October Is Breast Cancer Awareness Month

As a breast cancer survivor who discovered her cancer during a self-check, I believe in self-examinations. You know your own body better than anyone else. So don't be afraid to check your own breasts, and report anything unusual to your doctor. Early detection is the key to surviving almost any type of cancer. So I try to post this video every year.

And guys, don't think you're immune. Breast cancer can occur in men, too. It did in my family. Plus, Mike & Molly's 100th episode titled "Mike Check" deals sensitively with the concept when Mike's doctor finds something unusual in his chest.

Mammogram Time

Yep, that's right. I had my annual mammogram this morning. It'll be an annual event until I die or have my right breast removed.

It's the crap a breast cancer survivor faces.

I was in and out in roughly a half hour. A nice young lady named Michelle took the pictures and ran back to speak with the radiologist. Part of that half hour is giving the radiologist a chance to check my pics and compare them to the last several sets. Make sure there's no hinky business that need a further exam by ultrasound, a needle biopsy, or a core.

With the ultrasound, I only get slimed. The other two hurt like a mother.

Even though the mammogram is an annual, expected event, the fear comes out. The night before, I lay awake in bed and wonder if this will be the time the medical team will find something again. No matter what I do, what techniques I try, what sleep aid I take, rest doesn't come.

I went to the diagnostic center on four hours of sleep this morning. Luckily, it's only a mile from our house. If I didn't have to cross a major highway, I could walk there.

A couple of hours after I got home, I was out cold in my recliner. The exhaustion from fear eventually catches up with me.

I just wish I could avoid the fear.

Romance is Back, Baby!

 

Or maybe it's a lot of lust.

I officially stopped taking Tamoxifen on July 6th. My breast cancer tumor was ER+ and PR+, which means the cancer feeds on estrogen and progesterone. Tamoxifen, in computer terms, performs a hard shutdown of my ovaries.

However, the drug has also used for chemical castration of homosexuals and pedophiles for a reason. For five years, I've had no interest in sex whatsoever. I'm lucky DH is more concerned about my health than our sex life.

On the other hand, I felt like a huge part of me was missing. I discovered I couldn't write my Alter Ego romances because to tell a story, I need to feel what the characters are feeling. And that just wasn't happening for the last five years I was on Tamoxifen. I put aside all the Alter Ego stories. I was lucky the books in the Suzan Harden series over the last five years didn't deal with a lot of romance. It's also part of the reason The Books of Apep series sat on the backburner for the last five years.

While Death Goddess Walking is mainly an urban fantasy adventure, there's a subplot using the romantic amnesia trope. That's one of the reasons I waited until I was off the Tamoxifen before I started working on the novel again. I couldn't recapture the feeling Selket and Anpu had for each other in the prologue until this summer.

It's rather nice to reclaim a part of myself that's been missing for so long.

Crazy Week and It's Only Monday

I spent the weekend filling boxes with loot from last year's Kickstarter. It will be a relief to have my living room and office back. DH asked why I wasn't sitting on the floor, which has been SOP for years when I was mailing Christmas presents to out-of-state nieces and nephews.

Needless to say, I dared him to sit on the floor. He quickly learned that if a human is on the floor, it's a signal to Princess Bella to drag all her toys over to you and place them in the open boxes. Some of my backers almost ended up with Kongs.

I'm still putting together the paperback for Queer Eye for the Super Guy. The re-write of Spells and Sleuths is finished and edits have started. And I need to finish the two short stories that were the part of the Kickstarter stretch goals so the audiobooks can be recorded.

There are surprises in the works for the Justice series' tenth anniversary. I really, really hope the readers of that series love the things in the works. My artist is doing some wonderful artwork for the projects.

Best of all, I had my annual mammogram this morning. For the last five years, it's been like sitting on a grenade. Has the cancer taken hold in the other breast? I've already had a lumpectomy, several needle biopsies, and a core sample. 

To my relief, the radiologist said everything looked good. Which means I'll be off tamoxifen at the end of June and I can drink during a writers' retreat I'm going to in July in Oregon. Like I told a few friends, it's not that I'm a huge drinker. I just don't like choices being taken away from me.

Actually, it's the second best thing. Genius Kid and the Grandpuppy are on their way here. Which means it'll be a Cincinnati chili and Long Johns week, too.

Troll I.Q. and Cancer Awareness

Last Saturday, some troll decided to report a couple of my blog posts for violating the Blogger Content Policy.

Like I don't have enough shit going on right now.

The first one was when I mentioned F**Life in comparing complaining writers with masochists. It's not like I put a link to that particular website. And if you have any inkling of the BDMS lifestyle, you already know which adult site I'm referring to.

The second one I'm still trying to figure out. It talked about the Kickstarter campaign for the documentary about sff writer Jay Lake (may he rest in peace) and his battle with colon cancer. The only bad thing was the f-bomb.

Guess what? I will always refer to that disease as "fucking cancer" forever more. On more than one post. Because I've had it. So has my husband, both of my parents, one of my grandmothers, and more friends than I wish to count.

By the way, I've got this year's mammogram appointment, but I still self-check.

Check those boobies, ladies! The earlier your cancer is discovered, the more likely you won't have to have a mastectomy like me

Oops! And a PSA

Things have been a little busy around Casa Harden the last couple of days, so I haven't gotten much writing, editing, or publishing done. Sad to say it had nothing to so with this week's mammogram.

However, a plan has been put in place to get Darling Husband out of the house for a few hours tomorrow so I can get some of my own work done.

In the meantime, here's a PSA for you ladies from a breast cancer survivor who found hers via a self-exam. Check those boobies!

Wild, Wicked & Wacky Rewind from 2018

2018 started on an awesome note. I released two novels. But the good didn't last. This is the post where I vomited my fear. The very next day, I received official confirmation I had breast cancer.

==============

Confession time. Part of my rant last week was because I went in for another mammogram on April 9th. Yeah, another one. My fourth in a year.

I wish I could say I found the lump through an intended self-exam. In reality, I was working on some accounting stuff while watching a new episode of The Walking Dead at the end of March, 2017. The back of my left hand brushed against my left breast as I reached for a receipt. And I felt something hard through my t-shirt.

My first thought was "lint ball".  Sometimes, lint balls from the clothes dryer magnetically stick to my t-shirts and bras instead of getting sucked into the filter, and when I'm still half asleep while dressing, I don't notice. At a commercial, I went to the bathroom to fish out the lint ball.

It wasn't a lint ball. The hard thing was definitely under my skin. I yelled for DH and asked if he felt the same thing I did. Never one to refuse a request  to feel me up, he checked. And frowned. And checked again.

So I called my gynecologist the next morning. She got me in for a check-up a couple of days later. She checked. And frowned. And checked again.

She had an appointment for me at the diagnostic center the following Monday for a full mammogram. The radiologist didn't like the look of the x-rays, so the tech trundled me over to the ultrasound room for another look. Yep, definitely a mass inside my breast.

So I went back to my gynecologist with the test results, and she referred me to a surgeon. He checked. And frowned. And checked again. Then he did his own ultrasound and a needle aspiration. A couple of days later, he called. The biopsy results were inconclusive, but he didn't want to slice and dice without being sure. "We're going to keep an eye on it."

That was the beginning of April, and he wanted me back in August. Once again, he checked my lump. And frowned. And checked again.

Another ultrasound mammogram. Another needle biopsy. Another inconclusive result.

So Easter weekend, the surgeon's office called to set up my appointment at the diagnostic center for the whole kabob once again. X-rays showed a change to the mass. Once again, I was trundled to the ultrasound room for another look.

This time, the radiologist came in to talk to me after she looked at all the pics and comparing them to last year's. It's pretty serious if the radiologist bothers to talk to you. She had me recite everything that had been done. And frowned.

"We need to core," she said. "I'll talk to your surgeon."

Apparently, he didn't argue. The next morning, a nurse from the diagnostic center called with my appointment this week.

A core is a little more than a needle aspiration and a little less than a lumpectomy. The radiologist who did the procedure seemed pleased with the quality of the samples she pulled. Now, it's a matter of waiting for the pathology reports.

So right now, I'm sitting in my recliner with an ice pack in my bra and desperately wishing for an NSAID. (Acetaminophen doesn't do a whole lot for me.) Most of the bruising is from the doctor's generous application of lidocaine shots prior to the coring.

She also inserted a titanium clip into the hole to mark the spot. The x-ray tech took a few more pictures to mark the spot of the clip before they sent me home.

Last night, DH and I had a little fun with his stud-finder. Yep, there's definitely a bit of metal in my boob.

I don't know what's going to happen next. DH is a little upset I'm planning for the worst case scenario. I'm not being negative. I really don't want to die. But I've seen first-hand the effects of chemotherapy on people. Chemo brain is a real thing, and my ability to write will be limited if I do have to be treated for breast cancer. If the worst-case scenario happens, it will play havoc with my 2018 writing schedule, not merely delay it.

If it's not cancer, then life goes on as normal, and I stick to my original plan.

But regardless, I find being Schroedinger's cat damn annoying.

The Drag of Medical Appointments

It's that time of year for all the usual annual appointments. You know, eyes, heart, blood sugars, girl parts, etc. But all my providers are spending lots of extra time talking about the C-word.

Time I'd rather spend writing.

It didn't help when I was told I need to give up caffeine. Cthuludammit! It's the one vice I have left.

I admit I'm addicted. Coffee, diet cola, tea. And of course, I just bought a new bottle of Peppermint Mocha creamer. So yummy!

Otherwise, everybody says I'm doing fine. My scar itches because all of them want to poke and prod the area searching for new lumps. That's in addition to poking and prodding the remaining breast.

Thank goodness I only have one more appointment left, and it's two weeks away. I'll remind myself where I was a year ago if I EVER complain about the writing business!

Recovery Day

After all the hoopla of releasing Hero Ad Hoc on Amazon Monday, doing a large (for me) promo on Hero De Facto, and going in for my latest mammogram yesterday, my body said, "That's enough excitement."

And that's after we didn't get to see Shazam! The movie was supposed to be our date night treat after both DH and I have been on the Hamster Wheel of Doom with the craziness of our respective jobs so far this year. But nope, our theater (the only one in town) suffered a power surge that knocked out all the projectors last night. So we settled for a quiet dinner out and the season finale of The Rookie before we went to bed.

Where I proceeded to sleep for twelve hours straight.

The first plus was the mammogram results were negative for my remaining breast. The radiologist had me wait until he could look over the scans since I now have a history of breast cancer. Hell, my cancer-versary is Friday. But no waiting for a letter in the mail, so WHEW!

The second plus is readers are buying or borrowing copies of Hero Ad Hoc. Any promo is a gamble, and it can take a bit for readers to pick up other books in the series. It was a relief to wake up this morning afternoon and see the graphs rising.

The third plus is my alpha reader finished Hero De Novo and loved it. So I need to finish up the proofing and pass it on to my formatter.

Despite the fatigue, the last three days have been pretty darn good, and I'm damn happy!

A Flurry of Doctors

Yeah, I'm a little late posting. The rush of doctors appointments have started up again.

Ironically, I've buried myself in stories and editing in between appointments. I don't normally hide from my problems. I just don't want the fear to eat me alive and interrupt my rhythm.

The sad part is that I can't count on the health professionals to keep track of everything. I have to go into each appointment with lists: questions, drugs, messages between the doctors. It's funny how these folks don't like to talk to each other.

It's funnier how they put me in the middle of their disagreements. *eyeroll*

I'm thankful that I've still got my mental faculties. Otherwise, I'd be up a shit creek.

But what would happen if I wasn't?

A lot of folks face this exact problem. DH already had an incident where his dad was going to give his mom a pill to treat vertigo when the real problem was her blood sugar level was crashing. Luckily, DH was there.

And that's the burden of being middle-aged in America right now. We're having health problems. We need to care for elderly parents. And we're trying to launch our children into a world that seems very cold, and very cruel right now.

But in the meantime, I'll deal with the flurry of doctors and try to make sure my health stays clear.

Tumors, Tubes and Superheroes

I have breast cancer.

Four words I really never thought I'd say.

The last two months since my annual mammogram have been a whirlwind of tests and doctor visits and raw rage. I had a plan mapped out for releasing eight books this year, and I'm so fucking furious my writing/publishing plan has been blown to hell. However, this isn't the first time cancer has upended my life, though it is the first time I'm on the receiving side.

Jo, one of my writing friends, helped me put together an alternate plan. I keep writing as best I can through the surgeries and treatments, and I don't worry about the production side of things, like editing and formatting until I get through treatment. I don't have to worry about the covers because the lovely Elaina Lee of For the Muse Design already completed them last year, which I'm forever thankful for.

As I write this, it's been ten days since my first surgery, the mastectomy of my left breast. I have Stage II-B lobular invasive carcinoma. While it is the second most common breast cancer, it only affects 10-30% (depending on which literature you read) of diagnosed patients. The five-year survival rate is over 90%, which means I have a damn good prognosis.

When I rolled into the operating room last week, I thought I'd hit acceptance mode. But as I sit here in my recliner, minor irritation is transforming back to rage. My incision site has hit super-itch mode, and my arm rubs against the Jackson-Pratt drain sticking out my side a couple of inches below my very smelly pit.

Which is that way because I can't shave or use antiperspirant right now, and I really can't stand the smell myself, much less want to go out into public. And yes, I am showering.

What does this all mean? When are the books actually coming out?

I'm looking at another four weeks of healing time from the mastectomy. Then comes the radiation and/or chemo. I'm not sure which treatment or combo is likely because the tumor turned out to be larger than what the surgeon and radiologist estimated from the MRIs, the only decent pictures they could get. I haven't talked to the oncologist yet. Worse case scenario is twelve weeks of follow-up treatment, assuming I have no complications from the treatment itself.

There will be another four to six weeks of recovery from the radiation/chemo before the first reconstructive surgery. Four to six weeks of recovery from the first stage before the second reconstructive surgery.

And that takes us roughly to February of 2019 before my life returns to a relatively normal position.

I can hear y'all thinking, "Wait a minute! We have to wait nine months for a new book?"

I don't know if that will be the case. The timeline may be shorter. It may be longer. Despite the mental and emotional bullshit of the last two months, I wrote 42,000 words. I finished the first draft of Hero De Facto, and I'm roughly halfway through Hero Ad Hoc, the first two books of my superhero series. The real question is how much can I get done before chemo brain sets in because that's the real danger to my writing productivity. I can't promise any specific release dates because I can't guarantee what will happen next.

And as they wheeled me into surgery last week, my husband whispered, "You'd better live. You need to finish A Matter of Death."

See? Y'all aren't the only ones ticked with me for leaving A Modicum of Truth on a cliffhanger.

F*CK CANCER!

Sometimes Life Rolls Right Over You

Confession time. Part of my rant last week was because I went in for another mammogram on April 9th. Yeah, another one. My fourth in a year.

I wish I could say I found the lump through an intended self-exam. In reality, I was working on some accounting stuff while watching a new episode of The Walking Dead at the end of March, 2017. The back of my left hand brushed against my left breast as I reached for a receipt. And I felt something hard through my t-shirt.

My first thought was "lint ball".  Sometimes, lint balls from the clothes dryer magnetically stick to my t-shirts and bras instead of getting sucked into the filter, and when I'm still half asleep while dressing, I don't notice. At a commercial, I went to the bathroom to fish out the lint ball.

It wasn't a lint ball. The hard thing was definitely under my skin. I yelled for DH and asked if he felt the same thing I did. Never one to refuse a request  to feel me up, he checked. And frowned. And checked again.

So I called my gynecologist the next morning. She got me in for a check-up a couple of days later. She checked. And frowned. And checked again.

She had an appointment for me at the diagnostic center the following Monday for a full mammogram. The radiologist didn't like the look of the x-rays, so the tech trundled me over to the ultrasound room for another look. Yep, definitely a mass inside my breast.

So I went back to my gynecologist with the test results, and she referred me to a surgeon. He checked. And frowned. And checked again. Then he did his own ultrasound and a needle aspiration. A couple of days later, he called. The biopsy results were inconclusive, but he didn't want to slice and dice without being sure. "We're going to keep an eye on it."

That was the beginning of April, and he wanted me back in August. Once again, he checked my lump. And frowned. And checked again.

Another ultrasound mammogram. Another needle biopsy. Another inconclusive result.

So Easter weekend, the surgeon's office called to set up my appointment at the diagnostic center for the whole kabob once again. X-rays showed a change to the mass. Once again, I was trundled to the ultrasound room for another look.

This time, the radiologist came in to talk to me after she looked at all the pics and comparing them to last year's. It's pretty serious if the radiologist bothers to talk to you. She had me recite everything that had been done. And frowned.

"We need to core," she said. "I'll talk to your surgeon."

Apparently, he didn't argue. The next morning, a nurse from the diagnostic center called with my appointment this week.

A core is a little more than a needle aspiration and a little less than a lumpectomy. The radiologist who did the procedure seemed pleased with the quality of the samples she pulled. Now, it's a matter of waiting for the pathology reports.

So right now, I'm sitting in my recliner with an ice pack in my bra and desperately wishing for an NSAID. (Acetaminophen doesn't do a whole lot for me.) Most of the bruising is from the doctor's generous application of lidocaine shots prior to the coring.

She also inserted a titanium clip into the hole to mark the spot. The x-ray tech took a few more pictures to mark the spot of the clip before they sent me home.

Last night, DH and I had a little fun with his stud-finder. Yep, there's definitely a bit of metal in my boob.

I don't know what's going to happen next. DH is a little upset I'm planning for the worst case scenario. I'm not being negative. I really don't want to die. But I've seen first-hand the effects of chemotherapy on people. Chemo brain is a real thing, and my ability to write will be limited if I do have to be treated for breast cancer. If the worst-case scenario happens, it will play havoc with my 2018 writing schedule, not merely delay it.

If it's not cancer, then life goes on as normal, and I stick to my original plan.

But regardless, I find being Schroedinger's cat damn annoying.

Once More Into the Dungeon, Or Why Congress Is Trying to Kill You

As I tried to finish a Suzan Harden title and take a mini-vacation of Easter (while getting wildly sick), Amazon decided to launch a silent pre-emptive strike against indie erotica authors like Alter Ego--AGAIN!

This time, Amazon rank-stripped all erotica titles. And if your romance was a little too steamy, your books got thrown into the erotica dungeon.

Unfortunately, this occasion wasn't due to some prude in the ranks. Nope, this time it was due to idiots in the United States Congress. They slipped something through last week under the guise of the budget. Something to allegedly save the women and children!

Don't get me wrong. Sex trafficking is a bad, BAD thing, and it should be stopped. But the Senate and the House of Representatives have cobbled together bills (SESTA/FOSTA) that are far too broad in scope and very vague in specifics. (By the way, the primary sponsor of SESTA, Sen. Rob Portman (R) of Ohio, is a real dick, and there's part of me that wants to run against him as an independent. GRR!)

So now the major tech players are totally panicking. Amazon isn't the only one hiding stuff and shutting down shit left and right. Craigslist has already shut down their personal ads. Reddit has shut down several subforum discussions regarding sex. Barnes & Noble is kicking off writers who had the temerity of writing erotica, even if their erotic works are no longer available on B&N's website!

And before anyone thinks this is about partisanship or political parties, both sides are equally guilty in my opinion. On the surface, it seems innocuous. However, this is a blatant government attack on First Amendment rights by using the tech giants to enforce these vague policies. And I can pretty much guarantee this stupidly written law will be used to shut down health information sites.

Why do I think that? Two reasons:

(1) We've been down that rabbit hole once already. Medical websites were deactivated over Congress's last few attempts to shut down porn sites until medical exemptions were written in.

(2) Because I had to get a mammogram on Monday. Roughly a year ago, I discovered a lump in my left breast, right below the nipple. The last couple of biopsies have come back inconclusive. My surgeon doesn't want to cut if he doesn't have to, so he and my ob/gyn are keeping a close eye on the damn thing. And frankly after having my right breast sliced up sixteen years ago, I'd prefer not going through that again unless it's absolutely necessary.

I'm a strong believer in cancer screenings. I have been for the last thirty-something years. DH has already been down that ugly road, and I don't wish it on anyone. When I say please do your self-checks, I mean it. (That goes for you guys, too!) I've posted self-check videos on this blog for that very reason.

And because the 'bots that will be used to enforce these rules cannot look at context, odds are in the next few weeks this post or my account may disappear. Necessary pictures and demonstrations of techniques will disappear. And it will be detrimental to women and men alike.

If you're an Ohioan, call Sen Rob Portman at (202) 224-3353 or Sen. Sherrod Brown at (202) 224-2315, and tell them SESTA needs to be refined to make it effective. If you're from another state, look up your senator or representative here. Here's the text if you wish to read it.

So let's see if these PSA are still here in a few months:

For the ladies...



And for the gentlemen...

Deadpool PSA for the Ladies

Self-examinations are important. I say this as someone who has undergone a lumpectomy. Fuck cancer!

WWW Repeat - Hot Guy PSA

This is a repost of a blog from April 4, 2012. It is THE most popular post on Wild, Wicked & Wacky.


Cancer is prevalent in my family. After all the serious, lame PSAs I've seen, this one is...

Well, you just have to watch. Especially the credits.

(Mucho gracias to the incredible Sasha White for the tip!)

Hot Guy PSA

Cancer is prevalent in my family. After all the serious, lame PSAs I've seen, this one is...

Well, you just have to watch. Especially the credits.

(Mucho gracias to the incredible Sasha White for the tip!)