The Secret Service really blew it at Tuesday night's White House state dinner.
By Thursday, we'd learned the names, Tareq and Michaele Salahi, who walked
past initial security checkpoints without invitations, to attend (allbeit partially),
one of the most distinguished events of the year.

How did THAT happen?

The last time I was in proximity to President Obama was November 9th, when he visited Walter Reed Hospital. And let's be honest, I wasn't anywhere near the man! If memory serves me correctly, the Secret Service had the entire hospital so tightly locked down, that my mastectomy was delayed nearly three hours. I guess the Secret Service thought that a single-breasted, partially sedated patient was of greater threat to the President, than an attractive blonde, wearing traditional Indian formal wear.

So how did this "Real Housewives of Washington" wannabe
get a photo opt with Obama?
I had enough trouble just getting my scheduled surgery during his visit!


Not only did they get to meet the President, but they were woopin' it up,
(not really, but try to catch the visual) with:
Vice President, Joe Biden;
Chief of Staff, Rahm Emanuel (whom they referred to "Ron" on FB);
D.C. Mayor, Adrian Fenty;
Katie Couric; and
Robin Roberts (a fellow survivor), among others.

The Secret Service might want to reassess their "threat" protocol. I'm not suggesting that the Salihis were or were not a threat to the President, the Prime Minister of India or anyone else attending the dinner. It just seems like lately, the Secret Service isn't any better at doing their job than I am.

...and maybe that's the Secret.

Black Friday

Definition:
the day after Thanksgiving, in which retailers make enough sales
to move from the "red" into the "black".
It's after 12:00 p.m., so I don't plan on participating.
Cancer makes you prioritize.
Hey! That's a benefit.

But for those of you who will be enjoying "the Magic of Macy's",
here's a preview of what you else can look forward to:

WAL-MART save money live better (Want to save money? Stay home)
SEARS life well spent (More like money spent)
LOWE'S let's build something together (Build?)
KOHL'S expect great things (Don't!)

Admittedly,
One retailer does pique my interest.
JCPenney Every Day Matters
It sure does!

Thanksgiving Doesn't Care about Cancer

Thanksgiving does not care about my breast cancer.

There was no moratorium on the holiday because of my diagnosis.
Americans did not stay out of the grocery stores,
forgo that visit to grandma's house, or miss their favorite football games.


I could have selfishly thought: what have I got to be thankful for?
No one would've blamed me after explaining how sick I'd been the night before,
or that I just didn't feel like celebrating this year.


INSTEAD
We kept our plans.
Jeff fried a turkey; I made the cranberry sauce.
We enjoyed a wonderful dinner with friends:
running out of beer (after stores were closed);
watching the dogs circle as the ham and turkey were carved;
serving semi-homemade gravy (for fear of lumps);
...and now that I think about it, did Noah eat his vegetables?

Nope, Thanksgiving doesn't care about cancer.
And today, neither did I.

Just becasue you have cancer, There's no reason NOT to look cute

I often say:
"Just because you have cancer, there's no reason NOT to look cute."
It's become my rallying cry.
It's how I feel like my normal self BEFORE breast cancer.
Besides,
I like it when people notice that I put forth a little effort.
And I like it when people recognize me, for me and not the cancer.


Today I didn't put forth much effort.
And today, I learned the opposite of people saying I looked good.
Eyeing me suspiciously, the comments SOUNDED something LIKE:
"You feeling okay? You sure..."
which was completely appropriate since I didn't even try to look cute.


I'll admit it, my hair was pulled back in a bun...a bun!!!
I think at some point, I put on a little lipstick,
but after chewing on my partially, chapped lips
I think we can pretty much agree that I didn't wear make-up.
And I have no idea what I wore beneath my neck.
All I remember is that it was whatever I threw on in the chaos that ensued before walking,
...okay running, the kids to the bus stop.


Although I wouldn't admit it to anyone:
I didn't try to look cute today because I didn't feel well.
I didn't feel well, because I couldn't take my meds.
I couldn't take my meds because I had to drive.


Better to drive un-cute
than to drive under the influence.

My Big Fat Pink Pokeno

I knew that last night's Pokeno would be different, and it was.
I knew that you girls would wear pink, and you did not disappoint.

With raised glasses, we toasted.
I thought, "How sweet. They really care."

But it really wasn't until later, when everyone kept asking:
"Are you okay? Are you getting tired? We can quit playing at any time,"
that I knew you were all more concerned about how I was feeling than I was.
(Hey, a little morphine does that to a girl.)

Thanks for the gifts you generously gave.
Your generosity was completely unexpected.





My presents were:
TOUCHING (two breast cancer bracelets)
FIT-FOR-A DIVA (blinged-out wine glass)
WARM(hand-crafted scarf with matching socks)
MERRY & BRIGHT (Christmas tree with ornaments and lights)
INTOXICATING (Ice Tea Flavored Vodka, Mike's and bottles of wine)
SEMI-EDUCATIONAL (bookmark, without the prerequisite cancer book attached)
INTIMATE(personal care products, including moisturising gloves that I will wear during treatment)
PRACTICAL (camera case; pink ribbon chip clips; cork stoppers (upon first glance, Jeff was a little frightened by the "Rabbit"; plastic drinking glass - yeah, I know a bit of an oxymoron, but blame it on the morphine)

AND COLORFUL (pink, of course)!

Thanks for allowing me to share, even when it was time to go home.
Thank you all for listening.
Thanks for "getting me." I sometimes feel like I am an "acquired" taste.

Thanks for the best BIG FAT PINK POKENO a girl could ever have hoped for.

Mastectomy Fashions 101

I could teach a class.
Since being diagnosed with breast cancer a little more than a month ago,
I have managed to Jerri-rig enough wardrobe separates to "make it work."

My ability to adopt is part necessity,
part wanting to look cute.
Here are five of my mastectomy fashion favorites:

1) The issue of concealing drains (see 10/19 blog), is a temporary
problem, that can last several weeks. I usually put my drains in a
fanny pack for convenience. Since fanny packs are not cute (and that
is the point here), I try to conceal them underneath a long shirt
or in my pants, whenever possible. Be forewarned:
this will NOT work if you are wearing tight pants. (Got the visual?)
However, if you have a pair of "fat" jeans hanging in the back of the
closet, tuck away. Just remember, you don't want others noticing your
"man package." That's just plain weird.

2) Under wire bras from Victoria's Secret are not your friends!
"Ta-ta for now!" (Pun intended.)
I've made the switch to silky camisoles. When I still had one of my original
parts, I wore camis with the shelf bra. But after the second mastectomy,
I switched to the camisoles sans the shelf bra. This eliminates the rubbing
and binding. And let's be honest, my girls aren't going anywhere for the next
80 years.

Which leads me to sleeping.

3) After having a mastectomy, sleeping is tricky, especially following a
bilateral mastectomy. I was left with one option: sleeping on my back. When
even my most delicate pajamas irritated my surgical scars, I got desperate.
My solution was simple: go topless. It's a crowd pleaser...especially to my
husband.

4) Razor-back tees, tank tops, wife-beaters (or whatever you call them)
really work well. But watch out for high contents of Lycra. You don't
wants SPANX smooshing everything in. Love them on my thighs: on my boobs,
not so much.

Finally, in honor of Thanksgiving...

5) If you have a mastectomy on one side, it's okay to admit that your
"new" side may look better than your original parts (see Nov. 5 blog).
Take a page from a Martha Stewart "Living" Magazine and "stuff" that breast.
Bon Appetit!

Mammogram Debate

Whoa!
I just heard a report from an independent task force that stated most
women don't need a mammogram before the age of 50. Unless there is an
increased risk, women should wait until they turn 50 before having a
mammogram, every two years. The point being that mammograms doesn't
save enough lives in younger women.

Seems like I've heard this argument before. Younger breasts are more
dense, and therefore, a mammogram might not detect a lump or it might
give a false positive. In addition, the cumulative affects of radiation
might CAUSE cancer.

If that isn't confusing enough, this same task force is also telling
women not to bother with breast self-exams because they aren't reliable.
The yield is low and the anxiety is high.

The anxiety is high? Really!?!
The yield is low? Seriously!?!
Guess how I found my lump?
Guess how my sister found hers?

(BTW, the American Cancer Society disagrees with the new recommended guidelines.)

So what are you supposed to do?
Ultimately, you may not have a choice when it comes to your mammogram.
The decision will, at some point, be made by your insurance company,
and we all know how much they care about your health.

As far as self-exams, you're in-charge of this one!
Start touching yourself. If you don't roll like that, have your
husband do it; he will love it. (Enough said on that subject.)
The point is: if you find a lump or have a question, contact your
provider immediately. My lump was neither detected by by mammogram
nor ultrasound. It wasn't until after I invited the radiologist to
"cop a feel" that he ordered a breast MRI that finally showed something
suspicious.

Your Breast, Your Health, Your Life.
What's the debate about?

Home Alone

Today was my first day, home alone.
My mother returned home to Houston;
Jeff went back to his patients;
The boys headed off to school.
I worried that I would feel lonely today.

I planned a trip to the Post Office.
Not only to get out the house, but because
There was a package I needed to mail to a friend.
But as quickly as I began to plan my day, I remembered.
I had already consumed my daily drug cocktail.
Since there were no commercials urging me to "take meds; drive responsibly"
I thought it best to skip the driving and stay home.

But I wasn't alone.
My neighbors met me at the bus stop;
A girlfriend phoned from New York;
Another friend stopped by to check-in.
I received emails, one or two cards and a couple more phone calls.
I even received a pair of beautiful Norwegian earrings.

Sometimes being by yourself isn't at all lonely.

A Tale of Two Women

She was a friend.
She was your wife.
She needed you.
Hell, she was even bald from chemotherapy.

What would you be willing to do, to help?

This is a tale of two women from Texas,
One who claimed to have breast cancer,
Another whose cancer tried to claim her life.

There is a woman in Texas;
I'm from Texas.
Who had a tumor removed;
I had three.
She claimed it was breast cancer;
I have breast cancer.
So she held a benefit fundraiser;
I've benefited from help.
Because she'd lost her health insurance,
I have health insurance;
She needed money to pay for her breast implants;
Insurance covers mine.
She thought her breasts weren't good enough;
Pathology reports showed that neither of my breasts was good.

She lied.

The Blessings in Breast Cancer

I have a choice,
Not when it comes to the pain or to my loss.

But I have a choice,
To look beyond those things and see the blessings in breast cancer.

MY BLESSINGS:
I am both strong and weak, at once.
My circle of compassion has expanded.
My desire to help others has not diminished.
Over the past month, I've learned of true friendships.
Because of others, I have experienced the Grace of God.
Parts of this journey must be walked with God and Him alone.

It is easy to prioritize when YOU are at the top of your list.
I have learned that it's okay to ask for help because people WILL.
I not only think that I am loved but I know the people who love me.
When my husband says he loves me, I believe him, if I doubt everything else.
I've been encouraged by friends whom I haven't seen in months, years and decades.
My mother and I have had more "quality" time together this year, than we have in the past five years.

Preliminary pathology confirms that with the exception of the "positive" two lymph nodes that were discovered last month, all other nodes are clear. My right breast that was prophylactically taken had one, small cancerous tumor. That was supposed to be my good breast.

...the blessings in breast cancer.

An Open Letter to the President

Dear Mr. President:

I think it's worthy that you take time out of your busy day to visit our
wounded warriors at Walter Reed. They have sacrificed so much and deserve
the debt of our entire nation.

But please, if it isn't too much trouble, do you think you could have
someone check to see whether I have surgery scheduled during your next
visit? I know all about HIPAA, but you're the President.

...and I have breast cancer.

Without knowing your schedule, my doctors booked surgery to remove
my right breast. I realized someone should have checked with the
White House first, but it wasn't until I was in anesthesiology; sporting
a very comfy IV in my right foot; with regional blocks on both sides
of my spine, that an "emergency" case bumped my surgery.

Mr. President, did you know that breast cancer IS NOT an emergency?

My sedatives wore off as I waited for the critical case to vacate the
operating room. For three hours I was assured that the "emergency"
shouldn't take more than an hour; that it wouldn't be much longer;
and that the OR was being cleaned and prepped for my surgery.
[At 1:00 p.m., I was finally wheeled into the OR, not long after
my 5:30 a.m. arrival time at the hospital.]

So, the next time you plan to visit, and I hope you will soon, would you
please inform the Secret Service that a patient prepped for surgery is
no threat to National Security.

And if you have time, stop by and say "hello" too.

Deneitra Hutchinson
Proud Army Wife

Gone But Not Missed!

I imagine my tissue and lymph nodes stored in airtight jars of formelin,
waiting on trays for a pathologist to slice them up,
smear them onto slides, and
closely examine the specimens under a microscope.

The tissue samples have a story to tell, but so do I.
I wonder if the doctor who looks at them will see me, or only my cancer?
Will s/he know that I love to write; can mix an authentic Margarita; and love to watch Longhorn football on Saturdays?

On some level, my life may have began with cancer.
I was born with the Breast Cancer Gene, but if that's true, then I've changed very little since saying "good-bye" to both my breasts.

So until something REALLY changes,
I will continue to blog with humor, faith and humility; raise my William-Sonoma Margarita glass; and toast to life, all while cheering on the #2-ranked Texas Longhorns.

How can she look beautiful post-op?

It's me again, second string, letting everyone know her status. I have to first apologize because after a five hour start delay I didn't make the necessary calls to keep people from worrying. Someone had the nerve to have an emergency case before.

The real news however is that she did great again. She doesn't remember the way I do how she was last time, but she has much better pain control and much less nausea. We may have found the right combo, keep praying.

My two cents.....when I saw her lying there in post-op I saw the same beautiful woman who first took my breath away in Hawaii.

Deneitra and I thank everyone for the prayers. They are working.

The Good, The Bad & The Padding

In less than 24 hours, I will be back on the operating table
where the surgeons will perform an axillary lymph node dissection
(fancy name for removing lymph nodes underneath the pectoral muscle in the arm)
and to mastectomize (is that a "Don King" word?) my good breast.

I want to keep and remove my good breast, at the same time.
There is no cancer there.
The left one was the bad one.
And it's already been mastectomized.

As I prepared for the taping of Columbia Matters (probably my last one with my own hair), my mind raced through the usual details (hair and make-up, script, jewelry and wardrobe). I did the mirror check before heading out and noticed
my right breast,
my good breast,
hanging a little lower, looking a little sadder, (okay a lot sadder)
than my left breast,
my bad breast.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? MY BAD BREAST HAD BECOME MY GOOD BREAST???
I HAVE TO PAD MY GOOD BREAST TO LOOK AS GOOD AS MY BAD BREAST?
(Not only that, I have to keep looking down in-between taping to make sure that padding isn't climbing up my neck or sliding down my stomach.)


Now, that's just not right...and neither is cancer.

Thank You

If I could use only one word to describe
what your prayers, scripture, cards and outreach have meant
it would be SUSTAINING

Witnessing your faith and commitment
as you gravel through the darkness with me
means I will find my way out

Your examples
will forever be a debt
that I seek to pay forward

As tears streak my face, and my voice chokes
know that I feel your love
I feel your care
it is eternal
and I am eternally grateful

Build-a-Breast

Women are givers.

Who else shows up at your house with dinner-in-tow just
because she knew you would need to eat, but wouldn't have
the energy to cook?

Recently, some of my close friends unselfishly offered to donate
unwanted body fat to help rebuild my breasts. While I appreciate
the thoughtfulness, I have enough butt fat to spare.
Thank you very much!

At the gym, my two girlfriends and I were all BFs, not "BFF"
just BF: Back Fat, Belly Fat and Butt Fat Girl, respectively.

So what do you think came to mind when I heard the words
"breast reconstruction?"
...butt fat, of course!

I even thought it worth mentioning to Dr. M, my plastic surgeon.
Since my initial surgery included having only one breast removed,
Dr. M. explained that I would be "lopsided" from behind. I
ultimately agreed, but in my defense, I made the suggestion
after Dr. M. commented that I didn't have much back or belly fat
to work with.

Where are my BF girls when I need them?