Sophia: "Neilochka, you certainly love writing about my breasts on your blog, don’t you?"
Neil: "Of course. They’re the most exciting things I’ve had to play with since my Etch-A-Sketch."
Note to God: Are you crazy? Why did you create the most beautiful things in the world, a brilliant piece of female anatomy that comes in so many tasty shapes and sizes — and then come up with this breast cancer shit?
Sophia: "You know, it’s National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Why don’t you say something about breast cancer?"
Neil: "Like what?"
Sophia: "You can talk about me."
Neil: "I can?"
Sophia: "It’s been a year."
It’s been a year.
It’s been a year since they found cancer in Sophia’s left breast.
Last year was pretty shitty. This is why I was so glad that the Jewish New Year finally came a couple of weeks ago. Maybe this year will be better. The year had ended with my father passing away. It began with Sophia learning she had breast cancer.
There was no history of cancer in Sophia’s family, so it came as a total shock. It was a time of stress, fear and uncertainty. National Breast Cancer Awareness Month is a great idea – except when your life was just turned upside down and you suddenly became a "patient" dealing with breast cancer. Everywhere you go, you are reminded of the disease. At the supermarket, there are banners hanging. You try to escape to the mall, and everyone is selling pink bunnies, slippers, bracelets. Neither of us knew much about cancer, but we sat down for a quick education. We read every medical site and every book possible. We got the best doctors at Cedars-Sinai. Sophia had a lumpectomy and through her own research, found out about a radical experimental radiation treatment.
Sophia was so brave throughout.
It was a new experience for me, as well. I was supposed to be the caregiver, the "rock," but I was probably more of a "big stone." Although I was always at Sophia’s side, I had this slight little problem of always being more nervous than Sophia herself. I wish I could have been more like Sophia was when my father was in the hospital. She can be a "rock." I never had the strength to demand the best of everyone in the hospital, the way Sophia did for my father.
In fact, I found the experience so stressful, that two days before Sophia was to have her surgery, I got so tense that I ended up at Cedars-Sinai’s Emergency Room myself! I don’t think the ER nurses ever really understood why my wife was calling me on the phone cursing at me for being in the hospital.
Many of you have emailed me through the last couple of months, asking why Sophia and I are separated. The most common comment is "You write about her with so much love and admiration."
There’s no one I love or admire more than Sophia. Today, despite everything she went through, she is more beautiful than ever. But, she is still on medication and dealing with continuous treatment and the side effects. Sometimes, she gets down on herself or fears for her future health. But she’s a brave and strong woman. And boy, is she funny too. I think a good sense of humor is really important in keeping yourself healthy. On Saturday night, we actually worked together on that recent post on my blog — the one about the flowers and the "sticker." When we finished it, we must have laughed for a half hour. There’s nothing more exciting to me than seeing Sophia laugh and smile.
Sophia’s sense of humor helped her maintain a great relationship with her doctors. She was especially friendly with her great surgeon, Scott Karlan and his caring staff. After her surgery, Sophia thanked him by ordering him a marzipan cake shaped as two huge breasts, with one a little bit lopsided, like hers was after the surgery.
I hope Sophia knows how much she means to me — whatever she is right now — my wife, my separated wife, my friend, my blog editor-in-chief, my dance partner, or the straight man in most of my blog posts.
I think I learned to be a better "rock" during times of hardship, even if I didn’t always say the right thing. I still try to "fix things" when I should just listen. Once a week Sophia goes to a group at the Wellness Community, a great place, where people with cancer, their friends and loved ones can talk about different issues. One of the biggest complaints heard very often is that people just don’t know how to talk to someone with cancer, either out of insecurity, fear or stupidity.
In honor of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Sophia’s group did something special for "Citizen of the Month" :they made a list of stupid things people have said to them. Let’s hope that reading some of these will help us avoid making the same mistakes.
15 things you should never say to someone with breast cancer:
But you’re so young!
How long do you have?
And you have such beautiful breasts!
Oh no, what are your kids going to do?
You shouldn’t be depressed because if you get down, you’ll waste what little time you have left.
God only gives you what you can handle.
But you look so good!
Two people just died in our office from cancer — these things always come in threes.
Oh, no. That’s so weird. I just saw Melissa Etheridge in concert last week.
I’m wracking my brain. What could have you done to cause it?
Do you use paper or plastic? — because I read plastic can cause it.
At least with a double mastectomy, you’ll be even.
Don’t say the word. Just say "C."
Now you’ll see if he really loves you for you.
I know how you feel.
Here’s something you can say:
Sophia, you’re amazing. Congratulations on being a one-year breast cancer survivor — and getting healthier every day!
Sophia, I’m so glad you’re through that storm. This blog woudn’t be the same without you.
Sophia, congratulations on your one-year anniversary. I can’t imagine how much strength it must take to get through this, but I can say that I’m impressed with your resilience. And Neil, no matter how much of a ‘stone’ you felt/feel like, I would imagine that Sophia was and is grateful for your love & support. Not to mention a buttload of belly laughs.
Wow, I didn’t know. That’s great that you are so supportive!
Congratulations Sophia! I can’t even imagine how tough this past year has been for you both. I admire the love you two have for each other, regardless of where your relationship may be right now. Cheers!
Wow, Neil and Sophia. I’m really amazed by you both – Sophia’s strength, and Neil’s unwavering respect.
I have two friends who have cancer (theirs, however, not of the breast variety), one of which is in a particularly bad place right now. I needed to read this. Thank you for your inspiration.
Sorry that I’m late to the game on such an important issue. Fantastic story and although you and Sophia are obviously having a rough time making it work together, I lurve (ha,ha) that you work together.
And, about being a “rock”… I think that there is something to that. Perhaps if you would have been too calm, she would have had more time to freak out. If you’re freaking out, she can be distracted by trying to calm you down–a feat much simpler than tackling breast cancer…at least I would imagine…
What a beautiful post and how fitting for this particular month! Thank you for sharing with your readers.
Neil and Sophia, thank you for such honesty about each of your struggles…you will touch and help a lot of people.
Sophia–refuah shlema. G-d should bless you with a long & healthy life.
Neil, people need rocks, but sometimes big stones are equally good because…at least they’re there and noticeable!
I hope this year is a better year for each of you.
I am very happy that Sophia is doing so well. Hats off to her and to you as well Neil
Many congrats to Sophia! Getting through that first-year-after-the-bad-news is a big deal!
My contribution to your list of unfortunate responses isn’t a funny/appalling line someone said, but a way certain kinds of people react. I was operated on for cancer about four and a half years ago. Some friends came through magnficently, including some I hadn’t known were such good friends. Some friends I’d thought I was close to just evaporated. (Understandable, cancer’s scray, all is forgiven.) There’s one kind of person I bumped into, though … They really didn’t like it that I had cancer. I finally figured out why. It’s because I got the cancer for no good reason. I always lived healthily. Exercised, didn’t smoke, didn’t get fat, watched the diet, etc. I’d done nothing wrong, so to speak, yet I got cancer anyway. And a certain number of people just seem to get freaked out by that. I guess they need to believe that if they eat well, take walks, avoid cigarettes, etc, they’ll live ’till 95 — that they’re guaranteed to live ’till 95. So somoene who does everything right yet still gets cancer really rocks the conceptual basis of their world. Funny.
All the best to both of you, and much sympathy (and admiration) on surviving such a tough year. And may it be the last tough year for a long, long time.
Even though I never met any of you, I feel as if I know
so many of you through reading your comments on Neil’s blog (and taking peeks at your own blogs.) What a great community of people!
I’m really overwhelmed and very touched by all your good wishes and warmth. Thank you.
Neil….wow….great post…I had no idea that your wife was a breast cancer survivor. Or if I did, it somehow slipped my mind over the course of the past couple of weeks. Is that how you ended up finding my blog?
Lauren
[...] Neil Kramer is a writer and web producer and he is Sophia’s caregiver; on his post “Citizen of the Month Wants a Cure” he writes about a lot of things of Sofia’s experience with breast cancer [...]
My wife died from a rare cancer that was incurable at the time and probably still is. (Leiomyosarcoma) Whenever the worry, pain, treatments did not stop her, she would be just as vivacious as the day I met her and the following years. Amazingly, she was even beautiful after having delayed cutting off her the long hair that was her pride and joy. After she died I found a paycheck receipt. With all the torture she was undergoing form multiple operations, chemo, radiation and experimental drugs; she managed to work for a few days more only two weeks prior to her last day on earth. Incurable? She never gave up and I guess I didn’t either as I realized later that I told her she did not have to keep her Federal employee life insurance in place for me. Were we both in denial?
These women are something! They seem to be attacked by cancer at the very heart of their femininity. She on her uterus, others on the breasts; what is it with this, GOD! Now I have it from the prostate and threatening to go out into the rest of the body just like all the rest of this stuff. It is like we are rotting away, one cell at a time after serving to procreate. Not right, not good, and not fair at all.
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Outstanding comments from so many people.
I had a double mastectomy 6 years ago, but 12 and a half years ago I had two stem cell transplants to stop multiple myeloma, an incurable cancer of the bone marrow.
My book, “Cancer Etiquette: What to Say, What to Do When Someone You Know or Love Has Cancer” is published by Lion Books. The book is my way of making suggestions that may help all of us better deal with the complex issues of trying to communicate about cancer. What we say and what we do counts.
Rosanne
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YOU ROCK SOPHIA!! Seriously girlie… CONGRADULATIONS!
Oh and I agree with the second commenter! Kicking in the shins repeatedly would suvice (if that’s the spelling!)
PEACE!
Found your site through random breast cancer searches in google, etc… and wanted to say that this was a great entry. I hope things are still going great! My wife is, in October, going to be a 1yr survivor. She will have a mastc and reconstruction soon, too. God bless every single woman, especially the ones stronger than us men, to go through something like this!!
Congratulations Sophia and you are very blessed for having a very good friend and hard rock by your side.
melissa @ hats for cancer posted Chemo Cancer Hat Green