Why I'm Going To Be A Great Mom

I announced a while back that my husband and I are pursuing surrogacy as a means to become parents. While most people are supportive of this decision, there are still some who disagree with our choice for various reasons. Needless to say, we made this decision after careful thought, consideration and discussion. We have no doubts about our capabilities. Still, I could hear some of the opposing questions in the back of my mind. “Aren’t your lives hard enough already?” “What if your disease takes a turn for the worst?” “Are you physically capable of caring for a child?” Then I came across an article that will hopefully help to put those questions to rest.

The September 5, 2010 issue of Parade magazine included a cover story called Miracle Mom. It tells the story of a woman who has a severe neuromuscular disease, which makes her bones extremely weak and brittle and her lungs prone to infection. She has never walked and her bones have never borne weight. So, obviously when she found out she was pregnant, there was some concern.  There was the possibility that she could pass on her disease to her child, her bones and lungs could have collapsed from the added weight of the baby and the baby could have been born premature, to name a few. Still, she and her husband decided to start a family, and it all turned out all right.

She made it through two pregnancies without incident and credits her husband for their success as parents. Since there are many things that she couldn’t do physically, her husband had to perform double duty, filling in where she could not. They adjusted their schedules and their lives to accommodate the changes and she feels her children are stronger and more independent and compassionate because of her disease.

I decided after reading this article that I would keep it close by as a reminder that we’ve made the right choice. There are many similarities between this woman and myself. I, like her, will not be able to lift my child in and out of the crib, nor will I be able to “run” around with him/her as much as I’d like. But as the article states, that’s not the mark of a good mother. I have a wonderful, devoted husband who has enough energy for both of us and we are blessed with a huge, loving, hands-on family. And, I am, like her, pretty feisty too and choose to live my life on my terms.

Our child is desperately wanted and will have, not only our love, but also the love of our larger than life family, which includes countless cousins to play with, aunts and uncles with hearts of gold, active grandparents, dogs and cats trained to tolerate ear/tail pulling and extended family in every corner of the state. He/she isn’t even close to being born yet and already has love and support beyond what many children receive in their entire lifetime. I’d say that’s a pretty good start.

So, yes, I’m going to be a great mom, regardless of cancer and crappy treatment side effects, with or without hair, in spite of and perhaps because of every obstacle thrown at me – and I can’t wait!

Thirty

There is a day that exists in the not so distant future. It has been fast approaching for some time now. This day and the moments leading up to it are filled with anxiety, excitement, fear, and celebration. It will be a regular day for most of you, but so much more for me. The date is February 9th and it is my 30th birthday. 

Thirty is something my friends fear. I've listened to them complain about getting closer to it with child-like disgust, as if it has cooties. I suppose I would too, if it weren't for my mortality being shoved in my face every second. Then again, I've never been the kind of person who places emphasis on such things. I'd like to think that non-cancer Tracy would float gracefully into thirty, looking forward to a new decade of lessons and wisdom. She wouldn't get caught up in the "I'm getting older, it's the end of the world" mind game. In fact, her life would be so busy with a career and children that she wouldn't even have time to ponder something as insignificant as age. But non-cancer Tracy is fictional and it's cancer Tracy that is turning thirty in twenty-two days. 

The truth is, thirty is a little frightening for me too. But not because I'm worried about the early signs of aging or that I'm afraid of getting old. The numbers three and zero together don't threaten me because I'm entering another decade; they threaten me because it's a decade that, statistically, I shouldn't be entering. Thirty, for me, means wondering how many years are left. Thirty is one year away from the five year mark - the statistical mark that most stage IV women never make it to, and even fewer make it past. Thirty represents a parallel of unyielding happiness and overwhelming fear. 

And so, cancer Tracy will handle this birthday quite differently, because she's had plenty of time to listen to the little voice in the back of her head. The one that's wondered for three and a half years if she'd even make it this far. Cancer sucks in so many ways that I could never use enough horrible words to express it, but cancer is the reason this birthday is so meaningful. Because of cancer, thirty is something I will embrace with open arms. I will clutch it in the deepest trenches of my being. I will savor every sweet moment that thirty has to offer. It isn't a birthday, it's a victory - like reaching the top of a mountain that everyone said you couldn't climb. Thirty is my golden globe and I will display it as such. 

Thirty is also a beginning, a new era if you will. My thirties will be the decade of my dreams coming true and an extension of the things I've already achieved. I decided early on that thirty was a number I had to get out of my head if I planned on getting to forty. And I do plan on getting to forty. Because I believe that if life can change so suddenly and dramatically for the worse, it can also do the same for the better. Hell, I've already defied statistics. Here's to many more years of better.

Happy Birthday to me!

Paint The Town Pink

It’s that time again. October is rolling around. That means pumpkins, children dressed up for Halloween and the cool crisp air of autumn afternoons. These are all things I look forward to every year. But for me, as a breast cancer patient, October is tainted with a million pink reminders of my disease. It has already begun. Store shelves are filled with items bearing the infamous pink ribbon, promising to donate a portion of the proceeds from the sale to either Susan G. Komen or some unknown cancer foundation. To the average person this seems wonderful, but to a large number of young breast cancer patients like me, this is highly depressing and offensive.

There are a few reasons that I despise the pink ribbon and its message, the first being that it’s a constant, in-your-face reminder of the most horrible thing that has ever happened in my life. Imagine if every year for an entire month, domestic violence or rape victims were bombarded with the face of their attacker. It may seem like a harsh comparison, but that’s just how it feels to be a breast cancer patient in October. Another reason I am offended by the pink ribbon is that I disagree with what it represents. The awareness campaign began in 1985 and was started by AstraZeneca, a drug company which manufactures the breast cancer drugs Arimidex and Tamoxifen. It made sense back then. In 1985 we needed awareness. It’s now 2010 and unless you live in a hobbit hole I’m pretty sure you’re well aware of breast cancer. What we need today is a real, non-toxic, tangible treatment and cure. And possibly my biggest reason for being against the pink ribbon is the sheer exploitation of my illness. Companies slap the pink ribbon on their product as a way to boost sales by playing on people’s emotions and fears. The percentage of the sale that actually goes to cancer organizations is tiny at best.

But, while there are many organizations that aren’t directly helping cancer patients, there are also several that are. My absolute favorite is The Pink Daisy Project. Founded by Debbie Cantwell who is a breast cancer survivor and fellow member of the YSC, The Pink Daisy Project has been able to help countless women all over the country with everyday necessities like housecleaning, groceries and prescription costs and was a recent recipient of a Pepsi Refresh grant. And when Debbie heard about a young woman who was about to be homeless just 2 days after receiving chemotherapy, she decided to help her even though she had no donation money left. With the help of the YSC sisterhood, Debbie’s Pink Daisy Project was not only able to keep this woman from being evicted, but also received enough donations to continue to help other women in need. They even sent me free hats when I started to lose my hair. If you really want to help a woman with breast cancer, leave the pink soup can on the shelf and consider donating directly to this great organization.

And speaking of the YSC, it wouldn’t hurt to donate to them as well. The Young Survival Coalition is an organization dedicated entirely to young women (under 40) with breast cancer. The YSC was the very first resource I found as a newly diagnosed patient and it has been an invaluable tool in guiding me through this journey. I have conversed with countless women through the YSC forum, all of whom I consider to be friends, though we’ve never met. We share something that only women with breast cancer can understand and I wouldn’t be the informed and well adjusted person that I am today without their support. There is also a great organization that I just learned about today called Movable Feast, who provides free meals to people living with AIDS and other life-challenging conditions, such as cancer. It may sound simple, but fulfilling a basic need by providing a meal can be the difference between a good day and a bad day for someone dealing with cancer.

These are just an example of some of the wonderful groups that are directly helping women with breast cancer in real time. When you donate to them, you know exactly where your money is going and you’re able to see real results. As a young breast cancer patient on the front lines of this disease, I’d much rather see people supporting these organizations rather than buying a pink water pitcher. Please think before you pink!