tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64990714748615040202024-03-08T18:51:43.264-06:00loose leaf and spiral boundPoems and other writings.Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-56436954481731573122022-01-06T13:19:00.001-06:002022-01-06T13:19:22.266-06:00uneven and balanced<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">A beautiful disaster</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1c4875cb-7fff-2378-f021-f2f3d2c91e50"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Crazy-eyed laughter doesn't mean hysterical</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maniacal doesn’t mean evil</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gentle is definitely not always synonymous with good</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is always an ounce of</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Light somewhere in the dark</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or else we would never see the </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shadows of our fears climbing the walls and creeping under our beds</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is always an ounce of dark somewhere in the light</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or else we would never see the truth inside our dreams</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t forget that real happiness is being satisfied with your reality</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All shades of light and dark</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And everything in between</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Can you feel the vibrations humming along your skin</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Those peaks and valleys</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each rise and every dip</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thrumming in pace with your heartbeat</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That sound you make in the back of your throat</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lapping it up like a kitten with cream</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When your eyes close, I don’t worry</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because I know you can still see me</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Balancing carefully on the thin line between</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The uneven staccatos of a f</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">ever dream a</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">nd</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The four main food groups of a balanced family dinner</span></span></p></span>Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-71674777284499246372020-10-12T16:19:00.000-05:002020-10-12T16:19:28.075-05:00The one where I need a suit of bubble wrap because the hits keep coming<p>So, here we are five years post-diagnosis. It's been four full years of no medications, no surgeries, no scans; nothing but regular checkups. Now, I can only speak from my experience, but it seems like the high of hearing the words "no discernable masses" and "no cancer cells in your lymph nodes" doesn't last as long as the fear of waiting for the other shoe to drop. </p><p>Now, I cannot say that the other shoe has dropped, per se. But, it seems fair to say that someone definitely chucked a boot at my head. </p><p>Because chemotherapy and the removal of my ovaries put me into early menopause, I was at risk for osteoporosis. This is a thing that I knew, but really thought wouldn't be an issue. I am young, I eat healthy, I work out, I feel strong, etc. Clearly I haven't learned my lesson that sometimes you can do everything right and still have it turn out all wrong. </p><p>My oncologist ordered a bone density scan just to be sure and wouldn't you know it, here I am at 37 years old with full-fledged osteoporosis. Yep. Osteoporosis.</p><p>I am a cancer survivor. I went through hell and it sucked and I am so glad that chapter of my story has been completed. But here's the thing; it doesn't go away. You never get to stop thinking about it and you never get to let your guard down. You don't just get to wipe your hands clean, exhale and say "done". There's always something else around the corner, or so it seems. </p><p>The chemo screwed with the lining of my stomach and now I'm lactose sensitive. The "chemo-brain" hasn't totally lifted for me and I struggle with short term memory...and now I have osteoporosis. All before the age of 40. </p><p>Want to know what else is awesome? I will now get a shot every six months for the next five years to manage my osteoporosis, and take calcium pills daily. Those shots with my insurance are over $500 a pop. Without insurance? We'd be looking at over $2,5000 a pop. OUTRAGEOUS! I am so grateful to have an employer with great benefits, but my heart is aching for the women out there who don't have access to these medicines, or those who just can't afford them. I hate to think about what it must be like to choose between groceries and medicine for a disease like osteoporosis. </p><p>Side note: I think it's interesting the way these shots work is that the medicine pulls calcium from your bloodstream and essentially re-distributes it into your bones. Super cool in theory, but in reality it hurts. Like, really hurts. All over. For days. Admittedly, it's better than the alternative and I'll suck it up for the three days twice a year. But it doesn't change the fact that I wish I didn't have to do it. </p><p>Please understand, I don't tell you all of this to have you join my pity party. I tell you all of this because I so desperately want you to do monthly breast self exams, to get your mammograms, talk with your family about health history, call your insurance and ask what types of scans or preventative measures they cover (things like mammograms or breast ultrasounds), talk with your doctor about uncomfortable topics, and don't be afraid to look into free or low-cost community resources if you don't currently have health insurance. I tell you these things so you will stay vigilant, advocate for yourself, and prevent what you can because cancer comes with a hefty price tag in more ways than one. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jrCqTyG0qd8/X4TF_uhs_oI/AAAAAAABMYU/cWUMlu7Bgk0fdPJTFbzYQ9t7fdNhX7jlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s242/osteo%2Bbones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jrCqTyG0qd8/X4TF_uhs_oI/AAAAAAABMYU/cWUMlu7Bgk0fdPJTFbzYQ9t7fdNhX7jlQCLcBGAsYHQ/w317-h320/osteo%2Bbones.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fcfbfb; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.8px; font-style: italic; text-align: start;">Left: normal bone, right: osteoporotic bone; Source: International Osteoporosis Foundation: </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.8px;"><i>https://www.iofbonehealth.org/what-is-osteoporosis </i></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-54694082676709762172020-09-19T11:58:00.000-05:002020-09-19T11:58:01.395-05:00The difference between a window and a mirror<p> I don't have any clever hype or backstory for this one. Just had an arrow of inspiration and went with it. </p><p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b151d7c9-7fff-096d-7f7c-5bc37135cafc"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>The difference between a window and a mirror</b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">When I look at you just right </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I can only see the petals</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Not your thorns.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-f781b37a-7fff-4548-19f9-7b07594b885d" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Your horns</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">That accompany your devil may care</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Attitude</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">The altitude of your ego is so high</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Mountains to climb</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Climb up up and up into the clouds</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Your eyes have clouds</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">so thick</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I can barely it happen</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">That moment when your pupils</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Dilate</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Your laser focus</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Has turned and fixated</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">On me</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Targeted</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I stand in the dark</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Totally unaware of what is to come</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">What is running after me</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">An unwitting player in a game of cat and mouse</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">The chase </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">The race is on</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">With no way to see the path I’m on</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Running blindly</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">But what if I stopped </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Turned around</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">And let myself be caught</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Caught up in you</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Your arms</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Your curiosity</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Then you open your mouth and let the sun shine out.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Would it be so trite to say</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Now I can see the light?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">The light of a new day dawns</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">The way your words lie in your mouth</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Lie in the curve of my ear</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Just lies</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">What do I see when I look at you?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Through this glass.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">In this mirror.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lli1Y5Bzuck/X2Y4D58f0eI/AAAAAAABMKQ/uMMsO2AG6GkFFDU8QpwshEtYasj1QNswQCPcBGAsYHg/s4032/IMG_20191018_072807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lli1Y5Bzuck/X2Y4D58f0eI/AAAAAAABMKQ/uMMsO2AG6GkFFDU8QpwshEtYasj1QNswQCPcBGAsYHg/w400-h300/IMG_20191018_072807.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Me. 2019. Lincoln, NE.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /><br /></span></p>Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-58762197856567961172020-03-07T22:34:00.006-06:002020-03-07T22:34:58.038-06:00Let GoMy husband bought me this painting on canvas a few years back. It actually means quite a lot to me -- I received this in a fairly chaotic time in our lives and I was struggling to find some peace within myself. I was trying to focus on getting something down on paper this morning and I kept staring at this painting. Sometimes inspiration is almost too obvious.<br />
<br />
Everyday<br />
I am afraid<br />
Terrified it will be so very obvious<br />
that I need you<br />
more<br />
than you need me<br />
<br />
Each time I say goodnight<br />
I get on my knees (figuratively)<br />
and pray that you are not<br />
planning<br />
your goodbye (literally).<br />
<br />
When you turn around and<br />
walk away<br />
because you have somewhere to be (literally)<br />
I fear that its because<br />
you would rather be<br />
anywhere else (figuratively).<br />
<br />
It hurts in the head<br />
in the heart<br />
a solid one-two punch to the gut<br />
maybe more like one million unsure (but still painful) cuts<br />
<br />
When I breathe you in I feel<br />
comforted and safe<br />
You are probably waiting and waiting and waiting<br />
to exhale with relief<br />
that I don't need anything more from you<br />
(other than just<br />
everything)<br />
<br />
It has become so completely obvious<br />
that somewhere along the way<br />
I was so busy holding tight<br />
to your hand<br />
Afraid to let go<br />
It never occurred to me<br />
I should fear<br />
losing myself<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yhv8AqMLvy4/XmRzO3oSC4I/AAAAAAABJjI/Uu0fJXu2TH8mFg6aMFvVWrcWMORA6UAJgCKgBGAsYHg/s1600/IMG_20200307_220102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1553" data-original-width="1600" height="310" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yhv8AqMLvy4/XmRzO3oSC4I/AAAAAAABJjI/Uu0fJXu2TH8mFg6aMFvVWrcWMORA6UAJgCKgBGAsYHg/s320/IMG_20200307_220102.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-84854388768745665432019-05-22T23:47:00.000-05:002019-05-22T23:47:24.138-05:00Brick by brick<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-ee4aead6-7fff-75c7-828b-203fe9b2f91b" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't have a particularly interesting story to tell about this poem. This isn't based on a true story; in fact, I am pretty sure I was watching a Hallmark movie and had an idea bubble up. It's a little hazy. This was a poem I sketched out in 2014 (!). Nothing like digging up and dusting off old pieces to flex the writing muscles. Well, anyway, here it is in all its glory. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-ee4aead6-7fff-75c7-828b-203fe9b2f91b" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<h2 dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-ee4aead6-7fff-75c7-828b-203fe9b2f91b" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <b>Bricks</b></span></span></h2>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-ee4aead6-7fff-75c7-828b-203fe9b2f91b" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-ee4aead6-7fff-75c7-828b-203fe9b2f91b" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sticks and stones can break my bones</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">but your words are the one thing I will never forget.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As my defenses started to crumble</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rubble fell at your feet.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even in defeat I couldn’t help but give those broken pieces of myself to you.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your words found a place to hide out in the curve of my ear.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
Taking shelter, finding a safe space to live forever</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your voice ringing out clear and pure.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(It really was the strongest thing about you.)</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is something hypnotic about a beautiful weapon.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A silver tongue spitting brass bullets. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Perfect white teeth gnashing. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pushing out soft words with jagged intentions.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your words were an unforgettable cadence.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I still can’t stop hearing you say it. “There’s someone else.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(It really was the worst thing about you.)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each one of your words was another brick.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Baked in the heat of my fury.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every smug platitude was mortar and filler.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Watch me build this wall.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You keep saying it over and over. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"We can still be friends, right?" </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"You understand, don't you?"</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Brick. Brick. Mortar. Brick.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I crumbled and fell. But now I’m rebuilding.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Up and up and up and up.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then finally…</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ll be over you.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y87Zd7nhCcw/XOYkeHhslDI/AAAAAAABByQ/c-LKTplKE708zFqRn_-JxWlqKePihJWSQCLcBGAs/s1600/love%2Bin%2Ban%2Balley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1166" data-original-width="1600" height="291" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y87Zd7nhCcw/XOYkeHhslDI/AAAAAAABByQ/c-LKTplKE708zFqRn_-JxWlqKePihJWSQCLcBGAs/s400/love%2Bin%2Ban%2Balley.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I call this photo "Love in an alley". Taken in 2017, Lincoln, NE.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-72843749590879300462019-04-24T19:28:00.001-05:002019-04-24T19:48:01.887-05:00The lady in the paintingI can often feel the itch to write, just nagging at the ridiculously hard to reach point between my shoulder blades. The frustrating part of this is when I can't rope one single idea out of the clear blue sky and let my pen run with it. So, that's when I fall back on the talent and creativity of people in my circles and use one of their creations as a writing prompt.<br />
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<a href="https://www.davidquinnartist.ie/artist-ireland-bio" target="_blank">David Quinn</a> is a talented award-winning artist based in Co. Mayo Ireland whose piece titled, "Necklace" serves as my most recent creative inspiration. He's ever so graciously permitted me to link to his work here (what a lovely guy!):</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.davidquinnartist.ie/media/k2/items/cache/e9c724eeb5636d1c1c1a2c2e85d40377_XL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://www.davidquinnartist.ie/media/k2/items/cache/e9c724eeb5636d1c1c1a2c2e85d40377_XL.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Necklace, David Quinn, 2007, Mixed media on board, 70cm diameter<br />
<a href="https://www.davidquinnartist.ie/painting-and-artworks-by-david-quinn/item/64-necklace-david-quinn-2007" target="_blank">View this piece (and so many beautiful others) on his website</a></td></tr>
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So now that you've had the opportunity to fall in love with this painting like I did, here's the poem I wrote:<br />
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<b>Lady Like</b></div>
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It hurts to remember you<br />
Your laughter feels like tiny bursts of flames licking across my skin<br />
Your touch feels like a million paper cuts left in the wake of your trailing fingertips<br />
What used to give me goosebumps now stings me<br />
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But this is life; c’est la vie<br />
One stupid mistake<br />
Two fingers of whisky<br />
Three fingers on a ledge<br />
But forever hopeful<br />
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Never totally prepared to defend my heart<br />
My battle armor is deceiving<br />
Looks like perfect hair and makeup<br />
Two swipes of the blackest eyeliner<br />
Three spritzes of the most romantic perfume <br />
It makes you feel comfortable<br />
It makes me feel confident<br />
Then I rip apart the silky illusion with ten manicured nails on my dainty lady hands<br />
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My hands hurt from <br />
Clutching these pearls<br />
Oh how I wish I was clutching the back of your shirt<br />
Soft thin cotton bunching up <br />
In between my fingers<br />
My wedding ring snagged a tiny hole<br />
I can fix that later<br />
Can you fix this now<br />
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We were quite the dazzling pair<br />
Now I’m a single earring with no back<br />
Cherry lip gloss with no lid in the bottom of a bag<br />
This promise should have been set in stone<br />
Like a 3 carat stone set in a platinum gold band<br />
But instead I just wrote “xoxo” in the dust on our dresser<br />
Memories caught in the cuffs of my jeans<br />
Spilling out around my feet as I walk through the door<br />
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Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-2254037700241253572016-09-11T15:15:00.003-05:002016-09-11T15:25:38.249-05:00The one about September 11th...but not THAT September 11thOn September 11th, 2015, I was an emotional basket case just doing my best to hold it together. Literally. It was two days after my double-mastectomy and reconstructive surgery and I was a mess of stitches and bandages and tubes. I had these new Frankenboobs and I looked like I was in a knife fight (and lost). It was a shitty day (for so many obvious reasons) and I remember watching a documentary on 9/11 and desperately wanting the phone to ring - I was waiting for a phone call from my nurse. I was waiting for the results of my lymph node biopsy. I wanted her to call and tell me that my lymph nodes were all clear. No cancer found. Success. I was willing her to make that call and tell me some good news. If I kept putting the positive thoughts/juju/vibes/wishes out into the universe, it would come to fruition, right? The last time I received a phone call from Kelly it was good news. (She was the one who called me way back in February 2015 to let me know that my original PET scan did not show any signs of cancer anywhere else in my body.) I was desperately hoping to continue the "Kelly only calls with good news" streak.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UEds-3W6FX0/V9W3d7o8jSI/AAAAAAAApSM/Y2vxy2ActyAi5hpLgIo3B8Cnnysjgt4PQCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160911_141908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UEds-3W6FX0/V9W3d7o8jSI/AAAAAAAApSM/Y2vxy2ActyAi5hpLgIo3B8Cnnysjgt4PQCKgB/s320/IMG_20160911_141908.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love Kelly Fields. She helped me get through some of the worst parts of my life with honesty, optimism, and genuine kindness. </td></tr>
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On Friday, September 11th, 2015, nurse Kelly called to tell me that the six lymph nodes they removed and tested all came back CLEAN. That meant the cancer cells didn't pass through those nodes and didn't spread to other parts of my body. The only other time in my life when I felt relief like that was in the moments after I delivered my daughter and I heard her cry for the first time and knew she was alive and well. Monumental amount of relief. Relief the size of oceans. Seriously, that much relief. No hyperbole intended.<br />
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So here we are, one year later. It's September 11th again and guess who I saw today? I got to meet with the one and only nurse Kelly for my one-year post-surgery check up...and it was great.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TbL6oauhb8U/V9W7jg0kK_I/AAAAAAAApSY/jOaFKHEighczGSD7TFtS6F7cr-xko2kIwCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160911_121943818_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TbL6oauhb8U/V9W7jg0kK_I/AAAAAAAApSY/jOaFKHEighczGSD7TFtS6F7cr-xko2kIwCKgB/s320/IMG_20160911_121943818_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am in the parking lot right before my one-year, post-surgery check up. Oh what a difference a year can make.</td></tr>
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September 11th, for all of the still very obvious reasons, is a day I'll never forget. But despite all of the sad connotations surrounding this day - - there will always be a smile on my face and extra big hugs for anyone who wants them. I can't help it. While I will absolutely take a moment (or two, or fifteen) to reflect on the loss and heartache and confusion our country experienced in 2001, I will also remember that this is the day I knew I would get on with my life. MY LIFE. LIVING, you know, definitely not dying. With the help of an extremely talented medical team and the support of my friends and family, I kicked cancer's ass.<br />
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Yes, this day means something to a whole lot of folks. But every year, in the late afternoon of September 11th, if you see me grinning like a fool, you'll know why.<br />
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<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-68400477514693109252016-09-04T17:39:00.002-05:002016-09-04T17:43:01.162-05:00The one where I get my purple shirt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This year I participated in my first Relay for Life event as a survivor.<br />
Let me tell you a little story...<br />
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This might sound a little cliche, and borderline trite, but stay with me. When I was going through chemo, in some of the very worst moments, I would picture myself walking the Survivor's Lap at a Relay for Life event. I would see myself wearing one of the coveted purple t-shirts, walking the survivor's lap, smiling and waving at my friends and family, knowing that it was all done and I made it. This daydream was the carrot at the end of my chemo stick. My mind was made up and I was going to get me one of those damned purple t-shirts.<br />
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There was a Relay event during the summer of 2015, but I didn't feel comfortable participating because there wasn't definitive proof the chemo had worked and I couldn't be sure the cancer was gone. I couldn't bring myself to wear the purple shirt if I didn't know for certain that I was a survivor. Surviving is one thing, but being a survivor is quite another.<br />
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On June 18th, 2016 I walked my lap wearing my purple shirt. I smiled and waved like I was frickin' Miss America. I waved to my family, my friends, my doctors and nurses. I smiled at other survivors. Hell, I even smiled at strangers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zAbgmq9m0-U/V8ybtwi4WpI/AAAAAAAApIw/maiU3IBVpGIs0tln6gqnLeercQcgikyugCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160618_183546438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zAbgmq9m0-U/V8ybtwi4WpI/AAAAAAAApIw/maiU3IBVpGIs0tln6gqnLeercQcgikyugCKgB/s320/IMG_20160618_183546438.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my caregiver (AKA, my husband, Ben) kicking off the survivors lap. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am, waving and grinning like a fool! (...if you look right behind me, you can see my oncologist. Pretty cool that he was right behind me. Serendipitous and lovely.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ifLdXT_1QMc/V8yanT8_txI/AAAAAAAApIg/w4qz7EZoBLE8Z7I-PV9FKWH4psD-YNNOACKgB/s1600/IMG_20160618_162727278_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ifLdXT_1QMc/V8yanT8_txI/AAAAAAAApIg/w4qz7EZoBLE8Z7I-PV9FKWH4psD-YNNOACKgB/s320/IMG_20160618_162727278_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my oncology nurse, Lisa. She coached me through my treatment and is nothing short of amazing. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and two Lincoln Police officers, I may have gotten a little camera happy on my first lap!</td></tr>
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In addition to the survivor's lap, which is emotional in its own way, there is the luminary lap. This takes place after dark, with all of luminaria lit. There is total silence except for a lone bagpiper playing Amazing Grace. Yeah. It's just as much of punch to heart as you think it is. This is the time for remembering those we lost and being immeasurably grateful for those still with us. This lap is powerful in a way that I have a tough time describing. I might have actually felt all of the emotions on the spectrum - even if only for an instant, I am pretty sure I felt each and every single emotion.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yHyD_FAxL7I/V8yfTTUBqBI/AAAAAAAApJI/gR5RyDaSYdAwLwjCb0U2u7Zb7KoANwWhQCLcB/s1600/Relay%2Bas%2Ba%2Bfamily%2B2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yHyD_FAxL7I/V8yfTTUBqBI/AAAAAAAApJI/gR5RyDaSYdAwLwjCb0U2u7Zb7KoANwWhQCLcB/s320/Relay%2Bas%2Ba%2Bfamily%2B2016.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, the hubs, and the kid. I am so lucky and grateful.</td></tr>
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Now, I would be remiss if I didn't tout the virtues of the outstanding members of my relay for life team. These folks took time out of their lives to join me in raising funds and awareness in hopes of getting us one step closer to a world without cancer. They supported me during my treatment, and they support me still...it's pretty amazing.<br />
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You know what the cherry on top of all of this is? This team, "The Self Checkouts", was awarded the Relay for Life Rookie Team of the Year award!! We showed up en masse, we had the best t-shirts, we walked and talked, we laughed (and cried), we participated in Jazzercise. We remembered those we lost, celebrated those who survived and each of us did our part in trying to raise awareness about doing breast self exams.<br />
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Now, there are a solid 50 more pictures I could post and at least 50,000 more words I could type here. But I'm not going to. Just know that this event was something I was looking forward to throughout the entire year of chemo, surgery, radiation, blood draws, blood transfusions, and countless doctors appointments. This was a thing I could focus on instead of worrying about whether I was going to die or live. Because that's the truth. It's a scary truth that you don't want to admit until it's all over, but there you go. I lived. I survived. I got my damned purple shirt.<br />
<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-55974168685301618482016-02-07T16:36:00.000-06:002016-09-09T17:19:48.939-05:00The One Where I Realize An Entire Year Has Passed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On February 5, 2015, I received the official news that I had cancer. I was at work when my doctor called me. There was no beating around the bush. She told me I had cancer and I should hang up the phone with her and call an oncologist immediately. I did not immediately call an oncologist, instead I called my husband. And then I walked across the hall and told my boss. And then I turned the corner and went to my friend's office and told her. I am pretty sure I smiled, laughed, and dropped the cancer bomb. I laughed because I didn't want to cry and didn't know what else to do. Because that's a totally normal thing.<br />
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February 5th is my baby brother's birthday. I remember feeling horrified that this was happening on his b-day. I contemplated putting off telling him by a day so it wouldn't ruin his birthday. Now, I know that is kind of presumptuous and a bit conceited to assume that this would ruin his birthday, but I just didn't want to risk it. I remember calling my dad and being more preoccupied with figuring out if I should say anything or wait, than actually telling my dad I had cancer. I guess we fixate on weird stuff when we are stressed out. (In case you're wondering, I did tell my brother on his birthday. He doesn't seem traumatized and he still speaks to me, so I think we're okay. We even texted back and forth to make plans for a birthday dinner this year. Dessert and all.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are a while back at a Bulls vs. Mavericks pre-season game. Much fun was had by all. </td></tr>
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So, it's been one year since this whole debacle started. Wow. I feel like everything has changed and nothing has changed. It's an odd combination of feeling like it took me forever to get here and that it all happened in the blink of an eye. A very odd feeling and even more odd that I struggle so hard to find the words to describe it. Be prepared for a meandering post as I try really hard to get to the point...<br />
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Fuck. I survived. I had two huge tumors and now I don't. I am still alive and hearty, healthy, and hale. Please understand, it's not that I feel guilty and I am not sitting here wondering "why did it all work out for me and not those other cancer patients". I am smart enough and rational enough to understand the nuances of modern medicine, science, and sickness. It's just that there are days where the enormity of it all hits me, right in chest. My heart hurts a little, my breathing gets a bit accelerated, and I get a little light headed. When I fully absorb what happened, it sort of freaks me out. Which is kind of stupid considering it's all done. I am cancer free. I beat cancer. I survived. So why am I freaking out on a random Friday afternoon? I dunno. Maybe all of those days where I just put one foot in front of the other, focused on one small piece at a time, plowed ahead and refused to be anything but positive and optimistic and certain that it would all work out finally caught up to me? Maybe my subconscious is finally cracking open just the tiniest bit and letting me see all of the fears I buried way down deep?<br />
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It's been a whole entire year. How do I feel about that? Like I said, some days the enormity of it all grabs me by the throat and I panic all over again. But mostly, I feel good. Really good. I feel like I have a much better sense of what is worth arguing about, and what is worth letting go. I feel like I search even deeper for the positives. I am trying so much harder to tell people what they mean to me. I am freer with compliments and gratitude. I want to take advantage of every opportunity in front of me. I am trying really hard to make sure I'm not raining on anyone's parade. I feel really good and I want everyone around me to feel really good.<br />
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I feel good emotionally AND physically. I joined the YMCA so I can work out and get my strength and endurance back. I got a Fitbit (thanks, Mom!) to make sure I keep moving and don't get too sedentary (let me know if you wanna be Fitbit friends - or whatever the cool kids call it). I've cut waaaaaay back on my caffeine intake (decaf coffee, more hot tea, little to no soda). More fruits and less Little Debbie.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WzuH8t8wuxA/VrE30dQUbFI/AAAAAAAAiT0/bzpVCtctuzQ/s1600/IMG_20160202_170831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WzuH8t8wuxA/VrE30dQUbFI/AAAAAAAAiT0/bzpVCtctuzQ/s320/IMG_20160202_170831.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out my nifty compression sleeves. From the right distance it looks like I am super tough and have these bad-ass tattoos. FYI - these guys help keep me from getting lymphedema, in case you were wondering. And yes, I did punch myself in the face while trying to put them on the first time. It's cool. I'm fine. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hsOsQPe2RiU/VrE33PwiffI/AAAAAAAAiT4/95kubAhTetc/s1600/IMG_20160202_170719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hsOsQPe2RiU/VrE33PwiffI/AAAAAAAAiT4/95kubAhTetc/s320/IMG_20160202_170719.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That contraption right there? I have no idea what it is called but when I use it - it makes muscles in my chest area flex that I didn't know I had. I have a love/hate relationship with it. </td></tr>
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Oh, and another thing. A friend of mind messaged me recently asking if I had any idea about what I wanted to do with my wig now that I'm no longer using it. I told her that I had planned on donating it to the local cancer center, but just hadn't done it yet. That wig really did help me get through a rough spot - I was surprised at how much more confident I felt with it on and I wanted someone else to have that same experience with no worries about the cost associated with purchasing a wig (they can be kind of pricey). Turns out my friend had a friend who needed a wig. While it broke my heart that there was a reason to pass it along, I was more than happy to do so. What surprised me most about this was the little touch of sadness I felt about letting the wig go. It really was like a security blanket and I had a brief 10 minutes where I was truly sad about saying goodbye to Samantha. (The style of wig was called "Bewitched". Of course I named the wig Samantha. Duh.) I mean, don't misunderstand, I was 95% happy to be helping someone out by giving them the wig to use, but there was absolutely that 5% of sadness. Very weird, but that's the truth.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N66SE6JQ06w/VrE6qHNF_pI/AAAAAAAAiUY/DR4Fm5DpJZs/s1600/IMG_20160202_171138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N66SE6JQ06w/VrE6qHNF_pI/AAAAAAAAiUY/DR4Fm5DpJZs/s320/IMG_20160202_171138.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why yes. I did have a Raquel Welch wig. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kmM-3fZtO20/VrE62eoBjfI/AAAAAAAAiUo/Y-YvFaxmPgE/s1600/IMG_20160127_202849552%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kmM-3fZtO20/VrE62eoBjfI/AAAAAAAAiUo/Y-YvFaxmPgE/s320/IMG_20160127_202849552%257E2.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me having my last moment with Samantha. </td></tr>
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In retrospect, letting go of the wig was kind of a nice way to sad goodbye to the cancer and all of the horseshit that came with it. A nice way to physically let go, you know? Symbolic in a way. Which is a good thing. I want to let go, but I refuse to forget. This process could have easily been overwhelming and could have sent me into a depressive downward spiral. But it wasn't and I didn't thanks to my wide and deep pool of friends and family. I am learning to let go of the lingering fear and anxiety, but I will not forget what I went through. I think I have accepted my physical scars, and am working through the emotional ones. (Gotta stop waiting for the metaphorical "other shoe" to drop.)<br />
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This process showed me that I wasn't the weenie I thought I was and that it's okay to depend on other people and ask for help every once in a while. This process made me open my eyes and see the value in things that I was absolutely taking for granted - - and it's made me see that despite how good I had it before, I was missing out on so much more.<br />
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Wow. Yes. It's been a whole year. I am still a little shocked that all of this happened, but I am so grateful and relieved and awed that everything worked out the way it did. Guys, I did it. I beat cancer. Holy crap. Now, I just need to figure out how to 1) use the grill properly and 2) not burn bacon...I can beat cancer, but apparently cooking certain meats is outside of my skill set.<br />
<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-10126679923523862852016-01-09T12:13:00.000-06:002016-01-09T12:13:11.841-06:00The one about the last surgery (It's finally "ovar-y"!)Okay, when we last chatted I had just finished radiation and I told you that the last step in my cancer treatment plan was to have my ovaries and fallopian tubes taken out. Well, on December 28th, I was able to check that off of the to-do list.<br />
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Of course there was a prediction of a terrible snow storm to hit that day. Because why not add a little extra stress. Sure. To do my part in thwarting the snow, I went grocery shopping the night before and had my husband get the snow shovel out and make sure the snow blower was working. (It's the same logic as washing your car to make sure it rains.) Boom. No snow storm.<br />
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If you've been following along you already know how much I hate needles and the worst part of surgery for me is getting the IV. I really dislike that portion of the show. But, when we parked in the hospital garage, I unbuckled my seat belt and saw this little graffiti gem:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ho2ntxgmUdc/VpFDAMq2DWI/AAAAAAAAhD4/JBU52CHMKUc/s1600/IMG_20151228_084938579_HDR%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ho2ntxgmUdc/VpFDAMq2DWI/AAAAAAAAhD4/JBU52CHMKUc/s400/IMG_20151228_084938579_HDR%257E2.jpg" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It'll Be Okay." Thanks, stranger. Much appreciated. </td></tr>
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I wish I could accurately express just how much this made me feel better. It's true, I believe in things like ghosts, fate, and signs - - and so this really did calm me down and make me believe it would be okay. <div>
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Once again, each nurse I met during this surgery day was awesome. Friendly, smart, efficient, and caring. I am still not sure how I got so lucky, but I'm going to do everything I can to keep putting good vibes out to the world to compensate for my good fortune.</div>
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Anyway, they came and got me a little early for surgery because things were moving quicker than expected. So, off I went at about 10:45am. Getting your ovaries and tubes out can be done laparoscopically and takes about 30-45 minutes. I got three tiny little incisions: one in my belly button and two on each side. The one in my belly button seems a bit bigger, and the two others are no bigger than the nail on my pinky finger. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yyUYPEEI8YU/VpFFMcX-OXI/AAAAAAAAhEE/pZeynp-Xc6o/s1600/IMG_20160105_211418575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yyUYPEEI8YU/VpFFMcX-OXI/AAAAAAAAhEE/pZeynp-Xc6o/s320/IMG_20160105_211418575.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny little incisions. You can barely see 'em! </td></tr>
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This is an outpatient procedure so I was home and in my own bed by 2pm. Yes, I was a little sore and tender for a day or two, but not bad. The worst part of this whole procedure was the leftover gas in my body afterwards. The doctor inflates you with gas to move some of your other organs out of the way, and some of that gas hangs out in your body for a day or so until you burp it out or your body absorbs it naturally. I had these pains that felt like the stitch you get in your side after running, and a pain in my shoulder when I moved a certain way. It took about two days for that to go away. </div>
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Surgery was done on Monday the 28th and on Thursday the 31st, I went to my cousins house to play cards for New Year's Eve. I took my kiddo shopping that Friday to spend her Christmas money. Went that Saturday to my baby brother's basketball game. Seriously, the recovery time was super short. </div>
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Like I said at the beginning of this post - - this was the last item on my cancer treatment to-do list. No ovaries = no ovarian cancer. One less thing to worry about, right? Right. It feels good. So, if that was the last big thing I needed to do, what's next? Well, I'll have a few remaining sessions with my physical therapist (technically, she's an OTD, OTR/L, and CLT -- occupational therapist and certified lymphedema therapist, in case you were wondering), a follow-up with my oncologist in March, a follow-up with my radiation oncologist in March, and then just regular check ups thereafter. </div>
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Guys, what am I gonna do with all of this reclaimed free time!?! I'll tell you what I'm gonna do - - I'm gonna enjoy it. I'm gonna laugh and smile and gleefully hop back into the driver's seat of my life again. </div>
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Oh, and just as a reminder for you ladies...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-atvDdnNT1zc/VpFNPWjbm-I/AAAAAAAAhEU/HCN8nw2nYxI/s1600/don%2527t%2Bbe%2Ba%2Bchicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="335" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-atvDdnNT1zc/VpFNPWjbm-I/AAAAAAAAhEU/HCN8nw2nYxI/s400/don%2527t%2Bbe%2Ba%2Bchicken.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's January. Why don't you make sure you have your mammogram scheduled. Also, go ahead and schedule reminders for you monthly breast self exams while you're at it.</td></tr>
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Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-52856452701900781722015-12-17T21:54:00.002-06:002015-12-18T13:28:47.958-06:00The one with radiation, but no super powersWell, the next-to-last piece of my cancer treatment puzzle was radiation. I did 33 sessions of this. Radiation took place every day, Monday through Friday. Despite getting zapped 33 times with fancy electrons, x-rays, gamma rays, and whatever -- no super powers. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJL6RbKQLl0/VnImWC86yGI/AAAAAAAAgE0/pnRR77Aqt9w/s1600/radiation%2Bsuper%2Bpowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJL6RbKQLl0/VnImWC86yGI/AAAAAAAAgE0/pnRR77Aqt9w/s320/radiation%2Bsuper%2Bpowers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I found this meme on the intertubes. The typos are kind of killing me on the inside, but you get the point. </td></tr>
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Really, radiation wasn't all that bad. Especially when I compare it to chemo and surgery. No nausea, no hair loss, no bone aches. The main thing I felt was tired. Not every single day, and not beginning with the first session. It took a little while to build up, but I'd say after the first week and a half I could feel myself starting to drag a little bit. Then about every three or four days, I would just be totally exhausted. So wiped out that I would fall asleep at 7pm and stay asleep until my alarm went off for work the next day. Because of this, I'm so glad that I scheduled my appointments in the afternoon at 3:45pm. If it was just radiation, I could be in and out in 30 mins. Once a week I had to do x-rays and that added another 15 minutes. Now, 30-45 minutes doesn't seem so long, but when you are laying perfectly still with your arms above your head it can seem like forever. And there was no clock in the room, so I would resort to counting the number of songs that played and estimated how much time had passed. What I appreciated more than anything was that the radiation therapists had good taste in music and changed it up each day. </div>
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All things considered, when compared to chemo treatment days, it wasn't too bad of an experience that's for sure. So, let me try to describe how all of this worked, step-by-step. </div>
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My very first appointment consisted of a full body scan, getting all of my planes marked, and tattoos (yes, I said tattoos). They sent me through a scanner (the tube kind) and they drew all over my chest with Sharpie. The radiation techs were making sure that they could set up my treatment plan to the exact specifications necessary (kind of like programming a CNC machine). After the scanning and the drawing, they gave me 5 or 6 little tattooed dots - - some right down the middle of my chest and one on each side. These little dots are black light sensitive ink injected just under my skin. That's right. I glow under black light. I am my own version of Iron Man with my tiny glowing arc reactor dots. These glowing dots allow the radiation techs to quickly line me up in the exact same spot each day. I learned that radiation is a pretty exact science. </div>
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My first session of radiation was on October 15, 2015. Just a little over one month after my double-mastectomy and reconstruction. Here is what one of the two radiation rooms looked like: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lx_M6wroNMQ/VmruVXSkc7I/AAAAAAAAf44/SGz8vC5UIik/s1600/IMG_20151016_161804575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lx_M6wroNMQ/VmruVXSkc7I/AAAAAAAAf44/SGz8vC5UIik/s640/IMG_20151016_161804575.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's the radiation room. That dome like ceiling actually has little blinking star lights that look like outer space. It has a purplish pink light and then the twinkle stars when it is turned on. Then I laid on that slab, my legs went over the pillow, and then they adjusted the table to the right height and position. Then that star ship Enterprise looking thing can rotate all of the way around the slab to do both x-rays and administer the radiation treatment.</td></tr>
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Now, in my case, I had to take my top off and wear a hospital gown. This is probably because the radiation therapists had to regularly line me up to a very specific set of measurements and regularly draw on me with Sharpies. I got to leave everything on from the waist down. Kinda strange to be wearing your pants and boots paired with a hospital gown, but oh well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-goP2Tv1TePU/VmrvUyuYe2I/AAAAAAAAf5A/AHW6jVzrSBM/s1600/IMG_20151120_155441503_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-goP2Tv1TePU/VmrvUyuYe2I/AAAAAAAAf5A/AHW6jVzrSBM/s320/IMG_20151120_155441503_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's the little room where you change into your gown. There are little lockers outside to put all of your stuff. You can keep all of your jewelry on, and your glasses, and your shoes. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0zrqLbP2XrY/VmrvU9712kI/AAAAAAAAf5A/VTLR6yyfRu0/s1600/IMG_20151120_155431799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0zrqLbP2XrY/VmrvU9712kI/AAAAAAAAf5A/VTLR6yyfRu0/s320/IMG_20151120_155431799.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously. I will not miss those gowns. I mean, I am no fashionista, but even I know how terrible they are. </td></tr>
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Now, I gotta tell you, I was definitely worried about the damage that radiation could do. My radiation oncologist told me that he wanted to see my skin turn a little reddish pink. That didn't seem so bad, but there was a chance that I could get a sunburn of sorts. There was a chance that it could have been painful. That I might need a prescription for lotion with aloe and lidocaine. I was worried, so I was really diligent in following doctor's orders and applying a good, heavy lotion to my skin each morning. I also made sure that I was drinking plenty of water each day. I wanted to make sure my skin stayed hydrated and pliable. During this time I continued to see my physical therapist who is also a lymphedema specialist. She helped me address any issues I had with cording (Remember I mentioned cords last time? The hardened "strings" of lymphatic fluid that need to be broken up?). Each session of radiation was a fresh trauma to an already sensitive and damaged area. When I would see her, she would have me run through the exercises that I was also doing at home, then work on any cords, and try to monitor my incision areas to see if I was developing any noticeable scar tissue under the skin. It was important to make sure that I didn't get a build up of scar tissue that could glob up and push on my implants. Again, I count myself lucky that I really didn't have any terrible side effects. No burns, no sores. Just a few tan lines and some peeling skin that looked like reverse freckles, see:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2vYlCcPn9fM/Vmrv9Ya0SMI/AAAAAAAAf5U/imEx08o5is8/s1600/IMG_20151207_165043656_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2vYlCcPn9fM/Vmrv9Ya0SMI/AAAAAAAAf5U/imEx08o5is8/s320/IMG_20151207_165043656_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my next-to-last day of treatment. You can see where some of my skin is starting to peel. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pV22bj-sVGs/Vmrv9UVEloI/AAAAAAAAf5U/MSzNd0Z5bMI/s1600/IMG_20151207_165028894_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pV22bj-sVGs/Vmrv9UVEloI/AAAAAAAAf5U/MSzNd0Z5bMI/s320/IMG_20151207_165028894_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can see here that I definitely got a funky tan from the radiation, but no burns and no open sores. Thanks Eucerin lotion!!</td></tr>
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After 33 sessions of treatment. I was done. On my very last day, my friends and co-workers gave me quite the surprise. They threw me a "happy last day of radiation" party. There was cake and t-shirts and music and laughter and it was great. That group of folks have been wonderful. They have been so patient and understanding and caring. I really hit the jackpot there.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WUcvQoClbuU/VmrwX6nxo1I/AAAAAAAAf5c/_UpyVHTyTbs/s1600/IMG_20151208_120235727_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WUcvQoClbuU/VmrwX6nxo1I/AAAAAAAAf5c/_UpyVHTyTbs/s320/IMG_20151208_120235727_HDR.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They understand my deep love of good puns. THIS IS THE BEST CAKE EVER!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OTcyZZdOlxk/VmrwcTw0MHI/AAAAAAAAf5k/LwUc3oqCO8g/s1600/IMG_20151208_183254932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OTcyZZdOlxk/VmrwcTw0MHI/AAAAAAAAf5k/LwUc3oqCO8g/s320/IMG_20151208_183254932.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, and did I mention that they made t-shirts with my face on them and they all wore 'em to my party? (This is my husband, not a co-worker. I can plaster his picture all over the interwebs without permission. Didn't want to do that to my co-workers.) </td></tr>
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I showed up to my appointment that afternoon with a smile on my face and gratitude in my heart. I really didn't care that they were running late. I really didn't care that I sat in the waiting room for almost an hour. I was just so glad that it was my last day and I was eager to give the radiation therapists the thank you gift I put together for them. (5 mixed-tape CDs to add to their stash of music. As I mentioned earlier, it is really nice to have music playing while you're laying on that table. I can only imagine how many times those folks have heard the same songs over and over. Seemed like the very least I could do was to give them some new tunes.)<br />
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Another fun surprise that day was my radiation diploma. I graduated and this is my official certificate of completion. How great is this? So thoughtful and caring and it made me smile.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gX5iLLAprT8/VmrwXy9Of2I/AAAAAAAAf5c/k3hLlH_Uslw/s1600/IMG_20151208_184032702_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gX5iLLAprT8/VmrwXy9Of2I/AAAAAAAAf5c/k3hLlH_Uslw/s640/IMG_20151208_184032702_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I even got a diploma for completing radiation. Those radiation therapists were fantastic. </td></tr>
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Again, I am so grateful for my team of ridiculously awesome doctors and medical professionals. They did such a great job of giving me the treatment I needed to ensure that I kick the cancer's ass and keep away for a good long while, ideally, forever. They made sure I was well informed and well cared for. You really can't ask for more than that.<br />
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So, what's next? Well, I'll keep going to my physical therapist for a while so she can keep working on those dang cords that keep popping up and to massage away some small areas of scar tissue under the skin of my incision lines. Then just one more small, outpatient procedure. It is highly recommended (read: as close to a demand as you can get from your doctor) that I have my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed. Because I tested positive for BRCA, I have an increased risk for ovarian cancer. No ovaries = no ovarian cancer. Since I've definitely hit my deductible for the year, there's no time like the present to get that done. More on that later, maybe. Otherwise, it's just a matter of staying healthy. My family joined the local YMCA so I can keep active and regain my strength, flexibility, and endurance (plus it'll be fun to go to the Y as a family and swim and play basketball and stuff), and then I'll meet with my oncologist on Christmas eve to kind of recap the year and figure out a plan going forward.<br />
<br />
So close to being able to say "I'm done with all of my cancer treatments". I'm ready for that day. And I'm still so stupidly grateful for all of the wonderful doctors, family, and friends who have been there for me from the get go. I'm ready to start giving back and sharing the light and love I've been so lucky to receive.<br />
<br />
SO. CLOSE. TO. BEING. DONE. Ahhhhhhh!!!! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PC-v5HJ5Jqk/VnODjFDFhAI/AAAAAAAAgG4/5RKjkqhQJXw/s1600/radiation%2Bglowing%2Bjoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PC-v5HJ5Jqk/VnODjFDFhAI/AAAAAAAAgG4/5RKjkqhQJXw/s320/radiation%2Bglowing%2Bjoke.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Again, thanks to the internet, we have jokes like this. </td></tr>
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<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-45429846425560571372015-11-15T19:16:00.002-06:002015-11-15T19:16:35.240-06:00Yup. I did it again. Another art show. That's right, my friends. I definitely put my poetry in another art show.<br />
<br />
This is the third time I have entered my poetry on canvas into the University of Nebraska-Lincoln Staff Art Show. As you might imagine I was once again nervous about doing it, but did it anyway. Once again, I'm glad I did. I kind of like the pressure to perform, knowing that I am working on a deadline with a very public outcome. It certainly freaks me out and gives me more than a little anxiety - but I do kind of like it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ncdZzDcnOBU/Vkkq6ck79eI/AAAAAAAAeu0/l3nK5CbaM_M/s1600/IMG_20151106_082342500_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ncdZzDcnOBU/Vkkq6ck79eI/AAAAAAAAeu0/l3nK5CbaM_M/s400/IMG_20151106_082342500_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year, the art show is being held in the University library - - Love Library. I mean, what is better than having your art/poetry hung in a library? It's fantastic!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cyW64R6raQI/Vkkq6c0NQeI/AAAAAAAAeu0/ZT2piNmttAw/s1600/IMG_20151106_082147152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cyW64R6raQI/Vkkq6c0NQeI/AAAAAAAAeu0/ZT2piNmttAw/s400/IMG_20151106_082147152.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's my two pieces. </td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dcwZiidTLL0/Vkkq6fWIoOI/AAAAAAAAeu0/xrw1WBUWA5E/s1600/IMG_20151106_082140177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dcwZiidTLL0/Vkkq6fWIoOI/AAAAAAAAeu0/xrw1WBUWA5E/s400/IMG_20151106_082140177.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and here is what they look like hanging with other pieces. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />You may or may not know that my husband is a bow hunter. So, I took one of the deer skulls from his harvest last year and painted the face black and then put some designs in silver on it. Next, I took it outside and snapped some photographs, some with that skull by itself, and some next to a doe skull. I took those photographs and manipulated them on my computer. Then I transferred the images I liked best onto canvas. Last, but not least, I added the poem. In case you can't read the microscopic text in the photos I posted above, here is the poem I wrote: <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>These Bones</b></div>
<div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-d1ecffdc-0dd5-7d79-e0d5-0e83284c25e2"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These bones </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">are the only permanent thing about me. </span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can change my mind</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">but I can never change</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">my secrets</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and smiles full of big teeth -</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">or is it big smiles full of teeth?</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every demon wants its pound of flesh.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But me,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I just want your pure white bones.</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People tell me to walk away but </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">this need for you is bone deep and</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">my bones </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">well, they follow me everywhere.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t they know a person can never outrun</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the shadow inside their body?</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am the darkness and the skeleton in this closet</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">sitting close to your button down shirts that I used to adore.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The button down shirts that smell like</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">stale coffee and strong promises -</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">or is it strong coffee and stale promises? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes we confuse me. </span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s funny how everything changes.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everything but these bones. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These bones </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">are the only permanent thing about me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Inconsolata; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_JMs46hZIfM/Vkkto4US68I/AAAAAAAAevk/lkyJf5MXyPA/s1600/IMG_20151030_090906077_HDR%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="507" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_JMs46hZIfM/Vkkto4US68I/AAAAAAAAevk/lkyJf5MXyPA/s640/IMG_20151030_090906077_HDR%257E2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These Bones, Jennifer Klein, 2015</td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aCIajUB9nYo/Vkkto3x0OuI/AAAAAAAAevk/zOyLuCBVJdg/s1600/IMG_20151030_090854162_HDR%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aCIajUB9nYo/Vkkto3x0OuI/AAAAAAAAevk/zOyLuCBVJdg/s640/IMG_20151030_090854162_HDR%257E2.jpg" width="523" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These Bones, Jennifer Klein, 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-10823055668075910862015-11-08T16:46:00.001-06:002016-11-14T21:46:15.786-06:00The one with the surgery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
So, it's been almost 2 months since I had surgery. This means I've had 2 months to heal physically and emotionally. Despite all of the trepidation, stress, and panic that came with surgery - I am relieved to have gotten rid of the boobs that quite literally tried to kill me. Not sad to see the tumor twins gone and a new set of much more docile and calm boobs in place.<br />
<br />
Surgery is some scary shit. I don't care how "routine" the procedure or how long you are (or aren't) under the knife - it's scary. I can't lie to you, I was fairly terrified about my surgery. I had a port removal, double-mastectomy, sentinel node removal, and reconstructive surgery all in one procedure. That was roughly 3 and a half hours on the operating table. But, before I get ahead of myself...let's back up and I'll tell you how I got from point A to point 34C.<br />
<br />
One of the very first things I did was make individual appointments to speak with a general surgeon, plastic surgeon, and a radiation oncologist before I made any official decisions. I was 99.9% sure that I would need to undergo radiation and I wanted to make sure that whatever surgical procedure(s) I chose would make the most sense for optimal radiation treatment and healing in both the short term and long term. After discussing quite a few possible options, I decided to go with a one-step reconstruction process. This is when the general surgeon comes in and performs the mastectomy, then when that procedure is finished, the plastic surgeon comes in and performs reconstruction. This means one time under anesthesia, one surgery, and one healing process. No need for tissue expanders, multiple visits to plastic surgeon to fill the expanders, and no second surgery to replace expanders with implants. My radiation oncologist said that he could radiate with the implants in place. The one real risk is that the radiation could cause some internal scarring and "globs" of scar tissue that might push on the implants. This would require some fixing from a plastic surgeon. But, there is a chance that everything will go along just fine and when I'm done with radiation, I'm just simply done. That's the hope. Every woman and every case is different and I would highly recommend that women are sure to talk with all medical professionals involved and determine the best plan for herself - - but I think it is most definitely worth it to see if one-step reconstruction is an option.<br />
<br />
After I gathered all of this information and had some long and intense conversations with my husband, we went ahead and scheduled surgery. They gave me about three weeks to get my affairs in order. I had to make sure that everything was all squared away at work (I would need to miss about 4 weeks) and make sure that I had everything all situated at home, literally. (I would have limited range of motion - so I needed to make sure things that were up high in cabinets was down low where I could reach them.)<br />
<br />
One day at work, I received a call from a nurse navigator with the hospital who suggested I come and take a breast surgery education class. I cannot stress to you how grateful I am that they do this for women. If you know anyone who is having a mastectomy and their hospital offers a class like this - - TELL THEM TO ATTEND!! I learned so much during that 90 minutes. I was of clear and sound mind, too, so this meant that I was able to retain the many details that would prove helpful when I went home after surgery. The nurse stepped me through every single thing that would happen from the moment I checked in to hospital on the day of surgery through the moment I checked out. She taught me everything I would need to know about managing my drain tubes, some simple exercises for stretching my banged up muscles, how to get in and out of chairs, how to sit up in bed, and so on. She also told me about lymphedema and the importance of finding a physical therapist who is also a lymphedema specialist before surgery. That way they can take measurements of your arms in order to track any possible swelling to be addressed post surgery. SO IMPORTANT. But I'll talk more about that later.<br />
<br />
Okay. Surgery day. A few things.<br />
1. They definitely put the I.V. in my foot. Terrible.<br />
Because I was having lymph nodes removed on both sides of my body, they did not want to put an I.V. in my arm to reduce the risk of lymphedema. Considering my horrendous fear of needles, this was no small feat. (Oh, god. It was awful.)<br />
<br />
2. They gave me pain balls. This means that the anesthesiologist laid me on my stomach, located pain receptors in my upper back that control my chest and side muscles, then they stuck wires down there that are attached to little tubes that are able to administer local anesthetic (kind of like mini-epidurals) over the course of 72 hours. This means that I did not have to take narcotic pain meds every few hours. (That meant no fuzzy head, no upset belly, and so on.) The down side is that I had to haul around two fanny packs containing plastic donuts full of "the good stuff".<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LV1fVbpj3JM/Vj_CtOMsOsI/AAAAAAAAeaY/abVPpN1mpwI/s1600/pain%2Bball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LV1fVbpj3JM/Vj_CtOMsOsI/AAAAAAAAeaY/abVPpN1mpwI/s400/pain%2Bball.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is just one of the pain balls. You can see the little tube inside there filled with "the good stuff".</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ZB0-GjCeQU/Vj_C8VpiIMI/AAAAAAAAeak/cmXvZaxyvEc/s1600/pain%2Bball%2Btaped%2Bup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ZB0-GjCeQU/Vj_C8VpiIMI/AAAAAAAAeak/cmXvZaxyvEc/s400/pain%2Bball%2Btaped%2Bup.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here you can see the wires that came out of my back, taped to my neck, that connected to the above pain ball. I had one of these on each side for about 3 days. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O1N25gSOrMM/WCqEiRJcjyI/AAAAAAAArQM/ULoWNV-90GE1ZZPvvASMmPSb3lhf24jkQCEw/s1600/20150911_095103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O1N25gSOrMM/WCqEiRJcjyI/AAAAAAAArQM/ULoWNV-90GE1ZZPvvASMmPSb3lhf24jkQCEw/s400/20150911_095103.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's another shot of what those wires looked like coming out of my back. To be honest, it hurt worse trying to get the tape off of my skin than pulling those wires out. </td></tr>
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<br />
3. Surgery went like clockwork and there were no hiccups. Thank goodness. I woke up knowing that they had removed my real breasts, but when I looked down, I still had my feminine form and felt like the Jenn I was about 4 hours prior. For me, that was important. This is not the case for every woman. Some ladies opt to not have reconstruction and some do. One is not better than the other. Like I said, for <b>me</b>, it was important to maintain a feminine form and come out of this looking like I did when I started. It was one less thing for me to stress out about and one less thing to mess with my mind and emotions. I came out of this major surgery and felt emotionally whole. This allowed me to focus on healing physically.<br />
<br />
4. The nurses definitely had me up and walking the same day. It was rough, but I did it. (I only <i>almost </i>barfed. No actual barfing.)<br />
<br />
5. I absolutely got up the next morning and showered. (That was a debacle and a half and thank God my husband has nerves of steel because I was a hot mess.) Showering while you try to manage two pain balls and those wires as well as two drain tubes is a lot to manage. It's do-able, but the first time was definitely a learning experience.<br />
<br />
6. I was discharged from the hospital the next day. At first this seems absolutely crazy, right? I just had major surgery, I have these pain ball things and wires coming out of my neck, oh, and I have two drain tubes sticking out of my body. BUT, I can tell you that it was so much better being uncomfortable at home in my own chair and my own bed than at the hospital.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mh2hS3C4lw4/Vj_DsVq_kLI/AAAAAAAAeao/oekD_liFidU/s1600/jackson%2Bpratt%2Bdrain.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mh2hS3C4lw4/Vj_DsVq_kLI/AAAAAAAAeao/oekD_liFidU/s400/jackson%2Bpratt%2Bdrain.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a Jackson Pratt drain tube. The top tube section is what is stuck in your body (it's like almost 10 inches of tube in there) and then the rest just dangles out. The tubes are sutured to your skin. It's pretty gross. You have these plastic grenade things dangling at the bottom and they need to be emptied multiple times a day. Then you have to measure the "output". Again, thank God for my husband. The guy was a rock. </td></tr>
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<br />
7. Both of my surgeons were wonderful. They came to see me the next morning and were full of smiles and jokes and well wishes.<br />
<br />
8. The nurses who took care of me were the best. They were kind and helpful and just plain wonderful. They even sent a "hope you're feeling better" card after I went home. How great is that?<br />
<br />
I feel like I was one of the lucky ones in that I was able to get both of my drain tubes removed at the same time, after just one week. It can sometimes take up to 2 or 3 weeks, and not every woman gets both out simultaneously. My plastic surgeon and his nurse tag teamed it - they each snipped the sutures around the tubes and then 1...2...3... PULLED. Out the tubes came. Was it the worst thing in the world? Probably not. Did it feel like it at the time? A little bit.<br />
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So, week one after surgery, I just hung out at home trying not to laugh, cough, sneeze, or jerk in any way. Holy shitballs. You don't realize just how often you use your chest muscles and side muscles up through your armpits (they removed lymph nodes from up in my arm pits - they went through the incisions they made for the mastectomy and up into the 'pits). If you know someone who is going to have a mastectomy, tell them that it is smart to invest in button up shirts to wear for the first week or so. Trying to get in and out of a t-shirt just isn't gonna happen for a while.<br />
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Week two I met with my physical therapist, who is also a lymphedema specialist. She was able to make sure that I got my range of motion back, strength back, and monitor me for signs of lymphedema. She was also able to take care of any little cords that developed. (Imagine those little glow stick bracelets and how you have to crinkle them to get 'em to glow - - she massages the cords that develop until they crinkle and snap and go away. Those cords are made up of hardened lymph fluid.) Again, if you know of someone who is going to have breast surgery, you might mention to them that they should get squared away with a physical therapist who is a lymphedema specialist. IT'S SO VERY VERY IMPORTANT.<br />
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By week three I was cleared to drive and the pain was mostly gone and my PT sessions had been going really well. I was wearing tshirts again and doing laundry and going stir crazy (read: too much Pinterest and YouTube.)<br />
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Now, I am leaving out quite a few gory details, but to be honest - you don't really want to know about those things.<br />
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I had surgery on September 9, 2015. I was back at work, full time, by October 5, 2015. This is all due to my amazing and fantastic doctors, my superman of a husband, and the love and support of my family and friends. I was definitely scared about surgery. I was scared about losing parts of my body. I was scared of the pain. I was scared of the drain tubes. I was scared of the scarring. But you know what. It's all okay. The surgery went great and while yes, they did take parts of my body, they only took the bad stuff. The parts that made me sick. Those surgeons left the good things. They left all of the parts and pieces that make up me. I still have my heart, my humor, and my ability to love.<br />
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It was about one month after my surgery when my physical therapist encouraged me to join her Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk team. I was a bit tentative at first because I really didn't know anyone else on her team, but something about doing this walk felt right. In hindsight, raising money and awareness for breast cancer by participating in such an uplifting event was the perfect way to finish my fight (Thanks, Tracy!). It was pretty dang inspiring to thousands people the day of the walk supporting their survivors and hoping to make a difference. I gotta tell you, it felt really good to know that I was out there just one month after surgery, able to put on my own t-shirt, walking a full 5k, and laughing with my friends and family. It felt really good to know that I got through the scary and can call myself a survivor.<br />
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<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-76416599518064342442015-09-22T16:35:00.000-05:002015-12-10T08:54:40.558-06:00The one with another list of things to noteAs I sit here recovering from my double mastectomy and reconstruction (I'll write about surgery later. I'm not ready yet) -- I've had some more time to sit and stew and reflect on a few more things. I know I've already put up a post where I talk about stuff I have learned, but this is just a little different.<br />
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I've thought about the things that everyone who finds out I have (correction: HAD) cancer asks: HOW CAN I HELP? WHAT CAN I DO? The answer is incredibly simple. Just be there. Be my friend. Be present. Be happy. Share with me the funny details and stressful situations in your life. Tell me about your day at work, vent to me about your crazy co-workers, all of those small little things add up to be just what I need - - your friendship. Now, this answer doesn't always go over very well with folks. Obviously I cannot, and will not, speak for everyone battling cancer. I am my own person and only know how this diagnosis has played out in my life. Just to be clear. So, with that in mind, I have made up a list of things that have helped me so far. Things that have encouraged me to keep a positive attitude, made me laugh, helped my family, and reminded me that I have done a fantastic job of surrounding myself with awesome people.<br />
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<b>1. The "Chemo Advent" box.</b><br />
A good friend of mine made this box and placed in it 20 different and individually wrapped up gifts. There was one for each week of chemotherapy. I opened up a new gift on each chemo day and it was such a lovely and happy thing on those craptacular days. There were things like chapstick, small candle holders, a nail file, stickers, googly eyes, and earrings. Such a great idea and most definitely brought me joy and chuckles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vMrYrK8vMSM/VgGZ-Cc6hnI/AAAAAAAAdBQ/aA8Wb49cnaQ/s1600/chemo%2Bbox%2Bgift%2Bfrom%2Bjanell%2Bon%2Blast%2Bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vMrYrK8vMSM/VgGZ-Cc6hnI/AAAAAAAAdBQ/aA8Wb49cnaQ/s320/chemo%2Bbox%2Bgift%2Bfrom%2Bjanell%2Bon%2Blast%2Bday.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the very last thing I opened. It's fantastic and currently resides on my bookshelf. </td></tr>
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<b>2. GoFundMe campaign.</b><br />
My youngest sister-in-law started a small GoFundMe for my family. I have good insurance and we have a comfortable savings so we aren't at risk of losing our house or anything. But the extra funds were definitely appreciated and seriously helpful. We used the money to pay for our portion of the cost of surgery to put in my port. (Thanks for my Sigourney Weaver port, guys!!) I don't think this is something that must be done for everyone, nor do I think everyone wants a GoFundMe for their stuff. Probably best to ask the person to see how they feel about it before you create one.<br />
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<b>3. Cards and notes through good old fashioned mail.</b><br />
Honestly, I love getting things in the mail that aren't bills. It makes my whole day. Even when folks live hours or states away, it is so lovely to get a short note from them. It's the equivalent of a long distance hug. (Plus, I like being able to send things to them in return.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at how happy this card is! And stickers, too!</td></tr>
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<b>4. Social Media (#hatsforjenn or #hatsforjen - Google it. It was a thing.)</b><br />
Honestly, social media has been kind of a lifesaver for me. It's been a way for me to stay connected to friends and family, especially on days/weeks when I didn't feel so hot and didn't want to leave my house. I found that folks would leave me encouraging notes, funny pictures, and send IM's checking in. It's not like a phone call where you feel obligated to answer or then feel like an ass because you ignored the call -- social media has been good to me. Personally, I use Facebook, Google Plus, and Pinterest. All for different crowds and purposes. There was a group of seriously wonderful folks on Google Plus who ended up starting a thing where folks would post pictures of themselves wearing all kinds of hats and used the hashtag #hatsforjenn (or #hatsforjen) to make me laugh and smile when I lost my hair. Words can't describe how cool that was.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had my own hashtag!!</td></tr>
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<b>5. Staying away from WebMD.</b><br />
This may not work for everyone, but I never ever <i>ever </i>went to WebMD or Googled anything pertaining to my diagnosis or side effects. If I had questions or concerns I simply called or emailed my doctor or nurses. I mean, I already knew I had cancer so I probably shouldn't have been scared about anything that might have come up through random internet searching - - but why risk freaking myself out, ya know?<br />
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<b>6. Frozen meals, dinners, and gift cards.</b><br />
To the folks who brought dinner, made ready-to-go frozen meals, and brought gift cards for food - - thank you x 1,000,000. These were perfect for the nights we just ran out of time and energy. When Ben would miss work to shuttle me to and from doc appointments, he had to make the most of his time while he was at the office. But when you figure me and my too pooped and feeling gross self into the equation, there were days I couldn't pull my own weight to make dinner, so he had to be home because someone had to feed the kid! These dinners saved us so much time, energy, and stress. It was one less ball to drop and allowed us to all be together as a family in one room, even it was just for 30 minutes while we ate. My aunt used this website called "Meal Train". I highly recommend it. You can set up a calendar for a family and it gives you a personalized URL. You can list things the family likes/dislikes or any allergies, and then you share the link. Friends and family are able to select the day and menu that works best for them so there are no double-ups or conflicts. Pretty snazzy.<br />
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<b>7. Relay for Life luminaries.</b><br />
I did not attend the local 2015 Relay for Life event. I was at the tail end of chemo and honestly, I didn't know for sure if I had beaten the cancer and didn't feel comfortable participating until I could call myself a survivor. Right or wrong, that is how I felt. But, a few folks purchased luminaries for me and it just about made me cry. What a wonderful reminder that I wasn't alone in this fight and that people were rooting for me. Oh, and the donation to the American Cancer Society is nothing to sneeze at either. It's not all about funding research- - it's also about funding local programs for folks dealing with cancer. Things like classes on how to style your wig and draw on eyebrows, things like paying for taxi services for folks to get to and from chemo. It's important stuff they are doing. (You can bet your ass I'll be participating in the 2016 Relay and I'll proudly wear my "SURVIVOR" shirt.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It still makes me feel all the feels...Ugh...who is cutting onions in here? No one? Maybe it's dust. Yeah, dust. </td></tr>
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<b>8. Journaling, blogging, and writing poems.</b><br />
I know this one seems kinda like a gimme, but still. Taking the time to seriously process how I felt about the different stages of treatment helped to keep me on an even keel. By taking the time to put into words how things worked and the corresponding emotions was good for me and I hope by sharing <i>some </i>of what I wrote, it helped others gain a better understanding of what living with cancer can be like.<br />
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<b>9. Reading.</b><br />
Duh. Reading for me is the best way to get out of my own brainspace for a while. I don't know about you, but I definitely need some time to recharge and books are it for me. Honestly, I probably would have driven myself and my family crazy without my Nook.<br />
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<b>10. Hanging out with friends.</b><br />
Yeah, this is another obvious one, but it is still on the list of things that helped. Even when I lost my hair and felt a smidgen uncomfortable with my new look - it was great being around my friends. To hear about what they had going on, their successes, their struggles, and their jokes. Again, it was another way to remind myself that life was, and is, still going on. The world did not stop turning because I got The Cancer. People still need me, and I still need them.<br />
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<b>11. Working.</b><br />
Let me start by saying that I might have the best workplace in the history of work. My supervisor and colleagues have been so completely understanding and supportive. Through the grace of a good sick leave policy and technology, I was able to continue working through all 20 weeks of chemo and after. I have not had one unpaid day of leave and on days when I couldn't get to the office due to appointments, nausea, or compromised immune system - I was able to work from home. Continuing to work was yet another thing that helped remind me that the world is still spinning and things still need to get done and that I was/am bigger than a diagnosis.<br />
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<b>12. Music. Singing, dancing, and learning to play my uke.</b><br />
Okay, yes, this is yet another obvious one. But, I don't care. It stays on the list. For me, music is a kind of medicine - it could be meaningful lyrics, it could be a catchy clap-track, it could be a gnarly bass line - there is always something about music that leaves me feeling satisfied. Sometimes I like to dance to it, sometimes I like to sing along with it, and sometimes I like to figure out how to make my own. Music helped/helps. <br />
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I am sure there are other things that helped - small tokens of friendship and words of encouragement - but some of those things I just want to keep to myself because they are precious (hopefully you've received a personal thank you from me by now). These are the big ones. The constants. The things that I kept coming back to in order to keep going. To keep being Jenn the mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend, and all of the working, cleaning, talking, driving, shopping, dancing, cooking, and laughing that goes along with it.<br />
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I said it before and I will say it again - I am just me and I can't (won't) speak for everyone dealing with cancer. So, god forbid that you should ever know anyone else who has to go through the different stages of a cancer diagnosis, now you know some things that help. You helped. And you, and you, and yes you over there. You all helped. Thank you.<br />
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<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-88872554368698464112015-08-21T20:57:00.001-05:002015-12-10T08:59:52.918-06:00The one where I look back on chemo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have officially been done with chemo for an entire month (...and then some). I cannot express to you just how good it feels - and how good it feels to say that. Done. I'm done with chemo. (!!!!!) It was crazy how much better I felt within the first week - my appetite came back, my energy was up, and each day was better than the one before. By the time I was a month out my taste buds had returned from the abyss and I finally started feeling human again.<br />
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Just a few days ago I looked in the bathroom mirror before getting into the shower and thought, "holy shit, Jenn! Where did you get those bruises on your forehead!?!" But you know what? They weren't bruises at all - - THOSE SPOTS ARE MY EYEBROWS GROWING BACK!! Oh, and my eyelashes? They're coming back, too. Admittedly, it's a little itchy and a little pokey and I'm blinking in double time at everyone, but it is worth it. These are all good things. I swear to God, I will never bitch about shaving my legs and armpits ever again. The only remaining ailment as of right now is some lingering stiffness in my muscles. They are all super tight. I went from running 2-3 miles a day and playing tennis 3 times a week to absolutely no real physical activity for 5 months. I lost almost all of my flexibility. Grrr... Oh well. There could be worse things. I'm doing some basic and easy yoga poses and stretches each night before bed. Eventually I'll start walking regularly (when it isn't an oven outside) and work my way back up to running. Slow and steady is tough for me because I am impatient and I'm mad that I have to start from scratch. It's tough to remind myself that I just went through 20 weeks of routinely poisoning my body with some potent chemicals. It's tough to cut myself some slack. Definitely frustrating. But I'll get there. Eventually my irrational heart will catch up with my logical brain and I'll be fine.<br />
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So. Now that I've had some time away from chemotherapy, I can walk you guys through it with honesty and perspective.<br />
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Here we go:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am. First chemo. February 17, 2015.</td></tr>
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This is me sitting in the chemo chair for the very first time. Those are big fancy leather recliners with cup holders. You get whatever you want to drink and a warm blanket. The nurses in the infusion room are fantastic. They are smart, organized, professional, funny, caring, and attentive. I loved each and every nurse who assisted me through all of my treatment days. It seems important to show you guys that getting chemo isn't always like they portray it on TV or in the movies. I never went to the hospital or had to wear a gown. There were about 15 of these chairs in a huge room with TVs, a soda machine, and a snack basket. There were lots of windows and high ceilings. I mean, for a place where they do nothing but pump super toxic meds into your system - - it was pretty nice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Red Devil"</td></tr>
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One of four kinds of chemo I received is called Adriamycin, or "The Red Devil". It's some pretty nasty stuff. It's so nasty that my pregnant nurse was not allowed to give it to me - she had to have another nurse do that portion for her. They administer it directly (no saline mixer) over the course of a few minutes. You eat ice chips the entire time because the cold of the chips shrinks the blood vessels in your mouth, which decreases the amount of chemo flowing there, and this helps prevent mouth sores. It works - - I never had a single sore in my mouth.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I preferred popsicles over ice chips - - but that's just me. </td></tr>
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After my second dose of chemo, my hair started falling out. At first it was just a few strands here and there, then after a day or so it was coming out in bigger clumps, and before I knew it I couldn't even run my fingers through my hair without giant hunks coming out. It was time. Ben was a champ and shaved my head. (You can read all about that particular experience <a href="http://looseleaf-spiralbound.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-one-without-hair.html" target="_blank">here</a>.)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the first hairs to leave my head. </td></tr>
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Being bald wasn't (and still isn't) so bad. But, nobody wants to be bald all by themselves. Ben already has a shaved head (who doesn't love having the same haircut as their husband?) which was nice, but then one of my brothers decided to join the 'no hair, no cares' gang. I only asked him about 5 million times if he was sure he wanted to voluntarily shave off his luscious cowboy locks, and he seemed pretty confident that this was the move he wanted to make. So, I did what any big sister would do - - I gleefully turned on the shears and shaved him bald. (...after giving him a mullet, of course.) Talk about a grand gesture of solidarity. I have good brothers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L8D5LVFoFqA/VdVDdssjFlI/AAAAAAAAb94/5rZp_2jmb0s/s1600/bald%2Bbuddy%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L8D5LVFoFqA/VdVDdssjFlI/AAAAAAAAb94/5rZp_2jmb0s/s320/bald%2Bbuddy%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bald buddy, Haydon. (Our baby brother got a pass since he had prom. Nobody wants to be bald in prom pictures.) ;o) </td></tr>
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Here is how my chemo regimen worked: For the first 8 weeks I did treatment every other week. On dose days I received two kinds of chemo. For the second 12 weeks I did treatment with one kind of chemo every single week, and a second kind of chemo every third week. It was exhausting. The first half was filled with nausea and being physically wiped out. I had three different kinds of anti-nausea meds (thank goodness) and a very understanding and patient work place who let me remote in and work from the comfort of my couch. Continuing to work throughout chemo was very important to me. It allowed me to get outside of my own head and worry about other stuff for a while. It helped remind me that life was still going on outside of my cancer diagnosis.<br />
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I had to go to the cancer center each week, sometimes multiple times a week, to check my blood levels. They monitored the levels of my hemoglobin, hematocrit, white blood cells, red blood cells, and neutrophils. If I started dropping too low I would get a shot in the back of my arm. This shot would stimulate my bone marrow and force it to produce the good stuff my body needed. As you might imagine, forcing your bones to produce marrow effing hurts!! Believe it or not, Claritin saved me. Because it is a histamine blocker, it significantly reduced those painful side effects. The second 10 weeks was no nausea (thank goodness) but bone and joint pain with continued fatigue. Also, by this time I was so deep into chemo treatments that it started to mess with my taste buds and fingernails. Your fingernails grows in the same way that your hair does -- so if the chemo is making your hair fall out, there is a chance your nails might fall off. Luckily for me I just had these white marks, almost like tree rings, on my nails. (Which is definitely better than having no nails.)<br />
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During this second half of chemo I got my ass handed to me. So much so I ended up in the hospital twice getting blood transfusions. At one point I was operating as if I were 3 units of blood low. For me, those blood transfusions were way worse than chemo. I have an aversion to large quantities of blood so we'll just call those two transfusion episodes "mildly stressful". Did you know that it can take almost 7 hours for a blood transfusion? Figure about an hour to match and cross your blood type. Another hour to get the blood to the hospital. An hour to drip one bag of platelets into your body. 2-2.5 hours per bag of blood (I needed 2). Then about 30 minutes to wrap it all up and get out of there. Ugh. Thank goodness for Criminal Minds marathons on TV and my Nook. But again, I had the best nurses who took such fantastic care of me. And by some crazy serendipitous luck, I had the same nurses for both transfusions. Loved them. One of those nurses just so happened to be a breast cancer survivor and she told me to take B-12 vitamins - - she said it would help boost my energy and possibly help keep my fingernails from falling off. She also mentioned rubbing coconut oil on your nails every day. I did both of those things. Who knows if that is the reason why my nails stayed put, but they did. </div>
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Ugh. Here's where it's gonna be tough for me.<br />
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Losing the hair on my head was manageable. I really feel like I handled that pretty dang well. But, for some reason, when I lost my eyelashes and eyebrows and nose hairs - - it got tough. We are mammals. We are meant to have hair. It is absolutely amazing to me how completely different you look with no hair at all. I felt like an odd combination of Lex Luthor and a baby bird. Possibly like the little alien guy from the movie "Mac and Me". (Don't know that reference? Google it. Worth the chuckle.) I like to think that I am not a terribly vain person, but it was difficult to look at myself in the mirror and see this hairless stranger staring back. I just wanted to see my long brown hair. I wanted to see my expressive eyebrows. I wanted to see who I was before the cancer. It took me a while to realize that I am never going to see that person in the mirror. Even when my hair comes back, I will never see the person I was before the cancer. I'm just a different person and that is not a bad thing. That small realization made the biggest difference. <br />
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Some women are comfortable going out and about with no wigs and no makeup and I am so envious of their strength and courage. I am not one of those women. I was nervous and apprehensive about wearing my wig at first, but it definitely started to become a security blanket for me. Same goes for drawing on my eyebrows (Thank you Rimmel Professional Eyebrow Pencils!). Throughout the entire 20 weeks of chemo, there were only two days where I couldn't bring myself to get up, get showered, dressed, and dolled up. Just two. For me, the routine of getting up and showered and choosing an outfit and putting on makeup helped me feel like I was normal. There really is something to be said for the adage that "when you look good, you feel good"...and when you feel good, things just don't seem quite so terrible. I should tell you how helpful my 11 year old daughter was in this portion of the adventure. She did some research for me on how to draw on eyebrows. I bet that kid watched no less than 50 YouTube videos on this particular topic, and I was glad for any and all pointers. Eyebrows done right look great. Eyebrows even just a little wrong look terrifying. Her advice? Remember that eyebrows are sisters - - not twins. They don't have to match perfectly. I also learned that you can swipe a bit of baby powder along your brow bone before you start drawing your eyebrows and by some kind of wizardry, the powder helps to create a textured look and seems to help reduce smudging and/or melting. (Thanks for that tip, Aunt Sara!)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NcRcjkgPhYs/VdVKhZC2SII/AAAAAAAAb-c/Rgh1zGFAfqI/s1600/baby%2Bbird%2Bmeets%2Blex%2Bluthor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NcRcjkgPhYs/VdVKhZC2SII/AAAAAAAAb-c/Rgh1zGFAfqI/s320/baby%2Bbird%2Bmeets%2Blex%2Bluthor.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me. This is as real and naked and honest as I can humanly get. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RTjiuWrbufE/VdVKhQvBcMI/AAAAAAAAb-Y/Q535pjlbmc4/s1600/20minutes%2Bto%2Bbe%2Bhuman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RTjiuWrbufE/VdVKhQvBcMI/AAAAAAAAb-Y/Q535pjlbmc4/s320/20minutes%2Bto%2Bbe%2Bhuman.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And this is me 25 minutes later. Pretty amazing what makeup and decent wig can do, eh? </td></tr>
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Another crazy thing? One of the kinds of chemo I received, Taxol, has extracts of a yew tree. Because of this, some folks have a severe allergic reaction and can go into anaphylactic shock. So, each time you receive this treatment you get a healthy dose of Benadryl. That's right. Benadryl right through your port. Now, you should know that I can barely handle the tiny little pink pills of Benadryl without immediately taking a nap - - so when this was administered right into my bloodstream it was like a horse tranquilizer! My belly got all warm and my head got all floaty. It significantly reduced my anxiety on chemo days, that's for sure. I remember bringing a magazine to read and holding it in my lap while they were giving me my pre-meds. The nursed pushed my Benadryl and I just sat there staring at the wall...still holding my magazine. I never read the damned thing, just sat there stoned out of my gourd holding the magazine until Ben physically removed it from my hands. Derp. I guess I shouldn't complain too much. Whenever I'd get home from chemo, I'd be so spaced out in a Benadryl haze that I would just fall asleep for hours at a time. Which is better than feeling like crap. Silver lining, right?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HMkm7K1eIBE/VdVFclux0_I/AAAAAAAAb-E/36R_GjnhlZg/s1600/is%2Bit%2Bgin%2Bis%2Bit%2Bchemo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HMkm7K1eIBE/VdVFclux0_I/AAAAAAAAb-E/36R_GjnhlZg/s320/is%2Bit%2Bgin%2Bis%2Bit%2Bchemo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it gin? Is it chemo? WHO KNOWS!! One way or the other, it is most definitely a potent cocktail. </td></tr>
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And now we get to the good part. After 20 weeks...13 chemo sessions...2 blood transfusions...countless blood draws...and numerous days of feeling like yuck, dipped in ick, frosted with yuck...it was over. For my last day of treatment we made about 8 dozen cookies and brought them to the cancer center for the receptionists, appointment schedulers, doctors, nurses, and pharmacists. I made snazzy braided bracelets for all of the nursing staff and gave everyone hugs whether they wanted them or not.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fwln4sx_l1o/VdfHvkhqc4I/AAAAAAAAcDY/cPizGGS9CZU/s1600/last%2Bchemo%2Bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fwln4sx_l1o/VdfHvkhqc4I/AAAAAAAAcDY/cPizGGS9CZU/s320/last%2Bchemo%2Bday.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here I am on the last day of chemo. July 9, 2015. Yes, I am wearing yet another v-neck shirt. Made it easier for the nurses to access my port. </td></tr>
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It was the strangest feeling to be so dang excited to get treatment. To be overjoyed at knowing you're gonna feel pretty shitty is definitely odd - but that's how I felt. Knowing it was the very last one made it so much easier. That and the Benadryl. There were two awesome things that happened this day. The first was when my nurse said, "You are a great person. A perfect patient. You are strong and wonderful and am I so excited to never see you again." I felt the same way. Those nurses were awesome, but I am so glad I haven't seen them in a while. The second great thing was coming home to this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlymhXY7pyk/VdfJCpuWZVI/AAAAAAAAcDg/VooD8Fdf8Xw/s1600/coming%2Bhome%2Bon%2Blast%2Bchemo%2Bday%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlymhXY7pyk/VdfJCpuWZVI/AAAAAAAAcDg/VooD8Fdf8Xw/s320/coming%2Bhome%2Bon%2Blast%2Bchemo%2Bday%2B1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at how happy my house was!! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UNt9HzT1EM0/VdfJDrRRTPI/AAAAAAAAcDw/r56P-3gOi00/s1600/coming%2Bhome%2Bon%2Blast%2Bchemo%2Bday%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UNt9HzT1EM0/VdfJDrRRTPI/AAAAAAAAcDw/r56P-3gOi00/s320/coming%2Bhome%2Bon%2Blast%2Bchemo%2Bday%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes. Those are puns on my front door. Because I have some of the best friends in the world. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FQ2kFGI0lfc/VdfJDm6wryI/AAAAAAAAcD0/tSCyMB4oiJ8/s1600/coming%2Bhome%2Bon%2Blast%2Bchemo%2Bday%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FQ2kFGI0lfc/VdfJDm6wryI/AAAAAAAAcD0/tSCyMB4oiJ8/s320/coming%2Bhome%2Bon%2Blast%2Bchemo%2Bday%2B3.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you read the fine print on this poster it says, "Mother effing cancer better ask somebody." </td></tr>
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Those are the highlights (the low-lights?). There is still plenty to come, but knowing that I completed chemo is a huge check on the to-do list. Oh, and I got the results back from my post-chemo ultrasound, mammogram, and PET scan. The scans all showed "no discernible masses". We kicked those tumor-twins asses. <b>It worked.</b><br />
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Guys, I want to share all of these sordid details with you not to freak you out or fish for sympathy. I just want you all to see what it's like to go through this process. It is more than just a single terrifying diagnosis. It is an event that changes lives in every possible way - mentally, emotionally, and physically. The scars are visible and hidden. Please, please, please make sure you are talking to your doctor, doing self exams, and asking questions. Be informed about your family history and talk about the scary things, even if you don't want to. You know what's worse than an awkward conversation? Chemo. Trust me.<br />
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So now what. Now I take a few weeks to do nothing, then surgery and (more than likely) radiation. But it's okay. I have great doctors and great friends and great family. Of course I'm nervous/scared/anxious, but more than that I'm still just me. Albeit a me with a little less hair than usual...but still me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aNXi25o3RfU/VdfWP9LsEwI/AAAAAAAAcEE/uCzAeNWfFeg/s1600/shirt%2Bfrom%2Bsadie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aNXi25o3RfU/VdfWP9LsEwI/AAAAAAAAcEE/uCzAeNWfFeg/s320/shirt%2Bfrom%2Bsadie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kid picked this shirt out for me. She's wonderful. </td></tr>
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Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-24760554686291609192015-05-03T15:38:00.004-05:002015-05-03T15:38:57.279-05:00The one where I list things I've learned so far...I'm just over halfway through chemo and it seems high time to list the things I've learned so far:<br />
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1. Appreciate your nose hairs. Seriously. I didn't think about it until I didn't have any. Stuff just rolls right out and if you aren't prepared with kleenex, you will turn into a preschooler wiping your snot with your sleeve.<br />
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2. Don't fight the fuzzy head. Being bald has taught me more about self-confidence in two months than all the years after puberty combined. I can still be funny and smart and adorable without hair. This doesn't mean I don't miss my ponytails - - but I don't NEED them to feel complete.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D1xXeIGb1qs/VUaFkbo6GKI/AAAAAAAAYhw/JxJ4IvyfGqQ/s1600/IMG_20150413_211947557_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D1xXeIGb1qs/VUaFkbo6GKI/AAAAAAAAYhw/JxJ4IvyfGqQ/s1600/IMG_20150413_211947557_HDR.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A good friend let me borrow this chef hat. Of course I did my best Swedish Chef impression. </td></tr>
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3. BE APPRECIATIVE OF YOUR NURSES AND LAB STAFF!! Take them donuts. Tell them thank you. Be nice and smile. These folks are amazing and selfless and wonderful and lots of other adjectives. Seriously, they hardly know you and yet they immediately care so much. How great is that?<br />
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4. Good friends and family are so damned important. They keep you grounded and surrounded and feeling loved and supported. They make you food and make you laugh and make you remember that you are strong and capable - - even when you don't think you are.<br />
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5. Don't let the bad thing(s) define you. I am more than two tumors. Life is continuing to happen all around me. I cannot forget, and will not forget, that my friends still need support in their endeavors, my daughter still needs "gentle reminders" to practice her guitar, my husband still needs to vent about crappy days at work, my brothers still need their big sister to cheer them on, and I still have responsibilities at work. I still love listening to music and dancing around the house. I still love yelling at sporting events on my TV. Cancer is a thing that is happening in my world, but it is not my entire world.<br />
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6. Perspective. <i>Perspective</i>. <b>Perspective</b>. Things might be bad but they can almost always be worse. Do not forget that. Fight your fight and know that there are others out there fighting a bigger one.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_GW6ATt6o0I/VUaFfFW3TpI/AAAAAAAAYho/ifMkJ4z3hZ4/s1600/itPYl1i-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_GW6ATt6o0I/VUaFfFW3TpI/AAAAAAAAYho/ifMkJ4z3hZ4/s1600/itPYl1i-1.jpg" height="100" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See what I mean? Things can always be worse. </td></tr>
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7. Running pants (and yoga pants) are "real" pants. I used to be sorta judge-y about this but they are currently in my regular rotation. Because they are comfy and if I happen to fall asleep in them, they double nicely as pajamas. Some days we're all lucky I'm wearing pants, period. Ain't got time to worry about if they are stretchy or not.<br />
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I know there's more to this list, but I think these are most of the big ones. Cancer has changed me and will continue to change me. Not just physically, but also emotionally. It will continue to change me, and not always in an unpleasant way. I've been so lucky to be a recipient of an enormous amount of light and love from so many folks - - it's my great pleasure to try and give that back in as many ways as I can.Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-56611043177101159102015-03-29T14:03:00.001-05:002015-03-29T14:03:26.809-05:00The one where I can actually compare myself to Angelina JolieRemember a few years ago when the interwebs were in an uproar when they found out that Angelina Jolie had a preventative double-mastectomy? And how they erupted again recently when they found out she had her ovaries and Fallopian tubes removes? Seriously, there was even a <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/carolynkylstra/brca-genes-and-cancer" target="_blank">Buzzfeed article about it</a>. (You know it's a hot topic when Buzzfeed covers it - http://www.buzzfeed.com/carolynkylstra/brca-genes-and-cancer)<br />
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As you might have heard, Angelina Jolie carries the BRCA1 gene. So do I. Because of this genetic marker we are predisposed to getting breast cancer at early ages and it reoccurring later on as ovarian cancer. (Guys, this is the one and only time in my life where I will legitimately be able to compare myself to Angelina so I'm going to go ahead and do that. Because I can. <i>Finally</i>.)<br />
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A few people have asked me how I feel about Ms. Jolie's op-ed pieces discussing her very personal and monumental life choices. Have I read the articles? Do they bother me? And so on...<br />
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I have read the pieces. No, they do not bother me. Honestly, I am so pleased that each time she has had a major procedure related to her BRCA1 genes, she has made sure that the public is informed of her "why". Women need to know about these things to be better informed and to have appropriate conversations with their doctors. She has the fame and the power to make these things newsworthy. Her voice is a much more powerful vehicle than mine. I can tell all of my friends and family about breast self exams and talking with their doctors -- but she can capture the attention of a nation. Good for her for recognizing that and doing something about it.<br />
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For some folks I'm sure it seems extreme to have a double-mastectomy followed by having your ovaries and Fallopian tubes removed as preventative measures. I mean, a double-mastectomy is an amputation which is a big deal. (Just because it's not an arm or a leg, doesn't mean it's not an amputation.) Removing your ovaries means no more babies and bringing on menopause. A BIG DEAL. A big deal based on statistics. A chance that you test positive for the BRCA1 gene. Then more percentages about your likelihood of getting breast cancer. Then even more statistics about the likelihood of the cancer reoccurring in your ovaries. But remember, we're talking about cancer. How comfortable would you be gambling on CANCER? I gambled in my 20's and lost.<br />
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The difference between Angelina Jolie and myself (as if there was just one) is that she has the financial freedom to make these decisions with, I'm guessing, no real monetary repercussions. I knew the same facts as her and did not make the same decisions. I knew that I could test positive for the BRCA1 gene, but in my early 20's with a young family, couldn't justify the cost of the genetic testing. (If your insurance doesn't cover the cost, just plan on paying an amount that could get up to $4,000.) I couldn't justify the time off work or the cost of a double-mastectomy and the reconstructive surgery that would follow. Unfortunately, the harsh reality for most women in this situation is that money is a factor in their decision-making.<br />
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Also, I need to be honest here and tell you that there's more to the story than money. I couldn't handle losing parts of my body on a chance. It scared me. I thought I would be less of a woman. Less me. Right, wrong, or somewhere in between - I made the decision to wait and see what happened. I gambled on the odds falling in my favor and it didn't quite work out the way I hoped. The lesson I learned here is that I will still never judge a woman's decision because it's her call and I can clearly understand both sides of that coin. Probably more clearly than most.<br />
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So what does all of this mean? What is the point of this post? The point is - - ladies need to be aware of their family medical history. They need to be informed. They need to have difficult conversations with their doctors. They need to do self exams regularly. No matter what decision they make - - they simply need to be aware. Thanks to our fascination with famous folks, woman like Angelina Jolie can bring these conversations to the masses and can get websites like Buzzfeed (who appeal to a younger demographic) posting information about BRCA1 genes.<br />
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Also, did you really think I would post without my standard #CheckYourself message? Next time you go to the doctor, see if they have these available. Take one home. Use it.<br />
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<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-57358389841664619572015-03-08T20:41:00.001-05:002015-03-08T20:41:31.788-05:00The one with/out the hair. So, I finished chemo round #2 and this is the part where my hair goes buh-bye.<br />
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I was ready, mostly. I couldn't even touch my head without the hair falling out. Basically, shedding like a golden retriever. Now, I had previously purchased two beanie/stocking hat things, some bandannas, and a wig in preparation for this. The wig is something that I have yet to fully embrace but have it like a security blanket. Who knows, maybe I'll never wear it. Maybe I'll wear it everyday. I think I need to figure out if covering my bald head is more for me, or more for the people around me. I feel mostly okay with my new look, but will it eventually freak out my neighbors? I dunno. As of right now, I cannot stop thinking about the possibility of losing my eyelashes. How in the hell am I going to put on eyeliner without blinding myself? I use my eyelashes as a guideline and guardrail to avoid that! Ugh. And drawing on eyebrows? I do not know how to do that, and if you do it wrong, it doesn't just look "off" it looks horrifying. Oh well. We'll worry about that when and if. When and if, folks.<br />
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At any rate, on Thursday night around 8:30 p.m. I just up and decided that it was time to shave my head. The hair wasn't going to stop falling out and I couldn't handle the shedding any more. Believe it or not, the hair falling out made me more self-conscious than the idea of being bald.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can see here where my hair is just gone. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YtUHJpYjUCI/VPtU2LBTT3I/AAAAAAAAWuw/qgrAzcJ9Nio/s1600/IMG_20150305_204636547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YtUHJpYjUCI/VPtU2LBTT3I/AAAAAAAAWuw/qgrAzcJ9Nio/s1600/IMG_20150305_204636547.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why wouldn't we take an awkward photo mid-shave? I look a little like Roger Klotz from "Doug" in this photo. Google it if you don't know what I'm talking about. It's funny, I promise. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6Z-IXk5bC00/VPtU2PvyRKI/AAAAAAAAWuw/lpqCk_FYfg8/s1600/IMG_20150305_204646333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6Z-IXk5bC00/VPtU2PvyRKI/AAAAAAAAWuw/lpqCk_FYfg8/s1600/IMG_20150305_204646333.jpg" height="196" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's the hubs shaving my head. Now we have the same haircut. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qHRR4cqDTus/VPtU2EM-9GI/AAAAAAAAWuw/-35kS6QqAY4/s1600/IMG_20150305_205114425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qHRR4cqDTus/VPtU2EM-9GI/AAAAAAAAWuw/-35kS6QqAY4/s1600/IMG_20150305_205114425.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First look in the mirror. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y98ogIS3kkw/VPtU2GP-KAI/AAAAAAAAWuw/p3N_IUED7zY/s1600/IMG_20150305_205148578~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y98ogIS3kkw/VPtU2GP-KAI/AAAAAAAAWuw/p3N_IUED7zY/s1600/IMG_20150305_205148578%7E2.jpg" height="196" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sounds odd, but this is a face of relief. So stressful to constantly worry about your hair falling out in big ol' chunks.<br />
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Well, now that the hard part is done, I ordered some new earrings since my ears are on full display and I've been looking online at different eye makeup styles. I mean, might as well make the most of the situation, right? It's not so bad. One less thing to worry about and it certainly saves time in the shower. (...and now I know that I don't have any weird bumps or dents in my head. Yup. I've got a good shaped dome.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QQR9IHR57VM/VPz5OE0XMBI/AAAAAAAAWyg/yh2krrNPZGk/s1600/IMG_20150307_144704910~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QQR9IHR57VM/VPz5OE0XMBI/AAAAAAAAWyg/yh2krrNPZGk/s1600/IMG_20150307_144704910%7E2.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and one with a fancy chapeau. </td></tr>
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So yeah. That's what's new.<br /><br />
<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-6261643211915159512015-03-01T09:14:00.002-06:002015-03-01T09:14:25.554-06:00The one where I am so stupidly grateful.For those of you following along at home, here's an update.<br />
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I made it through my first round of chemo just fine. It was a little dicey for a few hours with a nausea that was pretty intense, but nothing a few pills couldn't fix. The day after was pretty much a blur. (I slept through most of it.) Then each day after that got progressively better and I felt like Jenn again within 3-4 days. So, now I know what that's like and am prepared for the next one. As of right now, the hardest part for me is walking into the infusion room and being the youngest one in there. It's a weird feeling to see pity in the eyes of other folks who are on the same damned boat as me. Just another reminder that even us younger folks need to be diligent in maintaining our health, regularly getting check ups, doing self exams (breast and testicular), and so on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a gentle reminder to the ladies to go ahead and give yourself a breast exam. DO IT.<br />image found on the internet - colleenclarkart.tumblr - Thanks Colleen Clark!</td></tr>
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Also, can I just say that my litte Sigourney Weaver port is a frickin' godsend!! Honestly, I was so squicked out by the idea of having that device inserted into my body, but now I cannot be more relieved that I have it. Thanks, Sigourney. The veins in my hands and arms are so thankful. You can see in the pic below the little "scar" mark from where they put in Sigourney, and then the little white circle is actually like a capped needle that just pops on top of my port and the meds go in! Pretty slick (and painless) deal.<br />
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Now here's the thing. I've had some time to sit and stew and ponder and think. What I've come to know with 100% certainty is that my support system is as wide as it is deep and I am just not sure if I could be any more grateful, thankful, lucky, and happy to have you all. From the funny text messages to the Facebook PMs, to the IM's, the dinners you have cooked, the cards you have sent, and the rage you have expressed on behalf of my situation is almost overwhelming. I don't know that this process will ever be easy, but you all make it bearable. Thank you, thank you, thank you x 1,000. To know that you're there for me, Ben, and Sadie is such a relief and a comfort. I'm doing my very best to make sure that I am passing along all of the light and love, however I can. We've made cookies for the staff at the cancer center, and I'm planning on bringing the nurses donuts on chemo day. Gotta keep the goodness going.<br />
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Well, I don't want to sit at the computer any longer today. It's a lovely day and I feel good. I'm going to clean my house (never thought I'd be excited to do that, but here we are) and nag my kid about homework and practicing her guitar (again, never thought I'd be thrilled to do that either).<br />
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<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-78588801590206511502015-02-21T21:34:00.001-06:002016-11-14T22:03:11.547-06:00The One About Cancer.Friends, there really isn't an easy way to bring this up. On Saturday, January 28th, 2015 I found two lumps as part of a routine self breast exam. One lump in each breast. For a minute I thought I was going to be a billionaire because I had found the insta-cure to tiny boobs. I had found the miracle plank workout that grew boob muscles. JACKPOT! But then reality hit and I remembered that my mom, grandma, and my two aunts have all battled breast cancer.<br />
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Guys, it's true. I have breast cancer. I'm 32 years old and I definitely have breast cancer. I am 100% convinced that I saved my life by doing regular self breast exams. I have an aggressively growing cancer (cells growing at a rate of 82%). Had I not gone immediately to the doctor after discovering my lumps, I might not be in early stages of cancer treatment. I CANNOT STRESS HOW IMPORTANT IT IS FOR EVERY WOMAN TO DO REGULAR SELF BREAST EXAMS!! Don't know how? No big deal. Go here and the American Cancer Society will tell you how: <a href="http://goo.gl/hxgtwb">http://goo.gl/hxgtwb</a> Seriously. You don't need insurance or an appointment, just do it in the shower, or when you lay down for bed. The best defense is good offense. Or should I say #TheBreastDefenseIsGoodOffense. Defend your boobs, ladies. If you don't want to perform the self exam yourself, ask your husband/wife/partner/friend/someone you trust.<br />
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So anyway, modern medicine has come a long long way. And thank goodness because my terrifying fear of needles was going to pose a large large problem. So, let me introduce you to Sigourney Weaver. She's my tiny little alien inside my body. Sigourney is a fancy port that stays under my skin and allows the best nurses ever (for real, my nurses are amazing) to do blood draws and administer my chemo just by plugging into my port.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sigourney Weaver IRL</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What Sigourney looks like under my skin. </td></tr>
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So, I've got great doctors, amazing nurses, the cancer center staff are unbelievable (yes, we've made them cookies already). I've got love, support, family, friends, insurance, and good anti-nausea meds. I have also got about another week or two with my hair. So, I went ahead and chopped it early so that I could donate to Locks of Love. (If you have 10" of hair that you'd like to donate, check out <a href="http://www.locksoflove.org/" target="_blank">Locks of Love</a>.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before "the cut"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After "the cut"</td></tr>
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Then I went to play around with wigs. Still not sure how I feel about the wig. It's quite an investment. I felt better about some options as opposed to others:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very librarian chic. I kind of like this one. Makes me want to say words like "Money Penny". </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe a little too Pulp Fiction?</td></tr>
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Okay, okay, okay. I think that's enough heavy stuff for now. Is it scary? Yes. Am I determined? Yes. Will I ever be alone in this fight? No. And now the big question. The thing everybody wants to know...how can I help? What Can I Do? Honestly, you can make sure that every single woman you love checks her breasts regularly for lumps. It can save her life. </div>
<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-86589489486184715882015-02-02T12:08:00.001-06:002015-02-02T12:08:27.545-06:00Music. More than just boogie down tunes. If you know me at all, you know that I love music. I will shush you in the truck when a good song comes on. I will dance in any Target or grocery store or waiting room if one of my jams comes over the speakers. I have very specific play-lists for happy days, crappy days, melancholy days, etc. Music matters to me in a way that is hard to express.<br />
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BUT, I have finally found a way to explain it. Sort of. The look on the guy's face at 4:30 in the video below is everything. It's love, it's hope, it's faith, it's happiness...all of it. That's what music does. <br />
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Whether you are playing music or listening to music, it can be whatever you need it to be. Music never asks you "why" and it doesn't ask for anything in return. (Well, it might ask for $0.99 if you want to download it...)<br />
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Also, this is what writing does for me. It lets me feel whatever I need to feel. It lets me get out whatever I've been harboring inside. It doesn't ask me why and it doesn't ask for anything in return. So, on that note, I'm going to make a pot of coffee, hit "play" on a meticulously chosen list of tunes, sit in my favorite chair, open up my notebook, and write..and write, and write, and write, until I get it all out. Then I'll sing and dance...and dance, and dance, and sing until I fill it back up.Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-52109085938619783832015-01-25T22:02:00.002-06:002015-01-25T22:03:30.628-06:00Not just a house...it's a home. Growing up, I lived in 15 different houses. I can mark time in my head based on which house I was living in. When I say that I hate moving, I really mean it. Moving makes me physically ill. January 16, 2015 was the ninth anniversary of officially owning my own home. My little family has lived in this little house for nine years -- the most amount of time I have ever lived in one house.<br />
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On those particular days where I feel defeated by the world, I remind myself that things could certainly be worse and I am so damn lucky to have the life I do. There is a specific kind of comfort in coming home after a shitty day, flopping on your couch, wrapping yourself up burrito style in a quilt your great grandma made, all while fending of slobbery kisses from your dogs, and listening to your husband and child make dinner for you in the kitchen. Because they want to make you happy. Because they care. It's one of the top five best feelings in the universe. Not everyone gets to have this feeling because not everyone has a happy little house with a happy little family inside. It is really hard to hold on to the mad/sad when you find yourself in a vortex of good.<br />
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So yeah, it's not just a house...it's a home. It's a place where people come to hang out and just <i>be</i>. My house is home to more folks than just my little family. A couch to crash on while you're going through a divorce, a garage where we play darts when you're stressed about work, a patio where we barbecue and reminisce around the fire, a front porch that is "base" for neighborhood kids playing tag, a kitchen to hang out in while we make potluck style dinner and share heavy secrets...as of right now I have three kinds of beer in my fridge that folks have left because they know they'll be back to drink it.<br />
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I don't think in all the years I've been writing that I have ever written a poem about a house -- or more specifically, a home. I guess it's time to give that a whirl. Posted below is my start. I don't want to put any more on this blog because after some more work (read: blood, sweat, possibly tears), I think this <i>might </i>be something I will eventually want to submit.<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and make it my home. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">who comfortably open my fridge,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">who know which cupboard holds my coffee mugs.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the wood and cement, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and I keep building it up </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">fleshing it out</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">filling it with heart</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">but you have the guts...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6vc-NclHtiw/VMW6-VJZcsI/AAAAAAAAVbI/BjpiNEhu_OY/s1600/house%2Bhome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6vc-NclHtiw/VMW6-VJZcsI/AAAAAAAAVbI/BjpiNEhu_OY/s1600/house%2Bhome.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes. This is my home. Isn't it the cutest bungalow EVAR!?</td></tr>
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Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-28529018621697008362014-12-31T22:46:00.002-06:002014-12-31T22:46:35.812-06:00I tried to name this post, but they all sounded like Nicholas Sparks book/movie titles...(Seriously, I tried to come up with a good name for this post, but they all started to sound like Nicholas Sparks book/movie titles..."a walk in their shoes", "a mile in his shoes", "a walk to remember", etc.)<br />
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So, there is that famous saying, "until you walk a mile in someone else's shoes," or some variation thereof. I have done that. Literally.<br />
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Many moons ago, my baby brother outgrew a pair of Chuck Taylors. He outgrew them in less than a year so they were still in pretty good shape. Being the kind and gentle giant he is, he gave them to his big sister. At the time, he was 10 and I was 25.<br />
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Now, I'm 31 and the shoes have started to quite literally fall apart. The bends around the toe area (you know where they crease when you walk?) have split apart. Threads are coming undone at the seams and are starting to fray. The black trim around the shoes has left for parts unknown. Every time I take them off, I need to dump out the little pieces of rubber that brake off in crumbles from somewhere in the heel area. It reminds me of shaking the sand out of my shoes after running around on a playground.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ple6LPdv7Cc/VEPcKv4BKpI/AAAAAAAARvU/pQXLSWKlxPE/s1600/IMG_20141014_175803062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ple6LPdv7Cc/VEPcKv4BKpI/AAAAAAAARvU/pQXLSWKlxPE/s1600/IMG_20141014_175803062.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The" shoes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qT6leyK1Edg/VEPcKu_jnUI/AAAAAAAARvU/alFFYTnRfdU/s1600/IMG_20141014_175754747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qT6leyK1Edg/VEPcKu_jnUI/AAAAAAAARvU/alFFYTnRfdU/s1600/IMG_20141014_175754747.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another shot of "The" shoes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lupsxug_pv0/VHsqiQ6TgEI/AAAAAAAATO0/fKOmKpbbGG0/s1600/me%2Band%2Bholden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lupsxug_pv0/VHsqiQ6TgEI/AAAAAAAATO0/fKOmKpbbGG0/s1600/me%2Band%2Bholden.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and the required pic of me and my baby brother. We're at a Husker basketball game. GO BIG RED!</td></tr>
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The point I'm trying to make is that these are more than "just shoes". They are happiness wrapped in memories. I remember the first time I put these on my feet. I remember my brother being so excited that we wore the same size shoes. It was one of the few things we had in common at the time. Believe me when I say it's not always easy to find the middle of a Venn Diagram for a 10 year old boy and a 25 year old woman. I tried the shoes on, they fit, and I didn't take them off - - just continued to wear them even though they didn't match my clothes and were not the best shoes for riding horses. (Our activity of choice on that particular day.) I remember thinking that these shoes jumped from playgrounds and P.E. to working in an office and standing in line at the DMV. But that didn't really matter. He liked the shoes, I liked the shoes, and the "hand-me-up" made us laugh.<br />
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For the last six years, these shoes have been a constant reminder of my baby brother, and have made me smile each and every time I put them on my feet. (I feel like you should know that my baby brother, as of right now, is 16 years old, 6'5" tall, and wears size 15 Nike's.) It was much harder than I thought it was going to be to put them aside and say goodbye. Seriously, it's just a pair of shoes, right? Wrong.<br />
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Well, I did just what you would expect me to do. I stewed on it, felt all the feels, and then wrote. Here's the beginning of a rough draft of a poem you probably guessed was coming. I don't really like it, but it's what I've got right now. Poems come in fits and starts and sometimes I really suck at writing them. Anyway, here's the "poem" as it stands:<br />
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<b>Yours, then mine. </b><br />
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Shit-kickers, Mile-high heels, Jesus Joggers, and Waffle Stompers.<br />
It's not the shoes that make the man, but where he goes and how he takes care of them.<br />
Right? Right.<br />
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All shoes can be dancing shoes with the right music.<br />
All shoes are created equal. Just like the people who wear them.<br />
Right? Right.<br />
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Hand-me-downs or up-cycled.<br />
Thrift store bought or Saturday night swap between girlfriends.<br />
When I put your shoes on my feet, my toes curl into the grooves you made.<br />
My heels are cradled by your indentations.<br />
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Your indentations, but my intentions.<br />
Your old shoes, but my new journey.<br />
<br />Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-14315187169788764922014-08-27T21:21:00.001-05:002014-08-27T21:29:47.931-05:00If I've said it once, I've said it ten timesI found a writing prompt generator on the interwebs and the prompt it spat out at me was, "write a poem of 10 lines, each line starting with <i>I say</i>". Sometimes it's just as simple as that. (When I say "simple" I actually mean the exact opposite.)<br />
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This took me far longer than it should have. I just couldn't seem to make the words fit together on the page. It's was like trying to solve a tangram with one of the shapes missing. (Don't know what a tangram is? Google it.)<br />
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So, without further ado, here is my "I say" poem.<br />
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I say things that make you laugh</i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I say things I don’t mean</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I say that sometimes life is plain shitty<br />I say that sometimes life is as shitty as you make it<br />I say what I feel more often that what I think<br /><br />I say white lies are contagious and necessary<br />I say I won’t be mad, but I really will</i><br /><i>I say you listen but you don’t hear me</i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I say I love you every morning and every night<br />I say you are my favorite person because I mean it</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
Here's the deal. I don't love this as a perfect solid and whole poem. It's not great and it doesn't "hang" together like I want it to. However, there are a few lines I'm particularly enamored with that might make for a pretty good piece after it rolls around in my brainspace for a little while. It needs to marinate in melancholy song lyrics and memories of sad after school specials.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tn1iiCzt4Kw/U_6RgxtSMDI/AAAAAAAAPqA/IsVID3bsQtk/s1600/IMG_20140827_211321812~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tn1iiCzt4Kw/U_6RgxtSMDI/AAAAAAAAPqA/IsVID3bsQtk/s1600/IMG_20140827_211321812%7E2.jpg" height="252" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...sometimes I need to scribble and doodle. </td></tr>
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Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499071474861504020.post-67082280702008142292014-07-23T23:18:00.001-05:002014-07-23T23:18:27.512-05:00Upon remembering what it was like to be 18I literally just finished reading <i>Fangirl</i>, by Rainbow Rowell. Seriously, I read the last page about 15 minutes ago. I'm not going to launch into a review of the book here (BTW, I thought it was fantastic) but I can tell you that it made me feel all the feels. It made me remember what it was like to be 18. Made me remember all of the horror and glory. So now that I've got the feels and caffeine coursing through my system - - here's the start of a poem. I'm sure there is much more to this buried underneath 13 years of brain stuff, but this is what I've got right now...<br />
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<br /><b>Golden Delicious</b><br /><br />Feeling my way through the pieces of yesterday. Some of them are smooth like a worry stone in your pocket. Others are jagged and painful like a chipped front tooth. My voice is singing old songs. Lips and tongue moving on auto pilot. I can smell the second hand smoke. I can taste the cold Pad Thai mixed with lukewarm coffee. <br /><br />Makes me think of all the times I wouldn't take your hand. Wouldn't return your winks. Wouldn't let you know that my heart was speeding up. Couldn't look you in the eye for too long. Just because you looked at me. Just like that. Because I couldn't tell if it was me that was special, or you.<br /><br />I hear the Talking Heads and remember how we thought we were so sophisticated, listening to their greatest hits on repeat. Drinking our wine out of the gallon jug. <div>
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Up floats the memory of kissing you for the first and only time on your sun porch.<div>
I remember wanting directions despite the short and direct climb up and into your lap. I remember laughing at how skinny you were; not less of a man, and not that it mattered in the least.<br /><br />Your hair was perfect and your smile was not and that’s what did it for me. To me.<br />Your stupid Elvis smile that wasn't really a smile. More of a smirk.<br /><br />Either way, it tasted delicious. <div>
Not in a Golden Apple way, but in the winning and approval sort of way. <br /><br />You swallowed me whole. Heart and soul.<br />Fingers and toes. </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">I </span></span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;">didn't</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"> want to lose myself, but it certainly seemed that you found me quick enough.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ICsOs8LEgw/U9CIgMIWHdI/AAAAAAAAN7U/CF5-Lhb41Fs/s1600/me+in+the+tub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ICsOs8LEgw/U9CIgMIWHdI/AAAAAAAAN7U/CF5-Lhb41Fs/s1600/me+in+the+tub.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because you've earned it - - here's a photograph of me during the summer of my 18th year. Heaven only knows why I was laughing in a bathtub...</td></tr>
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Jennifer Kleinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11437310818206589620noreply@blogger.com0