April 20, 2008
11:30 am
Cancer Vocabulary
You know, one would think that after having two parents battle cancer I would be an expert. I’m not. When I start to write about cancer, I could create a book with personal reflection on what the disease has done to change my family’s and my own life, yet when it comes down to actual medical terms, I never cared, so they never stuck. When doctors would start talking all I wanted to know was, “do we have to do chemo?” And “will he/she be able to fight this?” Yet, I feel that I am coming to an age, and our environment is coming to a place where it is imperative to know everything. Now, I want to understand everything. What the hell is CANCER...really?
Cancer: The word cancer refers to changes in the body’s cells that cause them to grow out of control. Cancer can occur in almost any cell, it begins with damaged DNA that controls all cell functions, including when to divide (reproduce) and when to die. When DNA is damaged, cells can divide rapidly or outlive normal cells. Normally the body’s immune system recognizes damaged cells and destroys them. However, if this process does not take place a tumor can grow.
Tumors
Benign: Tumors that are noncancerous. They can grow, but they do not invade surrounding tissues or travel to other areas of the body.
Malignant: Tumors that are cancerous. Very different from normal cells, cancer cells can invade surrounding tissue. They can travel to areas away from the primary site and grow in other regions of the body.
Metastasis: When malignant tumors have spread to other parts of the body. Cancer cells often travel through the bloodstream or through the lymph system to other parts of the body where they begin to grow and replace normal tissue. This spreading process is called metastasis.
Even when Cancer has spread to different parts of the body it is still named for the place in the body from where it started. Breast cancer that has spread to the liver is called metastatic breast cancer, not liver cancer.
According to the American Cancer Society half of all men and one-third of all women in the United States will develop cancer during their lifetimes. “The risks of developing most types of cancer can be reduced by not smoking, limiting time in the sun, being physically active and eating a better diet …”
I hated hearing this last part from doctors. That’s it?! Neither of my parents smoked, they were both incredibly athletic, and always ate well. The truth is they don’t know what causes cancer yet. If Superman existed he would probably be getting a second opinion at Stanford right now.
Resources:
American Cancer Society: http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CRI/content/CRI_2_4_1x_What_Is_Cancer.asp?sitearea=
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Lets talk about BOOBS
April 19. 2008
TOUCH YOUR BOOBS, that is all I have heard since my Mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Funny thing though, although I am a hypochondriac about everything else related to cancer, I almost NEVER touch my boobs. I hate touching them. First of all, I have fibrocystic breast, which means that they are already lumpy... I can't tell one bump from the rest. I want to touch my breast, I want to want to touch my breast, but I don't. I don't feel like I could memorize the bumps, much less notice if one was abnormal or not.
I found this link on how to give oneself a breast exam, and it has great diagrams, which I am going to follow and record tonight.
http://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/testing/self_exam/bse_steps.jsp
Attached are pictures that I was taking at Victoria’s Secret before I got kicked out. As I watch my Mom lose all attachment to her breasts, it is incredible to me how much emphasis society puts on women and the beauty of their breasts. My poor boyfriend told me that my breasts were perfect only to hear a twenty-minute rant on how I wish I could get them removed. The fact is I hate breast, and the risks and discomfort they impose. I am a AA cup size, and have worn training bras all my life; I didn't even fit into a single bra at Victoria’s Secret. My Mom has talked about her insecurities when dating, and how she is going to explain the scars that have replaced where her size D boobs once sat. Although she did buy some fake rubber boobs that go into a bra, my Mom has been one hundred percent happier with those things gone. She was so amazing through the entire process. I mean right before the mastectomy she threw a bye, bye boobies party. Incredible! The experience of my Mom's cancer and my Dad's were very different.... very, very different.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Cancer is Emotional
April 18, 2008
When agreeing to write about my experience with Cancer, I didn’t even contemplate the idea of this being a difficult subject to reflect on. I mean I’ve been talking about cancer since I was 16. Yet, I have found that even with a thousand thoughts, memories, and facts all running through my head I can barely contain it all long enough to convey my experience. I am finding that when I start to write something, my automatic reaction to the subject of cancer is anger and hurt. To be completely honest, I’ve seemed to have blurred a lot of it out. This surprised me because I was very confident that I didn’t have lingering unresolved issues with my Dad’s passing, or the experience that my Mom had triumphed through.
I’ll feel one way about what cancer and my experiences represents to me, and then completely different a day later. Sometimes I am mad, hurt, sad, and resentful. Other days I feel empowered, proud, and even thankful for the lessons cancer has given my family and me. I guess the hospice nurse was right, cancer does make your life a “wave” of emotions. It sneaks up on you when you’re not looking and changes everything– executing its damage then leaving you to make sense of the whole mess. Even when I think I understand, and think I have moved on, new things come to light for me. As I grow older it means different things to me, and I begin to have multiple perspectives.
I was beginning to get emotional today, sifting through images of my family on a trip to Wyoming, and attempting to make this journal entry. I put down the pictures and drove to my campus library to study and get my mind off of cancer for a while. Upon walking through the doors of the Library I ran into a wall decorated with a tribute to Breast Cancer awareness set up by a Sorority. I started crying right then and there. I don’t know why, but while I consider that I’ve moved on, it will always be emotional. Cancer is emotional.
When agreeing to write about my experience with Cancer, I didn’t even contemplate the idea of this being a difficult subject to reflect on. I mean I’ve been talking about cancer since I was 16. Yet, I have found that even with a thousand thoughts, memories, and facts all running through my head I can barely contain it all long enough to convey my experience. I am finding that when I start to write something, my automatic reaction to the subject of cancer is anger and hurt. To be completely honest, I’ve seemed to have blurred a lot of it out. This surprised me because I was very confident that I didn’t have lingering unresolved issues with my Dad’s passing, or the experience that my Mom had triumphed through.
I’ll feel one way about what cancer and my experiences represents to me, and then completely different a day later. Sometimes I am mad, hurt, sad, and resentful. Other days I feel empowered, proud, and even thankful for the lessons cancer has given my family and me. I guess the hospice nurse was right, cancer does make your life a “wave” of emotions. It sneaks up on you when you’re not looking and changes everything– executing its damage then leaving you to make sense of the whole mess. Even when I think I understand, and think I have moved on, new things come to light for me. As I grow older it means different things to me, and I begin to have multiple perspectives.
I was beginning to get emotional today, sifting through images of my family on a trip to Wyoming, and attempting to make this journal entry. I put down the pictures and drove to my campus library to study and get my mind off of cancer for a while. Upon walking through the doors of the Library I ran into a wall decorated with a tribute to Breast Cancer awareness set up by a Sorority. I started crying right then and there. I don’t know why, but while I consider that I’ve moved on, it will always be emotional. Cancer is emotional.
Cancer Confessions
April 17, 2008
I need to get this off my chest:
Confession #1:
I think I’ve become a hypochondriac. My Great Grandma died of cervical cancer, my Dad died of a rare stomach cancer, my Mom is a breast cancer survivor, and my sister has had pre-cancerous moles removed. CANCER, CANCER, CANCER, CANCER. I’m sick and completely terrified of that six-letter word. I have had three pap smears this year, four blood test, I only use speaker phone when using my cell phone, I am a raw food vegan and I never put my lab top on my lap because I am sure that the radio waves will give me CANCER. I even worry that my worrying too much will inevitably give me cancer. Being so close to cancer has made me completely aware of every part of my body.
I removed nail polish from my toenails only to find them yellow, this sent me into an obsession where I spent two weeks researching nail fungus and remedies; I made an appointment with a foot doctor two hours away only to have him tell me it was the nail polish dying my nail… I still spray my nails with bleach twice a day and rub Vicks vapor rub on them. Literally, I do not miss a single day. I had a tumor removed from my shoulder even though the doctor insisted that it was benign, the stitches have put me out of all physical activities for two-weeks. I have become obsessed with diseases, and I cannot get the idea out of my head until I see a doctor or am tested.
Confession #2:
I was diagnosed maniac depressive after my Dad died. I think it is a total bullshit diagnosis, and every time I step into a psychiatrist, counselor, psychologist, or WHATEVER’s office I envision the Hospice nurse sitting in my living room while my Dad’s body was carried out behind her, telling me that my life was from now on going to be a “wave” of emotions. Her face blurs out, and all I can see is my Dad’s body being carried out of our home–my once family of four home. Every time a friend tries to talk to me about getting help or seeing a counselor my skin starts to crawl.
Confession #3:
After my Dad died it was like I had a constant excuse for everything, and I felt like the whole world played into it. Oh I’m sorry for being late, my Dad died. Oh I couldn’t get around to it, I’m so sorry, my Dad died when I was 16. It was this chip on my shoulder that suddenly demanded empathy whether I wanted it to or not. Freshman year I wanted to ditch class to drive to Tahoe to see my Boyfriend. So I mustered up some tears and told my Professor that I had just found out my Mom had gotten Breast Cancer… “We have been through this before with my Dad passing away so I am just very upset, and cannot be in class today.” He actually hugged me, and wished me the best. Two years later my Mom does have breast cancer, and I can’t help but feel like it is my fault. I told her this in the hospital after her mastectomy, and of course she laughed, but really, I still feel awful.
Confession #4:
Everyone says that my Dad is still watching me from “above.” I have never felt that this is true, my dad is dead and if he were watching me, I’m pretty sure he would not approve.
Storybook Beauty
A Personal Narrative
by Whitney Aiken
Personal Narrative
San Luis Obispo…it is a sheltered community set outside of the real world. It is beautiful, expensive, safe, and fun. I feel very fortunate to have grown up there. It is a fairly progressive community with Cal Poly bringing educators and students to the area, while also being well preserved and protected by the older generations that never left. It is actually a lot like Monterey, Carmel or Pacific Grove, with its storybook beauty and middle to upper class residents. Also, much like Salinas or Watsonville, there was Santa Maria and Atascadero on the outskirts of San Luis Obispo, with more affordable housing where lower income families could commute.
My Dad was head of the psychology department at Cal Poly, and my Mom was a rehabilitation counselor. My family was never wealthy, but comfortable. Both my parents worked with troubled individuals, so since a very young age both parents have emphasized the importance of recognizing how a lot of people struggle in this world, and that it is imperative to give back or help as much as possible.
I lived in a middle class neighborhood next to Cal Poly when I was in elementary school. The neighborhood was primarily retired couples, so my sister and I received a lot of attention for being the only kids in the area. We moved to a property out by Edna Valley when I was in the sixth grade. We built a house on six acres, and my Dad started a vineyard. Our house was the smallest on the block surrounded by mansions. We were a small humble family surrounded by wealth, but my dad was more interested in the wine and vineyard aspect of the property then a flashy home. I always felt an inch of humiliation creep over me when friends would have to drive by the enormously extravagant houses only to pull into the driveway of our un-landscaped humble home.
When I was in the seventh grade my Dad was diagnosed with Cancer. Yes C-A-N-C-E-R! Originally the diagnosis was that he had two weeks to live, but he held strong for three years after that. This completely changed everything. We ended up having to sell the vineyard and move into town because my Dad wasn’t able to help my Mom take care of the winery. To be completely honest, I don’t remember very much of life in San Luis Obispo after that. It consisted of going to the hospital at lunch instead of off with my friends, and both my parents gone for months at Stanford while my sister and I would stay with relatives. It was close calls, to remission, to relapse, Thanksgiving dinners in a box, and plastic Christmas trees in hospital waiting rooms. It was actually spending a lot of time at the Stanford Hospital that got me into art. I used to walk the halls just staring at the artwork, and I would draw in the ICU waiting room. My Dad was very into photography, and right before passing he gave me his old camera, which pointed me in the direction of photography.
It is actually really bizarre to write about San Luis Obispo, because I felt so outside of everything when my Dad was diagnosed. It just completely took over our lives, really that entire three years is a blur. When my Dad passed away my sophomore year of High School, we were living a block away from my School. It is this total “Leave it to Beaver” neighborhood with retired couples. We had this white picket fence, a red door, shutters, and vines growing up the walls. Really it was the perfect move for my parents while my Dad was sick, and continues to be perfect neighborhood for my Mom. The neighborhood has this real sense of community, there is actually a neighborhood mayor, and newspaper, and everyone knows what everyone else is doing. It drove me crazy when I was in High School, but I can appreciate it now that my Mom lives there alone, and I know she always has people around.
So after my Dad passed away I flipped, I freaked out! I signed up for foreign exchange in Panama, I mean anything to get me away from the emptiness that plagued my house. I found it so bizarre how something could go so wrong, that someone so important could be missing yet the world just carries on. I felt like I was going in slow motion while the rest of the world was in fast forward, and I could never catch up, never enjoy the parties, the dances; I felt outside of everything and alone, very alone. When my Dad died, so did the security he brought. It was like my Mom didn’t know how to be a Mom without him. I had no rules, we both just carried on in our own isolated worlds. So with images of perfect waves and a new family, six months after my Dad passed away, I signed up for a year in Panama. As soon as I got there every inch of me knew it was the wrong decision, it was too soon, and all I could think about was leaving my Mom alone. Instead of finding a new family to replace what I had lost, I had distanced myself from the only family I had left. I ended up switching families three times, and getting a bacterial infection in my eyes, I lasted six months before coming home.
I remember the plane landing and thinking that San Luis Obispo had somehow changed. The town, which I previously felt alone and detached, suddenly felt like home. Coming back from Panama was a big shock, suddenly I realized how privileged my community was, and how many people take things for granted. My Mom and I spent the next year and a half of High School coming to terms with losing my Dad. I was trying to be a normal High School kid, and enjoy our new life together.
November 2006 my Mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Yet again, my entire world came crashing down around me. This last November she had a double mastectomy, and has been cancer free ever since (knock on wood). It still feels weird to actually say it out loud. Both parents aren’t supposed to battle cancer, I mean I thought this shit only happened in the movies. It’s not supposed to happen in real life, much less to me. Yet, every time I start to feel victimized, I remind myself that everybody has faced struggles in their life. Everyone has or will experience loss, and it is just a part of life. If I have learned anything from my parents, and their battles with cancer, it has been to never feel sorry for myself. And that it is absolutely necessary to recognize and understand that EVERYONE is or has battled something hard in their life…because this is life.
My father passing away, my experience in Panama, and my Mom battling breast cancer are the two things that shaped my growth the most. Primarily, I learned that I have the strength to get through anything, and the importance of family. I would say that out of all of the hospitals my family was in and out of for three years, that they are the institutions that I respect and fear the most. Hospitals have represented the best and worst moments of my life, but I will always owe my introduction to art to Stanford Hospital.
by Whitney Aiken
Personal Narrative
San Luis Obispo…it is a sheltered community set outside of the real world. It is beautiful, expensive, safe, and fun. I feel very fortunate to have grown up there. It is a fairly progressive community with Cal Poly bringing educators and students to the area, while also being well preserved and protected by the older generations that never left. It is actually a lot like Monterey, Carmel or Pacific Grove, with its storybook beauty and middle to upper class residents. Also, much like Salinas or Watsonville, there was Santa Maria and Atascadero on the outskirts of San Luis Obispo, with more affordable housing where lower income families could commute.
My Dad was head of the psychology department at Cal Poly, and my Mom was a rehabilitation counselor. My family was never wealthy, but comfortable. Both my parents worked with troubled individuals, so since a very young age both parents have emphasized the importance of recognizing how a lot of people struggle in this world, and that it is imperative to give back or help as much as possible.
I lived in a middle class neighborhood next to Cal Poly when I was in elementary school. The neighborhood was primarily retired couples, so my sister and I received a lot of attention for being the only kids in the area. We moved to a property out by Edna Valley when I was in the sixth grade. We built a house on six acres, and my Dad started a vineyard. Our house was the smallest on the block surrounded by mansions. We were a small humble family surrounded by wealth, but my dad was more interested in the wine and vineyard aspect of the property then a flashy home. I always felt an inch of humiliation creep over me when friends would have to drive by the enormously extravagant houses only to pull into the driveway of our un-landscaped humble home.
When I was in the seventh grade my Dad was diagnosed with Cancer. Yes C-A-N-C-E-R! Originally the diagnosis was that he had two weeks to live, but he held strong for three years after that. This completely changed everything. We ended up having to sell the vineyard and move into town because my Dad wasn’t able to help my Mom take care of the winery. To be completely honest, I don’t remember very much of life in San Luis Obispo after that. It consisted of going to the hospital at lunch instead of off with my friends, and both my parents gone for months at Stanford while my sister and I would stay with relatives. It was close calls, to remission, to relapse, Thanksgiving dinners in a box, and plastic Christmas trees in hospital waiting rooms. It was actually spending a lot of time at the Stanford Hospital that got me into art. I used to walk the halls just staring at the artwork, and I would draw in the ICU waiting room. My Dad was very into photography, and right before passing he gave me his old camera, which pointed me in the direction of photography.
It is actually really bizarre to write about San Luis Obispo, because I felt so outside of everything when my Dad was diagnosed. It just completely took over our lives, really that entire three years is a blur. When my Dad passed away my sophomore year of High School, we were living a block away from my School. It is this total “Leave it to Beaver” neighborhood with retired couples. We had this white picket fence, a red door, shutters, and vines growing up the walls. Really it was the perfect move for my parents while my Dad was sick, and continues to be perfect neighborhood for my Mom. The neighborhood has this real sense of community, there is actually a neighborhood mayor, and newspaper, and everyone knows what everyone else is doing. It drove me crazy when I was in High School, but I can appreciate it now that my Mom lives there alone, and I know she always has people around.
So after my Dad passed away I flipped, I freaked out! I signed up for foreign exchange in Panama, I mean anything to get me away from the emptiness that plagued my house. I found it so bizarre how something could go so wrong, that someone so important could be missing yet the world just carries on. I felt like I was going in slow motion while the rest of the world was in fast forward, and I could never catch up, never enjoy the parties, the dances; I felt outside of everything and alone, very alone. When my Dad died, so did the security he brought. It was like my Mom didn’t know how to be a Mom without him. I had no rules, we both just carried on in our own isolated worlds. So with images of perfect waves and a new family, six months after my Dad passed away, I signed up for a year in Panama. As soon as I got there every inch of me knew it was the wrong decision, it was too soon, and all I could think about was leaving my Mom alone. Instead of finding a new family to replace what I had lost, I had distanced myself from the only family I had left. I ended up switching families three times, and getting a bacterial infection in my eyes, I lasted six months before coming home.
I remember the plane landing and thinking that San Luis Obispo had somehow changed. The town, which I previously felt alone and detached, suddenly felt like home. Coming back from Panama was a big shock, suddenly I realized how privileged my community was, and how many people take things for granted. My Mom and I spent the next year and a half of High School coming to terms with losing my Dad. I was trying to be a normal High School kid, and enjoy our new life together.
November 2006 my Mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Yet again, my entire world came crashing down around me. This last November she had a double mastectomy, and has been cancer free ever since (knock on wood). It still feels weird to actually say it out loud. Both parents aren’t supposed to battle cancer, I mean I thought this shit only happened in the movies. It’s not supposed to happen in real life, much less to me. Yet, every time I start to feel victimized, I remind myself that everybody has faced struggles in their life. Everyone has or will experience loss, and it is just a part of life. If I have learned anything from my parents, and their battles with cancer, it has been to never feel sorry for myself. And that it is absolutely necessary to recognize and understand that EVERYONE is or has battled something hard in their life…because this is life.
My father passing away, my experience in Panama, and my Mom battling breast cancer are the two things that shaped my growth the most. Primarily, I learned that I have the strength to get through anything, and the importance of family. I would say that out of all of the hospitals my family was in and out of for three years, that they are the institutions that I respect and fear the most. Hospitals have represented the best and worst moments of my life, but I will always owe my introduction to art to Stanford Hospital.
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