Cani e porci hanno il proprio blog, quindi anch’io!

Pigs and dogs have their own blogs, why can't I?

A zia Anna (6 ottobre 1931-18 gennaio 2008)

January 24th, 2008

Tra le prime memorie della mia vita ricordo te che, mentre cucini, provi le tabelline a me, seduta a gambe incrociate sul tavolo della cucina di “casa vecchia.” Mi ricordo ancora quella cucina, in cui passavamo insieme delle ore, io a fare i compiti, tu a cucinare. Era la tua passione la cucina, una passione che avevi eriditato dalla tua mamma, la ormai famosa nonna Nina. Anche se avevi passato tutta la mattina a cucinare qualcosa, se noi sorelline ci lamentavamo dicendo che non ci piaceva, tu ti rimettevi immediatamente ai fornelli e ci facevi qualcosa di nostro gusto. Io che ero tanto schizzinosa col cibo mi rifiutavo di mangiare se non mi imboccavi tu, seduta sulle tue ginocchia. Ci viziavi in questo modo, zia, ci viziavi di amore. L’hai continuato a fare poi con i nostri bambini, che ancora adesso vogliono il pollo d’oro della zia Anna o la sua minestrina rossa e spesso non si accontentano di quello che gli facciamo noi.

Avevi un talento speciale con i bambini. Quanti ne hai aiutato ad allevare? Ricordo alla Domus le parole di Mario, che è stato uno di quei bambini, come noi: “Se li avessi partoriti tutti tu, non avresti potuto averne così tanti intorno” (e scusa Mario che in dialetto non la so ripetere questa frase che le è piaciuta tanto). Tutti rimanevano incantati dalla tua pazienza con loro. Noi mamme a volte sospiravamo che non volevamo giocare all’ennesima partita a Uno, ma tu non ti tiravi mai indietro. Dicevi sempre di sì ai loro giochi e li lasciavi vincere sempre. Anche i nostri bambini hai viziato di amore.

Non ti sei mai sposata e ti sei dedicata tutta intera a tutti quei bambini che non avrebbero potuto essere più tuoi che se li avessi partoriti. Ricordo due vestitini a stampa scozzese che avevi cucito per noi, uno a sfondo rosso per Mariangela, uno a sfondo blu per me. Ci piacevano da impazzire quei vestitini. E tu ne eri immensamente orgogliosa. Come eri orgogliosa di noi. Quanti ne hai cuciti, rammendati, ricuciti di vestitini, calze, mutande? Quanti culetti hai pulito? Quanti pannolini hai stirato (quando ancora i pannolini si lavavano e stiravano)? Quante lacrime hai asciugato? Quante partite hai perso a calcetto?

È difficile adesso sedere qui, lontana migliaia di chilometri davanti a un freddo computer, inadequato surrogato di un volto amato, a scrivere di te, cercando di ritrovare in una memoria sfuggente i ricordi di te. È difficile perchè in fondo non sembra vero che il mondo possa adesso esistere senza di te. E paradossalmente era più facile ritrovare memorie quando ti visitavo in ospedale e mi raccontavi storie del passato. Perchè tu certamente non dimenticavi niente: avevi una memoria di ferro, come si suol dire. In te era racchiusa la memoria di generazioni, la saggezza antica, i nomi, i volti, i gesti di chi ci ha preceduto. Vorrei averti registrato quando raccontavi le storie dei nonni: storie che poi hai raccontato ai nostri bambini e che noi non sapremo mai ripetere fedelmente o con lo stesso fervore.

Ho sempre disdegnato chi, a un funerale, parla solo bene del morto, senza menzionare i suoi difetti. Ho sempre detto che, quando verrà il mio momento, vorrei che le persone che amo rammentassero i miei difetti e poi dicessero che mi hanno amata lo stesso e forse anche di più, per quei difetti. Adesso però capisco che quando si perde una persona amata, sono solo le cose belle che ci vengono in mente. È un grande sforzo ricordarsi dei momenti brutti, delle litigate, dei pensieri cattivi. E poi perchè? Perchè davanti alla morte non pensare invece alle cose belle: il profumo degli arrosti della domenica, i centrini ricamati a uncinetto, i vestitini cuciti a mano?

E allora continuo a ricordarti per l’amore che ci hai dato: immenso e senza condizioni. Perchè alla fine, solo quello conta. Alla fine, solo quello vive in noi e, attraverso quello, te.

Grazie zia. Ti vogliamo bene. Tua figlia, Catia

Thank you supporters! Report from the Breast Cancer 3-Day

November 13th, 2007

On November 9-11, 2007 the nine members of Team Sabita participated at the San Diego Breast Cancer 3-Day. We walked 60 miles in 3 days in support of the fight against breast cancer.

The 2007 San Diego 3-Day began with emotional opening ceremonies at the Del Mar Fairgrounds, during which we were called to say out loud the names of our heroes, the ones we were walking for and with. As we started walking, we soon realized that we would encounter many supporters along the way. Many of them called themselves “walker stalkers” because they literally stalked us throughout the 3 days, following us along the route with their bikes, motorbikes, cars, feet (!). Some of them are regulars of the San Diego event, like “Smile Guy and Little Grin,” a father-daughter duo dressed up in Smiley-pajama pants, cheering the walkers with a megaphone at the “du-du-du-du-du-du…CHARGE!” tune, and distributing stickers. In our walk along the beachfront there was a ton of community support, including two spunky girls dancing on top of their car and two Texas CowBelles with their cow-buggie and cow-jokes following us around. The San Jose Police was also among the regulars: these guys have been driving down from San Jose for many years, carrying their bikes down to San Diego in a big truck and then making sure we were safe and happy along the route. Several humorously-decorated vans (from the “peace mobile” to the more audacious “pimp mobile”) kept driving by our side, ready to pick up exhausted or injured walkers. Wit abounded, indeed, as well as blisters, but we were also reminded of the deadliness of this disease when we saw two daddies and their two little girls distributing candy to the walkers, beside a sign that said “I miss you mom.”

The slogan of the 3-Day is “because everyone deserves a lifetime” and we were constantly aware of the tragedy of breast cancer, as well as other types of cancer. One woman we met along the route was walking with the picture of her brother, who was diagnosed with esophageal cancer and was undergoing chemotherapy, and her dad, who on his son’s birthday had shaven his head in solidarity. Then there was a group of women humorously dressed up as prom queens: they belonged to the Young Survivors’ Coalition, an organization of women who were less than 40 years old at diagnosis. Many of the teams also sported t-shirts with pictures of their loved ones, women and men of all ages, who died of cancer.

After many long walking hours, a few enjoyable and panoramic rest stops, we arrived at the camp and set up our tent, among the sea of pink tents. A peace flag and Sabita’s photograph made our tent markers. We hungrily devoured our hot dinner under huge canopies, took a hot shower in big trucks, and visited the rest of the camp: the 3-Day store, the post-office, the tv-space, the stretching area, the foot massage tent, or the medical tent. When a speaker announced the arrival of the last walker to the camp, a 3-Day flag was raised to show that all had finally come home for the night.

Day 2 saw us waking up, having breakfast and starting our walk way before the crack of dawn. While still yawning, we kept our eyes open to spot the nearest coffee shop along the way, and enjoy our daily hot latte. After-hours didn’t lack entertainment and some of us even danced to 80s music, after having walked another 21 miles that day. On night 2 we also offered a standing ovation to welcome 17 researchers from North Africa and the Middle East, who had come to witness the 3-Day and walk with us for some of the time. As darkness fell over the camp, we caught a view of a big white tent, circled by smaller white tents on top of a hill overlooking the ocean. It was the ‘remembrance tent’, set up in memoriam of 3-Day walkers who could no longer walk with us. The smaller tents represented all the cities in which the 3-Day is held, covered with names and dedications by walkers in each city. Inside the big tent, a smaller tent for San Diego was set up and people came in to write the names of their loved ones. Along the sides, pictures of women who had walked or signed up to walk in San Diego but died before being able to, reminded us of the fragility and uncertainty of this life. Notebooks on a table hosted the reflections of those who needed a page to express their sorrow and tell their memories.

Along the way, our team was greeted by our personal supporters, who came down from Long Beach and other cities to cheer us. We were glad to stop and get warm hugs and group pictures with Ann Thomas, Sue Metzmaker, Geri Winters, Donna Corpolongo, Chris Williams, Sly Mallory, Kelly Luther, Neil, Cecilia and Patrick Navin, Mark, Jordan, Cassidy and Felix Powers, Phil, Alana, Julie, Bella, and Cooper Giesen, and Alessandro Hardy. Cecelia Lynch and Tom, Brigid and Aidan Warnke provided a surrogate loving family for Alessandro while Bruce and Catia were off to the walk.

At the closing ceremonies on day 3 at Petco Park survivors were given pink t-shirts, while fellow walkers and supporters donned white t-shirts. The stark contrast between people in white and people in pink made us all even more aware of the impact of cancer in our lives. As we prepared to enter the park, the two survivors in Team Sabita bonded with fellow survivors as we listened to each other’s stories. As we walked toward the park we saw hundreds of people lined up to greet us, tears in their eyes, stunned by the number of pink t-shirts they were seeing. Finally, our fellow walkers symbolically took their shoes off and raised them to salute us as we entered the park. It was our turn to be moved to emotional tears.

Our team parted from each other somewhat reluctantly, but as we said good-bye we knew we were ready to repeat the feat: Team Sabita will walk again, and we invite everyone whose life has been affected by breast cancer, everyone who loves someone who has breast cancer, everyone who simply wants to contribute to a worthy cause, to join us as we walk 60 miles in 3 days, next year, in San Diego.

We wish to thank you, our friends and families, for your support: for coming to cheer us, for donating to our team, for buying our tomatoes, for taking care of our children, for training with us, for listening to us, for praying with and for us. We feel blessed and thankful.

Collectively, the members of Team Sabita raised over US$ 27,000 to benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund. The San Diego 3-Day and its 4,600 participants raised a total of US$ 12.3 million for the cause. Komen for the Cure is the largest US organization devoted to research, education and advocacy against breast cancer, second only to the US government in funds spent in the fight against this disease. The National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund provides support for breast cancer initiatives including research, treatment, prevention and education. The NPT Breast Cancer Fund is an endowment, which will ensure that the cause receives long-term, continuing support irrespective of gifting activities in years to come. Both organizations sponsor programs at the national and international level. Moreover, some of the money raised at the San Diego 3-Day will be used locally to help many women avoid being faced with “the choice between chemotherapy and rent.”

For pictures, visit http://picasaweb.google.com/teamsabita

No Title

November 7th, 2007

Check out our 3-Day pictures day-to-day on this site:

Guardate le foto della Tre Giorni su questo sito:

Le caricheremo ogni giorno dal cellulare di Jon.

No title

November 2nd, 2007

I talked existential last night in my support group. We talked about death and dying and the afterlife. I have been pondering spiritual existential questions for a while, with bouts of desperation and the sense of ‘what use is it to even wake up in the morning’, with all the gloomy thoughts that come with it…you know how people say they have found faith when confronted with cancer? I think for me it’s starting to be the opposite: I feel I am losing what little faith I had. And it’s not because I believed in a god that caused human suffering, I’ve never believed in that. I believed in a god that suffers with us, rather. But being confronted with my own mortality and touching it so closely through my friendship with people who are fighting cancer has put me closer to the ground, I don’t know how else to express this. Yet, life every day is a miracle, incredible, complicated, intertwined, mutually dependent. And we stay in this universe, if in different form, after we lose consciousness as we know it, don’t we? We end up fertilizing the ground and remain part of the circle of life. Is it the fear of suffering and transition that gives us this desperation, rather than the fear of death (ever read “The Fear of Transformation”, a brief essay by Danaan Parry; or that poem, “Without” by Elana Klugman…try Google them)?

And through my friendships I do sometimes feel we are all connected: in a mysterious way we are part of the cosmic consciousness, linked by the love we feel for each other, through the discovery of our common fears, joys, sickness, achievements, failures….

Breast Cancer 3-Day

October 31st, 2007

OK, I’ll dust the cobwebs on this blog and post something today….here’s the email I sent to my friends and supporters (aka you) today!

Dear friends and supporters:

 

The 3-Day is fast approaching: at 6am on November 9th, my team and I will take the first of many steps toward the 60 miles-in-three-days goal we set up to walk several months ago. It’s been a long journey, though for some reason I see and remember this past year in a blurry haze. It’s been over a year since my diagnosis. I am alive; missing some body parts, but alive. Some of us were not so lucky. Some of us will not live another year. Many of us will live long and quality-filled lives, thanks to the work and perseverance of those of us who were diagnosed and treated in those early days, when breast cancer did not receive the attention and research it does today in the western world. Some of those pioneers died, but they initiated a movement that has been an example for advocates of people suffering from many other diseases. Thanks to those early pioneers we (I) have a chance to life.

 

But the struggle is not over: breast cancer still cannot be cured. Most importantly, access to known and proven treatments, information, and support systems is denied or unavailable to many people in the world. There is still a lot of work to do. So while I am glad and grateful I am alive and I have a wonderful network of support, I cannot help but ache for those sisters and brothers who are not; for those whose life chances are diminished because of lack of access and/or because of where they live; for those alone; for those sick of even less treatable (and less funded) diseases…I cannot help but be afraid for what this disease will bring me and other people like me.

 

On November 9th-11th, I will walk to celebrate life; to rejoice in being alive and seeing my son’s beautiful face every morning; in having survived mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiation for now. But the members of Team Sabita and I will also walk in mourning for and honor of those who died fighting and in support of those who are still struggling with this or other diseases. All over the world. Our t-shirts are engraved with our team name and the slogan “for the world” in 14 languages representing all 6 inhabited continents (though we couldn’t find translations for Native American or Aboriginal languages). We will also bring with us the names of our supporters and their loved ones. You will walk with us.

 

For those of you who can join us at some point in our 60-miles trek, the 3-Day organizers have created a “Supporters’ Handbook”, which can be found and downloaded at the following website: http://tinyurl.com/yp2d6q

 

Please do consider coming to San Diego and physically join us in our celebrations: there will be several opportunities to root for us along the way at several ‘cheering stations’ and you can also participate to the closing ceremonies at Petco Park. If you can’t join us but want to see what the 3-Day looks like, the organizers have set up a webcam, which will be available for viewing between the hours of 2:00 pm and 9:00 pm on Friday and Saturday during the event. All instructions and the link to the webcam are in the handbook.

 

I hug you all.

 

In peace,

Catia

 

P.S.: I encourage you to forward this message to people you know and/or I might have forgotten (and I apologize in advance for this).

 

P.P.S.: Remember it is not too late to donate to our team: to do so, please visit http://tinyurl.com/3yvck6

 

Living with fear vs. living in fear

September 11th, 2007

So this is it: the panic that strikes you after all is said and done, slashing poisoning and burning…all done…now it’s time for learning how to live with fear and not let yourself live in fear. I got a nice start with thyroid hormones at >100 (so chemo or radiation shut down my thyroid…nice!) but most of all, with elevated liver test values. Couple that with CT finding of the three lesions in the liver, and finally CEA and CA 27-29 (tumor markers) higher than before chemo, one of them outside normal range. So dr. Faith had me take more tests and at that point I had been freaking out for quite a few days. It was then that I decided to join a real life cancer support group. I’m not letting them go. It turned out that it was likely nothing too worrisome, just that I have to stop drinking alcohol all together (yeah, that sucks!). But those days further opened my eyes at what my life is going to be like from now on: constant worry and constant wonder. Worry that the cancer may come back and with a vengeance, but wonder at the beauty of life, at the preciousness of every moment, at the marvel of a butterfly that lands on your hand and unexpectedly stays to let herself be admired. Sure, if I am lucky eventually I will go back to my usual, hurried and unobserving self. And sure, I look forward to that in a sense. I don’t want to go back to that dark place that I visited a few days ago. But there was something very beautiful in those moments too, this heightened attention to each breath I took, each smile on Sandro’s face, each drop of sweat from the heat of the day and each gust of wind that blew the sweat away…even each piece of laundry that went into the washing machine. I thought that I could choose to make all moments meaningful or make them meaningless. At the same time I was terrified of the darkness of death, of the prospect of my son’s suffering in losing his mommy. My support group therapist suggested I embrace fear and all the feelings I have without painting a scenario around them, learning to accept the feelings without imagining the worst. Now I do feel better and, sure, I go about everyday business in a semi-normal fashion. I know fear is going to be my companion for a while, I’ll wake up with her, have panic attacks, I will go over them, then have them visit me again. It will get better, if I am lucky. It only takes time….it takes time…as if time is what we have.

Crazy Sexy CanSer!

August 17th, 2007

http://www.crazysexycancer.com

Life’s good

July 25th, 2007

So, I am an aging ex-cankerous self, it turns out: my test results show a wreck of a woman, but hey, I feel good! I have osteoporosis of the spine (apparently dr. Faith thinks it’s unrelated to the chemo/radiation); diverticulosis of the colon; hemangiomas in the liver (benign tumors); a septate or arcuate uterus; and have been thrown in sudden, but very possibly unreversible menopause. Worse of all, I have gained at least 14 pounds since the start of radiation! Most of this stuff is apparently associated with aging… Dr. Faith was surprised a woman my age would have all this, a ‘young’ woman she said, ‘you are too young for this!’ I guess life aged me beyond belief. And me, I had dared to think I was invincible and eternal. But I have no fucking cancer left that they can tell (also known as No Evidence of Disease – aka NED – a dear word to us cancer victors/survivors/patients – best we can get!). Dr. Faith wants to keep the liver under scrutiny, just in case, but so far so good. But because of the menopause/chemopause and the osteoporosis, she also advised me against the clinical trial I had agreed to be on: not good for bone density, I would have to wait until and *if* I got my periods back to start medication, and I couldn’t be on medication for osteoporosis if I wanted to. So we went with the standard treatment, which is tamoxifen, a medication that blocks natural estrogen from getting to estrogen-feeding cancer receptors (for types of cancer, like mine, which feed on estrogen). I will also have to limit (not completely, but be careful about) soy (we have too much in our diets anyway) and grapefruit intake , because they contain (or stimulate production of?) estrogen. And I will have to start taking extra calcium supplements to see if my osteoporosis gets better. OK, sushi will be a treat, not a habit from now on… wait a second… wasn’t it before?

So now, according to my bc support list, I am transitioning from the WIMP award level for cancer victors (“Why I’m miserable and puking”), to the MITT level (“Made it through treatment!”), which will come soon enough, on Sept 25th, exactly one year after diagnosis. I made it!!! And my sisters and their children are here. And we’ve already laughed together, cried together, screamed together at our children, be horrified together at my scars and mutilations, but mostly enjoyed each other’s company, no string attached, just a lot of love. Can’t get better than this, I tell you. Yes, I am an aging wreck, but boy life is good!

DONE!!!!!!!!! FINITO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

July 17th, 2007

I know I know, I’ve been slacking…but….today I write to very gladly report that….I’M DONE, FINITO, THROUGH!!! Radiation is over!!! The left part of my chest looks like a square hot iron sat on it for a while, it burns around the edges (the middle is still numb from surgery) but I’ m done, finito, through. I have a few docs appointments to keep, and a couple more tests, but even the major ones should be out of the way too (at least until the plastic reconstruction surgeries). I look forward to a while without tests and needles. And to my sisters’ visit. I can’t believe this is it! I know, post-treatment depression will kick in at some point, but today I’m going to enjoy the flavor of freedom!!!!!!!!

Ho finito!!!!! Ieri ho fatto l’ultima radiazione. La parte sinistra del petto sembra ci sia passato un ferro da stiro quadrato e molto caldo, brucia ai margini (il resto non ha nessuna sensibilita’) ma in poco tempo passera’ anche questo. Anche le procedure piu’ grosse sono finite, ho solo un paio di visite e cose minori, almeno per un po’ di tempo, fino a che non devo fare le operazioni al seno per la ricostruzione. Non voglio vedere dottori, macchinari e aghi per almeno un mese o due!!! Vabbe’, forse sara’ di meno, ma per ora mi godo questo gioviale primo giorno di liberta’.

Harriet’s Last Knitting Project

June 27th, 2007

The last knitting project that our
Harriet did was an unraveling of her days on this earth.

She took those days and reassembled them: now they were a clipper ship
that would take her to the stars

To be one with the moon and stars to be as a part of the molecules on
a Solstice night.

She was still Harriet, but much larger: filling up the world’s nooks
and crannies where she played Hide and Seek with the living.

We looked for her. “Where is Harriet?” “I’m here,” she said softly.
“I’m knitting something new. And look how beautiful it is….”

copyright 2005 Marcy Manning