Monday, March 08, 2010

©Brenda Ray Coffee. All rights reserved.

I have always been a positive, happy person, even in the face of inescapable adversity, but the last 10 days have been trying, sometimes to the point I’m not sure my joking, silly self will find her way home. Not being comfortable with this “down” Brenda, I have taken some of my own advice and gone in search of things to laugh about, starting with myself.

This week’s Blog photo always cracks me up! It is a self-portrait taken while I was in the dentist’s chair. It’s one of those faces mothers warn their children not to make for fear they’ll freeze that way. While that didn’t happen, once again, that toothy face made me smile and has made me feel better. More importantly, it’s made me think about the power of a smile.

We’ve all heard laughter—we are smiling when we laugh—is the best medicine, but research indicates that is true. Smiles make us feel better about ourselves, help us cope with stress, lowers blood pressure and improves our immune system. Smiling also releases endorphins, which act as natural painkillers, plus serotonin, which influences mood, memory and social behavior. Sounds to me like a smile should be the first “drug” we take in the morning.

Smiles are of no value to anyone unless we give them away, even to ourselves in the mirror. While smiles are free, at times they are worth everything to those who receive them. Have you ever noticed how readily a young child smiles? Unlike some adults, whose smile looks like it’s been hastily pulled from their pocket and pasted onto their face, a young child’s smile is instant, genuine and filled with pure delight.

Children are happy, inquisitive, little love sumps. As a matter of fact, it just occurred to me we haven’t sat behind a child at church for the last two Sundays, so I’m hereby putting our congregation on notice: Hang on to your children next week, cause I’m gonna’ smile me one.

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Monday, March 01, 2010


When I was 12, my father died of cancer. People didn’t talk openly about cancer then except for occasionally whispering the “C” word and certainly not in front of the children.

While I knew my father was sick, no one ever told me what was wrong with him, or why he was in the hospital for prolonged periods of time. In fact, I never even visited him, nor did the issue ever come up. During the times he was home, I was rarely allowed in his room, and then for only short periods of time where I sat on the edge of the bed, and we made small talk, like strangers.

The day he died, I was at my piano lesson. I remember my piano teacher gasping into the phone and saying, “Don’t worry. She can stay here as long as you need.” Of course I knew it was mother, calling to say my father had died, but once again, no one told me anything. Several hours later, as I sat in the back seat, mother and a neighbor drove me home as they spoke in quiet shorthand.

After he was buried, and the friends and relatives had gone home, mother and I role reversed. She became the daughter and I became the mother. Almost immediately she retreated to her room, shades pulled, rarely getting dressed or coming out of her room, a zombie zonked out on grief and Valium. I was the one who went to the grocery store, taking small amounts of money from her purse, riding my blue bicycle down the street, past the bowling alley to the store, buying only enough food to fit in my bike’s small wire basket.

I rode to the hardware store, bought chain locks for the doors, used my father’s drill, just as I’d seen him do, and installed the locks because mother was afraid. I made sure the boy down the street mowed the lawn; I babysat for the couple on the corner to earn extra money and continued to get straight A’s. That is until periodically, mother would come out of her room and arbitrarily decided to parent me, knowing nothing about my life, how I was doing or that I was a great kid.

By my senior year of high school I had gained 20 pounds and was failing some of my classes. Even so, I managed to get two college scholarships but accepted the one in town and lived at home because mother needed me. After the first semester of my freshman year, I gave up my scholarship, got a job and a tiny apartment—the only way I knew to get away from her.

Except for the six months I went through chemotherapy, our roles have remained the same. However during those months, she sent me books about prayer and clippings and tapes she listened to about God. She was uplifting and supportive, urging me to see myself surrounded by God’s light, whole, perfect and healed. She even stopped signing her cards with the word “Mother” in quotes and simply signed them Love, Mom, as though on some level she knew she was mothering me, not the other way around. As soon as I finished chemo, she resumed her all too familiar “Mother” signature, and if I mention having had breast cancer, she looks at me like I’m speaking Swahili.

Mother is needy, in ways I’ve never been able to make right for her, and as the parent in our relationship, I sometimes feel like I’ve failed her. She ruins every family gathering, getting up from the table, going as far as to fly home because she is not the center of attention or has gotten her feelings hurt about one thing or another. She has never wanted to know about my life, interrupting me in mid-sentence with "I thought we'd go to the tea room for lunch," as I’m trying to tell her something of major importance to me. In recent years, I’ve been able to blame her dementia for her lack of interest in me. Last week I tried, again, to tell her about my website and my Blog and all the wonderful women and families I am meeting from all over the world. She paused for a second and looked at me, then said, “the salad here is not as good as it used to be.”

So, I will continue to be the mother, this week moving her closer to me as she retreats further into her world of dementia. I am grateful God gave us those six months and hope she enjoyed being the Mother as much as I loved having one. Perhaps one of the reasons my website ministers to breast cancer families is that as painful as it is, I don’t want other children to be in the dark about their parent’s cancer; I don’t want adults to stop talking when their children enter the room.

Our children know more about what goes on in our house than we could ever imagine, but they are not mature enough to know how to put things in their proper perspectives. Regardless of the situations we find ourselves in, we must find ways to talk to our children. In some cases, children may not be comfortable discussing their feelings with us, or they may try the “tuff kid” route, but if we, or they, are having trouble coping, with anything, we need to find a minister or a counselor who will listen to every member of our family and help us work through it. Whatever we do, let’s not sit on the edge of the bed and just make small talk.




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Monday, February 22, 2010

©Brenda Ray Coffee. All rights reserved.

For most of my life I have preferred to eat things without a face or a mother, while my husband eats brown and white foods like steak, milk, hamburgers and ice cream. Oh, and let’s not forget his coffee and chocolate. Dinner at our house usually consists of two distinct meals. While my plate is piled high with brown rice, black beans, lightly roasted vegetables and Whole Foods’ Seduction bread—my favorite—my husband’s plate consists of a blackened piece of meat, the consistency of old shoe leather, and maybe a spoonful of rice and beans. If I suggest he try some of my vegetables and salad, he looks at me like I’ve asked him to eat tree bark and rutabaga and frequently says, “What are you? A communist?” No, and I am not a vegan or a vegetarian, either.

While my life-long diet did not prevent me from having breast cancer, I am hoping it will be a powerful ally in my quest to reduce risk of recurrence. Research shows 30 to 50 percent of cancers are nutrition-related, either from over nutrition (excess calories, fat or protein), or under-nutrition (too few calories, vitamins and minerals). For this discussion I am only focusing on red meat, saving other byproducts of foods with a face or a mother, like milk, butter and ice cream for another day.

Studies have shown red meat is associated with an increase in overall mortality, as well as cancer and cardiovascular problems in both men and women. Red meat is high in protein, which we all need, but it is also high in saturated fat, which has been associated with breast and colorectal cancer, plus it raises cholesterol. In addition, the process of cooking meat generates cancer-causing compounds. Red meat can also contain added growth hormones, which may be linked to the rising incidence of hormone-receptor breast cancer.

A Harvard Medical School study suggested eating more than 100g, or roughly one quarter pound of red meat a day, could double the risk of a woman developing breast cancer. This risk was associated with women who had not gone through menopause. If a lifetime exposure to estrogen affect’s a woman’s risk of breast cancer, it could be that years of eating meat with growth hormones may react the same way. According to another study, published by the American Cancer Society, people who eat 3 or more ounces of red meat per day, which is equivalent to the amount of meat in a hamburger, are 30-40 percent more likely to develop cancer in the lower part of the colon. Red meat stays in your colon longer than beans, vegetables, nuts and seeds, and one of the best ways to have a healthy immune system is by keeping your bowels moving on a daily basis.

Every day we hear about another link to breast cancer. Many of these factors, like family history, are out of our control, but if there is something we can do to lower our risk, why wouldn’t we go for it? If you just finished a juicy cheeseburger, don’t worry. Instead, think about how many times a week you eat red meat and look for alternatives like chicken, fish, beans or nuts.

Intellectually I understand the whole meat-eater ancestry thing, but with my love for nuts, I sometimes wonder if I am descended from an unknown species related to birds and squirrels. By the way, American Meat Institute, don’t even think about pulling an Oprah lawsuit on me. Invite me to dinner at Ruth’s Chris for prime beef tenderloin, and I’ll have my napkin unfolded before you’re even seated.





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Sunday, February 14, 2010

©Survivorship Media Network, LLC.  All rights reserved.

Recently someone referred to me as a cancer victim, at which point I nearly came unglued. To some extent our society and the 24/7 up close and personal media wants to color everyone who has ever had a tragedy in their lives with the victim crayon. While I have had my share of tragedy I have never been a victim and don’t intend to start now, and if you are reading this, I am virtually certain you feel the same way.

I think of victims as people who are found murdered in alleyways or have their identity and social security numbers stolen by thugs in search of a quick buck. Survivors are those of us who have heard the words “you have cancer” and continue to move forward. We persevere even in the face of what may be certain death from our cancer. We continue to survive, day after day. That is what we do. We survive. We may also be mothers, fathers, accountants and movie stars, but we are first and foremost survivors.

When most of the world thinks about cancer survivors, they probably think of Lance Armstrong who, without a doubt, is the cancer survivor most of us hope to become. When I think of cancer survivors I think of my friend Susan Pollack. We met when she volunteered to have legendary makeup artist Sandy Linter and Lancôme Cosmetics give her a makeover for some of the “Self-Image” videos on the BreastCancerSisterhood.com.

Since then I have learned Susan Pollack is an amazing woman who possesses a quiet inner strength, steadfast determination, deep love of family and friends, a nurturing compassion for other survivors and a disarming sense of humor. What started as a makeover for my website has inspired Sandy Linter and her legion of fans, the fabulous Kerry Diamond and the team at Lancôme Cosmetics, plus the women I hear from who view Sandy and Susan’s makeover videos on the BreastCancerSisterhood.com. Did I mention Sue Pollack was diagnosed with breast cancer 27 years ago and has been living with metastasis to the bone for over 14 years? Fourteen years!!! I am speechless!! In my opinion, Sue Pollack is proof of answered prayers.

When she was first diagnosed her daughter was four-years-old, and Sue prayed she would live to see her grow up or at least to grow a little bit older. Sue Pollack’s prayers were answered and for 13 years she was cancer-free. When her breast cancer came back, instead of thinking of it as a death knell, Sue decided to continue to be there for her family and for herself. As she modestly says, “I simply chose to live a life.” What she won’t tell you is that she’s done that without hair and eyebrows but with lymphedema and all the aches and pains and other indignities that come with chemotherapy, or that she volunteers at SHARE, a survivors’ resource in New York City that counsels and supports breast and ovarian cancer survivors.

For 14 years Sue Pollack has continuously taken chemotherapy. As one chemo has become ineffective, her doctor has given her another one and another. For those of you who have never had chemo, you cannot begin to imagine what this special woman has endured. Sue Pollack is an inspiration to breast cancer survivors everywhere. She is my inspiration. She is the face of, and role model for every woman who has ever had breast cancer. She has defied the odds beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. In many ways she is like Lance Armstrong: the Stage IV cancer survivor many of us hope to become.

I am certain Susan Pollack’s name is etched in God’s book of remarkable survivors whether they are survivors of the Holocaust, battlefields strewn with intrepid soldiers, or families who have endured suffering and loss. Call Susan Pollack brave and courageous but please, do not call her a victim.




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Thursday, February 11, 2010

©Survivorship Media Network, LLC.  All rights reserved.

When I started this Blog I vowed never to miss a week of writing and sharing my thoughts with you but… I blew it! Since Friday I have been traveling, caught up in the quagmire called Snowmagedon, but the worse thing? I didn’t have my computer!

I felt helpless, like I was missing an arm. Who was going to answer my 999 daily questions, give me ten versions of the truth and make me feel like I was being productive?

I can happily say I am home and my computer and I are blissfully reunited as my fingers peck away at the keys, and in return, it cuts me no slack about my spelling. I’ve promised never to leave it at home, again, but my promise never to be a ditz, again? My computer knows me better than that! I don’t even think chemo brain would work as an excuse.

PS: Here’s a clue as to my whereabouts. No wonder my computer was heartbroken.




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Sunday, January 31, 2010

©Survivorship Media Network, LLC.  All rights reserved.

One of my mother’s favorite things to say is, “You have no idea what it’s like to get older.” I’m always amazed at how she manages to say this with a straight face, ignoring she gave birth to me when Howdy Doody was at the peak of his career, or that it won’t be long before I qualify for Senior discounts, thereby calling further attention to the fact that I do know what it’s like to get older.

“Wait until you go into a room and can’t remember why you went there in the first place,” she continues, “and your knees hurt when you get out of a chair and you start loosing your hair.”

“Been there done that,” I want to say. “Side effects of chemotherapy,” but since mother has dementia and looks puzzled when I mention having had breast cancer, I let my comments go unspoken. The worst thing is that all of mother’s harbingers of aging still apply to me even though my last chemotherapy ended five years ago! Actually the worst thing is that I’m losing my hair, yet again, and I’m not alone.

Many women have problems with thinning hair. Other than taking chemotherapy, possible causes could be thyroid problems or maybe those women are post menopausal. Perhaps they are breast cancer survivors who are taking Aromatase inhibitors to stop their production of estrogen and keep cancer at bay. The latter case applies to me and I feel like everyone, including the plumber, has discovered my condition.

A few weeks ago he pulled something out of our shower drain that looked like a limp, wet rat. “Wow,” said the plumber. “Looks like you’re loosing your hair.”

Thanks for the reminder, pal. Perhaps I should look into getting a wig or do you think anyone would find it strange if I started wearing hats… or is that a woodchuck?




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Sunday, January 24, 2010

©Survivorship Media Network, LLC.  All rights reserved.

So far on my breast cancer journey I’ve had nine surgeries, eight rounds of chemo, three ‘let’s check this out’ procedures accompanied by anesthesia and at least three ‘let’s check this out’ procedures without anesthesia. The last with anesthesia was an endoscopic tour of my pancreas. This was a precautionary measure because I carry the BRCA2 gene. That means in addition to an increased risk of breast and ovarian cancer, I have a higher than average risk for melanoma and pancreatic cancer.

Do you know what an endoscopic excursion involves? Just as they’re about to administer the anesthesia, they ask you to swallow a garden hose with a light, a camera and a scalpel attached. We’re having some fun now!

Mind you, I’m not complaining. This isn’t one of those “Oh, they’re spending my money, running all these tests,” because as my wonderful physician Dr. Jim Martin says, “We’re going to watch you like a hawk from here on out.” That’s fine with me but after my recent breast surgery number nine to keep my new implant where it’s supposed to be, by stitching a sling out of cadaver skin to my ribs for the implant to rest in, I am beginning to feel like a lab rat.

Why did they do that, you ask? Because my five-month-old silicone gel implant dropped halfway between where it should have been and my navel. I must say it was an unusual site, ranking up there with the bearded lady in the circus, and rare enough to make my plastic surgeon do a double, no a triple take and ask if I jumped rope or tap-danced as a hobby.

Most days I do pretty well relinquishing control of all of this to God, although there are days I greedily snatch it back and act like I am not running through this crazy maze for nothing! For the most part God has made my fears disappear and for that, I am humbled and grateful.

However, if I may say so, instead of breast cancer surgery Number Nine, I would much rather have had Love Potion Number Nine. “I held my nose, I closed my eyes… I took a drink.” Come to think of it, I’ve done that already.





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Monday, January 18, 2010


As we age many women gain weight due to our high fat, oversized portions, preservative laden, lack of exercise, menopausal American lifestyle. As a result, excess weight around a woman’s waist often results in excess estrogen in the body. If you’re like me and are “of a certain age” and your breast cancer was estrogen positive, this is not good news because estrogen fuels your cancer. Therefore we need to keep our weight down and avoid products and foods that contain estrogen or convert to estrogen-like compounds in our bodies.

Other than hormone replacement therapy, one of the biggest sources of estrogen is soy. I know we’ve all heard soy is a breast cancer inhibitor, but this is a complex issue and one that is fraught with controversy. Regardless, once you have been diagnosed with estrogen positive breast cancer, soy is at the top of the list of things you want to avoid. Stay away from products high in soy as well as estrogen-like substances called isoflavones, pesticides and herbicides in fruits and vegetables, hormones in meat and dairy products, plus canola, corn and safflower oils. Body and skin care products containing soy and parabens, which convert to estrogen in the body, should also be avoided but that is a topic we will save for another day. Estrogen, soy and parabens... Talk about a can of worms! So what do we do? What do we eat?

If you’ve been diagnosed with estrogen positive breast cancer and/or are menopausal, and without notice turn into the werewolf from Waxahachie, the plot thickens. To keep my breast cancer from recurring, my doctor wants me to avoid all forms of estrogen including estrogen creams, patches and foods containing estrogen, plus I am taking Arimidex, which keeps my body from making estrogen in the first place. I’m told if you stand too close to me you can actually hear the estrogen being sucked out of my body or… maybe that’s the heart palpitations… due to my lack of estrogen. You may ask "what about bioidentical hormones?" which again, we will save for another day. Either way, girlfriends, I hear your pain.

There is however some good news about what we can do to reduce excess estrogen. My friend, Lisa Powell, Director of Nutrition at the fabulous Canyon Ranch resort and spa in Tucson, Arizona, is not just an expert on integrative nutrition as well as preventive and wellness nutrition, but she is a breast cancer survivor. A couple of years ago I had the pleasure of hearing Lisa speak to a group of survivors. In addition to avoiding products with soy, Lisa gave us some rules of thumb for managing our weight and reducing our risk of recurrence.

1. Be as lean as you can, within normal body weight, but not skinny.
2. Be physically active every day, walk 30 minutes, six days a week.
3. Limit sugar, processed foods and fast foods.
4. Eat a diet primarily of plant origin, including berries, nuts and seeds.
5. Limit red meat and processed meats.
6. Limit alcohol consumption.

The issues surrounding breast cancer and estrogen are complex indeed. Now that half of all medical students are women, hopefully more attention will be paid to the cause and effects surrounding women’s health issues. In the meantime, do your best to control your weight, exercise regularly and avoid soy. You may also want to get one of those bumper stickers that warns people, “I’m out of estrogen, and I have a gun.”




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Sunday, January 10, 2010




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Sunday, January 03, 2010


From the second we hear “you have breast cancer,” we begin talking in terms of what stage cancer we have. Stages are assigned according to size of primary tumor, lymph node involvement and whether or not your cancer has spread but, what if we consider another stage? Stage Now? “Having a life” as opposed to “having cancer.”

Too many of us let our survival mindset be determined by the stage of our cancer, even though many of us know of cases that prove ‘stage’ is not always an accurate predictor of survival. Take Lance Armstrong who in 1996, was diagnosed with Stage IV testicular cancer that had spread to his lungs, abdomen and brain. His doctors gave him less than a 3 percent chance of survival, and we all know chapter and verse of that story! If Lance Armstrong had embraced the odds his doctor’s had given him, it is quite possible he would not have survived.

Instead Lance Armstrong went through the ravaging treatment protocols prescribed by his doctors, and three years later not only won perhaps the most grueling sporting event in the world—the Tour de France—but beat his nearest competitor by 7 minutes, 37 seconds. Now that’s somebody with Stage Now! He has a life to lead, bikes to ride, new and different goals to accomplish. Not only did he refuse to become a statistic, his victory has led the way for all who come after him to strive and survive. His life is one of courage and determination and as his mother says, “make every obstacle an opportunity.”

And so my sisters, YOU are in Stage Now. What are you going to do with it? Are you going to sit in fear of death (we all do that from time to time) or are you going to live the best lives you can?

I challenge you to make a list of the things you’ve always wanted to do but were afraid to try, or were going to do “someday.” Parasailing, learning to play the guitar, apologizing to someone you’ve wronged, learning to dance, visiting another country. Make a list and do them, one by one. You’ve already done the hard part. If you can go through breast cancer, you can do anything!



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