I'm serving notice to all you active young pups still south of 50: Beware Father Time. Especially if you're an athlete. Or a fitness freak. Or both. Trust me, that wonderful, endorphin-enhanced pounding high you're getting now will come back to bite you on the ass. Or, in my case, this time, the left shoulder.
Today I'm having major shoulder surgery. Two 3-centimeter full-thickness rotator cuff tears front and back, a nearly severed biceps tendon, bone spurs, a crack in my scapula (aka shoulder blade). My shoulder's so bad it partially dislocates (called subluxation) at the slightest movement. So the surgery will also include inserting pins for greater stability.
You'd think I was a Major League baseball pitcher. S'okay, I'm in good hands, my doctors treat our Philly teams.
By the time you read this --sometime Friday morning-- I'll be in the OR or in recovery. Drugged and needing it. Hoping to wake up and find the 5-hole arthoscopy did the trick, that they didn't have to open me up with a big nasty incision.
Of all the sports surgeries, they say shoulder is the hardest. Worse, they tell me, than having a hip replaced. (My hips are just fine, thank you). But at least I had fun getting here.
In my teens and 20's it was competitive swimming, volleyball, softball. Plus skiing and running. In my 30's switched full time to tennis, squash, racquetball. Nautilus. Free weights. Aerobics. All necessary not only for health, but stress relief, especially working in politics and journalism.
By the time I reached my 40's I was a full time mom with my own little wellness business on the side, contracted to run fitness centers in federal office buildings and at my local health club. My favorite task was conducting quarterly fitness testing for the FBI, the Secret Service, Customs agents. Damn, that was fun.
Running those guys up and down 10 flights of concrete stairs, making them hit the floor for 50 push ups, hold weights while running an obstacle course, calling them "Sissy maggots!" at the top of my voice. Oh, and did I mention I was doing everything they were doing too? Plus, in those days I was teaching 2-3 step and aerobics classes a day, 5 days a week.
Not. Any. More. Over the past 20 years I've had both knees "scoped" ... handled it pretty well. Also a wrist, an ACL, a small rotator cuff tear/frozen shoulder (the right one), my lower back twice. Less fun, yet manageable. My left hand last February. The worst so far. Hands freakin hurt.
Today they'll fix my left shoulder. I'll suck up the 3-week immobility cast and the pain as best I can. Then I'll start the 3-6 months of rehab. It's okay, I'm a PT fanatic. Physical therapy is my middle name. And my health club. I've been going there throughtout August 3 times a week in advance of this surgery to get in tip top shape for it.
My sister (a nurse, how convenient) will be staying with us to help me manage with only one arm. At least I'm right-handed. But still, fully immobilized left side -- I know from the hand surgery it isn't so easy having only one arm.
My respect for amputees and other disabled people soars when I'm in my 'temporary' situations. You can't cut your food. You can't push yourself into a sitting position in bed. You can't even pull your own pants up without a lot of circus-style contortions.
BUT: they promised me I'll be able to type in a few weeks. Maybe two, maybe three. You gotta know that's almost as high on my list as rehab and recovery. I can always dictate to my sister, but it's not the same. Although if something major breaks, my voice will get here somehow.
In the meantime, maybe this is a good thing. A break from the cerebral and the outrageous, some time for dumb TV shows, chick flicks, good quality heart-to-hearts with my sisters and friends. I'll get flowers and candy and maybe even (stay back, Freaky Troll!) cake.
And from now on, no more tennis and skiing. Instead it's the treadmill, the elliptical, yoga, Pilates, bands, lighter weights, more reps. I love it and it's good for me, health-wise. I have the blood pressure, cardio-vascular endurance, muscle strength, low cholesterol and body mass index of an active woman half my age.
And I have the joints of a worn-out, washed up pro football player.
So take my advice, be a little kinder to your joints while you still can.
I won't be doing any heavy lifting for a while, but I'll be thinking of you, and I wouldn't mind some kind thoughts and good karma from anybody willing to shoulder them on my behalf.
"Nothing contributes so much to tranquilizing the mind as a steady purpose -- a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye." Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Today is my niece Karen's birthday. You could ask, who gives a whoop besides her family? Anybody who's ever faced cancer, that's who. They know, as Karen knows, that every birthday is a gift. More, a triumph.
Karen's been fighting cancer for 8 years. During most of those years not for herself, which would be hard enough. But for her young son, which is, to a parent, much, much worse.
Alex was diagnosed at age 4 with a rare disease called VHL. An operation removed all the mechanics of his right ear, carotid artery and part of his brain. The outer ear is still there, but the hearing is gone.
You all know Alex. I haven't written about him for a while because although he's an extraordinary boy, thank god there's been nothing out of the ordinary to say. Last week Alex celebrated his 12th birthday.
A continuing triumph. Of family and medical diligence, healthy lifestyle, good karma, mind over matter. Whatever, we'll take it. Especially now for Karen's birthday too.
Because incredibly, a year and a half ago Karen got cancer. Not VHL. Skin cancer. Melanoma. Oh yeah. we've all heard of that. And not in a good way.
Karen's was first a small patch on her leg. Excised, clean margins, finished. Then, six months later tumors in her right eye signaled the much rarer, much more dangerous, ocular melanoma.
They tried everything, but it came back. On April 16, barely a month ago, surgeons had to remove her right eye. An outer cover is there, attached to the muscles which still work, but the sight is gone.
Karen and Alex. Mother and son. Different cancers, similar losses, totally the right attitude.
Fight. Mobilize. Energize. Laugh. Love. Live. Learn all you can. Gather your physical and emotional resourses. Seek and accept support and counsel and advice. Lean on your loved ones and stand on your own two feet.
According to Karen's example, that's what you do to survive. More, that's how you live life to the fullest.
Karen is a survivor of the highest order. An inspiration to cancer victims, mothers of cancer victims, other survivors and those who are trying to be. An object lesson to those of us who waste time moaning about petty problems.
Tomorrow Karen has her first appointment to be fitted for an artificial eye. She's been wearing cool eye patches, but is really looking forward to looking like she's got the real deal.
What a birthday present, eh? And not just for another of life's milestones, but for a true celebration of life itself.
Happy and HEALTHY Birthday, Karen. We're all wishing you many, many, many, many more.
"It's not a 'mental' illness, it's a medical condition." Dale Neaman
So there she is, Liz Spikol, profiled in the New York Times and on the Huffington Post, back to back. Wow. How cool is that. Especially on a subject about which she happens to be an expert: mental illness.
The focus is on Spikol's contribution to a modern movement dedicated to bringing mental illnesses out of the dark ages and onto the Internet and YouTube. To shine light on a litany of very real medical conditions once hidden in the same kind of closet as homosexuality.
I knew Liz as a child, followed her impressive professional career, learned of her long battle with mental illness. I've celebrated her growth here but never came out, so to speak, about my own membership in her not so exclusive club.
'Mad Pride' is finally a group I can get behind 100 per cent. No, I'm not crazy (neither is Liz). But I'm not totally sane either. If you just went, HUH? that's the problem 'Mad Pride' proponents are trying to address.
Look around, hardly anybody you know is issue-free, so to speak. Or chemical-free, as a result of any number of very real mood disorders and illnesses. Usually inherited, just like heart disease or diabetes.
Yeah, I live a "normal," mentally balanced life, but only with the help of prescribed pharmaceuticals, internal fortitude and external support. So do millions of others, many, many of whom are related to me.
In our family alone we've got bi-polar disorder, manic depression, hypo-mania, clinical depression, suicidal ideation disorder, a potpourri of anxiety disorders, PTSD, obsessive-compulsive disorder, alcoholism, ADHD, Asperger's Syndrome and last but not least, body dysmorphic disorder.
Just about the only thing missing is schizophrenia. Although.... wait ... no! ... maybe ... well ... hold on! ... shut up! Oh, nevermind. Just kidding.
Mental illness isn't funny. Unless you've been through the tunnel, come out the other end and are managing your disease well. Then it can--for some, Must--be a stitch. Because that's the best way to patch yourself up.
A poster girl for 'Mad Pride,' Liz Spikol speaks with heart, humor, raw honesty, intelligence and incredible perception about her battles with bi-polar disorder. Listen to her.
"The eyes are not responsible when the mind does the seeing." Publilius Syrus
My niece Karen and her husband have been raising a son with a rare cancer called VHL. I've written about him so often it seemed fitting to give him his own page: ALEX ANDERSON
Hard as it is to believe, less than a year ago Karen was diagnosed with a different but equally rare cancer, Ocular Melanoma. April 16, 2008 doctors removed Karen's right eye.
Her story is really something. So here's her own page too.
"With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things." William Wordsworth
For those keeping up with the saga of my niece Karen, who lost her right eye to cancer barely two weeks ago, here's the latest.
Don't cringe at my title, look at the pictures above and below to see I'm just following Karen's lead. Which is to make lemonade out of lemons, turn chicken sh*t into chicken salad, focus on the joy of family, continue to embrace life.
If you can't see that, you need to look again.
I've already shared a picture of Karen in her first basic black eye patch. But now she's got a full wardrobe of eye catching patches. So I asked her to give us a look-see. She did a fashion shoot this week with daughter Amy manning the camera. Here are the fab results.
Keep in mind Amy isn't yet 10 years old. I think she's got a real career ahead of her. Look out, Annie Liebovitz!
Miss Thing Does Bling
A Kiss For You
Haa Cha Cha Cha!
Oriental Peace Patch
Make That Double Peace, Y'All
Courage, humor, style and grace under pressure. I can't think of anything better to inspire us all, can you?
"True friendship is seen through the heart, not through the eyes."
My niece had surgery to remove her right eye last Wednesday. Oh yeah. Really. Of course I wrote about it here. Pray for Karen Please.
Karen came through the operation well. No question such radical surgery was necessary, there were two malignant tumors on her optic nerve.
Next steps: recuperation, then--in 6 weeks--the artificial eye implant, then occupational therapy to learn to see and live a normal life with only one eye. If anybody can do that, it's Karen.
There are more next steps: MRI, scans, maybe biopsies to check for metastasis. Friday we see the oncologist. Karen, her husband Bob, my sister Judy and me. Together. United. En masse.
The goal now is quality of life and prolonging life.
And she's already cracking jokes, telling her husband, "I had my eye on you from the beginning. Let's hope it was the good eye."
On a more poignant note, telling me, "Life is so precious. I had to lose an eye to see the truth."
My current challenge is finding colorful eye patches to match her outfits. Basic black (see above) is always in fashion, but we want to push the envelope and go for more gusto. If you have any info, let me know.
"The greatest treasures are those invisible to the eye but found by the heart." Michael Nolan Last summer I wrote about my niece's heroic battle with a vicious cancer called ocular melanoma. At the time, though the surgical treatment was rough, it seemed she emerged victorious. We celebrated. But then the Cancer Demons said: Not. So. Fast.
Today (Wednesday) surgeons will Remove. Her Eye. Yeah, join me in a giant shudder. It's called Enucleation.
Here's the medical info:
What is Enucleation? Immediately after the eyeball is removed, an orbital implant is inserted deep in the socket to preserve the shape of the eye. It will later be replaced by a permanent prosthesis.
It may hurt when you jerk your good eye to one side or another because the muscles of both eyes always move together and although your eye has been removed, your eye muscles move as if your eye was still there.
The plain facts in cold medical terms for laymen. What, they can't say life will go on, you'll be able to operate normally? Well, actually, they do.
What will I look like after my eye is removed? Keep in mind that your eyeball helps to keep the eyelid up. Therefore, when the eye is removed the eyelid simply stays shut as if you are winking. You may be self-conscious and want to wear an eye patch or sunglasses until you get your prosthesis.
Will I be able to lead a normal life with only one eye? It will take some time to adjust to using one eye, but almost everyone learns to compensate during the first year after surgery. There is reduced visual field on the side when looking straight ahead, and there is a loss of depth perception.
If the vision in your remaining eye is good, you will still be able to drive, read, play sports, and perform all your usual daily activities.
Yeah, enough already. In your wildest dreams you don't want this nightmare.
Here's the part they don't talk about. How long will I live?
That's because they don't know. They believe the enucleation will finally and completely eradicate the cancer. But ocular melanoma can metastasize to the liver and lungs. So even though the prognosis will most likely be good, the scans and tests and vigilance must continue even as life goes on.
Karen is 45 years old. She has a husband, two children, two dogs, a busy, productive life. Her 11-year-old son Alex also has cancer. A different kind, called VHL.
I want to howl to the heavens: HOW MUCH PAIN MUST ONE FAMILY TAKE?
I know the answer. As much as they're given.
Karen is such a warm, courageous, loving, caring person. She virtually glows with goodness and light. Read her story if you didn't already: I See Courage.
Pray for her please. If you don't pray, send some healing thoughts her way.
"I'm so scared girls look at my breast implants and think, 'To get boys, you need big boobs.' I tell them, 'Don't get it done. Those fears go away. You develop other insecurities, but breasts aren't one of them.' " Jenny Mccarthy
Okay, let's talk about boobs. No, not politicians. Actual breasts. Specifically a Spring Break contest held--where else--in a California nightclub. The prize being--what else--a boob job.
Yes, you heard right. Some teenage girl just won herself free breast augmentation surgery during a Limbo contest and a final "Bobbing for Boobs" contest at the V20 Nightclub in Long Beach, CA.
Hey, every nightclub needs a gimmick. And apparently many girls who've heard those immortal Spring Break words, "Show us your t*ts!" believe they need bigger ones.
So that's the rationale behind "The Spring Break Breast Augmentation Contest Series," tongue-twister brainchild of 23-year-old promoter Jason DeLeon. Just 23 and already a marketing genius. His parents must be so proud.
In Jason's own words, "We just thought that the No. 1 reason people come to the club is, of course, girls. So how would we attract that demographic? Plastic surgery. It's what they're into."
Jason's company--yep, he has his own company, too--will pay the plastic surgeon, Dr. Karl Nguyen for the surgery. Dr. Nguyen didn't want to be interviewed about the contest, making me wonder how his own parents might feel. Or, maybe he has a daughter with boob issues of her own.
Far too many girls today have breast, body, self-esteem issues. More than a thousand showed up for that dinky contest in Long Beach. "It's always nice to get free boobies," said contestant Tracy Boi. And "Lanle" (no last name) had her reasons for joining in: "To get boobs. More self-esteem."
Imagine if one of the TV networks grabbed--uh, purchased--Jason's idea and took it national. Our sick pop culture already displayed in magazines, TV shows, movies and the celebration of celebrity role models virtually guarantees gazillions of tiny teens with A and B cups would line up around the block for a chance to go under the knife.
That's the scary part. Kids having unnecessary elective surgery to meet some unrealistic ideal. What an image: fake breasts perched unnaturally on the chests of girls who are--no matter the fancy make-up and hottie outfits--still children. And who should be expanding their brains, not their potential sex appeal.
I'm not opposed to plastic surgery -- I believe in nose jobs, for example. If the expectations are realistic and the doctor carefully chosen, a smaller honker can make a girl look better and feel better about herself. Really. I know.
And hey, I'm a Baby Boomer, I might want some "freshening" myself someday. As an adult I have the right to make those decisions and the maturity to cope with potential mistakes. I know other adult women who've had breast surgery. Some for augmentation. Too many for mastectomy reconstruction.
They all had genuine reasons for risking surgery. Bottom line, I believe in a woman's right to choose what happens to her own body. Notice I said woman.
But c'mon, a contest offering Boobies for Babies is just plain wrong.
"There is something about the presence of a cat...that seems to take the bite out of being alone." Louis Camuti
At your next dinner party, forget politics, sex or religion. Just bring up the subject of cats and dogs and the fur will start to fly. Most pet owners have extreme, passionate opinions when it comes to the canine-feline debate.
If you don't have a pet, you may think you're smart but are probably a little lonely. Possibly a tiny bit misogynistic, truth be told. Pets require more communication and commitment than children. Or a spouse. And frankly, the return on investment is much better, unconditional-love-wise.
But back to the debate. Dog lovers tend to be loud, pedantic and well, often insufferable in defense of their various hairy breeds. They make disdainful faces at cat owners (you know the look), as if a cat isn't a "real" pet.
Ignorant philistines.
Cat owners never put dogs down. We just smile pleasantly and say, "How nice for you, I bet it's tiring to walk Bruiser late at night." We're a little smug because we know the magical, practical secret of cat ownership: big love, very little maintenance.
Plus, dog owners don't understand the cat gestalt. Cats are genuine, card-carrying pets. They're only independent when they have to be ... or when you force them to be. Most pet cats act pretty much like dogs. They bond with you. Sometimes on your head even.
Sure, not many cats sit up or roll over, but not many cat owners care about dumb animal tricks. We go for the grace, the pace, the purr, the personality. Our cats have habits and tendencies and behaviors as varied as our own.
They don't attack strangers. They don't sniff Uncle Ned's crotch or hump Grandma's leg. They might hiss if somebody brings a dog to visit (ours camps out on top of the fridge when my sister brings her Lab, Lucy), but mostly they show polite indifference.
With their owners, a different story. Far from standoffish, they vie endlessly for your attention. Your lap. Your hand stroking their fur. And the always popular, I Want To Playyyyy..... usually in the middle of the night.
They're so cute. Running sprints up and down the hall. Slamming into the slider at that bird on the other side. Meowing in all manner of voices: I need food, you left me alone all day/for three days, my litter's dirty, I'm gonna hurl, stop typing and pet me!
Nobody has to throw cats tennis balls, they play with their toys on their own. That's the good kind of independence. Playing, staying, eating, sleeping, eliminating ... they don't need you for any of it. But they want you. Love you. And if you want to love them, they're on you in a flash.
Now a new study from the University of Minnesota says cat owners are less at risk for heart attack and stroke. Less than those with dogs. Or no pets. The study doesn't mention children.
Our kid's grown and gone. Our cat's reading this over my shoulder and nodding sagely. I'm calm as could be. Maybe we'll change her name to Lipitor.
"According to the karma of past actions, one's destiny unfolds, even though everyone wants to be so lucky." Sri Guru Granth Sahib
Here we go again. Surgery on my hand Friday. Left, which is good since I'm a righty. Still, I'll be one-handed for a while. So, not life-threatening but briefly life-altering.
My sister Judy's here from LA, staying for two weeks. She's a nurse, but it's more about helping me do those little personal things only a sister can be asked to do. What a pal. I'm going to work hard not to whine, kvetch, be a pain in the butt.
For those of you who know me and are laughing, STFU!
And to anybody who wants to throw some good karma my way, I can still catch it with my right hand.
I may not be back for a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, tawk amongst yourselves.
"Breast cancer is the second leading cause of death, in terms of cancer, among women." Scott Thompson
Big diseases get a month of their own. October belongs to Breast Cancer and I'm on board. It's in our family. Among our friends. It's taken some, maimed others, affected us all.
Odds are, someone you know and love has had breast cancer too. I hope you didn't lose anyone, but odds are you--or someone you know--did.
Breast cancer is treatable in most cases. Especially--and this is KEY--if caught early.
Yet big drug companies, big insurance and other health care special interests haven't stepped up with big public campaigns to promote drugs, treatments--and most important--screenings for breast cancer.
Why not? Money. The next time you're watching TV, check out some of the ads and ask yourself if anybody you know ever died from Restless Leg Syndrome or PMS.
It's all about the bottom line. There's no significant profit margin on mammograms. In fact they can be obtained for little or no cost (info on that below). So there's no incentive to advertise mammography.
Non-profits like Susan G. Komen for the Cure have to carry the message and count on our donations to foot the bill for educating the public.
Because for all women, especially those over 40, there's a far more compelling bottom line: regular mammograms and other screenings lower our risk of dying from breast cancer.
You'd think that would be easy to understand. Let me say it again: a mammogram can save your life.
There are endless statistics on this, but I'll give you some personal anecdotal evidence that makes my point.
Of nearly twenty family members and friends with breast cancer, we've had four deaths. Two of those women finally succumbed to the disease years and years after screening and diagnosis, having lived long and happy lives.
Two others never did a self-exam. Never got mammograms. They just got breast cancer and each died within a year.
The new mammography machines are much more gentle. But even if your town doesn't have one, tough it out. A little discomfort once a year beats losing your life to breast cancer.
So I'll say it one more time: a mammogram can save your life. Get one.
"For most of my working life, I was the youngest person doing whatever I was doing, then one day I woke up and I was the oldest person in the room." Bill Clinton
What's going on here? Is today Geezer Day and I didn't get the memo? Why is my online world suddenly rife with emails and articles suggesting I'm older than dirt and falling apart?
The day started well. I got dressed for physical therapy (shut up, so I ruptured a disk this summer bending over to tie my running shoe, that could happen to anybody) and came to check my email.
I liked one from my niece explaining all the ways sex contributes to health, beauty and longevity. But maybe that should have been my first clue.
A small alarm when off while I was catching up on salon.com. An article called Stopping the hands of time, about plastic surgery for veiny, old-looking hands. Blech.
Then an age bomb email hit my inbox. Introducing the All-New AOL Good Life for the 50+ Generation. Inside, the very first sentence: There really has never been a better time to be over 50.
Oh yeah? Then YOU try it!
Jeez, who did the market research on that one? HEY, AOL: a good idea, but a bad intro. People over 50 don't want that number blasted in their faces. The only people who like to be called 50+ are the ones who are 60+!
I was just calming down when iVillage let me have it between the eyes. Clouding Your Future: Cataracts on the Horizon. Take me now, Satan!
The first sentence of the article explains I'm not really in immediate danger: Cataracts for All if You Live Long Enough. Phew, what a relief.
But iVillage wasn't finished. A list of videos, starting with Cancer 101, followed by Getting a Good Night's Sleep. Who can sleep if they're worried about cancer?!
Oookaaay. So I don't have cancer or cataracts ... at least for the time being. I even have legal drugs to help me sleep. One of the few really excellent Boomer Benefits. It made me smile.
Then a sniper attack from eMedicine. GERD Feature Series Newsletter. It's got words like endoscopy and barium in it.
I definitely didn't sign up for a newsletter on GastroEsophageal Reflux Disease, aka acid reflux ... aka severe heartburn. Which I am so getting from reading about all these Geezer Diseases.
Enough! Stop the Insanity! I'm not that freakin old!
AARP better stay away from me. I've got a Delete key and I'm not afraid to use it.
"Colon cancer screening is probably one of the most underused ways to save one's life from cancer that exists." Michael Thun
"A serious abuse of power or a serious abuse of official duties." John Conyers
I don't want to hear any George W. Bush colonoscopy jokes. For a number of reasons.
Regardless of my disaffection for his ideologies and current job, to Tony Snow colon cancer isn't funny. If nothing else, I respect his courageous battle with the disease.
It's also not amusing to the thousands--if not millions--of colon cancer survivors not even remotely connected to the White House. Nor to the families of those who've succumbed to colon cancer.
It's in our family. We all get regular colonoscopies and hope for the best.
Two close friends died of the disease.
For 3 hours Dick Cheney was publicly recognized as the Acting President of the United States. Which is the only time in this administration's history that it was 100% honest with the American people.
Okay, I will make one small comment in a lighter vein. The picture of Cheney above -- he rather looks like a polyp. Which couldn't be more appropriate.
Warning: Bush Administration Harmful to Your Health
Kevin Dietsch/United Press International C. Everett Koop, Richard H. Carmona, David Satcher, Hippocrates
"I will keep them from harm and injustice." Hippocratic Oath, Classical version
The Bush administration--driven by political expediency, greed and Right Wing Christian "values"--is all about harm and injustice. And it's expertise in ignoring sacred oaths is second to none.
So now we find out from a former Bush appointee that the Surgeon General's office--the medical arm of our government--has been infected too. It should come as no surprise ... but it makes me sick.
Political expediency is one thing, the suppression of information vital to the health and safety of Americans quite another. These Bush goons are so irresponsible it's beyond belief.
And the extent of this administration's direct interference with medical and scientific efforts to protect the country's health is criminally negligent.
Former US Surgeon Dr. General Richard H. Carmona told the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee this week that the Bush administration closely monitored his office and made decisions about health issues contrary to public health and safety.
Let's review the list of health issues and reports about them Dr. Carmona said he was not permitted to make public:
2. Emergency contraception. (Got raped? Your fault, you dressed too sexy, live with it.)
3. Sex education. (Abstinence only, you horny little non-Christian brats.)
4. Prison mental and physical health problems. (Who cares about criminals. And hey, if they get out of jail and spread disease, it won't touch us.)
5. Global warming. (Doesn't exist. Just a campaign issue Al Gore made up.)
6. The Special Olympics. (Whoa! That's Kennedy country! Not gonna help any handicapped people, even kids, if they hang out with Democrats.)
7. The dangers of secondhand smoke. (The tobacco lobbyists who fund our campaigns and give us our own private jets say there aren't any dangers.)
These are all critical issues, but that last one is huge. According to Dr. Carmona and two other former surgeons general, the landmark report on secondhand smoke finally released in September 2006 was delayed for YEARS by the Bush administration ... who also tried mightily to water it down.
So there's one thing that bothers me almost as much as the administration's heinous sacrifice of public safety on the alter of political gain: Dr. Carmona's--and Drs Koop and Satcher's--silence at our expense.
I remember Koop at least trumpeting the dangers of smoking. Why didn't Satcher and most recently Carmona--The Nation's Doctor--speak up sooner? His claim of political "naivete" only covers the beginning of his one-time 4-year term.
He wasn't asked back for a second term. A perfect chance to become a whistle-blower. More, the right time to step up and be a real DOCTOR.
Carmona's been out of the Surgeon General's office almost a year. What the hell was he waiting for?? Hmm. He's got a sweet job with Canyon Ranch resorts and spas. One wonders, are they Republicans too?
Interfering with the dissemination of crucial medical information for political gain could--and possibly did--kill people. Yet, once again, Bush and his Right Wing posse got away with murder.
You have to ask yourself, is there ANY part of our lives these bozos have Not harmed?
"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." Anais Nin
People say life gives you only as much as you can handle. If that's true, then my niece Karen is Mother Freakin Teresa.
It's hard to believe life's given her such heavy burdens. Not that she can't handle them. She's a wife, mother, teacher, massage therapist, healer, a dedicated practitioner of healthy lifestyle and positive karma.
Plus she has an amazing husband, a solid marriage, a loving, happy home. Two children who'd make any family burst with pride.
Karen's smart, funny, warm, generous, open-hearted. Ups and downs, sure, like the rest of us. But Carrying the Weight of the World just never seemed her destiny.
Except. At age 4 their son Alex was diagnosed with a rare cancer called VHL. Now 11, he's endured more invasive tests, procedures and surgeries than most adults face in a lifetime.
I've written a lot about Alex and the family's trials and triumphs here.
And I've asked myself over and over, how do you cope with such heartbreakingly cruel responsibility? Even when Alex is healthy--like now, thank God--the stress of hyper-vigilance and Keeping Things Normal is sky high.
But normal is important, so life goes on.
Then this past January Karen noticed an odd patch on one of her legs. Melanoma. An ominous word. Yet she just dealt with it, no commotion, no fanfare. The growth was removed, same day surgery, clean margins, good outcome. Done. We thought.
She's had a benign nevus on her eye for a long time. Annoying because it interfered with her vision. Nothing to worry about, just to keep an eye on, so to speak.
Then, just 6 months after the last surgery, that word again. Melanoma. In her eye. Go ahead, shudder. I did. Two surgeries, radiation and a 5-day hospital stay would be required.
Karen took it like a trooper. No time wasted on fears or tears, she was too busy juggling summer schedules, keeping the house on track, cleaning the pool, walking the dogs ... as every mother knows, the list goes on.
So okay, a few more tasks were added -- X-rays, liver scans, pre-op tests, paperwork for surgery. And make sure the kids are looked after, emotionally and physically.
Who better than Grammy to man the home front. Karen's mother--my sister Judy--came in from LA. Because Judy's a top notch nurse--and the patient's Mommy--she'd also provide moral support, oversee post-op care, assure herself all was well.
The first operation last Thursday inserted a radioactive chip into Karen's eye to kill the cancer cells. Back in her hospital room, she seemed fine. Talking, laughing, even eating. Judy left to take care of the kids. I took the next shift with Karen's husband Bob.
Because of the chip, Karen would be quarantined with a lead patch on her eye for 5 days. Each visitor permitted only 3 hours a day. No kids at all. So we got busy discussing how she'd fill the time.
Then, without warning, the rest of the anesthesia wore off. Excruciating pain hit. Hard. Killer nausea too. The nightmare was suddenly very real. And finally, finally Karen didn't care who knew it.
Hallelujah! I told my husband when I got home from the hospital that night. She'd let the tears flow, the sobs come, even a few howls rip, releasing all the pent up stress she'd been carrying far too long under that stiff upper lip.
And more, I told him too, the girl who's sensitive to conventional meds, who much prefers homeopathic remedies and HATES needles even let me get her a shot. Wow.
In the days to follow, she'd only agree to take one lousy Advil at a time for the pain. No matter her discomfort, she talked calmly and patiently on the phone to the kids, entertained visitors, gave the nurses some good chuckles. We joked and laughed and talked as we always do.
Her inner balance was back. Hallelujah for that too.
Today, more surgery. The radiation chip was removed and a laser used to eradicate any remaining cancer cells. Easier this time. A few hours post op, Karen was ready to leave.
She's home now, recuperating. Eye patch til Wednesday. Treatments. Medications. And until the stitches dissolve, the incredibly annoying scrape of something in her eye.
But those are just details. She wants to get in the pool with the kids. Go horseback riding. Play Scrabble with Alex. Take long bike rides with Bob. Watch Amy perform in a local play.
Long term prognosis? Not on her radar, thank you. Too much life to live. We'll know when we know. Right now, things look good.
Except. Karen will need liver scans, chest X-rays and other tests every 6 months, then every year for the rest of her life.
And she shares something now with her son -- they both have the same eye surgeon, they've both had eye tumors removed. They'll both have to be tested over and over again.
But she jokes about it. Most people plan family vacations, she says. In our family we plan group trips to the hospital.
Short term, she just wants to know will she be able to see?
I can tell her what I see when I look at her -- and at Bob, Alex, Amy, my sister Judy. I see courage.
I only wish I saw half as much in myself.
P.S. Feeling grateful for your good health? Maybe a little generous? Consider making a donation to the VHL Cancer Research Fund through the VHL Family Alliance in honor of Karen and her son Alex. Thank you.
"An hour of pain is as long as a day of pleasure." George Bernard Shaw
As a Baby Boomer, I have my share of aches, pains and what were formerly Old People issues, but generally I'm a fighter, not a whiner. So there aren't many things that can keep me off my game for long.
Head cold, stomach bug, even arthroscopic knee surgery might knock me down, but not out. If absolutely necessary I'll take to my bed, but as briefly as possible. I'd much rather hit the PT treadmill than the living room couch.
However. There's something about the pain of a herniated lumbar disk that's been known to send even seasoned tough guys into fits of uncontrollable weeping. With good reason.
Bad backs with their attendant muscle spasms and nerve inflammations can test the mightiest stoics. My most recent bout finally sent me to the hospital feeling like a sissy but in the worst pain I can remember since childbirth.
As it turns out, I'm not a wimp. MRI confirms a disk has not only ruptured, a piece of it has broken off and is sitting directly on a nerve. Yeah. Really.
I'm home now, on bed rest, steroids and heavenly pain killers until next week, when The Back Guys I Trust Most will poke me with needles and other creepy things in order to remove the disk, the fragment and the Truly Agonizing Pain that's given me new respect for the palliative wonders of Demerol.
My husband got me one of those cool hospital tables that roll over the bed, which now holds my laptop so I can come online and stop driving myself and everybody else crazy.
I'll check in from time to time and try to write something of substance. But don't count on it.
Bad backs might happen more often to Boomers now, but face it, Gang, there's one positive fruit of that increasingly gnarled tree: legal pharmaceutical highs.
"It is dainty to be sick, if you have leisure and convenience for it." Ralph Waldo Emerson
Frankly, I don't feel very dainty. I'm sneezing and coughing and blowing my nose. I have a sore throat. A voice like Marge Simpson. It's hard to talk. My head is so stuffy and fluffy it's hard to think.
No, I don't have the flu, just a bad cold, but still, it's unpleasant. Of course I haven't taken to my bed at the first sneeze as The Men are prone to do. But forget the Monday workout. Possibly even Tuesday shopping. Only the essentials will get done for the next few days.
I confess I did lie down for a bit earlier in the day. Now I'm sitting here staring at the computer screen like a pathetic, mouth breathing little kid, trying to opine. But nothing of value is emerging from my cotton-wrapped brain.
So instead I offer you this, in the spirit of things not always being--or sounding--as they seem. Needless to say, it was sent to me with the caption, "Funny, they don't look Jewish."
I would only add that Tradition is obviously a universal concept.
"Fame is but a slow decay, Even this shall pass away." Theodore Tilton
If you've ever had surgery, you probably don't remember the exact date -- unless it was a C-section and thus a child's birthday. My husband had cervical spine surgery a long time ago, but we'll never forget the date. Here's the back story and the reason why.
One Thursday evening some years back my husband noted that his shoulder hurt. He's a pretty tough guy, rarely complains about anything, but I could see the pain on his face. Still, I had to put my foot down just to make him take some Advil.
After a rough night I insisted he see his doctor. The doc thought it could be bursitis and gave him a stronger anti-inflammatory.
Saturday the pain was worse and had moved down his arm. A call to the doctor's answering service netted a prescription for Tylenol with Codeine, plus instructions to increase the anti-inflammatory and come in for more tests on Monday.
By Saturday night he was really hurting. Bad. Shoulder, arm, upper back. If you have a husband, especially one who's rarely sick, you know how really mature they can be when something's wrong ... NOT. His complaining was so relentless I finally gave him two Valium and a big water glass filled with wine.
Finally, peace. Until the next morning. He was in agony. Couldn't feel his fingers or move his arm. I realized this wasn't a grown man being a big baby over nothing. A friend helped me take him to the local ER.
Ah, the beauty of morphine. They also took X-rays--which showed a possible muscle spasm--gave him a script for Vicodin, scheduled an MRI Monday morning to rule out anything serious -- and sent us home.
The Vicodin kept the pain at bay, but just barely. It was a long, long night. Monday we went for the MRI in a building conveniently located across the street from the hospital. And just like that, convenient became life-saving.
If you've had an MRI or any medical scan you know the drill. They do the test, send you back to the waiting room while they make sure the films came out okay and then tell you to go home, you'll hear from your doctor after he gets the results.
When they wheeled my husband out of the MRI on a stretcher with his neck immobilized in a big brace I knew it couldn't be good. They hurried us straight over to the hospital's renowned orthopedic surgery practice.
Fortunately, one of the top guys--the chief back surgeon--is a friend, our kids were in school together. He took one look at the MRI, left the room and came back with the top neck guy. The news was horrendous. Two cervical disks had ruptured so badly they were compressing my husband's spinal cord, depriving it of blood and oxygen. His body's organs were shutting down, one by one, kidneys, liver, lungs, heart, everything.
The prognosis without surgery was certain paralysis, probably death. There were no options. The operation was scheduled for Tuesday. The extra day's wait was dangerous but necessary in order to "bathe" his spinal cord in steroids so it could handle the incredibly delicate procedure.
On top of my guilt over calling him a big baby, I was terrified. My strong healthy husband knocked flat by a spinal cord injury, his very life depending on the skill of a surgical team.
On Tuesday as they wheeled him into the OR he was sedated but just alert enough to be scared witless. Not of the prognosis, that was more than he could absorb. He feared the operation. He'd never had surgery in his life.
His eyes darted around at the unfamiliar room, taking in the huge overhead lights, the gleaming instruments laid out on tables next to him, the people bustling around, intent on their assigned tasks. He was trying hard to calm himself when he heard a radio tuned to the news. Okay, something normal, ordinary, familiar.
It's important to note here that--as in any big urban hospital--the OR team was a pretty even racial mix. You'll see why in a minute.
My husband might have been a surgery virgin, but he'd seen enough medical shows to know sometimes they play music in an OR, but a radio news broadcast is definitely out of place. Just as the anesthesia began to take effect he realized in a burst of clarity why the radio was on.
The OJ verdict was about to be announced.
My husband's last conscious thoughts--and words--were, "Please, don't boo or applaud if they give the verdict while you're cutting open my neck!"
Of course they didn't. He came through the operation with flying colors. And his first two questions in the recovery room? You got it. "Am I okay?" and "What was the OJ verdict?"
Now OJ's in the news again, aiming to profit from his infamy with a disgusting pseudo-confessional book and Fox TV specials. No doubt the man's a stone killer, but to us OJ will always be first and foremost a royal pain in the neck.
"In this country, we're so focused on physical looks. We tie the issue of femininity to physical appearance, and people think primarily of breast cancer that threatens your breasts -- though those who have it realize, more significantly, that it threatens your life." Fran Visco
See that ad up there? It stopped me in my tracks, as it was meant to do. But once I figured out its message, I had to ask, What is the American Cancer Society thinking???
Yes, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. A cause I support with everything I've got. Two sisters, two aunts, two cousins and a best friend are breast cancer survivors. That friend's mother, several friends and my late mother-in-law weren't so lucky.
That American Cancer Society ad doesn't promote breast cancer awareness, it trivializes women by promoting beautiful, youthful breasts. Adding insult to injury, there's another ad using the same perky picture which reads, "If you're 40 or over, talk to your doctor about getting a mammogram."
Trust me, if you're 40 or over, your breasts haven't looked like that in 20 years. And if you've had a mastectomy, they'll never look like that again.
I've spent more than half a lifetime in the marketing profession, so I understand the value of an attention-grabbing photo. But please, there has to be a better way to attract clickthroughs for breast cancer awareness than by channeling Victoria's Secret.
The horror of breast cancer deserves--no, demands--advertising support that reflects the seriousness of the subject. Millions of women fight this crippling, devastating disease every year. Millions more lives are at stake. Prevention is key. Education is vital. Early detection is critical.
Statistically, women over 40 are most at risk. But to look at that ad, you'd think it was touting plastic surgery, not mammograms. Whoever conceived the idea of using soft core porn to promote breast cancer awareness is quite simply a pig.
What's the rationale? Get husbands and boyfriends to click on the pretty boobs and they'll urge the women in their lives to have mammograms? Give me a break.
The people who approved and executed these ads need their heads--and their ethics--examined. If any of them are women, I hope they get their breasts examined too.
Stupidity should never stand in the way of breast cancer awareness.
