Debi Balistrieri
Diagnosed with breast cancer in 1995 and 2004, I feel very lucky to be here to participate in the Rare Chair Affair for the fifth time as a survivor artist. Every time I agree to paint a chair it humbles me because I am not a professional artist. But by the time I finish I realize how healing it felt while doing it. This year’s chair is the face of a girl I have been painting since I was about 8 years old. I don’t know where it comes from, but 43 years later, I’m still drawing her!
Jeanine Davis
My son, Grady, took his first independent step the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer. He was 13 months old and I was 2 months shy of my 32nd birthday. All I could think of was “what is going to happen to my son? Will he even remember me?” Then one day after sharing my fears with my mother, she came to me and said, “Even if something should happen to you, although he might not remember you, he will remember the love you have given him.”” She really helped me to let go of those fears and realize my son is strong, even without me.
I have so many dreams for my son but this summed it up best: “Shoot for the moon and you’ll land among the stars”. I want him to try everything in life and do everything he wants, not to be afraid of failure. The biggest regret in life is not doing something you wanted because you were afraid. I might to be here to see him achieve his full potential but I know I have given him the strong base of love and confidence that he needs to make any dream come true.
Jo DeMars
It’s been just a year since my breast cancer diagnosis.
So many things have changed, yet so much of my life remains the same. Some days breast cancer still seems unreal as if it really didn’t happen to me. Still when I look at reality, my life has changed forever and it will never be quite the same. I’ve learned so much about breast cancer, about my friends and family, and about myself.
But what feelings would I uncover as I worked on painting my chair?
My daughter reminded me that when I received my pathology report stating my tumor was 6mm I said, “Six millimeters, that’s an early catch. I have pearls bigger than that!” I’ve always said that women are like pearls: precious, lustrous, with a beauty that shines from within, gaining value over time from properly and productively dealing with adversity; yet, like pearls if you exert too much pressure, women can be crushed, so they need to be handled with love.
I remembered the hard days and nights during my treatment and the lessons I learned. I found that, in the end, we all have to go inside ourselves to find the strength to deal with the challenge of cancer. In the dead of the night there is no one else. On the radiation table we lie alone. This is perhaps the greatest lesson of a cancer diagnosis: we come to understand the depth of the strength and courage that resides in us and where our true values lie.
I’ve painted my chair red for strength and courage and I added the Chinese symbol for wisdom. I’ve included 28 pearls to represent each of my radiation treatments. I chose a rocking chair to represent comfort and the feminine spirit.
Jill Eder
“Survivor: One who continues to live life.” That has always been me – what can I say? Lumpectomy, chemo, radiation. My story is familiar, but unique only to me. This chair is in honor of all my friends who helped me through this chapter in my life. And in honor of the love and support of my husband Michael Mazur and my children Bettny and Aidan Mazur.
Most of all it is in memory of my mother, Betty Eder, who died of breast cancer in 1982 and my father Irving Eder who died 1 year ago. They taught me about family, friendship, strength, love, happiness, warmth, smiling and laughter. My mother and I loved to sit down over a cup of coffee together and swap stories. Everyone who know me knows my favorite thing to do is to relax over a cup of coffee or latte with the people I love. So please remember every time you sit in my chair, take time to smell the coffee, sip slowly – live life.
Virginia Erlandsson
“THE DAY THE BABIES CRAWLED AWAY”, a delightful picture book, is my inspiration for “Remember the day…,” a child’s art desk.
The hero of this story, a little boy three or four years old, keeps careful watch over his town’s babies as they crawl away from their busy moms and dads into a froggy bog, a bat cave, a field of butterflies, and even a crow’s nest. At days’ end, the little boy brings all the babies safely home.
That little boy always makes me think of MY heroes–my grandchildren. Leif, Norah, Owen, Blake and Kayla make every day joyous and remind me of the wonder-filled tomorrows we will share. They have brought, and will always bring, the most amazing, healing experiences and energy to me and to every life they touch!
Leif’s mommy, Carolyn Bazan, a professional artist, painted the details from the picture book. Thank you, dear daughter!
Donna Flint
I was diagnosed with DCIS in March of this year. I have two kids ages 8 and 10, who helped me select the chair. At a time when my life seems very much out of my control, it was empowering to be able to contribute to the cause of finding a cure for breast cancer. Thanks to WBCC for giving me the opportunity!
Jan Hess
The diagnosis of breast cancer brought forth many challenges. I chose to face those challenges by finding joy while becoming healthy and fulfilled in mind, body and spirit. I engage in activities that make my soul happy. This chair showcases some of the activities and foods I enjoy as a healthy thriving woman trying to get the most out of life. I hope it will act as a reminder for others to find joy in life as they nourish their own mind, body and spirit.
Karen Maynard
It was about 15 years ago when both my mother and mother-in-laws were diagnosed the same year with lung and breast cancer. Two years later, my mother passed away and twelve years after that my mother-in-law died as well. Both were 57 years old. Way too young. Experiencing too little in life. In combination, they missed several of their children’s weddings, the births of 15 grandchildren and countless memories.
Six years ago I was diagnosed at the age of 33 with early stage breast cancer. Our three boys at the time were 2, 4, and 6. A panicked flashback of what my mother had lost or missed out on made me start planning for what I was not going to miss out on in life. The first wave of panic came when I heard the doctor say the 5 year survival rate for someone like you is … all I remember thinking was 5 years! What the heck will five years bring us! Our youngest won’t even be out of first grade! To say I was outraged was an understatement. After watching our mothers take a very back seat approach to dealing with their disease I decided that a few changes had to be made in our family’s compliance with the disease! It was then that an advocate was born!
When my mother was dying she made lengthy lists of things she wanted to accomplish. Most of which were things like purchasing an antique creaming spoon or calling her lifelong friends to say goodbye. My goals were less immediate and more selfish I guess. When the panic subsided and reality set in, I decided among the zillion things I decided that me or my family were not going to miss out on I announced to my husband that I was going to Europe by the time I turned forty with or without them. Unlike my mom, I was going to get it off my list of hopefuls and check it off. So this year, with the luxurious help of an early diagnosis, we did a family cruise in Europe visiting Naples, Florence, Pisa, Nicce, Corfu, Dubrovnik, Rome and ahhh, yes Venice (or when in Italy…Venezia). It was here that I picked up the print of UGO BARACCO’s etching featuring Venice that is showcased in my chair.
So what’s next on my list? Until I figure that out, I will focus my energies on working together to eradicate this disease so that others can just sit back and dream of a time when they can visit Venezia. Hmmm what do you think a good cancer diagnosis can leverage? Heck why wait for a diagnosis, why not jump right in and experience life today? Now that is priceless!
Linda Port
Pirates are survivors! I created this “pirate” chair to show what a treasure life is. Pirates of the Caribbean is the underlying theme, and the chair includes many secrets within its treasure chest. I have enjoyed all the Tuesday evenings we all spent together – working, laughing and sharing.
Amy Treichel-Brandt
When I felt a lump in my armpit while showering one morning in the summer of 2000, breast cancer was the furthest thing from my mind. I was 33, still nursing my youngest son and had no family history of this. I was only concerned enough to think I should get it checked out… probably a blocked milk duct. As I looked at myself in the mirror, towel wrapped around my head, I quickly dismissed the image of that being how I’d look with no hair. The “cancer bug” had already hit our family, with my Dad and a favorite uncle having recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer. That seemed like enough. But, it bit again – this time, me.
Within a week, I had a diagnosis of stage 3, grade 3 infiltrating ductal carcinoma. What I’d felt was one of the ten lymph nodes it had already traveled to. A surgeon I’d never met was quickly found and he let me go on a previously planned trip to Seattle – which gave me time to mentally prepare for this new and unplanned, dreaded journey. I had the “full course” of treatment – mastectomy, 6 months of chemo, radiation, then ovary removal and Aromasin, an anti-estrogen medication. That was 6 years ago – although I prefer to mark the time since I finished treatment and beat this @%*&@$ disease, in March of 2001. It’s a much happier time to remember than when I was diagnosed. That was the worst day of my life – I received the diagnosis while at work, in the middle of seeing a patient – but the last day of treatment was one of the best. My whole extended family came up for a surprise visit, with dinner and flowers and a champagne toast. They, as well as my husband, Ben, and many wonderful friends, are the ones who really helped me to get through this. My kids helped too – at ages 1 and 3, they helped keep me busy enough to keep my mind off things. And, they were my whole reason for living!
I LOVE the chance to be creative, more now than ever. When I heard about this event I called and asked to be a part of it! It was a great excuse for a new creative endeavor and for a great cause as well. I feel honored to be allowed to participate, although I’ve missed getting to work alongside all the other survivor artists, since I live in Oshkosh, not Milwaukee. I’ve thought of them as I’ve painted, wondering what their chairs were turning into.
As with most things I’ve ever created, my ideas develop as I work. I only knew I wanted to use my favorite colors, periwinkle and lime green, and that the chair would look whimsical and fun. I think of this chair as a deserved resting spot for someone who’s undergone a long and tiring journey such as breast cancer. On the other hand, I think of the LeeAnn Womack song “I Hope You Dance”, a favorite of so many breast cancer survivors I’ve met… “and when you get the choice to SIT it out or dance… I hope you dance!” Like she says, may we never take one single breath for granted. I hope people can look at this chair and be inspired not to sit, but to DANCE, CREATE, and LIVE!
Linda Zella Weide
I’m a veteran breast cancer survivor, battling this beast since 1993. During that time I’ve experienced the gamut of treatments–several times. The war with this disease not only takes its toll physically but also psychologically. So the one way I have found to fight back at it is to aid in the quest to raise funds for the alleviation of it. My participation with the Rare Chair Affair has afforded me an opportunity to do just that the last 6 years.