Much too young to feel this damn old

Oh, Garth Brooks, you know me so well. I really am much too young to feel this damn old.

Here I am staring down 30 and I already have a medical resume to rival any senior citizen. I've grown tired of being a medical marvel and I'm none too pleased with my present affliction which, thus far, has garnered no diagnosis beyond malaise. (Stay tuned for test results which could show anything from underactive thyroid to Lyme disease to bubonic plague.)

I'm not sure what my parents were trying to pull when they got together but I'm pretty sure their genetic matter is some perfect storm of DNA. Neither family is much help. You name the disease and we can likely track it within a short distance of consanguinity. (Wow, I just proved myself wrong. I really didn't think I would ever use the word consanguinity after law school.)

I feel bad about complaining because I know I'm still better off health-wise than a lot of people. I may have had cancer twice, but I was insanely lucky to catch it as early as I did. And as crappy as it was, at least I just had to have surgery and not go through chemo or radiation like so many others.

Still, it would be nice if I could make it through a day without having to think about how badly I'm feeling. I can no longer remember a time when I didn't have to stress over every little ache and pain. Seriously, the herniated disc really just adds insult to injury.

Oh, how I long for the day that the only things that I share in common with the seniors I work with are my frequent trips to Atlantic City, interest in knitting, and propensity to cut coupons.

To breathe again

I couldn't be more excited for Maryland to go entirely smoke-free this Friday, February 1. I also couldn't be more conflicted.

For, you see, as much as I absolutely hate smoking, I also hate the thought of the Maryland General Assembly stepping in and mandating what legal activities its citizens can and cannot do.

I've been putting off writing about this because this is such a difficult issue for me to reconcile. My libertarian leanings tell me to be outraged at this invasion into people's personal choices and the rights of business owners to respond to what the public wants.

But, at the same time, I've always put smokers right up there with drunk drivers, child molesters, and people who end sentences in a preposition. Are these really people I want to protect?

I come by this hatred naturally. For as long as I can remember, my grandmother made me promise that I would never smoke even a single cigarette because cigarettes killed her father. Yes, she used the word killed. And because of that warning, I've never so much as touched a cigarette.

The other side of the family shouldn't be left out. One of my favorite stories from my Aunt Judy, my dad's younger sister, is when she visited my parents soon after they were married. My dad was in the kitchen washing dishes and she lit up a cigarette just to see what his reaction would be. Within a split second, he turned the faucet sprayer on her and hosed her down. So yeah, we're not exactly pro-smoking in my family.

The matter is further muddied because of my passionate support for the American Cancer Society, a group that championed the ban. I feel the need to celebrate my ability to enter bars across the state without choking and reeking of smoke for hours after I leave. But I will only do so with a feeling of ambivalence.

What will you be doing this Friday as Maryland goes smoke-free? Regardless of your carcinogenic leanings, I hope you will consider dining out at one of the restaurants below that will be donating a portion of its proceeds to the American Cancer Society to mark this important milestone.

Restaurants participating in Dine Out for Relay For Life:

Bayou Blues Cafe at the Avenue at White Marsh (15% of sales, 4-6 p.m.)
Pizzeria Unos at Harbor Place (20% of sales all day.)
Greene Turtles across the state (10% of their sales from 11a.m.-2 p.m.; The Fells Point and North Ocean City locations will be donating 10% of their sales all day.)

May Day at the Artful Gourmet Bistro

The following piece appeared on the Jewish Times website last week. I'm posting it here as a reminder for the fundraiser we're hosting for the American Cancer Society at the Artful Gourmet Bistro on Tuesday, May 1. For reservations, call (410) 356-2606.


Surviving Cancer At 25

AlisaBS
Special to the Jewish Times

APRIL 20, 2007

It was as if I had lived an entire lifetime in the course of a year. I graduated from the University of Baltimore School of Law, passed the bar exam and got engaged.

And then I was diagnosed with cancer.

Nothing stops you in your tracks quite like that.

First it was colon cancer. It was just days after I turned 25 and only one day after we found out the offer that my fiancé and I made on a house had been accepted.

The doctors wanted to operate as soon as possible. So on the day I was scheduled to be sworn in as an attorney, I instead found myself being prepped for surgery. I spent my Chanukah that year in the hospital, with bridal magazines and reruns of The Simpsons to get me through. Not allowed to eat for two weeks, latkes were but a dream that December.

While the cancer was thankfully removed, the doctors soon found another cause for concern. An MRI showed a mass on my left kidney, which later was found to be kidney cancer -- the same disease that took my grandmother's life when she was just 35.

Thanks to an incredibly supportive husband-to-be who spent many long nights next to me, attempting to sleep in the world's most uncomfortable hospital chair, as well as my caring family and amazing doctors, I made it through both surgeries successfully.

The road to recovery was a long one. It took several months before I could return to a normal diet and many more after that until I regained my strength. By the time the wedding rolled around in October of 2004, I was feeling much better and couldn't wait to partake in the midnight chocolate buffet on our honeymoon cruise.

But today, nearly three years later, there's nothing more invigorating than knowing I've beaten cancer. And except for an annual colonoscopy and a CT scan here and there, life is pretty much back to normal.

Somehow I became living proof that colon cancer doesn't just happen to people 50 and over. It's not always as easy as I had I but it is treatable and beatable when found early.

And while I pride myself on being unique, the truth is that every single day people are diagnosed with cancer and launch into the same paralyzing fear. Last year alone, nearly 1.4 million Americans heard the dreaded words "You have cancer."

Thankfully the number of cancer deaths is dropping. When caught early, cancer is treatable.

To that end, I've made it a priority to help build awareness of the importance early detection. For the second year in a row I am leading a team, aptly named the Semicolons, in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life of Owings Mills, taking place at Owings Mills High School on June 9-10. The event is an all-night fundraising walk, in which a member of each team must remain on the track at all times.

It makes for a long night but compared to what cancer patients have to go through everyday, it's not so bad.

To help us in our fundraising efforts, the owners of the Artful Gourmet Bistro in Owings Mills have graciously agreed to donate a percentage of the proceeds from all meals sold on Tuesday, May 1 to the American Cancer Society. We are hoping the community will turn out in full force that day to show their support for finding a cure, and get a really wonderful meal at the same time. You can stop by anytime between 11 a.m.-9:30 p.m., but we suggest making reservations for dinner at 410-356-2606.

I also personally recommend trying the Renaissance, a chicken breast sautéed in a Madeira wine sauce, covered in wilted spinach, mushrooms, and mozzarella, or the Matisse, a tri-colored cheese tortellini in creamy tomato sauce, but I leave off the ham.

If you'd like more information on the Owings Mills Relay for Life, want to sign up, or would like to make a donation, please visit www.acsevents.org/relay/owingsmills.

Breast cancer envy

As everyone knows by now, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The pink ribbons are everywhere. Even the packaging for Campbell's Soup has gone pink for the month.

Now this is a really delicate issue so I'm going to try to be as careful as I can in what I have to say, but I do believe breast cancer has gone a bit too commercial.

Pink ribbons and clothing have become a fashion statement as opposed to a real statement. My mom was even able to buy a Breast Cancer Awareness labradoodle at Macy's last week. The stuffed animal, representing the epitome of trendiness in canines, came complete with a pink bandana and a pink ribbon stamped on its paw. Sure it's cute, but what does it really mean?

Cancer is not about ribbons, cute pieces of jewelry, or pink shoelaces. It's certainly not about stuffed animals. It's a serious, life-changing disease, and I can only hope that the corporations who purport to promote awareness understand that.

I have to ask myself whether I would feel the same way if I saw this commercialism happening to Colorectal Cancer, which, by the way, has its awareness month in March. Maybe I'm just jealous. Maybe I just wish that colon cancer could have the appeal of breast cancer. Would I get a kick out of seeing my very own disease go pop culture? I just don't know.

Please understand that I mean no offense to anyone who has suffered through breast cancer, either personally or through a loved one. As I hope everyone knows, I'm as sympathetic as they come when we're talking cancer. But I'm not so sympathetic when important causes lose their meaning when processed for mass consumption.

To be fair, I do wear a yellow Livestrong bracelet which some people see as cancer-gone-trendy. It reminds me of what I've been through. If the breast cancer merchandise has a similar meaning for those who purchase and/or wear it, then I have no complaints. But if it's adorned because that's what the cool kids are wearing, it's a whole different story.

A dollar here, a caffeine pill there

In a little more than three weeks, I, along with my family and friends, will stay up and walk all night in an effort to raise money for the American Cancer Society. For my sleep apnea-ridden self, it should be quite interesting to see how awake I manage to stay.

I've never actually pulled an all-nighter, not even in college. I stayed up late many Sunday nights as we tried to meet our deadline for the college newspaper, but I never made it the whole entire night.

So in preparation for Relay for Life, I've got the caffeine pills and Diet Coke all ready to go. I do, however, need something else -- specifically, a few more donations. See I'm not just doing this walk for the free pizza at midnight.

I'm doing this to raise as much money as possible for cancer research. Is this a little selfish of me? Sure. As a two-time cancer survivor, I have a vested interest in making sure that cancer research and other important program are well-financed. But I'm not the only one who will benefit from the fundraising so I suppose I can consider myself slightly benevolent. Slightly.

My team, the Semicolons, has done an awesome job of fundraising so far. As of this moment, we've raised a total of $4,137.40. Pretty impressive, don't you think? But we still have a few weeks left and we might as well raise more money.

So, you want to donate? Great! That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Luckily for you, making a donation is incredibly easy. Just click here and enter my name. You can make a donation right there online using your credit card.

If you're not so comfortable with online stuff, you can make a check out to the American Cancer Society and mail it to me. I'll make sure it gets turned in by the May 31 deadline.

To all of you who have already donated, I thank you very much. Your contributions will help those who weren't as lucky as I was.

And now, as I get ready for the night of June 10-11, I think I will go take a nap. I'm going to need all the sleep I can get in preparation for the big all-nighter.

Let's get ready to Relay (for Life)

As most of you know, I am a two-time cancer survivor. Now that I've nearly reached the two-year mark of being cancer-free, I've decided it's time to do something to help raise money for cancer research and outreach. To that end, I'm putting together a team for this year's Relay for Life at Owings Mills High School on June 10.

Relay for Life is an overnight walk to raise money for the American Cancer Society. Team members take turns walking throughout the night and one team member must be walking at all times.

I am looking for people who are willing to sign up as team members and/or donate to the effort. If you might be interested or would like more information, please let me know.

Or, if you've already made up you're mind and you're ready to go, you can sign up and/or donate here.

Thanks in advance for your support!

The C-word, two years later

Nothing reminds you that you're getting older quite like an inordinate amount of pain. In my case, to commemorate my 27th birthday, I somehow pulled a muscle in my back and I'm now walking around hunched over like my 90-year-old grandfather.

Of course things could be worse. I could be spending my birthday in a doctor's office. Oh, but wait, I will be. As some sort of twisted celebration of my original cancer diagnosis two years ago this week, I will be headed to the urologist's office tomorrow for a CT scan. (Of course this is better than hanging out with the gastroenterologist for a colonoscopy which I got to enjoy this time last year.)

On the plus side, I deal with all of these tests and procedures far better than my husband does. Last week Rich revealed to me that a little part of him dies every time I have to have another medical test. My father tells me to respond by saying, "Well, the tests are just to make sure that a little part of me isn't dying."

Still, I'm not entirely okay with the cancer thing. I talk about it a lot but only because it makes me feel better. Yes, I'm technically cancer-free, but somehow that doesn't calm me. There's something about the fact that my body is a veritable playground for cancer cells that tends to bother me. Every time I get an IV or have an MRI, CT scan, colonoscopy, or whatever else, I flash back to my diagnosis in December 2003 and subsequent diagnosis in April 2004. I have to wonder when (not whether) the cancer will come back and whether I'll be as lucky as I was the first two times around.

So once again we'll sit and wait for the test results, hoping it's good news that can be delivered over the phone as opposed to the early morning call from the doctor telling me I need to come in and talk. And just think... only six more months until my next colonoscopy!