Heather from A Mama’s Blog is our newest member of the American Cancer Society’s Blogger Advisory Council. She herself is a thyroid cancer survivor and writes movingly about her own battle with thyroid cancer, and those of her readers as well:

The first “person” who came into my mind was all of my blog readers who have thyroid cancer and have written to me with their stories.

I could write about Holly who is 37, and a mom of three, who after having a thyroidectomy in September, and radioactive iodine last month, is facing the possibility her cancer has spread into her lymph nodes.  Holly had been told her lymph nodes were fine, but they discovered an area of high iodine intake.  If this spot turns out to be lymph nodes, Holly could be facing another surgery to remove them.

Or I could write about Patricia who is also 37, and a mom of two.  During the past year, Patricia had a huge lump in her neck and with the urging of her children’s father, she decided to follow up on it. It turned out to be a 6.5 inch goiter.  She had a biopsy done on October 15th, and found out early this month it is cancer.  Patricia is facing a thyroidectomy surgery within the next two months.

There is Nicholas, who is a physician with three small children, who had a thyroidectomy and a neck dissection in June.  He is still having drainage and medication issues.

These are just three people out of the many who write me about their experiences with thyroid cancer.  A common theme in many of their letters, is they are looking for support and someone who understands what they are going through.  Despite their cancer, and challenges, these cancer patients and survivors continue on in with their lives.  They are there for their children and spouses.  They are there for their parents who have medical issues themselves, and for the others that rely on them.  Most importantly, they continue on for themselves.

This beautiful post is from Renee Ross at Cutie Bootie Cakes:

“….Growing up I spent many days in Aunt Helen’s kitchen, similar to many families, her kitchen was a gathering place. This is where she prepared great meals and on most holidays our entire family gathered at her home. I was extremely close to my aunt and her death was one of the first I experienced in my young life, over 20 years ago. Aunt Helen died of cancer and my last memory of her alive is seeing her hooked up to machines in a hospital bed, shrunken and sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb her so I quietly left and she died later that week. There are many days when I regret not getting in that one last hug, the comfort of her warm embrace but carrying the memory of those hugs has to suffice.

The loss of my Aunt was tremendous. Not only was she my aunt but she was my godmother too and she took her responsibilities seriously. Every year on birthdays and holidays all of the kids in the family would receive savings bonds. She taught us at an early age the value of being financially savvy. She loved the finer things in life and saved her money to buy them. I don’t believe that she ever used a credit card and every few years she would buy a new car – paid in full – so that she would not be indebted to anyone.

All of these things were simply amazing to me because my aunt was a domestic worker. She spent the majority of her days cleaning house and caring for a white family that lived in Sands Point -not far from our home. The photos of her wards lined her shelves, with places of honor right next to her blood relatives. I must admit that I sometimes felt a tinge of jealousy when I was young because her “children” had the benefit of spending so much time with the aunt that I loved so much. That jealously always quicklydissipated because Aunt Helen had enough love to go around.

In her death, as in life she was a caregiver. My aunt’s savings helped to finance my education and I remember the day as a young undergrad a switch went off in my brain. I hadn’t been applying myself to my studies, I was doing the minimum in school because I found it easy and could pull out a B in a pinch. But earning B’s when you are an A student doesn’t suffice and I realized that the hard work of my aunt paved the way to opportunity for me. I applied myself to my school work with fervor and on my next break from school I visited her grave site for the first time since her death 7 years prior and thanked her for all that she provided for me.

I’ve struggled for weeks trying to write the words that capture the beauty and effervescence of my Aunt Helen. She was a beautiful woman both inside and out, a lover of celebrations, always the life of the party and frequently the hostess. She lived a fairly long life, she died at 72 but there are many times when I wish she had more birthdays. Losing her to cancer made it easy for me to respond positively when I was asked to participate on the American Cancer Society’s (ACS) Blogger Council. I want to support the efforts of the ACS, “a nationwide, community-based, voluntary health organization dedicated to eliminating cancer as a major health problem by preventing cancer, saving lives, and diminishing suffering from cancer, through research, education, advocacy, and service.”

Read more here

This from Susan at Toddler Planet and Mothers With Cancer:

As the health care bill makes its way through the Senate Finance Committee, and pink washes over the countryside, the American Cancer Society is campaigning for more birthdays.  That’s right.  More birthdays.  Where in the past perhaps women have unofficially “stopped” having birthdays at 39, the ACS wants everyone to have more birthdays.

And you know what?  I do too.   I desperately want more birthdays.  I want to turn 39, and 40, and all the lovely numbers that come after that.  I want to blow out the candles with my kids, and see my littlest one turn 3, and 4, and become the big kid that he thinks he already is.  I want to take my big kid to school, and teach both kids to drive, and be there when they get all gussied up for prom, or whatever the digital equivalent will be in 2025 (yikes!).

I’m taking steps to make that happen.  And I’m telling you all about it every step of the way.  I also talk a lot about mothers with cancer that I know from the other site, like Lyn, who just returned home from a double mastectomy and full hysterectomy … just a week after she finished chemo!  Or our Aussie friend Jenni Ballentyne, who is living full-time at hospice now, seeing her son Jack on the weekend, who has fought the good fight, but whose time is near.  Or Katie Homen, who we recently lost.  But today I have someone else to talk about.

Sherry K.  Miss Sherry, as my kids call her, as their faces light up with smiles.  Miss Sherry was my son’s preschool teacher last year.  Soft-spoken, kind, but determined, Miss Sherry always saw the best in the kids, and helped bring it out in them.  The class of 3’s was close-knit, gentle with each other, and friends with all.  In the early morning, both boys and girls sat quietly and did puzzles at the table.  At 10, both girls and boys ran around on the playground.  At noon pickup, they were the well-behaved class that came down the hall quietly, but with smiles on their face.  Whether encouraging parents to leave notes of praise for good behavior the kids had done or telling us about the way our kids loved participating in the drama skits she planned, Miss Sherry was always gentle, and kind, and attentive, and all the things you’d hope your child’s preschool teacher would be.

Miss Sherry helped me, too.  The first day I met her was only days after my oopherectomy, and I was so faint it was difficult for me to squeeze into the little chairs at the preschool-sized table.  I was self-conscious about my arm, with the sleeve and glove that marked me as “different.”  I didn’t want my kid to be seen as different, though.  I didn’t want people feeling sorry for him, or have him referred to as “the one whose mom has cancer.”  I didn’t want people to know.  But Miss Sherry knew.  And she pulled me aside and shared a little secret with me.

Miss Sherry is a 21 year survivor of breast cancer.  And she is now doing wonderfully, and remembers it as a time long ago, not a driver of every day life.  Throughout the year, she kept tabs on me as well as my child, asking about me when I wasn’t the one to drop Widget off at school, complimenting me on my hair as it grew out, or when my color returned and I looked like I had more energy.  She was there when I had to go back to daily lymphedema therapy, again, and again, and sometimes Widget was late to school.  She is still there at the school this year, and we smile as we pass in the hall.  We know something that not everyone knows, you see.  We know how very precious this life is, and how I almost lost this opportunity to tell you so.

Miss Sherry put a note in the preschool newsletter this week, reminding everyone to get their mammograms, do their self-exams, and remind “all the women in your life” to do the same.  It may seem like a little thing, to say what everyone says in October, but for a 21 year survivor to even want to think about this dastardly disease again, much less show such compassion and outreach, means a lot to me.

And so I dedicate this post to Miss Sherry, and I wish for her, and for all of you, many, many more birthdays.

…

Is there a survivor in your life that inspires you, makes you laugh, or touches your heart? Join the ACS more birthdays meme by posting about her or him on your own blog, or in the comments here, and grab yourself this badge.

More birthdays. That sounds pretty good to me.

This beautiful post from Karyn Brianne, Blogger Advisory Council Member, at the Fab Giver:

Today is my birthday and I know with extreme certainty that I am very blessed. As I celebrate this additional year of living, I can’t help but to think about all of those who have passed out of my life. People who I wish could’ve celebrated one additional birthday with me, or people who I wish could’ve celebrated an additional birthday with themselves.

The American Cancer Society challenged its Bloggers Council to post a blog in dedication to someone that we know and/or have lost to cancer. I’ve lost a few relatives to cancer, but today I want to dedicate my special day to my maternal grandmother, Opal Elizabeth. I never had the chance to meet her because she passed away at the age of 36 after a battle with stomach cancer. Although my mother was young, she still has plenty of memories of her mother. Memories from her own experiences and those shared with her by other family members.

My mother often called me “Opal,” and said that we shared some of the same fabulous qualities. According to my mom, Opal was very stylish. We’re talking long-stemmed cigarettes (bad yet chic), gloves at cocktail hours/dinners, and tailored suits. She was beautiful, yet never met a four-letter word that she didn’t like. As I often listened to my mother’s stories about her mother, I always dreamed of what it would have been like to know her. Just like my children will wonder what it would’ve been like to know my mother who passed away at the age of 49.

I come from a line of beautiful, strong women who unfortunately had chronic illnesses rob them of seeing all of the birthdays that they deserved. Now, I’m sure that I will live until I’m 120, but just in case I don’t, I’ve decided to live every day of my life to the fullest. For me. For Opal. For my mother. For my future children. And, for everyone who wishes their loved one had one more year on this Earth.

Not only is opal my birthstone, but Opal is my foundation. My birthday is dedicated to my beautiful, stylish, young, fabulous, and sassy grandmother, Mrs. Opal Elizabeth. I’m proud to be a chip off of your chic block!

Over at BlogHer.com, Blogger Advisory Council member Catherine Morgan has a fantastic round up of breast cancer blogging.

Many women are blogging about their breast cancer fears. From little fears to big fears. They have fears of mammograms, fears of treatments, fears or recurrences, fears of dying…and on and on. What are your breast cancer fears?

From Womenonthefence – Breast Cancer Awareness Month…

I had my own scare when I was 22 years old. One day, I found a lump in my left breast. It was scary as hell. I have a history of breast cancer in my family, and until I saw the doctor and got some answers, I did not sleep. At all. Even my husband, (who was my boyfriend at the time) became so desensitized to “feeling me up.” I mean, he felt my left boob like twenty times, and said, “I don’t like the way that feels.”

From On The Road To Queendom – Mammo…what?

I was petrified at the thought of the big scary monster of a machine smashing the hell outta my little skittle titties.

See, there is also the little fact that my mother’s sister, my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer about 6 years ago. They found it early and she was able to treat it and it has not come back. So, there was also that deep rooted fear that maybe, just maybe it had crept into my tiny little body too. That the big scary “C” monster would get me too.

From Battling Breast Cancer With Class – Fear of Recurrence…

I read the survival statistics for my particular stage of breast cancer at the five-year mark and they say I have a 49 percent to 67 percent chance of making it. Every once in awhile I’ll get stuck in a mode of fear and start obsessing about these grim facts. Then I realize all I can do is pop a Tamoxifin pill every day that is supposed to suppress estrogen, cross my fingers and carry on. I reason that yes, cancer could come back at anytime. But right now, I have my health back and I will never take that for granted again. So why not enjoy feeling normal as much as I can? The seasons change this week. Nothing ever stays the same, so cease the day!

From Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer – My Pregnancy Fears Allayed…

I have mentioned before that the effect of chemotherapy on my fertility was the most devastating aspect of being diagnosed with breast cancer. For some women, the result is permanent infertility, others, like me, have complicated fertility issues post treatment. One of my chemo buddys did get pregnant post treatment with the help of IVF, but tragically developed a recurrence while pregnant. This brings up a lot of fears for me. If a miracle were to happen and I conceived, would this increase my own chances of recurrence. There is not enough statistical evidence as yet to answer this question satisfactorily. However, the latest research does show that pregant women who develop breast cancer do not have worse odds of death or of cancer returning than other young breast cancer patients.

From Thought from Mary Alice Monroe – Life At The End Of A Fishing Line…

“This was her body. She knew she should let go of her old self-image and make peace with the way her body was now… Mia closed her eyes and said a small prayer for strength. She had to let this fear of cancer go down the drain with the dirty water. To live fully, she had to believe she would live.” (pg. 49, Time is a River)

From Susan Heim on Parenting – A Mother’s Story of Breast Cancer…

Since the cancer had already spread, it was necessary to find out just how far it had gone. Did it travel through my nodes and bloodstream, finding a home someplace else in my body? Needless to say, the days and weeks that followed were filled with full body scans, tests, and anxiety about the unknown.

Let’s face it: my son was four years old at the time I was diagnosed. Every mother knows that the will to survive comes in part from wanting to be here for yourself, but in larger part because your child needs you to be here.

Read more here…

I just love this post from Amy at I Could Cry But I Don’t Have Time- check out her blog here.

We have been tasked with adding our voices and sharing a story of how cancer has touched our lives. So consider me harnessed.

There are moments in your life that change you forever. Some are joyful and others are devastating. You remember where you were sitting, what the moments right before felt like and how that turn of events changed the way you view the world from then on.

It started like any other ordinary day.

And then the phone rang.

It was my dad. He asked if I was busy or could I talk. He seemed distracted. And then he just said it. “Listen, your mom has breast cancer.”

So, how do you react to that one!? I will tell you how we reacted. The way we always do, as a family.

Taking my mom’s lead we all sprung into action and dealt with it. Head on.

My mom? She showed us a brand of strength that we would stood in awe of. She kept her wits and most importantly her sense of humor through surgery, treatments and the misery of hair loss. My dad? He showed up one day at my son’s basketball game with my mom’s wig on to keep us all amused. My brother? He kept us all going with his undying ability to keep it cool and point out the absurdities that kept us laughing. Me? I did the research and made the binders. Hey, what can I say? I am a Virgo, it is how I cope.

Throughout her treatments she was always concerned about the other patients. One particular day comes to mind. A women was there for her first chemo treatment. She was a young mom and was so very frightened. My mom sat with her, held her hand, looked into her eyes and helped her cope with what she had to face. She acted like… well, like a mom. The quintessential mom. Even through this, her most difficult time, she kept reaching out to others.

I am happy to let you know that mom has been cancer free for 7 years. She has walked in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, proudly wearing her pink shirt hoping to inspire others to find the bravery to keep going. Her philosophy has always been one of reaching out to help others. When I told her about Bloggers for More Birthdays she embraced the idea of the movement. “Anything that will help build awareness and early detection is something I want to be a part of.”

Thank you mom, for showing me what bravery looks like, and for keeping the glass half full. I love you.

On her blog, Catherine Morgan writes a tribute to her friend Becky, who fought cancer, and inspired her friend Catherine.

My contribution to this effort is about an angel named Becky…

Becky was my best friend.  A wonderful mother.  And a great mom-mom.  Even though she’s been gone for over seven years, a day rarely goes by that I don’t think of her and wish she were here.  Time has helped to replace some of my grief with many lovely memories, but it hasn’t healed my anger towards the disease that took her from us.  Cancer.

I hate cancer, and I hate that my friend didn’t get a chance to be a survivor.   Why her?  She deserved to be a survivor, she deserved to have more birthdays.  She fought this disease with every ounce of strength she had, but in the end cancer took away every ounce of strength she had.

Although I’m angry, I’m also grateful for the time I did have Becky in my life.  She was there for me during some very tough times.  I know I’m who I am today, partly because of her influence in my life.  I only wish I was able to thank her for that.

No matter how much time goes by, I will never forget the angel she was…and still is.

Julie Pippert is a member of the American Cancer Society Blogger Advisory Council, creator of the blog Julie Pippert: Using My Words and contributor to Momocrats and Motherhood.com.

It was days, really, between learning my friend was being sent home, cancer treatment suspended, and learning she had passed away. Sadly, the first symptom came well after the cancer had already metastasized and spread. They began intensive treatment, aggressive. It was hard on her, but she had a lot to live for: loving family, loving friends, and two beautiful children, as well as all of her work, including a book she authored for children about children on the autism spectrum. That was her: a do-er.

She was the sort of person you could picture growing older, still doing. I could even picture her forty years from now blowing out a cake full of candles. In my imagination, over her cake, her hair was still bright, as it was before she got sick. She’d do that, I knew, keep herself looking nice. She’d have a big smile, and she’d tell everyone they shouldn’t have made such a fuss, but everyone would ignore her because they knew she was deeply touched — family and family times were everything. I wished that for her with all my heart.

When I got the message she was gone, I denied it. I didn’t believe it until I read her obituary in the paper. I left a comment on the online memorial. I spoke about what a fantastic person she was. I spoke about how heartbreaking a loss it was. I mentioned nothing of my anger.

The next day, I went for a run. My feet pounded the track in fury. The hot Texas summer sun pounded me back, just as brutal as my anger. I hate this, I thought, I hate this day. My children had been surly, uncooperative, and cranky. The day was intolerably hot and humid. The sun was relentless. I pulled myself along the straight stretch before a curve that took me along the water.

My iPod stumbled out of my pacing songs and Falling Slowly came on. I nearly clicked to the next song, but the lyrics caught and tugged at my grief. We’ve still got time…the song trilled. But my friend doesn’t, I thought, my friend hasn’t got more time. Why not? I knew how she’d feel about that, and that she’d be of two minds, and unapologetic. That’s how she was. She called it like it was. But she also called blessings for what they were too. I felt ashamed of my ingratitude: for having known her, for all the gifts I received from her, for the beautiful children she brought into the world and would not get to see grow up, for the fact that I had today, another day with my children even if they were cranky and I was grief-stricken and miserably hot.

I took the curve in the track a little slowly and I thought hard about her. She’d have loved this hot day. She’d have loved to be healthy and bickering with her children about getting ready for day camp. She would have loved having this day, I knew. And I wanted to give her to, a late or early birthday gift, depending upon how you looked at it.

Here it is, I thought with my mind and heart, here is this day, another day, one you would have liked, one that was hot, one that was about being a mom, one that was about making  a healthy choice. I sent the experience of the day up and out, and away to her. And a little bit of grief fell away from my heart.

She may not have another birthday, but I do. She may not get to celebrate another birthday with her kids, but I can. And I can send the appreciation and joy from that to her.

My friend, and all the other friends, mothers, sisters, daughters, brothers, fathers, husbands, wives – all the other people who have gone, or are still here fighting, or stand beside someone fighting cancer – are why I joined the American Cancer Society’s More Birthdays effort. I can take a page from my friend’s book and be a do-er. I can celebrate and recognize that every birthday is a blessing.

Join the American Cancer Society in the effort to celebrate More Birthdays. All you need to do is dedicate a blog post to someone you love who has been affected by cancer and celebrate their lives.
You can check out other posts on the American Cancer Society’s Birthday Blog for inspiration, but know that whatever you write, you’re raising awareness and inspiring others to join ACS in the fight against cancer.
It would also help if you could host the badge on your blog (or Facebook page, or
MySpace Page) to encourage others to join.

Happy Birthday.