Feverish Thoughts

I got sick this week. It was inevitable because it seems that everyone in West Hartford is sick right now. The great store, The Toy Chest, that I work at is conveniently located across the street from one of the most popular pediatric practices in West Hartford. Lately, I've overheard many moms telling their child something on the lines of "Sweetie, you were such a good boy/girl for the doctor and I know how bad you feel, so let's pick out a nice toy to make you feel better". Then the child would touch, hold and play with a hundred toys before finally deciding on one. Even with using enough antibacterial hand gel to cause people to question my choice of perfumes, the odds of me not getting sick were not in my favor.

On Wednesday evening, around dinner time, it hit: The Shivers; my kids' term for a fever. No other symptoms, just a fever. It started with a warm feeling around my ears. I haven't had a good fever in quite a while (thank goodness), but as soon as it started, I knew I was in trouble. I could almost feel the fever make a path through me like some little bug. My throat felt tighter, then my shoulders and back began to ache - time for bed. Too bad it was only 5:30 p.m. because it was going to be a long night.

I tried to sleep but everything hurt. I was freezing (I'm never freezing) so I put a heating pad in the bed with me. Then I was so hot that every blanket was kicked off and I wanted a cool rag and a drink of water but was too achy to get up and get them. So went the night. I fell into that weird fever sleep where dreams are so strange yet so real you wonder if you are asleep or awake. Finally morning came. Ken had to be gone early so it was up to me to get the kids ready and off to school. I kept telling myself to hang in there, that once they were at school I could lay back down. I drove them both to school in my pajamas. I had to call in sick to my great little job at Toy Chest - I hate to have to do that. I plopped down on the sofa and fell asleep - for 3 hours. It's been a long time since I've fallen asleep on the sofa for 3 hours. I was awakened by Ken calling to ask how I was feeling. Poor guy, he gets in trouble for calling to see how I'm feeling, yet he also would have gotten in trouble for not calling to see how I was feeling.

I got up and took some ibuprofen and drank about ten gallons of water. I clicked on the TV and tried to find something to watch that did not require any effort to understand, as my brain felt like it had been cooked. After a couple of hours, I actually started to feel a bit better. I don't know if it was the ibuprofen, the water, or all of the "Please God let me live through this" prayers, but I was on the mend.

While flipping TV stations, I landed on the Eleen DeGeneres show. I love Ellen - she cracks me up with all of her dancing, jokes and hilarious Internet videos. I don't watch her show that often though because it's on at the same time as Oprah - enough said. Ellen's first guest was Dr. Wayne Dyer. He is a very interesting man who was written many books on how to have a happy life. I have seen him in the past on PBS and enjoyed him. He was on The Ellen Show to promote his new book "Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life: Living The Wisdom Of Tao". He was very dynamic and inspiring. He talked quite a bit about how we are constantly on the move, zooming through our lives and not taking time to live 'in the moment' and appreciate what we have right now as it is. He said that in the storms of our lives, like in real storms, there is a calm place - or peace - we just have to find it. One of the first ways to find this peace is to look at our 'storm' and try to find the good in it. I thought about having cancer and what some of the good/blessings are that have come from it. Here are some of my thoughts:

Some things I am grateful for, or have a new appreciation of, since having cancer:

• The unconditional, over-the-top, friendship I have with Julie H.
• A good nights' sleep
• My bean bag pillow from Donna D.
• Prepared meals
• The shawl Ellen H. made for me
• Play dates and carpools while I was on heavy chemo
• My dachshunds
• My crockpot
• My garden in the spring
• Exploring my garden in the spring with Tessa and Torrie to see life blooming
• A clean house (not cleaned by me)
• Helen's homemade soup
• A good belly laugh
• My fireplace
• Judy and Bob M. for their constant love, prayers and friendship
• Hour(s) long phone chats with my sister Tricia
• Ken (these are not in order of preference!)
• A great recipe
• My books
• Andre Bocelli
• "Just Because" cards from Kara F.

Some experiences I have had because of having cancer:

• Renewed relationship with my faith
• The healing waters of Lourdes, France compliments of my wonderful friends and family
• Met Nancy Brinker (Susan G. Komen's sister)
• Ran the Walt Disney World marathon in less than 5 hours
• Saw Oprah
• Invited to Miraval Spa in Arizona
• Walked 60 miles
• Invited to Vice President Al Gore's home
• Learned to knit
• Met Bill Rodgers, Ann Curry and Paula Poundstone
• Got to drop a puck to start a hockey game
• Spent an hour with 'The Horse Whisperer'

Some lessons I have learned from having cancer:

• Never be too busy to cook a meal for someone who is ill.
• There IS a difference between an expensive bra and an inexpensive one.
• A wig can burn if too close to heat.
• You can eliminate at least 2 aisles at the grocery store after having a hysterectomy.
• There is no such thing as a 'painless' procedure.
• There are more uses for duct tape than you think.
• 'Chemo Brain' is real.
• 60 seconds of being angry is 1 minute of missed happiness.
• My body is tough.
• My will is tougher.

There are so many people that I have met that I never would have met if cancer had not come into my life. There are so many acts of kindness that were performed for me and my family by complete strangers. We have been the recipients of great love because of my cancer. There has always been calm in my 'storm', sometimes I just let the clouds get too thick to find it. Of course, these are just a few of my things to be grateful for, the rest are stored in my heart and soul for me to savor.

KG

The Other Side Of The Table

Last Wednesday, I attended a breast cancer support group. As I got ready to go to the cancer center for my treatment that day, I wasn't thinking about support groups, let alone attending one. But I have always believed that people, things and events randomly pop into our lives to keep us on the path that God is laying out for us.

As I checked into the cancer center, a piece of paper on the registration desk caught my eye. It was an informational flyer for the monthly breast cancer support group that is held at the hospital. It was the last flyer, and I noted on it that the meeting was scheduled for that evening at 5:30. I have seen those flyers so many times over the years and never gave them a second thought. This time though, I found myself wondering if I should go.

"You should go Kim; you haven't been to one in years" (nine to be exact) I thought to myself. I wasn't facing a new issue that I needed support for, nor had my treatment or health changed recently. But the feeling didn't let up to attend. It certainly wasn't going to be easy to fit into my schedule that day - I had Herceptin treatment that would last all morning, then straight to work (I work part time at a darling little boutique - Lyn Evans For Potpourri Designs and at a really unique toy store - The Toy Chest, in West Hartford). Could I make it back to the hospital for the meeting? "If it's meant to be, I will" I thought. Needless to say at 5:15 I was flying down the highway, and as if to validate my effort to go, God gave me a beautiful pink sunset to drive through.

I walked into the conference room about five minutes early. The facilitator warmly welcomed me and I sat down on the RIGHT side of the table. There were about seven women already seated and others were expected to trickle in. I took a mental inventory of the women - hats, scarves and the pallor that a person has while enduring chemo. One women had a sleeve on her arm - obviously dealing with lymphedema, a nasty complication that can arise after having lymph nodes removed to check for cancer progression. Most of the ladies seemed to know each other and were chatting among themselves. I had a brief feeling of 'what the heck am I doing here'? The reason I felt that was because these wonderful women were new rookies to the game of breast cancer, I was the veteran player. The odd thing about that dynamic though, is that I was the youngest person at the table.

Each person took a few moments and gave a brief history of their diagnosis and where they were currently in their treatment. All of the women had gone through surgery, whether a lumpectomy or mastectomy. Several were in the process of reconstruction. All were having or had received chemotherapy and many were also going to be having or already had radiation. We covered the whole spectrum as a group. So many memories came back to me while I listened to these brave women. Did anyone have that terrible metallic taste in their mouth from chemo? Would I get feeling back near my incision? How do I deal with the fatigue? What foods are good to eat while battling nausea? Questions that I had myself once asked, and eventually found answers to over the years. I had forgotten (or maybe chose to forget) how overwhelming those initial weeks of living with cancer are.

As it got closer to my turn to speak, I got nervous. How do I sum up ten years of cancer in two minutes without scaring the heck out of these newbies? Then I had a jarring thought come to my mind: "I am on the OTHER SIDE of the table".

When I attended my first breast cancer support group nine years earlier, I walked into the room with a bald head and carrying my 3 month old son in a carrier. The room was crowded and I found a seat on the LEFT side of the table. I was 34 years old and the youngest person there. I was a very enthusiastic participant. The women were very complimentary to me about how I was juggling a newborn, a toddler, and chemo. At that time, I thought 'big deal, it's almost over - a couple more doses of chemo, get my new boobs and this chapter of my life is done'. A woman across the table from me caught my attention. She was probably in her early to mid fifties and was wearing a scarf on her head. She was assisted by a cane and also had portable oxygen with her. I felt a mixture of sympathy and fear when I watched and listened to her. She had Metastatic Breast Cancer - it had spread to her bones, she was a Stage 4. All of those terms I had briefly scanned over in my 'bible' - The Breast Book by Dr. Susan Love. Those were the chapters at the back of the book that 'other" women had to deal with - not me. I then realized that most of the women sitting on her side of the table had metastatic disease. It seemed to me that there was an invisible barrier between 'us' (the non-metastatic) and 'them' (the metastatic). I felt very relieved that this dance with cancer was going to be a short one for me, and felt very sorry for those women that were still dancing. I had so much I had to do in this life,as they did also, how do you do it when you have Stage 4 cancer? As I left, I am ashamed to say I put those women out of my mind. It was just too scary to think about. I was going to stay seated on the LEFT side of the table.

So here I was last week, sitting where I never thought I would be. But if I had been attending that group for all of those years, I would have been sitting on that side of the table for a LONG time. That was a realization that made me smile. When it came my turn to talk, I could tell that the women were shocked that I have been fighting the fight for ten years. I am sure that because of my age and my 'chemo style' haircut (see previous blog Where Oh Where Is My Hair, for details!) they thought that I was newly diagnosed. I told them about discovering my lump while pregnant, about my bilateral mastectomy and the many attempts at successful reconstruction. I told them about radiation and infections. Then I told them about the two separate metastasis, more chemo, radiation and surgeries. But I also told them about running a 5k race, then a 26.2 mile marathon, and walking 60 miles for breast cancer awareness. I also told them that my newborn was now 9 and that my beautiful toddler is now 13. I told them that I had received Herceptin that morning, worked that afternoon and was going home to cook dinner for my family. I told them that I was LIVING.

And I think that was what God wanted me to do when I picked up the flyer that morning. Maybe I was able to break that invisible barrier on that table and show that you can indeed live a very full (crazy) life with cancer, no matter what stage. At the end of the evening, I was very thankful and proud to be sitting on the OTHER SIDE of the table.

Maybe at our next meeting, we can sit at ROUND tables!
KG

Calm Before The Storm

The early morning newscasters are all in a tizzy this morning. It's supposed to snow tonight. It's supposed to snow quite a bit tonight. It's supposed to snow more more than it has snowed since February of 2006. PREPARE!! This always cracks me up since we live in New England and it is supposed to snow a bunch in January.

Of course the kids are ecstatic because more than likely we will have no school on Monday. But first, they will both set their alarms earlier than normal, to see if they can go back to sleep, but by the time "West Hartford" scrolls on the screen, they are wide awake. So actually, they are up earlier on a snow day than they would be on a school day. Go figure.

Torrie, especially, wants it to snow. He received a brand new sled from Santa that he's dying to use. I really don't know if you can actually even call it a sled - it's more like a five foot piece of slick plastic. I almost broke my neck when I accidentally stepped on it in the living room and slid completely into the family room. It does have four handles on it - probably for when you become airborne! He has been waiting patiently for a good snow storm so that we could go out to the golf course and hit the hills. He did ask if he could try the stunt that was in the movie 'Home Alone', where the kid opened the front door and slid down the staircase and across the front lawn. One guess for what my answer was.

I love snow. I love how clean and pristine it looks. Everything slows down because a lot of things close. Fewer cars, etc. The first hours before the snow plows come are the best. Once the plows come though - time to work so we can get back to work.

I live in a GREAT neighborhood. It rarely fails that when we get a big storm, Ken is on the road. In fact, he leaves tonight for three days with the BIG STORM coming. In the past, when I was sick and Ken was gone, my driveway magically got plowed. Almost like the Christmas Elves looking for another job now that Christmas is over. It wasn't just one neighbor, many of them came to help out. I had a hysterectomy after my first metastasis because my ovaries and uterus looked questionable. I was then plagued with incisional hernias. Shoveling snow isn't good for hernias, trust me on that one. So anyway, my great neighbors always helped me out, as I am sure they will again tomorrow.

Ken and I have learned a lot from our neighbors about giving and helping others. You could write a 'How To' book on being a good neighbor based on this group of people. When I was hospitalized at length several times, our neighbors took over everything for Ken and me. Meals were delivered, kids were babysat, groceries were bought, dogs were walked, our lawn was mowed, etc. And they were never asked to do it. They all just showed up and took charge. My friend Mary Ann basically moved in (leaving her job and family) so that Ken could still travel for an important meeting. She got the kids up, dressed and to school, did laundry and made meals, then picked up my kids and helped with homework, etc. She was truly an Angel for my family. Once I was in the hospital for Easter and the gals in my neighborhood got up in the attic, found Easter baskets, and took care of everything for Ken and me. It was such a relief to know my young children and Ken were being taken such good care of. It made my recovery much easier.

So, here comes the snow. And all around town tomorrow friends will be helping each other out. If it isn't snowing where you live tomorrow, maybe there is still a way you can help a neighbor out. You'll feel good and so will they.

Have a great (snow) day!
KG

A Spa Treatment It's Not

It's Treatment Day! Doesn't that sound fun and a little glamorous? Something that you would look forward to for relaxation and self indulgence?

Actually, it's my Herceptin Treatment Day. I only write it in my calendar as 'Treatment Day' in case I lose it and someone else finds it. Then for a brief moment they might think I am some very elegant woman that treats herself to facials, pedicures and massages on a regular basis (until they read the next page that reads, carpool @3:35, football practice 5-7, etc)!

I go to the Cancer Center every three weeks for Herceptin. It is a monoclonal antibody that it infused through a port in my chest. I envision the drug as something similar to saran wrap, that wraps itself around my cancer cells and keeps them from spreading. The treatment itself has very few side effects, the only drawback is that I am allergic to the drug, so I need an infusion of Benadryl prior to the Herceptin, which promptly launches me into la la land. Herceptin can eventually be toxic to the heart, so every 3 treatments I have a MUGA scan of the heart to make sure it is still pumping well. So far, so good!

I have been going to the Cancer Center now for 9 years. I think I should have my own parking space like the docs, but the hospital won't go for it. They do offer valet parking which is a very nice touch especially in lousy weather. I have had the same nurse, Judy, for the entire nine years. She has become one of my closest friends. She has been through everything with me, held my hand, wiped my brow, rubbed my feet (there's that 'spa' aspect again) and laughed with me a lot. I've been with her through her kids romances and eventual marriages, the birth of her first grandchild, and the loss of family. She makes having to go there a pleasure.

Even though I've been doing this for so long, I am always restless the night before a treatment. Don't sleep well, have strange dreams, toss and turn. Last night I dreamed that both Dr. B and Judy were standing at the front door of the center with long faces, saying that the reports on my heart had come back - no treatment for me. It's funny how the unconscious mind tries to fight all of our battles.

I have my treatment bag all packed. It to has gone with me each time for 9 years. I've actually worn out a few bags and like to change them to compliment the seasons. This one is a very snappy striped number, pink (of course) orange and purple. It contains a hand knitted blanket from my lovely friend Julie, a comfy neck pillow, snuggly socks, a book and a calendar. I always bring the newspaper, but never make it past the front page section before the Benadryl kicks in; that's when the blanket and pillow come in handy.

All in all, it's not too bad a way to spend a morning. I receive juice, a nice snack and can even watch a movie if I could stay awake. The hardest part for me is comprehending the sheer numbers of people that are there. The place is like a grocery store on a morning before a snow storm. Too much cancer. Mind boggling at times.

I have met so many great people at the cancer center. Wonderful, inspiring, strong people. So many have left the center because they are well now. Others have left the center after a brave fight that they could not win. It lifts my heart to see the staff has remained almost entirely the same since I arrived there. They love their patients, their work and truly are angels among us to be working in the environment that they are.

So off I go, looking forward to the 'nap'! Maybe Judy will do my nails today, too...
KG

Did The World Stop Spinning?

Last night on the evening news, before going to commercial, the news anchor reported that Dorothy Hamill has been fighting breast cancer. In the next breath he reported that LSU would play Ohio State at 8:00 p.m. Same tone, same delivery, etc.

It got me to wondering if having cancer compared in some way to playing in a college National Championship game? I guess it does in a very "out there' sort of way... there are winners and losers, statistics will be gathered and analyzed, the 'players' will then have a title... I wondered that because the reporter's delivery made it seem like the two were very similar situations. Of course they aren't, though.

I remember when I heard the words "Kimberly, you have a malignancy". I was 7 months pregnant with my second child, my three year old daughter was asleep upstairs, and my husband was traveling somewhere in New Jersey when the call came. I hung up the phone and sat down on my window seat. I watched the hubbub of the cars and people in downtown Hartford below me. "Stop! Look up here! Didn't all of you out there just hear those awful words?" I felt that for one brief instance, the world should stop spinning so that I could come to grips with my diagnosis of breast cancer.

But the world doesn't stop. My daughter needed a glass of water, the cat needed to be fed, etc. Everything goes on the same, but it is never the same again. It's like stepping through a pink curtain onto a brand new stage, except the curtain only opens one way.

I pray that Dorothy Hamill will be strong in her fight, as I say a small prayer of strength for each person that I find out now has cancer. Just for strength to perform on that big pink stage.
Right now, a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer every 3 seconds and a woman dies from breast cancer every 7 seconds. Did I just feel the world stop spinning for a brief second?
KG

Where Oh Where Is My Hair?

I went to get a haircut today. This is something that I have found that I cannot plan to do anymore, but rather just need to fly by the seat of my pants and go. I gave up having my own hairdresser years ago because I couldn't stand the guilt/anxiety/embarrassment of not keeping a regular schedule for cuts. This is a new aspect of life that cancer has given me.

I used to have great hair. I mean really great hair. "You're hair is so pretty" is a compliment that I enjoyed hearing on a regular basis. Soft, curly locks when I was a young child, hair that was great for any popular hairstyle (Farrah Fawcett Wings, Pat Benatar Short) when I was a teen, and hair that easily could have stood 6 inches off of my forehead with the aid of aerosol glue (i.e. hairspray) in the 80's. Finally, just a long, thick, wavy mane that could be worn many ways in my 20's.

I often complained to myself about my hair (don't we all?), but deep down always knew that it was one of my best features - right up there with another part of my body that I no longer have due to cancer, but I will share/complain about that later.

I have been completely bald twice and have had my hair become really thin a third time. I don't know which one was the hardest to endure. When I began my first rounds of chemo, my docs told me that I, under no uncertainty, would lose my hair and probably within 2 weeks of beginning treatment. So I did what any Type A personality would do: I planned. I researched everything, called the American Cancer Society to have brochures forwarded, rehearsed the conversation I would have with my 3 year old daughter about why Mommy would soon look like a marble, and called my hairdresser, Jimmy (at that time I did see a hairdresser every 4.2 weeks like a good West Hartford girl should do). Jimmy was so great. He closed his shop and off he and my husband Ken and I went to look for a wig to purchase. We found a cute, sassy thing about the same color as my hair and I bought it. We then went back to the salon and he cut my long hair to look like the wig to help ease my transition. Sounds like a cake walk, right?

I think it was exactly the 14th day when I was in the shower when the inevitable began. Looking back, I remember that the night before I was very uncomfortable because my head really itched - an omen, I guess. As I lathered and then rinsed, I opened my eyes and to my horror the entire shower was COVERED with my hair. How could there be a strand left on my head when I couldn't even see the shower tiles? I tried to pull myself together and gently patted dry. My bangs were in my face so I brushed them away. They fell off in my hand. I sobbed to my husband and he called 911 - not really, just Jimmy the hairdresser, who was my 911 that day. Jimmy graciously closed the shop again and proceeded to shave my head. I wanted to take control of the uncontrollable. I just wanted it over with - next adventure, please. I couldn't imagine walking around for the next several days leaving a trail of my hair - yuk. I kid you not, it took less than 3 minutes to remove all of my hair. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. More importantly, I couldn't look at Ken. I thought that if I didn't make eye contact with him, he couldn't see me - and I couldn't see his expression, whatever it may be. To his credit, Ken immediately told me that I was always beautiful to him, bald or not. I quickly and quietly put on my wig and headed home.

I now had to share my new, altered appearance with my three year old daughter Tessa. Did I mention that she had locks of gold that would have made Rapunzel envious? And that one of our favorite parts of the morning was doing our hair together in my bathroom? I sat down on the sofa with Tessa and slowly removed my wig while again explaining that my hair would be away for awhile. She looked at me hard and long, and then very seriously said "Mommy, you look just like Torrie" (my beautiful bald, round headed 6 week old son - I was diagnosed while 7 mos. pregnant - that's another story). And that was that. Can we play now? I love kids.

I wore my wig every day. I hated that stupid wig. That's exactly what it looked like - a stupid wig. Half of the time it was lopsided because one of my babies pulled on it. It itched like crazy and it was hot as hell. Once I almost caught the thing on fire when I opened the oven door to remove dinner - the bangs got really burnt so I had to do my own cut/style job on the dumb thing. I regret now that I was not brave enough or self assured enough to wear my baldness like a medal for the battle I was fighting. I see women now and I am so proud of their courage and confidence.

Once my chemo was over, I thought that my hair would grow back immediately. No, it took it's own sweet time. Patience is not one of my strongest attributes, but cancer has made me work on it. Once the fuzzies came in I switched to a ball cap that I had made that read 'Hair by Chemo' - I thought it was very clever and I am sure it answered a lot of unasked questions. When my hair finally grew in to the cool punk rock looking stage - I donated my wig to the American Cancer Society. No big fanfare, just a heave ho. You've served me well, dear wig, but now I need you no more - I'll never be bald again....

The second time I found out that I was going to be bald, an acquaintance named Depression came for a visit. She stayed for a long time. Things were so much different now; my kids were older, in elementary school. Other kids might not be so nice. Would they be embarrassed, or worse, ashamed of me? God has blessed me with the two sweetest, kindest, smartest, wise beyond their years, children (o.k. I'm biased). The stresses that they have endured having a mother with cancer their ENTIRE young lives are incalculable. I was afraid. To get my pal Depression to leave, I brought in all of my really good friends to show her the door. We had a party. A Head Shaving Party! This is no exaggeration - 73 women came over, partied and held my hand while my hair was once again shaved off. My heart almost exploded with gratitude. This time, I walked around with nothing on my head, then later, a Red Sox cap (Go Sox). After all, everyone I knew had just seen me get my hair cut off, what was there to hide now? My kids were exceptional, they have never said anything short of "you're beautiful to me, Mommy".

It does get old being bald though. Sometimes you just want to look in the mirror and see/feel/be normal. I can understand if a person chooses to be bald - it's when the choice is taken away from you that it becomes tough to deal with.

That brings me to today. After determining that my hair resembled a brown football helmet today - I jumped into the car and went to one of those no appointment needed places. I told the stylist that I wanted something short, cute and sassy - like the gals you see in the magazines. My "style" looked like...a chemo patient - way too short. Just for a few days though, until I figure out how to use all the gels, cremes and sprays they suckered me into to look like all of those cute , sassy gals in the magazines!

I am not nearly as vain of a person as I used to be, and that's a good thing. So much time and energy wasted - now if someone doesn't like to see me at the grocery with that beautiful 'just outta bed look', they can look at someone else!

Many great things are happening with breast cancer drugs now. Most of the new targeted therapies that are working so well to fight cancer don't cause hair loss. Let's all pray for that. After all, a woman loses so much of herself physically and emotionally while fighting breast cancer, shouldn't she at least have REALLY GREAT hair?!

KG

New Year's Resolution

Well, here I go: keeping my New Year's Resolution (okay, it's already Jan.5, I'm a little slow). I've always wanted to write. Have always said I was going to write. Have purchased a million journals to begin to write; now I am writing! I think I have a story. It sure feels like I've been living a story at times (this can't be happening in real life kinda thing). I've been living with breast cancer for 10 years (in June) and I am only 43 years old - almost a 1/4 of my life. It's unbelievable to me because I can remember the day I found out about my cancer like it was yesterday. I can remember exact dates of surgeries, chemo, procedures, scans, etc. as if they took place just this week. I can't remember what I really did do this week, but that's a different story.

I've struggled with what a lot of professionals and even just regular folk say to "not let cancer become your life". But the fact is, it is my life and will always be my life. There is no cure for Stage 4 metastatic cancer, there is just time. So I have decided to embrace this aspect of my life instead of fighting it as I have for the past ten years. That is not to say that I am not fighting the cancer, because I will do that until it takes the last breath from my body, I am just not going to fight the idea of living (cohabiting is a nice word) anymore. It is me, take it or leave it.

I have had a lot of really neat experiences in the past 10 years; a lot of scares, successes and failures. I have fought depression and anxiety just as hard as I have fought the cancer. I want to use this forum as a way to share and to preserve memories that I have. I hope that this blog may also help anyone else that is newly diagnosed with cancer, or is living with metastatic disease, like me

I titled this site 10 Years of Pink for obvious reasons. Just about everything I own now is pink. Clothes, jewelry, cookware, bedding, umbrellas, etc - so many trinkets from loving well wishers. Fortunately, I love the color pink, it has always been my favorite color. Long ago, when I was going through the "Why me" stage (again), I wondered if my life would be different if pink wasn't my favorite color. At least the color looks good on me!

KG