Welcome to Heaven, Jonathon Ford

We said goodbye to a truly amazing dude this week. He was a husband, father, brother, son and friend. He was loved by everyone because of his gentle nature and kind spirit. I called him family and I loved him dearly.

My cousin Stephanie always felt more like a sister than a cousin to me. In fact, we look more alike than me and my sisters do.

I remember when Stephanie first told me about Jonathon. Her eyes lit up when she said his name, which is common in the beginning of a relationship. But the beautiful thing about their relationship is the sparkle didn't lessen with time; it only shone brighter.

#tbt Steph & Jonathon

We were so excited when they announced their engagement. We began making plans to attend their beautiful destination wedding on Fripp Island.

Announcing their engagement on Christmas Eve

From their "trash the dress" sunrise photo shoot the morning after their wedding

Jonathon was a pilot and his job moved them to Arizona. They bought a beautiful home and Stephanie accepted a teaching job there. Their son Jack was born. Life was perfect.

37 weeks pregnant with Jack

When Jack was about three-months-old, Jonathon was diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer.

What Jonathon endured during the next year, I honestly can't imagine, but you wouldn't have known it from talking to him. When they came home for Christmas, even after everything he'd been through and was going through, Jonathon was the same ole guy. He was kind, friendly, and smiley. He spent the evening trying to do something to make your day a little better. That's just the kind of fella he was.

My sister drew Jonathon's name for Christmas and got him personalized poker cards since he and Stephanie met playing in a poker tournament. 

They say when someone faces adversity, you see who they really are. Jonathon faced more adversity than most of us could fathom - and the person he really was - was truly special.

When a young person dies, there is a loss of what could have been, of what should have been. Stephanie and Jonathon waited so long to find each other. They planned on decades of marriage, but they only got about three years.

How will Stephanie go on without him? How will that baby ever know how precious his daddy was?

These are the thoughts that break my heart in two. It isn't fair. It's one of those things that we'll never understand and I guess we're not meant to.

Sometimes we forget how hard it is on the family and friends of those battling cancer. The feeling of helplessness must be overwhelming. Stephanie handled it with strength and grace - each chemo treatment, each fight to get a new drug approved by insurance, each recovery, each piece of bad news.  I don't think I could have been half as strong if facing the same circumstances.

Stephanie and Jonathon's friends put together a poker tournament as a fundraiser for Jonathon. Poker has always been special to them since they met playing poker in a local restaurant. This event was a good chance for everyone to say goodbye and do something to help Stephanie and Jack.

See that picture? That's what cancer looks like, people.

It's the face of a sweet man - a new husband and father - who's fighting for just one more day to spend with them. It's the tearful eyes of a 31-year-old widow who is trying to be strong for everybody else's sake. It's the innocent smile of a baby who will only know his dad through stories and photographs. It's the hearts of family and friends who had to say goodbye way too soon.

Our family has been no stranger to cancer and death in recent months. We've lost my grandmother, Aunt Sharon, Uncle David and Jonathon. I was diagnosed with cancer, which seems pretty insignificant by comparison, and another cousin had two large growths/tumors removed last week (we are still waiting on the biopsy results).

It's definitely been a rough patch. Anybody care to join me for a margarita or twenty?

I've posted updates about Jonathon on Facebook. Thank you for supporting them in thought and prayer. And also, thank you so much for your donations. In lieu of flowers, if you would like to make a donation to Jack's college fund, you may do so HERE.

Team Ford: Jonathon, Stephanie and Jack's hand prints

Today, I think of Jonathon. I picture him climbing onto a golden plane in Heaven - sitting in the right seat with God as his pilot - and flying through the clouds in clear, perfect weather. I imagine him finding friends up there who love to play poker too, and every one of his hands is a Royal Flush. I think about him finding a beautiful park bench where he'll sit and wait for the rest of us to join him in Heaven some day. And I imagine him looking down at Stephanie and Jack and thinking, 'Don't be sad. I'll see you in a little while', and then smiling that sweet smile that always said, everything is going to be okay.

Some loves last a lifetime. Some loves last for eternity. And some loves last both.

Many prayers to Stephanie, Jack, family and friends.

And many thanks to Jonathon Ford - we're all better for knowing you, brother. May you rest in eternal, Heavenly peace.

Dove's Real Beauty Ad Campaign: You Are More Beautiful Than You Think

Do strangers see us more accurately than we see ourselves?

According to a new beauty campaign by Dove, the answer is yes, and the proof comes in the form of FBI forensic sketches.

On Monday, Dove posted a powerful three-minute YouTube video reminding us that we are more beautiful than we think. The response has been overwhelming.

Seven women of different ages, shapes, sizes, and backgrounds were asked to describe themselves to an FBI sketch artist, Gil Zamora, from behind a curtain; he couldn't see them. They were to give "just the facts" about their physical features, and he created sketches based solely on their descriptions.

What came out of their mouths wasn't just the facts, though; it was a version of the facts that most of us see when we look in the mirror: "I kind of have a fat, rounder face", "my mom told me I had a big jaw", "the older I've gotten, the more freckles I've gotten".

Then strangers, who met the participants in the waiting room, were brought in to describe these same women to the sketch artist. But this time, Zamora got "just the facts", the real facts, the way strangers see us: "she was thin, so you could see her cheekbones", "cute nose", "she had nice eyes; they lit up when she spoke".

The differences in the side-by-side sketches were pretty vast. Check it out.

The response was emotional. My response was emotional. I teared up thinking about how I would describe myself if given the same chance: "fat face", "big lips", "frizzy hair", "wide hips".

Is that all I see? Is that what I'm teaching my daughter?

Each one of us is unique and we all have a true physical beauty that is all our own. We also have an inner beauty that shines through us because of who we are. The world tells us that our beauty doesn't count. We need to remind the world that it does.

"Women are their own worst beauty critics," Dove says. "Only 4% of women around the world consider themselves beautiful... we decided to conduct a compelling social experiment that explores how women view their own beauty in contract to what others see."

Finally! A beauty campaign that actually makes us feel beautiful. Thanks, Dove.

Good Friday

I'm feeling very blessed and humbled today by the sacrifice that Christ made for me 2,000 years before I was even born. If there's anything that I've learned in the past year, it's that my faith and my relationship with Christ are what make everything else make sense.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16) 

It's Friday... but Sunday's coming.  

Suicide is when the pain begins

When I was a 21-year-old college student, I was working my way through school in a jewelry store.  One night, a new song came on the radio called "Ten Thousand Angels" and I thought it was pure awesomeness.

Photo Source

The singer, Mindy McCready, was also 21-years-old, just like me.  But unlike me, she wasn't selling charm bracelets to pay for college tuition; she was selling millions of albums.  She became engaged to her very own Superman, Dean Cain, while I couldn't catch the eye of the cute boy in my calculus class.  She was buying her first Nashville mansion while I was renting a one-bedroom apartment.

I watched the beautiful blonde sing "Guys Do It All the Time" on CMT while I was eating another bowl of Ramen Noodles, and thought to myself, 'She is sitting on top of the world! I bet she's so happy!'

But was she?

Unfortunately, what followed that time of talent, fame and money was disappointment, addiction and depression.  The downward spiral was too hard for too long, and at 37-years-old, she took her own life.

Suicide breaks my heart because it means that someone was living life without hope.

I had been listening to Mindy McCready albums during the week leading up to her death.  Here's the Facebook comment:

So on Sunday, when I read about Mindy McCready's suicide, I just felt weird.  Like when someone dies  and we say, "But I just saw him last week", that's how I felt.  "But I just listened to her album last week."

I started reading about Mindy McCready's life and put together a long timeline of depression and addiction:

1991: Mindy McCready is a Ft. Lauderdale, Florida karaoke singing sensation
1993: Graduated from high school
1994: Moved to Nashville and inked a record deal 11 months later
1996: Released her first album; it goes double platinum
1997: Released her second album with satisfactory album sales
1997: Engaged to Dean Cain
1998: Dean Cain broke off the engagement
1999: Released her third album with disappointing sales and was dropped from her record label.
---- Years of drug and alcohol abuse ----
2004: Arrested for writing false prescriptions for Oxycontin.
2005: While on probation, she was charged with a DUI.
2005: Hospitalized after her boyfriend, Billy McKnight, beat the tar out of her.
2006: Gave birth to her first son by abusive boyfriend, Billy McKnight.
2007: Arrested for battery. Sentenced to 1 year in jail.
2008: Claimed she had a relationship with married Roger Clemens when she was 15 years old.
2008: Sentenced to 60 days in jail for violating parole.
2008: Attempted suicide.
2009: Appeared on Dr. Drew's Celebrity Rehab, later becoming the fifth celebrity from that series to die
2010: Sex tape scandal
2010: Overdose/ suicide attempt
2011: Annouced pregnancy with boyfriend, David Wilson
2011:Violated court order when she didn't return her son Zander to her mother after visitation; police manhunt
2012: Gave birth to second son, Zayne
2012: Finally regained custody of first son, Zander
January 13, 2013: Boyfriend, David Wilson, committed suicide by a self-inflicted gunshot wound on McCready's front porch.
February 6, 2013: Judge committed McCready to in-patient facility for depression and substance abuse at her father's request. Her children were put into foster care.
February 8, 2013: Released from the treatment facility because "a mental health provider assessed her and found she didn't need to be here."
February 16, 2013: E! obtained McCready's last interview where she talked about how hard it was to lose custody of her sons and how devastated she was over the suicide of her boyfriend.
February 17, 2013: Mindy McCready committed suicide by self-inflicted gun shot wound on the same porch where boyfriend committed suicide one month earlier.

All those years.... Is there anybody who could have helped her?  And if so, would she have let them?

Mindy McCready wanted to stop her pain with death, but that's when the real pain started for the survivors - her friends, family, and her sons, who now have to grow up without a mother.

Two of my friends can tell you first hand how devastating it is to lose a family member to suicide. I asked them if they would feel comfortable sharing something for this post.

Jessica's brother committed suicide.  He showed no warning signs; he didn't leave a note.

"I'll never lose this feeling, this feeling of losing my brother to suicide. It's a pain that runs deep. If people who were thinking of suicide knew  the pain they left behind, maybe they would think twice. I had a friend contact me out of the blue; he was contemplating suicide, and he remembered my reaction to my brother and stopped himself.  He couldn't do that to his loved ones.  Instead, he contacted me on how to get help. If this blog of Amanda's stops one suicide, I will be happy."

Marcia's father, a Vietnam Veteran, committed suicide.  He left a note saying that he didn't want to be a burden, but Marcia never felt like he was.  You can read the Atlanta Journal and Constitution article here  about Marcia's experience and suicide prevention advocacy.

"Don't ignore the warning signs.  Get involved.  You must take care of yourself both physically and mentally."

These amazing women know what's like to live as a family survivor of suicide, and now, they both work to help others.

I think about Mindy McCready's parents and her two sons, and how their pain is just beginning.

If you are thinking about ending your life or if you're worried that someone else is, please get help.  A good place to start is the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and then go from there.

In one of my favorite Mindy McCready songs, she sings, "I wanna be all that I can be, stay true to my heart. I wanna be beautiful, carefree as a little girl. I wanna laugh, I wanna love."

It's heartbreaking that she didn't have more time to do just that.

 

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Teal's the Deal

Did you know that?

Until I was diagnosed myself, I had no idea that January was the awareness month, the ribbon color was teal, or pretty much anything else about the disease because cervical cancer was something that happened to somebody else until it happened to me.  

Nobody talks about cervical cancer. I never see teal ribbons on t-shirts or minivans. ABC doesn't run cervical cancer awareness commercials during Grey's Anatomy. Not even Oprah talks about it.

That needs to change because over 4,000 women die each year from cervical cancer. I know because I was almost one of them.

When I was first diagnosed, I wondered if it was my fault. That's the common misconception about cervical cancer that perpetuates the silence.

Most cervical cancers can be linked to HPV, a virus that 80 percent of women have been exposed to in their lifetime, so it's a little more common than you might think. I've never been a math person, but in this case, I'll make an exception. Let's crunch some numbers:

The 2009 census estimated that over 315 million people were living in the United States and 50.7 percent of them were women. So divide the population in half, calculate 80 percent, that's roughly 126 million women who have been or who will be exposed to HPV. Chances are you might be one of them.  

So why are we not talking about this again?

There are a few things that you can do to decrease your risk for HPV such as, ahem, safety first (please don't make me go into any more detail, mmm'k?) and limiting your sexual partners. These measures do not eliminate your risk for HPV but will reduce it. For example, a thirty-something at my oncologist's office has had only one sexual partner (her husband) but has HPV. It can happen to anyone.

If you are under the age of 25, you can also get vaccinated against the strands of HPV most commonly associated with cervical cancer. Ironically, when my daughter got her vaccination, I had cervical cancer and didn't know it.  

But remember, not having HPV does not eliminate your risk completely. I was never diagnosed with HPV, but I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. I'm the one-percent.

The best thing that you can do to protect yourself against cervical cancer is to have an annual pap smear.

That's how I was diagnosed. I had no risk factors and had never had an abnormal pap. My only physical symptom was feeling a little more tired than usual. I had no pain or bleeding. I walked into the OB-GYN's office without a care in the world.

I expected to get the "everything is fine" postcard in the mail, but instead, I got a phone call to schedule a biopsy. It's sort of the same thing except that one is no big deal and the other one makes you cry yourself to sleep.  

A preventive exam is the only reason that I caught my cervical cancer early. If I had missed an annual pap or two, we'd be having a completely different conversation right now.

Today, I can officially say that I'm a cancer survivor. My second pathology report showed all clear margins, meaning, it looks like they got all the cancer out. I will continue to have tests every three months, but that initial report was pretty crucial.

Several people have said to me, "You're such a fighter; I knew you would beat this." or "Cancer didn't stand a chance against you!".  And although I appreciate the compliment they're trying to pay, those words make me feel so guilty, too.

See, the human spirit is designed to fight, and we all have that fight down deep inside us, but I had early detection on my side, and not everybody gets that chance. If I was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer instead, my desire to live would not have been any less, but my statistical chances of beating it definitely would have been.

Women, the good news about cervical cancer is that you can catch it early and that's what makes this disease so curable. One preventive exam saved my life and it can save your's, too.

Have you had an exam in the past year? What?! No? Girl, don't make me call your Mama on you!

If you haven't had a preventive exam lately, pick up the phone and make that appointment right now.  Pretty please? It might just save your life.  



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Goodbye, Grandmother

My grandmother is in Heaven now.  She was the woman who taught me how to serve punch at a shower and spell "separate".  She showed me how to give to my community and carry a strong sense of faith.  She was the perfect example of southern style and grace.  She will be missed. 

May 16, 1925 - January 22, 2013

In 2010, four generations of women. 

Since the Surgery

Hey, y'all!  Whassup?  How was your holiday?

Me?  Oh, mine was good; thanks for asking.  I ate too much, watched a few old movies, and had a couple of organs cut out.  You know, the usual.

Sorry for not updating my blog to let you know that I survived and all, but I've been really busy doing nothing.  Don't worry, I've passed the time by watching reality television.  A lot of reality television.  In fact, I think I've hit my annual maximum and it's only January 7th.

I can name all the dancers on Dance Moms, recall all the children on Sister Wives; I watched an entire season on Amish Mafia, and I think I might have a little crush on Jase Robertson.  Or Si, or Phil, or Willie.  Oh, who cares?  They're all adorable!  Brian loves Duck Dynasty, too, and in honor of that possibly, he hasn't shaved since before Christmas.  He said that "2013 is the year of the beard".  Hot stuff.

Since I haven't gone anywhere or even taken a photo of anything since Brian started growing  his beard, I thought I'd share this photo from last year when he was working on one.  Nice beard, huh?  Very attractive if you're into that whole Adam Levine and/or Duck Dynasty thing. (Psst, I am)

Bailey is a fan, too. She's actually the one who got us watching Duck Dynasty in the first place, so Santa surprised her with the Duck Commander Classic duck call, the Miss Priss duck call, and a Chia Willie with a note that said, "To a yuppie girl with too many years in the subdivision."  That Santa is sooooo good.

Drew is a little young to be into reality TV, but he's all about some caped crusaders.  He dresses up in a different costume every day.  It's the cutest thing!

"I'm sorry but Drew isn't home.  May I interest you in a superhero or four?"

So needless to say, with all this lying around and watching TV, my brain feels like it's shriveled up a bit since we last talked.  Would somebody please pass me a book before it's too late?

The first few days at home were a total blur.  Oxycontin is like a Magic Eraser for memories.

I have flashes of lucidity, though... like when my BFF Laura stopped by for a long chat, even though I have no clue what we actually talked about.  I remember asking for green beans at some point and then crying once when I thought the television was too loud.  Seriously guys, I was a hot mess.  I'm talking about the stuff that drunken sorority weekend retreats are made of.  The stories that when people tell you about it later, even though you kind of remember it, you still swear there's no way it ever happened.

And then you login to Facebook to see the evidence.  Ahem.

I scrolled through about a hundred Facebook comments or emails that I responded to but have absolutely no memory of writing whatsoever.  I mean, it kind of sounded like something I would say, but it could have totally been a sarcasm double and I would have no way to prove otherwise.

I only have a brief flash of memory about these FB posts from when my vision was so blurred that I opted to copy and paste "Thank you!" for a while so I wouldn't screw up.  I found about 30 of these bad boys below.  I guess even when I'm high as a kite, I still value proper grammar and accurate spelling.

And apparently, I need all the help I can get.  My friend John posted on Facebook that my 20 Things a Mother Should Tell Her Son was still spreading like kudzu, and I commented back, "Brian told me I should hurry up and right a book".

Uhmm, seriously? So you're going to "right" a book, huh?  Looks like you've got a long way to go "they're", dearie.

So I was pretty doped up for the first three days or so after surgery, but I didn't feel any pain.  After that, I switched to an occasional Ibuprofen and still didn't have any pain, but then again, I was just lying around in bed for 23 or more hours per day.

Rolling over became an Olympic event, walking to the bathroom was "going for the gold", and sitting up to eat a bowl of soup earned me my own 60 Minutes episode.  And the stairs?  Well, let's just say that I asked Brian if there was a way to install a lift or elevator in the house... and I wasn't kidding.

So I'm not in pain; I'm just really sore like me and Ralph Macchio just finished up taping Karate Kid 287.

But all things considered, it hasn't been that bad.  I thought the recovery after the first surgery was much harder, even though this one was considered more invasive.  I guess that's what happens when you're still full of cancer and don't heal for crap.

Today is the first day that I've actually cared if my hair was washed or if my socks matched my pajamas, so I think I'm on the road to recovery.  Next thing you know, I'll probably even care about the cleanliness of my toilets or the laundry.

I hopped on the scale today and saw that I've lost about 7 pounds because I haven't been eating as much, and of course, there was that whole clear liquid diet for Christmas thing.  So I'm looking better I guess, if you can ignore the fact that I'm still really swollen in my gut from the surgery.

So now, I look like somebody who's been on a strict diet of nothing but Slim Fast and salt...  A little skinnier everywhere else but really bloated in the middle.  Not my first choice, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

And just like every other time when I've lost a few pounds from a virus or whatever, I swear THIS TIME I won't gain it back.  But I always do.  Staying true to form, I ate a cheeseburger and a banana split last night for dinner, so.... I'll just let you connect the dots from here.

I want to tell you all about the surgery, but I thought I should start at the end(ish) since it's been so long since I've updated you. I wanted you to know that I'm alive and well and watching a Grey's Anatomy marathon on Lifetime.

So we'll start at the end and work our way back to the beginning, okay? Think of it like a Pulp Fiction-style recap without all the famous movie stars or the lavish Hollywood promotions.

Please check back next time for all the details about my surgery, including the time I showed my ass to someone visiting a patient down the hall.  And unfortunately, that's not a euphemism for "getting really angry at him".  It happened quite literally.




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Remembering 2012

Even though I probably experienced more physical and emotional pain in 2012 than any other year so far, I also learned more about love, faith, family, friends, the type of person I want to be, and what's really important in life. Looking back, I don't think I'll view 2012 as one of my worst years. I think it's going to be one of my favorites.

Happy Homecoming Day

I'm sorry, guys.  I know my blog has been full of sad posts lately, but I guess cancer will do that to a person.

And, uh, this one will be no exception.  Ahem.  

When I was in the 9th grade, my Mom told us she was pregnant. Yay!

I was more happy about that baby than I was about my Donnie Wahlberg t-shirt or my VHS collection.  And at 15-years-old, that means I was really happy about it.

My Mom tells the story, "I got married at 19, had Amanda at 21, had Delane at 23, and at 25, Grandmother held her breath for the entire year."  Grandmother did get a little break, though. They had my sister Jennifer at 29 and my sister Elise at 36.

My parents had children in the 70's, 80's and 90's, and all of them were girls.  As a mother myself, I can honestly say they must be eligible for sainthood. 

Elise's birthday was the only day that we didn't know she was sick.  We watched her through the nursery window and talked about her dark hair and her tiny feet.  It was perfect.  

The next day, Nana drove us to the hospital.  We walked into Mom's room, and I could tell that she had been crying.  My parents told us that Elise was very sick and the doctors didn't expect her to live through the day.  

We walked down the long hallway, surrounded by the sights and smells of the hospital, to say goodbye to our baby sister. 

But that girl had spunk, I tell ya.  She lived with us for four months at home, not in the hospital.   She was one tough cookie.

She did things the doctors told us she would never do like take a bottle and eat from a spoon.  She was a rockstar. 

When a baby dies, there is a loss of what was and what could have been.    

On her 13th birthday, I wondered what she would have been like if she had lived.  Little things, like, would she have a favorite band?  Would she like broccoli or hate it?

It was the same for other milestones like Sweet 16, high school graduation, and her 21st birthday.  I imagined what we'd do together if she were here.   

And sometimes, on no special day whatsoever, I think about her just because.    

Our family 

December 18, 1990 was the day that Elise was ready for a rest and we said goodbye to her one last time.

So, Happy Homecoming Day, Lissy Bug!  I bet there's a pretty cool celebration going on in Heaven today, complete with music from your favorite band.  And they're probably serving broccoli, you know, if you like it.

We love and miss you so much.  Thanks for looking out for us, little sis.    

Cancer Counteracts Creativity and other C words

I haven't written much lately because I can't think of anything to write about except stupid, dumb c-a-n-c-e-r.  Cancer's, like, the worst writer's block ever.

This experience has made me re-think my desire to be a professional writer one day.  If food, clothing and shelter depended upon my creative writing skills this month, I'd be starving, naked and living under a bridge somewhere.  But I'd still be dance walking, ya know, just to keep it interesting.

I've felt physical and emotional highs and lows, and that kind of rollercoaster makes it hard to write.  So instead, I've been watching Grey's Anatomy like a normal person for a change.

By the way, if Six Flags offers you a season pass to that rollercoaster, take my word for it and just WALK AWAY.

The love and support that I've received has been overwhelming.  Thank you!  I appreciate all the sweet comments, emails, phone calls, texts, visits.... it's been amazing.

In fact, a friend from high school emailed me yesterday and I wrote back, "I'm doing good.  I'm a little more tired than usual, but they said that's normal.  Just like making a baby, cancer makes you tired.  The only difference is that you don't get a cute little guy or girl at the end."

Now, did you read between the lines like I did when I re-read my email?  Let's just say that if there's an award for the "Most Unexpected Perv" at our 20-year class reunion, I'm a shoe-in.

Uhmmm... Jenny, just to be clear, when I said making a baby, I actually meant the pregnancy part and not the uh... "MAKING A BABY" part.  Ahem.

See, and the rest of you thought you got too much TMI about biopsies and scans?  Pfft.  Just wait until I tell you how EXHAUSTED I am from "making a baby".  Poor Jenny.  Sorry, girl.

But overall, I feel pretty good.  Sometimes I have weird pains or symptoms that usually make me cry for 5-minutes because I'm convinced that this is the symptom that means I'm dying.  When in reality, it probably just means that I shouldn't have eaten a chili dog for dinner.  Okay, fine, TWO, whatever.

In short, hypochondria and cancer do not go together like peas and carrots if you know what I mean.

I started working from home this week and it felt good to do something normal.  Next, I'm hoping to move on to things like shoe shopping and salon appointments.

Speaking of, Bailey looked at me yesterday and said, "Mama, the hair around your face is so white that it looks invisible.  You look like an old man with a receding hair line."

Awwww, thanks, hon!

And this was just two-hours after Drew looked at a picture of me and Brian from when we started dating and didn't have a freaking clue who we were.  Uhmm... that's your parents, son.... I guess the years weren't as kind as I'd hoped.

So if you need a pick-me-up, just say the word and I'll send my kids right over!  And then later, we'll meet up for drinks and a viewing of The Notebook so that we have a good cry over low self-esteem together.  

My next sit-down with the oncologist is December 6th and my treatment (whatever that is - radiation, surgery, etc.) should begin the week of Christmas.

Don't worry, I already know what you're thinking.  In a scientific study completely made up for the purposes of this blog, 98.3% of people respond to that statement with, "Can't you wait until after Christmas?"

I'm with ya.  I thought the same thing at first.  I was all like, "But I don't want to miss Christmas!  And then there's New Year's.  Oh, and Valentine's Day and then our anniversary trip....   Yeah, I guess dying is more convenient."

So, it didn't take me too long to figure out that I'd rather miss one Christmas than miss all the rest of them.

Besides, I'm anxious to get this monkey off my back anyway.  And I figure, who better to write a ridiculous holiday parody while in the hospital and doped up on meds than me?  Those nurses NEED somebody to make fun of while they're working on Christmas day.  Everybody gets a victory lap here, folks.

My plan is to baby step back into writing again, probably.  It starts with me re-posting two blogs that I wrote last year about the Twilight movies.  Why?  Because it's Twilight time again!  I just made a few updates to keep them current.

Are you a Twilight fan?  I'm not, but then again, I'm a southerner who doesn't like sweet tea, so obviously, I can't be trusted.  Check back tomorrow for my take on Twilight, m'kay?

Re-posting my own work is completely awesome because it's still plagiarizing, but the risk of me suing myself is pretty small.  You know, unless I get really bored.

Thanks again for all those thoughts and prayers of health and healing!  Keep 'em comin', y'all. Hopefully this thing will be over faster than Bella can stutter out "Edward" in a scratchy whisper while blinking her eyelashes uncontrollably.

Well, hopefully it doesn't take that long.

First Oncologist Appointment

The week between my cancer diagnosis and the oncologist appointment was brutal.  Questions outnumbered answers, and it was starting to drive me mad.  During those days, I was pretty sure that I was going to die. I was just concerned about looking tough and brave until I did.

Stupid, huh?  I'm sure nobody would have thought any less of me for breaking down once or twice.

But I think how you react to things like c-a-n-c-e-r all comes down to your individual personality.  For me, it was more important to look strong than to be consoled. But on some days, I needed the exact opposite.  Each day was a wait-and-see, and I'm so thankful for friends and family who watched for my cue.

On the night before the oncologist appointment, I was so nervous that I couldn't sleep. I laid in bed for hours having dozens of hypothetical conversations in my mind between me and the oncologist.   Things he might say.  Questions I might ask back.  I didn't want to miss a thing.

My oncologist is arguably the most acclaimed and sought after gynecologic oncologist in the southeast. I assumed he would be impersonal and narcissistic because of that, but I was wrong.

He was warm and friendly.  He spoke slowly and calmly and would even dumb it down for me when I didn't understand.  He was positive and that made me feel positive again, too.

I was there for three hours, but it felt like three days.  I've been poked and prodded on so much lately that I've developed a tolerance for it, but there was a certain level of anxiety with this appointment that made it worse.

He wanted to do some biopsies but couldn't because I hadn't healed enough from my first surgery.  He said that it was a common complication, especially considering that we were trying to heal bad cells because they royally suck at it.  Healing is more of a good cell thing.

I was badly infected, so he did an "office procedure" to "help me heal" which wasn't just "painful", it was an "out of body experience".  He didn't even give me "a bullet to bite down on".  With or without the quotation marks.

There was a couple of minutes there when I just checked out.  If you've seen Cat in the Hat, then you're pickin' up what I'm puttin' down.



But it was totally worth it!  Ahem, you know, AFTER IT WAS OVER because almost immediately, I started feeling better.

He thought I had cervical cancer that spread to the uterus (and not the other way around), but that didn't concern him.  His concern was determining what stage the cancer was because the earlier, the better.

The chances of it spreading somewhere else if it's early stage are very small.  So if that's the case, I'll need one more surgery (or two) and I'm done.  Hopefully forever and ever, amen.

Because of the infection, I wasn't able to get the firm plan that I was looking for, but he did tell me what he thought would happen, and that was enough for me that day.

He thought my chance for radiation or chemotherapy was low and my chance for cure was high.

I'm sorry, but I feel like we should take an extra minute to focus on that gorgeous little word "cure", don't you?  Cured, as in, Goodbye cancer!  Don't let the door hit ya on the way out.

He gave me this bracelet to wear until I'm cancer free and I haven't taken it off yet.  It's the prettiest bracelet that I've ever seen.

The next four weeks will be full of doctor's appointments, medications, needles, tests, scans and ultrasounds. In short, it won't be a Caribbean vacation if you know what I mean.  I'll meet with the oncologist again on December 6th for a final round of exams and biopsies, and based the collective results, my treatment plan will be established and begin.

And then, I'll get back to kickin' cancer's butt.  You know, cause that's what I do.

In every field, there's a hierarchy of jobs.  One person handles a issue until it escalates beyond their duties and then they send it up the chain.  The hardest part of one person's job is the easiest part of the next person's job.  And it was so nice to be the easy part of somebody's job for a change.

I came home from that appointment and cried.  But this time, it wasn't tears of fear or sadness.  It was tears of hope and relief.  And those tears are a lot more fun to cry, y'all!  Take my word for it.

No matter what the next few months hold, I'm willing to go through anything and everything to stick around for a few more decades.  I've still got some dance walking to do!

So I don't have all the answers yet, but I do have hope.  And hope is a beautiful thing.






Please like this blog on Facebook to spread preventive awareness and cancer prevention.  I might even post a funny e-card or two.

The day I found out I had cancer

I wish I felt like writing about the surgery because some hilarious stuff happened, but I don't. Maybe I will tomorrow.

One week after surgery, I still didn't have the pathology results. I called the nurse to report a few complications that I was having and she thought I should be examined.

My doctor was on-call at the hospital all day, so I booked an appointment with another doctor in the practice. He walked into the room and pulled up my pathology report on his laptop. I could see it there on his computer screen.

He said, "I know you haven't gotten your results yet, so I'll give them to you now." (Long pause. Reading.  Re-reading.) "Okay, let's do your exam first. Then you can come into my office and we'll discuss the results."

Great. It's obviously bad news... but how bad? Do I have cancer? What's going to happen to me? How am I going to tell my family? My mind raced in a million different directions during that 15-minute exam, which felt more like 15-years.

I walked into his office. I guess I was visibly nervous because I watched him morph into a grandfather-figure as I sat down in the chair. He almost put his arm up around me as he showed me the report.

Cancer. It's such a nasty word. It's hard for me to even it say it out loud. Just typing it makes tears stream down my face. Can this be real?

I went to that appointment by myself, but please don't feel sorry for me because that's exactly what I needed. You'd think that a blogger would always be willing to pour her heart and soul out to everyone, but that's not the case, at least not with me.

I sat in my car in the parking lot for probably 20 minutes. I cried, I sobbed, I screamed, "I wanted it to be over!", and then I cried some more. And I would have never done that in front of anybody - including my husband, my Mom,  my sister, or my best friend - and I really needed that release.

My gynecologist called me an hour later to elaborate on what the other doctor had told me. She showed concern, she was human, and it helped me deal with it all somehow. She said that she'd call an oncologist the next morning so I could map out the next phase of treatment.

Treatment. That's another word that takes on a whole new meaning when it's attached to cancer and when that cancer is attached to you.

Am I going to die?

I thought about my daughter, Bailey, who is so strong and quiet. It's hard to tell when she's hurting or needs help, but I can always read her. Who will answer her questions now?

She needs a mother to take her shopping for a prom dress or wipe her tears when some idiot breaks her heart. She needs a mother to control her wedding decorations or worry about her when she's on a date. She needs a mother to love her unconditionally.

I thought about my son, Drew. I tried to recall any memories that I had from when I was three-years-old, and I couldn't think of one.

How will he know how much I loved him? How will he know how bad I wanted him? How will he understand that I would have given my life for him?

I thought about my husband, Brian. There is nobody on this earth who could love that man as much as I do, although any woman would be lucky to try. How can I leave him all alone?

I wanted to give them something, something that goes beyond life insurance money or jewelry, something that shows them exactly how happy they made me. And then I thought about this blog, and suddenly, these stories became worth millions.

Once the sadness started to subside, I was mad. Mad that I have to go through this. Mad that my family and friends have to go through this with me. Mad that it's worse than they thought. Mad that it's just the beginning.

But now, I'm starting to let go of all that anger, sadness and fear because that's not what wins this battle. Faith, strength and optimism win this battle. And I really want to win.

It's easy to ask, "why me?", but I think it's so I can be a voice.

How many women face this disease in silence? How many women don't understand that you can have cervical cancer without any of the typical symptoms?

I've been given an opportunity to share my story and remind men and women of the importance of preventive testing: Pap smears, mammograms, PSA tests, physicals. It's too easy to get busy and forget to make time for those things.

I keep thinking about lyrics to a song: "To be salt and light in the world... Let the redeemed of the Lord rise up... Let the redeemed of the Lord say so...".

Thank you, God, for choosing me to be salt and light in the world; for the strength to rise up and for the faith to say so.

Now, let's go kick cancer's butt!

Thank you to my good friend Amber for making this pic and to everyone who has posted it on Facebook. 

The C Word

Almost interrupting, I said, "So... are you saying... I have cancer?"

"I'm saying that the pathology report shows the highest level of abnormality that the test will indicate. And the worst case scenario cause, of course, is cancer. We are doing a biopsy today to confirm those results. Paps can be wrong sometimes, but I want to prepare you for surgery."

She kept talking, explaining statistics and procedures. I was listening to her, but I lost my ability to hear the words. My body became weightless and my mind became clouded. My fingertips tingled, and that's the only thing that I remember feeling.

I left her office eerily calm, almost numb.  Brian met me at the door, eager to hear that we had nothing to worry about. I told him what Dr. Ricks' said - "test results", "surgery", "cancer".  My voice sounded completely different, like, I couldn't stand to say the words, so I let someone else do it for me.

We researched cervical cancer. As far as cancers go, it's a good one to have. It's slow growing and easily curable. But still, it's cancer. And cancer kills people.

Pfft, but I'm going to be just fine! WebMD said so. And on that day, I actually believed it.

But the next day was completely different. Fear made me irrational.

I didn't want to share my story publicly, even though I felt like I should. Just the thought of it made me feel nervous and exposed. I prayed about it and I bargained with God: 'What if I share it with my family? Or, how about my closest friends? Is that okay?'

But in my heart, I knew that I should reach farther, mostly because my story is different from the norm.

Emails started pouring in from women who shared their personal story with me, and many said that they made a preventive appointment after reading my blog.

If my experience helped just one person, it was worth it and then some.

So today, I don't feel nervous or exposed anymore. I feel honored and blessed. Thanks, God.









Please like this blog on Facebook to spread preventive awareness and cancer prevention.  I might even post a funny e-card or two.

Werdyab vs Cervical Cancer

I've been a little spacey and emotional this week.  I guess it was pretty obvious when I didn't know the difference between Bert and Ernie in this post.  And now, Elmo says that he won't invite me to Mr. Noodle's party.  Some things you just can't un-do.

I've written about not feeling well lately.  I've felt "off" for months, like I was fighting off the flu all the time.

A routine pap smear revealed the likely problem.  A biopsy confirmed that I have cervical pre-cancer at it's most advanced and aggressive stage.

First, let's check out those pretty little letters p-r-e.  As in, n-o-t cancer.  Yay!!!

But there's still some bad news.

My last pap smear was a-year-and-a-half ago and it was perfect.  I have never had one single abnormal pap in my life.  But now, my pap result is as bad as the test can indicate.

It typically takes 6-10 years to progress to what I did in a little over a year, so it's very aggressive. It has already contaminated the entire organ.  I am too late to freeze or remove the infected portion.

In addition to being a pre-cancer overachiever, I have also confused my doctor because I have never tested positive for HPV, a virus which is the leading cause of cervical cancer.

The fact that I don't even do cervical cancer like normal people should validate everything that you know to be true from reading this blog.  But in this case, I don't want to be the only one dancing at Starbucks (so to speak), and it concerns me that my body isn't following a predicted pattern.

I will be having surgery on Thursday, October 18th.  I'll be laying low for the next few weeks and kicking cancer's ass.

It is possible/ slightly likely that based on the aggressive nature and the level of contamination, they will find cancer in the removed cervix.  The biopsy only tests a snip, so some of those Stage 3 pre-cancer cells could have already flipped over to cancer cells in an untested area.  I'll have the pathology report 4-5 days after surgery.

If this is the case, I will see an oncologist for more surgery and possibly radiation.   They are preparing me for the worst, but I'm hoping for the best.

As far as cancers go, this is a good one to have.  It's easily curable and a lot more common than I realized. It seems like many woman have had cervical pre-cancer or cancer scares on some level.  It good to know that I'm not alone.

To complicate matters, I'm also having some digestion issues as well, so my gastroenterologist wants to rule out colon or intestinal cancer.

I hate to sound picky here, but, uh, could people PLEASE quit using the word cancer around me?  Thanks for your corporation.

So the first place that I'll go after surgery is to have a colonoscopy.  Hey, do I know how to party or do I know how to party?

In related news, the gastro performing my colonoscopy is young and handsome.  Shouldn't that be illegal?  Listen, if at least three people on this earth don't refer to you as "Paw Paw", you are too young to perform my colonoscopy.  He looks exactly like Aladdin, so on a scale of 1 to me singing "A Whole New World" while I'm doped up on anesthesia, I'm going with an 11.

In the past week, I've cried a lot and I've felt scared.  I've faced my own mortality and my insecurity about sharing that with others.  I've sobbed over not being able to have any more babies.  I've looked at my husband and children like I was saying goodbye.  It's been rough.

One of my best friends encouraged me to share this experience on my blog and remind women about the importance of preventive care.

The funny thing is that I wasn't going to blog about it.  In fact, I wasn't going to tell a soul.

When I first got the news, Brian and I talked, and I decided that I didn't want to tell anyone.

I guess because of where it's located and/or the fact that it's often tied to a virus, many women don't want to talk about it.  I know because I didn't either.

But then I thought about how if you are monogamous, you have never had an abnormal pap, and you  have never tested positive for HPV (like me), then the doctors say that you can safely go 2-3 years between paps. 

If I had waited another year or two, we'd be having a completely different conversation right now.  

I owe it to you to put my own awkwardness aside and remind you to take care of yourself.   

If it's been more than a year since your last gynecology exam, please pick up the phone and schedule that appointment right now.  And if you are having any other health issues, please don't delay in going to the doctor.  Anything caught early is best.

Please pray for a successful surgery, negative margins, no cancer pathology reports, good colonoscopy biopsy results, and for my stubborn gut to start working the way it's supposed to.

So, uh... heard any good jokes lately?

Please like this blog on Facebook to spread preventive awareness and cancer prevention.  I might even post a funny e-card or two.

I'm negative about negativity

Bloggers are artists. You might not think of us that way because there's no blog posts hanging in the Louvre or the Met, but it's art just the same. We are like painters - our oils are honesty, humor, and emotion; our canvas is the World Wide Web.

And just like all artists, we want you to like us. I mean, we really want you to like us. But if you don't, that's okay, too.

I can't stand Lady Gaga music, I hated all the Harry Potter books, and I wouldn't cast Kristen Stewart to make a collect phone call, but some of you might disagree with me. Well, except for that Kristen Stewart thing. I mean, seriously.

The point is that we're all entitled to our opinion.

I wrote a post called 20 Things A Mother Should Tell Her Son in about 15-minutes on a Sunday afternoon while cooking dinner. If I had known that millions of people were going to read it, I probably would have spent more time of it. I would have devoted a solid twenty.

It's like that dream where you accidentally go to school naked, except my school was the Internet and my class was the population of New York. Suddenly I was all like, 'Does this blog make me look fat? Is my HTML on straight?' I swear, it was just like middle school all over again.

Since then, I've read hundreds of negative comments, several articles personally attacking my parenting, and one message board full of people convinced that I'm single-handedly ruining the next generation of men. (You're welcome, by the way.) And unfortunately, on most days, the hundreds of criticisms outweigh the millions of shares. I'm no mathematician, but that doesn't make any sense.

I don't mind you disagreeing with me. In fact, it's quite the opposite. I love it because that means I made you think. You read my list and thought to yourself, "Pfft. Really? She's so stupid. If this was my list, I would tell my son...."

And that's just awesome. If my stupidity inspires you, then I'll be happy to be this moronic again tomorrow.

Disagreeing is fine, but please do not attack me personally. Counterpoint my thoughts. Share your opinions. Just don't cut me with your switchblade, m'kay?

"You are stupid and selfish."
"I don't know what dinosaur wrote this, but move out of the south!"
"When you teach a false doctrine, you are not helping you're children, but you are destroying their lives before they get a chance to live."
"You are raising a mangina. Your son doesn't have a chance."
"And look at the advice she gave her daughter?  Let's just say that I feel sorry for her husband having to live with somebody like that."
"What closed minded dumbass wrote this?"
"My first thought was that you hated all men and you were divorced (not remarried) and bitter, but I read one post implying that you loved your husband."
"It could be read as gender discrimination either way - either you are over-protective about your daughter or that you just don't care about boys."
"I will pray the Lord takes away all the hate in your heart."
"Whoever wrote this is an idiot."
"It's not easier having sons. You have to teach them values and morals too."
"Are you really this stupid?"
"This is seriously the most paranoid thing that I've read on here."
"You are raising the type of son that you are trying to protect your daughter against."

And that doesn't include all the people who just said they hated it or they weren't impressed.  Ahem.

I would say it didn't bother me, but I don't lie on my blog (that much).

Other bloggers have also shared their opinions about cyber-bullying.

Michele, of the hilarious blog ODNT, wrote about her feelings when she received hate mail, which eventually turned into a public Twitter breakup. And every blogger knows, a Twitter breakup is the worst kind.

Leslie, of the award-winning blog The Bearded Iris, took down her comment section for the summer after a photograph was criticized inappropriately. I saw the photograph and I thought it was pure awesomeness.

It's good to know I'm not alone.

When I read the personal attacks posted about me, I felt like Robin Williams talking to Matt Damon on the park bench in the movie Good Will Hunting: "But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine and you ripped my fucking life apart?"

I'm an artist and I painted something - something original that I created - but you took one look at my painting and you called me an idiot, a horrible wife, and a bad mom. And that's not nice, y'all! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

You cannot possibly understand the depths of me as a woman, wife, mother, or writer simply from reading one post. I've been hanging out with me my entire life, and I haven't gotten me figured out yet.

Online bullying has become just like road rage. It's too easy for us to login and release our personal frustration on strangers without any accountability or repercussion. In short, we need to stop giving people the cyber-finger while we're stuck in traffic on the information highway.

Years ago, I watched an interview on VH-1 with Rosie O'Donnell about Madonna. She said that she and Madge were on an elevator in New York shortly after Madonna dyed her hair black. A stranger got on the elevator, said, "You're Madonna, right? Your hair looks like shit like that", and then he got off at the next floor as if he hadn't said a word. Rosie said that Madonna was genuinely upset about it, and even teared up over the insult.

It stuck with me because I think somebody like Madonna is invincible. But wait, Madonna cared about what some stranger said to her? The same woman who can do 42 hours of yoga per day, she cried? Imagine how somebody like me must feel. I haven't seen the inside of a yoga studio since, well, ever.

I'm not what you'd call a "thick-skinned" person. In fact, my skin is so thin that you can determine my blood type simply by looking at my forearm, but I'm learning. I'm learning how to take those hurtful words and put them in a box. I deal with them when it's appropriate, and when it's not, I shut the lid and walk away.

Last night, I went home and kissed my husband and hugged my children. We laughed and talked and played ball together in the yard. I tucked my babies into bed and snuggled up with my husband before drifting off to a peaceful sleep, and I didn't allow those negative comments to define me as a person.

So you didn't ruin my day. You were just a part of it.

American Cancer Society (Sponsored Video)

It was a Tuesday afternoon in 1998.  I was working part-time at my Dad's insurance agency while I was finishing up my college degree.

Dad was sitting in his blue, executive-style chair and talking to me about a client file that he was holding in his hand: quotes to run, benefit summaries to copy, people to call.

I was standing beside his L-shaped, mahogany desk when the phone rang.  Dad answered it, and I quickly noticed the change in his tone, and a quiet fear that filled the room.

It was the doctor's office.  The test results were back.

I stood there, listening.  I kept waiting for that moment when Dad would say, "Phew!  I'm glad everything is okay.  Thank you for your call".  He'd smile a smile of relief and I'd do the same.  We'd high-five each other and step across the street to the coffee shop for some celebration cheesecake.  And we'd laugh about how we were worried over nothing.

I waited for that moment, but that moment never came.

I could only hear Dad's side of the conversation.  Although he didn't say that much - mostly just "uh huh" or "okay" - it was the words he didn't say that told the story.  

Cancer.

I kept on standing there.  I wanted to walk away, but I couldn't move.  I guess I thought that if I stood there long enough, I'd get to hear him say, "Phew!  I'm glad everything is okay.  Thank you for your call."

Eventually, I walked out of the office door and stood in the long, narrow hallway.  I leaned against the wall and let my head rest underneath a framed photograph that I gave Dad for Father's Day.

My body felt thick, heavy.  Simple tasks like breathing and thinking didn't feel that simple anymore.  I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't think.  Is my Dad going to die?

Cancer. Stupid, dumb cancer.

My Dad was only 44-years-old when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer.   Soon after he received those biopsy results on the phone, he had major surgery.  Radiation, chemotherapy and several more surgical procedures followed.

No matter what physical obstacle he faced, I never saw him get discouraged.

One day, I asked him how people can find the strength to fight cancer.  How can you go through so much and not want to give up?

Dad said that survival is the core of the human spirit.  And when you are faced with death, you will keep fighting because life is that precious.

It's been 14 years since my Dad received that phone call.

I think about all the wonderful experiences that he's had since then like watching all three of his daughters graduate from college, get married, have children, and start working full-time in our health insurance agency.  He's held five precious grandchildren in his arms.  He and my Mom have built their dream home.  They've traveled to all the places that didn't have time to visit before.  He's been an elected leader in his field on a local, state and national level.  He's been appointed to serve on insurance advisory boards by the Governor and the Insurance Commissioner.  He's helped people.  He's made a difference.

The past 14 birthdays have given him so much.  So many wonderful memories that cancer tried to steal from him.

That's why I was so excited when the American Cancer Society asked me to partner with them for the Relay For Life® campaign.

For almost 100 years, the American Cancer Society has been saving lives by helping people get well, stay well, find cures, and fight back.  They are giving people more birthdays!  People just like my Dad.

How can you get involved?  It's easy!

1) Watch this 30-second video.  And be inspired.

2) Get involved.  Please consider making a donation, participating in an event, volunteering, or getting new laws passed.  Find out more about how you can help here.

3) Light a candle.  Think of someone you know who has faced cancer - maybe a family member, a friend, or even yourself - and light and candle for them.  

I'm lighting a candle today for my Dad, my Aunt Sharon, my Uncle Joe, my friend Chip, and an unspoken family member.

Who would you light a candle for?  Please share a name in the comment section below.  




This post is sponsored by the American Cancer Society.