But I am great at leaving things places. I’ve left my phone at a friends, my wallet in the car, my kids stuck at school, and my husband wondering what’s for dinner. So leaving stuff I can do–

Which is why I’m starting something I’m calling “Where in the world is ‘pink tips’?” or “Where’s ‘pink tips?’” for short. You can join me, too–in fact you ARE the marketing–and here’s all you have to do:

get your copy of ‘pink tips’ and bring it someplace. It could be your fave coffee joint, the book store, the market (wink wink), or if you live near a place that has cool stuff–statues, a good view, a museum–or you’re at an event (rock concerts or sports fans, unite!) snap a photo of yourself or just the book and send it to me. I’ll post it here.

The second part of my “big selling strategy” is that I actually leave my book where I am. I don’t expect you to do that or you’ll run out of cash buying more books–

but I can. I’m the author for heaven’s sake, it’s the least I can do. Spread the love around as my sister says, pay it forward, get the message out there. Any way you can.

So here’s the first in what I hope is a long series of “Where’s ‘pink tips’ photos: can you find the pink dot that is my book, and guess the location? Hint: this location is a state in the United States where 55% of the women who are diagnosed with breast cancer are under the age of 65.
Answer and quick facts about breast cancer in this region are below the photo.

Historic Powell and Hyde Cable Car, 2011. Click San Francisco, California, US- for regional breast cancer facts.

Of course I didn’t know her (and I’m assuming it was a her, but it could have been a he) but I felt like I did–as happens now when someone tells me they have or had breast cancer. I’m ready to give them the fist-bump of brotherhood, the yup-I get-it, the let-me-buy-you-a-beer reserved for reunions with old friends–and yet they’re complete strangers to me.

But we’re all in the same ‘club’. That’s the way it is with cancer.

So there I was, ordering my divine cup of liquid nectar, when I cast my eyes upon a copy of ‘pink tips’ I had in my car. It had the old white cover with the breast cancer scarecrow on it, and some typos that didn’t get caught the first time editing–but it still held its message. And it was just staring at me, waiting to help.

I said to my husband–’I'll be right back’–and bolted from the stopped car as he looked at me. He had one of those worried faces on, the ‘is-she-so-hot-for-this-coffee-she’s-gonna-jump-the-proceed-to-the-second-window line to get the goods?’ expression–

but he worried for nothing. I wasn’t making a fool of myself storming Dunkies for my drink. I had walked up to the pink-license-plated car in southern Maine and slipped my book under the windshield. Then I turned and left.

I have no idea if that person needed a little boost, or if she knows someone who needs one–but whatever happens, that book went out there. It’s trying to help.

So if you have one of those breast cancer license plates on your car and find yourself ordering up a Coffee Coollatta some day soon and come out to find a pink book strapped to your windshield, you’ll know what it is, who was there, and if you look fast you might hear a cute guy in a silver car shout from the drive-thru “Ann! Not agaaaain!”

But more importantly you’ll know that the person who left that book for you did it to help a peep in ‘the club’.

Because that’s the way it is with cancer.

Ever since they let the genie out of the feminist bottle in the 60’s, women have been officially allowed to follow their dreams.  Those dreams didn’t necessarily have to be domestic–as in “I can’t wait to be a wife and run a household”.  But yet they could be–if that was your desire.  What the feminism movement tried to do was release women from the expectation that all they could do was be a wife and run a house.  And 5 decades later, I think it worked.

We have women doctors, lawyers, astronauts, mechanics, dentists, doctors, principals, CEOs and financial advisors.  We also have women teachers, nurses, waitresses and others holding stereotypical “for women only” jobs–doing so (hopefully) because they chose them, not because they were the only ones offered to them.

So I thank Gloria Steinem and all her gal pals for releasing me and my daughter and my daughter’s daughter from the drudgery of post-suffragette but stay-in-the-kitchen syndrome.  But with all due respect, I have a bone to pick with whomever it is that is now running the modern feminist show. Because somehow, when the message was getting passed on that women can work outside the home for money, it didn’t get transferred to all spouses out there that women, working or not, don’t necessarily have to still be the ones who cook, clean and pick up after the slobs who live there.

Okay, maybe slobs is a little harsh.

But really–as part of the Steinem mantra, I sure wish someone had thrown in “and BTW, just because someone is born with ovaries and breasts (even it she loses them to breast cancer later on like I did) doesn’t mean she should–or even want to–pick up your old coffee, spilled juice, dishes from last night, dog hairs and opened but just-didn’t-happen-to-make-it-into-the-waste-basket discarded mail.”

I am a woman of the 21st century, which means I watch my kids AND I work from home. And my work–writing this blog–means I make minimal money for my talent–but I DO have talent. And that talent, while poorly represented on the W2 form each April, is not in the venue of cooking, cleaning or scrubbing toilets.  Yes I can do them, but no I do not like to do them.

I’m just guessing, but I’m going to assume that nobody puts “vacuum the carpet” in the Things I Want To Do When I Grow Up essay in 2nd grade.

But it must be done–if not, a house becomes a pigsty.  That I understand.

What I don’t understand is why, when that genie got smoked out of her feminism bottle all those years ago, she didn’t make sure she read the fine print on the contract.  If she had, she might have realized all that was to be expected of her–get a job (either at home or at an office,) have the children, AND still be the one who ends up cleaning up after the entire house.  Had that been the case, I’m sure she’d have rubbed the lamp next to her and wake up the “Get Off Your Butt And Clean Your Own Dishes” genie. Then women today would all go to work and come home to a clean house and folded laundry.

I’m not saying every home suffers from this syndrome, but if yours does, you are not alone.  Gloria Steinem’s work is over but if any one else wants to jump in and pick up the cause where she left off, I’d be grateful.

Til then, I will continue to fight the good fight at home.  Since I no longer own any bras to burn, I’ll just have to hope that via love, communication and good old friendly discipline I am able to create a new movement in my homestead that frees me from the clutches of pre-suffragette housekeeper.

But if you see me polishing the lamps in my house with unusual vigor in the days head, you’ll understand why.

Ann’s books ‘pink tips’ and ‘Words To Live By’ now available on Amazon.com.

Which makes what I did today all that much more important–I went with dear local friends to meet up with dear old friends who moved from our state and whom I haven’t seen in almost a year.  But when they lived near me they were a delight to be with, a couple I would rearrange my schedule to be with–and a duo whom I consider one of the funnest people I’ve ever met–

so we all got together tonight for dinner.

Now what I just stated took about 5 seconds to type–but in reality it took almost three weeks to plan:  we had to get calendars to jive, the weather to cooperate and last minute have-you-heard-froms to get in line.  And to add to the drama–at the last minute somebody’s child needed to be at a ballet rehearsal thingy.  When you have kids, that’s always the way.

But we all persevered:  we all wanted to join together, in varying manners of ‘want.’  Likely for some it was “oh, alright’, for others it might have been ‘this could be fun,’ and still for others it was “time’s a-wasting, let’s get this party started.’ I know which group I was in–can you guess?

And I’m here to type it was an absolute blast.  It was a great meal and great company—but much more importantly it was a moment of realizing and honoring who we were.  And who we are.  I mean, we were great friends until circumstances forced us apart.  But when we forced ourselves back together, the magic we shared was not only back, it was better than ever.

Regardless of my fabulous night, all I want to say is this:  if you have friends you love whom you don’t get to see much these days, whether they’ve moved or you’ve moved or your schedules just don’t jive any more–give them a call.  Say hello, catch up, say hi.  You never know–they could be thinking the exact same thing about you.

I don’t know why it seems so hard for us sometimes to make the effort to reconnect with old friends;  but I have news for you–if you get the chance to look back to an old friend, you may find that you’re laying the groundwork for a solid future friendship–

I know I am.

Ann’s books ‘pink tips’ and ‘Words To Live By’ now available in the SHOP section of this website.

Thanks to my peeps for weighing in this week on the doctor in Texas who allegedly has the cure for cancer but is being stymied by the government in the US.

I want to tell you this–I had along, scary week of fear.  Fear that I wasn’t doing enough, fear that I shouldn’t have put those chemo drugs in my body 7 years ago and fear that what I’m doing now is not right–that I should be flying to Texas to get “cured” by Dr. B.

In the midst of this drama, and I mean drama because I was a microphone and a Femara pill away from feeling like an unwitting contestant in “American Breast Cancer Idol”–when an old friend of mine said, “why are you upset?  Whatever you’re doing now it’s working.”

And suddenly I calmed down.

True there may be a cure for cancer out there, and true I may live in a country that isn’t invested promoting that cure unless there’s big business money to be made–

but it’s also true that the medicines I’m taking, the books I’m reading and the lifestyle I’ve adopted since my metastatic breast cancer diagnosis last fall have all beat back my breast cancer so well that it’s in danger of not showing up on my next tumor marker test.

I will continue to watch this doctor, continue to keep my eyes, ears and mind open to alternative medicines and avenues to healing–

but I will stop freaking out.  Conspiracy theorist colors looks bad on me. I need to live in a space of hope, peace and progress.  And that’s where I’ve settled on this whole thing today.

Tomorrow?  Well, that’s another story.

Ann’s books ‘pink tips’ and ‘Words To Live By’ now available in the SHOP section of this website.

This text was, in her words, a “shout out on national cancer survivor day” followed by several of her friends names, mine included. I looked at the characters (she always amazes me what she can fit into 140 spaces or less) and smiled–she is such a dear. She never forgets. And then I realized I would have forgotten it was National Cancer Survivor Day today because quite frankly, I had no idea that it was.

Apparently, the first Sunday in June is usually reserved for this occasion–according to the National Cancer Survivor Day Foundation. Well, alright–I didn’t know we had our own day–or our own foundation for that matter– but I’m thrilled to know it now. And celebrate it I will.

As I came in from my walk I hollered to my kids, who were watching cartoons–”Hey guys. Did you know today is National Cancer Survivor Day?” “Alriiiiiight!” whooped my son, who gave me a hug. And my daughter, just about to graduate from second grade, smiled at me and said–

“That’s great Mum.” And then she added–” And we can celebrate twice! Once from before, and once for now.”

I looked at her, wanting to be bummed at my double dipping in the cancer bowl, but I didn’t. Instead I smiled and gave her a hug.

“That’s right,” I said. “We get to celebrate twice.”

Ann’s books ‘pink tips’ and ‘Words To Live By’ now available in the SHOP section of this website.

“In situ” is a term I’d never know existed until I got breast cancer.  It was at the beginning stages of my diagnosis, when the doctor used terms such as “invasive ” and “ductile carcimoma in situ” that those new words became burned into my consciousness.

“In situ”–means the cancer is still in the first place it started.  It hasn’t traveled.  WebMD defines it as ‘in its original place,’ and then goes on, “this cancer is noninvasive and has not yet made it to breast tissue outside of the ducts.”  My cancer was invasive, meaning it had traveled past the ducts and into my lymph nodes.  That was in 2004.  Now, in 2011, it has shown up in my lungs–but is not lung cancer.  It is breast cancer that has traveled into another organ–which is called “metastatic” breast cancer. But enough with the cancer etymology lesson–what I wanted to say has nothing to do with definitions.

What I want to say has to do with how you handle it when someone tells you they have breast cancer, invasive, ductile, in situ or other.  How do you handle it?

I felt bad for this woman on the other side of the mirrored partition.  I mean, here she was about to have that luxurious moment in a salon when someone else is running their hands through your hair and you start to get drowsy and wonder if you can cancel the rest of your day and just go home and relax–and then she gets a call that someone she loves has breast cancer. Talk about killing the mood.  I began to stress, and I didn’t even know these people.

Her words back to her friend were strong and well meaning–something like, “get all the information, email it to me.  It’s not the worst case of breast cancer I’ve ever heard of.”  Of course, that last comment made me wince a bit.  From my experience it doesn’t matter the grade, stage, size, weight or height of your cancer–if it’s yours, it’s HUGE.  And it’s terrifying.

So I give this salon woman a big high five, and I’ll add this:  if someone you love tells you they’ve got breast cancer–or any cancer for that matter–here’s a suggestion on what to say:

“Oh boy. This stinks.  Okay, I’m here for you.  Whatever it takes, you can do this.  And I will help.”

You don’t have to know all the answers and you don’t have to fix if for your friend.  You don’t have to tell her it’s going to be alright and you don’t have to act like you’re not afraid. Just meet them where they are in their head–”you’re scared?  Me too,” and let them know they’re not alone.

Cancer is a roller coaster ride.  Hold on tight and–in situ or not–just sit tight and hold to your friend–and don’t let go.

Ann’s books ‘pink tips’ and ‘Words To Live By’ now available in the SHOP section of this website.

When I got older, I loved the number 21. Like 7, it had a lucky connotation, as when someone is trying to get 21 in a card game in Vegas–which I never got by the way, as I’m not a gambler and any time I even dared play a slot machines, my spare change never got me more than cherry-lemon-BAR.

But as of this morning, I have a new favorite number: it’s numer 169. Kind of a random number to the outside world, but I’ll give you the story and then you decide.

I opened up my morning email and between a school meeting notice, a media update and word that my next book, Words To Live By, is in the proofing stages at Amazon’s createspace.com, was a message from my oncologist. I opened it up with trepidation, as I never know what to expect from this venue of my life. Sometimes it’s not so good. But today, it was GREAT. Here’s what it said:

SUBJECT: Good News
Message: Your tumor markers continue to fall. They’re at 169. (They were in the high 300’s in January.)

And if you were anywhere within a half-mile radius of my home you would have heard my hoops and hollers at this fantastic, wonderful, kick-butt metastatic breast cancer news!

I plan to keep doing what I’m doing–the diet, the work outs, the medicine–the whole shebang. And most importantly, I plan to keep connecting to all you in my world whose good thoughts, prayers, chants, lit candles, emails, phone calls and texts remind me that I am loved and needed and that I must continue to be part of this living world.

In the casino of cancer, I think I just hit 7-7-7. Thanks to all of you for supplying me with the quarters to do it.  

Ann’s books ‘pink tips’ and ‘Words To Live By’ now available in the SHOP section of this website.