Category — Physical

Things that should not be allowed at the gym, especially by the guy on the machine next to me:

Mouth-breathing without a thorough teeth-brushing. I’m assuming he hadn’t brushed his teeth, because I could SMELL his BREATH. Hork.

Food Network tv-watching.

……………..

So. It’s 2010. I think this is going to be a good year.

When our son was asking to be born, we went into the hospital with a short list of names. We had narrowed it down to three from almost one hundred, collected in a spreadsheet with columns and numbers and ratings. We didn’t intend to play the ‘let’s meet him first’ game, but in the end that’s what happened anyway.

Still, it wasn’t immediate; we weren’t sure who he was until the day after he was born, when my husband looked at him, cradled in his lap the way my husband holds all small babies, and said, “He’s Asher William.” It was, like him,  perfect.

Asher comes from the Hebrew word osher, meaning Happy. He is the happiest boy you’ll meet. So many times I’ve heard, “Is he always this happy?” or, “What a beautiful smile!” It’s infectious and contagious.

He’s my joy bringer, my little bundle of pure honey.

.:.:.:.:.:.

My gram died today.

Five days ago she was admitted to the hospital, three days ago we learned how sick she really was. Tomorrow she was going to be transferred to hospice.

We’ve been at the hospital every day, even though there wasn’t much we could do except be there. I wasn’t sure if it was ok to take Asher with me, but it was the only way,  and I needed to be with my gram and my family.

I’m so glad we were there, because my perfect boy, my joy bringer, affected everyone whose eyes he looked into. Even strangers in the ICU waiting room, families so visibly distraught, looked away from him with softer faces and relaxed shoulders. I heard a woman say, “I can’t help but smile back at him.” It’s his gift.

I think that’s why we were there, to be the break from grief that everyone needed.

He emanates love and happiness, and glows with joy. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have this boy in my life.

But we all need him now, so much.

Oh, Facebook. I love Facebook. You did it too, right? Made a profile, started reconnecting with your past and all of those people you use to know. This silly social network is awesome, because seriously, where else can you go to turn ’someone I used to know’ into ‘my friend’. I love the people I’ve reconnected with, the relationships that used to be past tense that are now real time friendships.

I’ve reconnected with my college roommate. Old co-workers. Family that I haven’t seen or spoken to in years. Childhood friends. So many people from elementary school, middle school, and high school. So many people.

This week, I reconnected with Erica. We graduated from high school together and went our separate ways, and haven’t seen or spoken to one another in almost 12 years.

Also this week, I found out that Erica has breast cancer. She’s 29. And you need to know her story.

In September, Erica’s friend Heather was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. She thought the same thing I thought, that probably all of you are thinking: how could someone our age have breast cancer? Erica started doing self breast exams every day, and found what nobody wants to feel, a lump. She saw her doctor the very next day, and her doctor checked it out and reassured her that it was nothing. She was young and healthy, with no family history of cancer. Don’t worry, she said, it’s probably just a cyst or a clogged milk duct.

Erica didn’t feel good about the doctor’s prognosis, so she looked for a second opinion. She saw another OBGYN at another hospital who assessed the situation, and again she heard the words, “Don’t worry about it.” She worried about it. I’m so glad Erica didn’t give up. She was relentless, and the doctor said, “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll refer you to a breast surgeon at Northwestern.”

Four weeks later she saw the surgeon, and finally got a comprehensive mammogram and ultrasound. About damn time, right? Four weeks after that, a biopsy. The biopsy revealed stage one breast cancer.

What if she hadn’t given up? What if she listened to the first doctor she saw, or even the second doctor? What if she decided to wait 11 years until her 40th birthday, the age at which mammograms are actually recommended? She didn’t, she caught it early and she’s young and strong and is going to be just fine.

But what if?

Erica is getting ready to start 8 rounds of chemotherapy, every two weeks for 4 months. Two weeks later, she’ll start 7 weeks of radiation, 5 days a week. In her words, “I will be cured of this thing. I have total faith in myself and my husband and all of my friends and family. I have faith that God only gives us what we can handle, and he’s obviously letting me know that he thinks I’m a rock star.” Amen.

Meet Erica.

Subscribe to her feed. Read her blog and comment, link to her and share her story with everyone you know. Lift her up and pray for her and show her the love and support that this community is defined by.

And Check Yo’ Self. Every Day. Take control of your health and be responsible for yourself. Because breast cancer doesn’t discriminate.