Blog Party For Mental Health: an eating disorder revisited
Marie at Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer has challenged us bloggers to focus on mental health today, May 16, 2012. She is following the recommendation of the American Psychological Association, which has asked bloggers to stress the importance of this topic.
Today I address the challenge of making lifestyle and behavioral changes when a person suffers from binge eating disorder. Last week I wrote a post for a different blog party about my own compulsive overeating disorder. It’s certainly a stigma. No one wants to be discovered polishing off a complete quart of ice cream. And yet that’s what many do. It’s a rocky road that leads to a perdition of nausea and chocolate hangovers.
To break that behavior, I’ve found small changes in behavior make a big difference. Here are some of my tips:
1. Journaling. I keep a record of when I eat, what I eat and how I feel when I eat.
2. Avoiding the trigger foods. I take a detour from grocery and drugstore aisles lined with my hot-button sweets: ice cream, candy and cookies. I bypass the bins in the front of stores filled with post-holiday candy on sale. If I do happen to linger at one of these places and pick up bags at 50% off, I will myself to put them back. I picture in my mind how I will feel when I gulp down a bag in one sitting. I dispel the myth that I can eat only one or two and be satisfied.
3. Determining the trigger. When a compulsion overtakes me, I try to determine the emotion that’s prompting me to eat when I’m not hungry. Am I lonely? Bored? Angry? Depressed? Stressed over a deadline? Whatever it is, instead of running to a destructive comfort food, I take a run outside, go to the gym, call a friend, or, if the weather is really nice, head for the community pool. Nothing like being seen in a bathing suit to motivate one to cut down the calories.
4. Using an accountability partner. Whenever junk food starts to call my name, I call my girlfriend, who assures me I can get through this. She walks me through the urge until I’m “safe” on the other side.
5. Finding a counselor/therapist. A private therapist can help the struggling person get to the root of the problem and pursue lifestyle modifications.
6. Finding a local Overeaters Anonymous group. These support groups can add to the accountability factor and provide additional tips and motivation to stave off temptations.
7. Seeking a residential or day treatment center. These facilities may be just the ticket to provide an environment conducive to tackling such disorders.
8. Googling “compulsive eating disorder” to see what other options and tips might pop up.
Unless people really understand this addiction, they tend to judge those of us suffering from this plague. Some say we do it to block out pain, just as alcoholics and sex addicts do. Some say we are trying to punish our mate by getting fat. Or we do it to sabotage ourselves so we won’t be too attractive and lure the wrong people into our lives. Maybe some of these reasons are valid. But many are not. Most people without the addiction just don’t get it. A little compassion here, a little mercy there, would go a long way.
If you know someone with this addiction, just listen for a while. Try to see if you can walk in their shoes for a mile. If you are able, offer to be an accountability partner or find online or offline resources to provide behavior-altering assistance. Or give the person a list of local counselors who can offer guidance through and past the addiction over time.
There is hope. Never doubt it.
Mother’s Day Recap: A glorious experience
A and J, lifetime skiing buddies
May 13, 2012 was Mother’s Day in the U.S., a day of spiritual origins that has only recently taken on human form. A time of reflection on what it means to be a mother, what our own mothers are like, and what challenges we face if we are childless or our mothers are no longer around physically or emotionally.
It’s a holiday of mixed emotion, the same as Christmas and Thanksgiving and all those other holidays that remind us of our families–or lack thereof.
Last year’s Mother’s Day found me in Ireland with a dear friend taking an excursion to the quaint town of Kilkenny. As the train whisked us through villages, on its way to its final destination of Waterford, we gazed at the rolling green landscapes, the beauty that is Ireland. And we reminisced about what it meant to be a mother and to have a mother. We toured a castle, browsed through a block-long nursery, stopped by a pub (of course) and visited the abbey. This quick day tour gave us the flavor of a colorful town. Thoughts of family back home disappeared into the background of our sensory experiences.
This year’s Mother’s Day posed different challenges. Finding myself now as a single mom, I wondered how my adult sons were coping, those young men who flew the coop and have made their own nests in various roosts around the country.
Not having heard since Christmas from J, my oldest son, who lives closest to me, I particularly wanted to know how he had been faring for the last five months. Due to finances he no longer had a phone. And he wasn’t into social networks, or even checking e-mail regularly. So I had a wealth of questions swirling around my brain, seen through the lens of my eye as a mother. Does he like his new apartment? His roommate? Is his car in working order? Does he still have a dream of becoming a teacher? Can he afford to visit a dentist?
These questions–and many more–went unanswered until last Sunday. He e-mailed Friday night asking if he could come over on Mother’s Day afternoon for a visit. And maybe we could also have lunch.
“Of course you can,” I typed as soon as the e-mail entered my Ethernet.
Then I screamed, “Yes!” to no one. Only my stuffed teddy bear might have heard me, but he could have been asleep on my pillow shams.
Before J stopped by, I received a phone call from my younger son A. I hear from A more regularly, but it was still a thrill to listen to his voice, chattering away about what he had been up to. My mother ear detected the excitement in his voice as he spoke about a possible raise in his salary. I puffed up like a peacock. But soon I had to cut him off. The doorbell beckoned.
And there stood my oldest son, J, the one who opened my womb almost 28 years ago. He was holding a dozen red roses. After I whisked him inside and hugged him shamelessly, he brought the flowers to my sink, filled the vase and arrayed the stems to prevent their drying out.
“J, you don’t know how long it’s been since I was given fresh flowers!” I exclaimed. “I think I’m going to cry.”
He just gave me one of his dimpled grins, so pleased that he had made me happy.
Then he sat down in my grandma’s antique rocking chair and we caught up on each other’s lives. Funny how a few minutes can turn into an hour. My stomach’s growling finally interrupted my curiosity about my son and his “doings”.
“Want to have some lunch?” I asked, filled with hope.
“Oh yes, it’s been a long time since breakfast.” John started to get up.
“I’m not sure where we should go, since we don’t have reservations.”
“How about IHOP?” J asked. IHOP is one of John’s favorite places to eat. I thought about how it would probably not be too crowded, especially at 2:15 pm.
“Perfect,” I agreed, and we set off to quell the rumblings in our grumbling stomachs.
Sure enough, when we arrived there were no lines and plenty of empty tables. I refrained from fatty fare, despite those urges to indulge. After all, I’m giving a presentation on obesity and edema at a hospital in a few short weeks and must set a good example. I simply ordered a healthful omelet filled with all sorts of veggies, accompanied by a fresh fruit dish. J splurged on a milkshake and banana-strawberry waffles. We both savored our meals and the freshness of our conversation.
After we had sufficiently cleaned our plates, John got up, paid the bill, and we left.
The sweetness continued. I thought he would go back to his apartment at that point. But instead we went back to mine and talked some more over some diluted grape juice from my rather empty refrigerator. Finally I showed him my “new” TV, a castoff from some friends who had been given a flat-screen for Christmas. I gladly relieved them of their cathode-ray TV. He admired it along with my media center.
And then he gobsmacked me.
“Let’s watch an episode of Get Smart, Mom.”
Now this particular activity had been a ritual every Sunday afternoon in our happier household of two years ago. On Sunday afternoons we would all sit down as a family and watch a few episodes, laughing our heads off. Would you believe the episodes we picked to watch on my special day consisted of three parts? We watched for over an hour. And laugh, we did. I don’t think I could have been happier if someone had transformed my body into a healthy twenty-something shape. These precious moments with my son proved far more therapeutic. This was what memories are made of.
After that, we talked some more. Finally I asked John if he wanted to have dinner, but he declined my invitation; he had to get back.
An odd thing happened after he left. I did not exhibit symptoms of the empty-nest syndrome that I normally experience when the boys take off. Maybe it’s because J lives so close by and I hope to see him at his workplace, if not somewhere else around town. Or maybe I’ve gotten accustomed to the alone feeling of an empty nest and have healed from it. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful.
While my own departed mom has been gone since November 2004, I do not usually pay special tribute to her on this day. She is with me every day: in my smile, in my mannerisms, even in my appearance and behavior at times. I feel her hand on mine–in mine–gently guiding me, leading me to forgiveness, love and an indescribable sense of peace.
Nine years out from my last diagnosis of breast cancer, I still get to enjoy my grown sons. What more could I ask for on a sunny Sunday in May?
What has been your source of strength on the day when mothers are celebrated in your country? If you celebrate the day, what do you do?
Roses from J
j at 4 years old
A colourful building in Kilkenny, Ireland
True Life Tuesday Blog Party: Binge eating disorder
Maybe I’m having a little bit of withdrawal from HAWMC and can’t resist the urge to take on a blog prompt. Or maybe I’m a bit crazy. In any event I’m taking on the challenge of today’s prompt for the blog party.
Prompt: You Think You Know…
You think you know, but you have no idea…” Sound familiar? The Mtv show “True Life” (and Diary) puts a face to many life events – so we’re using the tagline as part of this month’s mission to combat misconceptions…those things that others think they know about you and your condition, but they have no idea.
You think you know, but you have no idea what it means to have an eating disorder. I’m not anorexic, but I’m certainly a compulsive overeater, someone with binge eating disorder. Since May is mental health awareness month, I want people to know that it’s no laughing matter to have an addiction to food. Since I was at least 16, I’ve struggled with eating ice cream straight out of the carton until all vestiges of the contents disappeared. Having this dysfunction is a lonely place, with feelings of constant guilt and self-loathing.
My metabolism is such that my body has not really reflected all the addictive eating I do, even as I approach my sixties. Yet there it is: my secret is out.
In one manifestation of this disorder, the sufferer convinces himself/herself to buy a quantity of ice cream bars or candy, with the notion that these foods will be consumed only one or two at a time. Additional incentives to buy these junk foods include after-holiday sales and “buy-one-get-one-free” gimmicks. Before he/she realizes it, the entire package is emptied and trashed. If the disorder includes an addiction for chocolate, forget buying chocolate chips for baking cookies in the future. They won’t make it past the first day on the shelf.
In such a life, these phrases ring true: Secret stashes. Empty packages hidden by rubbish. Vomiting. Desperation.
Recognizing my problem, my husband and sons would try to lock up or hide candy and cookies they brought into the house. Yet none of these measures stopped me from the addiction. People don’t realize that food is just as addicting to some people as crack cocaine or alcohol.
Symptoms of Binge Eating Disorder:
1. Eating much more quickly than you should at each episode.
2. Eating until you are uncomfortably full or sick. What is full? Sometimes only reaching a state of sickness lets you know.
3. Eating large amounts of food when you are not really hungry.
4. Eating alone because you are embarrassed about all the food you eat.
5. Feeling disgusted, depressed or guilty after overeating.
I’ve never sought help for this condition, believing I could stop any time I wanted by exercising that all-illusive myth called willpower. But I know better. Through self-help resources, support groups, therapy and behavior modification–such as journaling to discover eating patterns–I can alter those destructive habits permanently. I can avoid the onset of diabetes and other unwelcome conditions. I don’t need those illnesses on top of my two bouts with cancer and lymphedema.
So my advice? Be honest with yourself and assess which of the above five symptoms you might have. Take this quiz. Find an Overeaters Anonymous group in your area or seek professional help if you believe you have a problem. If you think you have a problem with food, you probably do.
Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge Recap #HAWMC
Okay, so I am late in providing this recap of my experience in creating blog posts based on WEGO health activist prompts for each of thirty days of April.
I needed a breather.
But now, looking back, I can say I learned much from the exercise. From creating a poster to pinning on Pinterist, to stream-of-consciousness writing, to creating prompts from a random image on Flickr, to creating word clouds–and more, I’ve tasted the gamut. And it certainly didn’t hurt that my blogging sisters Marie, Renn, and Yvonne chugged along in this challenge right beside me. Every morning I would check their blogs to see if a new post had been published. That was my signal to get–and keep–moving.
The easier posts to craft were those in which imagery played a large–or the only–role. Graphics and haikus often speak louder than prose. Especially when they are concise and precise. In creating such pieces, we choose words that speak to us the most. One of my fellow bloggers used the word tamoxifen in her word cloud. Only those who have been down the road of hormone-responsive breast cancer can picture how that word can loom large in the consciousness: a daily pill for at least two years with potentially devastating side effects.
Is it our lifeline, or is it our death sentence?
Leaving behind the daily task of providing a blog post based on someone else’s idea has been bittersweet. While I enjoyed the challenge, often it interfered with daily activity, including coffees or lunches with friends. Fortunately, I wasn’t yet working during that time. I could sit in front of my desktop at home for a bit longer than most people. Still, if you get the opportunity, grab it. It will change the way you view writing, imagery, social networks–and even life.
Have you faced creative writing challenges? What was the hardest part?
Stylish Garments for Lymphedema Control: a review of LympheDIVA products
Jan Hasak at the U.S. Capitol last November with her onyx sleeve
Several companies devote their efforts to develop and market compression garments for those of us with lymphedema. A swelling due to blockage of the lymph vessels often caused by cancer treatment, lymphedema is a life-long condition that must be controlled by wearing compression garments. Because Germany for years has been ahead of the U.S. in lymphedema treatment, most companies that provide compression garments are based in that country.
LympheDIVAS LLC is different. An American company started by two breast cancer survivors in Pennsylvania, LympheDIVAS prides itself in the fact that it manufactures the sleeves in North Carolina, and finishes them in and sends them out from Massachusetts. Five years old, this company has made quite a name for itself. The story of its beginnings always fascinates and inspires me.
One of the founders of LympheDIVAs, Rachel Levin, when diagnosed with lymphedema at age 35, found that her only choice for an arm garment was a coarse sleeve marketed in Europe that was hot and heavy to wear. She despaired as to how she could wear such a thing for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to “wear cancer on her sleeve.” Her therapist– now at the Mayo Clinic–challenged her to do something about it.
And she did.
Rachel was an enterpreneur of the best kind, developing a sleeve that she herself would be proud to wear. Her creation made a statement not only of comfort but of style. Unlike the ACE-type bandages then on the market, her sleeves wicked moisture and bore a silky smooth texture. When she started out, Rachel’s selection was limited to solid colors. But soon the company expanded their line of sleeves to include patterns that spoke up: “I’m hip; ask me anything–I’m game.” The customer can have a natural look (in skin shades of beiges and mochas), or spend a bit more money to purchase designs that match his or her unique personality.
As with wigs, the choice is very personal.
The company offers both Class 1 compression (for preventive or mild lymphedema) and Class 2 compression (for moderate-to-severe lymphedema after manual lymph drainage to prevent the fluid from returning). The current selection of off-the-shelf garments consists of arm sleeves and fingerless gauntlets. Medical professionals are catching on to this company as a trusted source for compression garments. As the company grows, they hope to add more products to their catalog, including lower-extremity garments.
The products are not just for women. Often, men will order plain black, but popular at Veteran’s Administration medical centers are the camouflage patterns.
I’ve known about LympheDIVAs since 2008 when I attended the biennial National Lymphedema Network conference for medical professionals in San Diego. The company representatives (including Rachel’s mother) stood at a prominent booth in the Exhibition Hall displaying a fabulous array of compression sleeves. I was astounded at the variety. The look of the sleeves certainly sets them apart from their competitors. How could I not be drawn to a stylish alternative with moisture wicking to keep the arm cool? Not only is coolness important for comfort, but also for medical reasons. When the arm cools down, its capillary flow lessens, thereby reducing the swelling. Thus, comfort goes hand in hand with medical benefit. And the patient is more likely to wear the sleeves if they are comfortable and attractive.
Below are a few of the patterns that really caught my eye: an elegant look for a formal dance and a tattoo look for sass. The entire product selection can be seen here.
Darling Dark Sleeve
Vercache sleeve
Some insurance plans cover at least some of the cost of these sleeves, but it’s best to check with your insurance provider first. Medicare does not cover the cost, and that is why The Lymphedema Treatment Act, HR 2499 is so important. That’s why I went to Washington, DC last November with a team devoted to this cause.
To hear the full story about LympheDIVAS, go to the March 1, 2012 radio podcast by Lymphedema Mavens. In this podcast the host of the show interviews the current president of the company, Josh Levin. It doesn’t take long to listen before you realize that Mr. Levin is truly passionate about carrying on his sister Rachel’s legacy. He’s determined to head a company that meets the needs of those who shun sleeves that are rough-textured, heavy, hot, beige, and bandage-like. LympheDIVAS also supports worthwhile organizations, including the Conference for Young Women (C4YW), which supports young women with breast cancer, and Crickett’s Answer for Cancer, which provides free wigs and garments to those who can’t afford them.
It’s easy to get spoiled once you wear a LympheDIVA product. Having worn one, I would hate to go back to the tight-knit, rough types of the past. If you live in a climate that is hot most of the time, or even some of the time, wearing anything heavy on the arm is daunting. So sporting a LympheDIVA sleeve is like wearing satin every day. When I walked the halls of Congress last November wearing on my left arm an onyx sleeve from LympheDIVAs, I received many compliments. Some chiefs of staff didn’t even notice I was wearing the sleeve because it just blended in with my black and turquoise dress.
If you have lymphedema, you should know that you don’t have to wear a plain vanilla skin-tone sleeve. If you are fashion conscious, or just prefer a silkier, less hot feel than the traditional knitted texture, you need look no farther than LympheDIVAS for an affordable sleeve. Ask your therapist if you can try out a LympheDIVA sleeve. I sincerely doubt you will be disappointed. Josh Levin told CNN Money last October:
Rachel didn’t have any children. This was her baby. We are committed to it.
I wish I could have met Rachel. Spunky and snarky, she would be just my kind of gal.
Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge Day 30 #HAWMC: Word Cloud
It’s Day 30 of the WEGO Health Activist Writer’s Month, in which participants are directed to write each day about a health issue.
Today’s Prompt: Word Cloud
A picture is worth a thousand words. For today’s post we’re going one further and putting your words into an image, a word cloud or tree representing YOUR health focus, interest, or passions. Write down some of your favorite topics off the top of your head or review the tags in your blog post for some surprises.
This exercise has sparked my imagination in ways I never expected. Just creating posters, pictorials and infographics proved to be enlightening assignments. I’ll miss the creativity of each daily prompt, but not the pressure of presenting a fresh, original post each morning. Like fellow bloggess Marie, I will welcome resuming the familiar schedule of my day. I thank my fellow WEGO challenge bloggers without whom I couldn’t have completed this exercise: Marie, Renn and Yvonne. Congratulations to them for having the courage and fortitude not only to take up the gauntlet, but to complete the challenge in its entirety.
Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge Day 29 #HAWMC: Dr. Hobson’s Choice
It’s Day 29 of the WEGO Health Activist Writer’s Month, in which participants are directed to write each day about a health issue. One more day left after today!
Today’s Prompt: Six Sentence Story.
In this day of micro-blogging – brevity is a skill worth honing. Can you tell a story and make it short and sweet? What can you say in six sentences? Will you give your post a title, beginning, middle, and end – or do something different entirely? You’ve got 6 sentences: be creative, inventive, and direct; this may include being generous with punctuation. Good luck!
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Dr. Hobson’s Choice
The doctor paces his office, wondering how he will break the news to Mrs. Shaw that her tumor is cancerous. Throughout his career he’s noticed that each patient has reacted differently to receipt of this diagnosis: some stoic, some weeping, some staring straight ahead into oblivion. He is determined not to tell her how lucky she is to live in this age and not fifty years ago, knowing that such a statement doesn’t ring true with patients. The walls of his office start closing in on him, Pinesol scent irritating his nostrils, the sterile environment mocking him with its x-ray equipment devoid of emotion. But the relentless tick-tock of the clock reminds him he must make haste–that other patients fidget in the waiting room, reading the same article over and over again or toying with their Blackberries. Walking down the hall, Dr. Hobson braces himself for the encounter, but first he stops at the restroom.
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Have you ever wondered what doctors are thinking before they have to deliver devastating medical news to a patient? I’d like to have a doctor like Dr. Hobson, who’s learned from the school of hard knocks (Bedside Manner 101), that patients who’ve just been diagnosed don’t like to hear they are lucky. They are convinced that those without cancer are the lucky ones. They’ll envy them their carefree life devoid of constant vigilance for signs and symptoms of recurrence.
Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge Day 28 #HAWMC: The first time I…
It’s Day 28 of the WEGO Health Activist Writer’s Month, in which participants are directed to write each day about a health issue.
Today’s Prompt: The First Time I…
Write a post about the first time you did something. What is it? What was it like? What did you learn from it?
The first time I ever drew a caricature took place in my sophomore art class in high school. At that point I knew nothing about caricatures except what I’d seen in political cartoons on the editorial page of the newspaper. In the typical lampoon style of these cartoons, the President or a Congressman bore a Pinocchio nose.
The art teacher instructed us to make a pictorial representation of ourselves in which our distinctive features or peculiarities are deliberately exaggerated to produce a comic or grotesque effect. What? Can you imagine a teenage girl capturing herself in a drawing that grossly exaggerated her noticeable features, making her an object of ridicule? No way did I want to do that. Beauty issues reign supreme in the minds of sixteen-year-olds. But do it I must, if I wanted a decent grade.
As my pecularities, I chose my nose and my glasses, the parts of my face that bothered me the most. After this exercise–and even before–it occurred to me to get plastic surgery so I could minimize the trauma. I didn’t want any of my classmates to see what I was doing. But curiosity impelled us all to sneak a peek at each other’s burlesque portraits. When I completed mine, I presented it to the teacher in a folder, hoping it would be graded and returned in the same discreet manner. Instead she displayed each piece of work on the classroom wall.
I didn’t get out of it.
What I gleaned from this first-time lesson was not to be so harsh on myself. That message harkens back to the prompt we had on Day 10 of the WEGO challenge this month: “Dear sixteen-year-old me“.
Once I finished the self-parody, I decided to include my parents in a family caricature. The pencil drawing below is one I just found in a scrapbook my mother had assembled and saved. Since it is rendered in pencil, it is hard to see, but one can’t miss the drooping glasses.
- Jan’s caricature in high school of Mom, Dad and herself
My art teacher had a reason for giving her students this assignment in self-critical analysis. Obviously we weren’t all studying to be political cartoonists, but we did need a means to express ourselves other than through writing. Perhaps my instructor took her cue from Goya. This famous Spanish painter seemed to rely on satiric art rather than writing to express himself. According to the 100Swallows blog post on the Best Artists,
He was awkward at it [writing] and ended even this choppy letter with a drawing—a caricature of himself. “I’m like this,” he says. He was always making fun of his own flat nose and here he makes his face into a crescent moon.
Goya may not have spoken much anymore, and he hated to write. But he was all the same the greatest communicator of them all. Few men in any time have been able to bring out of themselves and show so much of a deep and complex world.
I have learned much since the first time I drew this effigy of myself. I’ve learned to use humor in the form of artwork as a communication tool, as Goya did so eloquently. It’s time to dust off my pen and ink and create a new self-caricature. It would look quite different this time–and not just because of the weathering of my face over the decades. I’m a new edition, a more confident version of myself, ready to tell the world who I really am.
Do you remember the first time you attempted something? Did you learn a lesson from it?
Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge Day 27 #HAWMC: 5 Challenges, 5 Small Victories
It’s Day 27 of the WEGO Health Activist Writer’s Month, in which participants are directed to write each day about a health issue.
Today’s Prompt: 5 Challenges. 5 Small Victories.
Make a list of the 5 most difficult parts of your health focus. Make another top 5 list for the little, good things (small victories) that keep you going.
Finding five of each of these contrasting aspects to health seemed daunting at first. But Ralph Waldo Emerson, the great American essayist, lecturer, and poet, who led the Transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century, put it all into perspective for me with the above quote. When asked to sum up his work, he said his central doctrine was “the infinitude of the private man.”
Inspired by Mr. Emerson’s insight, buoyed by knowledge from extensive research on health (hence, Dr. Google below), I’m now able to express my thoughts in groups of five, knowing I’ve no limits in life.
The five biggest challenges of my health focus:
1. Stress.
2. Lymphedema.
3. Sleep deprivation.
4. Our pink culture approach to beast cancer.
5. Survivor guilt.
The five victories that keep me going:
1. Friends
2. Dr. Google
3. Blogging
4. Smiles
5. Humor
What do you see as your current health challenges? Your victories? Do you find it easy to come up with these lists?
Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge Day 26 #HAWMC: Health Tagline
It’s Day 26 of the WEGO Health Activist Writer’s Month, in which participants are directed to write each day about a health issue.
Today’s Prompt: Health tagline.
Give yourself, your blog, your condition, or some aspect of your health a tagline. Make sure it’s catchy!
Talented marketers create taglines (or jingles or slogans) every day on Madison Ave. in Manhattan to make a product or service memorable.
I couldn’t just go with one for my blog, so I came up with two :
*********
Prancing on breast cancer to get answers.
*********
Got lymphedema? Get Help.
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How about you? Do you have a slogan that you can apply to your writings, your health or yourself? It’s fun to do.
