Call for Nominations

I am finding it hard these days to put Miss Daisy down long enough to write a blog, but for a good and worthy cause, I can find the time to write! I am reaching out to you, my blogger community, today with a very special request that is close to my heart.

Some of you may know, many of you may not know, but in my free time I get a lot of joy from speaking to high school and college students about breast self awareness and my breast cancer journey. I never heard a story like mine before my diagnosis and if I had, I know I would have done things differently. This work, as well as my work with the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure, has gotten me some incredible recognition over the years, everything from days at Fenway Park to cute clothes and pink coffee mugs to some very humbling awards.

Daisy and her LIFE Hero

The one award and recognition that has meant the most has come from the incredible Val Skinner Foundation. In 2009, I was honored as a LIFE hero. LIFE stands for LPGA Pros in the Fight to Eradicate Breast Cancer. Every year the organization hosts a golf outing and luncheon where they raise money for the Val Skinner Foundation’s Young Women’s Initiative. This event was a memory I will cherish forever. The LPGA Pros don’t just lend their name, time, and money to this non-profit, these ladies truly give their hearts and souls to the fight. We cried together, we laughed together, we exchanged so many hugs, and I still keep in touch with this incredible group of committed individuals.

To make the event even more memorable, not only was I honored, but during the awards ceremony the organization makes a point of interviewing and honoring the LIFE Heroes’ friends, family, and caregivers. Big Man was interviewed, Mommy was interviewed. It was so touching to see my story and to hear my loved one’s thoughts on my journey and my strength.  That wasn’t something I had ever heard before. The event is noted as the biggest single-day golf event fundraiser for breast cancer initiatives, and when I was honored in 2009 it raised $500,000 for breast cancer programs. Since its inception in 2000, LIFE has raised more than $7 million for the fight for against breast cancer!

The money that the Val Skinner Foundation raises is being used for a cause that is so close to my heart -  fighting breast cancer and preventing breast cancer in young women. Held at Sebonack Golf Club in Southampton NY June 27th the LIFE Event benefits Susan G. Komen for the Cure^® and the Cancer Institute of New Jersey (CINJ). Val Skinner founded LIFE after the loss of her friend and fellow LPGA golfer, Heather Farr, who died of breast cancer in 1993 at the age of 28. The Val Skinner Foundation is the founding sponsor of Komen On the Go^™, a mobile breast health education initiative. Bright pink Komen On the Go^™ vehicles teach Americans everywhere- at community festivals, public universities, and neighborhood centers - about breast health and empower participants to share information with friends and join the breast cancer movement. In its seven year history, Komen on the Go^™ has visited 597 sites with a total audience of 17.5 million people!   

The Val Skinner Foundation also opened the LIFE Center in 2002 at the Cancer Institute of New Jersey (CINJ). Young women at risk who visit the LIFE Center at CINJ and its six satellite locations in New Jersey area hospitals are counseled on available medical options to manage their risk and are provided with a management plan tailored to their unique level of risk.  In 2008 the LIFE Centers launched a program called BioCONECT, which stands for biology of cancer, on-line education, connecting teens.  This science curriculum uses breast cancer as the context and is designed to be integrated into high school biology courses.  Through hands-on experiments, role-plays, games and cooperative learning activities, the BioCONECT curriculum provides teachers with innovative methods to address state and national science education standards (improves science skills) while increasing breast cancer awareness.

No other group that I have encountered has ever been more focused on educating and empowering young people to take control of their health. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I had been more empowered and fought for a mammogram as soon as I felt a lump. I get choked up and excited when I think about the work this event makes possible! What a beautiful tribute to Heather Farr! I can only hope to be half as honored if I should ever lose my battle!

Now, this is where all of you come in. Each year, the event honors LIFE Heroes, individuals who have demonstrated courage in the face of breast cancer and purpose in the fight against the disease. Do you know of any young woman who has shown inspirational bravery during her fight? Would you like to honor that special young breast cancer survivor with a special award? If so, I’d love your nominations! I want to share this inspirational day with one of my blog readers. Everyday I receive touching emails and comments from all of you. All of you have stories just as powerful as mine. Everyone of you has faced a battle. All of you are incredibly strong. I am humbled to know you, if only virtually. So please, consider nominating a loved one or even nominate yourself! To submit a nomination, send a one page letter (subject:LIFE Hero) to life4yw@aol.com telling us about the young woman and why she represents a LIFE Hero.  Please submit your nominations by Thursday May 19^th.

For more information about the LIFE Event or Val Skinner Foundation call 866-882-LIFE or visit www.valskinnerfoundation.org. Please submit a nomination letter! I am so proud of all of you and I want to share your stories with the world and shout them from the roof tops. Together we can cure this!

Happy Mother's Day.....To Me!

I am so thrilled to introduce to you, my blogger friends, the newest member of the Little Girl-Big Man Family, Daisy!

Daisy & Daddy watch the Celtics defeat the Miami Heat!

She's Perfect!

Daisy is a 12 week old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel and we are just so in love! The past few months have been difficult for me, and Big Man watched all of that first hand. He decided to finally cave and grant me my puppy wish as a way of inspiring me. It might not seem like I need inspiration, but sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am outside of cancer. This little bundle of joy reminded me that I am a wife, and now a "mommy". I have great friends, all of whom have been coming to visit the little one!

I had a very full and active life before cancer, and I need to make sure I remain that same person. I am getting so much joy from nesting and worrying about something other than my health, something as trivial as how long it's been since her last walk or whether to feed her 1/3 cup or 1/2 cup of food! Instead of pouring over cancer research websites, I've been brushing up on Dog Whisperer. I have a set of CT scans coming up next week, and I've barely thought about them. I'm too absorbed in my home life.

So thank you, Big Man, and Happy Mother's Day to me! I promise in front of all the blogsphere that I will never nag the Big Man for anything ever again. I have everything I could ever want! A beautiful husband, a beautiful pooch, a beautiful home, and a loving mom who happens to be my best friend!

Today is good. I hope you all are enjoying your special days. For the mothers who read this blog who also happen to be dealing with a cancer diagnosis...I hope that motherhood allows you to forget the cancer stuff at least for a moment, and focus on what is really important in life, which is to give love and to be loved.

This is not your fault

I know I often put on a brave face here on this blog, but I'm going to be honest for a moment. This Xeloda and Tykerb drug combo is no joke, my friends. I am struggling these days with feeling old - much older than my 27 years. My Xeloda- Tykerb combo is doing some serious damage to my feet. There is nothing quite like literally hobbling around the house to make one feel like a 90 year-old.

Every girl will agree, a great pair of pumps can make even the most tired girl stand taller, look thinner, and feel beautiful. Sadly, I can't even get my aching, throbbing, red, peeling feet into a pair of flats let alone a pair of pumps! I've taken to watching E! news obsessively for hours. I stare enviously at the beautiful starlets in Christian Louboutins on the red carpet. You never see Angelina Jolie hobbling, or wincing in pain, or even stumbling in her heels. I want to throw my slippers at the tv when the latest hot young thing from Hollywood says "Oh yes, I'm wearing Dior and Jimmy Choo!" You know what? I'm wearing Target Fuzzy Socks, thank you very much.

I think I might buy myself a pair of fabulous pumps as motivation for getting better. How much is too much to spend on shoes? Anyone have a pair of Jimmy Choos they want to lend me? I promise I won't actually wear them, I can't actually wear them, but I will put them in front of my bathroom mirror for a daily dose of motivation. I want to get my old acne-free, pump-wearing self back. Like an alcoholic going to sit in a bar on a Friday night, or a woman on a diet heading to the ice cream store, my nightly dates with E! news are not healthy. Looking at The Beautiful People only makes me feel older. Even though the weather is getting more springlike, I'm still a slave to my very unfashionable UGGs; the sheepskin interior is heaven for my peeling feet. Oh, the joys of breast cancer! Thank you, breast cancer, for making me feel like a slob.

The drug insert that comes with my chemo pills mentions this side effect. They gave it a medical name to make it sound more tame and manageable. They call it "hand/foot syndrome." I haven't yet hit the "hand" part of the syndrome, thank god, but the fire in my feet is making me feel "elderly".

For six years of this battle, I have managed to keep my self-esteem up. I always felt like a young lady. I always felt my age and rarely had self-esteem issues. Even after losing both my breasts and my hair, I always had my spunk, but these past two months have been hard. Between the acne-rash on my face and these burning feet, I fear I am losing my sense of self. Remember that I am a walker. I walk the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure every year. I also coach other 3-Day walkers and help motivate them to walk 60 miles. I walked 120 miles in back-to-back events, just three days after getting out of the chemo chair. I may not be able to run around the block, but walking was something I was always able to do. It gave me hope. It empowered me in the midst of my treatment. I love walking. What will I do if I can not walk?

From a practical perspective, we live in the city and I walk everywhere: to the library, to church, to the coffee shop, to the grocery store, to the theater, out to dinner. You don't want to move your car in downtown Boston if you can help it! Now, I can't walk from my bed to the kitchen without pain.

This venting of my Xeloda frustrations was going to serve as a very selfish blog post, but last night, as I was folding laundry and Big Man was grading his students' essays, the old husband gave me another topic to discuss. I tried to stand on my tip toes to reach the fabric softener that is stored in a cute little basket on top of our machines. This is an action I have taken millions of times before without even noting it or thinking of it. This time though, the fire in my feet wouldn't let me accomplish my task. Cancer intervened. I couldn't reach. My toes screamed in pain every time they touched the ground.

I asked the Big Man for help and he did what husbands do everyday...he criticized. He expressed an opinion. An unkind, unsolicited opinion. The very worst kind of opinion: a husband's opinion.

The Big Man asked me in a frustrated voice, "Bridget, have you even been USING that Burt's Bees foot cream?"

Yes, as a matter of fact, I have been, thankyouverymuch. I cover my feet and I put them in socks every morning and every night before bed. The smell of the" healing" coconut oil follows me everywhere I go.

I told him as much and Big Jerk replied, "Well, have you been re-applying? I mean, clearly, you haven't been putting it on often enough. You know, you can't just put it on once and expect it to make a difference."

I'm not trying to throw Big Man under the bus here. Well OK, maybe I am, but more than that, I'm trying to make a universal point by sharing this story. The implication that I might be doing something wrong, that I was doing something to cause this pain in my feet, that this side effect was somehow under my control. Well, that implication made me want to throw the fabric softener bottle, open, right into Big Man's handsome, smug face.

Nothing I can do will make this hand-foot syndrome better. The creams I am putting on will help me to cope, but only going off the drug will heal me completely, and going off these drugs is not an option for me right now. Nothing I did caused the hand and foot syndrome. The drugs caused this. I have learned throughout this cancer journey that I will do my very best, anything less is unacceptable, but I will not beat myself up or feel like a failure for being unable to walk to the kitchen. I'm feeling so sick these days that I'm going to be generous and gentle with myself.

My point is: Remember, people, guilt will get you nowhere. None of this is your fault. Let that thought go. Fight that.

That has been the hardest thought to get out of my head since the moment I was diagnosed. My very first thought was, and still is, "What did I do to deserve this? How could I have prevented this? What do I need to do to fix this?"

I put my UGG boots on earlier this week and hobbled my way to the Boston Public Library to pick up the book The Emperor of Maladies. It talks about why cancer is so darn difficult to cure. Cancer is truly the Emperor, the King, of all illnesses. Did you know breast cancer was first mentioned in ancient Egyptian times? And do you know what they did in ancient Egypt to "cure" breast cancer? Well, they cut off the breast and they treated with a potion of herbs.


We've come a long way, baby! That doesn't sound anything at all like what I'm doing!

My point is, cancer is insanely complicated. We need to respect that and to give ourselves a well-deserved break. After decades of research, we are still unable to find the cause, the smoking gun. Instead of a smoking gun situation, cancer develops in a Murphy's Law type of environment. You may have had a genetic predisposition for developing cancer, but that alone is not a cause. You had something in your body that made you prone to it and then Murphy's Law kicked in. You were exposed to something in your environment, or your immune system was compromised, and your body lost its ability to keep the Stage 0 cancer at bay. Somehow, somewhere, something happened that turned those benign, pre-cancerous things into cancer, but that alone was not a cause. It was an unlucky coincidence, a tragic confluence of events. If you had always exercised and followed a vegan diet, you might have decreased your chances of developing cancer, you might have minimized your risk, but the cancer might have developed anyway.

There is no single moment in time that we can point to and say, "That right there, that did it."

So let that question go. Let the guilt go.

You did not cause your cancer.

The side effects of the drugs you are taking are not your fault.
Don't apologize as you lay across the toilet for the inconvenience that you are causing your family.

Don't play into the Big Man's blame game. He is only expressing his own frustration and sadness.

By all means, do your best in this fight. Bring your A Game. Do all that you can, but stop beating yourself up about this. Eat well, not because you want to cure your cancer or because you think that eating well is going to keep you safe from all the scary things that life throws at you. Eat well because eating well makes you feel better. Exercise because it makes you feel good. Slow down and stop stressing because that is a good thing to do.

When I was first diagnosed, I started eating tons of fish. I stopped drinking. I cut out caffeine. I drove my poor father crazy. He turned to my mother after one particularly fish and veggie laden meal and said, "Enough with the salmon with mango salsa and broccoli rabe. Can't I just get a steak and some potatoes?"

It worked for a time. I never felt better and the scans showed that the cancer kept shrinking, and shrinking, and shrinking. Then one day, about 10 months after I started treatment, the scan showed growth. I didn't stop eating well. I cook from scratch at home six nights a week and we eat as much broccoli and spinach and sweet potatoes and anti-oxident rich foods as I can find recipes, but I continued eating well because I felt better when I choose well, not because I thought it would cure me.

The same is true with yoga. About four years ago I was in the best shape of my life. I discovered yoga and I loved it - still do. I was training for two 3-Day events, and when I wasn't walking I was at yoga class. I felt strong and I felt for sure I would beat this disease because I was "in the best shape of my life." And then one day, I got a phone call. They saw a new spot.

I'm not saying that this is hopeless. I most certainly am not asking you to stop exercising or eating right, but I am asking you all to change your perspective and your focus. In this very modern society in which we live, we believe that everything is within our grasp. Everything is under our control. It is very scary to think that maybe, perhaps, we have less control over our lives than we would like to think.

I saw a news report this morning that said going to church increases your risk for cardiovascular disease. How ridiculous a news report! Enough! Enough! Enough! Who was paid to investigate that? Why are we spending money on this wasteful research? Our news reports are so full of mixed messages! Instead of focusing on the cause, can we please focus on the cure?

I'm doing my best. I can do better. But I did not cause this. Can you make that your mantra?

Yes, I should have boozed less in college, but I can't turn back time. Agonizing over every decision I made will only waste precious time. Instead, I'm looking toward the future. I'm looking toward next Tuesday, which is the day I finish this Xeloda regimen and get a glorious week off from the painful drugs. That week I can't wait to head to yoga, take a long walk, and maybe wear a pair of pumps.
I beg all of you to do the same: stop feeling guilty, stop beating yourself up. Learn to give it up to God, and focus on doing your very best.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.


Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.
--Reinhold Niebuhr

An Ode to My Mother

I have been MIA for the past few weeks, recovering. I had my swap surgery February 9th and started my Xeloda pills last week. My new "Girls" are looking pretty good, but it's hard to get excited about them when they are black and blue. Luckily, the new Victoria's Secret catalog came in the mail the very same day as my surgery. I treated myself to three new bikinis as motivation for falling in love with this new body.

On the chemo front of things, the Xeloda treatment is going well. I'm pleasantly surprised. I haven't had to call my doctor in a panic or get rushed to the hospital. So far so good, although I guess my previous medical dramas have set the bar kind of low!

I am definitely fatigued, but I can learn to fit fatigue into my lifestyle. There's nothing wrong with an 8pm bedtime; I've got nothing to prove. I also need to learn to live with a constant stomach flu. Most women my age have to remember to bring a change of shoes in their purse (heels for the office or the bar, flats or flip flops for getting around town) or they have a purse stuffed with technology: a work blackberry, a personal cell phone, a digital camera, an IPod, or the young mom carries a diaper bag stuffed with toys, snacks, pacifiers, wipes, and, of course, diapers. Not me. I can't leave home without making sure my Immodium is in my purse. I root through my purse at dinner to pull out, not lipstick or a mint, but those Xeloda pills that must be taken with a meal. I am not turning into my mother, like some women my age. I skipped that stage completely. I'm turning into my grandmother!

That said, my face may be suffering from the Xeloda even more than my tummy. The hives have retreated  everywhere but from my face. I have the face of a 14 year old now. This is not my face. I turned to the Big Man the other day as we were brushing our teeth and pointed in the mirror saying, "Who the Hell is that woman in the mirror? That is not the woman you married!" He, of course, told me I was beautiful, but later that evening he advised me against ordering dessert because the chocolate might aggravate my "rash." Don't be fooled, blog friends, the Big Man is not perfect!

I suppose this is typical of my cancer journey. I check off one item on the "Cancer To- Do List" and another To Do pops right up. Just when I  had finally gotten over the major self-esteem issue that was learning to love my post-mastectomy chest, I now have to learn to love my chemo-induced acne and nausea.

Like the Victoria's Secret shopping spree, I am now pondering a trip to a make-up artist. Do any of you Boston-area readers have a recommendation for where to go? I get nervous about the stands in the mall. I'm not looking to get "hot" for a night out at da club. I just want to look fresh faced for a trip to, I dunno, the grocery store.

So, I apologize for my absence, but I've been a little under the weather and also I haven't been too full of self-confidence. Blogging requires a bit of chutzpah. I'm letting it all hang out here on this website. I have to be in the right frame of mind to blog. I might wake up ready to take on the world, but when I look in the mirror these days, that attitude quickly disappears as my cancer-acne stares back at me.

Which brings me to my topic for today. I want to take this opportunity to praise my Mommy. She is truly the only person in the world who can help me at a low self-esteem moment like this one. My swap surgery was surgery number 8. In 6 years, I've had 8 surgeries. Mom has dropped everything and run to my aide for every one. After spending the last 3 weeks together, I've realized that I always proclaim my love for the Big Man and I really have barely mentioned the other major player in my life.

Oh, Mommy, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

Mommy and Bridge on my wedding day
Don't we look alike?

1) Mom is my biggest cheerleader. When I am feeling unattractive, she knows just the right thing to say. When I lift my shirt up above my head in the living room and say, "Mom, does the left one look slightly bigger than the right?" She takes my self-doubt seriously. She never tells me I'm being silly. She takes it seriously and she tells the truth! Mommy looks, critically, at both new breasts. She might even get out a measuring tape to take a closer, more scientific look. She asks me to turn to my left and turn to my right. Then she kisses me on the head and says, "They're perfect! I love them!"

2) She talks
and talks
and talks
and talks

When your life is a living soap opera, the best medicine is to forget about all the really huge life-changing stuff that's going on. People and US Weekly come in handy, but really the best medicine is a good, long conversation with mom. My mother will talk about anything. We talk about interior decorating and real estate, politics, and, of course, gossip.   My mother is like an elephant, she never forgets a face, a name, an occupation and marital status, or a child's name, occupation, and marital status. My mom loves to read the high school sports section of her local paper religiously. Why? She hasn't had a child in high school in at least 10 years. She reads the sports page because her friends and her neighbors have kids in high school. She likes to be able to personally congratulate them on their child's accomplishments when she runs into them in the grocery store.

You get the picture. Next to going out to dinner with the Big Man, talking to my mother is my favorite activity.

3) Last, but certainly not least, she does whatever needs to be done, no questions asked and with no expectation of repayment. Five years ago, I was bald as a baby's butt and just one week post-radiation. I wanted to move back to Boston to be closer to my boyfriend of one year. My mother not only allowed me to move, she moved me. I couldn't lift a thing. I was just a few months post-surgery. She drove furniture cross-country and then moved it all in for me. No questions asked.

Since that move, she has come up to Boston every three months to sit with me and hold my hand as I received my three-month scan results. She books flights. She books hotels. She takes me out to dinner. She takes me shopping and out for manicures to take my mind off my impending doom. She goes grocery shopping and cooks dinners that are frozen and ready to use after she leaves. All in all, she keeps my life running.

When I had my double mastectomy, Mommy moved to Boston for more than a month. She uprooted her life. She left bills and friends and the comfort of her own home. She found a long-term apartment down the street from my house and was at my disposal before I woke each morning until I fell asleep at night. She found a lovely B&B owned by an Irish couple that is three doors from my home that has become her second home. (if you ever want to visit Boston, I highly recommend it! www.aisling-bostonbb.com)  I owe my very life and all of my cancer fighting success so far to my mother's constant help. I couldn't have faced all that I have faced without her help.

Two Hot Girls on a Hot Summer Night

My mother is the ultimate portrait of a lady: graceful, selfless, smart, funny. She knows how to handle every situtation in exactly the right way, from talking to doctors to making career choices, from gardening to cooking & cleaning, from buying a house to renovating and decorating it. Mom has never steered me wrong and she is such a source of help, support and advice for me and for my three brothers. In fact, now that I mention it, how in the hell did she manage to raise four kids who were all a year and a half apart in age? Many women are exhausted by two, imagine raising four kids all under the age of five!

When I was growing up, my mother and I could barely speak without arguing; I believe it's because we were so much alike. We knew how to push each other's buttons and we couldn't help ourselves! I hate cancer, but I will forever be, on some level, very thankful for this nasty turn my life has taken. Cancer brought Mommy and me closer than we ever would have been otherwise. My mother is the port in this storm. This life would be unbearable and the situation would be untenable without her constant assistance. I can sleep soundly at night knowing that Mommy's got my back.

 Mommy can never be repaid. Saying "thank you" will never be thanks enough. Helping her move, taking her to dinner, remembering her birthday or Mother's Day, nothing I do could ever be enough repayment. This blog entry isn't enough. This ode could be a book.

The only thing I could possible do is take this opportunity to reassure her, to promise her, publicly: Mom, I promise never to put you into a retirement home. In fact, I think I owe you and all your best friends a very comfortable old age!

I'll close with my favorite version of a "Thanks, Mom" courtesy of Poet Laureate Billy Collins

Cancer-Meltdown

So the Spence household has had a crazy couple of weeks, but the last three or four days have felt really normal! Last we spoke, I was digesting some awful, awful news and facing some new chemo treatments. First off, thank you so much for the incredible outpouring of support everyone shared via email and comments. To hear so many of you who have had Xeloda experience, it was just what the Big Man and I needed to hear. Entering this new chapter was so much less scary. Thank you!

With all of my readers and supporters by my side, I wasn't afraid of a single thing... until....

Saturday January 15th, I was one week into my new Tykerb regimen. The Good Doctor started me on Tykerb alone because I have my Swap Surgery scheduled in February. My swap surgery, for my non-cancer friends, is my final reconstructive surgery. My plastic surgeon opens up my old mastectomy scars, removes my tissue expanders, and puts in my permanent implants. While it may seem crazy to have a surgery in the midst of new chemo, the expanders are uncomfortable and I have been asking to have them removed for about five months now. Nothing is standing in between me and Swap Surgery. Come hell or high water, these things are coming out February 9th! The doctors wanted to hold off on giving me the full dose of my treatment until about a week after surgery because we don't want to compromise the ol' immune system.

So the point is, on Saturday January 15th, I am not afraid or worried at all. I have my biggest pair of Big Girl Pants on and I am being a brave little girl. Life is good. For now, I only have to take 5 pills a day as opposed to 11. The 5 I have to take aren't even chemo, they are "targetted therapy." Thousands of women have handled this very same regimen with no problem. I have the support of my family, friends, and blogger buddies. This whole Stage IV cancer thing is a bummer, but really its a cake walk. I was getting ready to blog about just how easy this whole new cancer chapter was shaping up to be.

It was Saturday night and I was in the bathroom preparing for a nice dinner out with the hubby and my in-laws.  Earlier that week was when I first noticed a little breakout on my face. Not attractive. I looked like a prime candidate for one of those Proactive commercials.

By Friday, the breakout had extended to my fake chest. Not attractive, but still not cause for alarm. I had maybe 15 small zits. Nothing that a heavy dose of foundation and a turtleneck couldn't remedy.

But that Saturday evening, January 15th, the rash started growing a rash of it's very own. I had hives on my back. I had hives on my bottom. I had hives on my scalp.

I itched. And when I itched my itch, the itch hurt. When the itch hurt I put on this soothing ointment my doctor prescribed. But to put on the ointment, I had to look in the mirror, and every time I looked in the mirror, I didn't see the allergic reaction for what it was. Instead, I saw Cancer staring me right in the face. I saw Cancer all over me like "stink on a skunk," as my grandmother would say.

My mind was going crazy focusing on these hives and on this cancer. For once I felt truly "stricken" with cancer.

I had it in my mind that the only thing that would make the itching stop was a nice, warm bath. I had visions of Mommy drawing an oatmeal bath when my baby brother and I both had chicken pox the same week. The vision of a homemade remedy empowered me. If I could just draw a bath, this whole rash situation would clear right up. Oatmeal would easily conquer a powerful chemo drug! I had my oatmeal in hand and was ready to take a long bath before my in-laws arrived. The Oatmeal would fix everything just in time for their arrival. I had two hours. Plenty of time.

I had visions of me opening the door wearing my best cashmere turtleneck sweater and a smile. I would hide the rash on my face with multiple layers of perfectly applied foundation. I would hand them a nice glass of Cabernet. I would have white wine and beer chilled. A tray of fine cheese would be waiting on the coffee table. Candles would be burning. Jazz music would be playing in the background. Our Christmas decorations were still up. "Please, come in! Yes, mother-in-law, see how well your son chose? I am taking care of him. Cancer? What do you mean cancer? Cancer hasn't got me down! No way, no how. I'm taking care of him ya see? He isn't a caregiver! Who needs a caregiver?"  I was going to be like a duck when I opened the door for the in-laws, calm on top but paddling like the dickens underneath.

And then, I turned on the bath and found to my dismay....

We were out of hot water.

No big deal, perhaps a slightly chilly bath would be just fine for my hives.

No, an ice cold bath actually makes the hives worse. It turned on every nerve in my entire body.

That was when the crazy came out.

In an attempt to "help" in my time of need, the Big Man had apparently thrown in a load of laundry and had also loaded the dishwasher inadvertently draining our condo of hot water. In a normal state, I would thank the Big Man for helping me clean up before his parents' arrival. I should have just shrugged my shoulders at the inconvenience of not being able to prep appropriately for their arrival, but I was not in a normal state of mind. The hives were talking here.

In one of those blind rages that happen when you are frustrated and need to lash out, you can only lash out at the people you love the most because those are the people who won't ever leave you. I flew into a rage and cursed the Big Man and his helpfulness.

How dare he do the laundry!
How thoughtless of him to reload the dishwasher!
Doesn't he know that I run the show around here?
Doesn't he know I need a tub full of warm water!
Now it will be an hour before the water's warm again, and his parents are coming.
Your parents are coming!
What am I going to do?
IT ITCHES!

The wheels came off. I cried. I screamed. I threw some pillows around. I may have thrown other things, I can't remember.

My in-laws did come, God love them, in the middle of this whole fiasco. I was running around in my robe (the only piece of clothing that didn't itch) and screaming bloody murder about:

our stupid water heater needs to be replaced. Maybe tonight. You think a plumber can come tonight?
Why on earth did we buy this hole in the wall condo in the first place? Huh?
YOU, Big Man, YOU were the one who first came to the stupid Open House.
YOU were the one who found this condo and it's stupid broken water heater.
We never should have bought this place.
What a waste!
Nice job you house-buying, laundry and dish-cleaning, worthless excuse for a husband!
YOU!

It was a Kelly Bensimon in the Virgin Islands kind of a night!

Needless to say, I looked not at all like a duck, I was nowhere close to looking like Martha Stewart. Jazz was not playing in the background. Cheese was not out on the coffee table. Frankly, if I had greeted the in-laws at the door with a glass of wine, it would have made me look even worse! With a glass of wine in my hand, they could have confused my hive-induced rage with the ravings of a drunk!

I looked not at all like a duck. I looked not at all like Martha Stewart. I looked instead like one of those Real Housewives. The ones who scream nonsense obscenenities at anything that moves for no real clear reason.

It was an ugly day in the Spence household, and I'm not talking about the zits on my face.

It was a good thing the in-laws showed up when they did. Even though I wanted to crawl into the hardwood floor and die of embarrassment right then and there, their arrival calmed me down long enough to catch my breath and allowed the Big Family to actually talk through the situation in a somewhat civilized manner.

Big Man suggested I call the doctor to see if we couldn't stop taking the Tykerb and get some stronger treatment for the hives. I refused. No way in hell was I going to call my doctor! What a crazy idea! It was a Saturday afternoon and Dr. P is a married woman with three little girls at home. How could the Big Man not realize this? I monopolize her time enough during the week. No way was I interrupting what was surely a beautiful Saturday with the family. I was going to wait this out until 9am on Monday!

I was being such a typical woman, or maybe I was just being exactly like my mother? My mother never wants to bother anyone. It is one of her most admirable, but also most infuriating qualities. Why are we so reluctant to ask for help? Are we confusing this trait with actual strength? In this case, my "strength" was more like stupidity.

Big Man ended up paging the doctor. He ripped the phone out of my shaking, hive covered hands and paged her.

Turns out, Dr. P was at the hospital doing rounds anyway. She said it was a pleasure to hear from me because she was wondering how I had been doing on the new treatment. When she heard about the hives arrival, she was mad I hadn't called sooner because apparently they "get worse before they get better." I was in for a long week. She told me to stop the Tykerb immediately. She faxed a strong antibiotic order to my pharmacy. She told me not to take a bath, I would only make the hives worse.  So much for my oatmeal bath that had started this whole rampage.

To say I had a tail between my hive covered legs is an understatement.

Big Man had never been prouder of himself! Big Man was right, I was wrong. You heard it here first. I'm saying it publicly. He can save this blog post and refer to it forty years from now if the Real Housewives-style crazy ever makes another appearance in his house.

Two weeks worth of antibiotics later, the antibiotics are working wonders. I can take the Tykerb now and I don't break out anymore. I am feeling much more confident about this treatment plan.

More importantly,my face is my own again. I am no longer ashamed to leave the house, although I'm still wearing cashmere turtlenecks (but only because it's winter in Boston.) I no longer think of cancer every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection.

The wheels are back on. The train that is Bridget Kicking Cancer Butt shall continue

Although, I will never live down the in-law embarrassment and I promise my in-laws a more civilized visit next time (and every time thereafter).

Last night was our typical Sunday dinner of roast chicken and "60 Minutes," Big Man poured himself a glass of wine and smiled at me as I was sitting down to the dinner table. He said, "You look pretty. You look like yourself. We're so lucky. I'm so lucky. I love you, Little"

Wow, what a difference a week makes!

And even bigger wow:
Wow, I'm a lucky woman!

Please, kind reader, tell me: Has anyone else had a Cancer-meltdown? I hope I'm not the only person who has allowed Cancer to make her a little ugly to the ones she loves, if only for a moment?