Anna's Book of Days

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...

Milagros are small metal religious charms found in many areas of Latin America, especially Mexico and Peru. The word “milagro” means “miracle” in Spanish. These small charms, often depicting arms, legs, pregnant women, animals, and a wide range of other subjects, are believed to concentrate health and good fortune on the area represented. They are typically nailed or pinned to crosses or wooden statues of saints, pinned on the clothing of saint statues, or hung with little red ribbons or threads from altars and shrines. They are also carried for protection and luck. I was  told that Mexican children know the favorite milagros of all their relatives, even the dead ones. While on vacation in the small fairy-tale town of San Miguel de Allende in central Mexico, I saw baskets of milagros in every souvenir shop. When holding a handful in my palm, I was overwhelmed at first by the variety of tiny shapes. At first, I didn't see the breasts, but as I looked more closely, they started ...

For the last few days, my cat Emily seemed unwell - lethargic with little appetite, frail and disoriented. I took her to the vet last night hoping for the best - a UTI - but trying to be prepared for the worst. Her labs showed that it was indeed the worst - kidney failure. The vet laid out the treatment options for me: more tests, exploratory surgery, hospitalization with IV fluids and pain medication, appetite stimulants, injections to be administered at home. But all of this would only buy her a little more time, and potentially cause her even more pain and distress in the meantime. The decision seemed clear to me - I didn't want to prolong her suffering. With me by her side stroking her fur, Emily was administered a cocktail of drugs that stopped her heart - and she was gone. Since my diagnosis twenty-one months ago, I've had plenty of opportunities to contemplate my own death in the abstract. When I wrote my living will before my surgery, I was forced to consider t...

I read this piece yesterday by a therapist named Tim Lawrence, and I thought of all the people in my life who struggled to say or do something helpful to me after my diagnosis, or who said nothing because they didn't know what to say. It is about grief, and grief is exactly the emotion that I felt at that time. I grieved for my lost health, for my happy life, for everything that I knew I would have to give up to cancer. Grief is scary, and though I was disappointed I understood why some people stayed away or stayed silent. I had failed to reach out to those in grief before, out of fear of saying the wrong thing. But now I know the truth about grief, and it goes like this: Our culture treats grief like a problem to be solved or an illness to be healed. We’ve done everything we can to avoid, ignore, or transform grief. So that now, when you’re faced with tragedy, you usually find that you’re no longer surrounded by people — you’re surrounded by platitudes. So what do we offer instead...