Boobs On Ice™ : From Tiny Bits Come Connection and Community

Tuesday when it became obvious that this was not going to be the week I'd start chemotherapy I was relieved. I didn't have the throwing up to wonder how I'd get through. But I had yet another week - maybe more - of uncertainty.

Considering the kinds of stuff that's been happening surrounding testing, it's not all that surprising that the stars were not aligning for chemo.

And honestly - I don't want them to if I'm telling the truth. I keep thinking that something will happen that will change my equation in a way that means I get to keep my dignity, my hair, and my lunch.

Next week more tests, more doctors. more stress, more overwhelm.

In the meantime, I look for the silver lining in my situation. I'm blessed and don't have to look far for good in the bad. I run right smack into the Pea Fund.

This tiny idea of asking people to take time out of their Fridays to donate the cost of two packs of frozen peas to help fund cancer research began as a tiny spark during conversations between a handful of internet friends who wanted to reach out and do something in my name after my breast cancer diagnosis.

And today - two months after my surgery date and the first Frozen Pea Friday, there's no denying that the Frozen Pea Fund is growing into something more than anyone ever anticipated.

It's a story of bit by bit.

And it happened because of some remarkable people who see what one to one connections and commitment to conversation and community have achieved in a very few weeks AND who see the potential in helping us achieve more.

Earlier this month the developers of ooVoo and their advisers at Crayon took what I thought was a remarkable step.

Without being asked to help, they recognized the power and potential of the connecting and community building that the Frozen Pea Fund by providing our first corporate sponsorship. It came as both an overwhelming honor and a great surprise.

Since then their personal interest in my well being and willingness to work with my limitations have demonstrated that there is kindness in the world that surpasses my experience.

So the frozen pea fund has gone from a handfull of internet friends gathering around to add avatars to cheer me up to an entity that is finding support from more people and more groups every day. It's appropriate to be in awe of people who have the foresight to know that this is the kind of support for patients that can also turn into something powerful in the research world. Count me in that column.

About My Cancer

Invasive Lobular Carcinoma
My form of breast cancer is less common than others. In fact only about 6 to 8% of cases of breast cancer are the invasive form that is based in the lobules, not in the milk ducts.
Invasive, sometimes called Infiltrating, is a scary word. In most cases this form of breast cancer has been present for 8–10 years when detected by a mammogram or physical exam.
In my case there was clearly an area that felt thickened or dense on December 6, 2007. A mammogram the next afternoon was not able to detect it but it clearly appeared on ultrasound and was confirmed by multiple biopsies the same day.
During those 8 to 10 years the cancer took to become apparent to me, there has been plenty of opportunity for those invasive cells to get out of the breast and spread to the rest of the body.
It is after all, by definition, an invasive form of cancer.
Each year about 190 thousand women are diagnosed with invasive breast cancer in the US and about 40 thousand women will die of the disease. The larger the mass is when discovered the more risk. Mine had tentacled almost 5cm into the surrounding tissue and two other areas in the breast were discovered as well.
My chances of living another 10 years without cancer in another area are about 40%. The likelihood of one of my other underlying health conditions doing the job before that is 20%. it took a few months to get used to that idea.
Now though my attitude is that at least I know what I'm facing. It's just not what I expected. Life changes in an instant.

Comments

Susan:
I have been following and supporting you for many months now and words cannot express how disappointed and disheartened I was when I read this recent blog. Since when does chemo take away your dignity? Hair, yes. Lunch, yes. But I'll be damned if I'll let cancer take away my dignity. When you visit a treatment room, you see dozens of cancer patients and they have more in common than just cancer. They are courageous, determined, and YES they have their dignity. Even the older gentleman who needs to have his wife help in the bathroom. Even he has dignity.

Cancer will only take away your dignity if you allow it to. Stay positive and you will find strength and dignity you never thought you had.
-k

Posted by: KateT | Feb 22, 2008 at 09:01 AM

Hi Susan:

Your blog like mine is doing the "candle in the rain" thing. You look at a challenge and attempt to do something positive. I love being a part of all of this. I'm going to get permission to present you to our church. We may be able to raise some more money. Never hurts to ask.

Thank you for keeping it real. One of the reasons I do blog posts when I not at my best is to show that progress is not always an upward movement. Gradually lows aren't so low, but they are usually a bit unnerving.

Keep on keeping on. I hope this thing with the peas makes major history - starting with your full recovery.

Hugs and a nice play toy for your twittering cat!

Posted by: s13cybergal | Feb 22, 2008 at 10:09 AM

Love you Mom <3

Posted by: Kate | Feb 22, 2008 at 03:33 PM

Hi Susan - Great meeting you in Austin yesterday. I admired your *dignity* your calm and your beauty. I look forward to seeing you again soon! Aruni

Posted by: Aruni | Feb 24, 2008 at 02:23 PM