Ignorance is not Bliss

Look at this gem I came across Facebook awhile ago courtesy of Live Love Fruit, and I came the closest I have ever to that elusive rage stroke.  (It’ll happen, my friends.  It.  Will.  Happen.)

Natural Cancer Treatments

One of the many infuriating things about this graphic, disguised as health advice, is the fact that cancer isn’t just one disease.  My breast cancer isn’t the same as the skin cancer that my dad had a handful of years ago.  Hell, my breast cancer isn’t even like my friend N’s breast cancer (estrogen positive versus Her-2 positive).  When these healthy living proselytizers start sticking their heads into serious, life and death, topics they know nothing about, that’s when my blood pressure wants to reach meteoric heights.

(Also, if you learn to love, you’ll prevent cancer?  Seriously, what the actual fuck?  So if you’re shooting figurative rainbows out your eyes and pooping bouquet of roses, you’ll  prevent cancer?  Oi.  The stupid is strong with this one.)

Cancer, according to the National Cancer Institute, is defined as: “a term used for abnormal cells divide without control and are able to invade other tissues.  Cancer cells can be spread to other parts of the body through the blood and lymph systems.  Cancer is not just one disease but many diseases. There are more than 100 different types of cancer. Most cancers are named for the organ or type of cell in which they start – for example, cancer that begins in the colon is called colon cancer; cancer that begins in melanocytes of the skin is called melanoma.”

When I see graphics like this one, my first thought: what cancer are we talking about, ye ole wise Internet oncologists?  Hmm, are we talking about carcinomas, sarcomas, leukemia, lymphoma and myeloma, or central nervous system cancers?  Tell me, lady who juices and who believes Dr. Mercola is the best thing to happen to the Internet since cat videos, what cancer are you talking about?  While we are at it, please show me all your diplomas from all the medical schools you attended.

I did a quick search for natural treatments to see just how effective they are.  Here’s an abstract for a study entitled: “Alternative Therapy Used as Primary Treatment for Breast Cancer Negatively Impacts Outcomes.”  Another study: “Effect of complementary and alternative medicine on the survival and health-related quality of life among terminally ill cancer patients: a prospective cohort study.”  There are more studies out there, and this should go without saying for anyone diagnosed with cancer: discuss health plans with your team of doctors and for the love of pete, don’t take advice from people on the Internet.

I am not against alternative treatments in general.  Not at all.  I am against alternative treatments being used in place of  the standard and tried-and-true treatments.  I have heard and read that yoga, acupuncture, things of that nature, have helped loads in dealing with symptoms from treatment.  I wholeheartedly believe those who are sick and want to try different ways to lessen their pain should try to find whatever works, and I hope you are successful.

The other main issue I take with the above graphic is the use of  “prevention.”  You can’t prevent cancer.  You know what you can do, though?  You can  reduce your risk of certain cancers.  When these Internet oncologists (who, I presume, received their Internet degree after successfully completing the course: “I read one article, and now I’m an expert”) throw around the word prevent, they perpetuate the false notion that if you just follow the Healthy Living Rules, you’ll never be sick.

A very gifted blogger, Stacey, explained exactly why the distinction of “prevention vs. risk reduction vs. screening” needs to be made in this fantastic CoffeeMommy blog post:

Why is the terminology distinction important? Three reason bubble to the top for me:

Continued Diligence: Individuals must remain diligent in personal and professional screening even when they “do everything right” on the risk reduction list. Mammograms don’t “Save the ta-tas” they simply alert people as to whether or not their breasts are trying to kill them. I can personally attest to the fact that people who follow all the published rules for how to prevent breast cancer, and get a mammogram at 40, still get breast cancer.

Removing Stigma and Eradicating Blame & Shame: According to anecdotal data, the most common question lung cancer patients field is, “How long did you smoke?” If you advertise risk reduction as prevention you are perpetuating a falsehood. Perpetuating the idea that cancers are preventable implies that, when a diagnosis is given, somebody did something WRONG.

Redirecting Research Focus: While a list of ways to reduce risk for disease is helpful, such a list is not a magic bullet. Already genomic research is leading to personalized treatments. We need to expand efforts in this area. When the general public finally realizes that no one is “immune” to a cancer diagnosis, more focus can be applied in the appropriate areas.

 

Actors who are in the best shapes of their lives are diagnosed with cancer and die.  Athletes get cancer.  Never-Smokers get lung cancer and die.  Vegetarians also get cancer.    Oftentimes biology and/or environmental factors are too big of obstacles for a healthy lifestyle to shield you from anything bad, and you can get sick.  You cannot prevent cancer.  You can reduce your risk.   I am sorry to burst any bubble, but bad things can happen to good people, including healthy people.

Oftentimes you see these graphics, like the one above, being shared and posted by those who have never had cancer or faced any medical hardship (as a result of that, they seem to think they have the human body all figured out).  Frankly, I think it’s irresponsible and downright dangerous to be advocating for a “natural cancer treatment” when it’s not YOUR life at stake.  People have said to me, “Man, I don’t know if I could do chemo if I had cancer.  That just seems really drastic, all that poison.”

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My response: “Oh yeah, total poison.  Nothing good or easy about it, but man, when the doctor told me I had breast cancer, I couldn’t get hooked up to that IV quick enough.”  Let’s make a deal, internet oncologists.  If YOU come down with cancer, then you should try the natural cancer treatments, and report on how that worked out for you.  In the meantime, I’m going to listen to those in the medical field who actually do know what they are talking about.

You also see a lot of this line of thinking in social media land after you have become a sickie:

To the folks who subscribe to this paranoid Big Brother attitude, I applaud you for the privilege of not ever having been sick and needing medicine to actually stay alive or to function.  I’m not exaggerating either – needing real medicine, and not some essential oil or some fruit that people in South America supposedly do instead of chemo, to stay alive.  It must be nice.  If it wasn’t for big Pharma, I’d either have advanced disease or I’d be dead.  Who knows?  I wouldn’t be living a No Evidence of Disease life right now, and I certainly wouldn’t have run a half marathon not even a month ago.  If this makes me a so-called Big Pharma pawn or whatever it is that these theorists think I am, so be it.  I know I’ll rest easy tonight.

Half marathon…. check

I did it.  I freaking did it.

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Pre-race selfie and post-race selfie

 

I ran 13.1 miles today, and I didn’t stop to walk.  (I did stop for water breaks, but I’m not counting that.)  I’ve been training for this day for months, basically since last October.  This time last year, I was still recovering from five surgeries over the period of two years.  I was 10 to 15 pounds heavier, and I lacked direction.  I didn’t know how to change my life and bounce back from all the crap done to me during breast cancer.  I hated what cancer had done to me physically with all my scars, weight gain and the reconstruction.

I’m now in the best freaking shape of my life.  I have never looked and felt like this, even before cancer.  I have a feeling of purpose with running.  During all my treatment, I remember how absurd it felt to hear people say to me, “Oh, you’re so strong.  You’re a fighter.”  That always struck me as odd because I had never felt so physically weak and just beat up.  Like, seriously, who was I fighting and winning?  Cancer treatment puts the patient in a very passive role.  I didn’t do anything – rather, treatment was done to me.

I feel strong now, and I have realized that I’m not strong nor was I ever strong because I had cancer.  I am now strong even though I had cancer.

During the last three or four miles of the race today, I actually started getting flashbacks to my time in the chemo ward.  I could see myself in the chair, looking out at the other patient.  I remembered that feeling of helplessness and hopelessness.  I’d snap out of that flashback and just ran harder.  Then I flashed to my hospitalization after my double mastectomy, and how much pain I felt.  I’d snap out of that, too, and ran harder.  It was like Runner Lara was running like hell away from Sick Lara, like I am finally able to put that period of life behind me (knowing damn well that it can always come back).

Nothing I can do will prevent breast cancer from ever coming back, either local or distant.  What I do today, like putting on a pair of shoes and running, is what i can do.  That’s the only control I have – this very moment.

This race was such a huge deal to me.  It was to see if I could even do it and a big fuck you to cancer.  Now it’s done and in the (Lara) record books, it’s time to move on.  I’m definitely not cancer girl anymore.

I am a runner.

Get Up Running – Kerry

I recently just “met” Kerry through another friend of mine, Michele, who has had breast cancer and runs races.   I am meeting a lot of women who’ve had breast cancer and who are also runners – awesome!  Anyway, here’s Kerry’s story.

Name: Kerry

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Type of cancer and treatment:

Dx Oct 2008 @ 42 yrs, IDC, Stage IIIa, Grade 3   [ed note: breast cancer, for those who don’t know what IDC means – invasive ductal carcinoma]
Right Mx, no recon
FEC-T x 6
25 rads
Tamoxifen
Ooph
Arimidex (still taking)
3 years of Zometa, 2 x a year

Were you a runner before cancer?

No. I was always really active; I walked everywhere, hiked, canoed, gardened, etc, but hadn’t run since high school.

While I was in the middle of chemo, I decided I wanted to work hard at getting physically strong after I was done. Running seemed like an obvious choice. Chemo hit me quite hard. FEC made me throw up, and Taxotere gave me terrible bone pain, from which I was basically bedridden for a couple of days each round. I remember lying in bed feeling so terrible, so weak, and just wishing that I could feel strong again. I ended up hospitalized after my 5th round of Chemo (febrile neutropenia) and remember being taken from the ER up to a ward. There I was in a hospital gown, bald, IV pole, in a wheelchair, and I’ll never forget the look of pity and fear on the faces of people we passed. I never wanted people to look at me that way again.

I also did a lot of research about what I could do to increase my odds of survival, and time and time again I read that exercise would lower my risk of recurrence. It seemed like a no – brainer to prioritize exercise after active treatment ended.

I am also on an AI, one of the most common side effects is joint pain. I read one of the best ways to prevent this is, again, exercise. I do feel a difference in my body if I go a couple of days without running. I went through early menopause right after radiation, when I had my ovaries removed. I hope that running helps counter some of the negative long term cardiac effects of that, and some of the long term effects of chemo.

Did you run during treatment? How long after did you take it up?

I didn’t start running until after treatment ended. I walked during chemo, as much as I could, which towards the end was often just walking my kids to school and back. After chemo I started walking longer distances, and about 6 months after I finished up everything I started running a bit. (I live in Canada and had to wait for the snow to melt) I started off running small distances during my walks, and slowly increased how much I ran, until I was comfortably running 3 miles at a time. On a whim I decided to try and run 6 miles, which I did! Not long after that I decided to train for a half marathon, and about 7 months after starting running, (about 2 years after diagnosis) I ran my first half marathon. I have since run 2 more half marathons, and next month will run my 4th full marathon.

How has running helped you during and/or after treatment, both physically and mentally.

Physically and mentally it has made me so much stronger. I truly think running is saving my life, and my sanity.  I came out of treatment with some extra steroid weight, feeling pretty weak and hammered by everything. Emotionally I felt quite vulnerable, it is such a shocking thing to happen, and I was not particularly hopeful about my long term survival. I think that when you are in the midst of active treatment you are in fight mode, but afterwards I think running gave me something positive to focus on, like I was still doing something to fight the cancer.

I also think that having gone through some pretty aggressive treatment, that cancer has helped me as a runner. I have often thought during a hard run, if I can get through chemo, I can get through this. I think it has given me the strength to not quit when the going gets tough.

What did your doctor say about your running?

My onc says it’s the reason I am doing so well. He is totally supportive.

What is your biggest challenge running after cancer?

Ha, well, I didn’t have recon, and sweat and a silicone prosthesis don’t mix! I had a couple of near embarrassing situations before switching to a foam prosthesis. It makes me look a bit lopsided if you looked closely, but I really don’t care.

I have had bursitis twice in my heels which I blame (possibly unfairly) on Arimidex.

I also have had occasional hand lymphedema after very long runs.

What would you say to someone just out of treatment who may be intimidated to take up running?

Well, I would say to start slow. You don’t have to be out running marathons. There is a huge benefit of just exercising for 30 minutes a day. Consistency is the most important thing. Start out with an easy, non-threatening plan, something like couch to 5k. Don’t worry about speed, don’t be afraid to walk. Just get out there and do something. Think of exercise as a key part of your treatment plan, the survival benefit is similar to chemo. And it’s far more fun 😉

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Get Up Running – Marjie

Welcome to the inaugural post for what I hope can become an inspirational series about running during and/or after cancer – Get Up Running.  This should go without saying but if you’re recovering from cancer and want to start running, clear everything with your doctors beforehand.

My first friend to respond to my inquiry was Marjie from Pink and Pearls.  This woman has the kindest soul I have ever encountered, and I am so privileged to count her as a friend.

Name: Marjorie Miller

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Type of cancer & your treatment: 

Breast cancer; surgery (I also had childhood Leukemia at the age of 12, and for that, three years of chemotherapy).

Were you a runner before cancer or any other sports before cancer?

I ran my first 5K literally the same day I found a breast lump. (race that morning, found the lump in the shower that afternoon). I started running a few months before diagnosis, but was never a runner before cancer.

Did you run during treatment? If no, how long after treatment ended did you take up running?

Yes, I tried to run in between surgeries. I had six total surgeries, including a double mastectomy with reconstruction and lat flap. After each surgery when I got the go-ahead from my doctor to resume physical activity, I attempted to run again. It didn’t always happen with the expanders but I tried.

How has running helped you during and/or after treatment, both physically and mentally?

Mentally it helps me feel like I have control over my body again. It helps me feel in control of my health and my life. Breast cancer took my breasts but it can’t take what I do with my body, which is running. When I run it’s just me and my body; I have complete control. I take myself as far as I want. I push myself as much as I can. Nobody else gets a say when I lace up my sneakers. Physically it’s made me stronger and healthier. It gives me so much self confidence. It gives me energy, helps me deal with stress and anxiety, and I feel it keeps me sane 😉

What did your doctor/doctors say about you running?

They applaud it and encourage it.

What has big your biggest challenge running after cancer?

Being comfortable with the implants. My chest still feels tight and I am still regaining muscles under my chest wall. Running sometimes hurts and pulls at my chest.

What would you say to someone ending treatment or just out of treatment who might be intimidated to take up running?

Take it slowly. Take it one day at a time. Start with what YOU feel comfortable doing. Remember: when you run, you run for you and nobody else. My husband said to me before my first 10 miler a few weeks ago: “Just run YOUR race.”

You’re only running for yourself. Not to impress anyone else. Start with walking, slow jogging, taking breaks, whatever you need. You’ll find with time your energy and stamina will grow. Your confidence will grow. It does get easier and the more you do it, the more you love it.

Run happy!

run

Another 11 miles

I did.  I ran another 11 miles.  Double-freaking-digits.  While this is my second double-digit run, this run was even more significant due to the fact that I have been a sickie again, living in Purgatory health.  For the last four to five weeks, I have been fighting off one illness after another.   It started off as a cold, then I had a stomach virus that completely wiped me out, then a sinus infection.  The Boyfriend has been sick, and then it seems I get it, and then so on.  Unfortunately, he has seemingly been hit harder than me with all these illnesses, and I’ve been bouncing back, while he has been splat on the ground.

Training during a period of time where you just want to lay down, curl up with a pair of crazy mutts, and watch bad reality television is challenging.  I want to run.  I want to go to yoga and get my stretch on, gurrrl.  The idea of resting when I’m so close to the half marathon?  No, I can’t!  I rested for two years, and I’m tired of resting.

I ended up listening to my training group’s advice to give it a rest.  Illness and training do not go hand in hand.  More like hand-to-hand combat.  The couple of times I tried to run when under the weather yielded terrible results.  When I went to yoga even though I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, horrible idea.  Finally, I threw my hands up, went to the doctor to get some much-needed antibiotics, and didn’t run for more than a week.

Today was my first long run in two weeks, and I felt pretty great until mile 9 when the IT band pain hit again.  Since I had two miles to go, I wasn’t going to quit.  Those two miles were tougher than the first 9 (I can’t believe I actually wrote that sentence).  When my watch beeped at the 11 mile mark, I resisted the urge to yell, “YES!”  I was also secretly overjoyed that one of my mentors said I was a “strong” runner.  SOMEONE CALLED ME STRONG AND IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HAVING HAD CANCER.

I wish I could spread the message to other people who just finished cancer treatment that they, too, can run.  (Of course, always get a “go-ahead” from their oncologist.)  I haven’t even been running for a year, like 9 months, and I’m weeks away from running 13.1 miles.  I’m not an athlete and well, have never been athletic.  It’s like all my surgeries and treatment have flipped a switch in me.  I know what it’s like to feel like you’re choking to death, or so sick and in pain that you have to have help walking up stairs, or so zapped of energy that you can barely get out of bed.  I have been pushed to my limits during cancer treatment.

Now I am being pushed to my limits but in a so much better way.

To the Nurse Practitioner at St. Clair Hospital,

Remember me?  I am the woman who came to be with her boyfriend, a stubborn man who would rather be anywhere else in the world except a hospital, and you dismissed the two of us like a pair of hypochondriacs.  I have never encountered a nurse, doctor or nurse practitioner as rude, condescending and dismissive as you were today.  I am a professional sickie, and I encounter nurses and doctors all the time.  You, whoever you were, were insufferable and rude.

A grown man, who until recently has been the picture of decent health, came in and said he had been sick for going on three months and hasn’t been able to fight any virus or infection in the last couple of months.  He said he has been light headed and have been feeling pain in his shoulders and lower back.  He told you that he has been to a doctor as well as urgent care in the previous month, and he keeps getting worse.  What do you do?  You order a chest xray, a flu swab and a CT of his sinuses.  When all of that came back clear, you came in and had absolutely no patience at all with any follow up questions.

Why are you in the healthcare field, which involves helping people, if you’re such a bitch?  I was not being rude at all.  I was being a concerned loved one for someone who has been sick for months.  You talked down to me, even talking to me SLOWER like I am learning impaired.

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I have never been so angry and furious in recent years.  My sick loved one came to get help, answers, and you behaved as if he was overreacting, like apparently it is NORMAL to be sick for weeks on end?  That’s not normal.  This is not normal.  He should be able to get better, and he has been consistently sick for a long time.

Commenting that you thought I wasn’t understanding what you were saying was rude, condescending and awful.  The look you interpreted as not understanding words, as if I am learning impaired, was the look of a girlfriend who wanted to launch out of her chair and beat you senseless.  You made someone I love and care about feel hopeless and upset, and hours later, I am wondering why someone like you is dealing with sick people if you hate people so much.

Worst worst patient care I have witnessed.  Congrats, St. Clair.  I’ll make sure to never visit your hospital.  I’ll keep my sickie ailments to Allegheny Health System.

My grandmothers

In my life, I have had three grandmothers.  When friends my age talk about visiting their grandparents, I feel a slight twinge of jealously.  My last grandparent died when I was in my early 20s, just barely into adulthood.  I’ve been thinking about each of these women and the roles and impact they had on my life.

Grandma

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This is my father’s mother, who my brothers and I just called Grandma.  She died when I was in my early 20s, so I luckily I have more solid memories of her.  Grandma wasn’t a very emotional person.  I don’t remember her being  excited or angry or any extreme emotion.   Whenever we visited her, Grandma never sat down and ate with us.  She stayed in the kitchen, and she was ready if you needed seconds or more tea or water.

Grandma was always there for my brothers and I growing up.  She showed up to graduations, confirmations, weddings, whatever she could.  She sent birthday cards and Christmas cards.  Grandma was there.  When my mother died of metastatic breast cancer, Grandma came up and helped take care of my brothers and me.  While she was not an emotionally demonstrative woman, I always knew that she cared and loved us because she was there.  She is why I believe that if you care, you show up.  If it’s not in person, you call or send a card.  You show up.

Granny

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This was my mother’s mother, who my brothers and I called Granny.  She died of lung cancer when I was three, maybe four, years old.  I have two very faint memories of Granny.  I’m not even sure if they are memories, maybe snippets.  Granny was the only one who called me Lolly, and when she died, that nickname died with her.   The other thing I remember about Granny was her gravelly, low voice, which said to me, “Give me some sugar, Lolly.”  No lie, she is the reason why I never wanted to smoke or became a smoker.  Her voice scared me as a child, and that fear never left me in middle school and high school when my classmates began smoking in secret.

However, Granny wasn’t just a cautionary tale for me.   I’ve gone through old photos of her, Papa and my mother probably hundreds of time.  Plus, my father has  been a historian of my mother’s side of the family, and he’s told me so many stories of her and my mothers side of the family.  Granny comes across as stoic and proper, like she would have been that old-fashioned Southern stereotype you see and hear about.   Beautiful and strong – I bet nobody messed with her, like I know nobody messed with my mother.  (Maybe I’m like them both?)  A couple of years ago, my dad gave me a huge pile of letters that Granny wrote to my mother and father in the 1970s.  It’s so neat that I have tangible evidence of my grandmother’s love for her daughter.

Nana

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Nana, my stepmother’s mother, was an amazing woman.  Hands down, the absolute best.  I couldn’t, nor would I ever, say a bad thing about this woman.  When Nana came to visit, she would ask everyone what their favorite meal and/or dessert was, and then she would make it for you.  Whenever I’ve talked about Nana in recent years, I’ve joked that when Nana came to town, everyone in the house would gain about five pounds.  I used to spend hours in the kitchen with her as she baked dozens of cookies, and she would talk about whatever you wanted.  Nana was silly and joked about silly things, calling her bra “an over the shoulder boulder holder.”  Nana would also listen to you, and you always knew she cared.

The thing I loved most about Nana was that I never felt like a step-granddaughter to her, just family.  She made me feel included and important.  When she passed away, the world lost a wonderful light.  Whenever I bake cookies or cupcakes in my kitchen, I think back to the time I spent with her in the kitchen.  I like to think she’s in the kitchen with me, smiling and telling stories.

—–

I am very proud of the fact that I come from a line of strong and loyal women, like Grandma and Granny.  I also feel blessed that Nana considered me a part of her family.   Like I feel about my mother, I hope that I am making these three amazing women proud.

11 Miles

On Sunday, I accomplished something I never thought I could do – I ran 11 miles in two hours and three minutes.  When I began Fleet Feet’s No Boundaries program last July, I wasn’t even sure if I could run a 5K.  I thought to myself, “Okay, you signed up.  That’s the first step.”  I ran the Pittsburgh’s Great Race 5K in 31 minutes, and I was so proud of myself afterward.  When I saw that Fleet Feet was offering a training program for either the half marathon or full marathon, I hemmed and hawed about it for days.

No way I can run 13.1 miles.  You are out of your damn mind.

After I shook those “I can’t” thoughts out of my head, I signed up for the training group, and I have no idea why I ever thought I couldn’t do this.  Now that I have an 11 mile run under my belt, I know that I can run the Pittsburgh Half Marathon this May 4.  I am going to do it.  Even more so, I am going to run the Pittsburgh Half in two hours.  That’s my goal.  Whether or not I meet that goal, I’m going to be proud that I crossed that finish line.

Cancer is something that my body does.  Running is something I choose to do.

When I cross that finish line in just over a month, I hope my mother is looking down from wherever she is, shouting, “HUFFMAN RULES.”

More than just a pet

In the months prior to my diagnosis, the Boyfriend and I had been discussing when it would be a good time to get a dog.  One of the many reasons we had bought the house earlier that year was its double lot – perfect for a dog.  For about five months after moving into the house, we devoted most of our time and energy into clearing up the backyard, which the previous owners apparently forgot was a part of their home.  Weeds, years of un-raked leaves, literally garbage behind the detached garage, and so many “garbage” trees and a fence falling apart.

Once we got that all cleaned up, the next step was a dog.  However, that fall, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Two months into my treatment – including the initial shock, lumpectomy and beginning chemotherapy, I had come to the conclusion: it’s not a good time to get a dog.  I couldn’t see managing a dog, working full time and undergoing treatment for cancer.  Even though I was working from home, I still thought it would be a terrible idea to get a dog.

When the Boyfriend called me from the local animal shelter in mid December because he couldn’t think of a Christmas gift for me and somehow found himself at this shelter, I didn’t protest at all.  In fact, I forgot about all the reasons why I shouldn’t get a dog, and all I could think was:

omgpuppiesomgpuppiesomgpuppiesomgpuppies

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Boomer at 8 weeks old

The shelter named her Brandy Butter, but we named her Boomer, after a character on Battlestar Galactica.  (Back story: when he and I first started dating, one of our favorite things to do when we hung out was watch this show together.)

Two days after we adopted Boomer, or she adopted us, my hair fell out.  I vividly remember going into my bathroom, taking a pair of scissors, cutting off my shoulder-length hair because my scalp hurt like a mutha.  I stared at my reflection (and a crazy-looking woman looked back) for a couple of moments, and then I said aloud, “Fuck it.  Go downstairs and cuddle your puppy.”

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This is me, cuddling a puppy.

During chemotherapy, Boomer wasn’t just a pet to me, she was a welcome distraction.   Before we adopted the dog, my brain was pretty much all cancer, all the time.   What if it’s really not Stage 1?  What if I can’t withstand chemo?  What if I go into anaphylaxis?  What if this is just the beginning and will never end?  When Boomer came into my life, I had to worry about her.  Did she need to go outside?  Is she hungry?  Wait, it’s way too quiet – what shit is she chewing up?

Boomer was a positive light in a very dark time.  Sometimes she tested the very little patience I had, but at the end of the day, she was a cuddle monster.   She followed me around (like a puppy, har de har har) and when I was crying because I was positive I just couldn’t take any more treatment, Boomer would just stare at me, head tilted in worry.

Why so sad, Mom?  You can just pet me, Mom?  I’ll make it better.

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Boomer was also something positive I could talk to friends and family about during treatment.  I would tell them about my most recent treatment or surgery, but then I would tell them about the newest cutest thing the Boomer dog just did.  My Facebook status updates were half cancer, half puppy shenanigans.

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When I was recovering from chemo, Boomer was my reason to get outside and start walking.  If it wasn’t for her, I would have stayed inside much more than I did.  I’d get out of the house 45 minutes a day, or I’d take her to the dog park on the weekends.  She kept me from becoming a complete shut-in during chemo and radiation.

Me and Boomer after my double mastectomy

Me and Boomer after my double mastectomy

After my double mastectomy, I was on FMLA leave for six weeks.  Boomer kept me company while I slowly shuffled up and down my stairs and slept off my pain medication.   We posed for selfies, we slept on the couch and we went to the dog park when I had to get out of the house.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have children and sometimes, I don’t know if I want to have any children.  This might be the part where you think, “Oh great, she’s going to compare her dogs to children.”  Nope, not in the slightest.  Boomer and Mal are my beloved pets, and I adore them with everything I have.    I’m going to take as good care of them as I can until death do us part.   I love Mal, but Boomer is definitely special to me. Boomer is more than just a pet – she’s the creature that got me through two of the roughest years of my life.  She was my lifeline during treatment.