I Love Manchego Cheese

Odd title, you say? Indeed. Actually, it's the mnemonic I've used for the last couple of days to try to remember the 4 things I wanted to blog about: Interview, L., Myths, and Checkup.

Let's take them in reverse order, because the biggest and best thing is my checkup--which I had earlier this week, which included my annual mammogram as well as the blood and physical exams, which was all clear, and which officially established my 2-year anniversary of surviving breast cancer. Yay!!! (Technically, it's not quite 2 years, but I think we can assume I won't relapse suddenly in the next 2 weeks.) I've said this before, but my brand of triple-negative cancer is at greatest risk for relapse in the first 2 years. Risk drops dramatically after that until 5 years, and then it drops precipitously after that. So there's no "home free"--I am knocking wood with my elbows as I type--but this is a Big Deal anniversary.

It's almost like I might start to dare to imagine a life in which breast cancer never comes back. It's an audacious thought, but I just might get there.

OK, second--myths. Recently--on blogs and websites--I came across some very credible-sounding information suggesting that I should get my subsequent gynecological care from an oncological gynecologist. The information suggested that women who have had breast cancer are at significantly increased risk of ovarian and uterine cancers, and that they (we) should be closely monitored. Note that I have not linked to this information. That's because I asked Christy, my oncologist, about this at my checkup, and learned that in fact the higher risk of reproductive cancers is only true for women with some of the genetic (BRCA) breast cancers*--not for me. And, at USC, the oncological gynecologists will not even see healthy women (including BC survivors)--it's not medically warranted.

It continues to amaze me how many myths are out there about breast cancer, and how much misinformation abounds. Of course, there are also legitimate differences of opinion among physicians, but it is so easy for false "wisdom" to take root.

Speaking of this--did anyone say "malpractice"? I've been repeating this horror story to several people recently and I still can't quite believe it.

A friend of a friend was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She lives in a small town, not near a major university medical center or comparable breast center. After her surgery, she was told that her tumor would not be tested--since most tumors are hormone positive, she would just be treated as if hers were. That means she would have hormone therapy and no chemo. How appalling! First, hormone therapy is pretty nasty, according to my friends who are on it. It may not make you lose your hair, but you lose other things--from sleep to bone density. No one should be on hormone therapy if it's not absolutely necessary. Second, what if this woman is a triple negative, like me? In our case, chemo can be all the more important--a recent study (cited in a post below) showed that it can make all the difference in survival.

This woman is so relieved to be told she won't have to have chemo that she hesitates to push further and ask more questions. Fortunately, with our mutual friend's prompting, she has gone back and asked for more, and the pathology tests are finally being done, and I hope she will have appropriate treatment. When I told Christy, her eyes blazed and she said "Malpractice!" instantly. It's scary to think how many thousands of women out there could be being treated like this. All my blogosphere pals and support group friends tend to be well to do and urban; I worry for our sisters who are less economically blessed and who live in humbler, more rural places. Why should their lives count for any less?

Finally, interview. The one link I add.* This week, my local NPR affiliate, KPCC, ran a half-hour interview with Dr. Susan Love about breast cancer. It's a very interesting interview in which she talks about a test she's trying to develop for susceptibility to breast cancer (you put something like a bandaid on your nipple and produce some fluid, and a pregnancy-test kind of readout tells you if you have abnormal cells--kind of like a pap smear for breasts, to give early warning before cancer actually develops); a study that found that a small amount of chemo injected directly into the ducts can kill cancer cells (no more surgery??); and, frustratingly, "the 5 kinds of breast cancer," which she never actually named. Give it a listen if you have some time.

By the way, I do indeed love Manchego cheese. It's especially good with some kalamata olives and apples. Mmmm.

*I'm so sorry, but I am too lazy to link tonight. Am just trying to cram this post into a few short available minutes between work and sleep--please Google if you want to learn more, and sorry for falling short on my informational duties. I thought it was better to post at all (after my long absence!) than to wait and do it perfectly.

Happy 2008!

Most important to me: I was cancer-free in 2007. For the rest of my life (which I hope is very long), it will never again be trivial or easy to ignore that a year passes with good health. There is something very comforting about an entire calendar year without cancer. Yay.

I just saw an online newspaper poll asking whether readers have broken their New Years resolutions yet. It made me realize that I don't have any New Years resolutions. I have Post-Cancer resolutions, and they are basically the same ones I've had since October 6, 2006 (my last day of treatment). But because the New Year is a fine time to reaffirm them, I'll list them here, in no particular order.

• Remember to embrace relationships in my life. With Noah, with my parents, with extended family, with friends, with colleagues--life is a social experience. I will make choices that keep me connected, as much as possible.
• Treat my physical body as something important and valuable. It's the vessel that carries me through this life. I tend to live in my head, and for most of my life I ignored or even resented my body. No more. I will make food choices that nourish and energize me; I'll focus on pleasure in food through nourishment, not indulgence; I will exercise regularly. When I am tempted to stay in and work rather than playing volleyball for a few hours, I will remember that exercise cuts cancer risk, and that my healthy body can more easily sit at the computer for hours, later, to work!
  
• Work for the joy of work--for the questions I want to answer and the things I want to say. Don't get stressed by the headlong pursuit of tenure; instead, remember that I chose a career I'm passionate about, that I care enormously about the work I do, and that I am incredibly lucky and happy to have this job. When I work (even during those weeks when I'm working 12 hours a day, every day), I'll work in this spirit.
• Stay in touch with the spiritual side of life. For my own spiritual practice, this means setting aside time to sit and be quiet, and continuing to work on compassion and nonattachment.

So, at this New Year 2008, I reaffirm my commitment to live my life consciously and deliberately, and to keep my cancer resolutions active--not to let the elapsed year make them fade.

And I am so excited that 2008 will finally bring the end of the GWB reign! ;^)

Happy New Year to everyone--health and joy to all.

Sylvia Easley, 9 Nov 1943 - 19 Dec 2007

My aunt Sylvia died this morning. She told her (grown) kids to go to school, asked for a drink of water, and took her last breath. She had end-stage pancreatic cancer and multiple myeloma, and she was at home, in a hospital bed in her living room.

We lived our lives at a great distance. Sylvia lived in Texas (San Antonio, Houston, Kerrville), ran a balloon delivery business, married a few men (not at the same time), and loved fiercely. She was the strongest and most indomitable person I ever knew. The way she lived with cancer taught me how to do it: You live. Just keep living. Keep doing things you want to do. If your bones are brittle, go to a water park and ride all the slides, and then take meds and sleep all the next day. If people you love are there, spend every ounce of your energy laughing with them, and then take meds and sleep all the next day. Don't be "sick" with cancer. It's an annoyance. It thinks it's in charge, so let it think so, but quietly go about your own business and don't let it stop you.

Until it's too strong. And then, recognize that you're tired, and lie back and marvel at the fresh, clean taste of cold water, and listen to songs that have always moved you, and wake up a few times a day to smile at the faces of the loving ones who surround you. Go home, and have your dog lie on the bed with you, and open the blinds each day to watch your own neighborhood and your own yard. Sleep, while your heart keeps beating and beating, while your nails turn dark and then pink again, while your breathing gets ragged and then smooth again.

And then, one morning, speak softly to your children, and just...Stop.

Does this mean I can't keep staying up until 3am?

From today's CNN, an article on a research study that says working nights is a big risk factor for breast (and prostate) cancer. Yikes. My typical schedule is to work at my computer until 1am (on an early night) to 4am (on a late night), and then get up around 11. In the winter, I am definitely restricting my exposure to sunlight--on weekends I might sleep in until noon or later.

The article seems quite specific to nighttime work, but the principles identified should apply to me, even if I'm not in a workplace per se. I'll be checking out the original study and will let y'all know!

The hair IS growing

I may complain about how slowly it comes in, but recently it has started to seem really obvious that my hair is actually growing. Yay!

(For fun, you can click the "photo" tag under labels, at right, and you'll be able to compare this one to the one just 2 little months ago.)

Plus ça change...

Something about the change in seasons has me really thinking about how this year feels different from last.

I have hair, for one thing. This past weekend, many of my friends and colleagues were at the Wharton Junior Faculty conference, for Organizational Behavior professors. Last year, I spoke at that conference, wearing a wig because my glorified stubble was still just a little not-ready-for-prime-time. I really thought I'd have hair down to my shoulders by now--I know my hair's always been quite shy and retiring, but I thought it could at least grow... In any case, it took a long time, but I've graduated from baby clips and air-drying to toddler clips and blow-drying, and sometimes it actually gets in my eyes...amazing.

Then there's energy. These days, I can pretty easily go out for 5+ hours of beach volleyball, if the sunlight is cooperating. I've never been a runner, but today I ran with Kibble for about a mile in addition to our mile-plus walk, and felt great.

During chemo, energy was a weird, weird thing. Ordinarily, I think of energy as depleting somewhat the way a bathtub drains--slowly, steadily. But during chemo, it was as if the bottom of the bathtub suddenly vanished, and all that water just gushed down at once. One minute, fine. The next minute--empty. A while after all my treatment ended, we went out for a walk and, about 5 minutes into it, I had to sit on someone's wall until I could summon the strength just to get back home. That was the last time the "emptying" happened, but still for a long time I got tired quickly, had fewer resources, just couldn't push through at those times when I needed to.

As mentioned in a recent post, surgery gave me a numb armpit and arm; taxol gave me burning feet. Adriamycin gave me awful nausea, and chemo in general gave me heartburn, which lasted until the first day of my diet, whereupon it magically disappeared. I had fuzzy thinking and lost words, lost periods, altered sense of smell and taste. I even had a hot flash or two.

Today, every single bit of that is gone. My hormonal system is still reeling, I think, but the rest of me is pretty much back. Thanks to diet and exercise, I'm in better shape than before.

Obviously, no one can be sure that cancer won't come back. But for now, I really want to report to anyone still going through treatment (or just finished) that you do get your life back. Going through the whole breast cancer Experience really sucks and is scary. But from this point of view, looking back, that one sucky year has not taken over my life. I hope it helps someone out there to know that. Just hang in there!!

Because Cancer exists

Time for a check:

How have you spent your time today? This week? This month?

How often have you done things that gave you joy or were deeply meaningful to you?

How much have you been close to the important people in your life?

At those times when you had a choice, how often did you choose to pursue connectedness and passionate engagement, versus rote activity that bores or deadens you?

When you were working, how much of your work did you invest with commitment, and how many of your accomplishments do you look back on with pride?

How much have you moved your body, felt your muscles and bones equal to the challenges you set for them? How well have you guarded your health and made choices to exalt your body?

How have you loved? How have you been loved?

If you felt bad, did you embrace the experience and live with it?

Who knows how much life any of us has. We have right now. One of my lessons from cancer was to live right now, and not wait to live years later.

Justice (and Treatment) for All

Again, a flurry of recent news stories. I was particularly interested in this piece on Slate.com, which tackles the issue of "socialized medicine" and effective cancer treatment. It's interesting that this coincides with the American Cancer Society's activism drive to increase access to cancer treatment. The ACS wants more people to be treated, and to eliminate insurance problems as an obstacle to treatment. One obvious way to do that is to extend healthcare coverage through universal coverage options. Of course, that stirs panic among both right-wing and small-government types, and among ordinary people who might rather face the devil they know.

I could easily be among the latter. I am one of the incredibly lucky people who, when struck by cancer, had a fantastic health plan. I work at a university with a cancer research and treatment center, so I had access to physicians who were highly expert and used the most up-to-date treatments and resources. My university has a self-insurance plan with 90-10 coverage, a low deductible, and a low out-of-pocket annual cap. (I have thanked my 2005 self over and over for deciding to pay the higher monthly premium for this plan, rather than choosing the cheaper HMO.)

It's easy to imagine that a universal-coverage plan could limit my choice of physicians. Or perhaps it would limit what they could do to treat me--for example, maybe all medical care would be restricted to HMO levels. For someone who's had fewer limitations, like me, that is scary. On the other hand, I don't believe we have to fear such extreme restriction. And even if some restriction occurred, it seems only just for the few of us who now enjoy wildly disproportionate benefits to accept a mild adjustment downward so that our millions of disadvantaged neighbors can finally get some basic care.

And that's where the Slate article is especially reassuring. Looking at all nations with some form of socialized medicine, other than England--which is apparently abysmal for cancer treatment and survival--outcomes are far better there than here. Which tells me that, for all my choice and luck, I could be doing even better yet.

A couple of other links:
I took Taxol. My tumor was ER negative. Sucks for me.
Death rates are dropping. Hooray!

Are you aware?

Yes--we think about Black people in February, and women in March. Now it's October, and if you're not seeing black and orange, you must be seeing pink. It's Breast Cancer Awareness Month. All together now...

Yay.

I've started to become one of those girls who aren't playing nice. The pink, the fluff, the incessant marketing machine... It feels a lot like the post-9/11, "Be patriotic! Go shopping!!"

There are some good reasons for a cancer to have a month--better than for large racial categories. Women over 40 should get an annual mammogram, and maybe seeing ads for pink toasters and pink toolbelts at this time of year can help them remember.

I also think there is some legitimate merit to giving people a way to do something about this disease. Getting breast cancer makes you feel helpless. I am certain that watching someone get breast cancer also makes you feel helpless. When I inventory my own personal relationships, I think of my husband, who had to go through 8 months of treatment and all the fear and anxiety, with nothing that he could really do to change my outcome. My parents, my friends... I am also a spooky exemplar of how many women are getting breast cancer, and how little we can do to predict or stop it. I'm a magnet for everyone else's breast cancer experiences, especially guys whose moms get it--I have heard from more than I can count on a hand, in the last year.

I know that people close to me want to change my outcomes, and I know they want me to understand how urgently they care. So what can they do? They can shop, and they can participate in big group activities like runs--the latter are even better, because they require personal pain and sacrifice. (By the way, one of posts referenced above links to a great Onion article, 6000 Runners Fail to Discover Cure for Breast Cancer.) After 9/11, I wanted to give blood, because--literally, and don't laugh too hard at my hokiness--I felt a desire to bleed for the sake of all the other people who had shed blood. A common fate kind of thing.

Yes, there are better things to do. Giving money directly to research and advocacy groups, volunteering at a cancer treatment center or a wellness community, regularly contacting members of Congress to lobby for better cancer funding (and healthcare, maybe?!)...all of these may be more powerful. They're also harder to do, and now that I'm back to my busy life, I know that it's a lot easier to do a few website clicks between meetings than to keep track of bills in the Senate.

[Along these lines, I got the following email a few days ago--it seems to offer the way to do something real, very quickly, and very easily. So of course I was suspicious!

> Please tell ten friends to tell ten today! The Breast Cancer site is
> having trouble getting enough people to click on their site daily to
> meet their quota of donating at least one free mammogram a day to an
> underprivileged woman. It takes less than a minute to go to their site
> and click on 'donating a mammogram' for free (pink window in the
> middle).
>
> This doesn't cost you a thing. Their corporate sponsors /advertisers
> use the number of daily visits to donate mammogram in exchange for
> advertising.
>
> Here's the web site! Pass it along to people you know.
>
> http://www.thebreastcancersite.com/

So I searched for this pitch on urban legends sites, and about.com had the following:

Except for the part where it says "The Breast Cancer Site is having trouble getting enough people to click on it daily," this dated email flier (circulating since 2001) remains basically true. In 2002 alone, the highly successful site and its advertisers funded a total of 1,624 free mammograms for underprivileged women, thanks to the daily clicks of visitors. The Breast Cancer Site has been reviewed by health advocacy groups and various media outlets and recommended by sources like Ms. Magazine. It is well worth a daily visit.

That is good news, and not even hard to do.]

Anyway, I started by objecting to the month, and here I've really defended it. It's harder to express my objections, but I'll try. A Month is reductive. The pink onslaught is infantilizing and trivializing. There is a tyranny to breast cancer culture that allows only a narrow range of expressions, emotional responses, and actions. (I'll never forget my first--non-Wellness Community--support group experience, in which new women like me were told not to think things we said, not to feel what we expressed, and more than anything, that praying was the only thing to do. I never went back.) I don't want to be either a pink-wearing blubberer, or a pink-wearing "survivor" in the mold of The Movement. Basically, I guess it's that breast cancer, though widespread, is still a really personal and individual experience--no two women I know have had exactly the same treatment--and I don't like feeling my personal experience forced into the dehumanizing context of the mob.

And finally--an annual reminder to get a mammogram didn't do a damn thing for me. I was too young to be getting mammograms. This week, I was on a conference call with three other fantastic bloggers (their blogs are now linked, at right) who were also all too young for mammograms when they were diagnosed. And I guess that's another reason I dislike The Movement--it's focused so much on women who are older, with different concerns and different worldviews. Perhaps Breast Cancer Awareness Month should be urging younger women to get their breasts groped--by themselves, by others (hello, Noah!), whatever it takes--get some hands on those boobies and check for things that shouldn't be there!

---

One last note for today. Today is the one-year anniversary of my completion of cancer treatment. I had my last radiation treatment last year, I got my survival certificate from Noah, and I walked out of the center and into my "new reality" as someone cured, post-cancer, and on the way to being healthier than ever.

My oncologist told me it can take a year for some side effects to ease. My hair is still only a few inches long; my feet have only recently stopped having pain and burning from the Taxol; my right armpit and lat are still a little numb from surgery. But overall, I am healthier and in better shape than I've been in years. My life, knock wood, is back "on track"--as a relatively young woman (and junior professor), there is a climb and a progression that characterizes the life path, and I'm no longer sitting on the bench watching other people hike by.

A year past cancer treatment. I gotta say, it still seems like yesterday.

Cancer has me

Two in one day. I know!!

Got a phone message today saying that my aunt, who has multiple myeloma, is in the hospital. Things have been looking worse for her lately. She's survived almost 13 years so far with this disease, but it's nasty. Much worse than breast cancer (not a "good" one, for sure). I don't have details, but this is her second hospital stay in the last several weeks, and I know her current chemo has been extremely tough. So I'm feeling some concern, and it makes me reflective.

So...I guess this is kind of for her...

[ ]

Cancer has me
by one ear, like
a truculent child,
and marches me
to the window.

"Hand it over then."

All of it, turns out.

The collector, fat-faced,
flat-mouthed
Brushes each thing with listless fingers
as I thud it
protesting
on the counter

Lean brown arms and legs
(The muscles wither,
lying there--)
Breath, gassy and bright.
Clarity of thought,
a smooth skein--
the collector scuds a thumb
in the middle, leaves
a tangled heap.
A row of tomorrows,
lined neatly like dice.
The collector sneezes, and
they tumble
one into the next
and lie still.

Hardest of all, that rounded thought,
opaque with certainty,
solid as eggshell
surrounding me,
that I am safe
and blessed.

At the end, I stand
not naked
but stripped

Some things they let me keep.
I hold them
piled like smelly clothes
as Cancer shoves me onward,
a boot to my back:
Fear. Pain.
Regret.
Long hours
in which to know this all.

The door behind me,
with a clang...

It’s not a cell, but
Vast white, limitless
Nothing

I can’t see where
to put my foot.

But my arms open
and let fall what I held
so my fingers can pull
from under my tongue
a talisman,
smuggled,
now in my fist.

Cancer is on this side
of the door--with me--
But quiet now,
unseen;
I won’t hear a breath
Until one day
That boot crushes my neck.

Right now, though--
this moment--
Warmth starts in my hand,
hard with victory.
I close my eyes.
I melt into whiteness.

Don't worry, I don't drink much

If you missed this news this week, you probably also haven't heard that OJ's back in the justice system or that Iran's president didn't quite get to "make it" in New York.

Basically, a new study apparently shows that women who drink alcohol regularly--even as little as a drink a day, and regardless of what kind of alcohol it is--face an average increase in risk of breast cancer of 30%. Now, as a Wired blogger helpfully points out,

Thirty percent is a big deal: Reuters points out that women have, on average, a 1 in 8 lifetime chance of developing breast cancer, so a 30 percent change ups that chance to 1 in 6.

(By the way, don't miss the photo accompanying that article. Someone has quite the gift for appropriate illustration.) Anyhoo, while the risk is substantial, I've been scouring the various articles for more detail on methodology, and I can't find it. So my personal jury is still out on this one (and thank goodness; I needed some quiet inside my head).

The articles that get into a possible mechanism for the finding generally say that alcohol is hypothesized to disrupt hormones, and this leads to the kind of estrogen imbalance that causes breast cancer. Well, my tumor was not fed by estrogen (or progesterone). But none of the articles mention whether the risk was equivalent across tumor types, although the only proposed mechanism is hormonal. That is frustrating.

The study on which my nutrition program is based, for example, showed no major benefit for women who DID have ER-positive tumors, but a big benefit for ER-negatives like me. It's clear from virtually all breast cancer studies that the tumor type is one of the biggest "it depends" factors out there. So it would really be nice if the press had covered this aspect. Even the medical press has not. We'll see what happens when the study gets published; hopefully we'll find out then.

In other news, I am very happy to see this next article. Basically, it tells me that I can forget about needing to buy sexy lingerie or plan romantic weekends: I got breast cancer, and that's a marriage boost in itself. Yay! (Noah's thrilled too!)

And finally, looks like those newsmakers in Barcelona aren't done yet (or, those who weren't invited decided to prove they still matter, too). Anyway, today's LA Times will report that childhood exposure to DDT has been shown to increase later risk of breast cancer by a whopping 400% (though the sample size is admittedly small). Since DDT was outlawed before I was born, it may not have affected me. But it is yet another reminder of how many scary chemicals we swim around in, and how much predestination is involved in whether each of us gets hit by something terrible.

Survivorship Plan

Boy, the articles just keep coming.

Noah sent me this bit from Yahoo! News about survivorship plans, a new trend (like fab shades!) in cancer care. My own oncologist did not give me a written plan, but I am clear on many things:

• For the next year (like the last), I'll have checks every 3 months. This includes blood testing, to look for chemical markers of breast cancer recurrence, and physical exams.
• Once a year, I have a mammogram. If anything funky is found then or at any other time, I may also have an MRI.
• If I were to notice any difficulty breathing or other heart-related symptoms, I expect I would have an echocardiogram, since I had some of the chemo drugs that can cause heart failure. But there is no special monitoring of that because I've seemed heart-healthy.
• After the next year, my exams will go to 4- to 6- month intervals for up to the 5-year mark. After that, they may revert to annual checks.
• I have my nutrition plan with my nutritional oncologist, ongoing.
• I have copies of all my records, including pathology reports and treatment records.

What I don't have is a very specific list of symptoms to watch out for. I have a mixed opinion of that piece of advice. The power of suggestibility surely has to be weighed against the benefits of knowing what to look for. If I knew that a persistent pain in the 3rd rib from center was a warning sign of metastasis, I'd be rubbing that 3rd rib constantly to assess it, and pretty soon it would indeed hurt like hell! So perhaps being in the dark a bit is good for me here.

Overall, though, it seems to me that better knowledge and awareness are being emphasized, and that is terrific. Also, the medical community is awakening to the fact that cancer treatment is emotionally and cognitively overwhelming, and realizing that we'll all have better outcomes if physicians take on just a tiny bit more of the burden of managing information (not just drugs and procedures). Based on the confusion I saw even in intelligent, thoughtful members of my own support group, this will surely help!

Clip'n'Save list of Cancer-Fighting Foods :-)

Boy, I gotta say--the information is certainly out there if you want it. Why didn't I pay attention earlier? It's not like this list of good cancer-fighting foods is boring or yucky. It even includes chocolate!

Another good reason to play volleyball

From Ode Magazine, a quick note on the benefits of Vitamin D (maximized through sun exposure) for a variety of ills, including breast cancer. :-)

Oh yeah, my in-house portrait photographer keeps reminding me I need to post the latest, for those of you who haven't seen me with hair lately. Here ya go!

More nutrition news

Before you ask, my back has felt better this week. Lots better. So, so far I am not calling back for an MRI. I'll let you know if that changes.

Now--the LA Times today has a really terrific article about nutrition and cancer. It talks at length about foods purported to lower cancer (or recurrence) risk, and the strengths and flaws in various studies. I'm happy to see many of the recommendations of my nutritional oncologist, Rachel Beller, validated in the article. She really seems to base her approach on solid research and evidence, which of course appeals to me.

Among the key points for me:

• In one study, breast cancer survivors who ate 5 servings of fruits/veggies a day and exercised regularly achieved a 44% decrease in the rate of recurrence. That's great! Those who only ate the veggies, OR who only exercised, did not get any benefit.
• Cruciferous vegetables (broccoli, kale, brussels sprouts), tomatoes, spinach, apples, and blueberries are among the key foods that have been shown beneficial.
  
• The benefits come from the whole foods themselves, not supplements of just one nutrient or chemical at a time.
• Excess weight is the #2 risk factor for cancer, behind only smoking.
  
• A scary factoid: for Americans, 52% of "vegetable" consumption comes from just 3 sources: iceberg lettuce, potatoes, and canned tomatoes. Yikes!

So, Rachel has me getting the vast majority of my calories these days from veggies and fish (or tofu), with fruit and yogurt close behind--and the items on the list are definitely staples. And I'm playing volleyball for hours a week, and walking Kibble as well (though less than he'd like). Everything is as organic as possible, so that there aren't toxins and chemicals competing with the positive effects of the food. I'm almost down to my goal weight, which removes that as a risk factor.

It is hopeful and amazing to think that there could be a cell sitting inside me, with the potential of turning into another tumor (or of starting a cascade of cells tumbling in metastatic unison to become something really ugly), but what I'm doing could stop it. It's like Schrodinger's cat: I do one thing, and I get cancer. But I do another thing--perhaps the thing I'm doing by following Rachel's advice--and I live 50 more years cancer-free. That cell just sits there, and thinks about it, and then shrugs and stays healthy.

Anyway, everyone: Lose weight if you need to lose it, eat good things, and move your body! Let's all give the giant middle finger to cancer!