Brenda's Blog: A Guide to Surviving Breast Cancer

Diagnosed by My Little Voice

Sunday, August 29, 2010

©Brenda Coffee. All rights reserved.

Other than Minnie Mouse, I was the last one anybody expected to get breast cancer. I was the woman who did everything right: worked out at the gym five to six days a week, rarely ate fast foods, mostly chicken and vegetables, was a perfect size eight, drank in moderation, got my yearly mammograms, and more often than not, did my monthly self breast exams in the shower. It was during one of those monthly, soapy tours that I found the lump: Christmas Eve morning, 2003. With 14 people coming for Christmas Eve dinner, I tabled it in the back of my mind until the next day when I performed a slower, more detailed inspection. Both breasts were dense and usually contained several fibro cystic lumps, but my little voice said this one was different. <PREVIEWEND>

My 2004 New Year began with a mammogram. The doctors said everything was fine. Just one of my usual cysts that came and went. Nothing to worry about… but I did, at every opportunity. I looked for it in the shower, laying down, bending over, at the computer, through the silk robe I sometimes wore while putting on my makeup. The maddening thing about all of my searches was, more often than not, they turned into a game of hide and seek. Yep! I feel it! Oops… Now where did it go? While my pursuits couldn’t be classified as a hobby, I spent much of the next six months obsessed with trying to find “it.” All the while, my little voice told me all was not well with my breast.

In July 2004, I scheduled another mammogram. When my doctor called and said nothing’s changed, it’s fibro cystic, I told him I didn’t care what the mammograms said. I wanted it out. Three days later, my husband and my wife-in-law (James’s former wife) Joy, and I all trooped to the hospital. Joy and I even joked with the woman at the admitting desk about the surgeries from Hell you hear about on the news where the wrong leg is amputated. We laughed as I marked an “X” on my breast with a ballpoint pin to make sure the correct breast was biopsied.

The next thing I remember, James, Joy and my doctor were standing beside my bed. “It’s breast cancer,” my doctor said. I was still semi-stupefied from the anesthesia, and James and Joy stood expressionless, frozen in time like familiar figures in a wax museum. My doctor had a concerned expression as he gave me the news. “I told her it was fibro cystic,” he’d told his assistants in the operating room. Then he cut out the cyst, and there “it” was… hiding underneath. I’ve never asked Joy, but I now wonder whether her little voice told her she needed to be there for James: to help him pull himself together before they told me.

Fast-forward to September 2008, a checkup with my oncologist. “Go live your life,” he said. “I think you’re going to do great,” to which I responded, “Do you think I need one of those tests to see if I carry the breast cancer gene?” Since I had no family history of breast or ovarian cancer, his answer was no. And so I went home, and like a dog with a bone, I couldn’t leg it go. My little voice told me I needed a BRAC Analysis test, a simple blood test to determine if I carried a gene mutation that would increase my risk of developing breast cancer in the other breast.

The day I went for the test results, I asked James to come with me, because I knew the results before they told me. Sure enough. I was BRCA2 positive, which meant my odds of getting breast cancer in the other breast were something like 84%. Unlike my diagnosis of breast cancer, this news did not scare either one of us. James and I looked at each other and in unison said, “This is a no-brainer!” And so, I had the other breast removed, and thank you, God, we were able to beat breast cancer to the punch.

I believe we all have an inner voice. Some of us are more in tune with it than others, but whether you call it intuition, gut instinct, or the voice of God, it’s there if you know how to be still and listen. My voice is there as surely as I know the sun rises and sets each day. Are you in tune with your little voice? How much time do you spend in silence, each day? No radio, no TV, no iPod tethered to your ears. How do you expect to hear it if you’re not listening?

“Be still and know that I am God.”

Click here for more...

Comments | Make a Comment | 17 Previous comments

What Are You Looking For?

Sunday, August 22, 2010

©Brenda Coffee. All rights reserved.

I’ve always been inexplicably drawn to old churches in the small, hard to reach villages of Mexico. There’s something about the simplicity of these churches that projects a profound poignancy I’ve experienced nowhere else. Absent are the shiny brass offering plates, the leather songbooks full of hope, and in their place stands people resigned to life’s hardships, yet armed with a quiet strength to survive. I used to enter these churches with wonderment and awe, wanting to hear the voice of God or to find some tangible sign God had left for me.

I loved to sit in the confessionals where musty secrets and clandestine sins still hung in the air like death and broken dreams. Countless times I’ve sat on well-worn wooden seats, my fingers rubbing the same edges where centuries of hands before me had asked for atonement and waited for forgiveness. But after a while, I always got up and left. The blatant signs I was looking for weren’t there, plus I didn’t know what to pray or how to ask for them. <PREVIEWEND>

Sometimes I used to watch televangelists like Jim and Tammy Faye Baker and wonder who’d I’d be if I let them bring God into my life. Would I speak in tongues? Would I wear my hair differently? Would I throw my arms in the air when I talked about God and Jesus, and who was God and Jesus anyway, and why did I need them in my life? Frankly, those people on television scared me. They were alien and foreign from anyone else I knew, and so I retreated further into my Godless stance, putting up walls as though giving my soul to Jesus was like surrendering to the Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I now realize I was missing the point. There’s no one “type” of person who believes in God, plus He has made me a better version of myself. I now know what everyone is looking for, that inner piece or inner meaning that is lacking from our lives. I now believe we’ve been designed like an intricate lock on a special door to which only God holds the key.

I’m sad when I hear people say they don’t think God or religion is relevant to their lives. Trust me, I understand. Until 10 years ago, well before breast cancer, I felt the same way. Like a battery winding down, life inherently robs us of our power and our balance, but it’s not a mystery how to find them. We don’t have to go off by ourselves to India in search of a mystic guru. Like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, we’ve always had the power. We just have to say, “Hello, God. I don’t know how to pray, but I want to begin a dialog with you. I need your help. I need your strength.” The rest will come if you open your heart; open your mind. Don’t be afraid of what you’ll find if you open yourself up to Him. Nothing is worse than not finding the one key that unlocks your soul. When we close ourselves off to the possibilities of God, we close ourselves off to all of the possibilities of who we can become and who we will be for eternity.

I have no doubt, there is a God, and He hears our prayers. While He may not answer all our prayers like we want Him to, He hears us. I don’t believe He micromanages our lives either, granting answers for some and nothing for others. I have an Internet friend who’s miscarried three times in the last year, and it would be so easy for her to say, “Why has God let this happen?” While this has rocked her world, I know she will find her footing with God. I also know not everyone is a believer, but regardless, I pray you think about God and the role He plays in your life.

In the Bible, the book of James, chapter 4, and verse 8 says: “Draw close to God, and God will draw close to you.” Like me, in the beginning, you may feel awkward and unsure, like sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, naked and exposed. He is more than God, however. He is your Father and your creator. He has seen you at your best and your worst, and He still loves you. Talk to Him, even if you’re not sure how. He wants to hear from you.

Click here for more...

Comments | Make a Comment | 8 Previous comments

Attack of the 50-Foot Women

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Original theatrical poster by Reynold Brown.

A number of people have asked me why I started BreastCancerSisterhood.com. It began in my friend and family physician’s kitchen while I was still taking chemo. I’d already learned, the hard way, there were many things even the best cancer treatment facilities forget to tell their patients, plus there was little to no support for husbands and children. As a result, I wanted to give newly diagnosed breast cancer patients products like cuticle cream, eye drops, soft tooth brushes and skin cream that would enable them to get through chemo without the problems associated with treatment like painfully dry eyes and bleeding gums, or like my friend who died from a staph infection, not breast cancer, because she cut her cuticles during chemo. That evening in Doctor Jim Martin’s kitchen, we named my idea “Brenda’s Baskets.” <PREVIEWEND>

Just the thought of giving a basket of products to all the newly diagnosed women in San Antonio was overwhelming, not to mention prohibitively expensive, so I met with women who chaired successful nonprofits as well as some of the women who’d brought the Komen affiliate to San Antonio. After months of meetings I was told there were already too many nonprofits with auctions, galas, rides and runs, plus I’d be lucky if I netted 10% from such an event. I was told I’d spend all of my time begging for funding, leaving little time to accomplish my mission of empowering women and families with basic, yet often neglected life-saving information.

Discouraged, I decided to raise money and start a media company to produce online, television and print content for newly diagnosed patients, survivors, husbands/caregivers, children and teens and make them available to everyone over the Internet. I know what cancer families need: I’ve been the child of a parent who died of cancer; caregiver to a husband who died of cancer, and now, I am the cancer Survivor. In addition I am a journalist, a photographer, a filmmaker and a business woman. More than anything, however, I felt like God had opened a door with my name on it. This was what I was supposed to do. The Breast Cancer Sisterhood was my mission.

I took my revamped business plan to a man who’d been a Wall Street corporate raider and had made several fortunes buying companies, breaking them apart and selling them off in pieces. After I’d given him my elevator pitch—he had a short attention span—he looked at me like I’d just tracked dog poop into his office and said, “What’s wrong with you people? I’m sick and tired of hearing about breast cancer. I don’t care about breast cancer! I care about prostate cancer. What are you doing about prostate cancer?” I gave him my best game face, swallowed what I really wanted to say and replied, “I have my hands full with breast cancer, but perhaps you’d like to do something about prostate cancer.”

The next man I talked to bellowed, “Breast cancer! There’s nothing sexy about breast cancer! I know 10 other men in this town worth over $100 million each, and they wouldn’t be interested either. We like to go out on the golf course and brag about our investments to our buddies. ‘Hey! Let me tell you about this great new high tech company. I got in on the ground floor.’ None of us want to say, ‘Let me tell you about this breast cancer company I invested in.’ Besides, we already give to Komen.” Unfortunately, these guys were the norm, not the exception.

That’s when the proverbial rubber met the road: I could wait until the stars and moon aligned themselves with the battered American economy, hopefully opening up more players, or I could do the BreastCancerSisterhood.com myself, and so I did.

I’m doing what I feel I’ve been called to do, and I’m doing it in the best way I know how. I hear from many of you, and I know you’re also doing what you’ve been called to do whether that’s loving one another, raising your children, loving God, blogging about breast cancer, looking for the cure, caring for patients or finding your way out of chemo brain.

Maybe I’m in a militant mood, but I think cancer needs to be attacked by the 50 Foot-Women. Fortunately there’s lots of women out there like Nancy Brinker and all the Komen affiliates and groups like the Mamma Jamma Ride in Austin, Texas. And let’s not forget Hollywood’s movers and shakers—Laura Ziskin, Sherry Lansing, Rusty Robertson and Sue Schwartz—who started the awesome StandUp2Cancer to bring the best cutting edge researchers together to find a cure for all types of cancers. September 10th, check out StandUp2Cancer's second celebrity-packed, music telethon on ABC, NBC and CBS. These are truly women who are 50 feet tall!

So if you’ve got a pocket full of money, but you don’t think there’s anything sexy about breast cancer, I’m praying one of these powerful women picks you up, and like King Kong, holds you in the palm of her hand and shakes some of those reluctant dollars out of your pockets. Then tell me breast cancer’s not sexy!! I’m feeling kind of foxy just thinking about it.

Click here for more...

Comments | Make a Comment | 8 Previous comments

My Friend Susan Pollack

Sunday, August 08, 2010

©Brenda Coffee. All rights reserved.

This week I called my friend, Susan Pollack, only to learn she died a few days earlier. Her husband was audibly grief-stricken. Stunned, and not wanting to invade this private time, I simply told him I loved her. He said, “I loved her, too. She was everything.”

I am devastated, like everyone is who loved and knew Susan Pollack far better than I did. Susan made it easy for you to forget she was living with metastatic breast cancer, that she’d taken chemo for 14 years, repeatedly responding to new chemos when the old ones stopped working. “As long as my doctor’s not worried, I’m not worried,” she would say. The last time we spoke, she was doing well. What I didn’t tell her husband was that I feel guilty, not knowing she was so close to the end; that I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye, or that for the last two weeks my “little voice” has been telling me to call her, but I didn’t. Not until now. Not until it was too late. <PREVIEWEND>

Susan and I met two years ago when she volunteered for a BreastCancerSisterhood.com makeover at Lancôme’s Upper West Side boutique in New York City. From the moment we began talking, I knew she was an extraordinary woman, and from that day on, Susan Pollack and I were friends. After her makeover, Susan and I began to email, and then call one another every few months. Susan was first diagnosed with breast cancer 25 years ago, and her only goal was to see her daughter, Jane, grownup, and she did that and more.

For 12 years, Susan was cancer free, but when given the news breast cancer had returned, she persevered with grace and lived life with kindness and a smile and never once asked, “Why me?” She played bridge and sometimes volunteered at SHARE, a survivors’ resource in New York City that counsels and supports breast and ovarian cancer survivors. She gave hope and inspiration to all who knew her. Words like that are usually said at funerals, tossed about freely like excess crumbs to a flock of hungry birds, but every syllable was true about Susan Pollack. She personified the qualities that make us pleasing in God’s eyes.

Today, one of Susan’s cousins sent me an email. She wrote:

“…The feelings you’re having happen so often when someone we love dies. I feel them about Susan. I, too, feel heartsick. I spoke to her about a week before she died. She was very weak, but her voice had the old Sue timber—rich and vibrant. She was plucky as always. She never complained, never even thought of complaining. She spent the last two months mentally going over in her mind how thankful she was to all the people who had given to her in her life. When told she would die, very soon, she was worried, but not for herself; she was worried for all the things she hadn’t gotten done, including knowing how the Yankees would do! As my mother said, she had greatness in the way she died. Since she lived her life the same way. She was incredibly generous and giving, loving and warm. She was a lovely, lovely human being.”

The day we filmed her makeover at Lancôme was special for all of us. When Susan saw herself in the mirror and, for the first time in 14 years, gave a nod of recognition to the woman she remembered who had hair, eyelashes, eyebrows and a cancer free sparkle in her eyes, everyone, including the cameramen, welled up with tears. Susan beamed from the inside out. Sandy Linter, the iconic and beautiful makeup artist, used to working with A-list top models, photographers and Hollywood stars, asked Susan to get up, turn around and “walk down the runway.” “You’re beautiful,” Sandy told her, and Susan was. Looking back, we should have had a limousine pick her up and whisk her through traffic, stopping along the way to show her new look to the women at SHARE, and then join them all for lunch at some chi-chi New York eatery.

Sue Pollack was a brave, gracious and precious friend. The ultimate role model for how to be a SURVIVOR. That first day we met, I asked her how she dealt with Stage IV breast cancer for so many years, dealing with lymphedema everyday, infections and hospitalizations. She responded, matter of factly, like it was no big deal. “I chose to live a life.” But it was a big deal. Could I do that? Could you? Are you?

Why didn’t I listen to my little voice? How long would a phone call have taken? It’s not like I wouldn’t have known what to say to her. Susan and I always ended each conversation with “I love you,” but somehow, that doesn’t seem enough now, but I do, you know… I love you, Susan.

To read more about Susan Pollack and “We Are Cancer Survivors, Not Cancer Victims.” To see some of Susan Pollack & Sandy Linter’s makeover videos go to “SURVIVORS” and “SELF-IMAGE” on BreastCancerSisterhood.com' HOME PAGE or visit BreastCancerSisterhood’s YouTube page.

Click here for more...

Comments | Make a Comment | 17 Previous comments

Breast Cancer Fatigue

Monday, August 02, 2010

©Brenda Coffee All rights reserved.

One of the biggest side effects of breast cancer treatment is fatigue. I don’t mean you’re going to be tired. I mean it’s the “I can’t even crawl across the room” kind of fatigue, which makes me wonder, who’s the goose who named it “fatigue?” I would have called it catastrophic exhaustion!

Fatigue is something that gradually develops over the course of chemo and/or radiation and is cumulative, which means the fatigue you experience early in treatment may differ from the catastrophic exhaustion you feel on the last day of treatment. Here’s hoping you’re Wonder Woman, and you can just shake those power cuffs in the air and fly through your day. If you can, please bottle it, sell it, and make a bloomin’ fortune. If not, you may need a little help. <PREVIEWEND>

Believe it or not, exercise helps fight fatigue, plus it’s one of the needed components for a healthy immune system. Yes, there will be days you don’t feel like doing anything and days you want to conserve your energy, but try and do a little something each day. If you don’t exercise at all during treatment, you may find it more difficult to resume normal activities when treatment is over. Exercise promotes lymphatic drainage, thereby helping your body rid itself of unwanted toxins and fluids; it relieves depression, reduces stress and rids the body of excess estrogens. IMPORTANT NOTE: For all of us whose breast cancer was estrogen positive, we need to make exercise a permanent part of our daily routine.

During treatment you may not be able to keep your normal schedule, so don’t push it. Listen to your body. There are days you may not feel like getting out of bed, and that’s okay. Sometimes it may help to conserve your energy if you’re planning to attend something important, or you might want to drop in only for a little while. Then there are other times, it won’t matter how much you’ve rested and stayed in bed, you’ll still feel like you’ve been hit by a gravel truck, and that’s normal, too.

One of those zero-energy occasions for me was Monica’s wedding, the wonderful friend who runs my husband’s office. James was walking her down the aisle, and I’d been looking forward to her wedding for months. When the big day arrived, I waited until the last possible minute to get ready, thinking I would conserve my energy all day, but I never even made it to the shower.

Usually my body didn’t give me any advance warning it was about to run out of energy. One of the few days I ventured to the grocery store during chemo, I was halfway down the first aisle when my energy ran out. I don’t mean I was just tired. My energy well was dryer than the Sahara Desert, and I was worried how I was going to get out of the store without crawling on my hands and knees (never mind paying for my things at the checkout counter) make it to the car and drive home. If this happens to you, don’t panic. Stay focused, ask for help if you need it, and know you will be fine. This, too, shall pass.

Sometimes I was so tired and out of energy, I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I wouldn’t wake-up. Seriously. If you’d told me I was about to take my last breath, I would have nodded in agreement. Each time, I’d ask James to lie down beside me and hold my hand, because I didn’t want to “go” alone. Each time, he reminded me this had happened before, and just like the other times, I was going to be fine, and he was right.

On another note, when I was 10, every afternoon the lady who lived across the street used to pay me to bring her bottles of Pepsi from the store. Her idea of exercise was pushing a rolling pin across her thighs while watching The Price is Right. I can only imagine how she’d exercise if she had breast cancer fatigue.

Click here for more...

Comments | Make a Comment | 9 Previous comments

Cinco Vidas

Debbie's Cancer Blog

Divine Caroline

Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer

Rear Window

Diagnosed by My Little Voice

What Are You Looking For?

Attack of the 50-Foot Women

My Friend Susan Pollack

Breast Cancer Fatigue

Previous 1 Next

Brenda's Blog Main Page

Alex's Blog Main Page

Scott's Blog Main Page

Amy's Blog Main Page

Archive

Categories