adoption madness

Last week, I had dinner with a friend who goes to Haiti often and is headed back any day now to lend a hand.

I jokingly told him to bring me back a baby, but I was serious about mothering a child from Haiti, or any country for that matter — if only folks wouldn’t judge me based on my medical records.

Okay, so it hasn’t happened yet. But more than likely it will.

As part of my quest to adopt a child, I’ll have to answer questions about being a cancer survivor, and rightfully so. But regardless of how well I recover, or even if I battle the beast and win, my medical history is going to be problematic. As one adoptive mother I reached out to wrote me in an e-mail, “The biggest obstacle is your health.”

Yeah. No kidding.

I found out a long time ago that being a cancer survivor would be a huge strike against me when it came time to adopt a kid, and I was a bit irritated by her need to state the obvious. The adoption agencies worry about how long a cancer patient is going to live and whether we’re fit enough to be parents.

And it’s not just ovarian cancer patients; it’s all cancer patients. I heard of a woman with thyroid cancer, which is highly curable, having to wait years before she was allowed to adopt. Granted the five-year survival rate for ovarian cancer patients — about 46 percent — isn’t as encouraging as thyroid cancer or even breast cancer, but when I read that figure, I interpreted it as somebody out there’s beating the odds.

A lot of somebodies actually.

The reality is that cancer is becoming a chronic but manageable disease for many. Yet when it comes to adoption, survivors are discriminated against despite that fact that other ailments are more pervasive and equally life-threatening.  More American women, for example, die from heart disease each year? A healthy cancer survivor (no, it’s not an oxymoron) should no more be given a hard time regarding adoption than someone who’s at risk for heart disease or someone who’s overweight.

Furthermore, there are conditions such as depression that negatively affect child rearing more than cancer. Take for instance a family friend who battled bipolar disorder all his life. He stopped taking his medicine two years ago and shuttered himself in his apartment until he starved to death. He was healthy in almost every other respect. He just couldn’t triumph over the demons in his head.

I’m not arguing that this is the fate of everyone battling mania and depression, but those with ailments that severely compromise their cognitive abilities aren’t forced to come clean. In many cases, you’d never know.

And that’s exactly why this entire adoption process is dubious. Some folks can mask their issues, while others like me are forced to wear them for the world to see. Or, more accurately, to read.

Doctor’s visits, medical records, chemo treatments — they’re all there to be accessed by whoever will decide whether I should be allowed to adopt. I’m not suggesting that they shouldn’t be, but I wouldn’t be trying to be an adoptive parent if I thought I was physically unable to take care of a kid.

I have no plans to adopt by myself, which might make my situation a bit more palatable. But my sweetie and I haven’t even started the process and already people are talking to me about the difficulties ahead. That’s no reason to quit, though. In fact, it will just spur this cancer slayer on.

deathbed divorce

File this one under Say Word! — my new designation for cancer news that is downright unbelievable or bizarre.

The man himself

Word around the blogosphere is that actor Dennis Hopper, who is losing his battle to prostate cancer, is filing for divorce from his wife of 13 years. When the story broke last week, Hopper promptly wished his soon-to-be-ex the best but said he only wants to be surrounded by loved ones in the days ahead.

The wife’s friends are calling it a slap in the face. They claim Hopper wants to cut her out of his will before he kicks the bucket.

I have to admit that when I first heard the news, I thought it sounded heartless, even rash. I’ve heard of deathbed conversions. Even deathbed confessions. But a deathbed divorce? Well, that’s kinda of gangsta.

But then again, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s a gutsy move more of us would admire if only we’d dig below the surface.

As is usually the case surrounding breakups, there’s likely more to the story. But leave it to those Access Hollywood types, who reported the “astonishing news,” to peg Hopper as some cruel and spiteful dead man walking.

Fortunately, I’ve taken the liberty of offering my unconfirmed yet expert theory in defense of the actor’s decision.

Hopper was diagnosed with cancer last year. His wife — his fifth by the way— stood by his side during the difficult time. A noble woman indeed. But there’s nothing like cancer to test the very core of a relationship.

A lot of couples don’t make it, as my boyfriend’s friend was kind enough to remind me on New Year’s Eve. To be fair, he speaks from experience. His ex-wife is a survivor, and her battle with the beast partly led to their demise. After they split up, he looked up statistics about how many married cancer patients wind up divorcing. Twenty-one percent in some cases.

Initially, I was taken aback when he shared his unpleasant facts so soon after we counted down to midnight. But I realize now that he was just lamenting the breakup of his marriage.

Plenty of other couples though vow never to let each other go after cancer. In fact, I know more married survivors than I do divorced ones.

But what about the gray area? That in-between place where life rarely fits into neatly defined packages. This could be where Hopper dwells. In the gray space, there’s no right or wrong, good or bad, mean or nice. Here, once-healthy relationships sometimes run their course — even for cancer patients who have more yesterdays than they do tomorrows.

What I find most interesting about Hopper’s decision is that it challenges almost everything we’ve come to believe about living out one’s final days. Most of us grew up with images of the grieving spouse at the bedside, comforted by family and friends. So it’s a shocker to witness Hopper call a time-out late in the game and then change his lineup. Furthermore, we expect that when there is a breakup, it’s the healthy person who leaves the sick one, not the other way around.

Whatever the reasons for Hopper’s divorce, his notion of “loved one” no longer has room for his former spouse. It’s a bold move for sure, one I’m not convinced I could follow.

Chances are though he’s motivated by something far less sinister than hurting his wife. He could simply be grateful for the time he has left and plans to use it wisely. Or he may just want to be happy, no matter how bad the press.

Clearly, he refuses to let cultural norms dictate how he rolls. And why should he? Even in the face of a sobering prognosis, life is always there to be lived. The key is to do it with no regrets.

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health care hangover

Watching the health care bill make its last rounds is like being at a New Year’s bash a few hours too long. At first, it’s all fun and excitement. But after the height of the celebration, when all the optimism of what’s to come has grown faint, it feels like a big, fat drag.

I was all hyped, for example, about universal coverage. As far as I’m concerned, there are times when the government has to ensure that resources are distributed equitably. And health care is just one such issue.

No matter, though. When conservatives cried foul, the president quickly ditched the idea for the seemingly more palatable public option, which was in and then it was out, and then it was in again and now it’s out.

Who can keep up? It’s difficult to figure out which reform is actually part of the reform. And am I the only one who feels like the entire debate has gone from energizing to energy draining? These days, health care reminds me of last week’s hangover: heavy, tiresome and short on fun.

In the latest non-progress surrounding the bill, the Senate race in Massachusetts is closer than Democrats expected. The party is in danger of losing its majority, which it needs to push health care legislation through. A surprise win for the GOP in Ted Kennedy’s old seat would no doubt be a setback for the Dems. In turn, that would likely delay the bill further, which translates into critical setbacks for me and many others.

You see, I’m one of those Americans who would be denied insurance coverage because of my preexisting condition, even if I pay for it out of pocket. My medical history sends up clouds of black smoke to carriers. But under the new health care bill, discriminating against folks based on health conditions would be illegal.

In the interim, a program like Medicare could offer a reprieve for people in my situation. Under the new bill, Medicare will be expanded to include Americans with serious diseases under the age of 65. These measures, however, take time to implement, and a languishing bill is only exasperating matters. According to a piece written by DNC Chairman Howard Dean, most Americans wouldn’t see the benefits of the bill until 2014.

A lot of good that’s doing for the uninsured or underinsured today.

The latest news out of Washington is that there will likely be another version of the health care bill before lawmakers agree on one. I’m feeling like they’ve had one too many already.

CAT scan queen

CAT scan machines: no fun and possibly dangerous?

The test used to detect cancer may also cause it. Little surprise there. In yet another one of life’s twisted schemes, the things that help us often turn out to be the things that hurt us.

According to recent reports, radiation from CAT scans is higher than previously thought and could be linked to increased cancer risk.

The cruel reality, though, is that for cancer patients — especially newbies like me — CAT scans are a regular part of life.

I get one every three months.

And when my doctor wants to gauge how well a drug is working.

And whenever my CA-125 — a protein found in ovarian cancer cells — is high.

And when I feel especially sick.

And, well, all the damn time.

Even for those in remission, CAT scans are a necessary part of staying cancer free. Generally, the protocol is a CAT scan every three months, then every six months for the first five years after treatment ends, and then once a year. Cancer and CAT scans go together like chemo and collapsed veins.

So what caused investigators to raise the alarm now? The report cited two reasons: Over the last two decades, the number of patients undergoing CAT scans has increased dramatically, from 3 million in 1980 to 70 million in 2007. That’s a heck of a lot of X-rays. Enough to cause concern within the medical community.

Equally alarming, the study noted, are all the unnecessary scans that have been going down. Allegedly, they’ll lead to 29,000 new cancer diagnoses this year, most of which will result from scans of the abdomen and pelvis — the only kind I get.

I’m starting to wonder what’s left in the world that isn’t potentially cancerous. From medical procedures to microwaves, there seems to be an unlimited number of cancer-causing agents.

Not long ago, I was talking to a professor whose book I’m editing. He’s a pretty fit 70-year-old who has been running marathons and eating healthy for the better part of his life. We met for lunch in Manhattan to talk business, and he couldn’t decide what to order. When I suggested that he try the smoked salmon salad, which I get all the time, he told me it was filled with carcinogens. Something about the smoking process, he began to explain, but I promptly checked out of the convo, because I eat smoked salmon all the time.

In fact, on a trip to Alaska in July, I’m sure I put away several pounds of the fatty, unctuous fish. Should I consider eliminating that, too?

Nah.

I’ve concluded, salmon fishers will be happy to know, that I should no more give up the foods I love than I should my quarterly X-rays. In my case, the benefits of both surely outweigh the harm.

And although that’s not true for the thousands who might be diagnosed with cancer as a result of radiation exposure, until some new and improved method of finding and monitoring malignant tumors is discovered, we’re left with few options besides limiting the number of scans we undergo.

That’s certainly my plan for 2010. Because as per my last X-ray images, I have no visible signs of the disease, which means I won’t be the CAT scan queen for much longer. The number of appointments I’ll have next year that involve exposing my organs to radiation should max out at two tops. And that’s fine by me.  I’m more than happy to renounce my title.

back off bryant gumbel

Update 12/16 : Since publishing the post below, the Maynard Institute featured an interview with one of Bryant Gumbel’s friends, who claims that the journalist doesn’t have cancer, but rather had a malignant tumor removed.

As soon as the man announces to the world that he’s battling lung cancer, people start questioning his blackness. Mostly, it has been other black people, who, after hearing about Gumbel’s illness last week, followed up with commentary about the longtime journalist’s “arrogance” and “reverse racism.”

Talk about highly inappropriate. What does being “black enough” have to do with a cancer diagnosis? In journalism, we call this a non sequitur, a statement that does not follow, nor is clearly related to, anything previously said.

It’s as if these folks couldn’t help but take cheap shots at Gumbel, who is in no way required to defend the way he talks  or the white woman he married. And on the heels of his cancer announcement, these remarks are in particularly bad taste.

Unfortunately, this has become a recurring theme among African Americans, whereby one’s perceived commitment to blackness is the standard by which they are treated. From President Obama to Condoleezza Rice, black people who spend their time in the mainstream are expected to exude some impossible measure of racial pride to be judged by other black people.

Over the years, Gumbel has brushed his shoulders off when criticized. In one particularly well-put declaration, he said: “If you want to accept my image, fine. If not, that’s fine, too. I’m a broadcaster who happens to be black. Not a black broadcaster. And that’s more than a lesson in semantics.”

You tell ‘em, Bryant.

And now, in light of his diagnosis, can’t he just be a cancer patient? Must he flash his black card when discussing each new development in life, even the life-threatening ones?

Honestly, I’m at a loss as to why he’s faced such superficial criticism to begin with. Anyone who has watched Real Sports can appreciate the man’s fair and balanced journalism instincts. His show features really interesting and in-depth stories on athletes of all races. It must be because he speaks so well. Or the fact that his partner in life is not African American. Whatever the reasons, they’re just other people’s hang-ups.

Right now, Gumbel needs to focus on getting well. And everybody else needs to get off his back. Should he have to undergo chemo, what’s likely to ensue is a pretty miserable few months of fatigue, nausea, and constant doctor’s appointments. Not fun at all. Let’s show a little respect.

want to be startin' something

When a government panel released a statement a few weeks ago recommending fewer beast cancer screenings for women under 50, the blogosphere exploded with testimonials from outraged survivors. Many had found their cancers early, thanks to yearly mammograms, and they wondered what the new guidelines would mean for others who might find themselves battling the beast.

Then, as if purposely adding fuel to the anti-early-screening pyre, within days of the announcement, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists suggested that women delay their first Pap test until age 21 and forgo yearly screenings in favor of every other year.

The timing may have been coincidental, but it was certainly unfortunate.

Two seemingly reputable groups challenged almost everything women have been taught about screening methods. Both cited unnecessary testing, false positives, and anxiety-inducing procedures as the reasons behind the amended guidelines, but it appears they’ve caused more harm than good.

Last Thursday, a separate panel of doctors and radiologists blasted the new breast cancer recommendations, claiming they represented “a major setback” and would wipe out decades of progress. They were right.

Since 1990, breast cancer deaths have dropped 30 percent as a result of early detection. And although the physicians had little to say regarding the cervical cancer recommendations, primarily because less than 1 percent of cases occur in women under 21, statistics show that early detection in the form of yearly Pap tests has been equally effective in combating that disease, too.

For experts to suggest that women wait until their twenties to get their first Pap then ditch their annual exam is problematic for several reasons. Forget for now that the Pap is how doctors find sexually transmitted diseases and most women are sexually active way before they turn 21. Paps are also how doctors find precancerous cells, and women under 21 represent the highest cases of HPV, the sexually transmitted virus that causes cervical cancer. Seems like there’s a serious lack of congruity here.

I’m thinking that if the population of women at highest risk for cervical cancer gets fewer screenings that could potentially be life-threatening. According to U.S. News & World Report, 50 percent of women diagnosed with cervical cancer have never had a Pap before.

Furthermore, none of the medical professionals behind the updated guidelines mentioned varying demographics. Women of color, particularly black women, are diagnosed at the later stages of pretty much every reproductive cancer. It’s clear that a one-size-fits-all approach isn’t a smart way to practice medicine. Some groups should be encouraged to pursue early screening methods, not forgo them.

The general consensus among the government panel, however, is that for the large number of women tested only a small amount end up being diagnosed with cancer. But this idea is symptomatic of everything that’s wrong with health care in America.

Preventive care is about more than just tests; it’s an approach to wellness. As Americans, we end up playing catch-up when it comes to our health when we should be ahead of the curve.  When a woman is diagnosed with HPV that’s not preventive. When a woman feels a lump in her breast, that’s not preventive either.

Let me explain what is. When I was laid up in the hospital after my surgery, one of my roommates was a Jewish woman in her late fifties. She’d gone in for her annual, and her GYN suggested that she start getting ultrasounds as a regular part of her exam. Well, guess what they found when the results of her test came back? Ovarian cancer, stage I.

Luckily, the disease was caught early, when it’s highly curable. And it’s all because of her doctor’s foresight. Whatever the cost of her ultrasound, I can guarantee that it was infinitesimal compared to the costs of the chemo drugs she would’ve required had the disease advanced.

It makes me wonder whether my own cancer would’ve been caught earlier had I undergone regular ultrasounds to monitor my ovarian cysts.

Even more dangerous, though, is that these misguided guidelines have the potential to slow the momentum of awareness campaigns. By discouraging younger women from undergoing regular testing, such as mammograms and Paps, reproductive cancers could be framed as an “older woman’s disease.”

That’s been the case with ovarian cancer, yet I’ve met a community of women diagnosed in their thirties and forties. To raise awareness, all women, regardless of age, have to be involved. Cancer doesn’t discriminate.

Finally, lessening the importance of critical exams would give insurance companies yet another reason not to pay for a procedure. That would go a long way toward saving them money — all the while endangering women’s lives.

how do heroin addicts do it?

After more than a year of chemotherapy, my precious veins are shot.

one of the worst parts of chemo

Those inch-long needles have done some serious damage to my once-healthy blood vessels, and the oncology nurses have informed me that they probably won’t recover.

Great. Stupid cancer is leaving a trail of damage in its wake.

Before I started treatment in 2008, though, I had juicy veins, the kind that got nurses excited. And I was not needle shy. I didn’t wince at the sight of them or groan when I got stuck. Since the times when I actually saw a syringe were few and far between, I’d decided not to be dramatic about the occasional shot.

That was then.

After a good 70 or so injections, hypodermic needles have taken the top position on my buzz-kill list. They hurt like hell, and because I anticipate the pain, I make myself anxious about it. You’d think that over time, I’d build up some sort of resistance to the pain, but the more I get stuck, the worse it gets. My veins have become extremely sensitive over time, and sometimes they stop working. Who knew that even happened?

There have been several occasions, for example, when I’ve gotten stuck, and the nurses were unable to get a blood return. That’s right. Needles have been inserted into my veins, and no blood came out. Talk about bizarre. Other times, the needles could barely penetrate my skin because I have so much scar tissue in my arms. The constant onslaught of chemo injections has caused my veins to harden and restrict. They’ve become difficult to find and even more difficult to access. And the pain. I whine like a baby now every time I see a syringe. So much for all my boasting about being a trouper. Those days are long over.

With all the sticks cancer patients endure, I couldn’t help but wonder how intravenous drug users do this on the regular. How do they cope with needles daily, likely several times a day, and how do their blood vessels hold up? I’ve heard about users having collapsed veins, but many manage to keep up their habit for years, even decades. Natalie Cole was a heroin addict for 15 years.

I asked one of my nurses why we don’t hear about more IV drug users being hospitalized for destroyed veins. Her answer was interesting and disturbing all at the same time. “Because they’re not putting poison in their veins,” she said. And then she clarified. “Not the same kind of poison.”

Word? Since when did chemo become worse than smack? Apparently since forever. It’s far more toxic, the nurse said, and thus does more harm. Plus, heroin addicts use any and all veins possible, whereas the veins used for chemotherapy are limited to the forearm.

Since beginning my little research project on blood vessels, I’ve come to appreciate how fascinating they are. Veins are our lifeblood, literally. They range in size from 1 mm to 1.5 centimeters, yet they’re responsible for one of the body’s biggest jobs: pumping blood to all our muscles and organs. These elastic vessels can also take a lot of abuse, but they retreat when they’ve had enough.

Two months ago, after my nurses spent more than 30 minutes and three painful tries searching for mine, they suggested (more than suggested actually) that I get a port, a device placed under the skin in the chest that is connected to the jugular vein. All my chemo goes in this way now. So instead of getting several pricks a month, I get one supersize needle that looks like a pushpin, gets clicked into place, and involves numbing cream. Not the most pleasant experience. But I have to say that it feels good to give my veins a break. Maybe they’ll come back to me. One can only hope, right?

I certainly have a newfound respect for blood vessels, as well as most of my anatomy now that cancer has forced me to get acquainted with parts I never spent time thinking about before. Over the last year and half, I’ve come to realize just how delicate the body can be and, more importantly, how resilient.

how roland burris punked the democrats & saved the public option

This is a piece that I wrote for TheRoot.com. Considering the events of the last week, though, I thought it was important to re-post it here.

When Illinois Sen. Roland Burris took office almost a year ago, he already appeared to be a lame-duck politician.

After being appointed by the shady Gov. Rod Blagojevich in late December, Burris found himself shrouded in a haze of suspicion and controversy. With such a troubled introduction to national politics, it seemed as if “Blago’s boy” was little more than a political eunuch.

But the hard-knuckle Chicago politician seized his moment a few weeks ago when he proclaimed that he wouldn’t sign a health care bill that didn’t include a public option. With that, he not only propelled himself into prime time, landing  spots on C-SPAN, MSNBC, and Fox, but he also made himself relevant.

The landmark bill that passed the House on Saturday likely included a government-sponsored plan because of Burris. And if all goes right, he might just emerge as the savior of the public option. Read more here.

best week ever: a pennant and a public option

It’s looking like a promising week. The Yankees are back and so is the public option. I hope.

A bill that includes a government-run plan is before the House, but whether it survives the next round of debates remains to be seen. Maybe it has a better chance of getting passed with the newly added opt-out option for states.

The fact that the public plan has been resurrected, though, is promising. After the insurance industry threatened to raise premiums a couple of weeks ago, and subsequent news polls showed that 57 percent of Americans back the idea of a government option, the Dems switched up their game plan.

Rather than worry about winning over the GOP, they’ve decided to push an agenda supported by their constituents. It’s about time, too. The Dems have gotten punked for far too long regarding health care reform. We’ll see if they follow up their words with action.

I’m really excited about the measure. I’ve been down for a public plan since the beginning. But there’s one voice that has been missing from the debate, one that I believe will further bolster support for universal coverage: people with insurance who rely on it regularly, people like me.

I have yet to hear the opinions of insured men and women living with health issues or chronic diseases such as cancer. Maybe it’s because they can’t rattle off sound bites. Or maybe because, if asked, they would make an incontrovertible case for why the government needs to step in for the 40 million uninsured in this country and the 38 million underinsured.

I often have discussions with the patients at the center where I’m being treated. And, as you may have guessed, health care reform is a popular topic. For the most part, the cancer patients I know are not only well informed, but they also support health care for everyone.

The reason for that is simple: When you’re facing  a serious illness, it tends to bring out a level of compassion you didn’t know you had, one that is desperately needed in a debate dominated by politics. Cancer survivors know what it’s like to be sick. And when your medical bills are in the six figures, you sure do appreciate health coverage. It’s nice not worrying about how you’ll pay for this week’s treatment or next week’s lab tests. The last time I checked, a CAT scan cost in excess of $7,000, and I’ve had two in the last three months.

Unlike the Tea Partiers, who—if they even have insurance to begin with—don’t want others to share in the health care spoils, cancer patients understand that universal coverage is a moral imperative. There’s something about walking through the fire that makes you want to help out the next person. You don’t want others to suffer or be denied care. U.S. Sen. Roland Burris of Illinois got it right. “It’s time to do it for the benefit of those who are uninsured,” he said about health care reform.

Last week, he came out publicly to declare that he has no intention of signing a bill that doesn’t include a government option. And although his primary motive is likely to land a spot on prime time, I’m not mad if he plays politics to promote the greater good.

With all the media coverage of the return of the public option, the junior senator stepped up at just the right time. Folks had counted him out, but he’s clearly determined to play hardball. Just like the Yankees. If we can get universal coverage and win the World Series, this will turn out to be a really good year.

chemo brain or garcia gene?

illustration by artist calida (www.artistcalida.com)

My family is the real-life version of the Griswolds from National Lampoon’s. More space cadet than rocket scientist. The kind of people who are really good at getting in their own way.

You’ve seen us before. At the rest stop wondering how we drove 40 miles in the wrong direction. At the movies bragging about how we’re smarter than everyone else with our store-bought sodas and garbage bag full of homemade popcorn. Hours late to all the events we didn’t RSVP for.

So, several months ago, when I started suffering from chemo brain — short-term memory loss and a decline in cognitive abilities due to chemotherapy — I wasn’t sure whether the drugs were to blame or my Garcia genes. Let me provide a sketch of the patriarchs of our family for a little context.

My dad, Joe, has belt-attached holsters that sit on both hips. One is for his cell phone and the other is for his glasses. That in and of itself is pretty funny, because my dad wears his pants so high that his belt is typically above his belly button. But the real reason I bring this up is because he purchased the special holders to keep track of his phone and his specks, which he loses all the time. Invariably, though, one, if not both, of his hip-slung carrying cases winds up empty, and helping him retrace his steps goes something like this:

Joe: “Did you see where I put my glasses?”

Me: “Nope. Where did you have them last?”

Joe: “On my face.”

Those older ATMs, the ones where you insert your card in the machine, were a cruel joke for my dad. For some reason, he never caught on that the loud, methodical beeping at the end of the transaction was a reminder to grab your card. I can’t count how many times he’d go out to get money only to return with no card, cursing under his breath, because the machine sucked it up.

And it’s not just memory loss that gets the better of the Garcias. We have an uncanny knack for offending folks just by being ourselves, getting all the family gossip wrong, and landing in the most bizarre situations.

Take my uncle Tony, my dad’s younger brother. He’s gotten peed on by a Tiger, once choked a cab driver in Italy he thought was trying to cheat him, and is convinced that a rooster on the farm where he and my dad spent their summers as kids wanted to kill him.

This is the same uncle who wears a one-piece adult-size snowsuit indoors during winter because his historic home in Germantown, Pa., is too costly to heat. Get Joe and Tony together and forget about it.

When my cousin Calida and I moved to New York more than 10 years ago, our dads volunteered to drive the U-Haul. Why this was even allowed is beyond me.

this is exactly what my uncle's indoor snowsuit looks like

We’d just gotten the last of my stuff from my mom’s house and were ready to hit the New Jersey Turnpike for the 100-mile trip. My uncle, who thought he was in drive but was actually in reverse, backed the moving truck into my mom’s wooden fence. The damage was pretty bad, but instead of calling an expert or telling my mom, the Garcias spent an hour working furiously to straighten out the bent pieces and then drove off. To this day, the latch on that fence still doesn’t work right.

Considering that I share the same DNA as Joe and Tony, I immediately looked inward when I lost two sets of house keys in the same week and noticed I was having difficulty remembering what I was saying mid-sentence.

At first, I attributed it to chemo. Cancer patients almost always have long-term affects from the meds, a mental fog if you will. But then I remembered that I am a Garcia. We are, by nature, challenged individuals.

This got me wondering who would win in a battle between chemo brain and the Garcia gene. And by win I mean which one is likely the biggest contributor to my cognitive lapses. Here are just a few examples of the sideaffects of cancer drugs:

* Being unusually disorganized
* Confusion
* Difficulty multitasking
* Short-term memory problems
* Trouble with verbal memory, such as remembering a conversation
* Trouble with visual memory

Heavy stuff, right? Maybe for anybody else’s family.  I’m beginning to think that a matchup between chemo brain and Garcia gene might be tied. As Joe and Tony have passed the Griswold syndrome down to their progeny, the above symptoms  just happen to be things that now plague the rest of us.

And all of this will be on full display during the family trip that we’re planning for next year. God help us.