Memoir notes
Over 10,000 children are diagnosed with cancer in the United States each year. Although cancer is the number one cause of death by disease in kids, the death rate is relatively low: about ten percent of those diagnosed will die. Still, there are 270,000 childhood cancer survivors in the country. I am one of them.
More than 325,000 open-heart surgeries are performed each year; over 40,000 mitral valve operations are done annually in the United States. I was one of them. Twice.
A new case of breast cancer is diagnosed every 3 minutes; again, it is relatively treatable. Only about 41,000 of the roughly 180,000 people who are diagnosed each year will lose their lives. In May 2009, I became one of the diagnosed cases, and in July 2009, I became a survivor. Again.
Children who receive chemotherapy or radiation are eight times more likely than their peers to have serious health problems a decade or two after they complete their treatment.
The statistics are somewhat old--I began collecting them when I was 32, before the second heart surgery and the breast cancer--but they are frighteningly real. However, I had an incredible support system the first time around, including my entire, tiny town, and that carried over into my struggles in my 30s. For this, and so many other reasons, I count myself as truly a lucky, blessed individual.
Okay, maybe not at the time of the cosmic bitch-slap du jour, but I am annoyingly optimistic. My other characteristics? I get freakishly annoyed when people invade my personal space without a valid reason, and I would prefer to just put my head down and work at whatever task is at hand than be in the spotlight, which is why this memoir is so difficult. Which name should I write under? Will a memoir lose credibility if it's written under a pseudonym? What about when/if I go back to the classroom? (I also live in my own head at times. You'll get used to it. You've undoubtedly been to worse places.)
My memoir, by its very nature, must be about me, yet I'm generally very private until I get to know someone well enough to share. But this is an important story, and one I need to tell. I may have moved out of the classroom, but I still feel there's a lesson in all of this.
Good grief, I hope so. Yeah, purpose would be good.
More than 325,000 open-heart surgeries are performed each year; over 40,000 mitral valve operations are done annually in the United States. I was one of them. Twice.
A new case of breast cancer is diagnosed every 3 minutes; again, it is relatively treatable. Only about 41,000 of the roughly 180,000 people who are diagnosed each year will lose their lives. In May 2009, I became one of the diagnosed cases, and in July 2009, I became a survivor. Again.
Children who receive chemotherapy or radiation are eight times more likely than their peers to have serious health problems a decade or two after they complete their treatment.
The statistics are somewhat old--I began collecting them when I was 32, before the second heart surgery and the breast cancer--but they are frighteningly real. However, I had an incredible support system the first time around, including my entire, tiny town, and that carried over into my struggles in my 30s. For this, and so many other reasons, I count myself as truly a lucky, blessed individual.
Okay, maybe not at the time of the cosmic bitch-slap du jour, but I am annoyingly optimistic. My other characteristics? I get freakishly annoyed when people invade my personal space without a valid reason, and I would prefer to just put my head down and work at whatever task is at hand than be in the spotlight, which is why this memoir is so difficult. Which name should I write under? Will a memoir lose credibility if it's written under a pseudonym? What about when/if I go back to the classroom? (I also live in my own head at times. You'll get used to it. You've undoubtedly been to worse places.)
My memoir, by its very nature, must be about me, yet I'm generally very private until I get to know someone well enough to share. But this is an important story, and one I need to tell. I may have moved out of the classroom, but I still feel there's a lesson in all of this.
Good grief, I hope so. Yeah, purpose would be good.
