Hey, You, yeah you! The one who is wondering if she should waste a comment or just go. Yes, I know that you delicately tried to slip away out the back door without anyone noticing but damned if feedproxy wasn’t standing there, right behind you, yelling and pointing…“Hey, look she’s leaving! You suck!”
And just like that our blogger/reader love affair was over. I know that I don’t always say the right thing and sometimes I’m overtired and cranky and maybe I don’t even make sense but I thought you got me. I really thought you understood that not all of them are gold. I thought I was safe. This was a judge free zone. Some posts are flops but I didn’t know our relationship was so fickle that you would leave me over one bad day. One crap post. I’m sorry my dog died and my period came and the snow has been really bad. Sometimes a bloggers got to complain. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. But hey, I’ll do better next time. I’ll write a funny post about how to survive shark week without losing a limb or explaining your period to kids in a public bathroom at Panda Express.
You knew what you were getting into when we started this relationship. I told you from the beginning that it wasn’t always going to be sunshine and unicorns. I tell it like it is. I’m a real person and sometimes really bad and boring shit happens in my life. I thought our love was unconditional. I listen to your side in the comments. I don’t plug my ears and ignore you. I don’t delete what you have to say. You read and comment, I write and respond. We share. It’s symbiotic.Well, it used to be. We got to know one another. This isn’t match.com. You can’t just order up your flavor of the month and put me into a box. I have thoughts and opinions.
I never took you for the one giveaway type. I’ve never considered myself easy. Did you just pretend to like me to get into my “giveaways”? Say it isn’t so. Please tell me you didn’t subscribe to me JUST for the goodies that I could give you only to toss me aside once you’d had your way with me. I feel so used. Like a bloggy whore. I thought we meant more to one another than that.
Come back.Don’t leave. I won’t always be stressed and bloated and have cabin fever and my kids won’t always drive me up a wall. Things will get better. I won’t do it again. Let’s not take a break and if you are going to “unsubscribe” from this relationship, why not tell me why? Give a girl some closure. Think of it as an exit interview. Just drop me a note so I can grow and learn from it before I get my bloggy heart broken again.
I mean we shared at least one post that meant something to both of us, even if it was just a laugh while you were in the pick up line or an unsuspecting cry in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep? Or what about the time I made you shoot diet coke, wine or coffee out your nose? Let’s not even bring up the time you were reading about my labor while sitting on the toilet. I’ve shared my most personal stories with you. We’ve been intimate.
I wish you nothing but sunshine and unicorns unsubscriber. Just know that every time feedproxy sends me an unsubscribe notice, a blogger dies.
XOXO
P.S. If you would like to donate a subscription to the keep a blogger alive foundation subscribe here
Saturday was the anniversary of the Sandy Hook Elementary massacre. I was backstage, watching from stage left as my daughters performed their final show. I wanted to be in as close proximity to my girls as possible. I half expected some deviant, somewhere to decide to commemorate the anniversary with his or her own massacre. This is who I have become since December 14, 2012. I am afraid and I can’t shake it. Sandy Hook changed my life. Saturday, my heart was heavy for the mothers and fathers of Sandy Hook. The air was so thick I could barely breathe.
In our world, shootings happen frequently, so much so that it is no longer shocking. A crazed gun man walks into a post office, a disgruntled employee walks into his place of business, a religious zealot walks into a church, a long gunman walks into a mall or a theater, a jilted lover walks into a house…this happens all over the place, all the time but Sandy Hook was different it hit many of us where we live. Adam Lanza made us all feel vulnerable in a place where we already walk around like an open wound to the world; our children. He stole the one place we felt comfortable and safe leaving our children away from us; school.
Every morning when I drop my girls off at school, I am afraid that it might be the last time that I ever see them. Every time I hear a siren, I call the school to make sure everything is all right. If the girls are in a bad mood in the morning and we argue, I always rectify it before dropping them at school. I always hug them goodbye and I always tell them that I love them because I am terrified that something might happen and it might be the last time that we see one another and I don’t want my last words to them to be mean ones. The events that transpired that cold Friday morning at Sandy Hook Elementary did that to me. I know life goes on but my trust in the world has been broken and I am not sure that it can ever be mended.
For the rest of my life, my heart will stop when I hear a siren if my children are not in my line of sight. For the rest of my life, I will watch my children until they are all the way in the building. For the rest of my life, I will remember that my children are the most precious gift that life has given me and I will not take them for granted. For the rest of my life, I will not trust the world to protect our children. That is what Adam Lanza and his shooting spree has done to our world.
Children are not disposable. Human beings are not replaceable. No one needs a gun. Gun violence needs to stop and we need to prevent something like Sandy Hook from ever happening again.No parent should ever have to wonder if this is the last time they will see their child alive at morning drop off. We should not have to live our lives in fear. If you believe that the right to bear arms is more important that the lives of 26 people than we probably can’t be friends. Please pray for peace for the mothers and fathers of the Sandy Hook victims.
How has your perspective on life changed since Sandy Hook?
In an effort to go color blind, the world has missed an opportunity to recognize that brown and black lives matter too. It’s dismissive. Saying that you don’t see color, that you only see people is wonderful in theory but the fact of the matter is that, color does matter, especially to those who are of color. White privilege is real. Racism is real and those of us who are brown and black we feel the effects of casual and systemic racism almost as often and naturally as we breathe. Underneath the color of our skin, we are all human beings. By denying that the experience for those of color is no different than that of white privilege is uncaring and, quite frankly, the most condescending thing of all. The privilege of living your life without being first assumed to be a criminal is something most Americans can take for granted because criming while white often doesn’t have the same consequences as just existing in color. It’s much more dangerous to have black skin in America.
I’m not black. I can’t pretend to know how it must feel to be a black man or woman, especially with the contentious history with white America. I did, however, grow up in a predominantly black neighborhood, I am Latina, I’m a woman and grew up as blue-collar as they come. I’ve had a taste of what it feels like to not be white in America and it doesn’t feel good. In some cases, it is more than being treated as less than, outright hate and blurred systemic racism is terrifying.
The very word minority means being few in numbers, less than the majority. When you are of color, it’s “their” (to borrow a word from my white privileged friends) world and the rest of us are just trying to survive in it. Black kids and brown kids are raised knowing that “criming while white” probably won’t amount to any consequences but being born with melanated skin can get you murdered in the street for doing nothing at all. We accept this and whenever we get any crazy ideas to assert our equality, someone is always there with their white privilege and systemic racism to laugh in our face and not so gently remind us that we should go back to “our country”. Spoiler alert: this is our country. We have to work twice as hard to just be “equal”.
If you’re reading this and you have never felt less than (believe me, you can be white and feel this way too but there is a certain level of entitlement that comes with having alabaster skin) I am happy for you because it is demeaning. It’s like being caged and silenced. Imagine having to always try to prove yourself as worthy. Imagine praying that people can see past the color of your skin and get to know you the person before putting you in a box because of what you look like. If you do dare to be “equal” to deem yourself worthy of a better life, be prepared to fight the uphill battle of your life. It won’t be easy and you will be tattered and torn by the time you reach the top but it will be worth it.
The thing is you can’t hide the color of your skin. Before you even open your mouth or say a word, the world has already judged you on your skin color. It doesn’t matter who you are, we all have preconceived notions. We can’t help where we came from but we can help where we are going. We can choose to treat people equal. We can choose to judge people on their merits and not on the color of their skin.
The preconceived notions are what continue to kill our children. I hate to say it but I think when people see color, that color is automatically associated with a stereotype. It doesn’t matter what’s real and what’s not because the stereotype is ingrained and naturally believed. The volatile reaction to civil rights for all is born of the fear that we might actually be equal to the people we feel better than. Privilege only exists because one group is allowed to diminish the worth of another.
I grew up in the Chicagoland area and there are many people of different ethnic backgrounds but still, if Latino or black kids are seen in a group, they must be up to no good. They must be gang bangers, carjackers or some kind of other criminals. In these areas, we know our boundaries. We keep to certain neighborhoods, where “we belong”. We know that veering outside of those boundaries could mean trouble for us; like accidentally being shot or harassed by the cops. Never mind the south, we try to stay north of the Mason Dixon line because confederate flags still fly proudly in the south. I don’t know about you but I’ve always seen that as sort of a warning sign. Do not enter. Turn back now. Run. They fly Confederate flags freely, they don’t believe brown or black lives matter in the same way white ones do.
I’m not making this up. I didn’t create this broken system of hatred and systemic racism that refuses to embrace the rallying cry of black lives matter. This is the truth for many of us. How many young people have to die for us to say no more? Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Eric Garner and etc, etcetera. I could go on for days. Just watch the news. White privilege has been around as long as our country has. It started with the Native Americans. We have to choose to change it; to raise our children with bellies full of equality and respect for other human beings. Color should not be a consideration in matters of love and humanity.
The country is outraged and talking about racism today and that is wonderful but in a few weeks, it will fade away and the people of color will be abandoned once again by their current day freedom riders and be once again alone to face the bigots who would just assume shoot them in the face then ask questions. The saddest part of all, there are still people who will argue that the cops were within their rights to shoot these boys dead. There are usually no consequences for these officers. This is criming while white at it’s finest.
Here is where we differ.
I don’t believe that any boy, child, man, woman or girl should be shot dead in the street like an animal. I believe in justice and equality for everyone. I believe that until black lives matter, none of us are free. Until all of us are equal, none of us matter. To put it simply, being black or brown is not a crime and being white doesn’t make you exempt from moral accountability. If you shoot, we bleed, we die…whether you care or not.
Check out the # Criming While White hashtag on Twitter if you don’t believe me. Racial profiling is deadly. Ask yourself, are you white enough to pass “their” skin color test? If not, you might want to pay attention to the state of the world and your part in it. Be better. End systemic racism. Let them know that criming while white has consequences and those who pretend not to see do not get a pass of plausible deniability because they chose to close their eyes. Remind them that brown and black lives matter and we will not stand silently complicit as they get away with murder.
ISIS beheaded Steven Sotloff and the world watched, no one intervened. We let it happen.There was no rescue.I am fairly sick over the fact that our world has become so desensitized to the vulgarity and cruelty of the world that not only was it allowed to happen, we were allowed to watch the video. It wasn’t just photo stills, it was his brutal murder. All we could do is sit stunned and watch. It made me sick in my stomach, just the way I felt the day I watched the planes crash into the World Trade Center.
The news is over saturated with entertainment. While sad, these things seem inconsequential in comparison to what happened to Steven Sotloff and the brutality with which it was carried out. Leaked photos are not a national crisis in comparison to beheadings. We live in a world today where reality television is a mainstay and we’re all flies on the wall of society. But still, we do nothing. Nothing has changed except that now we KNOW, we see the awful things happening in real time. It’s disgusting. We are going to raise a generation of desensitized children. Soon, beheadings will no longer shock us at all. One day, my children’s children will not be rattled to their core as I am today.
What are we doing? I just watched the video that ISIS released of the American Journalist, Steven Joel Sotloff, a human being, have his head cut off very crudely with a hunting knife in the dessert, by a masked ISIS executioner as restitution for what our government has done. The brutality and coldness with which the executioner beheaded another human being, snuffed his life out, was nothing short of evil. I am in shock.
“just as your missiles continue to strike our people, our knife will continue to strike the necks of your people”
I don’t know how these things happen. How people, the general public, become pawns of government politics and terrorists. This man was not a soldier. He did not go to a foreign land to fight. He posed no threat. He was just someone’s son, doing a job, and because he happened to be American in a country that hates Americans, he was murdered like an animal. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The executioner crudely and callously sawed his head off with a hand held knife. It wasn’t a smooth motion to slit a throat, it was a hack job. This took calculated effort and a desire to finish the job. It took hatred. There was no compassion or humanity. There wasn’t even the courtesy of an ax. There was only brutality.
The whole thing was filmed and at the end, there in the dirt lay some mother’s son murdered, dead in the sand with his head placed on top of his corpse in some disrespectful, cartoonish way like a trophied kill by a hunter only this wasn’t an animal, it was a human being. This man was someone’s everything. He didn’t deserve to be beheaded. He didn’t die in the name of his God or his convictions and beliefs, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and no one rescued him.
Right before Sotloff died, he spoke calmly to the camera speaking words that I am sure he was forced to say under extreme duress, but he was eerily calm and resigned to his fate. In the end, he didn’t even resist. I think he had given up or was sedated or perhaps, just refused to give his executioner that last satisfaction of his fear. He’d given up waiting for his hero to rescue him. Given up on living. Given up on trying and wishing and praying.
I hate the Internet for giving these terrorists a venue. I won’t share the video as I don’t want to be part of the problem and really, I am doing you a favor by not sharing it. Don’t look for it. I will never forget what I saw in that video. It shook me to my core. I can’t unsee what I just saw and I can’t stop crying for this poor man and his mother who so desperately begged for his release and his life. It was warned that Steven Joel Sotloff would be beheaded after journalist James Foley was beheaded two weeks ago. Still, Sotloff was not rescued. Our government did not heed the warnings. No one did anything, other than his mother who publicly begged for her son’s life. Now, she gets to see her son, who looks tired and gaunt, in his last minutes before he is murdered speaking his last words and then she has to watch helplessly as he is savagely butchered by a terrorist. And finally, the baby boy that she once held in her arms and soothed to sleep, is laid out on the floor like garbage as a warning to Americans.
I understand that we do not negotiate with terrorists but the longer we take to “develop military strategies” safely from within the U.S. borders, more innocent Americans ( real life human beings not ideas or policies) are being brutally murdered, in real time, by ISIS. Did we learn nothing from 9/11/01? What are our leaders waiting for, ISIS to come to our country and go door-to-door beheading innocents to prove their point? How many mother’s sons have to die before we do something?
Today, I am saddened , sickened and shocked with the world and more specifically by ISIS and the Internet. I pray for the family of Steven Joel Sotloff, especially his mother, whose heart I know is irreparably broken, that she can know peace in the knowledge that those assholes can no longer terrorize him or hurt him.
Last night, I watched as social media became heated and divided over September 11th. These are just a few of the slurs I saw hurled at people.
“Do you live in fear? Do you send your children to school? Do you keep them home? You are stupid if you keep them home. If you keep them home, THEY win. If you send them and they die, at least they lived without fear. We can’t let THEM terrorize us. “
But I think that ship sailed on September 11th. We have been irrevocably damaged. Maybe we are not broken, but we are not the same. I stayed quiet because I reflect every year on these very thoughts but I do keep my girls home, but not for the reason you might think. This is my secret. I don’t usually talk about it and when I call the school, I make up some excuse of coughing and slight fevers but this year, I just told them that my girls weren’t coming in because September 11th is a day in our household of remembrance and mourning. It’s the truth. Why should I be embarrassed about it?
Today is September 11th and I find myself at the same spot I have every year since that day 13 years ago. I don’t live my life in fear but I don’t send my girls to school on September 11th either. I never have and I probably never will. No, I’m not a conspiracy theorist and I am not crazy. Keeping them home was not born out of some irrational fear that something terrible was going to happen on September 11th. It has come from a place of reverence.
What I am is a woman who was 28 years old on September 11th, 2001. I was just starting my life as a wife, living in Greensboro, North Carolina. My husband was in Pennsylvania traveling for work and I was walking into my office at the small publishing house where I edited. I walked into work just before 9 a.m. in time to see the first plane hit the tower. I was shocked; all the air was sucked out of me. We sat in silence and then my first reaction was to call my husband. I desperately needed to hear his voice. I couldn’t reach him. The phones were down. I never felt so alone in my entire life. The not knowing if he was safe, a sentiment that blanked the entire country, held me in its grip and my heart was heavy, so heavy I felt as if I was choking on the very air I was trying to breathe. A nation full of people sharing a single event and I felt completely alone in my grief, my pain and my fear. I know that I wasn’t but pain is personal. Like everyone else in the United States, I was changed that day forever. I am not the same person I was before that day. I know there have been mass losses before in history and have been more since, but none that have affected me so personally, none that I have been a first person witness.
Every year, I keep my children home from school as my way of stopping the world and remembering. It’s my moment of silence. It lasts 24 hours. Believe me, I never forget. I carry it with me every single day, as I do all the big moments of my life; the hard losses. But on September 11th, I stop in reverence and give myself over in silence and stillness. It is my very small way of paying homage to those men and women who died on that day. It is my way of showing respect to those people who loved them and were left behind to feel the pain for a lifetime. It is a small gesture and in the grand scheme of life insignificant but it is something I need to do. Last year, I explained what today was about to my girls. They know. They pray today for those children who lost their mothers and fathers on that day. They give thanks for those who survived. This is why my girls are home with me today.
I don’t know where the world is headed but I know there is a lot of terrible things going on right now. I can’t turn on the television without seeing someone being shot dead, hacked with a machete or innocents being beheaded. It’s overwhelming the amount of bad things happening right now and worse, what the Internet has made possible to see. Today, we remember all those who were lost to violence and terrorism, pray for those who have to survive the loss, pray for those who are still being victimized by those with hatred in their hearts and do our part to be channels of peace in this world we live in.
Be good to one another every day. Be kind and be reverent today. Pause and be thankful.
Chris Picco singing Blackbird to his son, Lennon James Picco, who was delivered by emergency C-section at 24 weeks when Chris’ wife Ashley unexpectedly and tragically passed away in her sleep. Lennon’s lack of movement and brain activity was a constant concern for the doctors and nurses at Loma Linda University Hospital, where he received the absolute best care available. During the pregnancy, Ashley would often feel Lennon moving to music so Chris asked if he could bring his guitar into the NICU and play for Lennon, which he did for several hours during the last days of Lennon’s precious life. One day after filming this, Lennon went to sleep in his daddy’s arms.
For more information please visit: https://www.piccomemorial.com To donate to a Memorial Fund to help with medical bills and associated expenses, please visit: https://www.youcaring.com/memorial-fun…
The clip shows musician Chris Picco singing to his son, Lennon, in the hospital shortly after the death of his wife. I know the heaviness that is in his chest. This is tragic and beautiful all at the same time. The entire situation is a tragedy but the time he got to spend with his son, even if it was only for a few hours, I am sure will always be regarded as one of the biggest miracles of his life; the most profound moments of all consuming, unconditional love.
My thoughts and prayers are with this father who has just lost his entire world.
My wedding and honeymoon were 15 years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. I’ve been helping my baby sister plan her wedding and I won’t lie it’s been taking me back to my own wedding and honeymoon. Weddings and honeymoons are all about new beginnings and starting your life and for us, a new beginning couldn’t have happened without a series of unfortunate events preceding it. Into every life a little rain must fall, of course, for me it was more like a monsoon wedding. It’s funny how when you look back you only ever remember the good parts of your wedding day.
Our mishaps began the night before the wedding; it started with a rehearsal dinner that ended up at a local club, which ended with a giant blowout between a couple in our wedding. Long story short, I spent the entire night before my wedding driving my bridesmaid around the city looking for her husband, a groomsman.
I got home around 5 am. My alarm for the biggest day of my life went off at 8 am; I woke in a hurried rush, grabbed my baby sister and the luggage under my eyes and barely made it across town to my 8:30 a.m. hair and nail appointment. Then the day just got crazier; lost bridesmaids, missing flower girl, a dad who wouldn’t take off his sunglasses, exes at the church and a bride who hadn’t eaten in 3 days and was having a full on panic attack but through it all, one thing was for certain, I knew the Big Guy was waiting for me at the end of that aisle and I couldn’t wait to be there…with him.
Father wears sunglasses in church because he’s too cool to cry in public.
At one point at the rectory, when I should have been sipping on champagne and being fawned over, I instead was struggling to find my way into my huge Cinderella-esqe dress on my own and had a mom on each butt cheek fastening my garters to my thigh highs. Talk about getting close with your mother-in-law. That was a bond sealing moment to say the very least.
Finally, I made it down the aisle but not before my ring bearer had a complete meltdown and wouldn’t walk down the aisle. 3-year-olds, what are you going to do? At that point, I was so nervous that I jumped the gun and nearly ran down the aisle into the Big Guy’s arms before my music even started playing. Just an FYI, if you ever find yourself in that situation, the organist, flutist, violinist and musician will all change their tune (quite literally) to keep up with the bride. I am sure it was amusing as an attendee.
3-year-olds are the best!
Once down the aisle, not once but three times did I almost take out the priest and entire front row of the church with my enormous gown. Think, Godzilla with a 10-foot train, in a China shop made of delicate Catholic souls. Thankfully, the presiding priest had a very in tact sense of humor and offered at one point to shear off the back of the dress to prevent any harm being done to women and small children. Thankfully, no one was hurt in the making of this wedding or honeymoon.
The groom looks debonair. The bride looks like maybe she needs to go peepee.
Of course, a bride who hasn’t eaten in 3 days, had a near miss with a panic attack and ran down the aisle as if she were Cinderella about to turn back into a pumpkin probably should not have been given celebratory cocktails. From what I remember of the evening, there was a trolley ride for the entire bridal party that included alcohol on an empty stomach, then there was an arrival to Star Wars Music (it was my one compromise) and then a bouquet thrown before anyone had a chance to take a photo (waiting is not my strong suit) and the combining of champagne glasses. Let no man put asunder what a bride has combined into champagne flutes.
No sleep, no problem. Bride takes quick nap on way to reception.
I vaguely remember it taking 4 bridesmaids to assist me in the peeing process ( 2 to hold each side of my ball gown wedding dress, one to hold my hands and balance me as I hovered over the toilet and one to pull my panties down and dab) and something about a 10 foot train that kept coming unbustled. Boy, do I have some good friends. Then it gets blurry.
Wind blown, no food and keeping it classy with a can of beer. Ain’t love grand?
Next thing I remember was leaving our reception to find our SUV saran wrapped covered in condoms, rice and Vaseline. We were in our early 20’s and apparently our friends were infantile. We had to cut our way in and then make a quick stop at a car wash before heading to our honeymoon suite at the hotel downtown. I remember doing the peepee dance in my stark white wedding dress, in front of our SUV and it’s fuzzy but it seems there was some hanging on to the bumper and trying to balance myself enough to pee while my brand spanking new husband help up 50 pounds of satin and tulle. Champagne goes right through you.
Next stop, the fancy downtown hotel. By this time, I am barefoot and running around the hotel lobby in search of a restroom large enough to accommodate my dress looking and behaving anything but fancy. My bridegroom rushed to check in before I ended up on the evening news.
Bustle broken, bride busted; time to hit the potty! NOT 1987…1999 & we partied like it was. I was scaring small children with this monstrosity of a dress.
We got up to the honeymoon suite to find more champagne and a basket full of wedding night sexiness but all I could do was the peepee dance and order my husband to get me out of the dress as quickly as possible so that I could pee in peace. Finally, I got to pee and then I promptly passed out leaving my husband to drink champagne and feed himself chocolate covered strawberries.
The next morning, I awoke to discover my wedding dress and trousseau on the floor and my overnight bag and shoes curiously missing apparently in the hurry and chaos, no one remembered to pack MY (the bride) overnight bag. There was no way that I was putting that dress back on, so I wore my husband’s (who is 6’5″ while I am a mere 5’7″) tuxedo back to my in laws house where we were opening gifts in front of friends and family before departing on our official honeymoon. I looked like the kid in Big when he changed back to a kid. It was embarrassing and ridiculous but that night we had a honeymoon reboot and it’s been awesome ever since. The rest of the honeymoon and the marriage have been easy compared to the wedding.
I guess it could have been worse; I could have gotten a UTI on our honeymoon. Yikes, that would really put a damper on romance; not exactly the type of “burning love” that I was looking forward to on my honeymoon! We know that having a lot of sex in a short period of time without letting your body recoup can cause irritation, which in turn can make it easier for you to get a UTI. Also, certain positions such as woman on top cowboy or reverse cowboy can increase the risk of contracting a UTI. Isn’t lots of sex in various positions in a short period of time the exact definition of a honeymoon?
Luckily, there is Cystex PLUS Urinary Pain Relief Tablets, an OTC UTI medication with an antibacterial agent that helps to contain the progression of infection, as well as help reduce the pain and burning sensation with an analgesic while you wait to see your physician. For recurrent UTIs, Cystex Liquid Cranberry Complex is a great-tasting, drug-free, daily supplement that is clinically proven to promote urinary health with its convenient Proantinox cranberry formula containing vitamin C!
Enter the Cystex® Romantic Night In Giveaway hosted on www.facebook.com/Cystex for three winners to have a chance to win a gourmet dinner for two delivered to your door with a gift certificate from GourmetStation.com, a $150 gift card to Victoria Secret to create more honeymoon moments and a box of Cystex® PLUS Urinary Pain Relief Tablets and Cystex® Liquid Cranberry Complex. Entry period for the Cystex® Romantic Night In Giveaway will occur from 7/24/2014-8/21/2014.
For more information about Cystex® and to learn more about burning love visit www.cystex.com
This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Cystex®. The opinions and text are all mine.
There’s nothing quite so terrifying to a woman over 40 than unintentionally skipping a period because it means one of two things, either you’re unexpectedly pregnant or you’re perimenopausal; neither option is very appealing to me at this point in my life. (more…)
Disclosure: This is a sponsored post written in collaboration with Touchstone Crystal by Swarovski but all opinions about breast cancer and breast health are my own.
We women need to become more proactive about our breast health. We spend our lives putting other’s needs ahead of our own but they need us. We know that and if that’s the case, isn’t it our responsibility to take care of ourselves so that we can be around for them?
I get it, the thought of a mammogram is a bit daunting, especially your first one. I’ve had 2 and I was definitely a little nervous before the first one but it’s nothing. You get to wear a nifty half top, you go into a room and (if you’re lucky) a really nice nurse will explain it all to you and then she’ll situate your breast when she places it in the machine. It is a little snug. I am rather well-endowed and I have dense breast tissue and we have to make sure everything is in the scan. Honestly, the most uncomfortable thing about the whole thing is if your nurse has cold hands. Luckily, mine was courteous and warmed hers up first. It only takes a few minutes and it can save your life so get over yourself and do it.
There are a lot of great resources for women readily available to us these days like the National Breast Cancer Awareness organization. Right now, you can sign up for a free e-book, The Breast Health Guide What every woman needs to know. It includes tips on how to be breast health aware and includes questions to ask your doctor.
I thank God that my have friends have survived breast cancer with the help of successful breast cancer treatment and procedures like breast reduction surgery and many others. Luckily, as more is learned about breast cancer we can be more proactive in catching it before it infiltrates the rest of our body. Breast cancer is the most common cancer diagnosed in women in the United States, other than skin cancer and is the second leading cause of death in women. The scariest statistic? The chance of a woman developing breast cancer sometime in her/my/your lifetime is about 1 in 8.
We’ve made great strides in research and currently, we even have genetic screenings in place to look for the BRCA1 and BRCA2 markers in women who might be predisposed to getting breast cancer but there is more to be done. We can’t stop until we eradicate this disease.
BRCA1 and BRCA2 are human genes that produce tumor suppressor proteins. These proteins help repair damaged DNA and, therefore, play a role in ensuring the stability of the cell’s genetic material. When either of these genes is mutated, or altered, such that its protein product either is not made or does not function correctly, DNA damage may not be repaired properly. As a result, cells are more likely to develop additional genetic alterations that can lead to cancer.
Specific inherited mutations in BRCA1 and BRCA2 increase the risk of female breast and ovarian cancers, and they have been associated with increased risks of several additional types of cancer. Together, BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutations account for about 20 to 25 percent of hereditary breast cancers and about 5 to 10 percent of all breast cancers. In addition, mutations in BRCA1 and BRCA2 account for around 15 percent of ovarian cancers overall. Breast and ovarian cancers associated with BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutations tend to develop at younger ages than their nonhereditary counterparts.
A harmful BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutation can be inherited from a person’s mother or father. Each child of a parent who carries a mutation in one of these genes has a 50 percent chance (or 1 chance in 2) of inheriting the mutation. The effects of mutations in BRCA1 andBRCA2 are seen even when a person’s second copy of the gene is normal.
A woman’s lifetime risk of developing breast and/or ovarian cancer is greatly increased if she inherits a harmful mutation in BRCA1 or BRCA2.
Breast cancer: About 12 percent of women in the general population will develop breast cancer sometime during their lives. By contrast, according to the most recent estimates, 55 to 65 percent of women who inherit a harmful BRCA1 mutation and around 45 percent of women who inherit a harmful BRCA2 mutation will develop breast cancer by age 70 years.
Ovarian cancer: About 1.3 percent of women in the general population will develop ovarian cancer sometime during their lives. By contrast, according to the most recent estimates, 39 percent of women who inherit a harmful BRCA1 mutation and 11 to 17 percent of women who inherit a harmful BRCA2 mutation will develop ovarian cancer by age 70 years.
We’ve all seen the Pink Ribbon, the universal symbol for breast health. But it’s much more than that. It’s an international symbol for hope for a cure and, to me, survival; either survival of one badass woman who beat breast cancer or a family member who survived losing someone to breast cancer. Either way, that little pink ribbon signifies female strength at the highest level.
Touchstone Crystal created some pieces in honor of the American Cancer Society Making Strides Against Breast Cancer initiative, which supports women in the fight against breast cancer. A portion of the proceeds from the sale of these products will be donated to the American Cancer Society.
To find out more, click here.
Touchstone provided me with a beautiful dainty Pink Ribbon for Breast Cancer Awareness necklace. It’s absolutely gorgeous and so delicate and feminine. I love it but I’m sending mine on to a friend who just celebrated her 10th breast cancer-free anniversary. She found out she had breast cancer when her daughter was just a newborn. She is one of the kindest and sweetest women that I’ve ever known and the world would be a far less interesting place without her in it. She also happens to be a total badass cancer survivor.
Touchstone Crystal is also providing me a necklace to give to one lucky reader. For the chance to win one for yourself or to give to someone in your life who is struggling with or has survived cancer enter below.
