Things I've Learned From Cancer So Far

Free Parking
When I was first diagnosed, Boris and I had appointments with oncologists almost daily. After the second appointment, I asked Boris if he noticed that we didn't have to pay for valet parking. Normally, it costs $15-$20 to park in a medical building or hospital for 10 minutes. Not when you have cancer. We get validated. When Amara and I went to UCI a few months ago, as we gave our car to the valet, he asked for $10. "Did you tell him I have cancer?" I asked Amara. "Sharon!?" she replied. "Well, it should be free," I said. And as we left our appointment, the woman at the front desk asked if we had a valet ticket she could validate. "The valet will give you back your money," she said. I turned to Amara and gave her my best "I told you so" look.

I have my own Army of Women and a Few Good Men
I have always been fortunate to have the most amazing group of friends, the majority of whom I've known since I was 12. But cancer has revealed to me just how many people love me. Close friends, acquaintances and total strangers have done the most incredible things for me. Before I even began treatment my friends rallied into an army to make my life as easy as possible. They were delivering food at such a furious pace that I had to explain to them that no one on earth could possibly eat that much. Plus, nothing had happened to me yet. I was perfectly capable of buying groceries, cooking, and certainly ordering in. No one cared. Boris was concerned that everyone would burn out before we really needed help, most likely after Miracle's arrival. He told me that my friends weren't going to feed us for over a year. "You don't know my friends, Boris," I told him. My army of women delivers food to us once or twice a week. They buy groceries and bring us delicious home cooked meals. They drive in from far, far away places like the valley just to bring us food. Some of them have never ever cooked a meal for themselves or their own families, but they make food for me and mine. When they cook, I'm informed that everything is organic and if the food is packaged in plastic, they assure me that they let the food cool off before packaging it up. But of course.

For those who beg to bring me food but I refuse because we really, really, really don't need anything, they find other ways to help. I've been sent articles on cancer fighting foods, referrals to healers, acupuncturists, herbalists, therapists who specialize in cancer patients, meditation cd's, book lists, cashmere sweaters and blankets to stay warm, scarves, even a faux Goyard bag I was eyeing (I was actually eyeing the real deal but refused to spend $1200 on vinyl and this baby is identical). Close and not so close friends have asked if they can babysit, run errands, do my laundry. Seriously. A client of mine who knew about my cat traumas with Norman asked if she could come over and clean my litter box every day. I actually have a visitor's schedule because Amara doesn't live here but wants to be involved. So I have friends who call several times a week wanting to know if they can come over and "visit" (read help). We have small fights as they take off work early or leave their children at home and burst into my house and demand to do my dishes or straighten up toys.

I have one friend who was going to stop breastfeeding when her son turned 1, but knowing how sad I was to find out I couldn't breastfeed Miracle, she delayed weaning so she could provide him with breast milk. She is pumping a 2 month supply of milk for him which she drops off each week. Another close friend who is due with a little boy at the same I'm due with Miracle has also offered to pump milk for him. Each week I am reminded of how lucky the two of us are to have friends like them.

I also have a waiting list of friends who want to come to doctors' appointments, chemo and hydration sessions with me. I had so many requests that Boris wanted to know if he'd be able to come with me again. I receive daily emails, cards and phone calls just sending me love and good thoughts. Cancer has reconnected me with people I haven't spoken to in years. My friends are more amazing and love me more than I ever imagined. And I am grateful to them in a way that words can't accurately express and hope to be in their debt for a long, long time.

Random Acts of Kindness
In one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes, Jerry Seinfeld declared that 90% of the population was undatable. I used to argue that his statement should be taken one step further. 90% of the population is not only undatable, they are annoying and dumb. Until now. I have been touched by the generosity and support of my friends and family, of course, but of acquaintances and total strangers. A friend of a friend owns Childish clothing and when she heard about me, she stuffed a giant bag full of fabulous maternity clothes for me. I thanked her profusely and her response was that if I wanted anything else or any children's clothing, to let her know. A client who works with Paige Premium Denim gave me several super cute pairs of maternity jeans so that I could "rock it" at the hospital. I have been given delicious ParkerBlue sweats outfits, insanely soft robes and one friend (Cass!) has given me every comfy top and pair of sweats she can get her hands on. Not to mention that I haven't been allowed to pay for a meal since I was diagnosed. And believe me I try. Anytime I sound sad, my brother brings me gorgeous flowers with a poignant card that might say "life sucks right now but at least these are pretty to look at." I guess I'm still not convinced about most people's intelligence (especially given the outcome of Prop. 8), but I am convinced that there are many, many good people out there who want to do nice things for someone going through a shitty, shitty time even if they don't know them. I'm hopeful that Marc Jacobs might hear about me and want to outfit me with a post-baby, new boobs wardrobe. If anyone reading this knows him - I'm totally serious.

Complain Less
I have spent 15+ years complaining about my unruly hair and large breasts. Now I'm bald and going to lose my breasts. I wish I had appreciated them both more. I had great hair and my boobs are rad. Seriously. When Miles was born, he would breastfeed for what seemed like eternity. 45 minutes to an hour each session only to want more 30 minutes later. He'd often fall asleep at the breast and I would complain to Boris that I was a human pacifier. But I was committed to breastfeeding and as he got older and ate faster and less frequently, I loved our time together. Since Miles has always been a man on the move, feeding was our only snuggly time together. But Miles only breastfed for 5 months. I had to introduce him to the bottle and when he realized that he could get back to playing faster, he was over the boob. Since that time, I've been joking that I'm going to breastfeed my next child until s/he is 12. And now I'm carrying my next child who I won't get to breastfeed for 5 minutes - forget 12 years. I wish I had complained less about Miles' newborn feeding frenzies because now I'll never get to experience them again.

Cancer has taught me not to take anything for granted and to appreciate more. Things I complain about now may disappear in the future. It has made me painfully aware that I am not immortal and that there is something beautiful and significant in the most mundane tasks and seemingly unimportant moments. I relish every second I have with Miles even if it's changing a diaper, wiping his nose or watching him throw a tantrum. And while I'm getting more uncomfortable with my pregnancy, I'm just so grateful to be pregnant and have a healthy child growing inside me that instead of complaining, with each kick and hiccup I smile. I've even stopped complaining about unwanted hair because now it's all wanted. I am bald bald bald on my head but still have 1 hair growing out of my chin. Normally I'd have that sucker lazered off in a heartbeat, but not now. To me it means that some part of me is healthy and growing and normal so it's not going anywhere.

Being a Parent is the Hardest but Best Job on Earth
When I was younger, my father used to tell me often that there were many things I wouldn't understand until I was parent. Love was one of them. "You won't understand how much I love you until you have kids of your own," he'd say. I would roll my eyes and tell him how annoying he was. Afterall, with the most amazing friends and family, a husband I couldn't love more....I love a lot of people a lot. But then I had Miles and understood what my father was talking about. The love I feel for him his the most overwhelming, encompassing, phenomenal love I've ever known. He is the only person on the planet that I want to spend every second of every day with. Seriously. I've been told that will change when he's 2, but for now, I simply worship absolutely everything about him. Like most parents, I think my child is the most incredible, gorgeous, gifted, charming and lovable person on earth.

And so I cannot fathom the pain and suffering my parents are going through. They tell me repeatedly that they would die in a heartbeat to make this go away and that not 1 second of 1 day goes by that they are not thinking of me. I think it's worse for them than it is for me. They are completely helpless and no parent wants to see their child suffer and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Like my friends, they call me daily wanting to know how they can help. And like my friends, they're sad that they can't do much more than buy me food or small gifts that might brighten my day. And even though I understand their despair, I am still their child and still me and tell them almost daily to stop being annoying. There are some things that even cancer doesn't change.

The Worst Thing Ever
I have been known to speak in hyperbole. Tons of things are either the best or worst thing ever, or just the best or worst. When I was living in San Francisco, a co-worker introduced me to his mother as follows: "This is Sharon. Everything in her life is either amazing or not okay." While I still catch myself saying things like, "that movie was the worst thing ever or my indigestion is killing me or this sore in my mouth is the worst thing ever," I now correct myself. I go on to say "actually, indigestion is not killing me. Cancer might be, but not indigestion. And the mouth sore is not the worst thing ever. It just fucking sucks (except recently Boris forced me to watch Don't Mess with the Zohan which actually might be the worst thing ever. Ever.)." When people other than close friends or family complain to me about how trivial disappointments, office or playground politics, lack of sleep, blah blah blah are the worst things ever I just think "excuse me, but being pregnant with cancer is the worst thing ever." Period.

I have a Perfectly Shaped Head
I'd be thrilled to never have known this, but it's something I've learned.

Cancer Sucks
I've read many accounts from cancer survivors who claim that their cancer was a blessing and made them better people. I think that's bullshit and am not into the "cancer gave me a fresh start and made me a better person" perspective. I was a good person before cancer. I told my family and friends that I loved them often and while I may have complained about trivial issues, I wasn't totally ungrateful for what I had. I knew I was strong before I had cancer and would be happy not to learn just how much I can endure. Cancer has made me more grateful, but it hasn't changed my core. Someone still annoys me on a daily basis, I still hate my mother in law and I still want to shop a lot. Boris and I recently had breakfast at Quality and afterwards took a stroll down 3rd St. As we were walking, I told him that I wanted to buy everything I saw. "Hasn't cancer taught you anything?" he asked. "Absolutely," I said. "But it hasn't made me stop wanting cute clothes or shoes or bags and honestly if I have less time here, I'd like to look really good." Right?

And even if cancer has given me a chance to start over (even if I don't think I need it) I'd gladly give it up to avoid over a year of hell. Pain, unbelievable exhaustion and worse, fear. Unimaginable fear and sadness. Fear of death and guilt of undergoing chemo while pregnant (as if pregnant women don't worry enough about their babies in the best of circumstances!), a lifetime of worrying about whether I've harmed Miracle, mourning the loss of my body, my hair (except where I'd actually like it to fall out), my life as I knew it. Time with Boris, Miles, my family, friends. The inability to relate to most normal people who just don't get it. A blessing? No fucking way.

Patience for Doctors
As a general rule, I think it's rude to keep people waiting for long periods of time. Now many of you know that I am eternally late, but only by a few minutes. I used to throw fits in doctor's offices insisting that my time was just as valuable as theirs and keeping me waiting for 30 minutes or an hour was simply unacceptable. Don't get me wrong, I don't like wasting time in a waiting room, but now I realize that someone like me might be on the other side of the door. Someone newly diagnosed with a horrifying disease who is terrified and in shock and has a zillion questions. And luckily for me, I have found doctors who will spend as much time with me as I need any time I need it. All of my doctors have spent hours with me, literally, discussing studies, abstract 'what ifs,' the unknown, until I was satisfied. All of these women are the best in their field and have busy, hectic practices. And yet when they enter the room, I am their only patient and they will patiently answer all of my questions, even the ones I've asked before. It's only fair that I return the favor. Dr. McAndrew has spent hours on the phone with me over the weekend and in the evening not to mention all of my office visits. Dr. Funk answers my emails almost immediately and fits me into her schedule whenever I need. She has checked up on me throughout my treatment. And if our state didn't suck and I could marry a woman (assuming neither she nor I were happily married) I would seriously try to marry Dr. Ottavi. These women are my angels and protectors and are hopefully saving my life and Miracle's, too.

It's Possible to Love Boris More
I have never loved a man as much as I love Boris which is why I married him. I didn't think I could love him any more than I did before we got married. But as each day went by during our first year of marriage, I loved him even more. I never ever dreamed I could be so comfortable with anyone. Then we had Miles and I fell in love with Boris all over again. Watching him with Miles still makes my heart feel like it might explode (although I admittedly feel pangs of jealousy when I snuggle with Miles at bedtime and Miles whispers "daddy"). And now this. And now I love him even more. He is my rock, my support, my hope, my heart, my life. It's impossible to write all of the unbelievably tender and loving things he says to me that reiterate his love of and support for me. Real, unconditional love. Not the "things-are-bliss-and-we're-so-happy-love," but "things-couldn't-be shittier-and-our-life-will-be-forever-changed-and-we-will-be-forever-changed-and-I'm-never-going-anywhere-and-still-love-you" love.

Fear and Sadness
Cancer has opened up a world of fear, loss and sadness that I never knew possible. I think until a doctor looks you in the eye and says "you have cancer," and you think "I'm going to die," it's impossible to understand. I have gone to the dark place where you wonder how much more time you have to live. Someone has told me that I have a 40% chance of dying in the next 10 years. 40%! People like to tell me that we're all going to die someday or that I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. But I ask them if they cry themselves to sleep at night because they're so afraid of when they're going to die or because they're terrified of being hit by a bus tomorrow. They don't. I ask them if they cry when they look at their children because they're afraid they won't get to watch them grow up. They don't. I ask them if they check their bodies every day for new lumps, tenderness, moles, anything that they fear might kill them. They don't. I do.

They also complain about gray hairs, unwanted facial hair, menstrual cramps, saggy breasts. I don't. I think those are all luxuries. I can only hope that I get to complain about them (minus the saggy breasts which, sadly, I'll never get to complain about) soon.

Being "Green" and Cancer Don't Mix
One of the many ironies of me getting cancer is that Boris and I had gone "green" when I was pregnant with Miles. I tossed out all of our toxic household cleaners and replaced them with non-toxic ones. Over the course of the year, I got rid of those too and now our entire house is cleaned with baking soda, vinegar and castille soap. We don't use any products with parabens or chemical fragrances (when I was diagnosed Boris asked if he could start using "normal" shampoo again). I've use a natural deodorant for years (Real Purity - it's the best). The only toxic products I use are my hair products (I'm too vain to have an afro, although cancer has solved that problem for me) and lip gloss (I'm obsessed and haven't found a natural one that I love). Recently, Boris and I decided that in addition to using non-toxic products, we would replace our paper towels with cloth, stop using plastic and paper bags in favor of reusable bags and even flush the toilet less (not gross, swear).

Cancer has derailed our efforts. Because of my nearly non-existent immune system, my doctors have advised that I use paper towels that I can throw away after 1 use (instead of risking germs and possible cross contamination in the kitchen) and I have to flush the toilet twice every time I pee. I've had to start using Aquaphor again to help with my chemo induced dry skin (not toxic but petroleum based so bad bad bad for the environment). Oh well.

Sisterhood of Breast Cancer Patients/Survivors
I am part of the sisterhood of breast cancer patients and survivors. I have been introduced to the most amazing women who have braved and battled breast cancer while pregnant. Women who do not say "I can't imagine" when I share my experience with them, because they don't have to imagine. They have lived it. These are women who call or email me in their chemo induced stupors on days I have treatment to wish me luck and love and an easy week. Women who are recovering from double mastectomies while caring for newborns who regularly check up on me. Women who know exactly what I'm going through and how I'm feeling. Women who can tell me what toothpaste hurts the least with a mouth full of sores, what exercises help regain range of motion after having 17+ lymph nodes removed, what my hair may look like when it grows back and more importantly, how they survived or are surviving this time in their lives.

Sadly, the number of young breast cancer patients and survivors is growing at a terrifying rate. When I was diagnosed, friends asked if they could introduce me to women they knew who were battling or had battled the disease. Unless they were pregnant, I didn't care to meet them. And many were lucky to only be stage I in which case I really wasn't interested in meeting them. Recently (and thankfully) I decided to meet a few of these women who have super fucked up cancer, like mine (not that any cancer is good cancer, but there are stages for a reason). Although they're not pregnant - they get it and have been invaluable to me. For now, these are the women I relate to and am so grateful for. I know that I will provide the same love, support, guidance and hope to someone like me.

The Best Plan is not to Have One
When I was pregnant with Miles, I remember discussing my "birth plan" with Dr. Ottavi. Essentially, I wanted to stay at home for as long as possible to avoid unnecessary medical intervention (such as Pitocin and epidurals) that might prolong my delivery and result in a c-section. I made it very clear to Dr. Ottavi that unless me or Miles was at risk of dying, under no circumstances did I want a c-section. Dr. Ottavi wisely counseled me to keep an open mind because as much I like to be in control and generally get my way, I would have no control over my birth and she didn't want me to be disappointed on one the best days of my life. Plus, she said the nursing staff would laugh at me if I actually brought a written birth plan to the hospital. Miles didn't really care about my plan and 10 days after my due date, I had to be induced. So much for staying home and avoiding Pitocin. And after holding out for 6 hours without an epidural, my water broke and I had my first giant, crazy contraction. The anesthesiologist was in my room 2 minutes later. 15 hours later, Miles still didn't want to come out and I apparently was pushing wrong (who knew that was even possible?). Dr. Ottavi turned my epidural off to help me push correctly (I still love her though) which I did once and started screaming for drugs and a c-section. Knowing my plan, Dr. Ottavi didn't let me give up that easily. But an hour and half later, that's exactly what happened. And it was still the best day of my life.

Throughout my treatment, I've made plans for how I wanted things to go. They haven't. Each time I think I've reached a decision, I do more research and change my mind. Now I've decided to give up plans and just take each day as comes.

A 3 Minute Shower is Possible
No need to elaborate. Without hair, it's true.