Hooray for Birthdays!

December is my birth month. And yes, I like to stretch out the celebrating as long as possible. I'm a huge fan of birthdays in general, but mine in particular. When people complain about birthdays as a marker of getting older, my response is always, "It's better than the alternative."

The American Cancer Society has started a campaign for more birthdays, proclaiming that "there's no such thing as too many candles!" And even if I do get a little nervous about growing older, I completely agree with that slogan. I know that my friends who are cancer survivors are celebrating every candle, and I'm cheering right along with them.

In honor of my birthday, I hope you'll take a moment to read the guest post below from a great blogger, mom, scientist and cancer survivor. You might also want to read her more recent post in defense of mammograms, following the new guidelines released by the U.S. Preventative Services Task Force -- as a scientist and a survivor, she knows what she's talking about.

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From WhyMommy at Toddler Planet:

Inflammatory breast cancer

There’s more than one kind of breast cancer. Did you know that? During October, we’re so often flooded with “buy pink” campaigns, and reminders to check ourselves for lumps, that it’s become almost commonplace. We all know that we should do regular self exams, and we’ve heard it so often that the urgency often fades into the background of children, spouses, laundry, and work. But did you know that there’s a kind of breast cancer that forms without a tell-tale lump?

It’s called inflammatory breast cancer, and it spreads FAST. The cancer forms in thin sheets, or in nests, like a bird’s nest of cancer growing inside your breast. There are few external signals or symptoms, and they’re sneaky too, since most of them are similar to mastitis, which many of us have experienced while breastfeeding a baby, or bug bites, or sunburn. But taken together, one or more of these symptoms can signal a dangerous cancer lurking in your breast.

What are the symptoms? Here’s a list, from the IBC Research Foundation:

* Swelling, usually sudden, sometimes a cup size in a few days

* Itching

* Pink, red, or dark colored area (called erythema) sometimes with texture similar to the skin of an orange (called peau d’orange)

* Ridges and thickened areas of the skin

* Nipple retraction

* Nipple discharge, may or may not be bloody

* Breast is warm to the touch

* Breast pain (from a constant ache to stabbing pains)

* Change in color and texture of the areola

There’s a great illustration of these symptoms over at Worldwide Breast Cancer that is guaranteed to be not like anything you’ve seen before….

In my mind, it boils down to this. If you notice ANYTHING DIFFERENT on one breast that’s not on the other breast, please CALL YOUR DOCTOR. Today. Because this cancer moves fast, faster than almost any other cancer, and is deadly. Only 40% of patients survive 5 years after diagnosis.

In the 2.5 years since my diagnosis, I’ve already lost a dozen friends to cancer. Many of them were moms and bloggers, readers just like you. They fought hard. They fought with everything they had. But cancer treatment is largely still in the experimental stages, and it’s a tough road. Just to be here today, I had to not only survive cancer, but also survive 6 months of chemotherapy, 7 weeks of daily radiation, 2 surgeries to remove my breasts and ovaries, and a lot of physical therapy to deal with lymphedema, which makes my arm swell in the heat when I step outside (as a lovely side effect of the mastectomy that took all my lymph nodes on that side). It’s been a hard, hard road, but I’m grateful for the chance to be here today, to hug my children, to play their games, to laugh at their knock-knock jokes.

There is joy after cancer. But first we have to get there. So please, take a moment, call/email/blog/tweet/update your friends, and SHARE the SIGNS of inflammatory breast cancer with the people you care about. You never know. You might just save a life.

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Just in case that's not enough to motivate you, check out this fantastic video courtesy of Ilina. She reports that "Emily Somers created, directed and choreographed this video in Portland for her Medline glove division as a fundraiser for breast cancer awareness. This was all her idea to help promote their new pink gloves. I don't know how she got so many employees, doctors and patients to participate, but it started to really catch on and they all had a lot of fun doing it. When the video gets 1 million hits, Medline will be making a huge contribution to the hospital, as well as offering free mammograms for the community."

A Good Substitute is Hard to Find

He just wanted to be helpful. I was making my lunch, and Junius asked if he could join in. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

But when I watched, stunned, as his eyes began to swell shut and welts broke out across his face, I suddenly realized he was allergic to my sandwich. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the kind I'd eaten a hundred times since he was born, the kind he'd never wanted to eat himself but had just helped me make.

Somehow we made it three-and-a-half years without discovering that Junius has a peanut allergy -- but last December, it was painfully obvious why he never liked peanut butter. He hadn't even eaten any of it that day -- just got a little on his hands closing my sandwich, then rubbed his eyes. After a quick dose of benedryl, a frantic trip to the pediatrician (thankfully it was a weekday and his breathing remained normal), an epi shot and a long nap, he recovered from the reaction unscathed. A few weeks later we visited the allergist to officially confirm what we already knew.

Since then, we've stopped buying peanut butter altogether, even though my husband and I both love it. Just seems too risky to have it in the house. But I miss the ease and the tastiness of a good PB&J for lunch. So when my neighbor offered me a sample of SunButter that she'd gotten in the mail, I figured it was worth a try.

Turns out I can't get Juni even to taste it -- he is understandably afraid of anything that looks remotely like peanut butter. But Pippi and I have really enjoyed it. Although you wouldn't mistake it for real peanut butter, it has enough of the consitency, texture and flavor to make a good sandwich. And in addition to being Juni-safe, it's also "nutritionally superior" to peanut butter (according to its website).

All that to say, if you're not allergic to peanuts, you're probably happier with the real deal. But if you're looking for a substitute, this is a good one.

Note: I have received no compensation from SunButter to write this post. There's a lot of hullabaloo these days about blogging with integrity. I'm assuming the six of you who read this blog aren't worried about that, but please let me know if you have concerns. Trust me when I tell you that none of the marketers seem to have discovered my little blog, despite my hopes for lots of free "blogola."

Good Day for a Dad

Although I'm guessing this wasn't his ideal Father's Day, my husband was a great dad today.

I've had a fever and a miserable cold since Friday night and Pippi woke up with the same mess on Saturday, so we haven't been a whole lot of fun. Junius made a nice card (on his sister's behalf) and we let Daddy go for a run this morning. But otherwise, he's been on Dad Duty pretty much all weekend.

When I woke up from a long morning nap (I'd put myself in bed right after I put Pippi down), the house was empty. Turns out that my sweet husband had retrieved Pip after her nap (I never even heard her wake up), dressed both kids (with bloomers on Pippi, no less) and gone to Biscuitville. We sat out on our front porch and ate biscuits together while the kids begged sips of sweet tea from their Daddy.

It wasn't anything fancy, but for me it was a perfect picture of why he's my husband. I always knew he would be a wonderful dad -- not just a father, but a real kiss-the-boo-boos-change-the-diapers-get-down-and-silly-hands-on dad.

My own father was and is a great dad -- and now a great PopPop, too. So I know that my husband might just be the greatest gift I can give my children -- a dad who loves them, a dad that I love, a dad who loves me.

Happy Father's Day!

Loose ends

A few updates on some older posts, for those of you who are keeping track...

1. We didn't get picked to be on TLC's Home Made Simple. Although the producer supposedly thought we were "hilarious," apparently we just weren't TV material. Thankfully, my husband hasn't noticed that I have yet to learn how to make duck for dinner. Go here to read about one of the local families that will be on the show.
   
   
2. The babysitting co-op rocks. I've had two friends over to sit for my kids, and I've gone to two other houses to sit for their kids. Loving care and proper supervision were involved, and everyone had a more fiscally-responsible night out. That said, we still love our "original" babysitters -- both the one who is getting married and the one who moved away for grad school (you know who you are).
   
   
3. The pile is gone, thanks to a complete clearing out of all loose items upstairs in preparation for the new carpet that was installed last month. Of course, the living and dining rooms (where we relocated everything) are a total disaster area -- but the upstairs looks lovely. Will see how long that can last.
   
   
4. The Super Dylan Team raised more than $10,000 to support research for a cure for Cystic Fibrosis. We surpassed our fundraising goal, but it's not too late to give, if you're interested.
   
   
5. I got 10 comments posted on my shameless solicitation for feedback -- the most comments of any post so far (thank you!!). Also, my unintentionally-possibly-racist-but-not-and-still-think-it's-funny joke does not appear to have offended anyone enough to make them leave a nasty note.

I think that wraps up most of it for now. Thanks for reading -- I'm really have fun doing the writing, but it's even better when I know you're out there enjoying it.

A Prescription for What Ails You

Somehow it's less satisfying to hear the pediatrician say, "It's good that you brought her in," when it's your baby girl's second round of ear infections in less than two weeks.

Second verse, same as the first. Here's hoping the augmentin does the trick this time without giving her a vicious diaper rash.

Given that we've been making lots of trips to the pharmacy lately (Junius also had conjunctivitis over the weekend), I'm grateful that the people at the Hayes-Barton Pharmacy are so sweet and lovely. They help my children feel better by getting the medicine ready quickly, and they help me feel better by making it easy to patronize a local business. Plus Pippi likes the personal attention and Junius likes sitting near the counter to munch a bag of chips while we wait -- a small treat that goes a long way.

My father-in-law was a retail pharmacist for more than 40 years, and he sets a high standard for me in how I expect to be treated at the pharmacy. These days it's easy to drive through whatever Walgreens/Rite-Aid/CVS/Kerr drug store is on the nearest corner and never actually see your pharmacist. But at Hayes-Barton Pharmacy, it's worth the walk inside to meet the pharmacists and assistants, to wander the small aisles and have someone know us by name. I figure they are as important to my children's health as their pediatricians -- and goodness knows we spend plenty of time in that office, too.

Note: I have received no compensation from Hayes-Barton Pharmacy for this post, although they did give us a bag of chips for a discount one time because we didn't have enough change. But I don't think that counts as a bribe since they probably don't actually know my blog exists.

One Smart Mommy

"You were smart to bring her in."

YES! I am Genius Mommy. My trophy will be arriving in the mail any day now.*

Of course, I realize I shouldn't be celebrating the fact that Pippi got her first ear infection yesterday (in both ears, no less). But it was so lovely to hear the pediatrician say those words to me, that I'm going to write them down again: "You were smart to bring her in."

Given the number of times I've taken my kids to the doctor only to be told that they have a cold and that there's nothing to do, I was more than a little pleased that I was right to take her in yesterday. She cried through most of the night before and was so fussy at preschool that morning that her teacher called me to see if I wanted to pick her up early. It was so out of character for her that I almost hoped she had an ear infection -- at least that was something we can fix (unlike, say, Early-Onset Twoish Terribilius).

Now, through the magic of amoxicillin, she's already doing better. And I'll be waiting at the mailbox for my award.

*Note: Trophy may be rescinded when the Committee finds out I let my children watch all of Toy Story 2 for the past two days while I fixed dinner, fed them and got them ready for bed so that I didn't have to listen to them whine.

Donate for Super Dylan

One of Junius's favorite buddies is Dylan -- a feisty, funny, adorable little boy in our neighborhood. That's him on the left, rockin' out with Junius last fall. He may be smaller than Juni, but he's the same age and packs a serious punch in his little body. And it's a good thing he's got some fight in him because he's wrestling every day with cystic fibrosis.

This year is our third tour on the Super Dylan Team for the Great Strides walk to raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation (CFF).
Your gift will be used efficiently and effectively, as nearly 90 cents of every dollar of revenue raised is available for investment in vital CF programs to support research, care and education.

Making a donation is easy and secure! Any amount you can donate is greatly appreciated -- just go here and give what you can.

With treatments and medicines, Dylan is usually a healthy boy. But it takes a lot of effort by his parents to keep him that way. CF is an inherited chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 children and adults in the United States. A defective gene and its protein product cause the body to produce unusually thick, sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections; and obstructs the pancreas and stops natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food.

In the 1950s, few children with cystic fibrosis lived to attend elementary school. Today, thanks to advances in research and medical treatments, many people with the disease can now expect to live into their 30s, 40s and beyond. But that's not enough for us -- we need a cure for Dylan.

Thanks in advance for your help -- and please visit CFF online for more information.

You want a piece of me?

Does it mean I'm getting old if, every time I go to the doctor, I leave something behind? Not my keys or my phone -- those I seem to remember. Instead, I keep having to abandon some small part of myself.

At first, it was just my dermatologist. She'd take one or two little slivers of skin each time I went to see her (which was every six months for the first two years). I'm rather fair-skinned and freckle-y -- that combined with some bad sunburns in my wild and crazy tanning youth makes me a prime candidate for regular skin checks. For several years, she'd take the sliver and call me a couple weeks later to say it was "all clear."

Then last summer I went in for my annual check and mentioned the spot in the middle of my forehead, which I assumed was a persistent pimple left from my pregnancy. I figured she'd give me a cream and send me on my way. Instead, she peered at my forehead and said, "Hmm. We'll need to biopsy that, but it looks like a carcinoma."

I'm sorry, did you just say "biopsy"? And isn't "carcinoma" a fancy word for "cancer"?

Long story short, it was in fact a basal cell carcinoma, which I later had removed by a Mohs skin surgeon who seemed startled to see someone young like me in her office. Once she cut out the layers of cancerous cells from beneath the pimple, I was "all clear" again. The small scar that stares back at me each morning is my reminder to put on sunscreen.

Now it turns out my dentist wants in on the action. When the hygienist noticed a red spot on my lower gum at my check-up last month, my dentist told me to watch it for a few weeks and call him if it wasn't gone. Probably nothing, he said, but keep an eye on it. A month later I was back in his office getting a referral to a periodontist.

Second long story short, the periodontist removed the spot -- probably nothing, he said, but let's biopsy it to be sure.

Ahem, "biopsy"? Again?!

He called on Friday to tell me it was inflammatory epithelial and fibrous hyperplasia. Also known as a pregnancy tumor. Which sounds scary, but actually means it's nothing but some "overgrowth" in my gums caused by the raging hormones of pregnancy and breastfeeding.

All clear.

Thank goodness there aren't any doctor appointments on my calendar until September.

One sick mama

To call it a stomach bug would make it sound small and cute and easily squashed. It was none of those things. This was an evil nasty virus that grabbed hold of my body last week and would not let go. After eight straight hours of losing everything I'd eaten and then some, I finally collapsed into sleep.

When I woke up three hours later, weak and weary, I was thankful for two things:
1. The worst seemed to be over.
2. I had my mommy to take care of me.

There's nothing like getting sick to make you want your mommy -- and I was lucky enough to be staying with mine. During the night, my mother (and my father, to his credit) got up to check on me, bring me a clean wash-cloth, offer me water. And in the morning (and for the next two days), my parents took care of my children so I could sleep.

If I hadn't been visiting my parents when all this broke loose, there would not have been time for sleep. Instead, it would have been time to come downstairs with the kids, make breakfast, pack Juni's lunch, and get us all dressed to take Juni to preschool, then come home and find ways to entertain Pippi. Thankfully I have a wonderful husband, who would have wanted to help -- but he has his own full-time job and would have needed to get to the office.

This was my first time getting really sick since I became a mom. As I healed (very) slowly over the next few days, I kept thinking about how I would have survived if I hadn't had my parents to help me. I'm sure it would have involved lots of toddler videos and a crabby baby -- and a mama who was desperate to sleep. It wouldn't have been the end of the world, but it might have felt like it.

Meanwhile, thousands (probably millions?) of mothers all over the world are coping with illness and worse without any support system to give them a break. They struggle to keep their children safe or to meet their basic needs without the time or energy or ability to stop and take care of themselves. I hate that I can't send myself -- or my mom -- to help each of them.

So instead I'm reminding all my friends in town to call on me when they need help. Hopefully I haven't passed along my virus to anyone else, but I can at least share my time and support for another mom in need. It's a small thank-you to my own mom and reminder of how lucky I am.

That is the question

To the pediatrician? Or not to the pediatrician?

Of all the many parenting dilemmas, that question has been one of the toughest for me. Runny noses, hacking coughs, raspy breathing, itchy rashes -- how do you know when something goes from usual yuck to seriously sick?

Today I took Pippi in after listening to her cough up goodness-knows-what for the past three nights. Our sweet pediatrician listened patiently as I described the symptoms that surely meant she has asthma or a respiratory infection or SARS. He checked her lungs, ears, nose and so on, chatting with her as he went. Then he looked at me and said, "I've got good news and bad news."

"The good news is it's just a cold. The bad news is it's just a cold."

And then he outlined the things to watch for in case she got worse and suggested I try saline nose spray, if she would let me. As I listened, I realized he had given me the exact same speech when I brought Pippi into his office with the exact same symptoms about two months ago.

Three years earlier, when Junius was born, I was determined not to be one of Those Moms. You know, the ones who rush into the doctor's office for every sniffle and scrape. I would be a Relaxed Mom, a Cool-Calm-and-Collected Mom. The little snorts and bumps that come with babies wouldn't freak me out. And although we had the occasional sick-baby visit, Junius obliged by generally being a healthy baby (a fact I like to attribute to my magical breastmilk, but it's probably just because he was mostly around grown-ups for his first year).

When I took him to the pediatrician around age three for a runny nose and cough that just wouldn't go away, I fully expected the doctor to say, "He has a cold. Use saline nose spray. Love him. Feed him. Wait for him to get better." Instead, the doctor started asking me other questions... "What's going on with those scabs on his chin?" (He scratched himself and won't stop picking at it, but that's not why we're here.) "How long has his eye looked like that?" (Hmm, not sure. Is that gunk from naptime?) Turns out, Junius needed two weeks of broad-spectrum antibiotic to help heal the impetigo in his chin, the conjunctivitis in his eye, and, oh yes, the raging infection in his right ear. (And no, I had never heard of impetigo before that moment.)

Then, as if that weren't bad enough, we were back three months later for a diaper rash spot that just wouldn't heal. Despite all the creams and ointments I could find, this one spot kept getting worse and was threatening to bleed. Long story short, that doctor's visit was our first of what would become three bouts with Community-Associated MRSA. I won't gross you out with the details, but trust me when I tell you it's not fun to hold your toddler still while a doctor squeezes puss out of a boil on the toddler's tushie.

So yes, I took Pippi to the ped twice in two months for the same ordinary symptoms that would send me looking for cold medicine for myself. But I no longer trust my Relaxed-Mom radar to tell me when my kids need a doctor. I just take them in and then count my blessings everytime one of our wonderful pediatricians sends us home saying: "Nose spray and love -- that's all you need."