The Bald Truth

To the 4 kids and their mom in the blue Honda CR-V in the Trader Joe's parking lot:

The next time your kids yell out rude comments from your car window at the bald lady (AKA, chemo/cancer patient) pushing her grocery cart through the parking lot, PLEASE.DO.NOT.MAKE. FUN.OF.HER!! Instead, why don't you 'parent up' and make this a 'teachable moment' in lieu of allowing your little angels this disgraceful behavior. SHAME.ON.YOU! And, while you're at it, you should also not look directly at the bald lady (that would be me!) and start laughing with your kids before quickly rolling up your window!

Oh, and here's another little insight for you CR-V mom - you will, at some point in time, be afflicted by this epidemic called breast cancer! If it's not YOU, it may be your daughter that was sitting next to you in the car in 15 years that receives this diagnosis. Or, it may be your mom, sister, cousin, best friend or neighbor that has to endure this atrocious and hellish disease.

Truth told, do you not think that I already don't feel emotionally drained from this experience that I have had to withstand for the past year? 20 years? Do you think that I am feeling at my physical best during this cancer gig? Do you know how horribly difficult this past year has been on my life, my partner's life, my sister, my mom, cousins, friends and neighbors?

Will you laugh then when your own life is impacted by the doctor saying - "I'm sorry to tell you, but you have breast cancer - AGAIN!?" Will you stop your sons from making fun of your mother, daughter-in-law, sister, daughter? Will you look the other way to try and hide your snickering then? OR...... might you take the high road and impart some thoughtful and mindful wisdom while showing some compassion and sensitivity as a conscious parent?

Just asking.

Herceptin #9: No Monkeying Around!

As Dr. G. said to me a couple of weeks ago, "You have chemo room anxiety. All patients do!" Really, I thought? Not me. I don't think I feel that much anxiety about going in there. But, this morning at 3:00 am proved me wrong. Dang! I don't like that he's right on this one! I mean, even Hil admitted to having the same anxiety about being in there along with the familiar 'chemo smell' that gets to her while we're in the treatment room.

But, early this morning (3:00am to be exact), I was awakened by significant nausea, which, was going nowhere and actually became significantly worse. So, I popped my anti-nausea pill and tried to settle into it and go back to sleep but, my stomach wasn't buying it. Hil went downstairs to get me an applesauce cup so that I could have something in my belly to help and it did the trick thank goodness. As her dietician cousin says, "Nausea needs attention with meds and stomach pain needs food." So, that's what we did, which, definitely helped, but was taking a little longer than I desired.

Hil, now wide awake, spent the next half-hour sitting next to me with her hand on my stomach trying to aid me to sleep. Must have worked, because the next thing I knew, it was 6:00am and the alarm was sounding off.

So, in my usual pre-infusion ways and rituals, I took in lots of water today, went for a long walk, meditated, ate wonderfully, healthy foods and journaled. I also like to keep to myself on these days in order to cultivate the right mindset and framework. It's much too easy to be externally distracted by life's minutiae so my goal is to maintain a certain, yet solid mentality that allows me to have my 'Pac Man Medicine' as my focal point for the day and for my treatment.

As for the Herceptin infusion itself, it went fast and easy once my veins cooperated. Took a couple of tries but eventually my nurse (the fabulous Martha!) found the right one. She kept apologizing that the first several pokes weren't working and I about squeezed Hil's little hand right off, but we got through it and all went well.  I even scored a monkey bandage like I used to get when I had to go in for my post-chemo immune booster shots with Amber. 

As for our time in the chemo room, we spent it as we usually do with Hil going to the 'blanket oven' and bringing me two blankets (and a pillow!) - one for my cold infusion arm and one for my body as it's very chilly in there! And then we settled in... me on my iPad, iPhone and writing some cards while Hil was grabbing some snacks and downloading all those saved up Amazon gift cards on her Kindle (my sister would be so proud of her that it only took 2 months to use them since her birthday)!

So, all in all, Herceptin #9 treatment proved to be just fine and A-OK! Only 8 more months of my marvelous infusions and it's a done deal. In the meantime, I'm aspiring and striving at staying present with myself each minute, hour and day as I forge on with my cure. What choice do I have but to stay as focused as I can and allow this miracle medicine to heal and cure my body. While that's the prize at the end of this trail, I can't help but be reminded that each moment we have is a precious one. As the children's song 'Going on a Bear Hunt' says - Going on a bear hunt! Going on a bear hunt! I'm not afraid! I'm not afraid! Are you? Are you? Not me! Not me!

Chemo #6: The Final Frontier!

Drum roll please, aaaannnnd - YES, this is my last and final chemo treatment. The voyage has been long, it was an 18 week mission, I explored a strange new world, I am seeking a new life and civilization and indeed, I went boldly where I have never gone before.

So, in honor of this process and two of my aunts, I am dedicating this final chemo to them. Two ladies who fought their own wars and had their own encounter with breast cancer. No longer with us, I have thought of them numerous times throughout this journey. I've held them close to my heart as they've visited me in my dreams throughout my own cancer odyssey which is why, tomorrow I must continue the showdown on breast cancer on their behalf too.

Aunt Charlotte, a true-blue 'Barker' (AKA, stubborn, headstrong, persistent!) was tiny but unyielding during her battle - actually, her entire life! I recall that big smile, her beautiful blonde updo, and the long, weekly chats at her kitchen table after a day at community college. I also fondly remember those amazing cakes that she used to make with each perfectly dotted dab of frosting. And I'll forever recall my last visit with her in the hospital in Monterey just weeks before she left us way too early - still smiling, holding MY hand and looking at me with such sweet eyes. And before long, she became my 'Left Shouldered Angel.'

Aunt Henrietta (AKA, 'Hanky Panky') also took a stance with BC as we were diagnosed twice at the same time with her encounters of cancer in her home in Sweden and mine here in California; we had much in common to say the least. Bravely facing the Big C. with that determined 'Barker Temperament' I recall a lifetime of fun, laughter and wonderful conversations around both our American and Swedish tables. And visiting her a week before she took up residency as my 'Right Shouldered Angel' - her last words to me were simple yet profound as she channeled my dad - "Don't worry so much Yogi, just be happy. It's most important for you in this life to be happy."

So, these are the memories of my two lovely aunts that I will hold near and dear to my heart as I walk into that chemo room tomorrow. I'll give them both a nod and wink of love and gratitude as I take my place in that chemo chair for one last round. I will forge on with our 'Barker Spirit' and enough of a feisty attitude for the 3 of us! And although I will continue on in that chemo room for the next 10 months every 3 weeks for the final phase of my non-chemo treatment, I will self-assuredly, keep my aunts on my shoulders as this is where I have felt and seen them through every step along the way and throughout each and every surgery.

Love & Älskar dig! 

Chemo #5: On the Home Stretch!

Me rockin' my Sponge Bob beanie next to my rock star chemo nurse, Martha

Yesterday's chemo #5 had so many special moments wrapped up into one that I hardly know where to start.

For obvious reasons in my family's mind, yesterday marked 14 years since my dad unexpectedly passed away.  And as he always used to say, "All the best and most important things happen in June... Father's Day, Flag Day and my birthday!" So, of course he timed it so he passed away in June. Just one more time to prove his point of the significance of this month so of course, I dedicated this treatment to him, his strength, his humor and sensitivity. I knew he was by my side as both tears and laughter hit me throughout the day.

On another note, it was my niece Maddie's 5th birthday (Hannah's younger sister) who is psyched to be aging slightly as she is gearing up for Kindergarten in the fall. A fun yet slightly nervous anticipation for her.

And as kids go, I decided to sport a beanie that my 11 year-old neighbor, Sam brought over to me. In fact, he traipsed across the driveway about a month ago with a basket full of groovy yet boyish beanies for me to borrow for my head. I finally came down to 2 of them and made my way back across to his house a few days ago asking him which one I should wear for my next treatment as I held them both up for his final viewing and vote - "Flames or Sponge Bob?" And without an ounce of hesitation, he just gave me a firm nod from across the room and said "Sponge Bob!" So, there you have it. And may I also say that I have never received so many complements from the cancer center staff and fellow chemo-mates about my headgear as I did yesterday.

And as usual, Julie-Bunny did a quick surprise drive by to say a loving hello and to hold my hand during the infusion as Hil took a quick break for herself. So, we kicked her out yet again with her Kindle in hand for some prime reading time. But as always, Julie brought a bundle of love and care along with a video from her boys who keep sending me awesome songs to lift my spirits. They are such talented young boys and I simply love the sweet gesture and their costumes (leather jackets, bling & caps). So, we sent one back two days ago and apparently we are now in a video sing-off with this testosterone trio. Bring it on boys, we're ready!

All in all, it was a pretty good chemo day. Great staff, my dad by my side, a new arm to poke and infuse and my old meds to help with the 'ol nausea. So, pray to the Chemo Gods for me that this round goes much easier and that I'll be up and ready to roll for my last chemo on July 17th!

Cancer Conversation DO'S & DON'TS

Let me be frank here. There are well meaning people out there who just want to help during a health crisis, but undeniably make some half-witted comments. It's not that they don't have your best intentions at heart or don't speak the same language as us, it's just that they can't help themselves. I understand, I've been on both sides of the cancer coin, so these situations are undoubtedly chock-full of awkward moments. So, in an attempt to keep you from being baffled and flustered any further during your next encounter with a cancer patient (that would be me), let me help you out a bit.

DON'T - Break down uncontrollably with the ugly cry so that the cancer patient has to console YOU!

DO! Show emotion, compassion, care. Let a tear or two run down your cheek. It shows you are real and empathetic to our situation.

DON'T - Tell a cancer patient to "Just think positive!" Do you honestly think that we are not doing everything in our power to stay positive? Do you know how many times a day I'm am trying to find my 'happy place' through staring at the clouds, meditating and smelling flowers?

DO! Say - that you are sending your most positive thoughts and energy our way.

DON'T - Make cancer jokes! This is reserved IF and ONLY the cancer patient makes the joke first! (That would be me...not you!).

DO!  Smile and express your mirth at all of our jokes. Shows you have a sense of humor in our situation and that you are indeed paying attention!

DON'T - Say "Well, you look good!" The cancer is not on my face! It's in my boob! Of course I look good! I still do my hair and make-up everyday and try to dress in my Sunday best. OK, well that won't be true once I come out of surgery but still, DON'T say that!

DO! Ask us how we are feeling today? It's simple. It's short. It's not awkward.

DON'T - Tell me about your aunt's horrible-cancer-situation-gone-bad-story! I. Don't. Want. To. Hear. About. It! It's depressing AND....it's not MY situation.

DO! Tell us something inspiring. How well your aunt did with her new 'girls.' How the Kale juicing really helped give her energy. A wonderfully, inspiring book you've read. Anything, but the bad stories where someone died!

DON'T - Do nothing, say nothing. Ignoring a cancer patient and their diagnosis is just the worst. It not only hurts our feelings and makes it seem like you don't care, but it actually makes you look a tad insensitive.

DO! Something! Don't just ignore us, drop us a line, a text, a post-it note for Pete's sake. Let us know that you care. Write one, simple line, it doesn't matter, but say something!

DON'T - Minimize cancer like it's the common cold and say things like "Look at the bright side of things, you get two new perky breasts, I'm so jealous." Really?! DON'T say that either.

DO! Validate. Validate. Validate. This is a scarier-than-heck situation we have on our hands here. Just leave it at that and say something like "I don't know what to say, but please know how much we are thinking of you during this time." No pity party, no downplaying, just validating.

Just sayin'...