“Choice”  is now and maybe forever associated with Angelina Jolie.

She was incredibly courageous to be so honest, to open the conversation; to expose herself to the media storm she knew was waiting.

But given that her children are clearly her priorities; and given the premature loss of her own mother, I suspect that Angelina’s Choice was almost a no-brainer.

Losing your mom is a profound loss that can shape your choices and your life, an experience explored and documented by writer Hope Edelman in her book Motherless Daughters.  No doubt Angelina feels like the rest of us.

In the years after my mom died of cancer at 41, I felt I was being stalked by cancer.

And then I got it, when my children were the same age that (some of) Angelina’s children are now.

At the time there was less science and no genetic testing but I didn’t need any of that  to know what I needed to do.

I say needed because it didn’t feel like a choice.   It came from need.

Out of my own experience of loss, I knew how much my children needed me.   Breasts would have been a small price to pay for any peace of mind.  If I knew I would live to mother my children, I probably would have been willing to lose an arm or a leg, too.

The physical aspects were less of an issue for me than for Angelina;  I wasn’t a celebrity whose body was her currency.   But still, my experience of losing my mom, maternal instinct, and every fiber of my being made the choices for me.

Medically, I needed one mastectomy (plus chemo and radiation).

Emotionally, I needed more.

My situation felt  urgent and desperate.  Having a prophylactic mastectomy of my “healthy” breast was an easy decision; but my need to be proactive was more intense.

Just after I started chemo, I read the results of studies in Europe, where instead of chemo, pre-menopausal women had their ovaries removed.

This spoke loudly to me.

So did my oncologist when I asked about it.  “Absolutely not.   Having your ovaries out is overkill.  And I won’t allow you to have any surgery during such heavy duty chemo.”

I had never gone past high school biology.  What did I know about science?

But I knew myself.   I knew that I needed to feel that I had done everything —and more— to avoid the same fate as my mother’s.

I also needed to feel that this was MY body; and what I did needed to be MY choice.

So I changed doctors.

This was my first major step toward full ownership of my cancer journey, my body, and my health.

I’m not recommending that anyone switch doctors.   I am recommending that in circumstances where so much is beyond your control, trusting your instincts to make your own choices is often the most powerful thing you can do.

I did what I wanted, and needed:  I had my ovaries removed (during chemo).    As Angelina will discover, that surgery is far less traumatic than a mastectomy; but going into menopause overnight is no picnic.  That choice also has far more impact for the rest of your life.

Still,  it’s likely Angelina will someday view it as I do:  a minor tradeoff for the blessing of living to see your children grow up.

Years later, although I don’t have the BRCA1 gene, more than one doctor has told me that taking out my ovaries was the right move.

Not that I ever  regretted it for an instant.

We’re the ones who have to live with our choices and our bodies.  And whose body is it anyway?

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As someone who’s so closely associated with breast cancer, I feel I should acknowledge Angelina Jolie and welcome her to the sorority no one wants to join.

So I’m writing this to salute her for having a double mastectomy in order to avoid getting breast cancer, the disease that killed her mother.   And even more to salute her for writing an article in the New York Times today, disclosing her surgeries, her health history, and her personal feelings about it.

I  am writing about it now because I hope that other women can benefit from my experience. Cancer is still a word that strikes fear into people’s hearts, producing a deep sense of powerlessness…..On a personal note, I do not feel any less of a woman. I feel empowered that I made a strong choice that in no way diminishes my femininity.

I realize she didn’t  have cancer, just the BRCA1 gene; and that she had the best care money could buy; not to mention Brad Pitt at her side supporting her every inch of the way.  It still took a lot of courage for this public disclosure by maybe the most famous and glamorous movie star in the world.

Cancer isn’t exactly glamorous.  Even though we’ve come a long way in putting it out in the open.

I still remember when cancer wasn’t even said out loud;  the enormous impact made by Betty Ford when she told the world  she had a mastectomy.   I think Angelina could have a similar impact, especially if she chooses to get more involved in the cancer community, which I hope she’ll do.

It’s sad and scary  to think that after all the years, all the research, all the ribbons, all the PINK—-there really isn’t a better option for women who carry the gene than just lopping them off.

I think Angelina made  the right choice; one I would also make.   Decisions we make about our own health are highly personal; and need to be respected no matter what they are.  No one else has to walk in our shoes.

I’m assuming that she’ll later also elect to have her ovaries removed, as I did.  I don’t have the gene, but chose to remove my ovaries as a proactive move.  At the time, my choice was highly controversial; even my own doctor disagreed.  I switched doctors; and I’ve never regretted either choice–the ovaries or the doctor.

I also appreciate the irony, whether intentional or not, that the piece she wrote in the New York Times about this was published the day after Mother’s Day.   No doubt Angelina feels both sides of Mother’s Day, too;  as I wrote about yesterday.

I welcome her to the sorority; wish her well; and wish her a long healthy happy life.

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Women who become mothers experience Mother’s Day from both sides—as daughters and as mothers.

An experience that’s not necessarily two sides of the same coin.

More than any other day of the year, for me this day brings mixed emotions:  one side sad; the other  joyous.

The year I was 18 was the last Mother’s Day I would have a mother, although I didn’t know that at the time.

41 years was all my Mom had; 18 as a mom.  It seems so little time to imprint herself on 3 children for a lifetime.

I’ve already had 29 years to be a mom, and I’m hoping for a lot more.

My mom saw me graduate high school; but not my sister and brother.  She saw no college graduations, no weddings, no grandchildren  (will I ever see mine?)  She missed so much of our lives it almost seems as if she was never there at all.

I think of how little she left behind.   I was too young and dumb to know I should save things that would have mattered to me now.

Sometimes I see someone who knew her well; and they bring me something that they kept for all these decades.

Recently my cousin gave me two dresses that her mother had saved.  My aunt once gave me a tube of her lipstick, almost used up.  It touched me not only that she had saved it, and given it to me; but also to think of  how intimate it was.  I’m sure I spent hours as a child watching her put on her makeup, but I can’t remember how she looked when she did it.

I have a few letters, pictures, even a few movies. But they’re silent.  I’d give anything to hear her, but the sound of her voice is lost to me.

Thanks to modern technology, my children will hear the sound of my voice forever.  They have pictures, videos, journals, thousands of words on the internet—more of me than they could -or would – ever want.

In the end though, in addition to two sides there’s also a bottom line.  I was fortunate.  Everyone who knew my mom remembers her as I do—warm, wise, caring, calm.   She left behind only sweet beautiful memories.  If I ever had a negative thought about her, I don’t remember it.  And all children aren’t as lucky to get all that my mother had to give, even in just 18 years.

Most of what she gave can’t be seen anyway.  It’s  inside me; and inside her grandchildren that she never knew:  qualities of her that I can see in them.   Her gifts, her love, her life are with me always.

I choose to celebrate that on Mother’s Day—in the gifts, the love and the lives of my own children.

Happy Mother’s Day to all.

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4 days later I still have a glow from last weekend  in Laguna Beach.

It’s not from the sun.  It could be if I had spent any time at the pool.  (Good luck getting me into a bathing suit in public.  Or  in  private.)

No, the glow is from inside.

It’s from the warmth of being at Mom 2.0 – a conference for mommy bloggers.

You might wonder what I would be doing at a conference aimed at young moms where sponsors included companies that sell strollers and apple juice.

I would have wondered the same thing 5 years ago.

That’s when I first stumbled onto the internet as a blogger.   I was writing a lot about my own (grown) children; and within a few weeks, I found my way into an online community with groups of mom bloggers in cities across the country.

I didn’t know I needed or wanted a tribe.  And so what if I was old enough to be the tribe elder?  It didn’t matter.  By example, they taught me how to find my own place on the internet.  Meeting people in person made virtual connections richer and deeper.

And that’s why I was in Laguna Beach.

Well, ok– no one had to twist my arm to go to the Ritz Carlton.

Which brings up a controversial article recently in the Wall Street Journal   trivializing conferences and Mom 2.0 specifically, as just an excuse for moms to escape from the kids for a weekend of fun and pampering. I won’t bother addressing that one; moms did that far better than I could.

There was fun; there was even some pampering.

And there was this.

 I was also filled with learning; with ideas; with inspiration.  And  more than anything else, Mom 2.0 was about connection–and community.

I have to admit, in some ways I envy mommy bloggers – for being able to make money doing what I love most:  being a mom.

I wish I had such a rich community of peers at the time I was actively momming my own kids.  I wish I had had the internet to capture the enormous volume of my words and pictures chronicling my own experiences, which instead are sitting around in unread journals, unwatched videos and unopened scrapbooks.

I would have been the mother of all mommy bloggers had Al Gore just invented the internet a little sooner.

But even at this stage, my life is immeasurably enriched by being involved with these women, some of whom are young enough to be my daughters.  Since I can’t just adopt them, I admire and applaud all they do, including taking on wonderful causes  as individuals and as a group.

Really most mommy bloggers don’t like that term—the mommy part, anyway.

I always wanted my kids to call me Mommy but it never stuck.  So I’ll take it now.  Even if I’m the oldest one on the entire internet,  I’m happy to be a mommy blogger.

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Click here to watch video

Click here for WHOAnetwork.com

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1. A star is born

I did emerge briefly last week to attend a wedding on the east coast……which gave me exactly one night in New York to see family…..which turned out to be the exact one night for a first-in-a-lifetime experience.

What timing: it was the first night of previews for  I’ll Eat You Last on Broadway, a one-woman play with Bette Midler playing legendary Hollywood agent Sue Mengers.

I was hoping to see the play; I’ve never seen any show on the first night of previews. So this makes another first for me—first time as a theater critic.  (To be taken with many grains of salt, considering I’m highly unqualified — plus real reviewers don’t wait a week to write the review.)

The curtain perfectly sets up the show and who Sue Mengers was.

I’m a big fan and I’ve seen Bette perform onstage;  she’s tiny—but larger than life;  a dynamo like the energizer bunny, constantly moving.

This was the opposite.   No music, no songs, no dancing—-in fact, no movement at all.  Bette sits on a couch for the entire show— and never gets up.  Not even once.

Which makes it even more amazing that she projects so much energy without moving the whole night.  It’s a testament to the force of her personality, and Menger’s personality.

The only thing that felt different from a regular performance  was hearing Bette call out “Line” when she forgot one and hearing an offstage voice prompt her.  In 90 minutes with no intermission and no other actors –I think Bette asked for a line maybe twice.  And when she did, her ad-libs were as funny as the script.

Considering the challenges required by this production and the fact that she hasn’t appeared on Broadway in decades, she seemed incredibly loose and relaxed.  (Then again, she IS an actress.)

Still I got a lot more insight several days after seeing the show when I read an article in the New York Times —about her insecurities,  her trepidation taking the role, and why she did.

If I really was writing a review, I’d say the show’s one weakness is whether today’s audiences will get the cultural and show business references—from earlier times.

I had the opposite experience.  I’m old enough to remember all the references;  and I lived in Los Angeles inside the Hollywood culture at the time the play takes place, so I knew the references, names and  insider information.

But this show was more than that for me.  It was personal.  Howard, my ex-husband, worked at the same agency at the same time as Sue Mengers and knew her well.  So much of this play was his life.  As brazen and funny as it was, for me it had a bittersweet flavor—that Howard couldn’t see it and I couldn’t even tell him about it.

But at least I told you, and if you see it, I’d love to hear what you think.  And when it officially opens, I look forward to reading what the REAL reviewers say about it.

No matter what they say, I say Brava, Bette!

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In many ways it’s with me every day; although sometimes my own experience of cancer,  horrific as it was at the time, tends to fade away.

Sometimes it seems unreal, as if cancer happened to someone else.

But for other people I love, and other people I know, it’s not unreal at all.

Photo by Angelo Merendino

Those experiences and memories came flooding back when I saw this photo essay posted by Angelo Merendino, who documented his wife’s battle against breast cancer.

Photo by Angelo Merendino

It only lasted a few years.  Jennifer died at age 39.

Since I first saw this photo essay last week, the images haven’t faded away for me.  The way Angelo would not let Jennifer’s life and memory fade away.  He made her real, just like cancer is.

It’s painful agony to watch someone you love die of cancer.

Fading away is exactly what happens.  Their strength fades.  Their spirit.   The light in their eyes.  Their hope.  And ultimately their breath.

It’s not a part of life most of us choose to think about.

And yet people are choosing to think about it, by seeing and sharing this beautiful photo essay.

There are no pink ribbons; no marches or races for the cure; no cure.

It’s grim.  It’s honest.  It’s painful.  And it’s real.

Still, the fact that so many people somehow want to share this experience is somewhat hopeful.   In the end we’re all profoundly alone.  And yet in the end, this is profoundly a story of love.

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And speaking of dessert.…that’s what brought me back just under the wire: the start of Passover and the continuation of a sweet and very blog-worthy tradition.   (More soon on the reasons I’ve been MIA.)

Meanwhile, you don’t want to Pass Over this recipe, whether you’re Jewish or not.

Happy Passover to all who celebrate.  Sweetness and lots of chocolate to all.

MATZO ROCA

4 whole matzos

1 stick butter

1 cup brown sugar

16 oz. chocolate chips

½ cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 350.

Lay matzo in a flat jelly roll pan or  cookie sheet that has been greased well.  You can break the matzo to fit into the pan.

Melt butter and add brown sugar and stir till bubbly.

Pour over matzo and spread lightly with a spatula.

Bake at 350 for 15-20 minutes.

Take out of oven and turn oven off.

Sprinkle matzo with chocolate chips and return to oven for 1-2 minutes.

It will melt quickly.  Remove from oven and spread with spatula.

Sprinkle with chopped nuts if you want.

Chill in refrigerator.  Break up into pieces after it is cold.

Can be made in advance, I put it into Ziploc bags and keep in refrigerator.

Amount of servings:  Hard to estimate.  I multiply the recipe several times—so plan accordingly.   In my experience,  the recipe above serves one.

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So I signed up for the class that would change my life.

It was a small seminar with just 20 students; taught by Dr. Ellen Keniston, a quiet, gentle, thoughtful woman who was a psychologist at the Yale Child Study Center.

Of course Women Studies didn’t exist yet; not at Yale; not anywhere.   Mrs. Keniston assigned reading that included Helene Deutsch, the first psychoanalyst to specialize in women;  Simone de Beauvoir, Betty Freidan, Germaine Greer,  and articles from current newspapers and magazines where history was being written before our eyes.

Even as a history major, I wasn’t well-informed about the roots of the women’s movement; and the 20^th century  movement was still in its infancy.

Ms. Magazine was still a year away from its first issue with the famous description of the click moment.

Long before the article or the magazine, I had my own click moment—the instant I stepped on campus.  On my way to register for classes, a reporter for the New York Times  had stopped me,  asking if I thought women “deserved” to be at Yale.

If that incident was a click; then the seminar was more like a sonic boom.

I never joined a consciousness raising group; but the reading and discussions in that seminar certainly raised my consciousness.  Plenty.  And permanently.

That’s why I was prepared to repeat my Yale experience as a woman in a male society after I graduated.

That’s why two of my first writing assignments in television were on abortion and the Equal Rights Amendment.

That’s why I pressed to produce ground-breaking documentaries on rape and breast cancer.

That’s why I think everyone, every age should watch the new documentary Makers produced by PBS about the women who changed the world for all of us.

And that’s why, recently, I did something I never rarely do—approach a celebrity.

On a cold rainy night on my last trip to New York, I was leaving a restaurant when I noticed a woman walking down the sidewalk heading our way.   I felt conflicted about stopping her, but I felt compelled to introduce myself to Gloria Steinem; tell her how grateful I was for her work and how much she had influenced my life.

She was very appreciative; and way more than graciously polite.  She stood on the sidewalk, answering and asking questions; engaging in conversation until I felt guilty for  invading her time.

I guess this happens to her often.  Recently a friend  told me about a similar encounter; when she noticed Gloria sitting across the room  in a New York hair salon.  My friend also felt compelled to do what I did—express  her admiration and gratitude.

And she got the same response.  Even with her famously gorgeous hair covered by  foil wrappers, Gloria stood talking with my friend;  gracious, interested, curious.

At least my friend didn’t ask Gloria to take a picture wearing foil wrappers.

I did.  I just hope  she’ll forgive me for posting it. 

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He was brilliant, erudite, articulate—part curmudgeon/part newsman in the mold of Edward R. Murrow.  If he read that, he’d probably laugh and say he was more like Larry David.  Also true.

This week a British newspaper described him as:

 A lecturer teaching international journalism at University of Central Lancashire in England for the past 8 years.

an award-winning television correspondent and a documentary producer for CBS and local television news for over two decades.

He completed assignments in more than 60 countries and was a news consultant in the Americas, before working for The Guardian, BBC Radio 4 and BBC World Service.

That too doesn’t quite tell the story of Bob Beers– at least not for me.

He was lost, found, and then lost.

It’s one of those stories when you long ago lost track of a close friend before there was an internet; and then they re-emerge in your life as if they were never gone.

That happened a few years ago when another friend from my Miami TV days tracked down Bob  on Facebook and found out that he was teaching in England.

A few months later he was in California and we each drove half the length the state to meet for lunch;  in two hours, we tried to catch up on more than two decades.

More recently, his daughter and her family moved to California.  He loved nothing more than spending time with them; so I got to see him several more times.

In between he filled my Facebook messages and email with words—anecdotes, insights, funny stories and takes on life.

And now I’m filled with grief after his unexpected death last week.

At the news of his death, people described him in the same words I would use:  Kind, gentle, supremely knowledgable, the ultimate professional. 

So maybe the best way to get across who Bob Beers was is through other people’s words.

Ike Seamans:  network news correspondent

When I worked at WTVJ in the 70s, Bob Beers was perhaps the ONLY news manager who was THE voice of reason and constraint everyday, the “go to” guy to calm things down when higher ranking bosses were out of control. As great as he was as a TV news professional, I think Bob found his true calling as a teacher and molder of young minds. In the Daily Mail article, it is heartwarming to read all the loving comments from his students in England. They are reminiscent of those I heard for years…and still hear…from the legions of students he taught at Barry University.

Larry Hendricks: cameraman, producer

Normally I would edit film or shoot it. I’d been given a shot at writing for a documentary we were working on; and gave it to Bob to review. He called me in his office and said simply “tell this to me like you were talking to your brother or friend.” I spilled it out. He said ” now go back and write it that way from now on.   Tell the audience what you know” …. Four years later I was made Executive Producer of the WTVJ documentary unit and his two minute lesson stuck with me for the next 25 years of my career.

Andy Dickinson, Senior Lecturer in Journalism at University of Central Lancashire:

The loss of the breadth and range Robert’s knowledge and experience brought to teaching is enormous but it’s the understated, generous and human way that he shared that with students and colleagues that will be most missed.

Alan Mendelson: TV host and producer

I don’t think he had an enemy in the business or in the world; everyone enjoyed working with him and being around him.

Charles Gomez;  network news correspondent

We worked very closely together in Central America. A man too gentle to walk among the wolves. Supremely intelligent and compassionate.

Andy Kay–photographer

I worked for Bob when he was the CBS News Miami Bureau Chief in the early 80′s. Bob was truly one of the few nice guys working in management in this biz. It was always a pleasure to work with him.

Robin Hirsh: cameraman

I remember covering a Fidel Castro visit to the United Nations in NY with Bob.  At this point in his life Bob hadn’t done that much field work.  He did a great job, because he let me do my job.  He understood that I knew what I was doing, and he let me do my thing.  There’s a lesson there for all who feel the need to control what everyone else is doing.  Bob did his reporter/producer thing, I did my cameraman thing and we got a great piece out of it.  Bob was a terrific guy to work with.

And surely best of all are Bob’s own words.  I actually thought about copying parts of them here.   He wrote so much and so well—had a funny line and funny story for everything—and unlike me, he remembered everything.

After the earthquake in Haiti he sent me a message about his memories working there.  I took his message and used it as a blog post.

And I kept pushing him to start his own blog.

So he did.  He only stuck with it for a few months; but whether he was writing about  covering news for CBS in Latin America, American or British politics,  his eye surgery, poking fun at himself or reminiscing about times spent with Orson Welles or Burt Lancaster, nobody could tell a story quite like Bob Beers—a true gentleman, and a gentle man.

He will be missed by so many; most of all by his wife Melanie, his daughter Carrie, son-in-law Charlie and beloved granddaughter Juliette.   Only Bob might have found the words to express my sadness and sympathy.

Bob and his granddaughter

The Daily Mail article reporting Bob’s death with comments from his students:

 Highly recommended reading:  Bob’s blog, Now that you mention it… 

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