Seventeen Magazine

Me in red, back in the day.

When I was 12, my mother started buying me Seventeen magazine.  She had read it when she was a kid and remembered it fondly.  I can still remember picking up that first issue, it seemed so grown up and sophisticated with fashion spreads, make-up tips, newsy articles and short stories.  As a 12 year old late bloomer, there was very little of me actually reflected on those pages, but that was hardly the point.  It was the possibility that mattered.

You would think something like Seventeen wouldn't have suited me very well.  I grew up learning survival skills like "keeping 'my place' is important for self preservation" and "displaying more than the minimum necessary self-esteem will be considered as a dangerous sign of rebellion and will be dealt with."  I knew from an early age that my mostly Lebanese features (and not the pert-nosed, doe eyed kind, either) in no way resembled the perky fresh-faced beauties that graced the covers in those days before the "United Colors of Benetton" told us all that ethnicity was ok.  I was hardly the country club set or even the sort that the country club set would bother to hang around with for comparison's sake.  And I was never one of the popular girls.  But still I loved reading Seventeen.

It may seem an even odder choice to those who met me by the time I was a senior in high school or in the first couple of years of college, when I was sporting punk hair and a wardrobe of Salvation Army selections as an outward expression of my inward "I'm damn well done playing a game I can never win" attitude (ironically, coinciding with the time I was an actual seventeen).  But as a younger teen studying each glossy new page, I believed.  I believed with all my heart and soul, and Seventeen was my bible of hope.

I believed that if I could just master the right make-up tips, maybe put together a few crafty room upgrades, get the right wardrobe essentials for my shape (stick) and personality (really quiet), figure out how to fix my personal flaws through the variety of useful tips gleaned from well considered articles and helpful quizzes, then I could somehow turn my life around and rid myself of the anxiety and disappointment that seemed to track my every step.  I was sure--deeply, determinedly sure--that the answer was in there somewhere and if Seventeen and I could just figure out where I kept going wrong, I could finally turn it all around.

Yes, I really was once that naive.

In those days before internet, every issue was valuable, but the highlight of the magazine year, the issue that I would study carefully from cover to cover and return to again and again, was the giant August back-to-school issue.  That issue, above all others, contained a bumper crop of self-improvement ideas just in time for the fresh start of a new school year.  If the regular issues hinted at the promise of better things to come, this giant issue screamed loud from the rooftops that change was possible and this very year really could be the year when I finally had "my best year ever!" (easily obtainable with just a little attention to my personal style, the 12 simple pieces that would update my wardrobe, some focused dedication to avoiding these 8 annoying habits, and perhaps a quick quiz to determine what my favorite color said about me).

For me, in those days, hope really did spring eternal and self-acceptance was nothing more than a foolish distraction intending, unsuccessfully, to waylay me on my path to a better life.

Strangely, after a having couple of days to let it settle in, this news from my oncologist that I'll probably never run again feels a lot like giving up on the Seventeen dream.

In high-school I ran track, in college I ran track and cross country.  I made good friends doing that and found a slightly healthier outlet for my compulsive drive toward self-improvement and belonging than my previous focus on being "as good as" the girls on the pages of Seventeen.  In various stages of my adult life since, I've gone out for a run and, in doing so, once again was remembered what it was like to be young with the world rushing past me.

But, truthfully, my last college workout was the last time I ever seriously committed to being a runner.  And my last semester of college was the last time I ran regularly for any length of time.

It's not that this news about not running has really stolen that much away from my actual life.  It's just that it's nibbled away a little bit of promise.  That little voice inside me that whispers, "Hey, I could do that again, it's possible!" is now is followed by a sightly terse, "No. No you can't."

I will make peace with it, of course.  I will continue walking. I will cheer on my daughter as she runs, enjoy hearing about my brother's track team, and the 5Ks and half-marathons of family and friends.  I will take pleasure in all the things I can still do and remember that I'm lucky to be alive and lucky to have only minor cancer-related restrictions at the moment.

But it may take me a little while to get comfortable with the understanding that this particular hope for what my future might hold isn't going to be.

Still, August is just around the corner, and who knows? Maybe this year will turn out to be "my best year ever!"  Only this time it would be on my own terms.

About that running thing... (this month's update)

William Rimmer - Flight and Pursuit

I went to oncology today for my monthly check in and injections.  Fortunately it was another good visit.

Most of my numbers look good.  No tumor markers for today yet (those take some time to get the results on) and my white blood cells are continuing to drop downward, which isn't great, but the thinking is that that's due to the radiation therapy and it's effect on the marrow in the several large bones that were radiated.  They're doing a WBC panel to better see what's going on, but, especially coupled with last month's stable scans and the dropping tumor markers, it doesn't seem to be really worrisome.  I guess I'll need to dig out the Purell supply I laid in the last time this happened and try to stay clear of sniffling people.

But since I'm feeling well, with only some hip and back pain that was there before the good scans, etc, and isn't getting worse, it was a lot of "keep it up!" and not a lot of worry.  I've had my share of the worry filled kind of appointments, so I'm just going to take this one and enjoy it for all it's worth!

While I was there, I asked about biking and running, and that didn't go quite as well as I had hoped.  The consensus is that biking is ok as long as I don't fall off, but running is definitely out and is not likely to ever be back on the table, at least not in the foreseeable future.  Looks like my "Couch to 5K" dream will need to be truncated to just "Couch," as the 5K part is not going to happen.

From what I understand, with impact absorbing bones fragile with cancer, and radiation therapy adding brittleness to the mix, high impact activities are just too risky.  Yep, that's right, I'm still a delicate flower.

I didn't exactly expect to get the go ahead today, not while my scans are still showing activity (my "stable" scans last month mean that the cancer isn't spreading now, but it doesn't mean the lesions are gone or healed at this point), but I was hoping they might tell me that it was likely in a few months maybe.  Instead, I was told it was unlikely that I'd ever be cleared for high impact stuff.

But, know what?  I'm actually ok with that.  I'm enjoying my walking and I definitely don't want to trade that in for a hip fracture and indefinite bedrest, pain, and rehab just because I went for a run.

Plus, not only do I feel better than before I started walking, I also saw today that my pulse has been dropping each month since I started the 10,000 steps a day in May--for many months before that I'd been having the same conversation with different techs:

"Is your pulse always, um, kind of high?"
"Yeah, it's always like that, Dr.___ is ok with it."
"Oh, ok, 'cause it's kind of scary high."
"Yeah, it's always like that."

But last month my pulse was right on the edge of normal-high and today I've dipped into the normal range, so that's nice (not to worry, my blood pressure, thyroid, and weight are fine and my doctor isn't worried, my pulse is just sort of naturally scary high, or was anyway).

Also, gentle biking is back on the table (as long as I just don't crash).  And I've been muttering through some Nordic Track workouts lately when the weather is bad, which is sort of like running in a throwback workout kind of way.  And I could also do an elliptical workout or other things like that if I were to rejoin the Y or something, so there are still lots of options, just no high impact options.

I guess a big part of adulthood is realizing that most of life is filled with tradeoffs.  That's certainly true in cancer care.  Side effects in return for more time alive?--I can deal with that.  Can't run but get to walk and live fracture free?--that sounds like a pretty fair trade to me.

Half a million

The view from Georges Island  - We went there on a day off
because it is both beautiful and walkable.  20,000 steps that day!

You may remember back in May how my oncologist recommended I get more exercise and suggested I try and walk 10,000 steps a day (if you don't remember, the post is here).  At first, 10,000 steps a day was an effort.  And that's putting it nicely.

But, despite whatever grousing you may see here, in all this cancer stuff I do try and be grateful for everything I can do that helps fight cancer.  With that (and the fact that my smart oncologist said to), I've worn a pedometer every day since and made the 10,000 steps a day goal my own.

The rest of this post comes awfully close to a long brag, so unless you already love me and my family, this may be a good place to call your post reading done for the day and congratulate yourself on good a decision.  But, if you do love us or are exceptionally brave, well, here we go!

Last week, I hit day number 50 of this walking 10,000 steps a day effort.  I haven't always hit the 10,000 point each day, especially in the beginning, but my average over those 50 days is above 10,000.  Which means--get this!--since May 22 I've taken over 500,000 steps.  Half a million. Crazy, right?

A few weeks into it, I bought a FitBit to replace my mechanical pedometer.  By then I'd proven to myself that I was pretty committed to the walking, and the mechanical pedometer kept periodically jamming which was frustrating (to say the least).  I'm finding the FitBit more accurate than the pedometer I was using, plus it doesn't click when I walk (annoying at work), and not only does it call me "champ" when I hit my goals (love that), it also tracks lifetime stats--so without a lot of effort, I can now tell you that since I began using the FitBit, I've walked 120 miles.  That's spread out over a number of days, of course, but it still feels pretty cool!

To be fair, many of those steps and miles were steps and miles I would have taken anyway just going about my day.  But I've found that I can't get 10,000 steps just going about my day (even if I park a few spaces farther, or make a couple trips to the photocopier, or make separate walks to the printer and inbox instead of combining them into one trip), but instead, for my lifestyle, it requires the extra effort of going out for a walk daily.  So, I still feel pretty proud of myself for accomplishing this goal.

Well, proud of myself and also grateful for my family.  I mentioned a few weeks ago (here, if you want more info) how my husband helped me get the steps on a particularly bad day--every day since that day I've had the company of my husband and/or my daughter on these walks (and when she was over here my grown stepdaughter, too).  They're consistently good cheerleaders which is immensely helpful. My mother-in-law has begun tracking her own steps which is pretty cool, and, especially because she knows what goes into getting those steps, she tells us regularly how impressed she is that we're doing this, which also feels pretty good.

All this "way to go" attitude has been good for me and I obviously enjoy it. But, for someone like me who tends to mistake urgency with importance all the darn time, even more important has been my family's attitude that getting the steps in is important and how they've made it a priority.  Because, in all honesty, even knowing it's important, without their support it would be way too easy for me to say, "Eh.  Today I [am busy/have a lot to do/feel tired/(whatever other excuse you can think of)], I'll just skip it today and try again tomorrow."  I can be kind of lazy that way, especially when in the moment.

And it is important that I get some exercise.  Aside from the general knowledge that fitness is good for  people (even people like my cancer-free husband and daughter, actually), there have been lots of studies showing that women who have breast cancer and who exercise tend to have better outcomes than those who don't.  You may have seen the flurry of news about one such study that hit mass media a few weeks after my oncologist made the recommendation (one such article here).  I wish I could say exercise was guaranteed to cure me, but the best I can say is it might help and it certainly won't hurt.  Which is actually still good enough to make me think it's worthwhile to do.

And, truthfully?  I'm really enjoying it.  I love the time with my family.  I love feeling a little fitter and a lot better (really, I do feel healthier now and walking is no longer embarrassingly difficult for me, which is definitely progress).  I like the feeling of achieving a daily goal. I like being out on the town track with all sorts of other people of all ages doing similar things, and I like being there looking pretty much like everyone else because when I'm walking I'm cancer patient incognito. And most of all, since I don't actually know how to cure cancer, I feel better being able to take action myself on something that might be helpful (in addition, of course, to the Faslodex, Lupron, and Xgeva that others prescribe and inject into me--I do my "show up for it" job really, really well, but that's not the same thing, obviously!).  And, I suspect taking whatever action we can is part of what my husband and daughter are feeling, too.  There isn't really that much we can personally take the lead on to fight this cancer, but this is the thing we can do, so we are bound and determined to do it.

Want to know something crazy?  I've lately been wondering, assuming I stay stable or show regression and regrow some bone, if I might someday be able to work through a "Couch to 5k" program and sometime in the next few years run in a 5k road race.  I would need to get medical clearance before taking on high-impact stuff like running on these cancery bones, of course, but who knows what might be possible?  Besides, I've read that running may be even better than walking for breast cancer survival....

(Edited to add:  My husband read this and thinks I'm not bragging nearly enough, so let me assure you, I'm all kinds of "FREAKING HALF A MILLION STEPS AND KEEPING THE 10,000 THING UP FOR 50 FREAKING DAYS!!!!!!!!  EEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!" but on the inside, of course.  Well, mostly on the inside.  Well, sometimes on the inside, anyway.)

Again with the garden

Heliotrope: Too poison for rodents, too textured for
slugs, and still it smells lovely in the evenings

Remember a couple of months ago I wrote about the garden I was planting this year and how I was trying to stop putting things off?  (here)  Since writing that in early May, the weather has warmed (maybe a little too warm) and summer has come.   All my little windowsill seedlings are long since gone from my windowsills and sent out to the garden to take their chances with the uncertain world outside.

Unfortunately, as it turns out, the world outside has not been very gentle with them.  The very first week some kind of animal (chipmunks or rabbits, probably, I've seen both around from time to time) decided to eat all my broken plate 4 o'clock seedlings, all my moppy white snowdrift marigolds, 11 out of 12 of my summer berries scabiosa, and 11 out of 16 of my 2 types of zinnias.  It was a massacre out there, no doubt about it.

After the first strike, I sprayed liberally with Havaheart Deer-off (promising to repel deer and rodents, not, I should note, purchased because I was feeling like "having a heart" at that moment, because I really wasn't. Not at all.).  Deer-off, all promises aside, didn't seem to do much at first and the carnage continued, but eventually either the rodents got sick of Deer-off flavored seedlings or they found better things to destroy somewhere else.  At any rate, the 1 remaining scabiosa and the 5 surviving zinnias still live, so at least that's something.

It was depressing and maddening and not at all what I planned to happen.  That sort of thing seems to be happening a lot to me lately (Hi there, cancer, did you hear me say that? Yes, I meant you.).

After I got done screaming (figuratively, not literally), I ended up plunking more dirt in some seed trays and planting the remaining 4 o'clock seeds and some lunaria seeds that I had gotten as a freebie a few years ago (it was too late in the game to replant scabiosa or start again with giant marigolds).  I then went to the garden center and purchased some thick, healthy vanilla marigold seedlings (kind of like the snowdrift ones, but not as mopsy) and some heliotrope that I'd never heard of before.  I sprayed them 3 or 4 days in a row with Deer-off because by then it was like a talisman for me.  Also because I was already psychotically dousing the zinnias and that poor lonely scabiosa with it daily, so it wasn't much effort to get the other plants while I was at it.  And I laughed with evil glee when I read that heliotrope is poison to most animals and they tend to avoid it.

(And yes, I do know that a smarter woman would have probably skipped the marigolds and 4 o'clocks entirely instead of going for exactly the same darn things that got devoured last time.  All I can say is I wanted them so badly that I thought I might as well give it one more shot before giving up their ghost.  Besides, how much did I really have to lose at that point anyway?)

For reasons I can't explain, the rodents never even tried to eat the new marigolds and things seemed to be turning out safe enough for the new 4 o'clocks and lunaria (I'd like to thank Deer-off, but since it didn't save things much the first time I'm not really convinced it suddenly upped its usefullness now, but one can hope).  That was until I found out that slugs really, really like lunaria.  And vanilla marigolds. And also the purple nicotiana that I had previously thought was safe since it seemed to be of no interest to the rodents.

Those stupid slugs look relatively small and not very fast or smart, but, especially in large numbers, they can take down a ton of stuff in very little time.  My lunaria were mostly leafless, my marigold buds were half gone (not half the buds, half of each bud, which makes the blossoms look lopsided, nasty, and very obviously slug bitten), my nicotiana looked like Swiss cheese and never got any bigger because every time it made one small bit of progress, the slugs made two.

And again I was depressed and dismayed and kind of ticked off that no matter what I did, half of everything seemed to be failing and my stupid, beautiful garden plans were rapidly spinning into nothing more than a tasty treat for an ever increasing army of rodents and slugs.

But then I thought about these:

The crazy half-double petunias (or maybe double petunias, they look more double to me) that I'd never gotten around to planting last year and was determined not to put off again this year were blooming.  And no one was eating them. And they were making me happy and unreasonably proud.

So, after screaming and stomping my feet and shaking my fists didn't scare away the slugs (the neighbors are probably a different story...), I turned into slug hunter.  I bent over the garden in the mornings and again in the evenings, picking off the white slugs, picking off the orange-brown slugs, digging holes to sink in cut open soda bottles filled with beer (I'm told slugs like beer and the yeast smell lures them, if not maybe free beer will at least win back the neighbors).  Finally it looks like the slug population is dwindling.  My plants are starting to grow faster than the slugs can take them down and my slug hunting isn't turning up that many of the nasty slimy things anymore.  There are, of course, plenty more slugs in the world, but for now I seem to have the upper hand.

So now I have this:

And I have hope that the various remains of my poor ravaged garden will finally recover and grow and maybe, eventually, have more blossoms for me.

And, because metaphors are almost as much fun for me as imagining rodents grimacing and running off making gagging noises after eating Deer-off drenched 4 o'clocks, I'm sure you can see what I'm reading into this.  Plans getting thrown off over and over and over again; dealing with one problem (rodents, stage III) only to have to jump right back in with the next problem (slugs, stage IV); trying to keep one step ahead; and very consciously doing what I can to try and move past the setbacks.  And, hey, at this moment I'm winning on both fronts so that's something good.

Plus, for what it's worth (for those of you who read the first garden post), so far nothing at all seems to be bothering my morning glories.  No blooms yet, but they're vining all over the place and pretty morning flowers shouldn't be that far away now.

Tumor Markers (or more good news!)

Chagall - Dance

This weekend I spent a day with a bunch of fabulous ladies who I've been friends with since my days as an overstressed and insecure undergrad (yes, that's right they knew me when and like me anyway, how about that?).  It was a wonderful time, and, truth be told, it was also just what I needed.  I've been a bit of a stressmonger with all this cancer stuff, and hanging out with old friends chatting, eating, and mulling over life was really nice.

And, you know what else was really, really nice (and cancer related)?  While I was there I got a call from my husband telling me I got a report in the mail from my doctor with the results from a recent tumor marker test which, like my scan results, point to good news.

I had gotten a blood work order in the mail in late March or early April that indicated I'd be getting the usual cancer blood work and also something called CA27.29.  At the time, reading the list of tests, I had actually assumed this CA business was something to do with calcium--not true, but what I thought at the time.

In fairness to myself, Ca is the chemical symbol for calcium and bone mets can put too much calcium into the blood because it dissolves the bones and Xgeva can leave you with too little calcium in the blood because keeps the bones from dissolving in a superpowered kind of way, so it wasn't that crazy a guess (or at least that's what I tell myself).

I really do try not to get my cancer knowledge unquestioned from the internet, but of course I later googled it.

It's obviously true that I'm not an oncologist and also true cancer doesn't give you super cancer knowledge because it turns out CA 27.29 has nothing at all to do with calcium.  The CA actually stands for "cancer antigen" and, as it happens, the test checks levels of a specific something that cancer can give off into the blood (for anyone interested, the best website I found on it is here).

I'd read other people posting about "tumor markers" and it turns out that these are what they were talking about--who knew?

So, not to belabor the point (or at least not to belabor it more than my belabor loving self can't help but do), I had the same test again on my blood work order for June and I got a report in the mail last Saturday.  The report listed my CA 27.29 lab report for June and a note from my oncologist:

This tumor marker came down from [number here] in April--Looks good

I'm still not an oncologist, and I do understand that at some point things will most likely change and we'll need more and more different treatments and "out of the woods" isn't something that happens with metastatic cancer, but when my oncologist says "Looks good," well, what the heck, I'll take it!