Before You Donate
Think very seriously before donating to any breastcancer organization, or fundraising program until you read their Annual Report to see who their top contributors are, and if they have a product that appears frequently in the message the organization sends to the public. That would be unethical and its illegal. The same applies to a request that the public buys products, but does not receive a "donor receipt" for tax-deductible purpose. Read any and all food labels that breastcancer "non-profits" are promoting to raise money. Some organizations tell the public to help them raise money by asking you to visit their websites, but that only gives them "hits" to increase their sponsors.
Another tip, "signing" an online Petition is not acceptable, so don't fall for such antics. An ethical non-profit, or professional will not request your visit to their website, nor use "cookies" placed on your computer when you visit their site.
Purchase the Breastcancer Postage Stamp, the Post Office will always give you your charitable deduction receipt. Its a valid form of fund raising.
Chemotherapy is what I had to do to fight this disease
The side effects aren't nice, but they have not been, nor are they what I could imagine as "the worst." If you asked me today if I'd do it again, I would if I could have my oncologist (at the time I am writing this, I am faced with that possibility—another type of chemo, and I still feel the same). All the difference in the world has been made by my choice of doctors—and the confidence I have in my oncologist. It I had to leave home and travel to get to this physician, I would do it (I've done that for surgery—its one of the hallmarks of recovery, in fact).
I spent many weeks trying to get a diagnosis, and finding a new team of physicians because of the neglectful care I had received in another city where a 'lumpectomy' was performed, without node excision in spite of my cell type, size of the two sites, and phase of the cell—and that surgeon's own advice. For the first time in that horrible three months, I felt confident that I, we, could begin to do something to fight, and I could be actively involved—pray God, at least for a while.
My anxiety over radiation stemmed from my brother's illness, I knew that. That was a long time ago. And, too, from things I'd heard about radiation from current cancer survivors. Nevertheless, chemotherapy terrified me—I'd just lost my lifetime friend due to a chemo side effect. Patty and I "met" in our bassinets at the age of 3 months, and were friends all of these years. However, she was a heavy smoker, and never stopped, but she did survive the cancer by six years—but not the chemo effect, for which she was blamed for smoking. I remember nearly fainting when I was with her at the University of Michigan, and a female pulmonologist told her she only had emphysema and could have a lung transplant (after lymphoma???). The doctor hadn't even read her case file. Yes, I spoke up, loudly!
Three months from the news of breastcancer, I knew in my heart that I did trust my oncologist, so I told him my fears, and he knew instantly what I was talking about and spent a long, long time with me. My professional training as a strategic planner and management consultant (formerly a medical professional) went into action and helped me apply that to my personal focus: in crisis management, drop the long-range plan and focus only on the next step to solve the problem in front of you. I knew I was going to undertake whatever the next step was, and really try to block everything else out. . . including financial pressures - my insurance company was changing at this point, too. I decided that if needed to, I would go to the county hospital, and leave the rest to my team members to help me figure out. Don't think I'm brave. I just was too scared to think past the next 12 hours. I was no where near able to think about my life ending.
My oncologist and breast surgeon took my case to two other oncologist in the state, and concurred with my oncologist's recommended treatment protocol. He and my breast surgeon contacted me that night by telephone to tell me what Dr. Kent Osborne's opinion was. I remember sitting down, and feeling in shock, again! Each time I'd hear a confirmation of my cancer I went into "the tunnel." But, our agreement was that I'd hear whatever they heard, at the same time. So after my trip to Houston, to M.D. Anderson, and to Dr. Osborne and Dr. Ravdin in San Antonio (another regional cancer center), I decided to begin my chemotherapy back with my own oncologist. I remember going to sit alone on the San Antonio Riverwalk, at an outdoor cafe, staring at the river, thinking about the reality that I had just been presented with—and yes, it was what I wanted to do and to know. Meeting with Drs. Ravdin and Osborne at the Cancer Therapy Research Center, there, was 180 degrees from that which I experienced at M.D. Anderson.
After luscious hors-d'ouvres of giant Pron, Italian bread, and a glass of wine, I virtually ran back to Austin to my oncologist to start chemotherapy.
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