This week, all my posts will be in celebration of National Poetry Day, which is today. Since today is also National white Cane Safety Day, here’s a poem about how I use my white cane. It was published in my collection, That’s Life: New and selected Poems. Click this link to hear me read it. I’ve posted this here before, but it’s worth a second read, don’t you think? Enjoy, and whether or not you use a white cane, please stay safe.
Song Lyric Sunday was created by Helen Vahdati. Click here for guidelines. This week’s theme is “hide.” I was stumped. In fact, I had to sleep on it after Helen posted the theme last night. That’s one reason I’m late in posting.
I finally remembered this song by Ronnie Milsap in which he talks about leaving his problems in Nashville and retreating to Houston to stay with friends for a while. In the song, he makes a good point that you can’t hide from trouble; it’ll eventually find you. As you enjoy this song, I hope you don’t have any problems from which you feel you must hide.
This feature was created by blogger Colleen Chesebro. Click here for guidelines. The following haiku was inspired by the dreary weather we’ve been having all week. I hope that wherever you are, unless of course you’re in the path of Hurricane Michael, your weather is brighter.
As I said on Tuesday, if breast cancer is caught early enough, there’s a higher chance of survival. Here’s one woman’s account of how she lived through it. She’s still going strong today. I reviewed this book here several years ago, but it’s worth a second posting.
This is a short but to the point account of one woman’s experience with breast cancer. As the author states in the beginning, it’s for women who may develop breast cancer later in life.
Leonore Dvorkin starts by explaining how she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1998 and her decision to have a mastectomy. A resident of Denver, Colorado, she talks about traveling to Kansas City to visit her family and her mother and sisters’ wish that she would just have the lump removed simply because it was what they would have done. She also touches on her family’s reaction to her novel, Apart from You, before it was published in 2010. She discusses how she and her husband bought a Polaroid camera and took pictures of her naked body the night before her surgery.
She describes what it was like to have the breast removed, assuring readers that such surgery for the patient is nothing more than having a good night’s sleep. She knew what to expect, since she had numerous surgical procedures in the past for varicose veins and other difficulties, and she touches on those. I was amazed to learn that HMO’s normally expect a mastectomy to be an out-patient procedure. Afterward, the patient is monitored for a few hours for complications and then sent home. In Leonore Dvorkin’s case, because she suffered from nausea as a result of morpheme she was given for pain, she was allowed to spend the night. I’m so thankful I don’t use an HMO for insurance, but it’s possible that nowadays, things may have changed. I hope I never have to find out.
Leonore Dvorkin then goes on to describe her recovery at home and the relief she felt upon learning she didn’t need radiation or chemotherapy. She talks about difficulty sleeping as a result of prescribed pain medication and a shoulder injury that made her rehabilitation more difficult. She touches on how her husband cared for her, not just after the mastectomy, but after other operations she had beforehand.
Several months after the surgery, she was ready to return to her job tutoring foreign languages at a Denver college and resume teaching weight training classes in her basement. She describes how she went to a store in Denver and bought a prosthetic breast and a mastectomy bra. In the end, she explains her attitude and how reducing stress and changes in diet and exercise made her feel better and gave her more confidence. She also discusses how she will age gracefully. This book includes appendices with resources and information about her particular type of breast cancer.
I like this author’s attitude. She doesn’t take cancer lightly but doesn’t wallow in self-pity or poor self-image either. I especially liked the way she describes how a prosthetic breast fits into a mastectomy bra and gives advice on how to buy and use them. I hope I never get breast cancer, but if I do, after reading this book, I hope to be able to deal with it and move on.
I’ve posted this here once or twice already, but since October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, it’s not a topic that can be over-emphasized, especially for women. Men, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to skip this one.
I wrote this piece in 2009 when my husband Bill was still alive. It stresses the importance of performing monthly breast exams and annual mammograms. Did you know that if breast cancer is caught early, there’s a higher chance of survival? I know people who lived through this. If they can, so can you, ladies, as long as you take preventative steps.
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I’m sitting on the toilet, moving the index and middle fingers of my right hand up, down, and around each breast, as the radiology technician showed me. There are no lumps. I stand, repeat the procedure, and still find no lumps. In the shower, I rub a generous amount of soap on both breasts and repeat the examination. Still, there are no lumps.
As I finish showering, I reflect on my first mammogram eight years ago. A friend emailed me a list of ways to prepare. One suggestion was to insert my boob into the refrigerator and close the door. Another was to place my breast behind one of the back tires of my car and have someone drive over it. Either way, I would have a feeling of what it would be like to have a mammogram. These suggestions didn’t make sense until I had my first procedure.
The mammogram machine was a tall contraption with an adjustable top. I stood, leaning against it, while my breast was squashed between the top and bottom halves. I held my arm, corresponding to the breast being examined, straight out, and clutched a bar on the side of the machine.
Two views were taken of each breast, one side to side and one top to bottom. The top to bottom ones weren’t bad, but the side to side were excruciating because of my short stature. I had to stand on tiptoe so my breast could be aligned properly.
At one point while the picture was being taken, I wondered what would happen if the power went out. Would the machine lock, trapping my boob between its metal jaws? For the next eight years, I allowed my bosom to be subjected to this torture, and for what?
As I step out of the shower and reach for my towel, I think about my mother who died of cancer ten years ago. Not in her breast, it was the dreaded disease all the same. During the last six months of her life, she was weak from chemotherapy, and Dad took care of her. The oncologist gave her a good prognosis a couple of weeks before she passed. It was a shock when she lay down on the afternoon of December 15, 1999, closed her eyes, and never woke up.
Fortunately, this didn’t happen while I was a child in need of her care. I was living on my own and holding down a job, and I only needed her companionship and moral support. I realize now that if I were to die, my husband Bill would be lost without me. Unable to care for himself, he would be forced to spend the rest of his life in a nursing home. After working in one for fifteen years, I know they’re not bad places, but living in an institution, no matter how pleasant the surroundings or friendly the staff, isn’t the same as living at home and being cared for by the one you love.
So I’ll continue to examine my breasts once a month. When I receive a card in the mail from the radiology clinic reminding me it’s time for my yearly mammogram, I’ll pick up the phone and arrange to have my boobs squashed.
“What are you doing?” Bill asks, as I climb in bed beside him and reach under my pajama top.
“I’m doing my monthly breast exam. Remember? I do it when I’m sitting, standing, in the shower, and lying down.” I still find no lumps.
With a sigh of relief, I turn, put my arm around him, snuggle against him, bury my face in his hair. “You don’t want me to die of breast cancer, do you?” I say, as I kiss him.
“No,” he answers with a laugh. “Can I examine your breasts?”
“Sure,” I answer, positioning myself so he can reach them.
Song Lyric Sunday was created by blogger Helen Vahdati. Click here for guidelines.
This week’s theme is “find/found.” Today’s pick was on a cassette of love songs my late husband sent me soon after his marriage proposal.
At the time, we were living about five hundred miles apart; he in Fowler, Colorado, and me here in Sheridan, Wyoming. After meeting through a magazine, we started out as friends, corresponding by email daily and sometimes by phone, then boom!
In January of 2005, he was sure he’d found someone. Because I wasn’t expecting it, his proposal was a shock. It took me a while to realize I’d found someone too. You can read more about this in My Ideal Partner.
Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the song. If you haven’t found someone yet, maybe you will someday. Who knows?
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I Finally Found Someone–Barbra Streisand and Bryan Adams
This feature was created by blogger Coleen Chesebro. For guidelines, click here.
Since this is the first week of the month, Colleen likes to encourage poets to choose their own words. The words I chose are “autumn” and “moisture.” The poem below contains synonyms and not the words themselves.
This time, I’m using a new form of poetry called an etheree. This consists of ten lines, each containing an ascending number of syllables. You can learn more about the etheree poem here. Click this link to hear me read the poem.
This week, all my posts will be in celebration of National Poetry Day, which is today. Since today is also National white Cane Safety Day, here’s a poem about how I use my white cane. It was published in my collection, That’s Life: New and selected Poems. Click this link to hear me read it. I’ve posted this here before, but it’s worth a second read, don’t you think? Enjoy, and whether or not you use a white cane, please stay safe.