Pale Girl Speaks
Page 25
Me: Harper, you know I don’t like it when you say Willa is lazy.
Willa: But I am lazy!
Harper: Ask me what I’m thankful for! Ask me!
Me: You’re not going to say diarrhea, are you?
Harper: I’m thankful for my best mommy in the whole wide world.
Willa: Harper, everyone says they’re thankful for their mother. That’s, like, what every single person in my entire class said. They were thankful for their family, their dog, blah, blah, blah . . .
Me: So, what did you say?
Willa: You’re going to like this one, Mom. This is a good one.
Me: What?
Willa: Well, Alison first asked us to think about the most important thing in our life, so I said love—
Harper: Gummies! Or avocados. Can avocados be the most important thing in my life?
Me: Yeah, I . . . guess. You think avocados are more important than your family? Than me or Dad or Willa?
Harper: Well . . . I love you and Willa more than avocados, but I’m not so sure about Dad—
Me: Harper, that’s a terrible thing to say—
Willa: Can I finish what I was saying! I said “love” and—
Me: That’s very sweet. I think you’re right. Love is one of the most important things in life.
Willa: No, no, that’s not the part I wanted to tell you! Don’t interrupt me! I said the most important thing in life is love and . . . sunscreen.
Me:
Harper: Like, for Mom.
Me:
Willa: Yeah. Like, for Mom.
Author’s Note
As I write these final pages, some decade after the shock of my initial diagnosis, I realize how far I’ve come. In 2001, everything about my life was in question: my health, the possibly of not having children, my . . . future. I remember feeling lost, not really knowing what to do next, and yet filled with a nagging determination to beat this “thing” I was up against. To conquer and move past it—that was the mission at hand.
I can now say, with time and age and hundreds of ounces of sunscreen behind me, there is no real way to move past a cancer diagnosis. To move past something evokes a sense of finality, and unfortunately, with cancer, there is no actual endgame . . . except the inevitable. Staying proactive about one’s health requires awareness and constant vigilance, particularly when it comes to such a worthy opponent. Fighting cancer, whether it is breast or prostate, colon or lung, is a continuous battle. The battle may not be raging every moment or in the forefront of one’s mind every hour of every day, but it’s never far behind. It’s there, kinda wandering around, poking its ugly head into and out of the action. Yes, melanoma is a part of my history, but it is also my present and my future, and that I have come to accept.
In 2003, after two years of “no evidence of disease,” my oncologist gave me the green light to get pregnant. I was monitored and checked and scanned and counseled, and I was grateful through it all. I was grateful for the opportunity. I never knew how much I wanted to have children as I did the moment that option was nearly taken from me.
My second melanoma was diagnosed in 2005 and again caught early. My third melanoma, well, was removed just days ago, along with a lymph node in my neck. After eight days of endless waiting, I received the “all okay” from my oncologist that the node had tested negative for melanoma—early detection continues to save my life.
My father, as he approaches his ten-year anniversary, has had no recurrence of his original tumor, nor has he had other new primaries. While I can’t know for sure, I feel very strongly that the vaccine trial that he (reluctantly) participated in saved his life. A version of his treatment is still used today.
I continue to have moles removed, most of which are abnormal, precancerous, or premelanoma. This is my cross to bear. I’m done questioning or blaming. Rather, I focus my energy on protecting my girls and educating whomever will listen. Decked out in my all-black, full-body rash guard (armed with sunglasses, a hat, and a tube of water-resistant SPF), I have been called the Sunscreen Guru, the Shady Lady, the Swimming Ninja. These titles I wear willingly and proudly, because I have earned them—the hard way. And I know I am finally doing something . . . something important.
As for my hospital “family,” I have lost touch with most all of the wonderful people I was fortunate enough to cross paths with during my time there. Ultimately, though, this story is for them. I think about them. I imagine them all living their lives—cancer free—with flowing manes of wonderfully thick hair. I know this is a fantasy; I know most of my friends lost their battle. There are few miracles, but still . . .
I like to imagine.
I hope.
I sometimes even pray.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Norm Aladjem for starting me on this crazy adventure, to my incredible agent, Laura Nolan, for her enthusiasm, persistence, and continued belief in me and “the cause,” to my editor Brooke Warner for embracing my book’s eccentricities and saying yes, to Kori Bernards for her tireless determination, to Dr. Leland Foshag for his steady hand and generous spirit, and to my team of friends and misfits, who have specifically encouraged, inspired, and supported this wild ride: Emily Ain, Julie Berk, Maya Brenner, Jill Greenberg, Kelly and Ron Meyer, Jennifer and Fred Savage, Jim and Barbra, Tim Turnham, Audrey Prins-Trachtenberg, and Patricia Weitz. Each of you, in your own way, has made this journey possible . . . and bearable.
My girls, Willa and Harper, who make me want to make them proud. Willa, you are my heart. Harper, you are my strength. Mom and Dad, I love and appreciate you both more than words. Mom, I officially forgive you for telling me I have a big forehead . . . mostly because I finally realize I do have a big forehead. You have always believed in my writing, even before I had anything to say. Dad, thank you for trusting me to share our story. I am inspired by your work ethic and by how you still try to buy Mom shoes every Christmas, even though she hasn’t kept a single pair.
Lee and Noel, I decided early on to spare you from my crazy musings. Lee, we both know you are the writer. I hope one day you’ll decide to share your writing with the rest of the world. Noel, to me, you’ll always be six, have a bowl cut, and be moments away from stripping off your clothes and doing your “naked dance” in my bedroom.
Lex, you were, and always will be, my best friend. No matter how different (you think) our lives have become, you remain a constant symbol of unconditional friendship. Thank you for your love, support, and counsel. And Susan and Andrew, thank you for always being interested and listening and pushing me to finally finish!
Most important, my amazing husband, Adam, who has been with me since long before I could legally drink. You are my rock. You give me perspective and encouragement, always. You’ve taught me how to hug (tighter is better), how to cook, and how to be a wife, and you’ve made me a mother. Your faith in me gives me the courage to keep keepin’ on. Thank you . . . for everything. I love you.
About the Author
Hillary Fogelson is a writer, blogger, tweeter, melanoma survivor, sun protection activist, and sunscreen guru. A graduate of NYU, she lives in the shadows of the Hollywood sign with her husband, two daughters, and Alvin the dog.
Selected Titles from Seal Press
For more than thirty years, Seal Press has published groundbreaking books. By women. For women.
Kissing Outside the Lines: A True Story of Love and Race and Happily Ever After, by Diane Farr. $16.00, 978-1-58005-396-9. Actress and columnist Diane Farr’s unapologetic, and often hilarious, look at the complexities of interracial/ethnic/religious/what-have-you love.
Rocking the Pink: Finding Myself on the Other Side of Cancer, by Laura Roppé. $17.00, 978-1-58005-417-1. The funny, poignant, and inspirational memoir of a woman who took on breast cancer by channeling her inner rock star.
We Hope You Like This Song: An Overly Honest Story about Friendship, Death, and Mix Tapes, by Bree Housley. $16.00, 978-1-58005-431-7. Bree Housley’s sweet, quirky, and
hilarious tribute to her lifelong friend, and her chronicle of how she honored her after her premature death.
Fast Girl: Don’t Brake Until You See the Face of God and Other Good Advice from the Racetrack, by Ingrid Steffensen. $16.00, 978-1-58005-412-6. The quirky, real-life chronicle of how one woman stepped outside her comfort zone, shrugged off the shackles of suburban conformity, and changed her entire perspective on life through the unlikeliest of means: racecar driving.
Dancing at the Shame Prom: Sharing the Stories That Kept Us Small, edited by Amy Ferris and Hollye Dexter. $15.00, 978-1-58005-416-4. A collection of funny, sad, poignant, miraculous, life-changing, and jaw-dropping secrets for readers to gawk at, empathize with, and laugh about—in the hopes that they will be inspired to share their secret burdens as well.
How to Die in Paris: A Memoir, by Naturi Thomas. $17.00, 978-1-58005-364-8. The edgy, poetic memoir of a young middle-class black woman who escapes a tortured past in New York to pursue a new life in Europe—only to find herself broke, desperate, and contemplating suicide on the streets of Paris.
Find Seal Press Online
www.SealPress.com
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Twitter: @SealPress
Copyright © 2012 by Hillary Fogelson
Published by
Seal Press
A Member of the Perseus Books Group
1700 Fourth Street
Berkeley, California
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Fogelson, Hillary.
Pale girl speaks : a memoir / Hillary Fogelson.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-580-05493-5
1. Fogelson, Hillary. 2. Fogelson, Hillary—Health. 3. Melanoma—Patients—California—Biography. 4. Skin—Cancer—Patients—California—Biography. 5. Cancer—Psychological aspects—Case studies. 6. Cancer—Patients—Family relationships—Case studies. I. Title.
RC280.M37F64 2012
616.99’4770092—dc23
[B]
2012003840