A Club Nobody Wants Membership Into

Over the course of the year, I have made many new friends through cancer. Funny what a serious illness will do. Aside from the usual shots, surgeries, doctor's appointments and medications, you also become a member of a not-so-exclusive club. Admission is cancer. You pay your dues in time, money and body. But, quite honestly, some of the members are joys to be around.

Today was my usual Thursday lunch with survivors Laura and Sara. However, Laura couldn't make it due to chemo yesterday and, the bigger issue, her in-laws are in town for a month. Yikes! So, Sara and I did what any good friends would do in this situation. We had a glass of wine in honor of Laura's patience. I met Laura through a mutual friend of ours - Amy. Amy has since bemoaned about Laura, Sara and I having weekly lunches and we never ask her to join us. "Well, Amy, nobody wants to be a member of our club," I laughed. But, it's really true. People ask how you're doing, they care, they sympathize. But they really don't understand. And, truthfully, they don't want to listen to too much of it. It's just too depressing and they really don't want to think of their own mortality over the lunch portion of seafood enchiladas.

But with survivors, no subject is off limits. Constipation, fear, dry skin, loss of appetite, doctors, etc. It's all on the table to be analyzed and discussed. Survivors make you feel normal. In your own home and close circle of friends, you may be the "sick" person. But with survivors, you're normal. And after months of tests and doctors, feeling normal is a huge booster.

So, each week I am so thankful for my Thursday lunch bunch and the many others who have helped to guide me over the year.  Thanks cancer for giving me a new set of friends.

Wondering if other afflictions bring so many people together.

The Wondering Texan

Mom, You're Such a Buzz Kill

This weekend, my son who is almost 10, shocked me. As I was trying to wash his face and get him to put on a clean shirt, he protested and said I was a buzz kill.

"Where did you hear that word?" I asked. "School," he said as he stomped away. This got me thinking about the differences between boys and girls. Once you have a son, you understand so much more about your husband and realize that all of the annoying little things grown men do isn't their fault. It's chromosomal.

My friends with girls only have to spend just one hour in the same room with my son before they ask, "How do you keep up with him?" My friends who have sons say, "Just wait until he's 16. He'll act the same but be only bigger."

For example, several years ago when my son was around 3 years old, I was helping him use the restroom. My husband came up behind us and said in horror, "What are you doing to him!?" I looked surprised and said, "Well, I'm blotting his little willy with toilet paper."  My husband nearly had a heart attack. "He's going to get beaten up before he enters first grade by doing that. Boys don't do that. We shake it."

Now, I understand why our bathrooms are in the state they are in.

So, people coming to my home don't even have to ask if there's a boy around. The evidence is everywhere. The top five leads are:

1. The bathrooms are a mess
2. The sound of slamming doors is constant
3. Legos are in the vacuum cleaner's canister
4. There is a mud puddle (or as my son says "a swamp habitat") in the backyard at all times
5. Trees have marks of being beaten with golf clubs, swords, hammers and other metal objects

So, last night at 9 p.m. as we were relaxing after having Easter dinner with my family, our son bolts in with his latest prize - a green lizard. He was so excited to show us, he tripped in the doorway letting loose of the lizard.  Not to be called a buzz kill again, I tried to remain calm. As of this writing, the lizard is still at large in the house.

Wondering how long is it possible for a renegade lizard to survive indoors?

The Wondering Texan

Good thing our boy is fenced in to protect the cows.

Let's Hair It For Great Dye Jobs

Well, yesterday was a big day for me. It got my first haircut in a year. I felt like a toddler sitting in the chair for the first time. I was nervous, excited and hoping I wouldn't leave with helmet hair. Or worse, with much less hair than I arrived.

I started chemo in April 2010 and finished in July. Six treatments, three weeks apart. I decided if I had to wear a wig, I was going to have some fun with it. So I purchased (or insurance purchased) a nice, handmade dark blond wig styled like Jennifer Aniston's luscious locks. And yes, blonds do get more attention!

So, I called my hairdresser Casey for an appointment and much to my shock, all I heard was the sound of a recording, "I'm sorry, but the number you dialed is no longer a working number." What? How could that be? I know my life changed in a year, but you mean life for others moved on too? So, I redialed. And redialed. And redialed. The recording gave me the same monotone response.

Next to my oncologist and GYN/OB,Casey was the third most important professional in my life. She's gotten me out of really bad self-dye jobs, evened-out sloppy home trimmings, and kept me from looking too much like a mom. Plus, she had good gossip. I could catch up on friends, acquaintances and their families from her leather chair.

So, I had to solve this problem. Can't trust just anyone with my baby soft hair with tiny ringlets. My husband suggested one of those shopping center chop places. Thanks for your opinion honey, but no. Obviously, I couldn't trust a man with this problem.

My neighbor Dawn came to the rescue. She just had her hair done with lovely blond highlights. So I called BJ at Duvalls in Bedford.

Since my husband flew in this week, he dropped me off and even ran to the Bedford library for pay for a book I borrowed and lost from a friend. I told him it would take probably about two hours. He looked at me, blinked and said, "Two hours? You don't have that much hair." Again, thanks for the opinion honey.

I walked in and was filled with memories of going with my mom to her salon when I was a kid. Lots of loud, funny and generally older women. They looked upon me as their pet project. I was ushered, bossed and led around just like when I was with mom.

I told BJ my sad little story and begged her not to chop too much off. Plus, put in some highlights. She asked, "Was your hair always this curly?" Never. But the doctor told me it usually goes away. "Not to contradict your doctor, but I've never seen the curl go away." This got me excited.

Next, I saw the hair washing lady whose name escapes. She was bantering back and forth with the towel lady. "I'm so sweet, people should call me 'chocolate," she told me. The towel lady snorted, said something I couldn't understand, and then, horror, they asked my opinion. As I said a while ago, my mom sent me to charm school for just this situation. I smiled, giggled and said, "Oh my."

Then 'Chocolate' said to me, "Miss D, scoot up and get your head back in the bowl." Without meaning to, I was sliding down in the chair with my head up, staring at an older lady sitting across from me getting her whole face and neck waxed. Is that my future?

I got my lowlights, highlights and texture cut. My hair smelled great and no grays! Plus, BJ told me that my hair will grow about 1/2- to 1-inch each month since my follicles have totally regenerated.

As I went to the front, my husband patiently was waiting in the lobby. He loved the results. Then he asked the question all men should know better than to do. "How much did they charge?" Quickly, thoughts raced through my mind. Should I lie? Should I distort the truth a little? Should I come clean? I opted for the truth. "Well, $100," I said. He couldn't believe it. I didn't tell him that it didn't include tips for BJ and Chocolate. It was more information than he needed to know.

As we walked out, he informed me the Bedford library had no record of my friend or the lost book I sent him to repay. "Are you sure?" he asked. Of course, I'm always right.

This morning, my honey came in and said he still liked my hair. Then, he looked at me and said, "By the way, the book is from the Burleson library, not the Bedford library."

He was so smug. Wondering how he got so smart.

First haircut in a year with highlights and lowlights.

The Wondering Texan

Stilettos and Burritos - Do they mix?

Yesterday I planned to have lunch out with my survivor friend Laura and our mutual friend Amy. However, Laura called saying she was going into the doctor because her skin has broken out in little bumps in reaction to her new chemo drug Taxol.

"Well, maybe not. Maybe you have adult onset acne," I laughed. It happened to me years ago and the doctor prescribed Differin for my acne. However, he said the insurance company probably won't cover it since they will think I'm using it for wrinkles. "You mean to tell me, I'm still young enough for acne, but the insurance company thinks I'm too old?" Ouch.

So, I picked up Amy since she just recently tripped over her flip flops and broke her elbow. Apparently, doctors don't set in a cast an elbow, but she has to have it in a sling. As we were lunching over our Mexican fare, two younger women (in their 30s) clickity clack their way past us. They were all decked out in tight form-fitting dresses with shiny bling and showing lots of exfoliated skin. We couldn't help but notice them. They wanted to be noticed.

It was like Lucy and Ethel meet Tyra and Heidi Klum. Or better yet, the cougars and the lambs.

Amy's and my conversation went along these lines...

"Look at them," I said. "Who goes to lunch with a girlfriend dressed like that?"


"They do," she said. "I know the brunette. She's got a daughter our girls ages and she was a room mom last year."

"She was a room mom?" I said. "She doesn't look like any room mom I've known. And the blond is wearing stilettos. Who wears stilettos at noon?"

"They do. They are in a little clique at school. One of their friends is married to a football player."

"They look high-maintenance. I just don't have the energy anymore for dressing up. But, I've never been really a dress-up girl."

Amy and I looked at each other and wondered, is this a sign of growing comfortable with ourselves or just giving up? Not that we looked like bag ladies. I had my skinny jeans on, white linen top and a lacy tank underneath. And Amy wore leggings and an orange top with the offending flip flops.  But, we definitely weren't screaming "do you think I'm sexy?" Or maybe the younger ladies have more of a fear of aging.

Just wondering if Ms. Stiletto has ever tripped in her heels while walking into Kroger for a gallon of milk?

The Wondering Texan

Through a Dog's Eyes

This morning was gorgeous, so I took our dog Pepper, a mix between a chow hound and sack hound, for a walk through a wooded walking trail.

During my walk today I really tried to focus on the sounds and sights along the trail and to enjoy the weather before it turns a balmy 105F. Except for when Pepper decided to haul a%* after a squirrel causing me to run into a tree, it was all very pleasurable. But, maybe a little bark is good for the system.

One of the things my oncologist said was to try to remain physically active if possible. In fact, she said, "if you can't function as you normally do during chemo, you need to tell me. In this day and age, there's no reason for not functioning. All that you see on TV is Hollywood."

She also said a great benefit is not having to work around any other conditions (high blood pressure, diabetes, obesity) during treatment. As my nurse said, "you're in excellent health, except for this pesky cancer."

So, I made up my mind to start yoga and take daily walks as a stress relief and to add years. I have enjoyed yoga so much that I have talked to my oncologist and yoga studio about becoming certified and to focus on cancer survivors. Now that's on the back burner due to our upcoming move, but I fully intend to do that in Corpus.

For those of you who were stuck in an office today or couldn't get out, I hope you enjoy the following pictures of the walk as seen through Pepper's and my eyes. Afterward, I made myself a big bowl of ice cream and Pepper jumped on our bed for a mid-morning nap. Did I mention that Pepper is a sack hound?

As my walks get longer and longer, and hopefully some day I'll be able to do the Susan B. Komen 3-Day walk, I wonder how often walkers are suppose to buy new shoes. Guess I'll have to Google that.

The Wondering Texan

Longhorns grazing

Fountain outside fire station

Purple wildflowers

Crossing the bridge

Little Miss Independence

Yesterday, my 12-year-old got her first real babysitting job for a neighbor.

Right before she left our house, she turned to me and asked, "mom, can I borrow your cell phone in case I need you?" It made my heart skip. For months now she's been rolling her eyes, begging me not to buy her clothes, and pleading for a new phone (she lost hers). But, when she asked to stay connected to me, I just melted into a puddle. Apparently, I know a thing or two about handling kids.

As she left the house with a big grin on her face my mind sailed back to October 1998 when she was born. It was labor in every sense of the word since she was stuck in the birth canal. Thirty hours of pain, two trips to the hospital (the first time we were sent back home), the use of forceps and the threat of a C-section. As my husband later said, "it's a good thing you couldn't see the forceps, I nearly passed out." I think hospitals may buy them under farm and ranch equipment in the Yellow Pages.

Anyway, after she was born, she was pissed. I guess she was just as tortured as I was. In the years since, she really hasn't lost her pissed off attitude when it comes to me. She's also hard headed, a trait from her father. But to the outside world, she's an angel.

So yesterday, by saying that simple sentence, it meant to me that somewhere deep inside her, she realizes that we have a special bond. That all of this other "stuff" clouds our thinking at times, but once the noise clears, we have some great talks.

She returned home two hours later with $16. I asked her for a loan. She just grinned and went up to her room to squirrel it away.

So, when people ask me what was the hardest thing about cancer, I say, "staying brave for my kids when I wanted to pull the sheets over my head and cry all day."  But yesterday was a reminder that staying brave was the right thing to do so I can continue to see these "firsts" in their lives.

Today is a beautiful day and I'm going to an arts festival with my two cancer survivor buddies. Wondering, do you think I could borrow some money from my daughter to buy some beer? I'll pay her back!

The Wondering Texan

What a Beach!

Well, just back from a busy weekend. I flew to Corpus Christi for a house hunting excursion. On the way down there, I sat next to a Navy medic on his way back from Gitmo. He will be stationed in Corpus for the next year. A really nice guy in his mid-twenties who kept calling me "ma'am." When we arrived, a welcoming team awaited him to thank him for his service. It was really touching.

Everything was going well, touring schools, etc., when our buyers backed out. So, what started out as a search and find mission turned into a sunny weekend on Padre. So, not all was lost. It brought back spring break memories from college, but I won't divulge those.

Although selling our house has been so frustrating, I know that patience will pay off. Plus, I've already told my husband that once sold, I'm not going to clean our new house from months. So, just get used to pushing the cobwebs to the side before sitting!

When I was down there, I noticed the relaxed pace and totally different vibe. As we were sitting on the beach Saturday evening, drinking wine and listening to the waves crash against the sand, I couldn't help but wonder if our fast-paced life in the Dallas/Fort Worth area contributed to my health crisis. Always in a rush to get to work, then rush home and get the kids to their sports, then rush home and make dinner before finally cramming in the bath and bedtime routine. Anyway, sometimes change is good even if during the process you don't fully understand why you're having to change.

So, while there, I took some pictures of the warm surf and sand. Hope you enjoy. Just wondering, why do some people insist on wearing bikini's when a mirror would tell them not to?

Finding Supporters in a Time of Crisis

As my blog on April 4 stated, we went to West Texas to visit some close friends who have recently lost their father.

While I was there, I talked with some remarkable women in their 70s who have fought and won against breast cancer. For me, it was so therapeutic to hear their stories of survival. One lady was diagnosed in 1968 and was given only a small chance to survive. She had a husband and two young sons ages 4 and 3. She had a mastectomy and lymph node removal and for several years worried about the "what if's." Another lady was more recently diagnosed with breast cancer and her only complaint was her reconstruction.

I've also met some other similarly brave women who have 20 to 30 years on me. Most were diagnosed more than 10 years ago and they are still kicking up their Jimmy Choo's. There's a support group in Fort Worth called Bosom Buddies who was started by a friend. They meet regularly to discuss doctors, issues and the latest treatments.

Probably the best advice I can give to someone facing a similar situation (other than getting the best medical team possible), is to carefully select the people you associate with. When I was first diagnosed, people came out of the woodwork. I hadn't even heard of some of them. But through a process of elimination, I learned that not all breast cancers are the same. Not all doctor treatments are the same. And not all people have the same disposition. The key is to find the people who believe in you and who you trust.

For me, I started to develop my own support group. My friend Sara who I met in radiation, our new friend Laura who is currently undergoing chemo, and these older ladies who went through the process back in the 1960s through the 1980s, all have played a key role in my recovery.

Also, beware of the people who view you as an impending train wreck. It won't be hard to recognize them. They are the ones who never before called you or asked you out for coffee, invited your kids over, or generally gave a flip about you. But all of the sudden, they want all of the details. Hard to believe, but yes, there are people like that who will have no redeeming value in your fight. All I can say about them is to smile and walk away. The faster the better.

Also, it's been pretty surprising how my husband has found some other men who have faced breast cancer in their wives, sisters or mothers. It's been very supportive for him to have other men to talk to.

That's it for today. Hope this small piece of advice can help someone who either has recently been diagnosed or is currently going through treatment. 

Just wondering, what did survivors do before breast cancer was an open topic to discuss?

Laugh When You Want to Cry

Last weekend, we visited some long-time friends in West Texas. Their father, a fourth-generation rancher, is in hospice care with emphysema and various other conditions. He looks like a man who has spent most of his life outdoors. He has a weathered face, calloused hands, and a crew cut of salt and pepper hair. He knows each cow by their number, name and personality, and just a few weeks ago, had to out-maneuver a crazy bull that charged him. His wife of almost 50 years is a charmer with a deep Texas accent, pink lipstick and a hearty laugh. When my husband first brought me out to their ranch about 16 years ago, I wasn't sure what to expect. But the family welcomed me with big hugs and smiles. And much to my relief, they didn't make me clear acres of mesquite and tag cattle.

What started out as a core group of college guys at the ranch, has expanded over the years to include spouses, kids and now, the kids' boyfriends/girlfriends or spouses. It has become a great place for us city folk to escape our routines for the open sky, dry dirt and smell of burning mesquite in an open fire pit. Kids have learned to drive out there, shoot a rifle, tend cattle, and how to entertain themselves without a Game Boy or Wii system.

As the dad struggled to breathe last weekend, I thought about his life and how much he has meant to our family. He always speaks his mind, and sometimes it isn't exactly what the guys want to hear. He also has a wicked sense of humor. Even last Saturday as his son leaned in to say something, the dad looked cleared-eye at him, raised his left hand and flipped off his son. Then, he pulled down his oxygen mask, looked at my husband and asked, "when is TCU going to get a good football team?" Talk quickly turned to Friday Night Lights football talk and I made a hasty exit knowing I couldn't possibly add any value to the conversation.

As of this writing, he is still with us.  I hope his family finds comfort in each other and their friends. Each of us in the group has lost a parent and are quickly realizing that we are now becoming the older generation. Just wondering, does life get any easier with age?

The Wondering Texan

Looking for Grace

This morning I was with my dog walking buddy who commented that she just read an article about teaching children grace. Her daughter has recently started to ride horses again after being thrown, injuring her shoulder which required surgery. She's starting out slow until the doctor gives her the full go-ahead. Earlier this week, her daughter's horse spooked and another girl snipped, "well, you just need to learn to ride him." So, my friend asked, "how do we teach our kids grace when people make remarks like that?"

My friend is originally from up East. I guess she thinks because I'm a Native Texan, I instinctively have grace. You would think so, but, sadly, this is not the case. For example:

Back years ago when I was dating, a guy asked me to take an evening ride with him on his boat. Soon, the boat quit and Mr. X said the tank was out of gas. We drifted around for about 2 hours before he finally gave up, started the boat again, and laughed "Ha, I hit the kill switch." Well, I demanded to be taken back to shore. As we pulled up, Mr. X got on the front of the boat and was reaching out to guide the boat into the dock when I threw the boat into reverse, sending him over the bow into the water. Needless to say, we never went out again.

Unfortunately, grace is not inherited. My maternal side of the family hails for Georgia. They have plenty of grace in that Southern, old charm school way. My Dad's side comes from the East Coast, and I was raised in Texas. Maybe this is why I'm so confused on grace. And it's not like my mother didn't try, bless her heart. She enrolled me in a charm school. But, it's gotten worse since being treated for cancer. The freedom of my speech has never been greater.

Ironically, today my husband was saying in Corpus Christi there's a school for little ladies that we should enroll our daughter in. I looked at him and said, "you know, my mother tried that with me." He said, "yes, I know that." Then I added, "well then, you also know it had no effect." He smiled and laughed, "no, it didn't."

So, how does a gracefully challenged mother guide a 21st Century daughter in the art of grace? Recently, my daughter has had some mean comments directed at her from schoolmates. Things like, "you're dumb" and "you're mean." I've told her to tell the other person, "that's not nice to say." Or, "well, why do you say that?" Or, "kill them with kindness." But, truthfully, it all seems so lame.

So, wondering, how do you teach your children grace?

The Wondering Texan