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Connie Reece

I've been so happy with all the people loading their "pea-vatars" to the Frozen Pea Friday Flickr group. Some of them are very creative -- and they're all full of love for you, Susan.

Jennifer Bradley

Hi - I have been noticing the peas popping up on twitter and so i though I would check it out. Thanks for sharing your story, i am joining the pea brigade in honor of my mother who is a breast cancer survivor. Last year she was probably using a lot of bags of frozen peas. Actually, I don't know if she ever used frozen peas but i will ask her tonight as our family is getting together for some holiday festivities. PEAce and Blessings to you! By the way, I will be working on my peavatar!


Hi Susan, I've been subscribed to your Artsy Asylum blog for quite a while now and when your recent post mentioned your fight with cancer, I came right over here to offer my thoughts and prayers. I will be sending you lots of healing vibes...I may even throw in a bag of frozen peas now and then. ;) I am also very pleased to see that you already have a mountain of love and support from family and friends.



Hi Susan - I found you by following the tweets! My mom is an eight year survivor...you are amazing to be sharing this with so many, I am humbled by your perspective and strength! I'll be sending lots of good energy and prayers your way. xoxox Alison


Susan - when the PEAvatars first showed up on my Twitter feed, I was clueless - and asked - and of course got many responses about you, about the PEAvatars, and links to your site.
Without this, I might've eventually crossed your path on Twitter, but with it, I've not only discovered you, but remembered that it's important to keep supporting the fight for a cure.

Thanks for showing such strength and humor in a tough situation - you're the kind of person who puts a great face on this kind of thing.

Hoping this becomes part of your "it all started with a bag of peas" survival and contributing to a cure story.

1001 hugs,


I wish you all the best during your surgery, treatment, and all of the follow up. Thank you for sharing your story. I believe it truly helps others to know they're not alone in their fight.

(((((Susan Reynolds)))))


yep, all the best and get well soon! And don't worry about the peas...


Thank you for sharing your story and yes..I'll join the pea brigade. If that sounds right :-)

KD Paine

I'll never forget when a friend of mine, another survivor, arrived with a bag of frozen peas after my lumpectomy. I thought she was nuts, but it did feel better, I had to admit. They stayed in my fridge for a year, I couldn't bear to throw them away because in some weird way they were part of my cure. Then the fridge died and they melted into mush and I decided that it was time to move on. :)
My thoughts are with you and if there's anything you need from a fellow survivor, let me know.


What fun! Peas are wonderful and soothing, and perfect for post-biopsy.

Love your twitter supporters!

- Susan


Susan....my heart is going out to you. I don't know you, but you have amazing friends. You have to be blessed to be receiving all the "good vibrations".

I personally have witnessed 2 miracles and my intuitive self senses that we have another one on the way.

Think only positive thoughts now, my dear and heal thyself.



Susan, you remind me of Sylvie Fortin - in terms of your positive attitude towards taking a 'negative' and flipping it around into something so powerful and impactful.

Sylvie's site is here: http://www.breastcancervictory.com/

Maybe you both could connect. I'll be hoping and praying all goes well with your treatment too.

Oh, and I've changed my PEA-vatar on Twitter for the next 2 days... thanks Chris Brogan and CC Chapman!

All success


I just wanted to say good luck tomorrow, Susan. I said prayers for you. I know you're going to kick cancer's ass.

We will all be rooting for you and waiting for updates.

Cathryn Hrudicka

Susan, dear friend, we know you're going to be OK. You have the love, respect and friendship of the Twitter/socnet community with you, and that energy has the power to help you heal. You have created something beautiful here on your blog, and on Twitter, which is now going out around the world. When you recover, you now have a community with you, and think of the amazing steps we can all take together next, to do some incredibly wonderful things in the world. You're a PEAied PEAiper! Be well and feel us with you every step of the way.

Love, Cathryn/Creative Sage(tm)

Tracy Lee

Best of luck as you go through your procedure. I hope your recovery is speedy.

David Armano

Susan, you are in my thoughts.

Livia Iacolare

Never give up Susan! I wish you all the best.

Christopher Johnston

I received this in my email this morning and I thought it was appropriate.

Life is a Bag of Frozen Peas

A few weeks after my first wife, Georgia, was called to heaven, I was cooking dinner for my son and myself. For a vegetable, I decided on frozen peas. As I was cutting open the bag, it slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor. The peas, like marbles, rolled everywhere. I tried to use a broom, but with each swipe the peas rolled across the kitchen, bounced off the wall on the other side and rolled in another direction.

My mental state at the time was fragile. Losing a spouse is an unbearable pain. I got on my hands and knees and pulled them into a pile to dispose of, I was half laughing and half crying as I collected them. I could see the humor in what happened, but it doesn't take much for a person dealing with grief to break down.

For the next week, every time I was in the kitchen, I would find a pea that had escaped my first cleanup. In a corner, behind a table leg, in the frays at the end of a mat, or hidden under a heater, they kept turning up. Eight months later I pulled out the refrigerator to clean, and found a dozen or so petrified peas hidden underneath.

At the time I found those few remaining peas, I was in a new relationship with a wonderful woman I met in a widow/widower support group. After we married, I was reminded of those peas under the refrigerator. I realized my life had been like that bag of frozen peas. It had shattered. My wife was gone. I was in a new city with a busy job and a son having trouble adjusting to his new surroundings and the loss of his mother. I was a wreck. I was a bag of spilled, frozen peas. My life had come apart and scattered.

When life gets you down; when everything you know comes apart; when you think you can never get through the tough times, remember, it is just a bag of scattered, frozen peas. The peas can be collected and life will move on. You will find all the peas. First the easy peas come together in a pile. You pick them up and start to move on. Later you will find the bigger and harder peas. When you pull it all together, life will be whole again.

The life you know can be scattered at any time. You will move on, but how fast you collect your peas depends on you. Will you keep scattering them around with a broom, or will you pick them up one-by-one and put your life back together?

Michael T. Smith


I hope you are in good spirits, i know it can be over whelming but i pray you stay happy.

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The Story Begins

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.

Funding Cancer Research

  • We Will Not Apeas Cancer

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