Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘breast cancer treatment’

Well … What Do They Say About Two Out of Three?

Okay … I know that more than a few days have passed since I promised this post. But I’m here now with my heart in my hands and my thoughts well organized (I hope). During the last ten months (just counted them and absolutely cannot believe it’s been that long), I’ve had to defer or cancel a lot of plans and commitments that were important to me. And I’ve always found myself apologizing, which seemed to make me feel even worse. So I’m not going to do that anymore. I love my blog and those of you who’ve been with me since the beginning, as well as those of you who’ve stumbled upon the site and subsequently found some level of interest in what’s going on around here as time unfolded. And I think it’s enough for you to know that not a day goes by without my thinking about all of you and this blog. Hopefully, the writing will begin flowing again with some regularity. There won’t be any schedule that I’m holding myself to, though–at least not for awhile. I’m just grateful to be here in this moment, focusing on this post.

So, you ask, what the heck has been going on? Well, the cancer is what’s been going … and on, and on, and on … like a bug you keep squashing but, when you lift your shoe, the damn thing is still moving. And one more annoyance that’s been taking up space is a rather intense case of the blues–something that’s very uncharacteristic for me.

In a few earlier posts, I’ve explained that I worked very hard for the first two years of this blog to keep everything on this site closely tied to the original mission: tracking the “journey from publishing obscurity to somewhere else.” Whatever was going on in my life outside of the writing and publishing elements was not germaine. Yet, at some point last year, the lines between the blog’s mission and the rest of my life had become so blurred–and “the rest of my life” had so impacted my writing and publishing plans–that I finally caved in and began sharing some of the details. Now I believe that a more thorough update is in order, first because of my extended silence, and second because a key component of this blog’s mission has always been to offer information that would be helpful to others. Hopefully, the thoughts that have been rolling around in my head and that are now emerging in this post will hold at least a small amount of value for someone reached in the Web-o-sphere after I press “Publish.”

This new post–“Mortality, Cancer, and the Inevitability of a Writer’s Words”–encompasses three vast subjects that have been consuming an inordinate amount of my thinking. All three are now inextricably entwined for me–a writer who’s been a long-time purveyor of odd thoughts, fun fiction, characters, and conundrums. And after more than fifty years of putting words together, no obstacle or impossible set of odds has ever been able to make me stop my writing. Not until recently. Not until the very real possibility began encircling me that, within a relatively short span, I might not be here anymore to capture and massage the imagery and plots coming out of my head. Frankly, I think the fear I was generating for myself began to paralyze me.

This cancer problem actually began twenty-five years ago when I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. That “issue” was found super early and, although the progression did get a little dicey in the late 1990’s, great health care and a new drug managed to put the beast back in the box. Now (and I’m knocking on wood all over the place), the lymphoma has been in remission and not making a pest of itself for more than ten years. This current situation, however, began very recently, in the spring of 2010. We started with breast cancer (immediately labeled as my second primary cancer since there was no connection to the lymphoma). Again, the little demon was found very early in a routine mammogram. I proceeded with an extremely proactive plan of action that included a double mastectomy and breast reconstruction. While the process was painful, scary, and unbelievably inconvenient as I was trying to bring my second novel into the world, I felt very fortunate. Then, over the next year, things became wildly bizarre in short order. In another routine checkup in late fall of 2010, before my breast reconstruction was even finished, a third primary cancer was found in yet a different part of me. (The statement, “You have to be kidding me!” is the most vanilla printable version of what I said to that particular doctor.) Cancer number three was also an early discovery, which we ended up treating with radiation. And then, in a follow-up exam for the third cancer about six months later … yup, you guessed it … a fourth primary was found. (If I can’t print what I said upon hearing of the third one, imagine the degradation of my words upon hearing of the fourth!) I had become a walking, talking petri dish. And that fourth cancer was the first one to be aggressive. We’ve been dealing with the bad boy ever since.

After a gigantic six-hour surgery in September 2011, I began eighteen weeks of chemo in October (the day before my birthday). In December, mid-way through the treatment, a CT scan was done and showed a new lymph node that was bigger than it was supposed to be. But we kept on going with the treatment anyway, and I completed the six three-week rounds of chemo in early February. The requisite end-of-treatment CT scan was performed shortly thereafter, and the “new lymph node” was a little bigger than in December. So they did a biopsy, which showed that the node was actually the cancer I’d just undergone four and a half months of chemo to eradicate. Seriously? I felt as if the cancer growing during chemo was tantamount to flipping me the finger. Ugh! And now what, by the way?

My team of doctors took my case to the “tumor board” (at Sloan-Kettering in New York where I’m being “handled”), and the fabulous surgeon who did such a phenomenal job with my September surgery said he wanted to operate to take out the lymph node. After an appointment with a great radiation oncologist, they agreed that they also wanted to do interoperative radiation, where they would actually give me radiation in the operating room. (Amazing stuff!) I thought their plan sounded like a terrific idea! But first … my surgeon wanted to do an MRI to get a clear picture of where the node was in relation to blood vessels, etc. Okay. And then … uh oh. The MRI showed two more lymph nodes. Excuse me??

That news came on a Wednesday. The surgery/radiation combo immediately came off the table, and I was back in chemo, with a different drug, the following Monday. The protocol this time has been three full chemo days in a row followed by a fourth trip into the city on Thursday of chemo week for a shot (called Neulasta) that keeps my white blood cells from bottoming out. After a total of three weeks, the cycle repeats. Unfortunately, the combination of all the drugs plus the shot was totally flattening me with lots of pain and a low grade fever that would not let up. That dismal situation went on for the first three rounds–a total of nine weeks. And that was the period of time when a deep-seated case of the blues took over with gusto.

Fighting cancer has been part of my life for twenty-five years. But, with the exception of intermittent surgeries and/or treatments, I’ve always been able to continue living my life while I was fighting. Bringing out my second novel, for example, was a top priority that was methodically woven into all the breast cancer surgeries. This time, however, I was unable to do anything. And when the body isn’t able to do anything, the mind goes into overdrive, especially when a tough cancer is part of the mix. Then suddenly the critical ability to fight begins to feel compromised. And that’s when things can really get scary. So I was determined to find a way to get up and moving again.

At the start of the fourth round (three weeks ago), I had a long conversation with my oncologist and a doctor who works with her about all of the difficulties I’d been having. To make a long story short (too late for this post, I know … 🙂 …), they came up with a plan that involved my taking something as simple as ibuprofen (a drug I’d been told not to take previously) beginning the morning of day four, following the three days of chemo but prior to receiving the big shot. The ibuprofen was supposed to continue every 5-6 hours through day eight. Well, I’m here to tell you that, after adhering to those instructions, I’ve had only a couple of small problems that were easily remedied. I’ve been up and around since that first weekend, slowly regaining my strength. And now, three weeks later, I’m almost back to normal in terms of my schedule. I still get tired by early evening, which is normal with chemo. But otherwise, my life is getting back on track.

Additionally, the CT scan performed four weeks ago showed that the cancer is stabilizing. Nothing new showed up this time, thank God! And now the plan is to do another CT after round six (in August). If that still shows the situation to be stable, they will put the surgery/radiation combo back on the table. Meanwhile, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to be feeling more like my old self. And imagine my (and my family’s) surprise that such a huge difference could be made by something as ordinary as ibuprofen. (Apparently, there are recent studies that show the benefits of administering the Neulasta shot in conjunction with ibuprofen. Wish I’d known about that before I spent the better part of nine weeks being such a mess!) One other piece of good news is that I will have an extra week of reprieve this round. Normally, I would have started round five on Monday, July 2. But since this treatment involves three consecutive days and a fourth for the shot, I would have been hooked up all day on July 4. Consequently, round five will begin on July 9–seven extra days to feel wonderful!

This blog post has been forming in my mind for a long time, and hopefully I’ll be able to start posting more frequently again now that the flood gate has opened. I’m also ready to resume work on my third novel, which will be a sequel to my second (Separation of Faith). Since I’m always the happiest and most content when a new story is coming together, I’m anxious to see/feel those words pouring out of me.

And that brings me to the lesson learned from all of this. Cancer is certainly a big meanie and shoves mortality flat in your face. Yet mortality is something we all have to deal–some of us just sooner and more graphically than others. Meanwhile, we all have life to live and joy to discover. Much of that life and joy, for me, comes through my wonderful family and amazing friends. But, again for me, writing is what helps keep the blood flowing through my body. And giving birth to a novel comes from a deep passion that is almost impossible to explain. So, it’s true–one day I won’t be here anymore. Hopefully, that day will be far off in the future. If I let this cancer (or any other obstacle) silence me, though, my words will be history way ahead of schedule for the rest of me. That train of thought means there wouldn’t be a third novel–and that means some of my readers would thus want to kill me. 🙂

Therefore, I hereby resolve that, even if no one ever reads a single thing I write, my words are going to keep flowing despite the challenges. And if the blues show up again, I’ll simply write straight through them! Some things that are inevitable are good. Let’s celebrate those!

My best to all of you! “See” you soon!

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

Hi! Before I turn in on this Saturday evening, I want to get the word out that I’ve created and posted a new video for YouTube (and beyond). This one is very personal, in which I give my own demonstration of how women can fix their eye makeup to look very natural even though chemo has taken (temporarily) their eyebrows and eyelashes away. And yes, I actually start the demo with my bare face, for those of you who are curious. 🙂

This is the first step in my plan to start giving back, in the wake of my rather extensive cancer journey over the past two years. (You’ll find lots of posts on the subject in this blog, if you missed them, to give you more information on that journey). And before too much longer there will be another book, this new one falling into the nonfiction category (a very different experience for me than my novels) and designed to be of immediate help to women who’ve just been diagnosed with breast cancer. I will continue to keep you current on that book’s development and publishing progress, both of which should start zipping right along now that my chemo treatments are complete.

But the main thing I’d like to see happen with this new video is for everyone who views the film, and wants to be of help, to forward the video’s link to women they know are going through chemo or are about to do so. Forwarding the link to loved ones and friends of those women would also be useful. Missing eyebrows and eyelashes will not be a big deal for every woman undergoing treatment, but I’m hopeful that those who would like a little help will find at least one thing (even if that’s just support and commiseration) in “Chemo Eyes” at http://youtu.be/0C_rC5lamSw.

Thanks so much, in advance, for your assistance with this! Hope you’re all having a great weekend!

Read Full Post »

This past Monday, November 28, turned out to be an extraordinarily long day.

And yet much progress was made on the new book!

Although the arrival time for my chemo appointment on Monday was a couple of hours earlier than normal–which would have led one to believe that the day might end an equivalent number of hours earlier–alas, that was not to be. Because last week was Thanksgiving, lots of people like me opted not to have treatment on that Monday or on Thanksgiving Thursday (the only two days of the week that chemo is administered). Instead, a whole gaggle of us shifted our appointments to this week. That, as you might imagine, led to a backup of gargantuan proportions. I arrived shortly before 10:00 a.m. and left the chemo suite that night at 7:30.

Adding to the unusual nature of the day was the fact that this was the first time I’ve gone through the process alone. Normally, my daughter is with me. But she had an unmanageable conflict at work, so I went solo. Admittedly, that is not my favorite way to experience the experience, and yet I was able to make good use of the quiet time by writing a substantial portion of the chapter on the “hair thing” associated with chemo. Of course, the part I wrote during the 90 minutes following the IV bag of Benadryl wasn’t completely intelligible … or even exactly legible … since I had been making notes earlier in a spiral binder and decided, for some unknown reason to keep writing instead of plugging in my mini. But those pen strokes (and, believe me, I use the words lightly) marking up and down (and across and sideways) on the page did make me laugh. And then I got serious when the Benadryl began to wear off and the chemo drugs started infusing. In fact, I wrote for the entire four and a half hours of the infusion process.

Given my previous blog comments on the subject, there won’t be any surprise to learn that this “hair thing” is a huge component of chemo–at least for me. And the more women I meet at Sloan-Kettering, the “huge-er” the subject becomes. Each person handles the trauma differently. And some, amazingly enough, don’t even use the word trauma. Yet all are deeply affected by this particular side effect, which hits every part of the body, not just the head. Eyebrows, eyelashes, everything–nothing is sacred. Consequently, the manner in which women come to grips with the situation has become increasingly fascinating. And this chapter is extraordinarily important to me, because I’m hoping to offer a small measure of help to women who might be feeling alone or isolated in the midst of the decisions they have to make and those things over which they have no control.

My goal of having this book available on Kindle, etc., by the end of December seems attainable at the moment. And I’m especially motivated now that I’ve enrolled in the January Writer’s Digest Conference (https://cherilaser.wordpress.com/2011/11/25/happy-thanksgiving-wishes-for-peace-updates/) where I’m hoping to practice pitching this new work to agents, just for the heck of it.

Meanwhile, here are a couple of photos of me and my new hair taken with my Webcam in my office tonight. Thank goodness for the blessing of this thing on my head, because without it I look like a bald man! Seriously!  🙂  (Behind me is the glass wall separating my office from my living/dining room, in case you’re wondering about the reflection.) Hope you’re all having a great week!

Read Full Post »

First let me tell you that I’m writing this post on my iPad, one of my least favorite things to do on this otherwise magical box. But when I returned home at eight o’clock tonight from this first marathon chemo day, there wasn’t any Internet connectivity in my apartment. My wireless connection is working fine, but I can’t get online. Too tired to try further diagnostics, especially after experiencing connections problems today at Sloan-Kettering in the “Chemotherapy Suite,” I decided to use the iPad.

The reasons I don’t like to do blog posts on my iPad begin with the popup keyboard, which is not designed for any sort of power typing. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who learned touch typing in school and who now feels a bit grumpy at being forced to use two fingers on the iPad keyboard. But this isn’t the only problem for me with respect to my blog posts. I like to put phrases in Bold to help blog readers skim the key elements of the post, and I also like to use Italics for emphasis. I’m sure there’s some way to do those things with the iPad, but I don’t know how yet because I assiduously avoid using the iPad for blogging–except on days like today when I promised a post and have no other equipment choice. (Thank goodness for 3G!)

At any rate … Today was long but incredibly uneventful. And given the history of the past seventeen months, “uneventful” was a happy surprise. My daughter and I arrived at Sloan-Kettering a little before eleven o’clock this morning (Thursday the 13th), and she brought me home at 8:00 tonight. The first three hours involved a mixture of tasks–vital signs, a lengthy consultation with my oncologist, then the IV insertion, which took place after Melissa and I had been led into my “private room,” an upscale and well-appointed version of a room in an ER.

The first thing that was delivered through the IV was a 15-minute infusion of Benadryl. This was on top of the five steroid pills I had to take on Wednesday night and the other five I took at 11:15 this morning. This is all designed to avoid, as much as possible, any chance of an allergic reaction to the chemo drugs.

The next infusion was a 45-minute bag of an anti-nausea drug, which was on top of the anti-nausea pill I took at 9:30 this morning. The purpose for all of that is self-explanatory and also deeply appreciated!

Bags of saline were periodically dripping through a separate tube throughout this whole preparatory process.

Once the preliminary infusions were complete, the first chemo drug (called carboplatin) was started. This is the drug that attacks and obliterates the DNA in any lingering cancer cells, and the infusion is very slow, over almost four hours. For the first hour of that drip, I was still a bit stupid and slurry from the Benadryl. But as those effects wore off, I was able to enjoy the lunch that Melissa and I ordered for delivery. We didn’t eat until almost four o’clock, and now we know that, in the future, we need to order when we first get into the chemo suite. (Novelists learn lessons similar to this as well when they do things like introduce a new character well into the story, only to realize that the rest of the entire book–and possibly some of the earlier chapters as well–needs to be reworked or even rewritten to accommodate the new character.)

Finally, about six o’clock, the carboplatin bag was empty. But before I could start the second chemo drug called taxol, which basically destroys the tubular structures within each lingering cancer cell–a structure that facilitates the cells’ uncontrollable, unchecked division and reproduction–I had to take three more steroid pills that guard further against allergic reactions. The taxol renders the cancer cells’ internal structure totally broken, destroyed, and useless–forever. And the infusion is very fast–six times faster than the carboplatin! The entire bag was empty in half an hour.

Then one nurse gave me a bunch of instructions for stuff to do at home, along with filled prescriptions for additional nausea pills. This nausea thing used to be a really big problem for chemo patients, so the medical community has worked incredibly hard to come up with solutions. And, so far, I feel great. But I also know what to do if I feel something unpleasant start up. Well, here’s the surprise lesson for the day: This is not a nausea caused by a flu bug or something, when eating is the last thing you’d want to do. Chemo nausea is caused by drugs. Consequently, eating a small amount of anything is supposed to make you feel better right away. If you don’t, you have pills at hand to help making riding the wave tolerable. This appears to be one of the greatest advances that helps chemo patients sustain their normal quality of life as much as possible during treatment. And, so far, I’m feeling great.

Another nurse then removed my IV (which had been inserted almost painlessly, by the way, by yet a different nurse at the start of the process), and Melissa and I were free to leave, with our five bags full of electronics equipment, reading material, my 26-day Write-A-Thon project, scarves, coats, etc. (Honestly, we looked like we were planning to stay until Sunday!) We walked the five short New York City blocks to the parking garage, and thanks to a small volume of fast-moving traffic, we were across the bridge at my place in New Jersey within half an hour.

Not much work was accomplished, I’m afraid, on my 26-day book project, although I think I remember trying to open the instruction book and operate a yellow push-button highlighter during my several goofy Benadryl hours. But now that I know the drill, I’ll be able to plan more effectively for the time that’s actually available during the five remaining 7+hour chemo stays.

AOver the next three weeks, I will learn how the cycle of the two chemo drugs will work on my body (and mind), and how I’m going to feel at the different stages within the three following the initial infusion. For example, there could be some leg aches and pains during days 4-6. Or there could be nothing. But if there is something, I have pills for that too. Then, in three weeks, I’ll return to Sloan on Thursday, November 3, for the second of six iinfusion marathon days.

By then, most of the unknowns that can be so scary will have be revealed. My current hair will be gon,e and the new variety will be rotated on my head, depending on my mood. Finally, the official start of my 26-Write-A-Thon will be at least three days behind me–and I’d sure better be hard at work.

Once again, the publishing and writing journeys are merging here, and all things imaginable remain possible. Writers and cancer patients must never stop believing in that imagination! We’ve all heard the saying paraphrased here, which invites us to believe that, if we can vividly visualize something happening, we can actually make that something happen. Plenty of hard work is required, though, because dreaming is the easy part.

Ah, but how sweet and magical are those dreams that inspire us, that light the fires beneath our passions, that carry us forward over and over again to publishing success–to cancer survival! And I’m here to report to new cancer patients, who might be a few steps behind me in the process, that I believe you’ll find the first chemo day not to be anywhere near as frightening as you’ve imagined, while you watch as many of those scary unknowns begin to fall away! I’m also here to tell new writers, who are circling around the start of their first books, that once you plant yourselves in a chair, I believe that the words will indeed begin to flow out of you. And different sorts of unknowns will begin to reveal themselves at an ever-increasing level of enjoyment for each of you.

In my next post, I’ll fill you in on one of the writing exercises in my Write-A-Thon’s “training period.” The exercise was obviously designed for writers. But today, as I was hooked up to infusion tubes for almost five hours, I saw how valuable the steps would be for cancer patients as well. So, stay tuned.

Meanwhile, have a wonderful fall weekend!

Read Full Post »

… With a New Perspective on the Concept of Strength

Since I launched this blog on November 4, 2009, my routine (until recently) has been producing a new post approximately once a week. Sometimes the posts have only been separated by a few days–and I think the most time elapsed between any of the posts, in a worst-case scenario, was two or three weeks. Now, however, we’re sitting at almost two months since my last post, and I feel as if I owe an explanation to those of you who regularly follow my blog.

Of all the elements stitched together to create my own version of a social media process/network, this blog has been (and remains) my favorite–the little niche of the cyberworld that I somehow managed to create (unknowingly, at the start) to house the soul of my writing and the diagram of my dreams. And because the posts are published rather than held secret and close to the chest, I’ve tried from the beginning to strike a chord of familiarity, kinship, and the sharing of information with other writers on their own journey. Happily, that connection does, in fact, appear to have developed, as I’d hoped, although I’ve probably lost some of you lately. But I’d obviously like to increase the scope of readers reached (a goal shared in common, I’m sure, with just about every other blogger on the planet). Perhaps that will be easier once this post is finished and there’s an understanding between you and me of what’s been going on.

There’s a clearly defined mission here in this blog–not just for me but for anyone who simply stops by, or who follows me with a fervor, or who falls somewhere in between. My objective has been to create a place where everyone who’s on some sort of writing/publishing journey–no matter how fresh or seasoned the journey, no matter what level of complexity might be inherent in the writing projects–will find at least one item of immediate value (and hopefully a couple points of interest) embedded within each post.

In order to accomplish this plan, my blog posts needed to be published with a predictable, dependable regularity. And I believe that most bloggers would agree with me when I say that, of all the areas we might neglect from time to time, the regularity/dependability/predictability of blog posts is the last one we want to ignore. So, I’ve really been beating myself up over the distance between the ever-moving “today” and my last published post. There have been many posts drafted but not completed, and even more constructed fully in my head but never transferred to the computer during this long stretch of silence. Of course, none of you could possibly have known that.

One reason for this frustrating development is that I’ve been very careful about muddying up this blog’s clear mission through the inclusion of personal stuff. That pattern was broken a couple of times–once when the “hurricane without a name” hit our part of New Jersey in March 2010, sending me and my family (and thousands of others as well) out of our homes and into a hotel for several days. Pictures on those blog posts justify (for me, anyway) the momentary diversion from my publishing journey intricasies to a focus on basic shelter and food. Another brief detour from this blog’s mission involved intermittent references to my breast cancer (diagnosed on April 1, 2010) and the subsequent treatment. Prior to diving into the creation of my third novel, I’m in the process of writing a book inspired by the breast cancer experience. The book is intended for a target audience of women who are newly diagnosed with breast cancer, along with their family members and friends. My hope has been to have that book available to help those women and the people close to them by the end of this month (August 2011).

But that date is slipping, which brings me to (a) the reason for my extended posting absence, to (b) the heart of this post, and ultimately to (c) my re-evaluation of what we, as writers, might view as “strength” from time to time. Here’s the situation: For some reason that the good folks at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in Manhatta can’t yet figure out, I have now been diagnosed with three types of cancer in the last eighteen months. None of the three cancers is a byproduct of any of the others, and they’ve tested me for the potential immunodeficiency things that might be making me vulnerable to a situation like this. Those tests have all been negative. I’ve had six surgeries in fifteen months, the most recent two of those occurring since June 30. And there will be another major surgery required in September. The latest pathology isn’t back yet, but my surgeon suspects that this one is also being discovered very early, as the others have been. And, if his suspicions are correct, any subsequent treatment should be fairly easy to manage and work into my life. So, assuming the pathology (due early next week) ends up being what we anticipate, I’m actually very blessed. In the past many months, I’ve met a lot of wonderful people who are in a lot worse shape than I am.

Needless to say, the whole story is sort of long (perhaps the understatement of the decade) and will be addressed as an addendum in the new book I’m writing rather than as a blog post. But there are a couple of relevant points I do want to make here as I wrap this up. The first point is on the subject of strength. Until recently, I’ve been feeling immensely “un-strong,” concerned beyond words about readers of this blog and the fact that I was letting them down–concerned about the beautiful fans of my two novels who will be waiting for some time yet for the next story from me that will hopefully transport them again into the worlds I create filled with mystery, messed up families, illicit love, suspense, survival, and surprise plot twists.

The truth has been, though, that I haven’t really known what to write in the past few months, especially in this blog. I have lots of updates to share about the two novels I’m trying to market, along with a collection of writing tips I’ve been gathering as I craft my nonfiction project and my next novel. And yet none of those words would come together for me in a blog post, despite the many hours I spent thinking about them. Furthermore, because I’d been so adamant (to myself) about not bringing elements of my personal life into this blog, I didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to explain why I haven’t been writing to you. Consequently, what you’ve been receiving from me is nothing–and that hasn’t been making me feel very strong at all. Quite the contrary!

Over the last couple of weeks, however, I’ve started to acquire a different perspective on the concept of strength. Now I’m beginning to believe that, as writers, we’re stronger sometimes if we don’t say anything. Instead of “don’t just stand there, do something,” turn that around to say, “don’t just do something, stand there.” Perhaps simply publishing a post with a bunch of words because we’re “supposed” to publish a post with regularity isn’t nearly as strong as waiting a considered amount of time until the words we’re going to write are the best we can make them, designed, above all, to be of help to someone else. Sometimes we’re stronger if we fight back a little against the the guilt of not adhering to the crazy schedules we often set for ourselves. Perhaps strength sometimes means pulling inward for a little while rather than spreading ourselves all over the blogosphere like shapeless, directionless amoebas. And I’m convinced, in retrospect, that any blog post I might have written during the last six or seven weeks would have, indeed, come across as shapeless, absent of any direction, and of absolutely no value to anyone else. My prayer is that the post I’m writing at the moment is turning out to be at least a cut above that bleak description. 🙂

The second and final point I want to make as I wrap this up is that I am going to be just fine! I’m in great hands, in a great place–and the good people at Sloan-Kettering are not only going to figure this out, but I believe we’re all going to learn things from my situation that will eventually benefit others down the road. And now that I’ve explained things to you, I’ll be more comfortable about updating you regarding my health progress as well as my publishing progress–because I now understand that, from here on out, at least, the two elements have become, and will remain, inexorably entwined. (They’ve undoubtedly been that way all along. But I must have been thinking subconsciously that keeping them segregated would enable them to operate independently. If one wasn’t working, the other one still would. That might, in fact, be possible, with plenty of practice. I’ll let you know.)

A couple of additional blog posts will follow in close succession to this one, so I can update you on my promotional activities/accomplishments/status and share a few of the tips and ideas I’ve been collecting for you as I’ve been working on my new projects. After that, we should be rolling again on some sort of posting schedule that will remain undefined but certainly frequent enough to be of value.

I’m very happy to be back with you again, and I’m looking forward to hearing from you, if you feel like responding.

Hope you’re all having a fabulous summer and that your own writing Journeys are perfectly on track!

All the best to each of you. –Cheri

Read Full Post »

As a consequence of entering Separation of Faith in the “Best Books 2011” Awards competition (one of about 15 contests entered during the last couple of months), this increasingly high-powered little novel of mine is now listed “live” on USA Book News (http://www.usabooknews.com/generalfiction.html).

Winners of this contest will not be announced until October (2011), so the wait for some of these results seems rather interminable. But meanwhile, there’s new visibility as a byproduct.

Book Promotion

The list of promotional to-dos for Separation of Faith seems to grow exponentially by the day, appearing even longer, I sometimes think, because authors have to do all the work themselves (until they become famous … 🙂 …). I’ve been collecting promotional tips, which I’ll be sharing with you in a post later this week.

Current New Project

This is also the week that I will finally begin earnestly writing my next book, which I’ve decided will be my nonfiction story about the last year initiated by the breast cancer. (You can search this blog for all relevant references once the breast cancer popped up.)

Because I diligently kept a daily journal for many months after the diagnosis, and then wrote substantial notes thereafter, I believe this book will be the quickest to complete and properly edit. (You can also search this blog for all of the references to editing Separation of Faith, the most critical of all the steps in the production of this novel. I believe with all my heart that the high quality of editing is directly correlated to the success we’re beginning to realize in contests. Poor or nonexistent editing can squash the dreams about an otherwise well-written, innovative novel. And that’s the most important lesson learned from the post-completion phases of Separation of Faith!)

Once my nonfiction project is comfortably out of my head, I’m confident that focusing on novel #3 will become easier. As long as the nonfiction effort remains incomplete, I’ve found that there are too many distractions that keep me from the heads-down attention required to effectively fire up the next novel.

Lesson: If you have more than one book in your head, pick one to finish. Spending time scattered across more than one project ends up producing nothing of value at all. As we travel this Journey, unless we’re already celebrities, no one is going to be interested in our “ideas.” The only things publishing professionals want to see are finished books!

So, here I go, all set to create a work of nonfiction that will hopefully prove helpful to women who are finding themselves in the same place I was a year ago. More later on this project as the chapters materialize. Really fun (and incredibly fulfilling) to be moving back into the writing part of this Journey.

Hope you all have a great week!

Read Full Post »

A Quick Note from Sloan-Kettering in New York

My mini netbook and I are preparing this update at 6:30 am on Wednesday from my hospital bed here at Sloan. And I’m quite sore but doing fine. There wasn’t any lymph node involvement, which is huge news. The fact that they didn’t have to take any of those out will dramatically improve my recovery time.

At the moment, I’m scheduled to go home tomorrow. That could slip until Friday depending on how things are going. Given the extent of surgery, I wouldn’t mind the extra day here, but I’ll take whatever comes my way.

Thank you so much for all of your kind words and prayers. I’m very fortunate that I have a wonderful support network in my family and friends, and now in you as well. And when I opened my eyes yesterday afternoon in the recovery room, the first thing I did was thank God for letting me wake up. I think that was the scariest part for me as they were getting ready to put me under.

By my birthday in October, I should be fully reconstructed with beautiful breasts. The science and technology of plastic surgery following mastectomies is truly mind boggling. And because this was discovered so early, in a routine mammogram, I’m told that I should still be around in my 80s or 90s (at least as far as this cancer is concerned).

So, ladies, get thee all to thy mammograms forthwith!

My plan is to write additional posts while I’m here, although I’m not sure how relative they’ll be to the publishing journey.

Oh, I do have one update on that front, now that I’m thinking about it. Because I earned the Editor’s
Choice designation for Separation of Faith, I’m now eligible for the iUniverse Rising Star program where I would actually receive some marketing and promotional assistance. Of course, I’m only eligible at the moment, not accepted yet.

There’s quite an application to be filled out, in which I’ll need to explain my platform (there’s that word again), my promotional plans, and a bunch of other stuff. Originally, they were asking me to return the completed application by this Friday, May 7. But when I explained what was happening this week, they very graciously gave me an extension to May 27. And I did bring the forms/questions with me to the hospital so I can begin thinking about the details.

I’ll pop back in at some point later today. Meanwhile, thank you again for all the caring voices out there.

Cheri

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: