You’re shitting me, I thought when my routine mammogram turned into two hours of close-ups and an appointment to come in for a biopsy. I wasn’t dreaming and this wasn’t last year’s nightmare. It was a whole new kind of ugly. The good news- Your left breast (the one with a tumor that sucked away my summer of ’09) looks great. The bad news, your right breast has microcalcifications. These look like specs of sand on a mammogram. I had five specs. Five. Five f&%king specs that could turn my life upside down again. 80 percent of calcs are benign. You get a little metal clip in your boob, a pat on your head and be on your way. 20 percent come back malignant and you’re back on the operating slab and then on to radiation. I’m starting to get how people could just stop treatment altogether and say f*&k it even if their odds are good.
Every six months I have to go through this hell? This dread that it could be back. Canser. The bitch is back? And even if it doesn’t turn out to be canser, my breasts will be Swiss cheese. So this Asian radiologist is describing what will happen next and all I’m thinking is how smudged her glasses are and how I want to pull them off her nose and clean them off for her. Maybe she was just seeing the dirt from her lenses? But then I see the evidence for myself. Those little fricking specs. And I want to run out of the room and cry. But I can’t. I have to sit there and pretend like I’m listening to my dentist explain how to floss. I nod my head. I keep my cool. I’m going to have a stereotactic biopsy she tells me. It shouldn’t hurt too bad and it won’t leave much of a scar.
The procedure involves me lying flat on a coroners’ table with my breast hanging from a hole in the center. Lovely. They numb me up then send a giant needle straight to the place where they ‘think’ the calcs are and vacuum them out. The tissue gets sent to a lab and 48 hours later, I will know.
I talked this all over with Ryan last night. Up until then I guess it hadn’t hit me. I was fine all weekend. Even forgot about this ‘issue’.
As I described what would happen to me today, I scared myself. Regardless of the pathology, this is my life now. Every six months for the next five years, at least, I will be forced to deal. I can never put it in my past and pretend that was someone else it happened to. Can I be strong and stoic forever? I got a copy of “Somewhere in Time” just so I could have a good excuse to ball my eyes out. I don’t like feeling sorry for myself.
My doctor tried to make me feel better. “It’s too soon after chemo for this to be anything bad,” she said. “I’ll see you in six months.” God I really hope she’s right.
I brought in my Zune and watched a movie while they did their thing today. It helped. Not sure if it was a smart choice to watch “Crazy Sexy Cancer”but I only had 15 minutes left and I wanted to see how the documentary ended. It took my mind off what they were doing under the table. The hot pain of the lidocaine needles, the dig of metal into my ribcage, the snap of the vacuum sucking out my insides. All were slightly dulled thanks to my headphones and lack of focus. The movie ended and I was helped up. The nurse pushed firmly over the wound to squash the bleeding but also to keep me from freaking out when I saw the hole. Oops. Too late. But I didn’t freak. In the scheme of things what’s one little hole compared to a 2″ scar on your nipple??!!! I’ll take the hole.
It’s been a rough day. Did I mention my Homeowner’s Association is breathing down my neck? I got a certified letter today telling me I can’t rent out rooms in my house because it’s a single family dwelling and that if I stop renting they won’t pursue the matter further. NEWS FLASH- single family dwellings these days are defined as three unrelated people living together. That’s what I got. And don’t you people have anything better to do with your lives than scour Craigslist looking to ‘catch’ me? My Prepaid Legal lawyers are all over this one. As much as I’m irritated by their Nazi-like abuse of power, I do appreciate that the HOA actually took my mind off canser for the rest of the day. Thanks, guys. I spent all afternoon researching the laws and combing through my CC&Rs. I’m ready to walk- head high- into our annual homeowner’s meeting tomorrow night. That should be fun. NOT. I wonder if the person who complained will speak up if I’m present. Or will they be chickensh*t? Stay tuned….

I’ve known about Frank Garrish’s acting class for years but have always been hesitant to enroll. He’s scary- or so I’ve been told. He’ll make you cry. He doesn’t hold back. It’s not that I can’t take the criticism but I’m hardest on myself so when I hear from someone else that I’m not measuring up, I double that criticism and get discouraged. The last thing you want to be in acting is discouraged.
I’ve been at it for as long as I could control my own life. My parents refused to drive me to auditions or pick me up from play rehearsals so I had to wait. I combined my ability to write with my interests in media and – no- I did not become a screenwriter but a broadcast journalist. You know those people you see on TV telling you the news every night? I did that.- at KSPN in Aspen, Colo. and at KUTV in Salt Lake City. Then I was laid off. So I addressed another passion. Skiing. I joined Deer Valley’s Ski School and taught skiing to all ages and abilities. I have been skiing all my life- including a stint as a racer in college at UCLA. Came in 7th in slalom out of 36th. Not bad but my dad says if I don’t win, it’s not anything. See where I’m going with this? He poo poos acting too- If you don’t get a role, it’s not anything.
I absolutely love acting and the training of an actor. I have studied with practically everyone in Utah- Anne Sward, Geoff Hansen, Jeff Johnson, Catrine, Kate, Judy, Molly Benson and anyone else who sounds like they have something to offer. Not because I think they’re going to win me a roll but because I can practice with my peers, grow as an actor and ‘disappear’ for moments into others’ skin. If I make it past the audition and into a callback, bonus!
I’m SAG eligible. Got my card after five days as a featured extra on Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman. I had spent the summer in LA working for a talent agent at ICM (who’s now president of Warner Bros.) and did the stint on the Dr. Quinn set. I moved back to Utah and scored more roles – Promised Land, Touched, I was the soccer coach in Return to the Secret Garden and have three national infomercials to be (not so) proud of. I’ve done a handful of short films and if you asked what I dream of when it comes to acting it would be to star in a (good) independent that wins raves at Sundance. I have no desire to move back to LA. Ick. I have a strong freelance writing career, an adorable 3yo, a hot, loving boyfriend (her daddy), a great home in Park City and I ski 70 days a season. Why would I want to give that up?
To be honest, I want to nail more callbacks. I’m hoping Frank’s class will advance that goal. Please, Frank, don’t make me cry too much.
Update: Frank’s not so scary at all! We did some Meisnerish type things that got you out of your head, talked about acting technique and started to work a short scene we’ll do next week. As I was leaving he told me “You did good! And you listen, that’s important.” It felt like my dad had just told me he was proud of me.

I’ve got a bunch of articles on my to-do list. Do I attack with fervor? Nope. My eyes are blurry from the day’s strain and Sage’s little kid voice- once cute- is now like fingernails on a chalkboard and she refuses to play anywhere but next to me. Why must her mouth move with the second hand? Just a moment’s silence. Is that too much to ask? Apparently it is when we’re dealing with a 3 year old. Ryan on the other hand is gleefully silent …watching his beloved Celtics take to the court. Half my battle but why oh why isn’t she downstairs with him? We’ve been cruising together all day. I even took her to my callback today.
Life really isn’t that rough if that’s all I have to complain about. Health is good, eyes are healing (albeit slowly), Sage is as rambunctious as ever without the five-alarm tantrums that could shake the pope’s panties off, and I get a WHOLE weekend away to take in the Telluride Bluegrass Festival, VIP style. In so many ways, I’m due this trip.
My first summer outing (the two trips to Fruita in May don’t count- it wasn’t summer yet.;) ), I’m flying solo, I just had eye surgery, Sage has been strapped to my hip for two weeks because preschool’s out, I spent three full days upgrading and reloading Windows 7 and programs, et al (anyone who has done their own debugging knows the stress), and I need the inspiration that only an outdoor fest weekend can bring. New friends, new sounds, gourmet food and 8 hours of silent nights.
Sage keeps having ‘nightmares’. Last night was the first since San Diego where she didn’t come screaming down the hall in hysterics, wanting to crawl into bed with us. For the past week, we’ve marched her back to bed in the obscene hours of the morning. She’d go back to sleep only to wake me up at 7 am wanting to ‘cuddle’. Aww, how could I refuse? But 7 is unacceptable. I sleep till 9. Today, I slept till 9! Our ‘chats’ about not coming into Momma’s room until you hear her alarm may have finally registered. Ya think? I don’t want to jinx it but it’s entirely possible that she realizes she needs her sleep as well. That or she wants the rice krispie treat I’ve promised if she doesn’t wake me.
Gone are the days when I slept solidly and honestly believed I was a sound sleeper. Ryan’s on a lame-ass stock exchange schedule that has him setting his alarm once at 5 and again at 5:30. I sleep in another room sometimes just so I don’t have a series of naps instead of a good night’s rest. I really wish he’d get a 9-5er like normal people. It does me no good to have him home by 4 as he winds up on the couch sound asleep for two hours anyway. At least if he worked bankers’ hours instead of traders’ hours, I could have my beauty rest.
And now for the detes you’re so dying to hear about. The CT Scan raised a scare but turned out to be nothing… for now. We didn’t move up the MRI but I did have an ultrasound to see if there was something that needed to be biopsied. The radiologist said she sees nothing then confided that CTs aren’t the method of diagnosis for breast cancer. Hence, the MRI order. My doc confirmed that everyone was being just a tad trigger happy and my routine checkup should remain routine. It’s like I’m living a new life this month. I get to go weeks without being handled like Mama Luigi’s ground beef!
The next checkup is in July and hopefully that little ‘spot’ turns out to be scar tissue. The thing that does scare me is that the radiologist said if there’s going to be a recurrence it usually happens near the original tumor. But like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll worry about that tomorrow.
Today, I focus on acting. Some encouraging words and signs in the past two weeks have lit a tiny fire under my ass. I shot a crazy short film with a completely adlibbed script for no pay but a ton of fun. My IHC commercial started airing (even Sage recognized me on TV). I had an audition for a short film and a feature where both directors complimented me and inquired about my experience, and I got a callback for an indie feature. The acting scene in Utah has most certainly picked up.
It’s mostly low budge stuff that’s calling out to our local talent but it’s work and there are auditions every week. Indie films, short films, student films, local commercials. I just about cried though when I heard Catrine got her mitts into a film I auditioned for last week. The director seemed to adore me- and two guys listening outside passed me their cards and said they were working on some projects that I might be ‘right’ for! I went home beaming. But then Catrine gets wind of the project and talks them into having another audition to showcase some select talent. UGH. I’m all for a production doing everything they can to have the best shot at success but that doesn’t mean I like having the wind taken out of my sails by introducing the competition. Who knows? They may still think I’m the sh*t. It’s a tough role but one I would love an opportunity to play. Pretty much Sharon Stone in Casino without the drug/alcohol abuse. Hell, yeah, I can do that.
The call back today was a no-brainer. ER Nurse. I was born to play strong female roles. Cops, lawyers, doctors, reporters. Done ’em. It wasn’t until I had Sage that I could even see myself reading for the part of the mom. Today, did not go as smoothly as hoped.
I walked into the room to find a very good looking guy staring at me. I did a double take. Not because I was nervous about the audition but for a second I forgot where I was! Obviously John was looking at me as an actor coming in to read for the part but for a moment it was like I was meeting someone from Match. He was all smiles and staring! I was actually confused. I looked at Tye shutting the door behind me and back to the table where John sat. Jeff (the casting director) lurked in the side shadows. Maybe the eye surgery went to my brain. Then he started to speak- to ask me questions about myself (as he skimmed my resume). We’re chatting about mountain biking v. road cycling and then there was Tye signaling me to slate to camera. Huh? What? 0 to 60 in 10. And so I was on. Not a lot (or any) time to get in the zone. I can only hope that it was better than I thought. I let Tye rush me. Shame on me. I know better than that. And shame on Tye for not trying to help me shine. The upside is that he did the exact same thing on my first audition and I walked not expecting a callback. I want this part! It sounds like a great film. If you’re at all curious, go to http://pelotonthemovie.com/.
It’s crazy late and Sage just woke up crying in her room next door. I ignore her. Sigh. She’s so sweet and it’s all about being alone in the dark. You can’t blame the kid for wanting a warm heart next to her. I get Ryan don’t I? But at the same time, the late night terrors need to stop- for everyone’s sake. OK. She’s fallen back asleep on her own so I can now sneak off to bed without her hearing me. Toodles.

So get this, I did a mammogram in January as part of my follow up. The scan showed a tiny patch near where I had my surgery. Doc said it was probably scar tissue. But then a couple of weeks later I was having a weird feeling in my chest like when I used to live in LA and there were smog alerts and your chest hurt when you breathed. So the oncology doc ordered a CT scan. Everything looked good in the area I felt the pain, my labs were 100 percent but the little ‘patch’ previously seen on the mammogram raised more flags and now they want to move up my MRI (which was scheduled in July as part of my protocol)!
I have sent an email to my doctor three times asking if she saw something on the MRI and should I be worried. Why do we need to move up the date? No response. Called today and her nurse called me back. I asked again and the nurse read the notes on the CT- small grouping of asymmetrical cells. I told her to skip the MRI and get me a needle biopsy. I don’t want the MRI to put me in some kind of wait and watch holding pattern for months or years or worse be told I need a biopsy. Test the fuckers and tell me what they are; now. Besides, I’d rather get an ultrasound and a prick than lay horizontal for 45 minutes with an IV stuck in me. Not to mention the extra radiation. I don’t get it. The chemo and radiation were supposed to knock out the bad cells (and the good). How could they have assimilated so quickly? It hasn’t even been 6 months. Of course it could be nothing or scar tissue like my doctor originally thought. Either way, I’ll know next week. ARRRGGGGHHH.

So I’m thinking I must have been living in some fantasy bubble that’s finally popped. I don’t have a dream child. I have the child from hell. My dad announced today from the front passenger seat as Sage was engaged in a full-blown, mind-bending tantrum, “I’m not going anywhere with that thing!” And, so, no trip to Orlando this summer. I’ve always known that Sage has an eye-popping set of lungs but the outbursts ended as quickly as they erupted when she was a babe. Now, at 3.5, those throw downs sound out as often as the word NO and last for an hour. In fact, it’s usually ‘no’ that instigates it. I’ve followed all the rulebooks- ignore the screams and tears, take away cherished items, never give in, time outs; nothing curbs the horror. Today, this morning, it was wanting to watch Dora. Because Dora wouldn’t come on for another three minutes and she couldn’t wait, she got worked up. I shut off the TV and told her she wouldn’t watch anything then. Hoo boy. Screaming louder than a tea kettle and crying so hard she had trouble breathing, I dropped her in the bedroom, told her she could come out when she calmed down, and took a shower. I dried off to her thumping on her door and my mother trying to tell her to stop. I took over and she stopped pounding but she kept crying. “You can come out when you’re done crying,” I told her. Eventually, she came out. That works when you are at home with no immediate plans but what about the car?
Heading home from Fruita last weekend, she lost it. Because we told her to let her food digest after she said she was hungry and she had already eaten a cheeseburger and a quesadilla (road food). She thrashed about in her carseat. We took things away from her. Her sippy cup, her stuffed bunny, her shoes, her jacket! She could get items back when she calmed down. Nope. We threatened to not take her on another roadtrip, we pulled over for a brief moment (but really needed to get home), we ignored her and talked amongst ourselves. No end. Then it was her pants, her shirt and voile she was sitting in panties and crying her head off about being cold with no sign of letting up to get her clothes back. We didn’t know what else to take from her! After an hour of torture (on us), she literally passed out. All I had to do was insist on her shutting her eyes. In five minutes, she was sound asleep. Poor thing was exhausted. Three and tired, with a pending cold. Of course! But then my dad has to go and say, “No excuses. Stop making excuses for her.” Stella saw Sage in action when we visited in January and Sage refused to take off her daughter Alyssa’s princess costume so we could leave for the airport. I saw concern, shock, sympathy, disgust in Stella’s eyes as I shut Sage into a side room for yet another timeout while she tried to blow out her vocal cords. Again, she was exhausted from five days of convention walking at the SIA show. I’m thinking of my dad’s words. No excuses. Just because she’s wasted does not make it ok to sound like a five-alarm fire and you’re being attacked by pitbulls all at once.
After today, I can no longer live in denial. I’m calling an intervention on myself. We need help. Even Ryan agrees now. It’s happening at least once a day. At home, we can shut her in her room until she chills. We aren’t embarrassed because the displays aren’t public. Here, in San Diego, very public. We had a perfect 2+ hours in the movie theater watching Ironman 2; she comes trotting out all gleefully talking about how she wants an Ironman costume for Halloween. In the bathroom, she softly says she doesn’t have to go potty. In the parking lot she shouts about how she has to have chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t a scream. An adamant demand. I told her not to shout or she won’t get any ice cream at all. “But, Momma! I had chocolate ice cream with Noah and Isaac!!!” She shouts. There was absolutely NO cause to raise her voice. But she was in the moment I guess. I told her well, that’s it, no ice cream. And so it began. The entire drive home was a nightmare. I felt the way I did when I wanted everyone to see how awesome Tenaya was but instead she barked at them and they called her Cujo. My heart sank. But to tame the beast and turn her into one of the most loved dogs in the neighborhood, I used a shock collar. Don’t think there’s a legal one for children. DAMMIT!!! Sage was once again wiped out from a weekend without naps and 8-hour (rather than 12-hour) nights. No excuses. She kicked, screamed, cried, SPIT all the way back to my parent’s house. We all pretended she wasn’t there. No luck. My dad put down his window and told her he would roll it up when she stopped. Nope. Just made her scream about being cold and her hair getting in her mouth. She tried to undo her seatbelt. I grabbed her wrists. She spit on my arm and screamed. I swear the drivers next to us must have thought we were kidnappers. She peed on herself, then cried about it. We got home, got out of the car and my parents hugged me and said they were sorry I had to go through this. Then they ran. I carried Sage to the bathroom, changed her clothes, put her in the bedroom to calm down- which she didn’t do for another 30 minutes. No ice cream, no swim, no bath; there went all the things she wanted to do today. I wish I had recorded the fit. You can’t begin to imagine.
Once she calmed down, I sat her down and explained that we don’t act like this; that others do not want to hear her scream and cry and that she’s not going to get what she wants with ths bhaviour. Yeah yeah, you’re thinking well she’s getting my attention. But she gets that plenty without the screams and how do you explain the car ride?
She’s sound asleep now. Been that way since 7 p.m. Poor thing’s exhausted. No excuses! I’m picking up the book Love and Logic tomorrow. If that doesn’t help, I’m sending a tape to Super Nanny. This has got to stop. Her preschool teachers have no idea what I’m talking about. Apparently, Sage is a little angel for them. Ryan says it’s because no one tells her ‘no’ at preschool. I can’t believe that. Plus, I don’t really say the word ‘no’. Most of the time, what she wants is reasonable or I offer a substitute I know should make her happy. The “no” comes after the tantrum starts. Like with the Dora thing today. I told her she could watch Dora… when it was on in 3 minutes. I never told her she couldn’t. She threw her fit; I turned off the TV. I said she could have ice cream. I didn’t have a problem with that. She yelled, I said no ice cream if not quiet, more yelling then crying.
I want to go to Orlando. And I want my parents to see how great Sage really is. I want to be able to say no to Sage and not worry that I’m starting WWIII. Any advice? Bring it.