Turkey Kid Art

When I drop Emma off at her school in the mornings, I sometimes hang around the halls and take pictures of the great student work posted on bulletin boards outside the classrooms. These Thanksgiving turkeys were created by one of the first grade classes at Emma's elementary school. (Titles are mine.)

Happy Belated Thanksgiving to all!



A 'Holiday Too Late' Thanksgiving Turkey



A 'Holiday Too Early' Thanksgiving Turkey



'Mardi Gras' Thanksgiving Turkey



'Camo' Thanksgiving Turkey



'The FUN in dysfunctional' Thanksgiving Turkey



'Midwestern' Thanksgiving Turkey



"Brazil 1968" Thanksgiving Turkey

A Year Ago (Part 3) Give it up for Lymphoma!

This is my last "one-year" retrospective entry. These are things I wanted to write about a year ago, but the events were just too real to share. I tell this story now because perhaps others that have been diagnosed with a life threatening disease can take comfort in hearing my story....in knowing that we all share similar experiences and that we/you are not alone.

After receiving the shocking news that I had cancer, I had to wait to find out exactly what TYPE of cancer I had. The doctors could see that the tumor was cancer, but they couldn't tell us exactly the kind of cancer. Knowing the type of cancer is crucial. Not all cancers are the same. Some cancers have better survival rates than others. In my case, my life was in the balance as we waited to hear if I had liver cancer (very bad) or lymphoma (not as bad).

We waited 5 days for the definitive diagnosis from the lab. This is the story of those 5 long day in October 2008...

We spent the night of my biopsy in the Baylor Hospital Hotel in Dallas. The next day we drove back to Austin which is about a 3 hours drive. It was a quiet trip. David and I didn't say much. I was still recovering from the procedure and I still had the pain in my abs. I was hurting. I wasn't sure if the pain was coming from the biopsy or the tumor in my liver. Emotionally, I was numb. I simply did not have the energy to process the news that we had been given.

On the way home, we stopped in Waco at some random restaurant along I-35. We happened to pick a restaurant filled with older people. As I poked at my food, I started looking around and getting very angry.

Over there, I see an older couple. They look like grandparents. I feel myself starting to get angry. Why do they get to grow old? Why do they get to see their grandkids? It is just not fair. I want to grow old too. I want to get gray and feeble too. Why do those people get to be old and I don't.

Nothing seemed fair at this point. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was the injustice of not having what everyone seemed to have: a life expectancy longer that 3 months.

There is probably some academic article or even a self-help book out there that describes the stages one goes through when faced with a life threatening disease. I just bet the stages are something like shock, denial, anger, resignation. So I went through the "anger" stage sitting in that restaurant in Waco. We got back in the car and I moved on to (quiet) "resignation" stage.

We arrived in Austin and picked up Emma at my mom's house. At this point, the only people who knew were David's family. I had not told my mother yet. I wanted to tell her in person. In fact, the process of telling others was very, very painful. I dreaded telling anyone because the diagnosis became more real with each conversation. Some of my very best friends were the last to get the news. Oddly, there was an inverse relationship: the closer the person, the harder to share the news.

So, given that my mother is one of the closest people in my life, telling her the news was very, very hard. My mother and I speak both English and Spanish to each other. I even eke out a little French with her if we are trying to keep something away from Emma. If I stopped and thought about it, I could probably come up with our linguistic rules, that is, when we decide to speak English and when we decide to speak Spanish. In this case, I told my mother I had cancer in English. She responded in Spanish. I remember cradling her in my arms like my old child and listening to her sob in Spanish, "No puede ser. No puede ser." (It can't be. It can't be.)

What do you do while you are waiting to hear how long you get to live? Well, during those 5 days, David and I went to lunch a lot. We went to some new restaurants in East Austin. I remember really enjoying my food and staring at the color of the napkins. I love red, deep rich red. How I wish I could enjoy red just a little bit longer. I was struck by how normal everything seemed around me. It was all a bit surreal.

You also call on your friends, some of whom may be rebbetzins and rabbis to help you through these times. You reflect on your life and you let go of old hurts and forgive. You think about what your have done. What you haven't done. What you wish you could still do.

Finally on October 31, Halloween no less, we got a call from Baylor. As the nurse started talking, I just held my breath. I closed my eyes very, very tightly as she started to say the words. I was hoping, hoping, praying, and then hoping again. Then I heard her start to say the "L" of the the first syllable followed by the rest of the word. "Lymphoma. Yes, you have lymphoma!" she said.

I thank her profusely. I put the phone down and yelled, "IT"S LYMPHOMA!" I hugged my mom. I hugged David. David hugged me. My mom hugged David. We did a group hug. My mom and I were crying. Then I forgot about my pain and started dancing and clapping with my hands over my head and shaking my hips, doing what I decided was the "Happy Lymphoma Dance." I am sure it might seem odd to be rejoicing over the news of a lymphoma diagnosis, but at that moment my chances of having the opportunity to grow old were looking good.

This past week, now a year later, David and I both got bifocal glasses. I guess they call them progressives now. I can now read a map and small print on a menu without having to take my glasses off. I also got the results of my latest CT scan. I remain in remission. I have now passed the very important 1 year milestone.

What a blessing to grow old. However, the better gift is liking the idea of growing old.
__________


I took all the pictures in this entry a couple of days ago during a walk on Town Lake in Austin. The leaves and flowers are the deep, rich, red color that I love.

Cha-Cha-Cha

Looks like Barack and Sarah are performing an open break from a cross-body lead on a Cha-Cha. They both have very nice upper body form and foot positioning. Sarah shows good hand styling. I'd like to see more enthusiasm on Barack's face. Overall, good first try. I give them a 9.5.

A 6 year old's election

This is election day! We have all been waiting for this moment for a long time. Emma is in first grade, but that hasn't stopped her or friends from having an opinion. She recently told me that she didn't think McCain should win because "he likes warring." She paused then added, "Mama what is war?" She also told me that other kids in her class said that Sarah Palin "throws books on the ground." She told me that several of her friends dressed up as Sarah Palin for Halloween. I am glad that little girls now have the option of dressing up as a vice-presidential candidate.

A few days ago, Emma and I walked by the assistant principle at her school. After we passed him, Emma whispered in my ear that he was the "Sarah Palin of the school." The kids in Emma's school had a mock election. No surprise that Obama won the election in Emma's Central Austin public grade school.

Today, her school is a polling location. It was buzzing with activity this morning. Voters and poll workers were everywhere. Even a police officer stood watch. I asked if he was there to monitor the election. He said "No." He was just there "to give the school some love." Hmmm.

I call our neighborhood, Obamalandia. Just for research purposes, I recently drove up and down the streets of our neighborhood. Every other house has an Obama lawn sign. I saw only two lonely/brave McCain signs. McCain will win Texas, but Central Austin is as blue as it gets.



I voted last week in Austin's Chinatown. Austin's Chinatown is located in a Hispanic neighborhood in North Austin. Sure, it is really just a strip mall , but all stores in the mall are Asian owned restaurants, clothing stores, grocery stores, etc. Since we are allowed to vote in any early voting location in the Austin, I thought it would be appropriate for me to vote in a polling station where diversity is celebrated.














Emma told me she is an independent voter. She says she votes for the best person, not the party. (I wonder where she heard that?) While Emma is nonpartisan, she never passes up an opportunity to have photo ops with the candidates. Here is Emma with both Obama and McCain last summer at the airport...

A year ago (Part 2)

Please bear with me as I write a few more grey entries about this one-year anniversary of my diagnosis. I am in remission now and feeling great. Things are good, but I must take time to reflect on this milestone.

Now with a year of reflection under my belt, I see that the darkest, blackest moment of cancer survivorship is when one is first given the cancer diagnosis. In everything I have read and experienced, this dreadful moment gets seared on the cancer patient’s mind. The good thing is that the cancer story gets better after you are first given the news….at least if you are a survivor.

On October 26, 2007 at Baylor Hospital in Dallas, I had a liver biopsy on the big, dense mass that took up more than half of the space in my liver. At this point we were all tiptoeing around the word “cancer.” This is a charged word and no one wanted to say it.

I remember lying on the stretcher in the recovery wing of the hospital. I was starting to regain consciousness after the biopsy. I was aware that David was in the room with me. I was barely awake, but I could tell he was restless. I could hear him standing up, walking around, fiddling with my covers, moving the chair, and sitting down again. This is unusual. David usually just sits and reads quietly. Usually I only hear him turning pages.

With my eyes still closed, I sensed something was up. Even his breathing was different. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at him. He held my hand and said, “It’s cancer.” I closed my eyes again and turned away. I tried not to think.

This is what I wrote in my journal sometime in the middle of the night...


“The impossible, the unthinkable. The “it would never happen to me” just happened….Today a liver transplant specialist at Baylor Medical Center in Dallas told me that the pain in my abs (which I thought was the result of too many ab crunches :) is actually a malignant tumor. The tumor is 10 x 18 centimeters.

I am writing on the toilet in the hotel bathroom. It is the middle of the night. David is sleeping. We are staying the hotel located in the Baylor Medical Center.

I can’t believe it, yet I believe it. Perhaps I knew it?

I can’t help reviewing the past year, six months for clues. I go back over being sick at my stomach -- the nausea, the vomiting, the gagging. David wanted me to see a GI specialist. I remember the pain in my abs and the side. I go over and over all of this again-second guessing my previous behavior and thinking “if only.”

Then I attempt to think of the future, the ultimate deadline. I always work well under deadlines. I have so much I want to get done…all those projects that are so important to me. I basically have this driving need to get my things in order. Unlike everyone else in my family who has passed on, I don’t want to leave my droppings for others to clean up.

So, we need to start talking to oncologists. The plan is to attack with chemo. The good thing is that I am youngish (44) and relatively healthy. So they can make me very sick to kill the cancer. There is lots of room to work with. Great.

I, however, am a bit pessimistic. I believe the size of this thing will be hard to beat. It has gotten too much of a head start on me. Which leaves me with the unthinkable, the impossible, the ‘won’t ever happen to me’ possibility of an unexpectedly quick ultimate deadline.”

A year ago (Part 1)

Halloween will never be the same for me now. I was diagnosed with cancer a year ago on October 26. I am in remission now. This one-year milestone is very poignant. At Halloween a year ago I remember smiling and hugging Emma in her pink princess-fairly-ballerina costume thingy; I remember the light-how the gentle warm afternoon sun slowly gave way to the light from carved pumpkins, glow sticks, porch lights, candles, flashlights, and orange Halloween decorations. I remember laughing and talking with friends - it was like a party in motion as the adults slowly walked in groups on the street while the kids squealed and ran from house to house.


And I especially remember hearing the music of a neighborhood musician playing his fiddle on his porch. I remember stopping and listening to the fiddler as if this would be last time I would ever listen to music. I stopped and focused on the man, his fiddle, his porch, and his music. In the background, I could hear the laughter of the kids, the voices of adults. I could feel the warmth of the sun, and see the fall colors of the trees and I wished and prayed that I could have a lifetime of simple pleasures like this night again.


Last night I got to experience Halloween again...everything and everybody came back….the warm sun, the glow sticks, the shadows, the orange decorations, the kids, the party in motion, the “Did you say thank you?” advisories, the great friends, Emma’s pink fairy-ballerina-princess thingy. Even the fiddle man was there for me again. Last night, like I do now when things are especially good, I took a moment to acknowledge the gift of life.

Scott McClellan at Texas State University

I am back. I have been very busy with focus groups plus teaching at Texas State. This week was Mass Communication Week in the School of Journalism and Mass Communication at Texas State University. I spent the whole week attending talks on media related topics.

The keynote speaker was Scott McClellan, the former White House Press Secretary. I wish he would have endorsed Obama at our event instead of on CNN. You can check out the video of his keynote address at Texas State here.

In the video, you can see Scott McClellan's mother, Carole Keeton Strayhorn, walking toward the camera before the talk begins. Carole Keeton Strayhorn was the first woman to serve as the Mayor of Austin. She held that position for three terms. She also ran for Texas governor in 2006.

Throughout McClellan's talk, I enjoyed watching his mother react to McClellan talk. She laughed at his jokes. She seemed quite proud of her son.

After the talk, I bought Scott's book and got his signature. He thanked me for what I do. I liked that.

"...tomorrow I already will be far, very far from you.”

This past weekend I attended the funeral services of Martha Valderrama Knowles, a dear family friend of some eight decades. She died of stomach cancer.

My mother and aunt were childhood friends with Martha and her twin sister, Malena in Mexico City. As they tell it, the Valderrama twins and my mom and aunt, the Garcia de Mendoza girls, would roller skate around the neighborhood after school. Their route took them up and down Laurel Street in the Colonia Santa Maria La Ribera, a residential neighborhood in the heart of Mexico City. It was the 1940’s.

My mother’s family lived less than half a block away from the Valderrama family. Both families adored music, culture and the arts. My grandfather, a philosophy professor at UNAM and the Director of the Conservatory of Music, was Malena and Martha’s music teacher. Malena is a talented pianist in Boulder. She credits my grandfather with inspiring her musical career.

The girls were not only schoolmates, but also their parents were friends too. I have heard about those evenings so long ago when the two families would gather at one of the homes to eat dinner and to listen to recorded music of the great masters: Chopin, Bach, Mozart, etc. In my mind I can see the sepia-toned image of my grandparents, my mother, my aunt and uncle as children along with Valderrama family all sitting around the hi-fi stereo listening to records.

Life took my mother and the Valderrama sisters to the United States where they married American men and raised American kids. In the late 1960’s, Malena and Martha were living in Colorado when my uncle in Mexico was shopping around for a graduate school in the US. He decided to study physics at the University of Colorado because of the quality of the physics program and his childhood friends from Mexico were now living in Colorado. It was at this time that my mother and father decided to leave Texas and move to Colorado so that we could live closer to my uncle and the Valderrama sisters. So that is why my mom, dad and I moved to Colorado from Texas in December 1967.

The two families continued to gather in the US. The venue was different, but the appreciation for music and culture remained the same. I remember visiting Malena’s family in Boulder or Martha’s family in Denver. There would be a little bit of operatic singing and lots of beautiful piano music and always the laughter. One Christmas, I remember we ended the evening with a little limbo dancing (a popular Mexican Christmas tradition…just kidding).

Martha sang Bésame Mucho, a classic Latin love ballad, at our wedding in September 2000 in San Francisco. Malena accompanied Martha on the piano. The sisters brought down the house. There were audible gasps from the audience followed by cheers of “bravo” after the song. The clip of Martha and Malena singing at my wedding was played this past weekend at Martha’s service. Audible gasps of appreciation from the funeral audience were again heard at the end of the song.

At our wedding, our officiant said Bésame Mucho would be the lullaby that would cradle the next generation. Bésame Mucho is now our family theme song. When Emma was a baby, I would pull her out of her bath, swaddle her in a warm towel and rock her in my arms as I sang Bésame Mucho. It was our little ritual. To this day, I still help Emma out of the shower, throw a towel around her and try to cuddle and sing a few lines of Bésame Mucho before she’s off and running.

At Martha’s memorial, Gerald, one of Martha’s sons, spoke of his mother’s love for the United States. He told the story how she would say (in a thick Mexican accent), “I love this country and I love working for the government.” Indeed, she worked for a government office in Denver for some 25 years. Lyndon, her other son, told another story when she recently sang the Star Spangled Banner at the grocery store on the 4th of July just to get all the employees and customers into a patriotic spirit.

In addition, to her patriotism, Martha valued hard work, education and the discipline to achieve goals. She would always proudly say (again with the accent) “This is my son, Lyndon, the lawyer” in a way that captures all the optimism and glory of the American dream.

This weekend was a celebration of Martha’s life, of friendships that span decades, and reconnecting with the values of culture, education, and discipline that are both Mexican and American.

Here are the words in English to Bésame Mucho by Consuelo Velazquez

Kiss me, kiss me a lot,
 as if tonight was the last time.
Kiss me, kiss me a lot,
 because I fear losing you, to lose you again.
I want to have you very close,
 to see myself in your eyes,
 to see you next to me.
 Think that perhaps tomorrow I already will be far, 
very far from you.
Kiss me, kiss me a lot,
 as if tonight was the last time. Kiss me, a lot,
 because I fear losing you, to lose you later.

On the First Day of First Grade

Today is Emma's first day of first grade. She was very happy, yet calm and contained about going back to school. Emma announced a couple of weeks ago that she sure liked all the summer camps we planned for her and all, but she was ready to go back to school because she liked to learn.


One of the best parts of parenting is getting to relive childhood all over again through music, cartoons, art, books and toys from our own childhood. However, I am discovering (rather than remembering) Dr. Seuss books with Emma. I am not quite sure how I missed Seuss the first time around, but together, Emma and I are slowing checking out Seuss's collection from the library.


The Seuss books teach many of the values important to us: tolerance, equality, conservation, loyalty, curiosity, and creativity. One of the best lines comes from Ted Geisel's (aka Dr. Seuss) final book, Oh the Places You'll Go. The following charge is fitting for the start of an academic year....





”You’re off to great places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So…..get on your way!







As I return to Texas State to teach in a few days, I think Seuss' message of optimism rings true for me too. I turned 45 about a week ago. This birthday was significant for me. For the first time, I was glad to have the previledge of growing old.

Sarcoidosis in the news

Oh, so now everybody is talking about sarcoidosis, now that Bernie Mac died with complications due to pneumonia. He also had sarcoidosis, but it was in remission. Just a few days ago when I posted my entry about my sarcoidosis, it was a little known disease. Now, because of the press coverage, people are hearing about it for the first time and scrambling to understand. The articles I have read makes sarcoid seem worse than my experience. Perhaps I have a mild case of it. I hope the media spotlight on sarcoid will increase the possibility of research into this disease.

Here are some links for more information about sarcoidosis.

The Sarcoidosis Awareness Network

Sarcoid Networking Association

Janine's Sarcoidosis Outreach & Foundation

"Unremarkable"

I am happy to report that I am “unremarkable.” I now know that in the language of medical reporting, “unremarkable” is good and “remarkable” can mean something very, very bad. So based on the results of my recent PET scan, I remain in remission.

In this first year of remission, I have alternating PET & CT scans every 3 months. My next CT scan will be in October, just short of my 1-year anniversary of my initial diagnosis. My PET scans are always challenging to read because the sarcoidosis in my lungs always shows up and makes it look like I still have still have lymphoma in the lymph nodes around my chest area. Sarcoid what? I know. I never heard of sarcoidosis either until last summer when my pulmonologist did a lung biopsy and found sarcoid in my lungs. (The biopsy was done because I had a “cloudy” chest X-ray result when I went in for a chest cold.)

What is sarcoidosis? It is an autoimmune disease in which tiny granulomas (small inflammations) form on organs of the body, most commonly the lungs (which is where my sarcoid is located). If sarcoid starts affecting the function of the organ, it is treated with prednisone --which is the same steroid that I took as part of my chemo treatment. Prednisone was the “P” in my R-CHOP treatment.

I take lung function tests (PFT-pulmonary function test) at one of the local hospitals every 4 months to make sure the sarcoid is not affected my breathing. So, far my breathing is normal. In fact, this last PET scan showed that the sarcoid in my lungs has gone down (perhaps an unintended positive side effect of the chemo?)

So, last year I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis in July and lymphoma in October. When we visited the lymphoma oncologist at MD Anderson, he told us that he sees quite a few sarcoid/lymphoma patients. He speculated that there might be some sort of relationship between the two diseases, but at this point, he said there is neither money nor prestige in this topic to generate any research interest.

Last fall, I thought my exhaustion and weight loss was because of the sarcoid. I remember searching the web for hours until I found that one sentence in the Internet that said sarcoid symptoms COULD include weight loss and fatigue. I had no idea that my vague feeling of poor health was because of a tumor growing in my liver.

At the end of my chemo treatment in February, I was presented with the possibility of participating in a phase 3 clinical trial with an experimental drug called enzastaurin. This drug is part of a clinical study to investigate the prevention of relapse in lymphoma patients. I was ambivalent about the possibility of taking this experimental drug because of the unknown potential side effects. Fortunately the drug maker rejected me for the study because of my sarcoid. Eli Lilly decided that my PET/CT scans would be too difficult to read and wouldn’t provide clear evidence of the drug’s success. I was very happy that the decision whether to participate in the clinical trial was made for me.

I haven’t used a comb or brush since November. My hair is still too short to brush. It is incredibly curly now. Some friends gave me a few barrettes for my short hair to up my “sass.” I am just happy it is my hair that is remarkable, not my PET scan.



Here is a picture of me with my wig off back in April with Dr. Fain, my oncologist.This doctor, along with the wonderful team of oncology nurses at Southwest Regional Cancer Center, together with R-CHOP chemo and lots of prayer from three major world religions made it possible for me to sit cancer free at my computer this very moment.

Pixie Dust and Pink Jellies

With one day left in Vermont, David, Emma and I decided to go for a walk in the forest. Forests are so calming and relaxing yet mystical and spooky. I love feeling both tranquil and alert at the same time.


We parked our car by a lake. Emma had her sweet, little pink jelly shoes on. We made her change into her sneakers before heading into the forest. Just as I was ready to put her slippers into the car, I decided to take them on a photo shoot in the forest. It seemed fitting that beautiful slippers that looked like they came off the feet of a princess fairy would be found deep in the forest. As we walked under the thick canopy of the greenery, I told Emma to watch for all the fairies who were hiding in the shadows. Emma is a big fan of fairies and I do what I can to keep that imagination alive. I said, “Let’s sprinkle a little pixie dust to see how many places we can find some jeweled pink slippers.” These are some of the images from our walk…