom “list” in FB just for people who you’d like to vent to? If you stop posting altogether, people will get suspicious. How can you possibly manage the emotions of wanting to hate the world, love yourself and still “like” Glee on your wall?

What’s worse? Losing FB friends or losing real friends? Do the practical uses of social media outweigh the cons? These – and scores of other similar curiosities – pervade our society and represent life in the 21st century. There is no one answer for any one person. The art of your survivorship is how you choose to get busy living. Expressing yourself through that vein is an individualized choice. Arm yourself with knowledge, surround yourself with peers and absorb as much credible insight as possible before making as objective a decision as you can when sharing your story with the entire world via one mouse click. The world is literally your oyster.

A Daughter’s Breast Cancer Journey: Through Her Mother’s Eyes: Part 2 of 3

This entry was written by Nancy Amorosi. Many of you may remember Jaime Rossano, one of the year-long series bloggers who, in a raw and honest tone, shared her breast cancer journey from diagnosis to post treatment in 2011. In this entry, her mother gives us her perspective of the journey. Over the year, she tried desperately to hide her true feelings of fear that consumed her heart facing the reality that she could never handle the idea of losing her baby girl.

Every Tuesday for the rest of this month, join Nancy as she recaps her daughter’s breast cancer diagnosis in a 3-week series.

Read Jaime’s blogs by searching “Jaime Rossano” in the search box on this site.

This year Jaime is getting adjusted to not having a blog deadline, having completed her year-long series in December of 2011. But the start of the 2011 New Year introduced us to chemotherapy and the words of one kind nurse that did not come true – “Oh Jaime, you are so young this will be a piece of cake”. So the infusions began. Within hours the color would drain from her face, the nausea would creep in and by evening and the days to follow she was sick, suffering headaches, bone pain, body aches, nausea and worst of all she lost her smile. My heart was in so much pain. I felt so incredibly helpless and could not bear to see our little girl suffer so much. I gave her a small red heart locket with little Ronnie’s picture inside. And when the light began to fade from her eyes I would whisper to her to look into her baby boy’s eyes and draw strength and courage to fight. I admit there were days for me too when darkness overshadowed the light and I would hold my grandson and almost magically felt a new sense of hope. Sure enough with each passing day the symptoms would fade and her smile would re-emerge giving us all a renewed sense of hope. Only to repeat this cycle again and again and again and again and again and again.

Within weeks of starting chemo the hair clippers buzzed and her locks fell to the floor. She could not bear to watch her hair fall out strand by strand so she took control and beat the monster called “cancer” to the punch. She wore a beautiful colorful bandana each and every day. We spent chemo days side by side and the five or six “sick” days to follow were filled with emotion, sadness, fear, laughter, anger, frustration, and emotional exhaustion. Our lives had developed a new “routine”. Seems silly but we actually got good at the routine of chemo week. But, they were also the most difficult, emotional and exhausting for both of us in very different ways. Somehow we found humor among the chaos. Days led to weeks and weeks led to months and before long chemo was done. The amazing strength, courage and determination in our daughter’s eyes week after week continued to give me hope.

Radiation therapy followed week after week and despite feeling tired and weak her resilience prevailed. She maintained her motto; be strong, be fierce, be ME! As time passed positive changes emerged. The importance of love, life and family took hold. No longer sweating the small stuff, living each day and not allowing the “what if” of tomorrow to ruin today became a new way of life.

Honored for my sincere efforts

This entry was written by Tyesha Love, 2012 Butterfly Ball Gala Honoree and LBBC advocate. The Butterfly Ball honors women who have made an impact in the community by helping others affected by breast cancer. 

After my season with cancer, I developed a passion for educating, empowering and supporting other survivors and their loved ones. I wanted to inspire them to hold on to hope, just as so many others had done for me in my season. My family, friends and various cancer organizations gave encouragement and showed their support in a plethora of ways. They were a major impact on my recovery as their support was crucial to my holding on to faith and hope.

My goal simply became to engender awareness, offer support and provide comfort and empathy to other survivors, their loved ones and caregivers. I find such joy having a positive impact on their lives the way so many had on mine. I never sought or expected to get anything more from my efforts, other than the feeling of gratification from having touched people’s lives. It was heartwarming to learn that survivors and their loved ones were moved by my experience and efforts.

Needless to say, when Living Beyond Breast Cancer requested to have me as an honoree at their 2012 Butterfly Ball for my courage, strength and compassion, I was completely surprised. Astounded, anxious and excited…I humbly accepted.

My experience, having been diagnosed with cancer, has been a stepping stone, not a setback. While in my season, I cursed cancer. I doubted my ability to overcome such a plight. I allowed myself to feel defeated and become the victim. My memoir, I Am Not My Hair, A young woman’s journey and triumph over breast cancer, shares my story – a raw, authentic, frank and genuine telling of a season with cancer; an overwhelming roller coaster ride of victory and defeat.

Further into my journey toward survivorship, I realized cancer came as a blessing in disguise. Instead of allowing myself to get lost in a world of cancer, I triumphed over the disease. I grew stronger; I saw life with a new set of eyes – cherishing loved ones and valuing the simple things in life more so than I ever did. I wanted nothing more than to give back and that is what I set out to do for other survivors.

Having LBBC acknowledge and reward my efforts is such a great honor. It is an honor to receive an award for something I simply felt I was being called to do; something I felt was my responsibility to other survivors. This acknowledgement is proof I have and continue to accomplish what I set out to do and it is motivation to continue in this mission.

What I look forward to most as a Butterfly Ball honoree is to be in the presence of other survivors – being motivated and inspired by their stories. I look forward to the enhanced feeling of accomplishment – the success of making a positive impact on the lives of others who are pushing their way thought a season with cancer. I eagerly await this event to celebrate with those whom dedicate their time and resources to empowering others.

The Butterfly Ball will be held at the Philadelphia Loews Hotel on Saturday, November 10, 2012.

Your Giving Means More Living

The entry was written by Randi Rentz, who recenlty participated in an LBBC photoshoot:

I truly believe that life without breast cancer will happen, but how quickly is up to all of us.  Are you scratching your head right now with a bit of uncertainty? Well, listen up everybody! We all need to fight the battle today to create a tomorrow that is free from this disease. How can we work together to achieve this goal?

It’s simple and it’s achieved through one word, “giving.” This didn’t hit me until I read the mission of Living Beyond Breast Cancer. “LBBC is dedicated to empowering all women affected by breast cancer to live as long as possible with the best quality of life.” I thought long and hard about this statement and realized that this organization genuinely cares about resources unique to all women affected by breast cancer. The word, “giving,” a verb, may mean many things to many people, but in the breast cancer world,  “giving” ensures women that they don’t have to make this journey alone in the “Pink Bubble.”

Without generous donor support, LBBC’s educational programs would not be accessible. Many of their programs are FREE or low in cost, which was very important to me when I was diagnosed in 2008 with DCIS, Stage 1 breast cancer. I was able to connect with many women of various ages and ethnic backgrounds through workshops, written publications and peer-support services. In addition, I was able to share similar experiences, learn, laugh, cry, and create a new definition of “living.” We had an impact on one another, and to this day, I still call many of these women my friends. I am so fortunate that I found this national organization with a staff of devoted and talented individuals.

I found the educational programming to be very instrumental in my healing and recovery. Although I have been cancer-free for almost four years, I still attend conferences and participate in Yoga on the Steps, LBBC’s signature fundraising event.  I believe in “giving” back by contributing to the cause. I want to continue to take action to defeat breast cancer, not just by a generous donation, but by working to help people gain access to education, breast cancer screening, and treatment. BUT, I can’t do this alone.

With your help, we can work together to educate others and save lives. Living Beyond Breast cancer continues to serve as a model for other nonprofit organizations by constantly developing new and effective education and support curriculums to meet the needs of the breast cancer community. Through generous donor support, highly specialized publications will continue to remain a top priority to best meet the changing needs of all women affected by breast cancer. It will allow the best and brightest minds to reach more women than ever before.

Unfortunately, breast cancer thrives in a very bad economy. When there is limited “giving” and contributions, it’s easier for breast cancer to continue its deadly toll. Did you know that this disease takes one loved one’s life every 13 minutes here in the United States? I want to be part of the commitment to help expand educational programming, outreach and support services. Don’t you?  

By working together, we can come so far. Let’s hope that 2012 will be a year of continued “giving,” commitment and a cure! 

(L - R) Karen Cooke, Randi Rentz, Carole Weeks, Ping Lu, Penny L. Reiff

If you, like Randi, are interested in making a contribution to help LBBC continue in our mission to empower all women affected by breast cancer to live as long as possible with the best quality of life, visit our website’s donation page to learn more about how your donation will make a difference.

Friends are like bras…

This entry was written by Rita Marie Pinto, who was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 25.

Breast cancer obviously came as a shock to me at 25 years old.  Though I didn’t understand the how or why, I was ready.  I went into survival mode and I couldn’t think of anything but my survival; I simply focused on the positive and did everything I could to assure that I would get the best possible prognosis and my life back to normal.  I was ready for war… and thank God, I wasn’t alone.

I will never forget the day I was diagnosed.  Completely distraught, I called my mom first.  I remember crying, terrified, screaming, “Mom, I have CANCER!”  She hung up the phone and hurried to pick me up from work.  On the ride home, I called my closest girlfriends.  Needless to say, they were completely shocked.  I remember crying and explaining what I knew up to that point.  I also remember hearing the devastation in their nervous voices while they fought back tears.  Within a few hours, all of my closest friends and family were at my home.  When I look back over the past year and a half, I know that I was scared.  But I can’t imagine how it felt to be in the shoes of my closest friends… to have a friend who has cancer, to not know what comes next, to wonder if you’ll have that person next year at this time; that must be terrifying. 

My girlfriends saw my diagnosis as a reality check and realized that no one is safe from this awful disease.  I truly encourage all of my girlfriends, and young women in general, to be aware!  Know your body, know your breasts.  If your gut is telling you something is wrong, please act on it.  My diagnosis proved that life is too short and tomorrow is not guaranteed.  Breast cancer is real, but with the right armor, we can fight it.

Though their initial reaction was scared and nervous, my friends went with me into survival mode and turned all of the negativity into positivity.  My friends will never know just how much all of the “little things” they have done for me have impacted my life, and nourished my recovery.  It absolutely amazed me at how much they went out of their way to be there for me when I needed them.  These ladies took turns keeping me company after my double mastectomy, came to chemo with me, showered me with presents to lift my spirits, simply listened to me rant on my good and bad days, and spent many a Friday night on my living room floor just chatting and hanging out so that I wouldn’t feel out of the loop.

Though I did have to undergo 6 rounds of chemotherapy and 5 total surgeries, I was very lucky and blessed.  My cancer was completely treatable, and here I am, a year and a half later, happy and healthy.  My girlfriends were nothing short of incredible and I would not have gotten through my cancer journey without them.  I have been waiting for the right opportunity to express my gratitude to them, and I knew that eventually it would present itself:  Ladies, I could never thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.  You will never know how much each of you mean to me, and I am truly blessed to be surrounded by you.  I love you, and simply put, thank you.  As the saying goes, and ever so appropriately…

Friends are like bras – close to your heart, and there for support!

Were you diagnosed with breast cancer before the age of 45? You may be interested in attended the Conference for Young Women Affected by Breast Cancer (C4YW). Learn more about the conference by visiting www.c4yw.org.

A Daughter’s Breast Cancer Journey; Through Her Mother’s Eyes: Part 1 of 3

This entry was written by Nancy Amorosi. Many of you may remember Jaime Rossano, one of the year-long series bloggers who, in a raw and honest tone, shared her breast cancer journey from diagnosis to post treatment in 2011. In this entry, her mother gives us her perspective of the journey. Over the year, she tried desperately to hide her true feelings of fear that consumed her heart facing the reality that she could never handle the idea of losing her baby girl.

Every Tuesday for the rest of this month, join Nancy as she recaps her daughter’s breast cancer diagnosis in a 3-week series.

Read Jaime’s blogs by searching “Jaime Rossano” in the search box on this site.

It was October 2010 and life was “routine”. Our 27-year-old daughter Jaime was married and had given birth to our beautiful grandson Ronnie. Just months after completing breast feeding her son she came to me and said she felt a lump in her left breast. She immediately went for a mammogram and although the radiologist said to have an excisional biopsy right away, I was not overly alarmed. She was only 27 years old. However, day after day as we waited for the results a sick feeling began to emerge. The phone call came and the words “Jaime your results are positive, you have breast cancer” would change our lives forever. I held her tight, holding her up as her knees buckled beneath her and the tears streamed down her face. I somehow found the strength to hold it together and whisper “everything will be okay; I will be beside you every step of the way.” How does a mother respond when her daughter screams in fear “I don’t want to die mom, I don’t want to die.” And so our journey began.

I remember that evening after spending time with my husband and him holding me tight, I escaped to the bathroom to be alone and the floodgates opened, my body trembled and I slid to the floor, sobbing in disbelief. How could this be? This should not happen to our little girl, this should happen to ME! She is too young, a new wife, a new mommy, still going to school and working. How could this be? I remember feeling so guilty almost as if it was my fault.

I kept myself busy with phone calls, organizing research, doctors, family, friends, and gathering resources. She needed the best and it was my job to find it and we did. The following weeks were consumed with appointments, tests, more appointments. At this point the reality of what was really happening did not set in just yet. Jaime and I spent hours talking and crying and trying to make sense of it all. Despite feeling helpless to stop this monster called “cancer” I pretended to be strong and spoke only of positive and reassuring words. At the end of each day my bathtub became my sanctuary. A place to release my tears, my fears and collapse in anger and frustration and I would pray like never before. “Please God, don’t let my daughter die”.

The most agonizing memory for me was at 4pm on surgery day when Jaime was still in surgery and I had to leave to pick up my 18-month-old grandson from daycare. I stood before the elevator shaking and crying knowing I would not be beside her when she awoke from this nightmare as I had promised. I knew she would understand and would want me to get her baby boy home safe. I drove my car all the way with tears streaming down my face knowing in my heart she would be okay. My heart never felt so torn! Surgery went well and two days later she went home. I was amazed at her ability to tolerate the pain and remain upbeat despite what this monster “cancer” just stole from her. My days were long and nights were short, caring for her baby at night, getting him to daycare in the am, and then caring for Jaime during the day while cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, lying together watching movies and talking about the future and staying positive all the while. When evening fell it was back to my sanctuary and a bubble filled tub to collapse and allow my emotions to flow which would allow me to start renewed each day with a sense of purpose and hope.

Ronnie, Nana and Pop Pop

Healing Through Poetry

Carol Miele’s Metastatic Madness is this month’s Healing Through Poetry feature:

You have to be half-mad to live with this disease,

It seems to have a way of bringing you to your knees.

 

Cancer cells invade your body and soon they settle in,

Uninvited and unwanted, the beast beneath your skin.

 

The big, bad chemo drugs like a tsunami, blew it all away,

But like the worst kind of nightmare, it will return someday.

 

You don’t know when, you don’t know how, you only know it will,

So you clean out closets, throw away old papers and update your Living Will.

 

People often say, “Well, we’re all going to die, each one of us,

Tomorrow, I could go out and get hit by a car or bus.”

 

I sometimes wish I would step off a curb and get mowed down by a truck

How much quicker an end that would be than a slow, agonizing one, just my luck.

 

Tests and treatments, meds and oversight by my oncology team,

I accept that I must comply, but inside I just want to scream.

 

And all the while, I silently pray it won’t ruin my life plan,

Cause Id like to see my beautiful grandson grow up to be a man.

 

And I’d like to see my friends & family just a little longer.

That doesn’t seem like much to ask from the ‘evil cancer monger‘.

 

Tumor markers, cancer antigens, scans and other tests,

Rule my world like the cancer in my bones and both my breasts.

 

The truly maddening part is that one day it will spread too far,

And how will I cope as I begin to fade, just like a falling star?

 

No one knows what lies ahead, as we don’t have a crystal ball,

All we know is that we want someone to catch us when we fall.

Tomorrow is another day…

This entry was written by Donna Helmes, a participant of the 2011 Fall Writing Series:

When I was a young girl, my father took me to see an afternoon showing of the movie, Gone With the Wind.   Just one look at the beautiful, larger-than-life Scarlett O’Hara and I was hooked.  I took many things about the story to heart, including Ms. O’Hara’s belief that “tomorrow is another day,” –  and, that there is always time to deal with things in the future. 

In my own life, I had put off a personal life to pursue my career. What about a serious relationship? A relaxing vacation? Having a family of my own?  Well, after all, tomorrow is another day…

Then in 2008, during a routine mammogram, an eagle-eyed radiologist discovered a mass.  After a diagnosis of breast cancer (invasive ductal carcinoma), a bilateral mastectomy and 4 rounds of chemotherapy soon followed. As I recovered from treatment, I was filled with regret over missed opportunities; I grieved for things I believed that I would never have. My heart broke at the realization that I would probably never have a child of my own.  I no longer believed in tomorrow.  I thought my life was over before it ever really had begun. 

I hated having breast cancer. Period.  I do not want any woman to have to face this diagnosis, nor do I want my cancer to return.  It was hard to go through treatment and to live with its aftereffects.  Yet, a funny thing happened on my journey through Cancer Town.  I stopped mourning my tomorrows and began to live for today.

I wanted to live my dreams. Most cancer patients have fantasies about climbing Mt. Everest or…running with the bulls in Pamplona. Me?  I didn’t think I needed a big life to have a great one. I started digging in my garden and discovered that I absolutely love flowers.  I bought a small house near the river with a wonderful area for roses and a vegetable patch. I took long walks and cut back on my hours at work.  I borrowed books from the local library and sipped wine at lunch with friends. 

I took a deep breath and signed up for a poetry writing class with Alysa Cummings through Living Beyond Breast Cancer. The idea of participating terrified me; therefore, I knew that it was the right thing to do.  I had never written poetry, though I had kept a journal for many years.  Interestingly, once diagnosed with cancer, I found I could no longer write a word.  At first, I attributed this to “chemo-brain,” but my writer’s block continued long after my treatment ended.  I realized that I was afraid to write. Scared to express how I felt, scared to release all those complicated emotions – anger, fear, resentment, uncertainty – that go along with having a diagnosis of breast cancer.  I feared becoming overwhelmed by them. 

Luckily, rather than being overwhelmed, I felt lighter and empowered by the class.  It provided me with a safe space to process my experience and I learned what being a breast cancer survivor means to me.  I found myself writing once again.  At night I would pop open my journal, excited to fill the blank pages. 

After treatment, and with the promise of a very good prognosis still ringing in my ears, I contacted the Social Services Adoption Division. Nine months to the day, they placed my daughter in my arms.  This summer, she and I chased butterflies and ate cherry tomatoes from our garden.  We celebrated the holidays and together we rang in 2012.

Meet Bella...

I have to say this was my best New Year yet and, though I am looking forward to 2012, I am enjoying living for today.

There will be a Spring Writing Series beginning in mid-March. Be sure to visit LBBC.org for more information.  This 2012, how will you define your breast cancer diagnosis and channel the devastation of your breast cancer into an outlet of positivity?

Blogging has given me independence

This entry was written by Jackie Roth, PhD. Jackie is a Postdoctoral Fellow at The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia who was diagnosed with Stage III A breast cancer at the age of 28. Every other Friday, throughout the entire year of 2011, Jackie will share a blog entry about her breast cancer experience. This year-long blog series is in honor of LBBC’s 20th anniversary.

To read Jackie’s previous entries, enter “ Jackie Roth” in the search box on this site.

As the holidays roll in this year, I can’t believe that it is time for me to write my last blog!  It has been wonderful sharing the past year of my life with you, my readers.  Over this year, I was surprised to discover that writing and sharing my story has been a large part of my healing process. 

When writing my blogs, sometimes the words would flow very easily, and other times I would find myself in a pile of tears unable to muddle through a page of text.  I also found myself alternating between light stories and then more serious issues.  This really demonstrates how the cancer journey is a rollercoaster, with ups and downs along the way.  I learned that to write a powerful and moving blog, you should write when you are “feeling” it, whether it’s the middle of the night or you’re on the bus ride home.  At the very least you should jot down notes so that you can really capture how you were feeling in that exact moment.  I also found that I would let my stories marinate on paper for at least 1 day, and then I would go back and revise.  They always just sounded better when I did that. 

Over this past year, one of the best feelings for me is when someone that I didn’t know is reading my blog comments on it.  I am always surprised and thrilled to know they are taking time to read my story.   Additionally I am also very happy when I get messages out of the blue from people that I haven’t talked to in a while and they are writing to check on me.  These messages always make me smile.  I even smile when I just see people “Like” my posts on Facebook! 

Thank you to the readers, you inspire me just as much as you say that I inspire you.   Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my story, some of you reading a year’s worth of blogs in one afternoon!  I’m convinced that some good has to come out of being diagnosed with breast cancer and I think my blog is part of that good.  It has been good to help other women, show them that they are not alone and that their issues are relevant.  It has been good to bond over something, to make new friends, new sisters. 

For me, blogging has given me independence and the courage to put it all out there and not base my writing on what other people may think.  I am a new person, more alive than ever.  You feel alive when you are fighting and, over the past year and a half, I fought for my life.  Within that time, I think I’ve learned lessons that some people take a life-time to figure out and I hope I’ve been able to share them with you in my blogs. 

So as I close this chapter of blogging, I am focusing on new ways to become involved in LBBC and other breast cancer organizations.  I am getting very involved in my job and just trying to find my new normal, if it exists out there somewhere!  With the major part of my reconstructive surgery now complete (as of last week!), I feel like I am ready to move on and see what’s next in store for me out there.   

Thank you for reading!

How have Jackie’s blogs been inspiring to you?

 

 

Healing Through Poetry

Lisa Marsella’s  THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS WITH CANCER is this month’s Healing Through Poetry feature:

On the first day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
A Dose of Reality

On the second day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the third day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the fourth day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the fifth day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the sixth day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
6 Months of Treatments
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the seventh day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
7 Week Radiation
6 Months of Treatments
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the eighth day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
8 Sets of X-rays
7 Week Radiation
6 Months of Treatments
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the ninth day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
9 Friends a Fretting,
8 Sets of X-rays
7 Week Radiation
6 Months of Treatments
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the tenth day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
10 Scarves of Color
9 Friends a Fretting
8 Sets of X-rays
7 Week Radiation
6 Months of Treatments
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the eleventh day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
11 Doctor Visits
10 Scarves of Color
9 Friends a Fretting
8 Sets of X-rays
7 Week Radiation
6 Months of Treatment
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My cancer sent to me
12 Months of Crying
11 Doctor Visits
10 Scarves of Color
9 Friends a Fretting
8 Sets of X-rays
7 Week Radiation
6 Months of Treatment
5 LONELY LOCKS OF HAIR
4 Trips to the ER
3 Different Surgeries
2 Mangled Breasts
And a Dose of Reality

 

 Lisa Marsella tells her story about her journey with breast cancer.