Category Archives: Cancer Series

Writing is my passion, but cancer awareness is my personal mission.

This series is varied and traveling towards the more formal realization
of a ten-part series titled, “African Americans and Cancer.”

Without racial prejudice, I find it necessary to target this specific
demographic FIRST because, until I was “Big C diagnosed,” I was
arrogantly among the many myth-believers and media-misled.

There is a need for plain-speak, a need for truth and the ability to identify
with cultural trends and familial history that the medical community
too often neglects in their quest to educate the African American patient.

This cancer series is my stab at being a voice for the people, because
we are all equally important despite diversity. We are also deserving of
a healthy and happy lifestyle, despite race, creed, color, ethnicity, or religion.

The latter begins with education.

What’s a cancer survivor like me doing in Ebony? (The back story)

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ebony-logo

CLICK LINK TO READ MY JOURNAL DEBUT:

Cancer is Crazy: Journals in the Raw (Part I)

http://www.ebony.com/wellness-empowerment/cancer-is-crazy-journals-in-the-raw-part-1-967#axzz2SScicOu0

First allow me to remind some and initially inform others that I’ve been writing/blogging about African Americans and Cancer for more than two years. Penny Dickerson Photo Image #2I was diagnosed with Renal Cell Carcinoma in 2006 after decades of other health related issues that affected my reproductive system and resulted in a series of ongoing catastrophes. Additonally, I was told I’d never have a child. My daughter, Kelsey Nicole, turns 23 in June. I beat odds.

It wasn’t until last week, May 2, 2013, that my voice, my story, my advocacy was given a national platform. It was and remains a blessing in due season.

This didn’t come by luck or by brown-nosing anyone in high places. It was favor and by that I do mean spiritually, coupled with the good heart and professional favor of a savvy editorial director at Ebony Magazine (Digital). Actually, I impressed the CEO/President of TJM Communications, Inc. (Treva Marshall). Her firm was contracted to manage public relations for the Disney Dreamers Academy with Steve Harvey and Essence Magazine.IMG_7165

Treva referred me to the  Ebony.com Editorial Director who offered the opportunity to write                       

“The Kinsey Collection.”

It is a fascinating historical representation of an African American family’s private art collection and  debuted at at Walt Disney’s Epcot Center the same weekend as the Dreamers Academy took place. Time is everything. 

Ebony (March 20, 2013)   “A Whole New World: The Kinsey Collection”

http://www.ebony.com/entertainment-culture/a-whole-new-world-the-kinsey-collection#axzz2SU2Smcty

My initial goal with Ebony was to get a paragraph or two in by the end of March to honor Kidney Cancer Awareness month which was also the same month as DDA. I’d previously shared with the editorial director that the REAL struggle with cancer begins AFTER survival. Physicians save you, but you have to put your life back together.

The result of  my pitches and (perhaps) harrassment was an offer to do a cancer journal, twice a month with the following caveat: “I want it to be raw.”  (I still can’t believe she presented such a generous offer.)  Thinking I (really knew) what raw meant, the following online dialogue between she and I ensued:

Writer in the raw:

This raw you speak of, do you mean like this?: Revision #`1.

Editor’s Response (days later): 

“Penny if you don’t want to do it, that’s OK. I want this to be cathartic for you.”

Writer in the raw (to self):

“She must want me to show off my metaphorical genius. You mean like this?” Revision #2

Editor’s Response (a week + days later):

“Penny, I want you to emote, not report. Think the antithesis of reportage.”

By now it’s mid April. I’ve sent a string of other non-cancer related pitches and driven her stark mad with emails that go to her phone. Professional (or scared stalker) that she was, she always responded and usually at length. (For freelancers, that’s unprecedented).

Stumped by the journal, I simply stopped writing. I recalibrated and went through my old journals to see what I actually wrote back in 2006, 2007, 2008, you get the chronology. I also scanned through my old M.F.A. binders and reviewed the words of previous mentors, one of whom wrote the following feedback on a submission prior to my graduating:

“You’re finally writing like you don’t care who’s reading.” Translation: RAW!

I then reviewed some notes from Rick Horowitz (Huffington Post and a MASTER on teaching writer’s to learn their “voice.”). One of the BEST workshops I’ve ever attended.rick horowitz

After that, I was courageous and good to go.

Revision #3 is the published link above and the first in a series of “to be determined” entries.

By now, it’s the end of April. I’m told that the journal will debut as part of an Ebony    “Woman up!” series highlighting “Sister Stories.”

Mine will be included, but they need my photo image by Tuesday, April 30, 2013 (What?) That was the next day.

Well, my great artistic friend Greg McKinnon (of Alvin Ailey Scholarship Recipient, Cats and Starlight Express – EUROPE) had me semi-scheduled two weeks ago to do some shots that I procrastinated on. According to him, he was sick of seeing my blurry photos and camera phone shots on all of my public sites. Greg was also a model while in Europe and therefore knows a thing or ten and has more equipment and gadgets and lights and booms than I’ve evah seen.photography equipment

Monday night, April 29th, till about 2:00 a.m., we played Top Model and had a good ‘ole time. I am a horrid model and we must have taken a gazillion shots. By night’s end, I was so dizzy and nauseated (forgot medicine), that he had to bring me home; I left my car at his house, which incidently has been my 2nd house since high school. I can go in his Mama’s pots AND I know where they keep the toilet paper.

I want people to understand that these things, these blessings, these opportunities, this favor, does NOT happen overnight. In the midst of all of the above, I continued to write major features for other affiliates, was hospitalized for five days…no, as a matter of fact I didn’t widely share that bit of information, and I also continued to hold it down as Professor Dickerson at Florida State College at Jacksonville. Trust me: I am nobody’s whiner.

A cohort of small minds have voiced that, “Penny is milking that cancer thing for all it’s worth.” Really? Whose been reading my cancer blogs? Have you any idea how many editors politely tell me to “stick it?” Throughout the years, many have but most editorial relationships I’ve developed are sustainable and treasured.

My health has indeed been an ongoing saga, but not for the reasons many may think. It’s a multi-layered struggle that has many dimensions. I think it’s called playing the hand you’re dealt and making lemonade when life serves you lemons. What’s milk got to do with anything?CT of Kidney Cancer

Let me share this: A 9 cm tumor basically ruined my life. “BATTLE” as associated with cancer is not limited to the physical disease. Even if you think you know about my struggle, I assure you, I have never revealed HALF of what this has taken me through, but it will be exposed in these upcoming journal entries.

I have been a freelance writer since 2001. While it’s been intermittent, writing is my passion and on some level, I’ve always been a lover of language and gravitated towards prose. My first, FIRST, freelance article appeared in the Florida Times-Union. It featured three local dancers admitted to the Alvin Ailey School of Dance summer program.

That was A LONG time ago and 12 years later it’s still an act of media congress to get a story in the Florida Times-Union. For some odd reason, many also think I started writing when my first  website launched in 2010. NOT! The website was simply a much needed portal to market both me and my work. My writing precedes it.

Click the link below to read: LOCAL TEENS TO ATTEND AILEY

http://jacksonville.com/tu-online/stories/060901/ner_6381011.shtml

I have kept at it, kept at it, kept at it, studied, stayed up late, studied with MASTER writers  and poets, given up, slowed down, gotten back up, and yeah, NOW I’m published in Ebony, but it has been a 12 year hike uphill and this is not the end nor is it the pinnacle.

It is, however, definitive symbolism of a professional milestone for which I am proud, but I continue to foster and nurture dreams and goals. And when I dream, I dream big, bold, and in technicolor.

Every writer understands the gravity of this opportunity. A national platform in a digital format for ANY writer in the 21st century is a coup and I quote: “EBONY.com is the premiere online magazine destination for African-American cultural insight, news, and perspective.” 

Don’t HATE because cancer serves as a formidable outlet for creative exchange. Love me because I am using my voice and gift(s) to  prevent you from getting cancer.

HATERS-HATE

Those who know me (well) can also attest that I am one of the most resourceful and undeterred human beings on planet earth. My confidence sometimes wanes, but I keep it moving. MOVIN’.

Now that I have your attention, please take time to read and share the links below. There are so many devastating cancers in the world, but the ones we pay the least attention to are the ones that unfortunately affect us the most.

Each of my journal entries will begin with the same excerpt from my Duke Medical Center Records. You’ll learn that Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center in Winston Salem, NC also played an integral role in my treatment. The following sentences bookend my personal journey.

Ms. Merdis Dickerson is a 43-year-old African American female who began experiencing abdominal pain in the spring of 2006 and was noted to have gallstones…

The Pathology showed a clear cell renal cell carcinoma, grade II out of IV, which was confined to the kidney and measured 0.9 cm in greatest dimension.” –

Excerpt from Duke Medical Records: Raleigh, North Carolina

kidney_cancer stages

Black Kidney Cancer Patients Die earlier than White Patients

http://www.ebony.com/black-listed/wellness-empowerment/black-kidney-cancer-patients-die-earlier-than-white-patients-981#axzz2SScicOu0

Kidney Cancer Tshirt

Black Cancer Death Disparities – Why the difference?

http://www.ebony.com/black-listed/wellness-empowerment/black-cancer-death-disparities-why-the-difference-981#axzz2SScicOu0

Penny Dickerson 2013

Meatless March

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Let’s get the important questions out of the way first: “Who thought of this?”  Whose big idea was it to proclaim the month of March as a “meatless” countdown of tofu indused stress and a fruit and grain marathon?  I love all fruits and most grains as well, but I am not one to adhere to dictations and orders. (I am a work in progress).

Don’t get me wrong…I”m doing it, because I am “calendar–obedient.”  I am obedient in other ways, but other than abiding by the tenets of “Oprah,” I rely on the calendar months to remind me when it’s time to honor “this cause or that” versus just simply watching the days of the week go by in each month and then claim with glee: TGIF! Donna Summer left us with a real gem.

meatless_march

I can give up anything for 31 days. It’s been done before. While living in Jersey, (yes, New Jersey…there’s only one), I endeavored the organic diet-thing and did so with much success. I’m not going to discuss the impetus for the change because it just seems to make me a martyr for cancer and I’m not. I am a strong-survivor, but I would be a deceitful blogger if I allowed readers to believe that diet along cures it all. It doesn’t. Don’t believe the hype. Diet is essential. Diet helps. But diet alone simply gives you mental peace and an intestinal tract that is happy. And who doesn’t want a happy intestinal tract?

digestive-system-healthy-foodstuffs

Me and meat? Us been bedfellows for years since I was a mere, fried chicken eating tot to an adult, collegiate-chick who craved the smoked ribs my mother MASTERED on her front patio grill. NO ONE can smoke a rib like my mother. Unfortunately, no one can put heat to any section of a slaughtered pig’s carcass or a cow’s butt like my mother either. I grew up doing the same, and until I really needed to change, I didn’t.

I am a great cook. I enjoy cooking and own cookbooks and aprons. (Real cooks have aprons – plural). I celebrate a pallette that has tasted delicacies from most cultures, but as an adult, my pallette has changed. I am aware that being carniverous means partaking of the carcass of an animal which leads to most carcinomas. OK Class: which three words are closest in  relation? Carniverous, Carcass, and Carcinoma. Perfect. You each earn an “A.”

Living life as a carniverous human (meat eater) who worships at the altar of a carcass’ flesh (animal tissue and meat) will ultimately lead you to suffer from a debilitating carcinoma (disease classified as cancer).

These days, I tend to be “grossed-out” by grease and feel immense guilt after a good plate of curried goat. I will, however, CUT CHU over some good jerk chicken. (yes, I am blogging out of boredom).JamaicanJerkChickenText-WEB1

What really sent me to the keys and got me ta-tap-tap tapping away is the fact that I needed a mental break from the rigors of my life. What may they be? Hmmmmm. In no particular order they are the blessings of writing (Thank you Jesus, Martha and Mary), an upcoming week that is destined to be exciting and hopefully destined, my precocious granddaughter “Journey Nicole” who requires or demands nothing in particular of me, she’s just worthy of mention because she’s so friggin’ cute, and the new guy. Yes…the new guy. I am some-kind-of-way meatless in March and mood-altererd over a new guy in Miami. I am over the moon. (Maybe:-)

Anyway, when I am stressed, I do one of two things: I write or  I cook. Sometimes I read, but that would be three things. Prior to hitting the “keys” I prepared black bean salsa with mango and parsley for my daughter and I. Actually, I made it for me, but she devoured it.

wpid-2013-03-03-21.29.50.jpg

It’s good stuff. Nutritious, delicious, colorful, textured and flavor fitting, and most important: meatless. Why? Because it’s March (pay attention).

Last week, actually Friday when March madness began, I kicked off the meatless festival with a beautiful breakfast. Actually, my first meal of the day is rarely meat-complemented because I am an oatmeal connoiseur and additionally love yogurt. Unfortunately, I also adore bacon. Yup. You heard me right. Bacon. I love the smell, the idea, the slender appearance, the salt-induced orgasm… Oh baby! Bacon really does make everything better, but it is sho’ ‘nuf meat. Even Turkey bacon, which I both have in the fridge and enjoy, but, “Wow.” C’mon March. No meat? Really? If this is followed by “Agnostic April,” I’m out!

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The photo above is Friday’s breakfast. Two eggs, sunny-side my-way and sitting pretty on a bed of diced red potatoes cooked with yellow pepper and scallion. Yes, I take pictures of my food. Don’t you? No? Well, I do. How else do you think I keep this website going?

So, the thing about going meatless, is not that you miss the meat, you will, but what you’re really missing is “texture.”  Meat is generally the most textured and tough, tongue-tantalizer in our meals. In the absence of meat, we feel like we’re indulging in a slippery and empty digestion of food that leaves us saying, “Gee, I’m still hungry. You still hungry? I”m STILL hungry.”  In addition to needing to replace the protein you’ll miss from meat, rack up on foods that are loaded in texture. meatless-meal-001Kelsey (my daughter) enjoyed her black bean salsa with tortilla chips and the red beans and rice I prepared. I feel full, and felt the same way after Friday’s breakfast. How many more days to go? Hmmmmm. I dunno. I think there’s something about NOT ingesting something you’re used to that makes you want it MORE. (Someone reading this is going all “blah-blah-blah” over rice and potatoes being starches, but ya know what? Relax ~ Yes, they are a starch, but they are not meat!)

The entire city of Jacksonville smells like fried chicken I am not exaggerating. I am spending day three into Meatless March craving fried chicken. How “residential fair” is that? Popeyes, Church’s Chicken, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Jimmy’s Buttermilk Chicken, Hardees Fried Chicken. We are a southern city of grease saturated fowl. We can’t help it though; It’s law. I actually “jacked’ that from another one of my own blogs: “frying food in the south is practically law.”  And who wants to be an “outlaw?” Not even a freed slave in an Academy Award winning movie. Sometimes, I wonder if fried chicken emerged before or post civil war? I don’t dwell on it, but it does occasionally cross my mind.

OK. The other M’s in my life are calling: midnight, morning, Monday, murder (Part V of Jimmy Jackson), preparing to see Mickey Mouse, Miami and a man named “Michael.”  I think I have a better idea about Meatless March and it is: MODERATION.      (I totally cheated at the breakfast buffet this morning with a strip of bacon, but I swear, I double-dog SWEAR, I also ordered a made-to-order veggie omlette).

meatless_monday_logo_336x180

M-O-D-E-R-A-T-I-O-N

Absolutes have never been my strong suit.

Penny Dickerson

African American Childhood Obesity: the skinny on fat

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This blog is featured in HBCU Lifestyles: http://hbculifestyle.com/contributor-how-you-can-help-african-american-youth-fight-obesity/

Being the fat kid will never be cool.

America is a skinny nation and an ad hoc committee on “acceptable appearance” has deemed that fat ain’t where it’s at and skinny is in. Media influences applaud the weight loss efforts of the rich and famous as their guant faces and emaciated bodies are flaunted on red-carpets. The recent exception was Gabrielle Sedibe whose round features earned her the lead role in the film, “Precious.” Personally, I remember her character’s story, not the actresses weight, but many others don’t share my reflections because  bone-thin is considered socially appropriate, beautiful to some, and the cultural standard that’s adverse to being obese.

For African American children, this prejudicial outlook is a double whammy as they already suffer so many identity ills in their adolescence that fosters bullying, teasing, ostracizing, and low self-esteem. None of the latter are conducive to a population of healthy adults and more important, the affects of obesity in an African American’s childhood is a tremendous threat to physical health and can ultimately lead to morbidity.

Click link to read:   “Obesity, Appearance, and Psychosocial Adaptation in African American Children.”

http://jpepsy.oxfordjournals.org/content/28/7/463.short

Experts refer to childhood obesity as an epidemic, and the dictionary defines epidemic as, “the rapid spread or increase in the occurrence of something, (such as disease.)

“Approximately 22 million children under 5 years of age are overweight across the world. In the United States, the number of overweight children and adolescents has doubled in the last two to three decades…” (source: Childhood Obesity: the Health Issue”  http://www.nature.com/oby/journal/v9/n11s/full/oby2001125a.html

Scholarly articles and scientific research aside, my cultural insights are my best authoritative source. I am an African American woman raised by a woman who can sho ‘nuf cook and I am a parent who can do the same. My family is of southern origin and there are nutrition negatives that are embedded and welcome obesity like a warm pan of corn bread hot out the oven. An African American child may not want to be obese, but nobody says No to hot corn bread or mac n’ cheese swimming in a pool of butter or collards or cakes or cobblers. What’s a potentially obese child to do? Just say no? I don’t think so.

African Americans are also less critical of childhood obesity. A chubby child in our community is considered: “well fed and healthy.” An obese child is given a genetics pass: “Antoine’s mama is big-boned, and so was his grandma.” My grandmother would marvel at the immense baby fat of her great-grands and say, “Oh that’s a fine, fine baby right there.” For the African American, fat may not be where it’s at, but fat (and phat) is historically what’s us.”

African American children grow up with “good food” serving as a central part of family life. I’ve blogged it before, and again digress: on Fridays we fry fish, and on Sunday (after church) we all-day soul food indulge, and it’s customary and expected to follow it all by doing what? Sleep. Can the church say EXERCISE? Amen ~

The obese African American child is a product of his/her environment and cultural environments are a direct result of historical experience. Slaves were given the hog’s leavin’ and days off from “the field” were enjoyed by gathering for a meal. Once freed, African American slaves were initially granted 40 acres and a mule, but as a people we continue to statistically enslave ourselves. We lead the unemployed and poverty populous, receive welfare and food stamp assistance in high numbers, and have more difficulty maintaining healthy family structures which leaves more African American children as latch key statistics. Childhood obesity is cyclic and epidemics are generally birthed by an inability to break or control cycles.

From “The HillTop”  The Student Voice of Howard University

“African American girls lead the country in childhood obesity”

http://www.thehilltoponline.com/african-american-girls-lead-the-country-in-childhood-obesity-1.1727781

Multicolored, nutritious meals may appear reserved for television families for African American children, and an after school snack is often whatever is served during extended day and/or tutoring programs. Mother is rarely waiting at home in a apron baking hot cookies or preparing peanut butter and jelly on wheat served with a side of celery sticks and a box of raisins. Junk food is often the only time-friendly food for a single parent, and let’s face it, we live in a society that commercially ropes our children in for the kill. Childhood obesity may potentially lead to disease and mortality, but television media gives each African American child a Prime Time pistol and a round of  :30 second commercial bullets.

In defense of the African American obese child, I understand they have become an epidemic’s target, but encourage the public to realize how difficult it is for an obese child (or anyone) to win a statistical race when they don’t leave the starting block with the same training or at the same time as their racial counterparts. African American children, despite the education and financial demographics of their parents, simply grow-up different and are indoctrinated with a unique set of social constructs, the least of which is food and nutrition. In support of health care professionals nationwide, they are correct. A future population of African American adults is at risk of being plagued by preventable diseases like diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart disease due to the epidemic of childhood obesity.

The good news (and thank you for taking the hype-hike with me) is that good nutrition can be taught, learned, and culturally embraced. Illness, specifically cancer, inspired me to change my diet and cooking patterns, and I was just lucky to raise a ballet dancing daughter whose metabolism welcomed the word, “thin.”

Be not deceived. In her youth, my daughter ate more Ramen noodles, pop tarts, and sugar-coated cereal than the law allows (I now bow my head in maternal shame.) The favorite breakfast I still prepare for her includes salmon croquettes and homemade biscuits. The former is fried in vegetable oil, and the latter is mixed, kneaded, and baked with Crisco shortening and mellowed with Land O’ Lakes butter. My African American child has plenty of good reasons to be obese, but I am thankful she is not.

The fight against childhood obesity in the African American family starts at home. My collard greens are now cooked sans smoked meat, but rather stir fried in olive oil, garlic, and jalapenos and then reduced with broth and balsamic vinegar. My daughter begs me to prepare greens as a side and additionally loves steamed asparagus and black bean salsa. Who knew? A child’s palette can be reversed and trained and cornbread can be delicious using wheat-based flour or meal.

School lunch brought from home stopped being cool when the Fat Albert lunch box became distinct, but there remains some rather “Hip” replacements as observed by my Walmart snooping eyes. I invite you to consider the following in helping ward off childhood obesity:

  1.  Encourage your child to be physically active.
  2. Discuss preparing and packing lunch this school year.
  3. Survey nutritious, after school snacks.
  4. Allow your children to compose the grocery shopping list.
  5. Extend meal preparation to include the entire family and use RECIPES. This not only advances literacy, but also educates, promotes family interaction, and fosters fun.

African American children faced with obesity are not the new bulls-eye waiting to be universally struck by statistical arrows. They don’t deserve it. Obese children are simply a faction of a family and an integral part of every community whose emotional needs must be identified and addressed.

The next time you see a politically incorrect “fat kid,” don’t concentrate on their obvious obesity. instead, give them a high-five and compliment them on what a great smile they have or the glean in their eye. At the end of the day, acceptable appearance is in the eye of the beholder. We are all a “healthy work in progress!”

Thyroid Cancer and Mammograms (Challenging Dr. OZ)

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Link to Dr. Oz article

http://www.doctoroz.com/question?query=thyroid+cancer+and+mammograms&qa=1

Link to clarification and challenge by the Elizabeth Wende Breast Center

http://www.ewbc.com/news/articles/mammography-amp-thyroid-cancer

We all love Dr. Oz.  Despite his authoritative demeanor and hypnotic spiels regarding all things health, I encourage everyone who reads new information about health care trends to read new information about health care trends.

Indeed, cancer is on the decline in America due to preventive screening compliance amongst women (and men); however, thyroid cancer is on the rise. Why? Therein lies the controversy. According to the two links above, failure to use thyroid guards during mammograms and during dental visits is a contributor as well as estrogen levels.

Whenever we see the big “C” in writing or hear it discussed on T.V., ears perk, eyes widen, and depending on the report: panic ensues. Indeed cancer kills and if we left it to our fast-paced and varied media culture, everything from standing in front of microwaves to holding a cereal box with the bar code close to your skin causes cancer. In addition, it seems that breast cancer and the need to promote that “pimped pink ribbon” has almost elevated the disease to a level of vogue. If you don’t have breast cancer or you’re not a survivor, you’re just not cool.

Conversely, blueberries, dark chocolate, asparagus, almonds, and kim chee are urban legend favorites for halting atypical cell growth or preventing cancer. Who on earth are we to believe? My educated, remission-conditioned-self advises you to seek medical attention you trust, cross-reference all that you view and read, and lead a heart-healthy lifestyle that includes a high-fiber diet, exercise, personal enrichment, and spiritual balance. If the latter isn’t your cup of tea and you’d prefer to indulge in greasy, rich foods, make love to your couch all day with the remote in tow, and embrace anxiety versus peace, then you’re probably going to be a bulls-eye target for cancer and her diseased cousins: cholesterol, high blood pressure, and diabetes.

The choice is yours. Read new information and then read new information.  Educate yourself.

We all love Dr. Oz – and the Emerald City too – but kicking cancer requires more than a Dorothy three-heel click.

Penny Dickerson 2011

MAYO CLINIC: Money woes eliminate Medicare & Medicaid patients

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Residents in need of specialized health care have been  blessed to have one of  the countries prestigious Mayo Clinics located in Jacksonville; however, recent state cuts to eliminate both Medicare and Medicaid will literally “cut-off” many who have lost insurance and can’t afford to pay “cash” due to the recessive state of our nation’s economy.  Bureaucracy & budget cuts now eliminate access.

I have the good fortune of being a coveted, Mayo Clinic patient. At the beginning of treatment, I was gainfully employed and paid egregious health care premiums to Blue Cross Blue Shield of Alabama (Corporate headquarters for my former employer).  After jumping through preexisting condition hoops, pushing paper back and forth, and pulling out my few buds of hair, I was finally approved to receive a medically necessary “Neuro-stimulator” to combat nerve damage and chronic pain resulting from multiple, cancer-related surgeries. I am lucky.

The high-tech spinal cord implant is costly and manufactured by St. Jude’s Medical division. The coordination of many medical professionals and representatives was strategic to take me from the initial “trial” phase of the implant to the more complicated neurosurgery. Time lapsed. Blue Cross Blue Shield took their time. My employer grew weary of continuing to afford time off.  By the time I finally completed the trial and had my next surgery, four months and more than $200,000 in total cost has been incurred including office visits, labs, image studies, physical therapy, and I choose to include “out of pocket” expenses for frequently driving to the south’s, sprawling Taj Mahal and valet parking. The latter wasn’t a requirement, but just in case you don’t know anything about Mayo Clinic,  the only thing worse than missing a scheduled appointment is being a milli-second late.  Valet parking saved me on many tight-squeeze days.

Most of the aforementioned is behind me, but my FMLA  ended with reasonable employer notification, and COBRA was gleefully offered. Who can afford to pay $600+ a month for health insurance premiums? No one I know. I was granted Social Security following my initial cancer diagnosis, so I am entitled to Medicare Part A & B.  The latter would be a blessing if I lived in a state with a sane governor or didn’t need my spinal cord implant serviced by both the hospital of my choice and the facility best equipped to monitor its functionality and progress.

There has never been a more important political climate than now for Americans to use their voice regarding the state of health care. This issue directly affects me, and I’m sure countless others you know and love.  Specifically, the elderly population who command the highest need for world class, specialized health care. For this populous, it’s dire. Use your voice!  Write your legislators, congress, and health care lobbyists.

Penny Dickerson 2011

                        ~  Please CLICK the important link below ~

http://www.heartland.org/healthpolicy-news.org/article/27913/Mayo_Clinic_Makes_Medicare_Medicaid_Cuts.html

   

 

African Americans and Cancer: Dispelling Myths

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This blog is featured in HBCU Lifestyles and is No. 1 in a series on

African Americans and Cancer.

http://hbculifestyle.com/african-americans-and-cancer-dispelling-myths/

Cancer is no respecter of persons. Anyone can be diagnosed with the often deadly disease which is commonly misunderstood, misrepresented, and adversely affects the African American population at a rate faster than any other ethnicity.

Women, children, the elderly, middle-class or wealthy, and the ever growing populous of impoverished Americans are all targets.

  Cancer Facts & Figures for African Americans 2011-2012

http://www.cancer.org/acs/groups/content/@epidemiologysurveilance/documents/document/acspc-027765.pdf

Being an African American cancer survivor has offered me immeasurable insights, but the most valuable is that most African Americans are deemed less educated regarding preventive medicine (and cancer), we embrace poor dietary habits due to cultural influence, and have limited, if any, financial resources to seek specialized medical attention. For the latter reasons and more, African Americans are more likely to be stricken with cancer and subsequently die.

Let’s face it: black folks just don’t like going to the doctor (Period). We remain on the low-end of statistical data and have  become apt subjects for clinical-terminology like:  socio-economic status, at-risk, target-market, and we are perpetually, all things urban. If we must suffer labels or own a moniker, I elect myself  Premier Warrior of African American Cancer Awareness. I proudly report for duty to educate my masses.

Link to “African American Cancer Myths”

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2569388/

My first mission is to kill the messenger. Television is the biggest dispatcher of African American cancer-myths. While it is entertainment for many & life support for others, too may African Americans think TV is gospel truth. I don’t mean C-Span, I’m talking drama. Marcus Welby, M.D. led the movement, then passed the torch to a more hip and current Grey’s Anatomy and Hawthorne. Great programming, but cancer – diagnosis to treatment – is satirically depicted.

Prime-time dramas feature a family huddled in a waiting room while Doctor Hottie escorts them to a state-of-the-art bedside where the patient in pain is passionately told, “I’m so sorry. We found cancer,” (as he lovingly rubs her hand). The family cries but declares, “We will beat this.” In the next scene, the patient is bald – preparing to run in a marathon – and the physician  stands at the finish line cheering, along with nurses, administrators, hospital custodians, and a priest.

Fade to black: Cancer found me when I was teaching English in New Jersey. My family was U.S. scattered. Admittedly, I was no stranger to health crisis, but wasn’t in any overwhelming pain. Note: pain is rarely cancer symptomatic. A tumor was identified as an incidental finding on a CT scan during a random ER visit. I was very “matter of fact” informed, and it took three months to confirm final diagnosis. Meanwhile, I’d relocated to North Carolina to be near my only daughter, endured multiple diagnostics, specialist visits, lost employment, suffered split nerves, and literally raped the internet doing research. Still waiting on that handsome physician to surface.

Fact-based education is important. Urban legend, beauty shop chatter, and what happened to Auntie Weezie are not fair barometers as every cancer case is different. Smoking tobacco is harmful to your health and may lead to cancer; the Surgeon General can be trusted, and so can reports on preventive medicine (mammogram, colonoscopy, prostate exams, etc.). View informative television and please READ. Life-saving treasure rests between the pages of periodicals, books, and newspapers. Don’t seek to beat cancer; live to avoid diagnosis.

Penny Dickerson 2011

25 Breast Cancer Myths and Misunderstandings

http://www.health.com/health/condition-article/0,,20215558,00.html

Prostate Cancer Screening: African American Men: Myths and Misperceptions

http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/589250_3

Five Myths About Colorectal Cancer

http://www.cancer.org/Cancer/ColonandRectumCancer/moreinformation/five-myths-

about-colorectal-cancer

Five Myths About Colon Cancer

http://www.cancer.org/Cancer/news/COLONCANCERMYTHS

Skin Cancer Myths and the African American Community

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5623503

HOOKAH – The Hype and Harm

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Curious is the hype surrounding the wave of Hookah bars sprouting up in eclectic communities.

It’s a trend that’s taking a new generation of collegiate students and mid-level professionals of all nationalities by a storm, but has anyone paused to ask themselves, “Hey, is this just as bad as smoking cigarettes? Sure, it looks mad-cool and borderline-sexy. You and a new-age crew of friends prop yourselves in a booth or even outside on a patio table taking long whiffs and short swigs of fruit-flavored smoke in 45-minute intervals (or so).  You inhale through a long pipe and then  blow out poofs with measured breaths. Gee. Whatever happened to a good round of Spades?

Mayo Clinic

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/hookah/AN01265

U.S. Department of Health & Human Services

http://www.hhs.gov/news/healthbeat/2011/05/20110526a.html

Hookah 101

http://mideastfood.about.com/od/middleeasternfood101/a/hookah.htm

Seems unsanitary to me. You’re passing a pipe from mouth-to-mouth, and not only that, who is responsible for properly sanitizing the equipment each evening after the yuppie rush? This can’t be good. I’m not an advocate of smoking (period) and my parents are “a cigarette couple of career indulge.” It’s unhealthy, lost its cool in the 1970′s with the elimination of tobacco television ads that unceremoniously wilted the Marlboro man’s whiskers. And the Joe Cool camel? Still not cool. Inhalation of smoke of any kind is unhealthy, but I’ll let the inserted Mayo Clinic and Health Department links express researched fact. I would, however, be remiss if I didn’t emphatically add that smoking is the leading cause of many cancers. Sadly, there are still those who don’t take heed.

We westerners love to latch on to the allure of another culture’s custom and turn it into our own social trends. No foul crying for me because where would any society be without “gently borrowed” global origins?  I bow to many aspects of mideastern culture, specifically falafel and baba ganoush. The latter has rendered my palette “eggplant insatiable. “Party on American rock stars, but allow yourselves to be individually informed before you follow a popular crowd and get hooked by the Hookah. With hype, comes harm.

Penny Dickerson 2011

Great to be “GRATEFUL”

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grate·ful  [greyt-fuhl]

adjective
  1. warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received; thankful: I am grateful to you for your help.
  2. expressing or actuated by gratitude: a grateful letter.
  3. pleasing to the mind or senses; agreeable or welcome; refreshing: a grateful breeze.
My emotions have been extraordinarily unpredictable this past month. Without sounding like a martyr for illness, allow me to initially share with some and once again reiterate to others that I was hospitalized most of the month of August 2011.
While I have mastered the art of “persona facade,” it has been a struggle of often monumental proportions. It is often so incredibly easy to have others think you have it all under control and that what you’re going through is “much ado about nothing,”  (hint: I specialize in the latter). In hindsight and spiritual retrospect, I can attest that each and every experience we endure while privileged enough to be on this earth is:
  1. All part of God’s plan.
  2. A matter of miles towards a longer journey.
  3. A precious piece to what often appears like a painful puzzle.
Even when it appears that misery is winning by an overwhelming margin, It all works to together for good in the end (see Romans 8:28).
Through the years, I’ve learned to question less and search more for the lesson. We endure challenges and hardships for a reason and if your faith is rooted and strong, you know that it is only for a season and to ultimately perfect you for a greater assignment that God has prepared for you.
Sometimes, we have to unceremoniously promote ourselves to the often disregarded career title of “Archeologist.” If you’re not privy to what they do, Archeologists devote their lives to digging deep and excavating the earth until treasures, and fossils, and “stuff” is found.
Be not deceived, treasure isn’t always measured or valued as gold or coins or the wonders of King Tut’s tomb. A good lesson discovered after an introspective self-excavation is invaluable, and as for me, I am currently knee deep and pleased to announce that I have identified a priceless artifact called, “GRATEFUL.”
Was an excavation really necessary? Shouldn’t we always remain in a place thankfulness, gratefulness, and gratitude? Yes we should, but as human beings, we often overlook life’s obvious treasures and unfortunately miss our blessings because we are conditioned to desire, expect, and feel poised to brag to others about our miraculous and tangible “Look what I found” discovery.
I was reminded last month that I have so much to be grateful for. Millions of people are admitted into hospitals every day, but not everyone has the blessed fortune to leave alive. Indeed I was diagnosed with cancer at one juncture, but do you know how many people die before they are fortunate enough to be given a diagnosis? I am grateful for my cancer diagnosis. Do you know how many cancers are discovered that don’t respond to treatment? I had to have a portion of my left kidney removed years ago, but I am grateful I was a viable candidate for a Nephrectomy (surgery). I am also grateful to be in full remission.
Sounds twisted, but I must be destined to really do something great on this earth because I am constantly confronted with adversity that is definitely trying to impede my progress and efforts. I shall not be defeated, I am more than a conqueror.
Being ill is a “sho nuf” challenge that can leaving you weeping in despair and feeling hopeless, or a different perspective is that it can muster your knowledge of God’s word and promises that “This sickness is not unto death…and by his stripes you are healed.” It’s a faith issue at the end of the day and you either choose to believe or you are defeated because you allow yourself to be deceived.
“Faith come by hearing and hearing the word of God” and I know that God cannot lie. Healing and victory is mine, but I am not so sanctified that I am not afraid to admit that I was scared, nervous, anxious, impatient, and drank more than a few glasses of wine at night to help shake the emotional quake. I am an imperfect child of God, but a believer nonetheless. (The truth shall set you free.)
Needless to say, you look you worse in  any hospital bed after surgery, and the longer you’re in-patient, the worse you look. I complained relentlessly about how awful my toe and finger nails appeared. My skin was chaffed, and my lips seemed perpetually peeled. How grateful I am that God thought enough of me to allow me to endure all of those days looking like a pure “rag-a- muffin” when so many others were sent to morgues with tags on their toes? I am very grateful. I lived to share my story and hope it inspires someone who may have to endure the same. If you do, please tell your friends to keep your lips covered with “Car-Mex.”
Most important, I learned that I have an abundance of family and friends that love me, care for me, pray for me, call me, reach out to me, visited me, and just simply wished me well. You better believe there were days when I thought, “I can’t believe I haven’t heard from so and so.” But you know what? I received visits from five people who I’d never even met in my life.
They were Facebook friends. Genuine souls and individuals who just cared enough to take time out of their schedules to visit and pray with me and just be bedside with chit-chat. That is something I am grateful for because while I want the world to believe I am a pillar of strength and woman of victorious valor at all times, I struggle with being lonely as much as the next person. On many a day those visits and faces served as points of light. Grateful am I.
Most important, ALL of those visitors shared their own testimonies and for that pseudo faction of the population who openly embrace a philosophy that they don’t want folks in their business, I am grateful to the ones who opened their personal-doors and let me in including the nurse who had years ago endured the same surgery and showed me her scar, the ER doctor who had survived four abdominal surgeries and just took time to “talk to me” about the road to recovery. By the way, this procedure was my 7th major surgery. Who is more tired of this than me? No one. I have learned and grown and gathered a bevy of strength along the way. Grateful just may become my new favorite word. You can’t see it, touch it, smell it, or eat it. It’s an adjective. You EXUDE gratefulness. It is a spirit; an attitude.
Please do not misunderstand the aforementioned to mean that the presence of some visitors devalued the absence of others. If a friend or family member didn’t make it to see me during this  hospitalization, they were there for others and/or expressed their care and concern through other means.I am grateful for ALL that has and was extended. You didn’t need to be there to let me know you cared.
The real point is not about the visits and the who did what, when, or how much.  What is relevant is the overwhelming sense of “gratefulness” that emerged when I was finally discharged.
On more occasions than I care to share, my surgeon and I were at each other’s throats, but how incredibly grateful I am that his clinical skill, talent, and precision prevailed and my surgery was a success. Many have often wondered exactly what kind of surgery I had.
Sorry folks, it wasn’t Bariatric surgery as some curious minds eluded and hastily concluded (people can be mean, but I am grateful that I am mature enough to recognize that). Besides, if had the money to have ANY kind of plastic surgery or body enhancement, it would be “D-Cups” for the breasts. I’d have my two brown-mounds highly lifted, and silicone, lovely-luscious, but this procedure was medically necessary, so I’ll continue to remain happy with the breasts God gave me.
For the record, the official, medical terminology for my surgery was:  Exploratory Laparotomy with Lysis of Adhesions and bowel resection X 2.” (Google it). I did indeed have post operative complications that were often difficult to precisely identify via CT scans due to the absence of a fever and my white blood count remained stable, but how grateful I am that an internal abcess was eventually identified, drained, and resolved.
It called for another admission (on my birthday of course) which lasted seven days and another special procedure, but  I was blessed, covered, protected, and just simply huddled in the hands of the Lord on every turn. By the way, my stomach now looks 15 times better than the photo above taken three days after the initial surgery. The swelling is gone, as are the 32 staples. There’s a very meager chance that I may “bring sexy back,” but let’s just stick to being grateful for operative success for now. I think henceforth, sexiness may be in the eye of the beholder.
Absolutely I laughed on many days, but you can’t even imagine the days I cried like a bag of water. I am so very, very, grateful for my Delta Mu Sorors and Sands Danna and Monique for your words of encouragement and Danna, your phone calls meant and always will mean the world to me. We have a special number 1 and number 2 bond that can only be understood by us Texas-two. It’s a private rollercoaster we endure and for you, and to you, I am grateful. (However, you scared me death when you went crying like you were at an Italian wedding that one day. I now understand your tears, and I am grateful that you love me enough to smear your mascara on my behalf. Save the product next time girl. Good mascara is costly.)
Also big-ups to the Sistah-Circle who Kelsey kept abreast. And yes Dean Stacey Branch, I am your Soror Daughter :-)
I am grateful to my Bethel Baptist Deacon for visiting and praying with me and my entire church family for that matter. I am also grateful for my Soror and most important my FRIEND Tracy Douglas for making it a point while in town from Miami to find her way to Tower 7 to see me with her daughter and mother in tow. It wasn’t at all part of her day’s plan, but she made it happen. How generous. I am grateful. Let me know forget Monica Knighton, prayer warrior extraordinaire, and my good girlfriend Monet Pearson for bringing me that bag of Werthers and for just being a friend beyond friends. How kind of you to take me to your mother’s salon to get my “fab new hair color” . I love it!
Thank you Kezia Rolle who never has spare time, but made time. Thank you to my condo neighbor Kathy Lilly for holding it up, down, and in all ways around. If I haven’t said it enough Kat…I appreciate me some you.
To my “dear friend” Jonathan for his long distance calls and encouragement and
a high-five to my sister Natalie for flying from Maryland for a week and just being there because she loves me and to my oldest sister Linda for meeting us in the parking lot at 5:30 a.m. to kiss me and say she loved me prior to my procedure. She also stayed in the fold the remainder of the week. I dunno, there’s a really special human being who sent me two dozen roses on my birthday, one white and one pink bouquet. They were beautiful and just one of many gestures he exhibited over several weeks. Perhaps he wants his privacy maintained, so allow me to simply say, “How grateful and thankful I am to have a friend as wonderful as you.”
And Momma. You personify gratefulness and I love you. Tain’t nuthin’ like a southern Momma. Mine is the BEST. She has the gift of hospitality that is something to marvel. You can’t ruin your welcome, but she will dote on you and feed the masses southern cuisine that puts you to sleep right before the last bite. Just know when it’s time to grab your purse and “get gone” til the next invite.
This may all sound gratuitous and nick-picky and even borderline exploitative, but there were people like Marsha Oliver who I barely know who sent me emails via her I-phone and each one made all the difference in the world.
Angela Robinson  always had a “word in due season” and a grab bag of goodness because she has seen me through some times…some times. My friend Greg McKinnon whose Aunt and my FCCJ mentor Elizabeth Cobb lost her life at Mayo Clinic while I was inpatient and I wasn’t able to attend her services or say goodbye, but she was also my Soror and one of the first women on planet earth that made me say, “When I grow up, I want to be that fierce.” I was 19 and she groomed me in so many ways that were indirect and distant. I love you Dean Cobb. Rest in Peace.
While Greg couldn’t make it to Baptist to see me, he expressed his concern and love and care via calls and phone.
And a mad, crazy, thank you to ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL  all of my  Facebook family for the multitude of  birthday shout outs and inbox messages and yes, even the “Pokes.”
Thank you Sherila Perez, B.J. Barrow, Dove Hogan, the legions of nurses at Baptist and their overwhelming patience, dedication, and expertise. It wasn’t always a perfect experience, but I am grateful for my lessons in imperfection, because no one is perfect and medicine is NOT an exact science. Those who indulge in the profession are agents of compassion and pursue patient care as a calling. Let’s all say it at once: I am so “GRATEFUL.”
The problem with such public expressions of gratefulness is that inevitably, I have left someone out and I humbly apologize. If I did so, it is because I am happily overwhelmed  with  the sincere reminder that healing extends far beyond the capability of medicine and clinical practice. I could not have made it through the tough times and rough nights and staples and sutures and difficultly without my world of friends who showed me an unheralded amount of love that prompted me to say to myself, the next time I even THINK I want to complain about what didn’t happen, what I didn’t receive, who didn’t do what I expected, or how I think something should have occurred that didn’t, I anoint myself an “archeologist and dig deep.” Self-excavation is healthy preservation.
At the layer of life that matters most is an invaluable treasure that can and will take you farther in life than you will ever expect to travel and it is affectionately known as a spirit of gratefulness.
Ahhhhh yes: Kedra Curry and Marc Little; good solid friendship. Thank you both, and how on earth could I forget or even almost omit my faithful daughter Kelsey who spent every night in the hospital with me. Her mere presence made all the difference in the world.
I am not 100% out of the woods, but I am hacking hard with an ax because of the determination and love and genuine care of life’s most valuable commodity: the human being.
Thank you ten times over to each and every one of you.I don’t take it lightly or for granted that your time extended was something I was “owed” or “due” but rather that it exemplified the essence of  who you are as people.
People don’t always need or want to be acknowledged and when random acts of kindness come from the heart, it’s not necessary. But it’s a good practice to let others know you appreciate them and to say thank you. For that reason, I specifically chose to compose this blog.
I love you all and I am truly grateful.
Penny Dickerson 2011

Still Standing After The One-Two Punch (Live Recording)

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           The following excerpt from Lyrical Soul was read April 12, 2011 at the

35th Annual Cultural Council Awards Luncheon. Originally published in a shorter

form, I revised it specifically to reflect my “two-bout” fight.

LIVE RECORDING featuring “Penny Dickerson”

(Right click the title below and select: open link in new tab)

Still Standing After The One~Two Punch.doc

Still Standing after the One-Two Punch

The white coats predicted

I’d lose my last bout ─

scientific reason without reason,

Stage II specific,

clear cell horrific,

two tiny tumors tucked tight to fight.

Weakened, I lived

inside a dark lymphatic maze,

like a clinical pulley

a black woman down,

a down woman up,

an upbeat, beat-down

never meant to beat odds.

The white coats now serve me

anxious hand-clasped glee ─

as though it were all a continuous dream:

a rogue report,

a port for chemo removed

a high-five sign, a fist-pump for respect,

I lived just to give poetic retrospect:

Shaken & shook, I was sure I’d win,

I beat the fat lady’s song once again.

I am cut from the earth’s upper crust,

a Lazarus layer, a metaphorical must.

I’m a Brown Bomber ─ a triumph script,

a butterfly floating, a bee with fly sting.

I’m beyond benign, no bitter or blame,

I am too much tongue for disease to tame.

I’m jeer resistant and I’m crisis defiant,

I’m Lawd’ Jesus lathered with jab repellant.

Diagnosis bring your malignant wind,

your on the ropes Hospice,

your towel tossed in.

Survival rate bring ten counts to my ring,

I will one-two punch you,

I will beat you

again.

 

Penny Dickerson  2011