Downton Abbey Fever

Sunday marked the end of the long wait for Downton Abbey fans, as season 3 began with the theme that the times are a changin’. Slowly to be sure, since this is post war Britain in 1920 and not the hippie 60’s in America with Bob Dylan.

The New York Times reviewer, clearly exhibiting an ‘upstatirs’ attitude compared the series about British aristocrats and their servants to “ Fifty Shades of Grey: soft-core pornography, but fixated on breeding and heritage rather than kinky sex… Downton Abbey is a fantasy that gets sillier in prolongation, and as is the case with Fifty Shades of Grey, there is a huge audience that cannot get enough,” says Alessandra Stanley. She attributes the popularity to the cheeriness of the melodrama—no bad news lasts too long and every problem is overcome, be it an inconvenient fiancée who graciously succumbs to the flu or a daughter running off with the chauffeur.

Sorry Alessandra, but I’m with the masses on this one. It is the stuff of good melodrama and how can you not love a series with those clipped, formal British accents and the butler delivering statements of righteous indignation when a fork is misplaced or one of the many rules of class violated. I love when people get to say: “I do love you so terribly much” or “I’m so dreadfully sorry” or “m’lady.” I’ve already decided when we become grandparents that I will be Grand-mama (accent on the last syllable) and Gary can be Papa (also accent on the last syllable).

Host Laura Linney’s analysis is a bit over the top when she describes the Crawley family as “so irresistible that they ought to be classified as a controlled substance,”  but she is the host after all and many fans would agree with her.

Maggie Smith, as the Dowager Countess still gets the zingers-my favorite when she mistakenly asks for a drink (one of the new fangled cocktails of the 20’s) from Lord Grantham and then recants “Oh I thought you were a waiter.” An understandable mistake since he appears in black tux rather than full white tie, a shocking break with decorum, due to some downstairs treachery among the servants. Maggie’s also right on target, commenting on the impending visit of Cora’s mother, played by Shirley MacLaine. “She reminds me how thankful I am to be British.” “I thought she was American,” asks Matthew. “Exactly,” replies our Maggie.

The 20’s costumes are interesting—amazing that a style that made women look flat chested was ever popular. The automobiles are grand—classy with running boards, big headlights and bright colors.

I can’t seem to escape breast cancer, even when I‘m engaging in pure entertainment. Mrs Hughes, the lovely housekeeper, has a lump the doctor will test with a syringe. The good hearted cook, Mrs. Patmore, who has accompanied her to the appointment, inquires if it will be painful and is shushed by Mrs. Hughes, who with that stiff upper lip is prepared to endure the necessary. I thought getting fluid always meant a cyst, rather than a tumor, but the fluid is bloody and must be sent away to be analyzed for 2 months. How’s that for turnaround time? (I don’t think even The National Health today is that bad.) Sneak previews seem to indicate it will be cancer, but that may be a red herring. In any case, I’m sure the good doctor will find a solution. After all, Matthew did walk again after being confined to a wheelchair with spinal injuries and Lady Cora recovered from the Spanish flu. Here’s hoping Mrs. H. won’t have to weather a Halstead radical mastectomy (which was used from 1892 until well into the 70’s.) If they do have her die, the only bright spot would be finally seeing a chink in the emotional armor of Carson the butler.

A very satisfying episode, but I regret to say I already know a significant plot twist coming up, due to unfortunate web surfing. Beware: the British started the season on Christmas Day, so they’re ahead of us and some posts blast headlines that are too late for even a spoiler alert. I’m so dreadfully sorry.

Vinny G and Mindfulness

I’ve been digitally disconnected—sort of—for the past 4 days, on vacation in Vegas with my husband's golfing siblings.(more on that coming!) I am so addicted to my i-Phone, that, of course, I checked my email, but have not been using my laptop and my back pain suddenly has disappeared. Could it be that hunching over the keyboard 8 hours a day has been causing my problems?  Need to bring in the “ergonomic advisor” (Roche actually had one who would come to your desk and evaluate your posture, positioning, chair height,etc.)  Ah, sometimes I miss those nice little corporate touches.

Back on topic—Mindfulness—a popular subject in the breast cancer community. When you see that Vinny G from Jersey Shore has written a book which includes meditation, you know Mindfulness has arrived. Never mind that the Times also ran a story last week, Putting Meditation Back on the Mat, which chronicled a return to the mind part of yoga over the strictly physical emphasis, the big news was Vinny making the rounds of B&N stores including Clifton to talk about his book: Control the Crazy: My Plan to Stop Stressing, Avoid Drama and Maintain Inner Cool.

Most cancer patients are introduced at some point to the idea of mindful meditation to control their own crazies. Cure magazine’s Spring 2012 article on Stressed during Cancer Treatment? Try Meditating. quotes mindfulness coach Elena Rosenbaum …"there is more right with you than wrong and that your attitude does make a difference. There is so much fear around what is happening, but if you stop struggling against what you cannot control, you’re more able to find that peace and strength inside of you that allows you to manage and cope."

So what is Mindfulness exactly? According to Saki Santorelli, Associate Professor of Medicine at the University of Massachusetts: “mindfulness meditation is paying attention on purpose, the present moment, nonjudgmentally." Ooh, there's a therapy word for you—nonjudgmentally—but simply means not denying your negative thoughts, just deciding at this moment that you are going to purposefully set them aside and concentrate on breathing and “what is before us at the moment, such as the beautiful sky or the feeling of being alive.”

I’m not a New Ager by any means, but through Yoga and now Tai-chi, I’ve been trying to focus on breathing and slowing things down, being grounded in the present. I imagine what my mother‘s comment would be, if she were still here:  "Well, just say a rosary, you don’t need to say 'om shanti shanti' or some such nonsense.” She’d probably go on to remind me of the Serenity Prayer, which hung over her kitchen sink:

 

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference. 

It’s not a religious competition, of course, and although related to Buddhism, mindfulness can stand on its own non sectarian basis. 

I have to admit I haven’t even skimmed Vinny’s book, couldn’t pick him out of a lineup and don’t watch Jersey Shore, but maybe this year there will be an episode where Vinny gets up early (or maybe never goes to bed), wanders down to the beautiful Jersey beach, pre-dawn, lays out his towel and breathes deeply, as the sun rises and a new day begins.

TGIS

Thank Goodness it's Saturday. Yes, such a crazy week that I couldn't even write this blog yesterday under the more familiar TGIF label.

me and my cancer pals

Last weekend I was in Baltimore for our annual conference --Empowerment through Education -- for the Metastatic Breast Cancer Network (MBCN). Empowerment!  Harkening back to the 60's feminist movement, you would think that word has seen its day, but it definitely summed up how most of us felt after the conference. Very inspiring to connect with others living with Stage IV--many who are much worse off than I am-- but still pushing along and embracing life. We had excellent speakers from Johns Hopkins and glimmers of research hope in new areas of immunotherapy and epigenetics.

Everything went well, except for a glitch with the WEATHER. Snow flurries at 7 am on Saturday discouraged many of our local registrants from venturing out on the highways, so our attendance was down slightly. 

Backyard destruction

The big W became the word of the week. I arrived home on Sunday at 5pm to no power in our house. We ate out, spent the evening at Gary's office and then headed home and straight to bed. Pretty cozy under mounds of blankets, but I was looking for that warmed up brick that the early Americans put at the foot of the bed. We didn't have power restored until Wednesday at 6 pm--a four day stretch that's the longest we've ever gone without power (other than camping trips!) I use the term "we" loosely, since I toughed it out at the shore for three days.

a lone surfer

rolling surf at the shore

Our helpful utility company posted vague updates like "90% of customers will have power restored by Wednesday midnight; the remaining 10% by Sunday."  Later updated this to 90% by Thursday midnight.... But were we in the elite 10%? They also hosted free distribution of dry ice, but with no explanation of how you would use it. 

The last time I thought about dry ice was probably when I was in 4th grade at St. Luke's Parochial School. On the rare occasion of a vanilla dixie cup treat for the class, dry ice was used to keep the ice cream cold. It was steamy, mysterious and dangerous. One of the bigger boys, usually Rudy Poselivic or Freddie Galucci, was designated Dry Ice Man and given the padded gloves to remove the ice, which burns the skin on contact. They were our heroes for braving potential injury so we could all enjoy the ice cream. But do people today know about dry ice? Would they have the voice of Sister Mary Perpetua haunting their memories to be careful with that "burning" ice?

I ended the week with some long waits in doctor offices and infusion suites, another casualty of the storm, with rearranged appointments and shorthanded staff.

Wouldn't these have made great Halloween shoes?

So we missed Halloween, but hopefully have a greater appreciation for our dependence on power and a greater faith in our resiliency in responding to difficult circumstances.

Yes, I'm being resilient!

Today is a beautiful day, but since it's the first weekend we're home in the last month, some attention must be paid to THE LIST. Nothing says Thanksgiving like moving the dining room furniture into the living room and vice versa. You'd think we've got the strategy down now after so many years, but somehow we always end up with someone backed into a corner surrounded by furniture or a table and couch vying for the same limited territory in the front hall. Promises to be an exciting day!

Andrea Mitchell

The cancer blogs and message boards are buzzing today with the news that Andrea Mitchell has an early stage cancer and announced it on her program.

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/cutline/nbc-andrea-mitchell-breast-cancer-191413850.html

I'm happy for her that it was caught early--after all I was in that same place 19 years ago with a "100%" cure and am now stage IV--0% cure. I don't want to bring you down, but I need to say a few things because I don't think the general public, the media and even much of the breast cancer community understands the strong, visceral reactions that a stage IV metastatic patient feels when they hear a story like this.

1. I'M CURED:  I cringed immediately when Andrea said she "had" breast cancer. She still has it and needs to ask her doctors the definition of a breast cancer "cure".

2. EARLY DETECTION: Her positive statement that "This disease can be completely curable if you find it at the right time" is false. 20-30% of those with early stage cancer will have a recurrence, which can be metastatic.

For those of us with stage IV, we read into Andrea's statement that anyone with a more advanced diagnosis has only herself to blame. But not all cancers are detectable on mammograms and even with annual mammograms and annual checkups, people get recurrences, often metastatic.

3. BREAST CANCER FUNDING: Focusing exclusively on prevention and early detection, pink ribbons and survivors has skewed the fundraising and the public perception of this disease. Many people (including mbc'ers) are tired of Pinktober and if you were to ask the man or woman on the street what they thought of breast cancer, they might say:

Everybody seems to get it. It's completely treatable and curable if you're positive and have detected it early. It's one of the "better" cancers. It gets too much attention and too much funding.

Yet, 155,000 in the US are living with metastatic breast cancer, 40,000 a year die from it. It is the number one cancer killer of women in the 20-59 age group, the leading cause of cancer death for women worldwide and the 2nd leading cause of death by cancer in the US for women, after lung cancer.

And only an estimated 2-5% of breast cancer research funding goes to studying metastases. It's unbelievable how misguided and misdirected it's all become!

And someone like Andrea Mitchell who is a position to report and research the full story of breast cancer disappointingly resorts to the same cliches.

My 2 cents. Thanks for reading.

If you want more information, read:

www.mbcnetwork.org
plug for the home team--the organization I work with

http://www.breastcancerdeadline2020.org/know/31-myths-and-truths
National Breast Cancer Coalition myths and facts about breast cancer--you'll be surprised!

http://ihatebreastcancer.wordpress.com/
excellent, funny, perceptive blog

PS I revised this post after calming down and taking a deep breath last night!  Whew! Thanks for reading.

My aching feet

One of the minor annoyances of my chemo regimen is sensitive feet that swell and burn if I do too much walking or standing. It has the lovely name of HFS - Hand Foot Syndrome and to a lesser extent involves the same symptoms for your hands. (So, yes, i've given up hand stands, back springs, cartwheels and walking around on my hands)


I've tried quite a few creams and remedies. In fact it's an impressive list.(by last count 19 different creams) The funny thing is I always feel my latest solution will be THE ONE. (kind of like looking for love) I start cautiously with it, then begin to believe it's really going to work, tell a friend that "This may be it," maybe even post the news on a message board: "I'm in love with my Desert Essence Tea Tree Oil!"  I'm ecstatically happy for a week or so. Then, as in a relationship, little things start to creep up. I wake up one night after an active day with red hot feet, despite my new foot regimen. My fingertips seem numb again. Is the rose off the bloom? the ardor cooling?


I continue for a few more weeks, then read a post where someone swears by Heel-tastic (not available in stores) or Vitamin E pills (easy to swallow) or Henna paste (turns your feet orange) and I consider a dalliance. Before I know it, I'm cheating and my half finished jar of Udder Cream or Bag Balm sits disconsolately on the dresser. "You may have helped dairy cows from becoming chapped in the harsh Vermont environment," I say,"but you're just not working for me. I'm restless. I need to mooove on." Often I do return and cycle through the same relationships. "Hello Miracle Heel Fix. Good to see you again, Oatmeal Fortified Collagen Cream."


I alternate between the solid, corporate all-American types like Eczema Therapy, Calming Itch Relief Treatment or Pain Relieving Foot Cream (the kind of guys your Mom would love) versus the racy, James Dean-Marlon Brando wild ones that appeal to your rebellious spirit. Yes, I'm talking about you Hemp Protector (do I smoke it or slather it on?), African Honey and Beeswax Butter (good enough to eat), Aloe Sensual Body Butter (dangerous!) and Cooling Peppermint Organic Rescue Treatment (hippies to the rescue). 


The latest idea for HFS that I read on Pub Med (NIH website that lists research papers) described a clinical trial that uses nicotine patches. So don't be surprised this summer if you see me patched up and sporting a smokeless, artificial cigarette. 

Lauren Bacall: so sexy, but did we ever see her feet?