Anna's Book of Days

Words that have many syllables tend to be bad things. Undemonstrativeness. Compartmentalization. Unilateralism. Abominability. Remilitarization. Misidentification. Unmanageability. Oversimplification. Irresponsibility. And this new one that I have just learned: Dermatomyositis. Dermatomyositis is a rare autoimmune disease marked by muscle weakness and a distinctive skin rash. People who have dermatomyositis also sometimes feel tired and run down. In adults, dermatomyositis usually occurs from the late 40s to early 60s and affects more females than males. There's no cure, but periods of symptom improvement (remission) can occur. After dozens of negative blood tests have ruled out other diseases from Lyme Disease to lupus, amyopathic dermatomyositis is my "working diagnosis", according to my rheumatologist, Dr. Alan Gorn. My illness this spring does not perfectly correspond to the typical symptoms - I had no muscle weakness and only a mild rash - but I tested positive...

It always takes me by surprise to realize that the people around me think I have health problems. In my mind, I am a strong, healthy person - and if a stranger were to ask me to describe myself, that is exactly what I would say. But in the twenty years of my adult life, I have had mononucleosis, severe eczema, two miscarriages, near-death from hemorrhage after childbirth, pneumonia twice, bronchitis, a serious corneal ulcer, strep throat, and three episodes of deep, prolonged, undiagnosed illness. And on top of all that, putting everything else in the shade - cancer. I never think of these experiences all together, and in most cases, I hardly think of them at all. They happened to me, and some of them have formed my physical and emotional scar tissue, but I don't think of them as who I am, fundamentally. In early March this year I got sick, and I kept getting sick over and over again through the next two months. I had what felt like every symptom in the book: high fevers, chil...

This past Sunday marked two years since my last day of treatment. Two whole years! It's so long, but it's so short. I remember everything, but everything's a blur. Early in my treatment, my mother, a breast cancer survivor herself, promised me that the day would come when I would no longer spend every waking moment thinking about cancer. At the time, it was very hard to imagine that day. But she was right - I can go for weeks now without giving it a thought. Life does indeed move on, and the enormous mental, emotional, physical, and logistical space that my treatment took up has quickly refilled with my family, my career, and my interests. But October will always be my own personal Breast Cancer Awareness Month, even if it wasn't for the rest of the world. The change in the air that happens in LA this month, the chill in the mornings and the low slant of the setting sun in the evenings, will always bring back memories of the end of my treatment. I wept off and ...

For the first year after I finished treatment, I felt invincible: a conqueror, a warrior princess. I had come through chemo, surgery, more chemo, and hormonal therapy with fewer side effects, less pain, less downtime, and more energy than anyone around me had ever seen before. My psyche, my marriage, my family, and my career were all still strong - each impacted in different ways by the long slog through my cancer treatment, but fundamentally sound and perhaps even strengthened by adversity. Cancer gradually faded from my thoughts, and, I felt, from my life. But as much as we survivors might wish to be done with breast cancer, breast cancer is never done with us. (Olivia Newton John recently announced her recurrence, 25 years after her initial diagnosis.) Of the fifty or so breast cancer patients and survivors I now know, the statistical reality is that five or six are likely to have a recurrence sometime in the future. I could be one of them. It's hard even to write, but it...

I  went to high school with a woman, J., who  was diagnosed with brain cancer 12 years ago. T hough she and I weren't close friends, we have stayed in touch over the years. She still  writes on Facebook occasionally about her experience with cancer, although having passed the 10 year milestone, she is now considered to be cured. Recently she wrote this: G etting chemo on Christmas Eve 2004: 74 lbs. no hair of any kind, eyelashes, brows gone, finger nails going black and lifting so badly I thought they would fall off and bone pain so intense I was sleeping 23 hours a day. And turning slightly yellow because I have a pissed ass hell liver.  Don't call me brave. Make me laugh. Be real that without a wig and facial hair, yes I look like Gollum. PRECIOUS. Say it to me in that voice, and give me your best come hither look. And let us both laugh because, good lord that is what is needed. J. is not alone in this feeling; most  of the women I have talked to have c...

Two years ago today, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember it like it was yesterday - taking the call from my OB-GYN, the deep sorrow in his voice, the tears that came instantly and wouldn't stop, reaching for my four-month-old baby and holding him while I wept. I remember the shock, the fear, the frustration, the sense of injustice, the sadness. I remember it all with the utmost clarity, but today I feel only happiness that I made it through. It's too soon to say that I've beaten cancer, and in fact it will always be too soon to say that - there is no milestone at which I can be sure that it won't recur. That possibility will be with me for the rest of my life, however long or short it might be. But I believe that I gave myself the strongest possible chance, and I am now well on the other side of the fight. All I can do now is live the best life that I can. That tiny baby whose downy little head once was wet with my tears is now a boy, full of his own thoughts...