Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Chemo is Over...for Now
Last Friday I got the results of my latest CT Scan. Pictures looked good...that's about 6 months of good pictures. Then I had another discussion with Dr. Lee about stopping chemo, and this time I decided to stop. I have two full months off. Two months to enjoy life again....but....in two months the cancer could come back, so I'm not jumping up and down for joy over this. I'm actually more scared now then I ever was about chemo. And sadly, changes that happened gradually also improve gradually. In two months I won't have enough hair to really do anything with besides wear a hat. In two months my weight will only begin to return to normal. In two months I probably won't have new nails or no chemo brain or no menopausal symptoms. Life will be almost as it has been for the last 2 years...only I won't get really sick every month. Oh, and I have to have a Herceptin treatment every 3 weeks as a maintenance therapy, so I'll keep my port for now.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Why I Kept My Maiden Name
I’ve was asked recently why I didn’t take Peter’s last name, so I thought I’d take a moment to answer that touchy question.
First and foremost I kept my last name because my mom told me to. When she married she didn’t keep her last name and suffered an identity crisis as a result. All her life she’d been Linda Martin and then suddenly she disappeared and was replaced by Linda Trammell or worse, Mrs. Trammell. Who was this Linda Trammell? Did she like sports and the same music? Did she want kids and a career? What were her dreams, her likes, and her dislikes? She always said she’d regretted not hyphenating her name (she would never have been as brazen as to not take my dad’s name at all) and so when I got married and kept my last name I did so for her.
This is what I tell people when asked about my decision and usually it’s enough to suffice, besides, who wants to argue with a woman’s dead mother? However, I’ve learned that telling this in Peter’s company gets me into trouble. He’s never been particularly pleased that I didn’t take his last name and isn’t going to let me take the easy way out. In his opinion, if I’m going to keep my name in part as a social statement, then I damn well better make it (even in mixed company with people I’ve never met and might be offended, irritated, or generally put off by the whole truth). So here’s my statement: I’m a feminist.
Ooh, it’s the big scary F-word. Often associated with bitchy, overly aggressive women who wear power suits, or worse, men’s clothing, and refuse to shave or wear make-up on the grounds that it’s society’s way of keeping women psychologically barefoot and pregnant. I am not that woman (although some would certainly argue that I can be a wee bit bitchy). I am usually dressed in feminine clothing, and if I had a better body I’d have no problem dressing up my assets even more. I like shoes and wear make-up because it makes me feel better about myself. Some call this lipstick feminism, some call it feminist-lite, some call it pathetic (men and women), and some call it an excuse to be bitchy when the mood suits (men).
However, saying I’m a feminist as a means for explaining why I didn’t take my husband’s last name isn’t really an explanation, the explanation lies in why taking a man’s last name upon marriage has never seemed right to me. Historically, changing one’s name meant the change in ownership from one’s father to one’s husband. It was legally binding. A father couldn’t take his daughter back without ramifications no matter how much of an abusive a-hole her husband was. In this modern era, I find the symbolism oppressive although 90% of married women disagree with me. Some would argue that following this logic, keeping one’s maiden name indicates the continuation of a father’s ownership. I would argue that growing up with your father’s last name and keeping it perpetually doesn’t have the same psychological impact as being branded with a new last name as a grown woman. In response to this dilemma some women change their name’s to their mother’s maiden name (preferring to be associated with their mother) or make up their own last name. I didn’t do either of these things for the reason I mentioned originally…identity crisis.
For me personally, not changing my name also had a bit to do with aesthetics. Even though I did not change my name, merely thinking about it results in silly smiles, or pointing and snickering. Kim Popp brings to mind that annoying song, “Umm Bop.” Kimberly Popp sounds like a brand of popcorn. While we’re at it, Trammell-Popp sounds like a British Popp band (and is the main reason for not hyphenating). Peter has had a lifetime to get accustomed to jokes made about his name, and is generally good natured about it. I doubt that the rest of my married life would not nearly be enough time for me to be comfortable with it. It takes thick skin to handle a name like that and I don’t have skin that thick.
Finally, consider how much work it is for a woman to change her name (and then change it back again should the marriage end up in divorce). Signing one’s name on a marriage certificate is the easy bit. What follows is endlessly standing in line and notifying everyone and their neighbors of your new name. A woman has to get a new license, passport, credit cards, deeds, insurance, and more while nothing in a man’s life changes other than a ring on his finger.
There are, of course drawbacks to not changing my name. Disdain from men and women alike are chief among them, but that I can deal with. Being called Mrs. Trammell is kind of weird, but not nearly as bad as when Peter is called Mr. Trammell, so I can’t complain. All things considered, I don’t regret my decision. I’m happy being Kimberly Anne Trammell and will never change my name for any man, even the one I love best of all.
I was once asked if I thought that women who took their husband's last names were oppressed or lacked a sense of self-worth. This gave me pause. I know plenty of women who change their names but seem to otherwise be quite independent of their husband. Children are the primary reason because having a name different from your child's does create problems. I've also been told they do it out of love, or tradition, or because they just don't care. I think what it comes down to is that I don't look down on other women for changing their names, but I would think less of myself if I had my name changed.
First and foremost I kept my last name because my mom told me to. When she married she didn’t keep her last name and suffered an identity crisis as a result. All her life she’d been Linda Martin and then suddenly she disappeared and was replaced by Linda Trammell or worse, Mrs. Trammell. Who was this Linda Trammell? Did she like sports and the same music? Did she want kids and a career? What were her dreams, her likes, and her dislikes? She always said she’d regretted not hyphenating her name (she would never have been as brazen as to not take my dad’s name at all) and so when I got married and kept my last name I did so for her.
This is what I tell people when asked about my decision and usually it’s enough to suffice, besides, who wants to argue with a woman’s dead mother? However, I’ve learned that telling this in Peter’s company gets me into trouble. He’s never been particularly pleased that I didn’t take his last name and isn’t going to let me take the easy way out. In his opinion, if I’m going to keep my name in part as a social statement, then I damn well better make it (even in mixed company with people I’ve never met and might be offended, irritated, or generally put off by the whole truth). So here’s my statement: I’m a feminist.
Ooh, it’s the big scary F-word. Often associated with bitchy, overly aggressive women who wear power suits, or worse, men’s clothing, and refuse to shave or wear make-up on the grounds that it’s society’s way of keeping women psychologically barefoot and pregnant. I am not that woman (although some would certainly argue that I can be a wee bit bitchy). I am usually dressed in feminine clothing, and if I had a better body I’d have no problem dressing up my assets even more. I like shoes and wear make-up because it makes me feel better about myself. Some call this lipstick feminism, some call it feminist-lite, some call it pathetic (men and women), and some call it an excuse to be bitchy when the mood suits (men).
However, saying I’m a feminist as a means for explaining why I didn’t take my husband’s last name isn’t really an explanation, the explanation lies in why taking a man’s last name upon marriage has never seemed right to me. Historically, changing one’s name meant the change in ownership from one’s father to one’s husband. It was legally binding. A father couldn’t take his daughter back without ramifications no matter how much of an abusive a-hole her husband was. In this modern era, I find the symbolism oppressive although 90% of married women disagree with me. Some would argue that following this logic, keeping one’s maiden name indicates the continuation of a father’s ownership. I would argue that growing up with your father’s last name and keeping it perpetually doesn’t have the same psychological impact as being branded with a new last name as a grown woman. In response to this dilemma some women change their name’s to their mother’s maiden name (preferring to be associated with their mother) or make up their own last name. I didn’t do either of these things for the reason I mentioned originally…identity crisis.
For me personally, not changing my name also had a bit to do with aesthetics. Even though I did not change my name, merely thinking about it results in silly smiles, or pointing and snickering. Kim Popp brings to mind that annoying song, “Umm Bop.” Kimberly Popp sounds like a brand of popcorn. While we’re at it, Trammell-Popp sounds like a British Popp band (and is the main reason for not hyphenating). Peter has had a lifetime to get accustomed to jokes made about his name, and is generally good natured about it. I doubt that the rest of my married life would not nearly be enough time for me to be comfortable with it. It takes thick skin to handle a name like that and I don’t have skin that thick.
Finally, consider how much work it is for a woman to change her name (and then change it back again should the marriage end up in divorce). Signing one’s name on a marriage certificate is the easy bit. What follows is endlessly standing in line and notifying everyone and their neighbors of your new name. A woman has to get a new license, passport, credit cards, deeds, insurance, and more while nothing in a man’s life changes other than a ring on his finger.
There are, of course drawbacks to not changing my name. Disdain from men and women alike are chief among them, but that I can deal with. Being called Mrs. Trammell is kind of weird, but not nearly as bad as when Peter is called Mr. Trammell, so I can’t complain. All things considered, I don’t regret my decision. I’m happy being Kimberly Anne Trammell and will never change my name for any man, even the one I love best of all.
I was once asked if I thought that women who took their husband's last names were oppressed or lacked a sense of self-worth. This gave me pause. I know plenty of women who change their names but seem to otherwise be quite independent of their husband. Children are the primary reason because having a name different from your child's does create problems. I've also been told they do it out of love, or tradition, or because they just don't care. I think what it comes down to is that I don't look down on other women for changing their names, but I would think less of myself if I had my name changed.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Breast Cancer Awareness Month and too Much Pink
I'm posting this again because it's worth getting the word out. (Not that anyone reads my blog.) People think they should buy something that's pink to support breast cancer, but do they ever wonder just which chairities get the money and how much money is actually going to those charities? It seems to me that companies are more interested in their image then in helping the fight against breast cancer. The one that gets me is Yoplait, which (according to the http://www.thinkbeforeyoupink.org/ website) donates ten cents for every pink yogurt lid mailed back to the company—it would take 4 lids just to make up for the price of the stamp. So while I want people to be involved in fighting to end breast cancer it worries me that in the end the only people really profiting are the companies, not patients and survivors. Still, there is some benefit to a world awash with pink items...it gets the word out that breast cancer is still deadly to many women (and a few men) and maybe someday it needn't be so.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sick and Pissed Off
I'm beginning my rare three weeks of freedom from treatment with a cold. Given my weak immune system I figure this will take me at least two weeks to kick. So that leaves me with one week to enjoy, and that isn't any different then what I usually have so I'm more than a little depressed about it. I'm also depressed because it seems someone has lost all of the really great photos of my mom. We pinned them to poster board to display at her wake and ever since they've been missing. I had hope that my dad had them stashed somewhere, but a search of the boxes of photos he had in storage turned up no results. My last and final hope is that they're with her ashes, which are also in storage (it's a long story) but I didn't think to look there at the time. Still, it's a long shot and in all probability the pictures are lost forever.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Not Feeling Insightful
I haven't been feeling insightful lately. In fact I've been feeling rather reclusive. I don't know why this is. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I'm depressed and that makes me more depressed because this is my favorite time of year. I love cool Autumn days and nights full of cleansing rain. I love sitting and listening to the wind playing with my wind chimes, the hollow wooden tubes banging against one another in a low melody. I love curling up with a good book, a blanket, and a cup of tea and wasting away an afternoon. I love to watch the browns and beiges of summer turn to red and yellow and orange. I love the quiet winding down of the year before the cold, dismal winter. Yet, I feel like it's winter already.
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