Women, Cancer, Breastfeeding and Over Advocating

Breast cancer, or any cancer is not a diagnosis a Mom wants to hear. Especially a Mother who has chosen to breastfeed her child. Despite the wishful thinking of the Greenies AKA Crunchy Moms, it is almost always neccessary for nursing to cease while the Mother is undergoing treatment because the breast milk is not safe for the child.

But let me back up a moment and rant. REALLY rant. I'm tired of the pro-breastfeeding groups going overboard. No longer do they talk in the "I" format. It has switched to the "YOU" attacks. Oh, they think they are being helpful to a Mother who isn't breastfeeding by sharing their wisdom.

"YOU should really breastfeed, formula isn't best."

"Did YOU know there are harmful, unknown ingredients in formula that could be hurting YOUR child?"

"There are plenty of women who would barter/trade/give/sell their breastmilk to you so that YOU don't have to use formula."

I don't have a problem with women breastfeeding. I did with my kids. But there is a HUGE difference between being a Mom who breastfeeds VS. a Mom who advocates breastfeeding.

So how does this tie into the big "C" word?

Imagine being in the midst of your cancer treatments and have a toddler. On a day you have the energy, you take your toddler to the park for some time on the playground. While there, your child gets thirsty. You shake up a bottle of formula all the while sitting next to a breastfeeding mother who have both boobies out because she has an infant AND a toddler who insist on nursing at the same time.

And then it happens. The criticism, ever so concealed in a question "oh, how come your daughter isn't breastfeeding? I just love breastfeeding; I would hate to have to haul those bottles around. Was that formula you gave her or breastmilk?"

Dear breast feeding Moms - quit judging and assuming. Just because you think the breast is best, well, sometimes it isn't. Especially when its got cancer and toxic milk. Or, it just isn't there anymore because it had to be taken away so that the Mom could be around to see her children grow up.

The Christmas Pumpkin

To the tune of "Oh Christmas Tree"

Oh pumpkin plant, oh pumpkin plant, don't you know its winter time.
Oh pumpkin plant oh pumpkin plant, how lovely are your....blossoms????

October was when Connor planted you. Now what the hell am I going to do!?!
Oh pumpkin plant, oh pumpkin plant how lovely are your blossoms.

You sun yourself, in my window sill. Don't you know outside is a cold wind chill?
Oh pumpkin plant, oh pumpkin plant, how lovely are your blossoms.

I fear a transplant may end your life, but this dixie cup is so not right.
Oh pumpkin plant, oh pumpkin plant, how lovely are your blossoms.

My Christmas Cactus, refuses to bloom. I guess my Christmas Pumpkin will have to do!
Oh pumpkin plant, oh pumpkin plant, how lovely are your blossoms.

Memories and Memory

Michele and I were driving down to Bethesda Sunday when she started talking about a memory from the past. Lyme has messed with my mental wiring, so I cannot tell you what exactly she was talking about - because I was more blown away at the details of her memories. (But I am certain if I call Michele RIGHT NOW and ask her WHAT she was talking about she would be able to tell me!) And I am also certain that I will eventually remember what we were talking about...when it least matters days or weeks from now. But that is what Lyme did to my brain.

Jules AKA CrunchyMom and I have realized that Michele's memory works far differently than does ours. We tend to remember things chronologically. Michele operates by category. And once she pulls a specific category file from her memory file cabinet....holy crap....it is amazing what that woman remembers. Perhaps it has more to do with the number of events and life changes in our lives....For Jules and myself - Omaha is so many, many chapters ago....a lifetime ago, it seems. Jules and I just don't have those memories as Michele does.

And my friends and I have come to understand how hard a time I have pulling memories, past and present, short term and long term. But I have begun to realize that the more people talk about the past, it helps me regain my capacity to remember. Maybe I'm retraining those neuro pathways. I can only hope! Lyme sucks. It takes me longer and much more work retriving those damn files up in my head. They ARE there. I am able to get to them; they are not all lost. Imagine a jammed door. That is what it is like for me right now.

So I'm faced with cracking open the Pandora's box of Omaha memories. They lurk in the basement. Literally -it IS a box o' stuff.

Stupid notes Colleen and I wrote to each other in Middle School.

Silly things Jennifer AKA JT and I did in Elementary School.

Nancy's letters she wrote to me in Lawrence from 1984 (I lived in Lawrence away from my family and studied music at KU that summer before Senior year) through my dorm years. I bet Nancy still remembers when my Mom killed yet another cat while driving down one weekend to stay with me! (see other blog about my cat).

Bobbie and our adventures going to festivals and youth symphony travels.

Michele and choir and the musicals.

Oh the stupid love notes from John and Pat. Westside friends...another box.

And dear God the crazy letters between me and Julie. The radioactive farm animals from South Dakota. I nearly peed my pants today when I found that envelope and letter!

The polkadots. That is one ONLY Jules and Keith would understand.

These are just a few things lurking in the basement storage area.

I guess it is a good thing I threw all those crazy letters, notes and pictures in a box. It will do me more good than I ever imagined. Lyme sucks. But every day I get a little bit more of me back. (I at least tell myself that and like to believe it). I am cretain Julie will dish her 2 cents after I post this.

Several of these people are on my Facebook. And as I reconnect with friends from the past, it helps me regain my memory. But Joe is right - some just don't want to be found. It makes me feel sad, because some are ones I really want to, at the very least, thank for helping me when times were tough and making me laugh.

The basement is calling....