A Different Kind of Champion

I recently returned from the USTA League 40 & Over 4.5+ National Championships in Indian Wells, CA with nine other fantastic women. We reached the finals before getting edged out by Southwest. It was a great run. But I am not going to give you a play-by-play of the weekend. What came out of that weekend was much more than a set of great wins and proof that New England remains a dominant force in tennis in the United States. 

What I am going to offer might surprise you. It begins with something one of my teammates, Kim McCrohon, wrote. She suffered a mild heart attack just prior to our first match at USTA New England Sectionals back in August. She was rushed to a nearby hospital while I was on court. We were devastated. This just doesn’t happen to people like us, we thought. But Kim kept her spirits up – even while in the hospital – and we knew we had to stay focused and keep our eye on the prize. She describes the anticipation of our results from sectionals:

“I kept getting texts from people wondering how I was. I’d respond quickly and then look again to see if I missed any call or another text from one of my teammates. Finally, it came. I picked up the phone. Two words appeared, “We won!” My mouth dropped, and I threw the phone on the bed. “Going to Nationals!” I proclaimed! My husband raised his eyebrows. “I’m going,” I said. “Heart attack, shmart attack, I’m going. Whatever it takes!”

Two weeks later, Kim’s doctor told her he didn’t think she would be cleared to go to Nationals.  He knew the 4.5/5.0 level and thought it would be too strenuous for her just-repaired diagonal artery and its new stent – not to mention her battles with cystic fibrosis and diabetes.  After some convincing, she was able to schedule her required stress test right before the team had to leave for Nationals.

After weeks of strenuous rehabilitation, medication and a strong will to overcome her aliments, Kim passed her stress test and was cleared to play with us at Nationals!

It was unbelievable. Just two months prior, Kim was lying in the hospital after a heart attack and now she was on the plane to Indian Wells with us all. Admittedly, we had been a little worried about her condition, but once she was on that plane with us, we all forgot and were just thankful she could join us. The flight seemed quick. We were all anxious to get there and practice. 

The next day, we had two practice sessions. Everyone played. We all felt good. We were all equals. We were here for a reason and we all knew what it was like to work hard to achieve a goal. Kim inspired us. The title and pride that comes with it were the driving force.   

At 7:30 a.m. on October 25, we played Middle States for our first match and lost a tight one 2-3. Then came Eastern. We knew we had to win to even have a prayer to stay in the running for the Final Four. We pulled that one out 3-2. The next morning, before our first match against Texas, we had a team pow wow. “We need the next two matches, and we need to win them big, 5-0 or 4-1,” our captain said. We also exclaimed, “Believe!” The team rallied and won 4-1. Believe. We then faced Pacific Northwest. Kim got the call to play doubles, and she was more than ready. 

Kim and her partner played phenomenal tennis against one of the strongest doubles teams in the tournament. Although they did not win, the team pulled it out 4-1. Believe! It came down to Middle States and Pac NW that afternoon. New England had 13 individual wins to Pac NW’s 8. If Pac NW swept 5-0, we would be tied in individual wins and would have to look to individual losses or sets lost to determine who would go to the Final Four. We needed Middle States to pull out only one match in order for us to advance by one individual win. New England nervously watched the match. It looked like we had one chance with one of the Middle States singles players, and in fact, she did it. She got that one win, and New England got the berth to the Final Four. 

One Sunday morning, we beat Mid Atlantic in the semis and then lost in the finals to Southwest. We all played great tennis but the other team was better that day.

We arrived home late Sunday night, tired and a little sore, but satisfied on many levels. It was a thrill to represent New England at the national level, some of us for the second year in a row. We appreciated being able to continue to fuel our passion for the game of tennis and make lifelong friends and fantastic memories along the way. 

As for Kim –our inspiration– she writes, “This time of my life will always be embedded in my brain as one story that ended happily even though we didn’t take first prize. I’ve said it before, but I think it’s worth repeating, “Enjoy life, every moment of it.”

Dedicated to the 2013 40+ 4.5/5.0 New England team: Alison Albers, Sue Corey, Davida Dinerman, Pam Holding, Sally Kellogg, Jennifer Lesnick, Wendy McCabe, Kim McCrohon, Hope Pascucci, Deb Simpson, Maureen Sumner, Megan Storing, Nancy van Siclen.

Sentimental

“Sentimental.”

 One definition is:  Of or prompted by feelings of tenderness, sadness or nostalgia.

 Yup that’s me.

One example is of my overnight camp years. Having attended Camp Matoaka for 10 summers as a camper and a counselor, I have accumulated memories and friendships that will last a lifetime. Fortunately, there are many others who are just as eager to relive those days, and it doesn’t take but a photo of a loon on Facebook to trigger a slew of memories.  Now that my children bleed camp (Tel Noar), I can experience the excitement first hand once again.

I am also sentimental when it comes to my children, who are now 15 and 12 years old. They are old enough to have memories of when “they were little,” as they say. We have more than a dozen movies of their childhood which we still love to watch. Although I didn’t keep every bib or blanket, there are a few items which are difficult for me to part with.

 One of those items is books, some of which were mine growing up. I can look at a book, let’s say, “Harry By the Sea,” and remember when I would read that to them. If it is good shape, and most of them are, then I feel we should save it for their own kids, my grandchildren.  School work is another problem area for me, especially for large projects or artwork. I figure they worked so hard on it, how can I just toss it? Maybe I don’t keep every single paper, but I have my fair share of worksheets, drawings and reports.

There is one item which I know I have kept too long. It didn’t really match the décor, and I haven’t used in a many years, but that sentimental value was overpowering.

The item is a white glider rocking chair.

That rocking chair accompanied me through midnight and daily feedings, hours of storytime, giving medicine and cuddling away sadness. I used to sing a song to each of the kids before bed, which recounted what they did during the day.  We took pictures of the kids on that chair. Then they used to climb on it to read a book once in a while too.

Have I sat in said rocking chair in the last two years? Five years? No. But it was there and represented a time in my life which I didn’t want to give up easily. I think Brad would have given it up years ago, but he knows me well enough to even ask. So when I recently told him I wanted to give it to any of the several people in my office who recently had a baby or are going to have one soon, he said calmly, “That would be nice.” What he was really thinking was, “It’s about time.”

When I asked one man in my office, who recently became the father of twins, if he would like the chair, he responded with a resounding “Yes!” almost before I finished asking. Then and there I knew this was the right choice. He picked it up yesterday. 

Why am I now able to give away this sentimental piece of furniture? Although I will never forget the past, and I might even dwell in it too long sometimes, I know there is so much for us in the future.  I am on the verge of aging into a new decade. The kids are growing into amazing adults. I have a terrific husband. We still have both sets of parents and lots in the way of family and friends.  I love my job, and I can still wield a tennis racquet better than the average bear. My present tense is “rockin’.”

There is a void in the corner of my bedroom, and I will think of that rocker for a few more days. But I can also picture my friend feeding his children, reading stories and making wonderful memories, just like I did.

The Call Back

The first challenge for an auditioning actor is to get a callback. That means the directors ask the person to return for another audition to read, improvise and spend time with the director and other decision makers. Getting a callback puts the actor on the short list of people who might be cast for the part. To get one, the actor must do something that marks him or her as a stand-out at the audition, and a possible fit for one of the roles.

But there is one time when you don’t want a callback. I had one on Thursday. Two days prior, my cell phone rang as I was getting into the car with Abby on our way to hit some tennis balls. The conversation went like this:

Caller: “Hello, Mrs. Dinerman. This is [forgot her name} from the Beth Israel Deaconess in Lexington. Your mammogram {here is where my head got fuzzy} showed something different from the prior year’s mammogram { I’m doing my best to keep a straight face. I don’t want Abby to see any change in my expression}. We would like you to come in this week for another scan when the radiologist will be here. Are you available on Thursday?”

Me {as I step away from the car to look at my schedule on my iPhone}: “Thank you for your call. Which one is it?”

Caller: “Let me look here…the right one.” {you can hear empathy in her tone}

Me: “Thursday should be fine. 11 am works.”

Caller: “Ok, I have scheduled you. Best of luck, Mrs. Dinerman, and have a nice day.”

Me: “You too.”

We hang up.

Abby asked, “Mom, who was that?” I said, “It was a client who needed to reschedule a call.” Abby said, “You’re lying.” I said, looking at her straight in the eyes, lying right through my teeth, “No I’m not. Let’s get going if we want to get a court.”

Now, I am sure that wasn’t an easy call to make for that woman, but her tone was very warm and understanding. And the fact that I had Abby with me forced me to nearly dismiss it. But my insides were all jumbled and all I could think of was, 'Thank God I’m going to do something active right now and have a distraction.'

As soon as I had time alone, I called Brad. As I heard myself saying the words, ”They found something different in my mammogram,” his voice dropped, but I know he wanted to be strong and try to allay my fears. He said, “Hmmm. {pause} Well, let’s not get too nervous until we hear what they say. It is probably nothing.” He was right about not getting too nervous.

The next thing I did was probe and groped my right one. I didn’t feel anything unusual. I felt fine. But that’s what they all say. Several of my friends have been through this. In fact, within the past five years, it seems like it hits one of my tennis friends every year. I once said, half jokingly, “Who’s next?” Geez, I didn’t think it would be me. Who does?

According to the National Cancer Institute, "false-positive results are more common for younger women, women who have had previous breast biopsies, women with a family history of breast cancer, and women who are taking estrogen."

Yet, the site also claims that:

"False-negative results occur when mammograms appear normal even though breast cancer is present. Overall, screening mammograms miss up to 20 percent of breast cancers that are present at the time of screening.

The main cause of false-negative results is high breast density. Breasts contain both dense tissue (i.e., glandular tissue and connective tissue, together known as fibroglandular tissue) and fatty tissue. Fatty tissue appears dark on a mammogram, whereas dense tissue and tumors appear as white areas. Because fibroglandular tissue and tumors have similar density, tumors can be harder to detect in women with denser breasts.

False-negative results occur more often among younger women than among older women because younger women are more likely to have dense breasts. As a woman ages, her breasts usually become more fatty, and false-negative results become less likely. False-negative results can lead to delays in treatment and a false sense of security for affected women."

Stay positive

Wednesday came. I stayed busy at work. I let my colleagues know that I have a quick doctor’s appointment the next day and plan to be back within the hour. {Please}

After work, I helped out at Ari’s baseball practice. In those two hours, I completely forgot everything except baseball drills. When I have a moment to myself in the evening, I started to think about it. I talked about it with Brad. I was nervous. He knew that. When will I fit in treatments? What will I tell the kids? My parents? In-laws? Friends? Work? Damn. The respect I have for my friends and family who have fought and won, and fought and not won, was just elevated 1 million times.

Breathe.

Thursday morning came. I kissed Brad good-bye, drove Ari to camp and then got to work. At 10:45 a.m., I drove to the BI in Lexington. The BI in Lexington is a terrific and convenient satellite branch of the hospital in Boston. I checked in, changed from the waist up and took a seat. The technician called me within five minutes. I walked into the darkened room with the mammography machine. She showed me my original scan from Tuesday.

“See that little circle on the bottom," she said, "that’s what’s different from last year’s scan.” {My mind turned to mush, as did my insides. This is what some of my friends have said – it’s pea sized. Focus. Focus on what she is saying so I can relay it to Brad}. “Sometimes the way the machine takes the mammogram, it doesn’t smooth out the breast enough and we see what’s simply a clump of fatty tissue. That is what we’re hoping for here.” {Please, make it that.}

I tossed my right one onto the machine. The technician positioned my body so I felt like I was going to fall over. But I stood as straight as I could and balanced myself so she could get a good scan. “This time,” she said, “I’m not going to start from the top. I’m going to start a little further down and get a clearer look at that bottom part. Ok. Hold there. Don’t breathe. {I can’t anyway}.

“Ok, Mrs. Dinerman. Please have a seat in the waiting area. I will have the radiologist take a look at the scan. I’ll be right back.” {Take your time. No, please hurry!} I sat for a minute and tried to watch the TV that is on. It was showing The View with Whoopie Goldberg, who, I think, was talking about women who wear make-up and those who don’t. Not really sure.

The technician then called me back in. “Mrs. Dinerman, we have good news.” {Exhale}. “In fact it was a small cluster of fatty tissue. We’ll see you again next year.” I thanked the lovely technician. I wanted to hug her, but I didn’t. {I’m clean}. I change and rush to my car to call Brad. We both smiled over the phone, and my eyes started to water, but I didn't cry. Instead, I smiled. {I’m relieved. I’m one of the lucky ones!} I drove back to work and continued my day.

My point: Sure, I had a scare, but that is all it was. I am not asking for pity. I have no right to ask for pity. As I mentioned, I know too many who have fought and won, and many who have fought and didn’t win. Women who are 40 years old, start getting checked each year. Despite the warnings, it's a start. At the risk of sounding political, with healthcare available, do what’s right for yourself and your loved ones. I am very thankful that I am able to get a mammogram and a pap each year to (hopefully) detect something early enough so, if it ever does decide to knock on my knockers, I might have a fighting chance.

Time

by Ari Dinerman

Sometimes you really wish that someone could have told you something would happen in the future. Like if you were going to be sent to the principal’s office, or your relative were going to get sick And if you do know about that before it happens, you could prevent being sent to the principal’s office or you could find a cure for your relative’s sickness. Sometimes time is your best friend or your worst enemy.

Imagine...

by Ari Dinerman, contributing writer

In the perfect town of Learn-a-lot, everything is so peaceful, so calm, so happy. In a town like this, you have learned so much that by the end of your life, you’ve learned too much. Your answer to a question would be as logical as it could be. There are no crimes, nothing. What is the point of living this life if there is no responsibility, and no more lessons to learn.

At the great ballpark

by Ari Dinerman, contributing writer

At the great ballpark, I see the ground balls being hit to all the positions on the field. While hearing all different fans begging for a comeback. In this stadium, you can hear that a lot. I can briefly taste the sand dry cigarette smoke streaming out from one’s filthy mouth. I am touching the armrests of my chair, feeling the rumbles of the stadium in disbelief. This makes me smell the salty French fries being carried by sellers walking up and down the aisles of the stadium, just like pacing back and forth, thinking what to do next.