Pick up a pin and make a difference

Aleisha Hunter, the world's youngest breast cancer survivor, who was two years old at the time of her diagnosis, and her mom Melianie, joined WCBCF and Scotiabank for the kick off the Scotiabank fund-raising pin campaign on April 1st to support the 6^th World Conference on Breast Cancer being held in Hamilton June 7-11, 2011.

All Scotiabank branches across Canada will sell lapel pins, the proceeds of which will provide financial assistance to participants from around the world who could otherwise not afford to attend the Conference. Scotiabank, which is the premier sponsor of the conference, officially launched the fund-raising drive at its Hamilton Main branch with hopes of surpassing funds raised during the last PIN fund-raising Campaign held in 2008. The Conference is held every three years and Scotiabank has been the premier sponsor since its inception 15 years ago.

This year's conference will include a full day dedicated to building youth awareness and prevention. Conference Youth Day organizer, Lorna Larsen was also on hand at the launch to preview the Youth Day agenda and provide information on the extent of breast cancer among young Canadian and Ontarian women.

"Through our Scotiabank Bright Future global philanthropic program, we are proud to continue its support of this conference because of the high importance our employees and our customers attach to preventing and treating this widespread disease," said Sylvia Chrominska, Group Head and Executive Vice President, Global Human Resources and Communications, Scotiabank. "As a global employer with operations in fifty countries around the world we recognize the importance of bringing people together in one place to exchange information, share experiences, and develop new and innovative solutions."

To learn more about the World Conference on Breast Cancer Foundation or to register for the conference go to www.wcbcf.ca

5 Year Survival Rates

Ok I survived the first week of High School. Whew - only 5 years to go! Hmmm what a coincidence, five year survival rates apply to parenting a teenager too. I digress. After the first day, I arrived home to find my daughter and two of her friends sprawled over the family room, stuffing their faces (because that is what teenagers do). I eagerly asked, "So? How was the first day?"

My daughter casually stated, "It was ok". Her girlfriend then piped up with, "It was overwhelming, the school is so big, I kept getting lost, I didn't know where anything was, there are so many kids, I was late for pictures...." (all spoken at a light speed). Arden looked over at her and just calmly said, "it wasn't that bad". I tell you - my girl sure knows how to roll with change.

I remember when I went through my mastectomy. Arden, then 5, took everything in. She touched the tubes that attached to my drains, the bandages that covered the surgery site. I told her that the doctors took the sick part of me away and that they were going to give me a medicine that was going to kill any bad cells that they may have missed. She asked me if I was going to die.

Until that point I did not even think of that outcome, but then also realized that the only thing she knew about cancer was related to Terry Fox and the run. She knew that Terry did not make it. I responded with, "we will all die someday. I am not planning on dieing soon and the medicine the doctors are going to give me will make me seem sicker, but they are trying to make sure I get over this cancer".

We talked about what was going to happen to me - like the fact that I would loose my hair. Like the first day of high school - she just rolled with the information by announcing that she would be happy to paint my head when my hair fell out.

We will survive high school together, like we survived breast cancer together already.

Wishing yourself away

With all of the year end activities going on with my 12 year old daughter I am a little preoccupied with the transition from child to teen. So forgive me if my entries for awhile have a common theme.

My daughter loves sports, as a result she sweats. With the sweat comes the odd pimple. When she was getting ready for her dinner dance she pleaded with me to use some kind of cover-up to eliminate the sight of a few little spots she had on her chest.

This scenario vividly reminded me how insecure I got at that age. Strong in some ways, but always with the self doubting. My girlfriends were all more popular with the boys, prettier, slimmer, had nicer skin, perfect hair....

We are sucked into this vortex of what is physically beautiful. Now I know that physical beauty really has nothing to do with how attractive you are. At the time I could not be convinced of that and I am sure I will struggle to convince my daughter now.

I hear her say, "I wish my hair was ...., I wish my skin was..., I wish...."

She cannot wish her self away. She cannot be someone else, but then they cannot be her, although I am sure there are many who wish they could be - she is pretty awesome. All I need to do is somehow get her to see how amazing she is and how to embrace herself.

We age and lose physical beauty. We have surgeries that take away our breasts. What endures is our 'self'. It is our 'self' that really makes us beautiful, strong, charismatic, funny, intelligent and more. I never want to wish that away.

Let's jump back to the present

So reading this blog - I am thinking "and where is that quirky humour?"

I thought I would jump to the present for now, we can get back to the story later.

I went to see my plastic surgeon today. Yes, I am still having surgeries. Although you don't know yet - I had radiation as part of my treatment. As a result, the reconstruction surgery does not quite work out as the surgeon plans.

My surgeon had an intern with him today. The two of them sat there staring at my 'new one' and my 'old one'. The truth is that the 'old one' is doing as nature intended (sliding down my chest) and the 'new one' is a bullet.

My surgeon is happy with the results, but it looks like there is more fat graphs required. The skin is still sticking to the muscle at the lymph dissection site.

Do you think it would be too much to ask to have the fat moved from my buttocks?