Big News and a Shout Out!

Welcome to The Silver Whining! I'm loving all of the new readers over the past several weeks and grateful for so many of you who've been here all along. What started as an adoption blog in 2007, TSW has taken some twists and turns in search of its voice. While some may call me a 'mommy blogger' (a title that makes me cringe just a little every time I hear it), my opinions can't be contained to parenting so why should this blog be?

Check out my In the Media page to hear my relationship debate with Ryan Seacrest and talk sex vs. sleep with Teri Hatcher. 

In the coming weeks, TSW will be undergoing a makeover! (I'll pause so you can express your excitement with a big WOO HOO!) The site will become a more easily-navigated destination with topics ranging from news, pop culture, parenting, special needs (including autism), adoption, relationships, reviews and more. (Psst... now's the perfect time to get some great advertising rates.)

Mom for Hire! Click here...

In addition, I've been working hard on a video magazine (name TBD) where I connect real people and their questions/issues with experts who will rock their world. Therapist Stacy Kaiser, OB/Gyn Dr. Suzanne Gilberg-Lenz, Stylist Stacy Herb, Emmy-Winning Makeup Artist, Jan Ping and Waxing expert Jan Marie are just some of the gurus working with several of my favorite peeps -- Yvonne from Joy Unexpected, Lena from The Cheeky Lotus, author/advocate Kim Goldman, the talented Renee Bowen and her hilarious and equally-talented husband Andrew Bowen, Andrea Levin of Bedtimes are for Suckers, Jennifer Brandt of Perfectly Disheveled and so many more.

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Oh and did I mention that I'm also working on the soon-to-be launched Broadscast, a podcast hosted by writer/advocate (and dear friend) Kim Goldman and myself. Broadscast is an irreverent look at the world and the note-worthy people who make their mark on it. With topics as broad as our butts (well, at least mine), the show promises to be strong enough for a man, but made for a broad.

And in my spare time, I'm writing for other sites (and hopefully soon, a magazine or two), some TV clients and also doing some Web consulting, as well as writing my very first book. Who needs to sleep, right?

Thanks for coming along for the ride! As always, comments, ideas and suggestions are more than welcome! Now, tell me about YOU!

About Me

So, you want to know my story, huh?

How it began...

I was born the eleventh child in an Irish Catholic Boston-area family and tend to live every day like I'm still fighting for the last cookie. When I was three, my mother was taken much too soon after a short bout with breast cancer -- an event that has not only defined who I am but shaped how I saw my own family from an early age. I was given a second chance when my father remarried and my ten siblings and I were legally adopted, eventually joined by two more siblings to complete our family of 15.

In 1995, at the age of 23, I drove cross country with $700 in my pocket and all of my belongings in a compact car looking to find a job in television, finding myself along the way. After years of late nights -- filled with both work and play -- I settled down with the love of my life. We got married, had two boys back-to-back and balanced life as a two-income family. Shortly after I gave birth to our second son, I discovered I carried the same genetic mutation my mother had, giving me an 87% chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer in my lifetime. Immediately after that discovery, the lump was found. Refusing a surgical biopsy, I knew what I had to do to ensure my boys grow up with me and not feeling the devastating loss of their mother. With the unwavering support of family and friends, I underwent a bilateral mastectomy. (Note: the lump was not cancerous but pre-cancer was found in my other breast, which doctors said meant 1-5 years away from a breast cancer diagnosis.)

A year later, my husband and I made the decision to follow our hearts and adopt from Taiwan. After a exhausting and emotional journey, our daughter arrived home forever in September, 2008.

My blog chronicles our life as an international family, complete with the good, the bad and the oh-so ugly. But it's not all family all the time. I also write about life as a part-time, work from home mom, things happening in the world, and the stuff I just can't shut up about. Thanks for stopping by. Leave a comment and let me know you're here -- feedback is always welcome!

Part Three: Was It Cancer?

Continued from Am I Dying?: Part 2.
I woke up from surgery in the recovery room. I remember Jeff and my plastic surgeon standing over me and talking about me like I couldn't hear them. Funny enough, I couldn't hear them. My plastic surgeon looked down at me and smiled and said, "Good news. No cancer!" I couldn't process the info. I knew I felt relieved. Chemo was the one thing that scared the bejeezus out of me and I wanted to avoid most of all. The news was exactly what I had hoped to hear -- no cancer equals no chemo.

OMG, what had I just done?

I had a brief moment of panic. If I didn't have cancer, this was such a radical thing to do. Was I crazy? While my mind raced with questions, I knew in my heart -- which was now located somewhere deep below fresh scars and painful temporary expanders -- that I had done the right thing.

As they wheeled me up to my room, I asked Jeff what had happened all day with him. He told me how Christine had come to hang out with him and have breakfast, and that Weeza and Clairee jumped in a few hours later. I was so relieved that he was taken care of -- I knew that my day was actually the easier of the two. Going through surgery, I can do. Waiting while my love was under the knife, I'd be a disaster.

I asked Jeff to go get the girls in the lobby so I could thank them personally for taking care of him. As I was taken into my room, things got incredibly weird. In fact I thought I was being taped on one of those bad reality hidden camera shows. Would there be a laugh track edited to this bizarre moment? I heard a couple of nurses discussing -- like full-on strategizing -- how they were going to get me from the gurney into the bed. I swear I was hearing them discuss the process for ten minutes while I lie there waiting. I was growing impatient and suddenly heard myself say, "Come on, people... it's not the pythagorean theorem here."

You could've heard Jeff's sigh of relief from a mile away. Seven hours of surgery and my sarcasm was already back. His wife was gonna make it after all. Then, before they could even toss me -- and I do mean toss (I've never met more incompetent people) -- I noticed a brown shiny bag sitting on the window sill.

"What's that?"
"My God, Jackie... it's like you can smell jewelry from across a room."

I fell asleep smiling, knowing my hubby still thinks of me as his 'girl,' even though they had just removed a big chunk of the physical part of me that represents that.

The next day, my husband presented me with a beautiful butterfly pendant on a very delicate chain. I'll spare you the speech but he leaned over my bed and said the sweetest words, comparing my life to that of a butterfly. I've heard of "push presents" but never expected to get a booby prize! I imagined him at the giant mall next to the hospital, shopping with a mission while doctors operated on his wife. I will never know what he went through that day.

But generous gifts aside, the next four days were -- in a word -- horrific. The meds made me sick, the anti-nausea meds -- even sicker. The ICU floor was being remodeled and I felt abandoned by the staff at the hospital, vomit covered my blankets and no one would respond to my calls. I remember having heart burn so severe and I couldn't even get someone to show up at my room with Tums. I was woken up what felt like every 30 minutes -- compressors on my legs, tubes in my nose and respiratory therapists at my bedside, concerned about my lung capacity from being under so long. It was scary and sad and frustrating that I couldn't get the care I needed at one of the most reputable hospitals in the country.

Every time a friend would arrive, I couldn't even pull myself together to visit. I remember opening my eyes just long enough to see a loving face, a supportive friend, people who stopped doing whatever they had going on, to come see me. Although I don't think I ever spoke, I could name each person that sat by my bed. I will never forget their generosity and kindness.

Two days in, one of the nurses gave me a hard time when I said I wasn't up for a shower. I sat in a chair long enough for her to make up my bed and remember how hard it was to keep from falling over. I probably would have if it wouldn't have hurt so much. It wasn't the pain of the surgery but the incessant nausea that followed me from soon after I woke up from the operation on a Thursday afternoon until late afternoon Saturday, when they finally offered me better anti-nausea meds. (If you're going into surgery, don't accept anything less than Zophran.)

I started to feel a bit better Saturday night and by Sunday, could go on short walks. Now I was anxious to get home to my babies and wanted out of the hospital. My doctors suggested one more night so I tried to get as much rest as possible.

Monday, I was able to raise my arms a little bit and washed my own hair in the sink. The drains coming out of either side of my body were the worst part of the pain. Sweat suits with inside pockets became my uniform, they were perfect for hiding the tubes and drains.

I lied on the bed waiting for Jeff to arrive and for my doctor to come sign discharge papers. Christine sat with me once again -- a place she had gotten used to that week. My surgeon arrived and began talking -- once again, I was in a conversation I will never forget.

"You dodged a bullet, honey."
"Huh?"
"The pathology came back. You had pre-cancerous cells growing in your other breast."
"What does that mean?"
"The best guess -- you were one to five years away from a full breast cancer diagnosis."

OMG. I totally did the right thing.

Cancer. What a magical word. While most people would never want to hear it, knowing it was beginning to grow inside me was empowering. I had really done something that saved my life. I am not courageous like my sister -- the one who did it without the lump forcing the decision on her. I did it because I had to -- because I had two boys at home and a husband who needed me and because there was a huge chance cancer had already started. Christine will forever be the only person to ever know how enormous that moment was for me. (If you remember, she was also the one who was there for those life-altering days visiting Lucy last May.)

From that moment on, I felt a weight lift right off my shoulders -- although temporarily, the same pressure I felt metaphorically on my shoulders shifted literally to my chest, the physical pressure felt like an elephant had set up camp. But it was the most incredible feeling, because pain meant I was alive.

I finally made it home to my two little boys and couldn't have been more relieved.

A couple of weeks post-surgery, Jeff pulled together a group of 40-or-so friends and relatives to celebrate my birthday. While on the outside, I may have looked tired, sore and still overweight from those babies, inside I felt like a princess. With every happy birthday wish and sip of champagne, I felt strong, beautiful and loved.

Side note: You know how I love inappropriate humor? One of my friends asked if my breasts were completely done with reconstruction. When I told her it takes a several months to complete the whole process, she looked at my chest and responded with "Oh good. I was hoping you didn't pay all that money for those!"

Anyway, it was a difficult time, but also an incredible time. My mother had come to help with the boys, Jeff's mom took over after that, followed by my sister in law, Pam. I also didn't have to make a meal for an entire three weeks. Every night, a new dinner would arrive -- a gift from a group of friends who had planned it all out. ( I could actually list them and what the meals were, it left that much of an impression on me.) After our help left, friends would arrive during the day, ready to pitch in wherever they were needed.

Four weeks after surgery, Karen -- my friend since 7th grade -- arrived with her four kids. Since they had never visited before, I really wanted to shake it all off and try to have as much fun as possible. We actually went to Disneyland, with me pushing my boys in the double stroller. It was days like that when I felt liberated as well as exhausted. I was pushing my way through, with the amazing support of friends and family.

I joined Weight Watchers a couple of months later and started to get back into walking our hilly neighborhood. I was getting stronger and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Within a couple of months after that, I had dropped a few pounds and was feeling good.

But it wasn't over.

To be continued...

Am I Dying? Part Two

Cont'd from Part 1

December 6, 2005: It's 2:00 am and I've been sleeping off and on for the past several hours. I hear the door open downstairs, and Jeff doing his nightly routine -- checking doors are locked, setting up the coffee pot and getting ready for bed. I know in my heart I can't go any longer without telling him.

He crawls into bed and kisses my head.

"I got the call, honey. I have the gene."

Jeff just grabs me and we lie there, silent for a long time. Anything we have to say to each other is said without words. It's like we're on our way up the first hill of a roller coaster -- but we're not wearing seat belts.

The next days are so surreal. While life went as usual, I felt like I was walking around carrying a secret. I would flop between being fine with it all and having a breakdown. I kept reminding myself of the words I told my sister a couple of years before, "it's not a diagnosis." But when you hear that you're carrying a gene that gives you such a high risk of cancer, it sure as hell feels like one.

I couldn't wait for Jeff to get his two weeks off around the holidays so we could spend some time together, as a family. I should have been more clear about those wishes because on December 15th, ten days after our world changed, Jeff walked in the door from work and told me he had just been laid off.

It was like someone punched me in the stomach.

So here we were, with an almost three month old and a 19-month old, no job, health insurance coming to an end and relatives coming for Christmas. I was feeling like I had no idea what was going on in my body -- still recovering from having an eleven pound baby weeks before. I met with the genetic counselor again and she advised me to stop breast feeding in order to have any needed tests done. What?? Really?? I would've never thought anyone would suggest that. But they couldn't get any accurate results without it. I went a few more weeks, just to get Brady to three months, and followed her plan.

When January arrived, I kicked it into high gear. I joined a research group at the hospital who would follow me through testing -- alternating a mammogram and MRI every six months, along with an ultrasound and blood work to see if there was any signs of ovarian cancer. I found a support group, through my sister, that I became very actively involved with. If you're even thinking of being tested, FacingOurRisk.org is the place you need to go.

The people at the research group told me I would have to wait until June to get a mammogram. They try to keep their patients to the beginning and middle of the year for testing. While that is understandable for logistical reasons, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? There was no way I was waiting that long to find out if anything was going on inside me. I had been pregnant and breastfeeding for the past two and a half years and had never even had a mammogram. Now I was 34 with the knowledge I was carrying this genetic mutation, I was going to get my testing, with or without them.

I met with an OB/Gyn Oncologist, we'll call him Dr. L, who agreed with my plan.

"Hmmm, looks like there's swelling in one of your breasts."
"What does that mean??"
"It means that insurance would have to pay for an MRI and no one could argue the need."

Ah! I like that. A doctor who knows his way around the system.

February 22, 2006: I get a message on the machine from Dr. L's office. "Please call us back immediately."

I'm in my bedroom on the phone, pacing back and forth, waiting for Dr. L to come to the phone. I wouldn't say that these are exact words, but I'll just say they were very close to this. (in case my memory has faded three years and three kids later).

Dr. L: So we found something.
Me: Ok.
Dr. L: it's about ten millimeters.
Me: (thinking) Damn, I should have paid better attention while they taught the metric system.
Dr. L: I have the name of three breast surgeons for you so you can get in ASAP to have a biopsy.
Me: Just give me the name of the one you'd send your wife to.

The next day, Jeff and I were headed to the hospital to meet with the breast surgeon. What you don't know is that I started to come around to the idea of prophylactic surgery, just like my sister, and had already scheduled a consultation with a plastic surgeon for the next week.

The breast surgeon walked in and I thought, there is no way this woman is touching me. She was a little crazy, seemed scattered and was the opposite of what I expected in someone who saves lives by cutting people open.

Within twenty minutes, I knew there was no one else I would allow to touch me. She was fantastic. She tried to find the lump but had no luck. She told me a surgical biopsy was my only option. I knew in my heart that if I had cancer, I had to go through with the double mastectomy. The risk was insanely high that I would get it again once I had it the first time. Plus, going under and doing this biopsy and then going back again to have surgery -- that seemed like one extra unnececessary surgery. And if I didn't have cancer, it felt like just a matter of time before I would be diagnosed anyway so why not get it before it got me?

We decided during that appointment that I would go ahead and have a double mastectomy. It was scheduled with her and the plastic surgeon for March 16. I hadn't even yet met the plastic surgeon but knew he was THE doctor when it came to reconstruction, and had met several women who had already been under his care. Plus, I still had my consultation scheduled with him next week. We would just change the appointment to be less of an interview and more of a plan-making one.

I could write a whole post just on the next three weeks. I don't think Jeff and I stopped holding hands, hugging and kissing for the entire 21 days. We both would just start crying at random times -- hearing a song on the radio, looking at the boys or even with no trigger at all -- just because. The uncertainty of the time was too much for us, and we couldn't tell each other 'I love you' enough. Even now, when I hear certain songs or see people gearing up for St. Patrick's Day, I am brought back to those three weeks and it's like I am reliving them.

A few days before my scheduled surgery, two of my girlfriends arrived for a night out. Everyone knows Christine -- who came to Taiwan with me to visit Lucy, Pam -- who became my sister in law after being my close friend for years, and Karen -- who has been my closest friend since 7th grade. But Tara and Tiff, who my kids call Clairee and Weeza (see Steel Magnolias), are the go-to gals when you need to grab life by the horns and slap it around while laughing at it. And that we did! They arrived for dinner that night with a cake in hand -- a cake, in the shape of a woman's breasts. I don't think I have ever laughed as hard as I did that night. I knew, while eating a cake that was supposed to represent my own chest, that I had found the dynamic duo who would spend the day with Jeff while I was in surgery. The pair who would let him talk as much as possible but also entertain him and distract him from the severity of the situation.

(Reading that paragraph back, I can assume some will wonder about my mental state but I am a huge believer that there's something funny in almost every situation and my friends know that too.)

March 16, 2006: It's before dawn when Jeff and I drive to the hospital. The only thing I remember about that morning is saying goodbye to him. It struck me that, while we've been focusing on the cancer possibly killing me, I hadn't really thought about not waking up from seven hours of surgery. I remember telling Jeff that no matter what happened to me that day, that he needed to know that I was totally in love with him and had an enormously happy life. I can't even explain the feeling of kissing the love of your life goodbye, wondering whether you'll ever see him again.

I met with my surgeons and then lied down, letting the anesthesia take over. Here we go...

To be continued...
Part 3

Am I Dying? The Untold Story

Have you ever been going about your day when suddenly a smell or song or even a feeling creates a memory of a past event? Like the whiff of a pipe that reminds me of when I was little and my dad would light up... or the sound of birds in the early morning that brings me back to our yearly family trips to Disney World. We all have so much locked away in our heads and have no idea when the memory will sneak into our consciousness.

This time of year is one of those times -- it's quite an emotional period for me. It was three years ago that my world spun upside down and sideways and then back again, making me wonder if it was actually the end of the road for me -- the three weeks and one day that rocked me to the core, that made me question whether I would ever have the chance to watch my children grow up.

But before I get too ahead of myself here, let me give you a little back story. I know I've shared tidbits of my experience in past posts, but this here is my story. I share it, not only because it's cathartic for me to see it now -- all in black and white, but in hopes that someone else just might benefit from it, whether they recognize themselves in my story or even someone close to them.

I'll start back at what feels like the beginning. I was a newlywed -- enjoying life and feeling good. I had a wonderful new husband, a nice home, amazing friends -- I had everything I wanted... except babies.

I remember the day well. I was standing on the back patio of our little house in Burbank, talking on the phone with my sister. She, as well as two other sisters and a couple of cousins, had been tested to see if she carried a genetic mutation that would increase the likelihood of breast and ovarian cancer -- she was found positive.

Now one might think that the news would've sent me into a panic. I had been told my entire life that I looked just like my sister. In fact, I even wondered off and on throughout my childhood if she might have been my biological mother and had me so young that no one would admit it. (Don't judge, I was a little girl with a very active imagination who couldn't remember the mother who died when I was three.)

But I didn't panic.

I think my sister being 14 years older allowed me to feel invincible just a little bit longer. I hadn't even had kids yet, so why would I test for something like that. I was young and strong -- the last thing I needed was to even think about such things.

My sister revealed her plan to me. She would get her insurance company on her side and undergo prophylactic surgery. Prophy-what? I didn't even know what that word meant. She explained her feelings -- and that prophylactic just meant preventative -- to me. She was to kill the chances of cancer before cancer killed her. That should have made sense, but all I could hear was someone who was afraid... who couldn't separate her fear from logic.

I remember that conversation like it was yesterday because it didn't end well.

Frankly, I didn't understand why someone would have surgery when they weren't even sick. But, then again, I wasn't a 17-year-old girl who watched her mother die during what should have been the most exciting time of her life.

I didn't talk to my sister for a while after that. I wasn't upset with her but I knew my reaction had shut her down when it came to me. I got a call a couple of months later and heard that my sister was hours away from surgery -- that she was, in fact, going through with it. I reached out but didn't catch her before she went in. If something had happened while she was under for 14 hours, I would've never forgiven myself.

My sister woke up cancer-free. Her 87% risk had just been reduced to less than one percent -- considerably less than the seven percent risk that the average woman has. I felt happy that she could breathe a sigh of relief.

Two kids later: Jeff and I and our newborn baby boy arrived at Cedars Sinai in Los Angeles. I was meeting with a genetic counselor. Baby Brady was quite the fussy little man, I remember holding and bouncing him in my arms as I heard all the stats my sister had already shared.

In my brain, it was like I could only hear the Cliffs notes version of the story. If I tested positive... blah blah... 87% risk of breast cancer... yadda yadda... 50% ovarian cancer risk... mmm hmmm... got it. I can still see the reaction on the doctor's face when I shared so confidently, "My sister had surgery but that's not me. I'll just keep getting checked if I'm found positive." Her expression said 'Oh yeah, I've seen your kind before. Just you wait...'

She was right.

A few weeks later, I was home with my boys and Jeff was getting ready to head to work. His job started at 6pm. We realized that we needed a few groceries and Jeff offered to quickly run down to the store before he had to leave in 20 minutes.

He was barely out the door when the phone rang.

Dr: Jackie, hi... it's Dr. Gordon.
Me: Hi.
Dr: I got the results. You do, in fact, have a mutation.
Me: Uhh, ok.
Dr: We should schedule a follow up to discuss your options.
Me: Ok, yeah. No problem. I'm good. I appreciate the call.

I hung up the phone and immediately panicked. But not because I tested positive. All I could think was how am I going to break this to Jeff? He's supposed to be at work in an hour and there's no way he can call in sick -- he'll get fired. But he'll be so upset -- I can't tell him and expect him to be safe on the road. What do I do?

Jeff walked in and put the groceries away. I looked at his face and knew what I had to do.

Nothing.

I gave him a kiss goodbye and sent him on his way. He was none the wiser that my world was starting to slowly cave in around me. I couldn't breathe. It was like when I found out I was pregnant with Brady and didn't want to call Jeff at work to tell him and chose to wait until I could share it face to face. Except this time, what I was holding back wasn't a new life growing inside of me, but the chance that cancer was growing inside me, waiting to take my life away.

That night was a blur. I got the boys to sleep and crawled into bed, feeling like my body had betrayed me. Could I have cancer right now? Was I going to suffer the same fate my mother had? Is this punishment for feeling so young and careless and untouchable?

I feel asleep feeling like this was the beginning of a scary new chapter. And the love of my life -- my rock -- was across town with no clue that we had just been dealt this blow -- that our lives were about to forever change.

What had I done?




To be continued...

Part 2
Part 3