The Sun Still Rises

Today marked three years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It is always a strange anniversary--I can never figure out if I am supposed to celebrate or mourn the day.

It was a day filled with dichotomies like that.

I mourned. The world saw the news of journalist James Foley's gruesome death at the hands of monsters. We hoped the talked-about video was a fake. I thought my chest might cave in on itself when I read Foley's mom's acknowledgment that her son was gone.

We had some dear friends over for dinner last night, an interracial couple who'd spent the summer abroad. We wanted to hear about their experiences and catch up with them over a few drinks and dinner. This morning, I read this beautiful piece that exemplified the sad state of race relations in America amidst the continuing unrest and chaos in Ferguson, Missouri. Even given Ferguson, I had no idea "racial skepticism" was still such an issue. I'd naively thought our country was better than this.

And I learned that one of my favorite teachers from high school, my first creative writing teacher, died on Monday. Bob "Mac" McAllister was relatively young, 73, and the cause of death wasn't apparent from the obituary posted by the local paper. We sat on mismatched couches in his class, a safe space in which I first learned how cathartic writing could be.

I celebrated. Quinn, who is often a total goofball during swim lessons, impressed the coach at a makeup class today by listening to her every instruction. The deck supervisor came over to where I was sitting behind the glass viewing wall to comment on how at ease he seemed in the water. My heart swelled with pride as he practiced his dives and back floats with aplomb.

Afterward, we went to the library where he spotted a book meant for older kids, a chapter book from the How to Train Your Dragon series. He grabbed it happily off the shelf, claiming it as his own. But when I took it to check it out, the librarian realized a hold had been placed on it and she couldn't let us have it. I did my best to explain to Quinn why we couldn't take this book home today. His lip quivered and he started to whine: "But I want it!"

I told him that we couldn't get it this time, but assured him we'd look for it next time (and requested our own hold on the book). Then he calmed himself down, got it together surprisingly quickly, and asked me to carry him out to the car. I was impressed.

As I buckled Quinn into his carseat, I told him how proud I was of him for how well he handled the situation. I said I knew he was probably sad, but I thought he'd been incredibly mature. Then he said, "I'm not sad. I'm disappointed," and I just about called the writers of Sesame Street then and there to thank them for my son's vocabulary.

***

Monday was my friend Brigid's thirty-eighth birthday. She spent it in the hospital, fighting an infection in her blood. She posted a photo on Facebook today; her mom was giving her a foot rub and Brigid captioned it, "One lucky girl!" Because more than eight years after her diagnosis, cancer has not broken her spirit. You cannot let it.

***

When we got home from the library, Quinn marveled at the rainstorms that were hitting Phoenix this afternoon, relieving the desert of its searing heat for a gratifying stretch of minutes.

We'd heard the band The Head and the Heart's song "Another Story" in the car earlier, and a couple of stanzas from the song have been on repeat in my head all day:

I'll tell you one thing
We ain't gonna change much 
The sun still rises 
Even with the pain 

I'll tell you one thing 
We ain't gonna change love 
The sun still rises 
Even through the rain

Around the Web

Here's what caught my (and my friend Kathryn's) attention this week.

Remember my swimsuit post? And then there are these.

I love the idea of a few of these in theory. Some I call a big bluff on; that last one is not so much a swimsuit as an ice-dancing competition costume inspired by "Mad Max." Either way, I'm pretty sure I would never be brave enough to carry off any of these looks in public. (Also, depending on your office, some of these might be considered NSFW. Just so you're prepared.)

Could the solution to breast cancer really be so simple?

"We believe that it might be possible to treat breast cancer — the leading cause of female death — with a drug that can already be found in nearly every medicine cabinet in the world: Aspirin.

In 2010, we published an observational study in The Journal of Clinical Oncology showing that women with breast cancer who took aspirin at least once a week for various reasons were 50 percent less likely to die of breast cancer."

Stocking my medicine cabinet with Bayer tomorrow.

And not one, but TWO possible new breakthroughs for treating Her-2+ breast cancer.

Thanks to the lovely Kathryn for the second article. These studies are so promising. As the Facebook page says, "I fucking love science."

I fall into the "I just wanted them to match" category.

If I had it to do over, though, knowing what I know now (mostly regarding numbness and phantom itching), I might have kept my healthy breast.

{photo credit}

"The number of women getting double mastectomies after a breast cancer diagnosis has been rising in the past 10 years, even though most of them don't face a higher risk of getting cancer in the other breast."

Saving the best for last: we are on the threshold of powerful breakthroughs in cancer research, and very possibly, a cure.

Now if researchers could just translate these findings to solid-tumor cancers like breast and lung cancer, I know a whole lot of people who would be thrilled.

And thanks, Kathryn, for this one, too. 

Swimsuit Season

I know, I know--some of you are still wondering whether it's finally, really okay to put the snow shovels away for the season, and here I am about to talk about swimsuits. What am I? Heartless? I can't help it, you guys. It is NINETY-SEVEN DEGREES here today, and that is not a fluke, not a one-day oopsie-daisy. We are this close to triple digits, which means we are also this close to swimming pool weather. Right now, the water is still just a tad too cold because the air still cools down into the 50s/60s at night here. Come August, the pool will feel like a hot tub and I'll be begging Chris for a plane ticket to Seattle.

A couple of years ago, I bought a few bikinis at Target. I didn't give much thought to them because I was just happy to be healthy enough to enjoy the water with Quinn, to vacation in Mexico with him and Chris. I had my expanders in then, and despite their coconuts-on-a-board appearance, I was hardly self-conscious because I was alive. People could think I got a terrible boob job--let them! I thought.

After a couple of years of sun and chlorine and toddler tugging, my Target swimsuits need replacing, and suddenly I am feeling very stuck. I'm self-conscious about the port in my chest (whereas it didn't even cross my mind a couple years ago), so I'm looking at halter styles or a one-shouldered suit that might strategically hide the darn thing. I'm anxious about sun exposure post-radiation, so luckily rash guards are everywhere. I used to gravitate toward string bikinis because you can adjust them so there are no unnecessary lumpy parts, but I'm second-guessing myself with Quinn, who is at perfect string-pulling height.

And then I think: I'm being ridiculous and should just wear whatever stays put best with a toddler climbing on me in the water. Your kids do that too, right? Use your bikini bottoms as a step-stool? 

I picked out a couple of suits at Target last weekend to get me through the first few pool days, but the only one that fit is a total mom suit. "I'm sure you can do better than that," Chris told me. A mom at Quinn's swimming lessons recommended Victoria's Secret, but that seems too...spring-breaky, too young, too sexy for what I've got in mind. I've browsed online at J. Crew, Athleta, and Canvas by Land's End, but nothing is grabbing me, although I've gone back to these ones for a second glance. 

Clockwise from top: 1 2 3 4 5 6

And it is wonderful to occupy my brain with something so trivial as a new swimsuit. I do realize this. Don't fret: I have scans coming up in a couple of weeks, so I'll get back to discussing my anxiety and mortality soon enough. 

But seriously, I'd love your thoughts. Where else do you shop for suits that are reasonably-priced? Do more expensive suits hold up longer? If you've had a mastectomy/reconstruction or a port, does that affect your swimsuit style? Does having kids influence your choice of swimwear? Because I'm thinking I won't be such a jungle gym in a one-piece. And do you hate me for mentioning pool weather this early in the year, after the winter most of you have had? 

Just Keep Swimming

Quinn has become a big fan of Finding Nemo, even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't fully understand the story line (probably a good thing). He loves watching the turtles, the fishies, and even the sharks. This was my Facebook status update on January 7th. 

I have alluded to Quinn's swimming lessons here before, but not really gone into much detail about one of my favorite parts of our week. There's no particular reason for the omission except this time of ours didn't seem sufficiently related to cancer for me to share it here. Then, last week, we were back to swim lessons after a two-week holiday hiatus, and I knew I could no longer keep the pure joy that my son derives from the water to myself; I had to share it with you all, cancer-relevance or not. 

This video is from November. He does a lot more actual swimming now, but note his lack of fear or hesitation. Also, the pink goggles, which were his choice. Maybe it's just me, but I could watch this over and over and over again. It just doesn't get old. 

Quinn Swimming from Jennifer Campisano on Vimeo.

The swimming lessons began as a gift from Chris' Aunt Kathie for Quinn's second birthday last March. Due to my swap-out surgery and complications from that, though, we didn't start them until around Memorial Day. For several months, Quinn screamed and fought me at every turn for the thirty-minute sessions, to the point where I strained my damn wrist trying to keep him from drowning. I figured it just wasn't meant to be, my son and the water. So much for him being a Pisces, I figured.

Then, toward the end of September, something clicked, and suddenly I couldn't keep him from going under. "We've created a monster," his instructor said to me, looking at me like "Who is this kid?" Now, our biggest challenge is getting Quinn to follow instructions. He just wants to swim on his own terms, whether he actually knows what he's doing or not.

Every Tuesday afternoon, I take Quinn to the swim school, and since October, we have also spent most Friday nights at "Family Swim," an hour-long open swim at the pool. Quinn sleeps so well after swim lessons, so why not double up during the week, right? When Chris is in town and doesn't have work commitments, he joins us on Fridays, but Quinn and I have spent a lot of time on our own in that pool. I love seeing the progress he makes from week to week, love watching his confidence blossom, love that he loves the water as much as I did as a kid.

When I was going through my first round of chemo, my college friend Yumi sent Quinn the famous book, "Make Way for Ducklings," about a family of ducks that finds a home in Boston. At one point in the book, the father has to go away for a week, during which time the mother duck teaches all the ducklings how to avoid getting run over, how to walk in a straight line behind her, and how to dive and swim. "Just like me!" Quinn says now, when we read it.

Just like you, my little duck/fish.