I get alot of questions from friends (that live far away) about the status of my hair.

I've been told a picture is worth a thousand words... so here you go!

My hair is back!  I've even had a haircut!  It was glorious.  Although when I walked in, the stylist looked at me and asked "sooo what exactly are we doing today?"  She should've just said "You don't have any hair to cut!"

But I did.  And I wanted it "cleaned up".  Because when you have super short hair... it's super obvious (to me at least) when you've skipped a haircut.  And by super obvious I mean probably not obvious at all.  Or so everyone here reassured me ("Oh you're crazy!  I can't even tell!" was the most common comment).

So the funny part about THIS stage is this.  I spent all of chemo (about 5 months) totally bald.  And it was wierd.  Because every woman has some sort of habit or fidget (for lack of a better word) that centers around her hair.  Like pushing it behind her ear.  Or tossing it over her shoulder.  Or... I dunno, combing/brushing it? :)

And it was SO WIERD to not have hair there to mess with.

Now I have hair.  And it FEELS... well.... WIERD!  Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy to have my hair back.  But at it's current length, it feels really long (it's like maybe an inch long!  HA!).  And unkempt.  And... just... strange.

My husband laughs at me.  I think he finds it funny because this is more of a "guy thing" to discuss.  And I'm sure I used to tease him a little when he'd complain about his hair feeling really long because... oh... I dunno, it had grown a whole 1/4 of an inch.

But now I get it! 

So my hair is there.  It's getting long.  So far it's straight (YAY) but I'll wait awhile longer before I declare it curl free.  I used to have LOTS of curl, so straight would be quite the change for me.  It's still the same color... or maybe a shade lighter.  But all in all, it's pretty close to the way it was before cancer.  No chemo curl.  No color change (unless you count the occasional white hair that cropped up... which I'll blame on cancer and definitely NOT my advancing age).

Along with my hair, life is slowly heading back towards "normal".  But I think that's a topic for another day :)  Generally speaking, I'm happy, healthy, feeling energetic and alot like myself pre-cancer... if not better.

I love my life.  I am so lucky to have it.  And I know I say this all the time, but I am truly blessed. 

Yesterday was "Patriot's Day".

Apparently that's the name for the anniversary of 9/11.  I was unaware that there was a name for it.  I just considered it a day to reflect on one of the greatest tragedies in American history.

Not a year passes that I don't think of that day.  It is a day that has certainly affected my life over and over and over again.

First, there was the day itself, 9/11/01.  Do you remember where you were?  I do.  I was living in Philadelphia.  That morning, I was at my internship job at an investment company.  I was sitting in my coworker/friends cube.  We were gossiping and chatting (as women are sometimes known to do).  One of our coworkers was walking by and said "a plane just hit the World Trade Center". 

What was our response?  "Ha ha.  Very funny Mitch."

He stopped and said, "No, I'm really serious, a plane just hit one of the twin towers.  If you don't believe me, come to the trading floor, it's on all the TVs".

We quickly walked to the trading floor.  We watched, sickened.  We all speculated as to what had happened.  A pilot had gone off course?  Some major computer malfunction on the plane?  Some other awful mishap?  At this point, our brains could NOT possibly comprehend the idea that someone had purposely done this.  We were naive.

Then, while we all watched, another plane hit the other tower. 

And we knew.  This was no accident.

Then came the pentagon.  And then the plane crash in Pennsylvania. 

At this point, everyone's fears were running wild.  We worked in twin towns in Philadelphia.  We worked down the road from the Philadelphia stock exchange.  What if one of these buildings was next?

We were all sent home.

My classes were cancelled.

I had to walk through campus to get home and I remember hearing people crying... everywhere.

There were ALOT of students at Penn whose parents worked in downtown NYC.  In the World Trade Center.  Or a block or two from there.  Everyone was scared.  No one could get through to anyone in the cities on their cell phones. 

Terror and panic touched many lives that day.

Then I went to my apartment and sat with my two roomates and watched TV.  It was awful.  Seeing the smoke pouring off of Manhattan.  Watching the videos of people running through the streets avoiding the falling debris.  People covered head to toe in white dust, walking through the streets of an otherwise abandoned Manhattan.  The eerie scene looked like something out of a bad horror film.

I tried to imagine who would do this.  Why would they do this?  Were we, as Americans, really so horrible that we deserved THIS? 

As the days went on, my lack of understanding never improved.  I still, to this day, do not understand this act of violence.  Maybe it's because I just can't comprehend that kind of hate.  And for that, I am thankful.

But this one event has had ripple effects in my life since then.  Less than a year after this tragedy, I met my husband to be, who happened to be attending West Point at the time.  We dated for 5 years before tying the knot.  He was deployed twice during that time to fight the war that stemmed from this event.  I got to plan my wedding all by myself because he was in Kuwait during that year.

Less than a year ago, he was deployed again.  He missed the 2nd year of our son's life.  And missed a majority of my cancer diagnosis and treatment. 

This one event in history, this one awful tragedy, continuously affects my life in ways that I never imagined at the time.  As a military spouse, I'm sure it will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.  This is something I will never forget and each and every 9/11, I will think of those families who lost loved ones, on that day and during the war since. 

I've never written this all down before, so I thought I should.  Just to remember.  To commemorate those whose lives were destroyed by this tragedy.  And those who continue to fight the wars started that day.

God bless.

OK.  Not really.  My hubby would KILL me if I posted pictures of my foobs on the internet. 

He actually explicitly told me I was not allowed to post pictures of my foobs online. 

Apparently he's noticed that I have no problem showing them to anyone that asks.  OK.  Maybe they don't ask.  Maybe I offer to show them.  But I know they WANT to ask... because why wouldn't they?!?!  Foobs are FASCINATING!  Admit it.  Right now you're thinking "I am kind of curious to see what they look like." 

No?  Oh.

Point is that I'm semi-obsessed with my foobs.

That obsession is lessening over time... very, veeerrrrrry slowly.  But, on top of that obsession, cancer also has removed any and all prudishness I might have once laid claim to.  So obsession + no modesty = lots of people seeing your foobs.

You think having a baby makes you less prudish because you have, like, 10 people in a small room staring at your vagina waiting to see what comes out?  Well wait until you get cancer and spend MONTHS whipping your boobs out for people to see.  Suddenly, boobs are no longer sexual, they're a science experiment. 

So now I like to joke that cancer has another, lesser known side effect... complete decimation of any and all semblance of modesty.  They should list that on those medical websites.  "Surgeon General's Warning: Breast Cancer causes intense desire to invite everyone (including strangers) to look at and possibly even feel your boobs."

I definitely didn't read about that in any of those flyers they leave laying around the Breast Clinic.

For those of you that know a survivor... consider yourself warned.  You might stop by for a quick visit and walk away having seen more than you ever expected!

So it's been awhile.  I figured I owe everyone a bit of an update.

First, the boobs.  I've had 4 fills now (with that awful caulk gun) and think that I'm juuuuuust about right in the boob size department.  Which, by the way, is alot harder to figure out than you might think.

Going into this, Chris and I agreed that all I want is my pre-baby/pre-lumpectomy boobs back.  They weren't huge, they weren't tiny, they were juuuuuuuuuuuuust right.  BUT... it's been awhile since I've seen my old boobs.  So I'm having a tough time remembering what they looked like :)

To complicate things even more, before surgery, I had one D cub boob and one B cup boob (at the same time).  So my internal metric of what the "right size" is has been totally compromised.  I keep looking down at my foobs (that's cancer talk for "fake boobs") thinking "are these too big?  are they too small?  They look smaller than I remember... but what if I end up with boobs like Pam Anderson?!?  I SO do not want to be "that girl with the huge tits".  Do I dare to go bigger?"

I know, I know, why not just go try on one of my old bras?  That should solve the problem easy peasy right?  WELL there's a small problem with the SHAPE of my foobs.  They're just big round balls that sit on my chest.  So I could try on a B cup bra, a C cup bra, and a D cup bra... and they all kind of fit.  Since my foobs have no "squish" factor, it's difficult to know if my cup overfloweth :)

So... every week between fills, I go through a routine of trying on bras, seeing what's comfortable, trying to figure out are they "big enough?  or too big?" 

To top it all off, a few fellow survivors I've met have said they were disappointed after the exchange and felt like the end result was too small.  And I don't want to be disappointed.  I want to come out of surgery/recovery thinking "damn these are pretty!  It almost makes cancer worth it!"  (OK, nothing makes cancer worth it, but since these are my "consolation prize"... I wanna get it right).

Long story short, I think I finally hit the right size.  Not too huge, not too small.  So in another small fill or two (they overexpand so that there's some extra skin for the implant to drop into), I'll be ready for my exchange.  Which is VERY exciting :)

So that's enough about foobs. 

Time to update you on something MUCH deeper... HAIR!

Two days ago, I passed my 2 month "anniversary" from my last chemo treatment.  And check out all this hair!!

And even better... I put on mascara for the first time this week!  I HAVE EYELASHES AGAIN!!!  You have no idea how much I missed my eyelashes!  I think I missed my eyelashes more than my hair...

I think in 2 more weeks, I might have enough hair to style it... or get a haircut??  maybe?!?!?

Guys, I am SOOOOO looking forward to my first haircut!  I know some survivors avoid EVER getting their hair cut for MONTHS after chemo, but I'm looking forward to having a "style" again.  Plus... my hair stylist gives the most AMAZING head massages.  AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!  I can't wait!!! 

And to top it all off, Chris is currently in the process of moving to St. Paul.  OUR REQUEST FOR COMPASSIONATE REASSIGNMENT WENT THROUGH!!!  I currently have a uhaul trailer sitting my driveway.  Chris got home last night.  We are officially done with Mississippi!

*sigh* 

I kinda feel like life is starting to go my way again.  Granted, by saying that on my blog, I've probably jinxed it.  But I can't help it.  Life is GREAT!  Really, REALLY great!  I'm just going to keep my fingers crossed that it stays that way. 

Remember how I told you that they use a caulk gun to fill my boobs?

Well I finally got proof.

That's the sound of me falling off the wagon.

The Crazy, Sexy Diet wagon.

I was doing so well.  Then I went to visit family.  And family came to visit me.  And there are only so many ways you can make salads before your guests go "seriously, stop it with the salads!!!"  OK my sister in law didn't actually say that... but I felt bad offering her nothing but lettuce during her stay.  Especially since she's been helping out getting some home improvement projects done.

Somehow in my head, good, hearty food is a better payment than leafy greens.

Or maybe I was just craving junk food so I'm using my sister in law as an excuse.... maybe...

So I'm relishing a few days break from my diet.  I'm sitting here drinking coffee, eating a sugar laden muffin and avoiding vegetable juice for a day or two. 

And to be honest... it's almost orgasmic.  I'd forgotten how good coffee can taste.  Although after 2 weeks without caffiene, a LARGE coffee was probably a poor decision.  Since I now feel like I should run around my office at least 4 or 5 times to get out some of this energy!!!!! 

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I might have to write another blog this afternoon when I crash from this caffiene high... but for now I'm just going to enjoy myself :)

Why does being bad always feel so good?!?!?!

Warning:  I'm about to get all scientific on y'all.  So strap on your thinking caps before reading this blog. 

How often have you thought about your body's pH?

If you just said "never", then you're totally normal.  I never once gave my body's pH balance a single thought.  pH balance was some catch phrase I heard in deoderant commercials.  But I never gave a single thought to the fact that my body had it's own pH and what that might mean for my health.

Just in case you forget what pH means, here's a little refresher.  pH actually means "potential Hydrogen".  Basically what it's measuring is how many Hydrogen ions are in a solution.  But this is better known as a measure of acidity.  pH is measured on a scale from 0 (acidic) to 14 (alkaline).  7 is considered neutral.  Water is neutral.

So what does this have to do with health?  Well, our body is designed for a very narrow pH window.  Ideally, our blood pH should be at about 7.365.  So, we should be slightly on the alkaline side of things.  That is where our body operates at it's best.

When we deviate from this number and veer into more acidic territory, our body starts to get a little upset with us.  Many, many, many chronic illnesses have been traced back to acidosis (being too acidic).  Here are a few: heartburn, eczema, arthritis, chronic fatigue, irritable bowel syndrome, auto-immune diseases, AND possibly cancer.

I know.  I thought the same thing.  Being acidic can make me have cancer?  You have GOT to be kidding!  I thought cancer was simply cells that grow out of control!  Well, back in 1933 a scientist named Otto Warburg was awarded the Nobel Prize for discovering that cancer thrives in an anaerobic environment.  English translation: the less oxygen in your system, the friendlier it is to cancer. 

Or otherwise stated: healthy cells grow well in an environment with lots of oxygen and cancer cells grow really well in an environment with less oxygen.

OK.  Now for the hard part.  Drawing the line of logic from Dr. Warburg's discovery to your body's pH levels. 

We all know that our body is made up largely of water, yes?  Above, I also pointed out that water is neutral (pH of 7) and has a chemical signature of H20.  This means 2 hydrogen molecules for every 1 oxygen molecule and could be otherwise written as HOH.  Water breaks down into H (hydrogen) and OH (oxygen+hydrogen).  In very simple terms, an acidic environment contains more H than OH, thus it has less oxygen.  An alkaline environment contains more OH than H, and therefore has more oxygen.

So, if cancer thrives in an environment where oxygen levels are low, it would thrive in an acidic environment.

Confused?  I hope not.

So assuming you're still with me, we've figured out that an acidic environment means lower oxygen levels in your blood.  And this, in turn, means a nice comfy home for cancer to grow in.

I'm hoping your next question is "Cynthia, what makes my body acidic?"

Well, there are lots of things that can contribute to this.  Stress, lack of exercise, drugs, cigarettes, anger... and food!

Food is a major contributor to our body's pH levels.  Foods like sugar, alcohol, meat, and dairy are all acidic foods.  Veggies and whole grains are generally alkaline.  So think about the normal American's diet.  We eat eggs, toast and bacon for breakfast (unless you're eating multigrain toast, this is all acidic).  Then for lunch, we get a burger and fries and a soda (again, all acidic).  Dinner might consist of a meat (acidic), a starch (probably acidic) and maybe a side salad (alkaline).  We feed our bodies acidic foods ALL DAY LONG!

And by "we", I really mean "me".  I ate that diet every day of my life.  Vegetables generally don't touch my plate.  Even when I would go on a "health kick", what I really meant was "low calorie".  I'd eat fish and brown rice.  Or chicken and whole grain pasta.  I had some of the basics there with my whole grains, but I completely ignored vegetables. 

For the last 18 months years of my life, being a full time working "solo parent" with little time to cook, I have done nothing but eat junk.  I'm sure my body was like the luxury, 6000+ square foot apartment in Times Square for cancer.  It was cancer's dream home.  Throw in my family's genetic pre-disposition for cancer and it's no wonder I'm 30 years old and a cancer survivor.

So, in the interest of continued good health and making my body as undesirable for cancer as possible, I'm makin' some changes 'round here. 

Step 1 was to get rid of coffee and soda.  So far, I've been doing pretty well.  I've cut back severely, but I won't lie and say I've eliminated it completely.  I'm looking to the long term and know if I don't indulge occasionally, I will never be able to stick with this.

Stop 2 was to decrease my alcohol intake.  But since alcohol and chemo didn't mix for me, this wasn't much of a change.

Step 3 has been to introduce more vegetables into my daily diet.  I've started eating at least 1 salad a day for a meal.  I've also started juicing (juicing vegetables, not taking steroids).  I'll write a blog soon about juicing because it's been... ummm... interesting.

My next step will be cutting back on sugar.  So stay tuned for that amazing and fascinating blog that talks about sugar and cancer... seriously, it's riveting stuff.  And it might be the step that causes me to lose my mind... because sugar and I are like peanut butter and jelly, we're meant to be together.

*sigh*  No pain, no gain, right?  RIGHT!?!

OK, so maybe saying I'm like a super model is kind of like comparing vanilla pudding to creme brule.

BUT, here is what I mean.  You know how you look at models in magazines and think, they are SO BEAUTIFUL!  And then you remind yourself that they actually have a team of professionals that make them that beautiful?

Here's an example:

That's Tyra before and after makeup.  Before, she's cute.  After, she's stunning.

Being a cancer patient is kind of like that.  The other day Chris and I went out on a date.  My eyebrows are thin, my eyelashes fell out, I have no hair... so I had a little work to do.

First I put on my make up and darkened my eyebrows, then came the fake eyelashes... and then the fake hair.  And suddenly I looked like a normal girl again!  And I thought to myself, this must be how those supermodels feel.  You sit down in a chair looking pretty and 2 hours, lots of fake hair and makeup later, you're a knockout!

Here's an example of my transformation (excuse the lousy photography):

Just goes to show that with alot of make up and some fake hair, just about anyone can go from drab to fab! :)

Seriously.  I feel like I'm currently smuggling baseballs in my bra.

Well... I haven't worn a bra in 3 weeks, so I guess that statement isn't quite right, but you know what I mean.

If you don't, let me say it like this:  Tissue Expanders are not soft.  They don't feel anything like real boobs.  In fact, they feel like baseballs under your skin.  Thus, I feel like I'm smuggling baseballs.

On the upside, my boobs haven't been this perky in... actually I don't think they've ever been this perky.

I'm not complaining.  It's just a very odd sensation.  Since they stick straight out, I have boob in places I've never had boob before.  Normally when doing things like typing, my inner arm would press against my boob a little bit... and my boob would compress/move with my arm.  And now, my boob presses back against my arm. 

It's like my arm and my boob are having a full out wrestling match and my boob is winning.

Totally wierd.

I also had my first "fill" yesterday.  This is where the doctor sticks a needle into my tissue expander and pumps in more saline to fill up the expander.  This was a very interesting experience.

First, the doctor sticks a needle in THROUGH my muscle (because the hole in the expander is at the top of my boob), and that's just a very ODD sensation.  Not painful, just really wierd.

THEN, the thing that they use to pump saline in... is a caulk gun. 

I shit you not.

They load a huge syringe into a caulk gun and then the nurse sits there and squeezes the handle repeatedly until the appropriate amount of saline has been added to your boob.  AND the caulk gun looks really old.  The paint was chipping off and it just looked like they had bought it from a plumber that had used it for 40+ years.

I hope that wasn't the case, but that's what it looked like.  Maybe next time I will sneak a photo of it before the doctor comes in so you can see what I mean.

So that is my current state of affairs.  I'm a rock hard, caulk gun filled, perky boobed girl.  And feeling awesome!

PS  In really great news, I'm also now drain free!  I had my last drain removed yesterday!!!!  YIPPEEEE!

So the second part of suckiness that comes after surgery is the limitation on how much you can lift. 

Doctors orders:  do not lift more than 5 lbs.

So basically I can lift a can of soda (if I drank soda anymore).  Or maybe a sandwich.  And I can definitely lift a candy bar.  Which might be why I've gained about 5 lbs since surgery :)

But I definitely cannot lift a 30 lb 2 year old boy named Caleb.

Luckily for me, Grandma and Papa Ericson agreed to take Caleb for us for about 9 days.  I WOULD say that he was sad about it, but he wasn't.  He got to drive a boat, a lawnmower, a 4 wheeler, a gator, and basically anything he could convince his Papa into letting him drive.  He had a blast.

But then he came home.  And realized he missed his mama.  And THEN realized that I wouldn't pick him up. 

Let's just say it's been a bit of a transition for us.  It's gone more smoothly than expected, but still not much fun.

And I'm supposed to not lift anything more than 5 lbs for SIX WEEKS!!!!

I've been doing my best to live by this, but it's been difficult.  When Caleb is about to fall over, I just can't help myself from reaching to stop him.  And he's a boy, so he falls like once every five minutes. 

But I knew this was coming, so we tried to prepare as much as possible.  I taught Caleb the following things:

1. How to both crawl INTO and OUT OF his high chair.  The "into" portion he mastered many moons ago, but the "out of" part of it is a very new development.  And makes life a whole lot easier for me as a mom who can't lift anything.

2. We're potty training, so there aren't many diapers, but we do diaper him for naps and bedtime.  So, Caleb now knows how to lift up his own little hiney when I need to slide a diaper under it.  It's both cute and "post op" friendly :)

3. We did get into the habit of reading stories in his bed.  He'd lay down in his toddler bed, I'd lay next to him (which is a funny sight, I'm sure) and I'd read him his bedtime stories.  I think we need to upgrade to a twin bed soon...

Even despite all my heroic efforts at teaching him to not need to be lifted, it's still hard.  REALLY, REALLY HARD!  When he falls and skins his knee or hits his head or just wants to be held, I have to sit on the ground with him and give him hugs.  He's even learned a new phrase out of all of this.  Before when he wanted to be carried, he'd just say "HUG!"  Now that "HUG" doesn't work (he literally just gets a hug from me now) he says "CARRY YOU!"  I think that comes from me saying "Mama can't carry you". 

Isn't that just sad?

OK, so enough with my little pity party.  Like I said, this is the hardest part of the whole surgery thing.

If you are a mom of a toddler that's about to go through surgery, definitely find someone to help out.  It's hard.  But if you do happen to "overlook" the rules and lift too much, your body will continue to produce lymphatic fluid at your drain sites... and the drains are equally if not MORE annoying that not picking up your child.  Plus, it's just bad stuff to have tubes hanging out of your body (healthwise).  Just remember, this is a sucky time but your child will not be emotionally scarred forever if you can't pick them up for 4-6 weeks. 

At least that's what I keep telling myself.