Genre8ModelsRiaz

__**Diagnosed Models**__

1) I had turned 50 and was feeling extremely tired, rundown and burnt out. In addition, I was gaining weight - up to 15 extra pounds and had swelling in my extremities. I went to see my gynecologist this year and complained of fatigue. She immediately suggested a blood test for the thyroid. It came back at over 150 TSH (off the chart). When it was retested, it came back with the same results. She immediately referred me to an endocrinologist, who scheduled me to come in right away. She gave me two 50 mcg Synthroids (in her office) and put me on 50's. She also took me off work for 7 days. I am now on 75's and will be going to 100's at the beginning of November. (My antibodies came back at 149, instead of under 35!) I'm still not feeling 100% - having good days and bad days. My biggest problem is trying to figure out what is safe for me to eat, since I'm a vegetarian. I know I should avoid soy and make sure to cook the goitrogens: broccoli, cauliflower, etc.

2) TOPICS:LIFE STORIES, CANCER  On Monday, Showtime’s series “The Big C,” about a middle-aged woman with life-threatening melanoma will premiere. On Wednesday of this week, I learned I was living it.

It started with a bump, a little scab on my head that wouldn’t go away. I can’t remember the exact day I first noticed it, but it was early summer. It was on the part of my hair, right near a scar from a childhood injury. I just figured I’d dinged myself up somehow and all my sun and swimming and hair care products were preventing it from healing properly. I hypochondriacally Googled “infected cuts,” never guessing for a moment I was chasing the wrong search term. Then last week I went to the dermatologist. I figured I’d get some antibiotics and ointment. Instead, when she looked at my scalp, she gave a little involuntary sucking-in of air and said quietly, “That looks like cancer.” That’s how your life changes, in four words. Even then, however, I didn’t fret. The doctor scraped my head to run a biopsy, and I assumed I’d come back in a few days for a minor melanoma procedure. My Facebook status update was “Best summer ever.” And then, at 10:15 Wednesday morning, my phone rang. “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “It’s malignant.”

She told me that because of the size and the thickness of the melanoma, we were going to have to be “aggressive” in treating it. I was to go to Sloan-Kettering the next day to meet with an oncologist for further tests, to determine if the cancer has spread. She further said I was almost certainly in for some chemo, and probably other forms of treatment as well. “It’s a lot of information,” she told me, “and I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” But I don’t. I just have one. Why? My brand-new oncologist’s office called me a few moments later to discuss my imminent appointment. Things move very quickly when you’re in the Malignant Zone. I’ve been applying industrial grade sunscreen to my skin, a vampire’s ideal pigment, most of my life. But nobody ever said that just walking around under the sky would make the top of my head vulnerable, that I ought to have been wearing hats this whole time. Skin cancer of the scalp is one of the deadliest forms of melanoma. It has nearly double the rate of fatality as cancers elsewhere on the skin. If it is advanced, the five-year survival rate is slim. Oh well, I always liked a challenge. “My life has become a shitty Showtime series,” I IM’ed a colleague. “Weeds?” he wrote back. “Dexter?” I typed back, “Inside NASCAR.” A few moments after deciding that the rest of my day was going to involve beer and a Will Ferrell movie, my friend Larry, who has teetered on the fence of parental ambivalence for years, texted me two words: “Knocked up.” “Malignant,” I wrote back. Larry and his wife are expecting in January. I can’t wait to meet their baby. “And in 10 years,” he told me, “you and I are going to dance all night in Barcelona.” It’s good to have an incentive plan. I called my best friend in California, and got her voice mail. “I just got off the phone with my doctor,” I said. “And to give you an idea of how it went, I’m wondering a lot about my hair and my access to pot.” Moments later she called back, and channeling her inner John McEnroe, bellowed into my phone, “THIS IS BULLSHIT.” It was, coincidentally, her mother’s birthday. She would have been 72, had she not died of cancer when Sharon was a teenager. I ate pretzel bites and jalapeño cheese for lunch, because, what the hell. I went to the movies. I threw a coin into the fountain at Lincoln Center and made a wish. I laughed at the perfect timing of it all when the Five Stairsteps’ “Ooh Child” came up on my iPod’s shuffle. I hid behind my sunglasses on the A train, tears streaming down my face. I told my daughters that Mama is sick, and she’s probably going to have to go through chemo like Grandpa did. “But then you’re going to get better, right?” my elder daughter asked. “I’m going to try really hard,” I replied. On Thursday I spent several hours at Sloan-Kettering, answering questions and filling out forms. I sat in a waiting room full of quietly frantic-looking people watching “Deal or No Deal” and availing themselves of the free coffee. A young woman in lace knee socks, plaid miniskirt, and Led Zeppelin T-shirt typed lazily on her phone. I don’t think her peach fuzz hairstyle was a fashion statement. Next week, I am going back to have a portion of my scalp removed, and flesh from either my neck or my thigh grafted onto it — we don’t yet know which. Apparently the surgeon likes to wing it, skin graft-wise. I will wake up with a ping pong ball-size permanent bald spot, and a badass scar that I intend to go around telling people I got in Desert Storm. I am going to have lymph nodes removed and biopsied. And then, my new cancer doctor tells me, once we get the results from all that, we can begin my “treatment.” A million years ago — Tuesday night — I went out for drinks with my agent, which was enough to make me lament my literary prospects and the folly of ever choosing to become a writer. “Why couldn’t I have been good at math?” I had cracked. I also can’t dance. I’m bad at sports. My navigational sense is so remedial I get lost in a grid system. I am unable to follow even simple directions, whether it’s a recipe or the assembly instructions for an IKEA shelving system. And I am pretty inept at self-diagnosing cancer.But so far this year I’ve posed nude in a magazine, chased a pair of muggers into a Bronx housing project, swung on a trapeze, splashed in the ocean with my daughters, and opened my skeptical heart to love again. In November, I am going to Costa Rica to surf and party with monkeys. I’m crappy at a lot of stuff, but I am phenomenal at telling fear to suck it so I can go about the business of living. And so while I don’t know what the future holds, with every breath in me, I’m going to keep doing what I do best. And live.

3) When I was first diagnosed with Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy at the age of 10 my life really didn’t change that much. The only thing I really noticed is that I just couldn’t keep up with other children my age, but it really didn’t bother me that much. Even as a child most time’s I kept a positive attitude about things, sure I had trouble running which limited my ability to participate in team sports, I just didn’t let it get to me. To be honest most time’s I didn’t allow my condition to keep me from being involved in playing sports with my friends, for most of my childhood I was able to take part in shooting hoops, playing baseball and was even was able to play floor hockey. What really helped me a lot was the fact that growing up most of my close friends knew about my condition and they just allowed me to play sports at my own pace. When I was younger I remember a time when my churches youth group was going to a local park to play a game of soft ball, at first I didn’t think I was going to be able to play, but thankfully one of my friends offered to run for me. This allowed me to join in the game and have a great time with everyone else, and what made that day even better is that when it was my turn up to bat I hit the ball so far that the person running for me actually made it all the way to third. As you can see even with Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy I was still able to be involved in sports just in a different way. I really believe that I was lucky that growing I had people in my life who understood what my limitations were. Sure growing up I ran into a few problems, but to be honest having Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy really didn’t end up ruining my life. From the day of my diagnosis to at least the age of 18 my life wasn’t that bad there was actually many things I could still do. Stairs were a bit of a problem but when I was younger I was still able to climb stairs, I just had to climb them in my own unique way. But my biggest problem with stairs came when I had to go down them; you see I had to be very careful since there were a few times as a child that my legs gave out resulting in me falling down the stairs. As you can see living with Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy I have faced a few challenges and at time's I had to adapt to the situation and do things in a way that works best for me. I learned pretty quickly that when going down stairs I really have to take my time, it's was the same when it came to me and playing sports I just had to do it at my own pace. You see there’s many things I was still able to do as a child, I even joined my friends when ever they would go to the local amusement park, sure I had to take a lot of breaks but I still had a great time. You see growing up I never allowed the Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy to get in my way of having fun. For some reason even though there were things I still couldn't do I never let those things get me down. I was lucky my childhood outside of school was pretty good; you see I was still able to go out and play pool, go to the mall to hang out with friends and even go to summer camp. In my early teens I actually remember a time when I went to a camp by the name of Circle Square Ranch where I took part in a three week Leaders in Training program. As you can see I wasn’t always limited by Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy. Now I’m not saying my life was easy, physically there were thing I couldn’t do, but I didn't focus on them. You see when I was a child I had many different hobbies that ended up helping me get through the tough times. Growing up I was really into cars, I actually collected car magazines, brochures and even die-cast cars. I was also really into music and that also took up a big part of my time. As you can see I always focused on what made me happy, and it helped me immensely. So if you have recently been diagnosed with Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy the best advice I can give you is to just focus on the things in life you can do and I guarantee you like me you'll find a way to enjoy life. Just know you’re not the only one going through this and that you have the support of all of us living with Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy.

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