conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Starred, Review, Breast-cancer with the genre: Health, Fitness & Dieting, Diseases & Physical Ailments?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'A Breast Cancer Alphabet'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A Breast Cancer Alphabet
  There is a hushed reverence in the waiting area outside the Oval Office. After all those years of The West Wing, one might think there would be a bustle of activity—a swirl of smart, earnest people walking and talking at the same time. Perhaps I would catch snippets of conversation about budgets and bills, policies and politicians. It's not like that. My NPR colleagues and I were there to interview President Obama, and we waited quietly with a stenographer and the Secret Service. No one else came by.
  Despite my years of journalism in Washington, it would be my first time in the Oval Office. It was December 2010, and the White House was beautifully decked out for the holidays. It should have been an exciting moment, but the only thing I could concentrate on was my cell phone. Four days earlier I had undergone a needle biopsy on a suspicious mass in my left breast, found after a routine mammogram. I was waiting for my internist to call with the results. In my heart I knew it would not be good. Something in the radiologist's manner gave me a clue. As she prepared for the biopsy, I'd tried to break the ice.
  This was also the week when Elizabeth Edwards died after having been diagnosed with breast cancer just six years prior. The wife of the onetime presidential and vice presidential candidate John Edwards, she had revealed her diagnosis a day after the 2004 presidential election, in which her husband and his presidential running mate, John Kerry, lost. Her cancer returned in 2007 during her husband's bid for the presidency. She ultimately weathered the twin challenges of breast cancer and her husband's infidelity with grace and poise. I had pored over all the reporting about her in the days since my biopsy. Of course this was part of my job as a journalist, but it took on greater meaning for me as I awaited the results of my biopsy. Thoughts of her passing went through my mind as I paced nervously and made small talk with my colleagues.
  On a nearby table, there was a digital photo frame cycling through images of the president. For some reason I kept waiting for the photo of then Russian president Dmitry Medvedev and President Obama at Ray's Hell Burger, the renowned hamburger joint in nearby Arlington, Virginia, to come round. Why was I so taken with that picture? Maybe it was because I had eaten there myself with my husband and two daughters, and I remembered how we'd laughed at the contrivance in this photo, the presidents of two superpowers, in shirtsleeves, just enjoying a burger like any old Joe. I felt my phone buzz and saw the caller ID was blocked. I didn't answer. This was not a conversation I could have. Not here, not now, waiting to be called into the Oval Office at any moment.
  All I remember about my entrance into the Oval Office was that the room seemed much smaller than in the movies. The Christmas tree was also surprisingly understated in its decorations. Was the furniture more shabby chic than stately home? Couldn't tell you. The new rug? No idea. I can tell you that the president looked older than I had imagined. Twenty minutes after we had entered the Oval Office, we were done. Extending the Bush tax cuts, the START treaty, overhauling the tax code—the topics raised in the conversation whizzed by in a blur. The president stepped out to the outer office and donned his coat and scarf before heading off to light the national Christmas tree. We gathered our equipment and headed to the NPR filing booth, a tiny closet located underneath the press briefing room (formerly a swimming pool), to file a quick clip of the interview with the president for the top-of-the-hour newscast. I ducked out of our booth to check my voice mail. One thing to know about the filing area under the press briefing room is that cell reception is quite bad. I had to wander around to find the place where my phone would actually work. Anxious and pessimistic, I listened and breathed a sigh of relief. The call was from my middle school daughter's teacher, apprising me of something that had happened at school that day. Normally I might have been concerned about a call from school, but given what I was anticipating, this was welcome and not worrying news.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: three more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: If you are anything like me, you will think that you can handle this, that the systems you have set in place will work just fine and people shouldn't trouble themselves for you. Type A personalities, in particular, take note: you should disabuse yourself of this notion as soon as possible. People really want to help, so make them feel good by letting them and you will feel good too.
  You will receive extraordinary acts of kindness and love from people all around you, people in parts of your life whom you might not have given much thought to beyond a perfunctory nod or hello in the morning. You learn to accept this kindness because you like to think that you will be as helpful to them or others should they be in the same predicament. What's more, you actually really need the help, even though you may not know that to begin with.
  Sara was one of the kind angels who surrounded me. Using her well-honed instincts as a television producer, she got word out via e-mail to a large list of friends about my diagnosis and treatment. She also used her skills to organize our meals with an online calendar, outlining details of how many to feed and our dietary restrictions. She provided precise delivery instructions and even put a cooler on the porch so we didn't have to answer the door if we weren't in the mood! For five months our family of four was fed by Sara and her battalion of angels, friends, and colleagues from so many spheres of my life.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She provided precise delivery instructions and even put a cooler on the porch so we didn't have to answer the door if we weren't in the mood! For five months our family of four was fed by Sara and her battalion of angels, friends, and colleagues from so many spheres of my life. Type A personalities, in particular, take note: you should disabuse yourself of this notion as soon as possible. People really want to help, so make them feel good by letting them and you will feel good too.
  You will receive extraordinary acts of kindness and love from people all around you, people in parts of your life whom you might not have given much thought to beyond a perfunctory nod or hello in the morning. You learn to accept this kindness because you like to think that you will be as helpful to them or others should they be in the same predicament. What's more, you actually really need the help, even though you may not know that to begin with.
  Sara was one of the kind angels who surrounded me. Using her well-honed instincts as a television producer, she got word out via e-mail to a large list of friends about my diagnosis and treatment. She also used her skills to organize our meals with an online calendar, outlining details of how many to feed and our dietary restrictions.If you are anything like me, you will think that you can handle this, that the systems you have set in place will work just fine and people shouldn't trouble themselves for you.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The people who have lived my cancer every day are, of course, my daughters and my husband. Living with a news mom and news wife in the house all these years required a particular forbearance, but a cancer mom and cancer wife was a whole new challenge. Priya and Maya, you were young girls when this diagnosis befell us, and your initial fear gave way to a steeliness that I think you still don't know you possessed. How proud I am of you both, particularly your strength in not being freaked out by your bald mom, a possible trauma for many a teen or preteen girl!
  Blume, Lesley M. M. Let's Bring Back: An Encyclopedia of Forgotten-Yet-Delightful Chic, Useful, Curious, and Otherwise Commendable Things from Times Gone By. Chronicle Books, 2010.
  Leopold, Ellen. A Darker Ribbon: Breast Cancer, Women, and Their Doctors in the Twentieth Century. Beacon Press, 1999.
  National Cancer Institute. "Breast Cancer Risk Assessment Tool." <http://www.cancer.gov/bcrisktool/>.
  Olson, James S. Bathsheba's Breast: Women, Cancer, and History. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Living with a news mom and news wife in the house all these years required a particular forbearance, but a cancer mom and cancer wife was a whole new challenge. Priya and Maya, you were young girls when this diagnosis befell us, and your initial fear gave way to a steeliness that I think you still don't know you possessed. How proud I am of you both, particularly your strength in not being freaked out by your bald mom, a possible trauma for many a teen or preteen girl!
  Blume, Lesley M. M. Let's Bring Back: An Encyclopedia of Forgotten-Yet-Delightful Chic, Useful, Curious, and Otherwise Commendable Things from Times Gone By. Chronicle Books, 2010.
  Leopold, Ellen. A Darker Ribbon: Breast Cancer, Women, and Their Doctors in the Twentieth Century. Beacon Press, 1999.
  National Cancer Institute. "Breast Cancer Risk Assessment Tool." <http://www.cancer.gov/bcrisktool/>.
  Olson, James S. Bathsheba's Breast: Women, Cancer, and History. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002.