One of the harder parts of going through radiation was that I was unable to do any overnight travel.
Because I had to receive treatment everyday, I was literally grounded for January and February.
It felt a lot like one of the times I was grounded by my parents. How because I did something terrible (told a lie) I was not allowed to go to the St. Bonaventure Carnival.
My sisters, who didn't really have the capacity of love for me that they do now, felt really bad.
You see the Carnival was one of the most anticipated social events of the year. And since our house was only a block away, we would spend 3 straight days there, riding rides, tossing dimes into glasses, eating a lot of carnival food (it is no wonder I had cancer).
I could also hear all the fun from my bedroom window, for three straight days.
All the fun I was restricted from.
Anyway, apparently my sisters tried to win a stuffed animal to cheer me up, but all they could win was a sad little goldfish.
Walking home they ran into a neighborhood boy, who I happened to have a crush on, and who also happened to have in his mitts, a stuffed animal.
I am not sure how much, or what type of persuasion it took, but a trade was made, my sisters came home with a stuffed animal for me, and my crush went home with a goldfish for his mom.
That carnival goldfish ended up living for over a decade.
The stuffed animal, a bird, was long forgotten.
But my restriction never was.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Day 305 - Not how I wanted to start
In January 2011 I found myself fulfilling a goal I had set for myself ever since we moved to Portland. I started my new job at Nike.
It had been a long time since I had been the new kid anywhere, and anyone who works or has worked at Nike can tell you the first months you feel like you have landed on a different planet.
No one speaks the same language you do, you are set adrift on your own to figure things out, and don't get me started about the "Matrix Organization".
Three months later I would be diagnosed.
My peers have been amazing throughout this entire ordeal (remember the balloons), and today they surprised me with a bottle of champagne to toast the end of my treatments.
I was taken aback when the group thanked me for being so open, and willing to share my cancer experience with them. They felt really connected to me, and I was able to take the fear out of what they felt was an intensely scary situation.
For me they were a daily source of normalcy.
Going to work made me feel like I was alive.
Made me feel connected.
Made me feel relevant.
Until today I really didn't think of how the last few months have been for them. How simply watching my physical transformation must have been alarming.
But I also realized that my presence provided a needed dose of reality. A vivid reminder of what is important in life.
I mean we are selling sneakers people, not curing cancer.
This wasn't the way I wanted to start my career at Nike.
But it sure did make an impact.
It had been a long time since I had been the new kid anywhere, and anyone who works or has worked at Nike can tell you the first months you feel like you have landed on a different planet.
No one speaks the same language you do, you are set adrift on your own to figure things out, and don't get me started about the "Matrix Organization".
Three months later I would be diagnosed.
My peers have been amazing throughout this entire ordeal (remember the balloons), and today they surprised me with a bottle of champagne to toast the end of my treatments.
I was taken aback when the group thanked me for being so open, and willing to share my cancer experience with them. They felt really connected to me, and I was able to take the fear out of what they felt was an intensely scary situation.
For me they were a daily source of normalcy.
Going to work made me feel like I was alive.
Made me feel connected.
Made me feel relevant.
Until today I really didn't think of how the last few months have been for them. How simply watching my physical transformation must have been alarming.
But I also realized that my presence provided a needed dose of reality. A vivid reminder of what is important in life.
I mean we are selling sneakers people, not curing cancer.
This wasn't the way I wanted to start my career at Nike.
But it sure did make an impact.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Day 304 - survival rates
I have no idea why I would spend any time googling "Breast Cancer Survival Rates".
Well actually I know why I would do such a thing (Days 1-303), but what pops up is even more confusing than how I, of all people, ended up with stupid cancer in the first place.
The internet is great, but it can also be tourture.
So unless there is a great article out there that suggests a cure for cancer can be found in drinking red wine and eating french bread and cheese I am done googling.
Perhaps I should have given it up for Lent - would have helped if I was Catholic.
But really what I am going to give up, Catholic or not, is worrying about it.
I think I have enough people out there (mom, pete, sue, doug, andrea, kristy, ali, aimee, jenny...) doing that for me.
Instead I am going to blissfully live in the moment.
And let cancer take a back seat to all the fun it wanted me to miss.
Well actually I know why I would do such a thing (Days 1-303), but what pops up is even more confusing than how I, of all people, ended up with stupid cancer in the first place.
The internet is great, but it can also be tourture.
So unless there is a great article out there that suggests a cure for cancer can be found in drinking red wine and eating french bread and cheese I am done googling.
Perhaps I should have given it up for Lent - would have helped if I was Catholic.
But really what I am going to give up, Catholic or not, is worrying about it.
I think I have enough people out there (mom, pete, sue, doug, andrea, kristy, ali, aimee, jenny...) doing that for me.
Instead I am going to blissfully live in the moment.
And let cancer take a back seat to all the fun it wanted me to miss.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Day 303 - Well...
Now what.One of the questions that I have been asked the last several days is what happens to my blog.
Honestly I am not quite sure.
I would like to think that I will continue to have experiences that I want to write about. That I will shift from living with cancer to living without cancer.
So, if you are willing to give it a try, I will too.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Day 301- When one door closes...
It was a spectacularly beautiful day here in the Pacific Northwest. The sky is clear, the sun is shining, and by 9am I was finished with my active cancer treatment.
My last radiation was exactly like the previous 33 treatments. Except that it was not.
Sitting here I am not sure how to feel. If you were to walk in and see me, you would never have any idea what the last 301 days have been like for me, for Doug, for my friends, for my family.
I had a celebratory breakfast with my BFF, at the end of it she asked, "what is the one thing you take away from this whole experience?"
"Make vacation plans," was my answer.
But you really couldn't walk away from what I have been through with just one thing. So indulge me for a moment if you would.
My incomplete list of things you learn from living with cancer for a year:
1. Your family loves you. While this is no real surprise, the way your family will show up for you is pretty incredible.
2. Your friends love you. People you have known your whole life, people you met 3 months ago, people you have not spoken to in years will do things, unselfish things, that you will begin to wonder what you did to deserve all the attention.
3. You will have good days.
4. You will have bad days.
5. You will be lying in bed while your husband tucks your children in for the night, and you will hear their sweet banter, and you will beg the universe to not take you away from that.
6. You will crack open your heart. You will forgive that which was once unforgivable. You will be compassionate. You will show vulnerability.
7. You will never say thank you enough.
8. You will receive a lot of hats.
9. You will look at someone having a carefree day and want to strangle them.
10. You will look at your best friends and cry from sheer gratefulness for being smart enough to have such beautiful people in your life.
11. You will never look at friends who have been through cancer the same way again.
12. You will walk into your first surgery, pass someone in the hall who is being wheeled out, and wonder, "am I going to look that sick".
13. You will write.
14. You will receive chemotherapy. You will dread it. You will look forward to it. You will finish it.
15. You will run into people who do not recognize you. You will run into people who pretend you are not there.
16. You will go bald.
17. You will wear hats.
18. You will refuse to wear pink.
19. You will juice.
20. You will lay in bed playing go fish for hours.
21. You will weep on Christmas Eve.
22. You will loose your boobs.
23. You will reach your breaking point.
24. You will wallow, for one day, in self pity over learning you will have to undergo radiation, and then you will get over yourself.
25. You will celebrate - everything.
26. You will be told, "you are my hero" more than you deserve.
27. You will sit, sleepless in bed, thanking God, Buddha, anyone who will listen, for marrying the man sleeping soundly next to you.
28. You will go to work.
29. You will google. You will read statistics. You will absorb survival rates.
30. You will think of your father.
31. You will love your sisters, more than they can ever understand.
32. You will wear hats.
33. You will disappear.
34. You will be disappointed.
35. You will stop wearing hats.
36. You will be scarred.
37. You will wonder, "what next".
38. You will forget you have cancer.
39. You will never forget you had cancer.
40. You will survive.
My last radiation was exactly like the previous 33 treatments. Except that it was not.
Sitting here I am not sure how to feel. If you were to walk in and see me, you would never have any idea what the last 301 days have been like for me, for Doug, for my friends, for my family.
I had a celebratory breakfast with my BFF, at the end of it she asked, "what is the one thing you take away from this whole experience?"
"Make vacation plans," was my answer.
But you really couldn't walk away from what I have been through with just one thing. So indulge me for a moment if you would.
My incomplete list of things you learn from living with cancer for a year:
1. Your family loves you. While this is no real surprise, the way your family will show up for you is pretty incredible.
2. Your friends love you. People you have known your whole life, people you met 3 months ago, people you have not spoken to in years will do things, unselfish things, that you will begin to wonder what you did to deserve all the attention.
3. You will have good days.
4. You will have bad days.
5. You will be lying in bed while your husband tucks your children in for the night, and you will hear their sweet banter, and you will beg the universe to not take you away from that.
6. You will crack open your heart. You will forgive that which was once unforgivable. You will be compassionate. You will show vulnerability.
7. You will never say thank you enough.
8. You will receive a lot of hats.
9. You will look at someone having a carefree day and want to strangle them.
10. You will look at your best friends and cry from sheer gratefulness for being smart enough to have such beautiful people in your life.
11. You will never look at friends who have been through cancer the same way again.
12. You will walk into your first surgery, pass someone in the hall who is being wheeled out, and wonder, "am I going to look that sick".
13. You will write.
14. You will receive chemotherapy. You will dread it. You will look forward to it. You will finish it.
15. You will run into people who do not recognize you. You will run into people who pretend you are not there.
16. You will go bald.
17. You will wear hats.
18. You will refuse to wear pink.
19. You will juice.
20. You will lay in bed playing go fish for hours.
21. You will weep on Christmas Eve.
22. You will loose your boobs.
23. You will reach your breaking point.
24. You will wallow, for one day, in self pity over learning you will have to undergo radiation, and then you will get over yourself.
25. You will celebrate - everything.
26. You will be told, "you are my hero" more than you deserve.
27. You will sit, sleepless in bed, thanking God, Buddha, anyone who will listen, for marrying the man sleeping soundly next to you.
28. You will go to work.
29. You will google. You will read statistics. You will absorb survival rates.
30. You will think of your father.
31. You will love your sisters, more than they can ever understand.
32. You will wear hats.
33. You will disappear.
34. You will be disappointed.
35. You will stop wearing hats.
36. You will be scarred.
37. You will wonder, "what next".
38. You will forget you have cancer.
39. You will never forget you had cancer.
40. You will survive.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Day 300 - "Our Hearts are Broken"
I must warn you - this is not a happy, one more day of radiation post. I hope to get to that place tomorrow, but right now I need to tell you a story that may leave you with a broken heart too.
Readers of this blog will recall that around Day 114, a few days after Kayla died, I wrote a post about a friend who was experiencing a recurrence of Breast Cancer.
My friend, "S", had been incredibly supportive to me during the first dark days of diagnosis. She reached out, told me her story, and promised to help me in any way possible. I loved writing to her, since she was 4 years ahead of me in her cancer experience, and was living a full happy life with her husband and two sweet children.
On Day 114 she let me know that her greatest fears had been realized. Cancer was back, this time it was in her bones and, "having a party in her liver".
Not the party any of us would ever want to be invited to.
I remember the day vividly. We were up at our mountain house with my Mom and Doug's parents. I sat in my room for a bit in total shock.
My first selfish thought was, "wait, this can come back?!?"
Up until that point I thought, chemo, surgery, maybe radiation, done. No mas. Cancer Free. Long life.
"S" brought me back to reality, quickly. She knew I was going to struggle with he news, and immediately reminded me in the most beautiful of ways, "you are not me. This is not going to happen to you".
But it is happening to her. Let's take me completely out of the equation - this is not about me.
This is about a friend, who at 41, has just been told that there are no longer any options. She has been told her life can now be measured in, "weeks".
Her children will learn this harsh reality today.
I cried my way through a hot shower, through brushing my teeth, through getting dressed. When I told Doug I cried some more.
Her husband said it best:
"I always thought she would beat it. She could always handle doing a hundred things at once. If she wanted to do something; she was always successful at it. I figured this would be another thing she accomplished. She is the strongest person I know."
Trust me, if you knew her, you would agree. She is totally kick-ass.
I LOVE YOU "S"
Struggling to H+D today.
Readers of this blog will recall that around Day 114, a few days after Kayla died, I wrote a post about a friend who was experiencing a recurrence of Breast Cancer.
My friend, "S", had been incredibly supportive to me during the first dark days of diagnosis. She reached out, told me her story, and promised to help me in any way possible. I loved writing to her, since she was 4 years ahead of me in her cancer experience, and was living a full happy life with her husband and two sweet children.
On Day 114 she let me know that her greatest fears had been realized. Cancer was back, this time it was in her bones and, "having a party in her liver".
Not the party any of us would ever want to be invited to.
I remember the day vividly. We were up at our mountain house with my Mom and Doug's parents. I sat in my room for a bit in total shock.
My first selfish thought was, "wait, this can come back?!?"
Up until that point I thought, chemo, surgery, maybe radiation, done. No mas. Cancer Free. Long life.
"S" brought me back to reality, quickly. She knew I was going to struggle with he news, and immediately reminded me in the most beautiful of ways, "you are not me. This is not going to happen to you".
But it is happening to her. Let's take me completely out of the equation - this is not about me.
This is about a friend, who at 41, has just been told that there are no longer any options. She has been told her life can now be measured in, "weeks".
Her children will learn this harsh reality today.
I cried my way through a hot shower, through brushing my teeth, through getting dressed. When I told Doug I cried some more.
Her husband said it best:
"I always thought she would beat it. She could always handle doing a hundred things at once. If she wanted to do something; she was always successful at it. I figured this would be another thing she accomplished. She is the strongest person I know."
Trust me, if you knew her, you would agree. She is totally kick-ass.
I LOVE YOU "S"
Struggling to H+D today.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Day 299 - A sign?
I had lunch today with a former coworker turned friend. She reminded me that I had signed up, a long time ago, to climb Mt. Ranier in order to raise money and awareness for Breast Cancer.
Until that moment, I had totally forgotten about that long ago quest. My sister in law, Lynn had lost her best friend to Breast Cancer, and in honor of her, she signed up for this 3 day challenge.
At the time I had 2 small children, and I was looking for a way to get back into shape. So I decided to join Lynn in this adventure.
I was reminded today that in my letter I said I was climbing/raising money/raising awareness in the hopes that my daughter would never have to worry about Breast Cancer.
Oh the irony.
As part of the training I had to hike with a 45lb backpack. On my first training hike, I stuck Graham on my back in a kid carrier, and hit the trails. About 20 minutes into it I realized this was going to be much harder than I expected.
A few weeks later I understood why. I was pregnant with Harris.
Unfortunatley for Lynn she was going to have to go about this adventure on her own. Which in the end turned into spending 2 days in a total whiteout sharing a tent with 2 dudes she didn't know. They never made it to the top.
I regret missing that trip, even though Lynn never made it to the top, she raised a ton of money, and had a few days stuck in a tent, honoring her friend.
Until that moment, I had totally forgotten about that long ago quest. My sister in law, Lynn had lost her best friend to Breast Cancer, and in honor of her, she signed up for this 3 day challenge.
At the time I had 2 small children, and I was looking for a way to get back into shape. So I decided to join Lynn in this adventure.
I was reminded today that in my letter I said I was climbing/raising money/raising awareness in the hopes that my daughter would never have to worry about Breast Cancer.
Oh the irony.
As part of the training I had to hike with a 45lb backpack. On my first training hike, I stuck Graham on my back in a kid carrier, and hit the trails. About 20 minutes into it I realized this was going to be much harder than I expected.
A few weeks later I understood why. I was pregnant with Harris.
Unfortunatley for Lynn she was going to have to go about this adventure on her own. Which in the end turned into spending 2 days in a total whiteout sharing a tent with 2 dudes she didn't know. They never made it to the top.
I regret missing that trip, even though Lynn never made it to the top, she raised a ton of money, and had a few days stuck in a tent, honoring her friend.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Day 298 - How we met
I love the story of how my parents met.
My mom, an Oklahoma native, had moved to sunny Southern California for the promise of a teaching job that I think paid a little more than the one she could get back home.
On the night she met my father, she had been stood up by some cad (imagine) and went, with a girlfriend, to a party down the road.
She ran into my father in the kitchen, where he stood, all 6'7" of him, with his elbow leaning on the top of the refrigerator.
My mom turned to her friend and said, "I am going to marry that man some day."
What I love so much about this story is it demonstrates that in my family, once you set your mind to do something, you do it.
Which is why I want to tell you all.
"I am going to be done with radiation treatment on Friday, and I am never going to ever go back".
Heal and Deal
My mom, an Oklahoma native, had moved to sunny Southern California for the promise of a teaching job that I think paid a little more than the one she could get back home.
On the night she met my father, she had been stood up by some cad (imagine) and went, with a girlfriend, to a party down the road.
She ran into my father in the kitchen, where he stood, all 6'7" of him, with his elbow leaning on the top of the refrigerator.
My mom turned to her friend and said, "I am going to marry that man some day."
What I love so much about this story is it demonstrates that in my family, once you set your mind to do something, you do it.
Which is why I want to tell you all.
"I am going to be done with radiation treatment on Friday, and I am never going to ever go back".
Heal and Deal
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Day 296
While I will be receiving Herception every three weeks until July, I feel like this week is the end of intense treatment, my last week of radiation.
It begins tomorrow with what is called a "boost". Basically my position will be changed, and the focus will narrow to the scar that runs the length of my left breast. For some reason, if cancer thought it would try and reoccur in breast tissue, this is the likely place.
When I asked my radiologist why he simply said, "no one has any idea".
Comforting...
I am incredibly relieved that after Friday I can really focus on my body healing. I love my body. It is not Hollywood perfect (not by a long shot), but for the last 41 years it has done everything I have asked of it.
Including beating cancer.
And, always one up for a challenge I have decided that I am going to get out on the road, and train for the Portland Rock and Roll half marathon.
Race day is May 20th.
My bib is going to say:
A year ago I was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer.
16 rounds of chemo, 3 surgeries and 33 doses of radiation got me to today.
I am running in honor of everyone who supported me.
But most of all I am running for myself
It begins tomorrow with what is called a "boost". Basically my position will be changed, and the focus will narrow to the scar that runs the length of my left breast. For some reason, if cancer thought it would try and reoccur in breast tissue, this is the likely place.
When I asked my radiologist why he simply said, "no one has any idea".
Comforting...
I am incredibly relieved that after Friday I can really focus on my body healing. I love my body. It is not Hollywood perfect (not by a long shot), but for the last 41 years it has done everything I have asked of it.
Including beating cancer.
And, always one up for a challenge I have decided that I am going to get out on the road, and train for the Portland Rock and Roll half marathon.
Race day is May 20th.
My bib is going to say:
A year ago I was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer.
16 rounds of chemo, 3 surgeries and 33 doses of radiation got me to today.
I am running in honor of everyone who supported me.
But most of all I am running for myself
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Day 293 - Blue
Last night we headed to school for the Kindergarten musical performance. It was so fun to watch all the kids sing their hearts out, even if we were all squished into auditorium seats meant for people in the 1920's.
I worried about Harper. She spent part of the performance twirling her hair, scratching her nose, but then every once in a while a verse would really mean something to her, and she would belt it out like her life depended on it.
Harris snuggled into Doug's lap, Graham sat next to me.
I was enjoying this little, simple moment. Lost in the innocence of it all. Wishing my kids could stay little sweet babies forever.
The last song of the night was about the colors of the rainbow. It was obvious that this was Harper's favorite.
When they got to singing about blue, Graham tapped me on the shoulder and said,
"Mom did you know that scientifically blue is not a color".
Back to reality I landed. My kids are growing up. There is nothing I can do about it.
Except to just sit back, and watch it happen.
I worried about Harper. She spent part of the performance twirling her hair, scratching her nose, but then every once in a while a verse would really mean something to her, and she would belt it out like her life depended on it.
Harris snuggled into Doug's lap, Graham sat next to me.
I was enjoying this little, simple moment. Lost in the innocence of it all. Wishing my kids could stay little sweet babies forever.
The last song of the night was about the colors of the rainbow. It was obvious that this was Harper's favorite.
When they got to singing about blue, Graham tapped me on the shoulder and said,
"Mom did you know that scientifically blue is not a color".
Back to reality I landed. My kids are growing up. There is nothing I can do about it.
Except to just sit back, and watch it happen.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Day 292 - Swiss Miss
A few months after graduating from college Doug and I packed up all of our belongings, drove them to Portland, and dropped them into a storage space.
The next day we jumped on a plane, and headed to Switzerland, where I would be paid to play volleyball, and Doug would coach and play basketball.
For the next 8 months we lived a dream life. Spent our mornings wandering around Bern, evenings at practice, and one night a week we had a match.
We had a small television, that had two stations in English, CNN, and some other channel that played Bonanza re-runs. Our evenings were spent watching a little TV, and then playing a ton of backgammon.
A few times a week my teammates would throw hours long fondue parties. We would drink red wine, each a lot of bread and cheese, and try to understand each others various languages.
Our time in Switzerland was pre-internet, cell phones, Facebook. If we wanted to communicate with loved ones it was either through letters or on the phone.
So basically we had each other. It was a great way to spend our first year of marriage.
When our time in Switzerland was up, we moved to New York, for what we thought was the summer. Doug and I were going to get internships, and then head back to France where I had a contract to play with another team.
Within a few weeks Doug had landed a job he had always dreamed of, working on the trading floor of the Stock Exchange. And somehow I ended up with a job at Ralph Lauren (that is a story for another day).
Three months later we had to decide what we were going to walk away from. My athletic career, or the first break in our new careers.
Doug left the decision up to me - completely. When I would try to get him to weigh in, he would refuse. His thinking was he did not want me to ever feel that he made me give up my athletic dreams.
We will never know what would have happened if we had walked away from New York and all its possibilities, to go spend another year in Europe. It is interesting to contemplate.
I know either life would have been amazing.
The next day we jumped on a plane, and headed to Switzerland, where I would be paid to play volleyball, and Doug would coach and play basketball.
For the next 8 months we lived a dream life. Spent our mornings wandering around Bern, evenings at practice, and one night a week we had a match.
We had a small television, that had two stations in English, CNN, and some other channel that played Bonanza re-runs. Our evenings were spent watching a little TV, and then playing a ton of backgammon.
A few times a week my teammates would throw hours long fondue parties. We would drink red wine, each a lot of bread and cheese, and try to understand each others various languages.
Our time in Switzerland was pre-internet, cell phones, Facebook. If we wanted to communicate with loved ones it was either through letters or on the phone.
So basically we had each other. It was a great way to spend our first year of marriage.
When our time in Switzerland was up, we moved to New York, for what we thought was the summer. Doug and I were going to get internships, and then head back to France where I had a contract to play with another team.
Within a few weeks Doug had landed a job he had always dreamed of, working on the trading floor of the Stock Exchange. And somehow I ended up with a job at Ralph Lauren (that is a story for another day).
Three months later we had to decide what we were going to walk away from. My athletic career, or the first break in our new careers.
Doug left the decision up to me - completely. When I would try to get him to weigh in, he would refuse. His thinking was he did not want me to ever feel that he made me give up my athletic dreams.
We will never know what would have happened if we had walked away from New York and all its possibilities, to go spend another year in Europe. It is interesting to contemplate.
I know either life would have been amazing.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Day 290 - Irony I love you
My morning routine has me jumping into the car, stopping to grab a cup of coffee, popping in for some radiation, then off to work.
Today, as I walked into my coffee shop, I was eating my breakfast. An apple.
The barrista says, "You know what they say, an apple a day keeps the Dr. away."
If it were only that simple.
Today, as I walked into my coffee shop, I was eating my breakfast. An apple.
The barrista says, "You know what they say, an apple a day keeps the Dr. away."
If it were only that simple.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Day 289 - making a few turns
Today was a day I will never forget. We got all 3 kids up to the mountain, on skis (snowboard for Graham), and Doug and I got a chance to hit the slopes together, alone.
Anyone who has ever attempted to get 3 kids up, fed, dressed, excited, happy, to ski can relate to the bit of black cloud that was floating over my head, when at 9:30m we were still checking the kids into ski school.
Doug turned to me and said, "We are in no hurry here...just enjoy the moment.".
Within 5 minutes all the kids were whisked away, and we were told to have no contact with them until pick-up at 3pm (promise?).
Doug and I sat, had a nice warm libation, then walked out to the snowy sunshine and hit the slopes.
It was an epic day for most people on the mountain. A foot of snow the day before, now not a cloud in the sky. At the top you could see the cascade range in each direction.
For me it was honestly a day I was not sure I would ever see. Three months ago I couldn't lift my arm over my head, but as Doug reminded me, "If anyone can do this you can."
When we were finished I sat in the car and just cried. It had been such a great day. I was so happy to have been able to really participate in it.
I enjoyed every moment.
Anyone who has ever attempted to get 3 kids up, fed, dressed, excited, happy, to ski can relate to the bit of black cloud that was floating over my head, when at 9:30m we were still checking the kids into ski school.
Doug turned to me and said, "We are in no hurry here...just enjoy the moment.".
Within 5 minutes all the kids were whisked away, and we were told to have no contact with them until pick-up at 3pm (promise?).
Doug and I sat, had a nice warm libation, then walked out to the snowy sunshine and hit the slopes.
It was an epic day for most people on the mountain. A foot of snow the day before, now not a cloud in the sky. At the top you could see the cascade range in each direction.
For me it was honestly a day I was not sure I would ever see. Three months ago I couldn't lift my arm over my head, but as Doug reminded me, "If anyone can do this you can."
When we were finished I sat in the car and just cried. It had been such a great day. I was so happy to have been able to really participate in it.
I enjoyed every moment.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Day 286 - A new day
Like I have said before, radiation is the lonely cancer treatment. It is so totally not social and fun like chemo was! And because the visible effects are hidden under clothing, it is easy to forget anything is actually happening. Some days even for me.
This morning Doug and I left the house at the exact same time. We were trunk to tail until I had to take the fork in the road that leads me to the hospital.
Doug called and said he felt really sad when he looked in the rearview mirror and saw my car fade away. Until that moment he had totally forgot how I spend my mornings.
Today was a rough day in the radiology lab. There was a new pediatric patient, a little girl. She fought sedation, so they had to end her treatment early. I overheard the Dr.'s speaking with her parents. He said 99% of the time it is great to have a kid with such a fighting spirit, just not on the day when they need to lay still for over an hour.
I thought she and Harper would get along great. Another little bossy.
And I thought she, like me, will be just fine.
This morning Doug and I left the house at the exact same time. We were trunk to tail until I had to take the fork in the road that leads me to the hospital.
Doug called and said he felt really sad when he looked in the rearview mirror and saw my car fade away. Until that moment he had totally forgot how I spend my mornings.
Today was a rough day in the radiology lab. There was a new pediatric patient, a little girl. She fought sedation, so they had to end her treatment early. I overheard the Dr.'s speaking with her parents. He said 99% of the time it is great to have a kid with such a fighting spirit, just not on the day when they need to lay still for over an hour.
I thought she and Harper would get along great. Another little bossy.
And I thought she, like me, will be just fine.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Day 285 - Harper Rexie Roo
I love this kid. She is so much fun. Look at that happy smilie face.
One of the best things about Harper is she is super bossy.
Some days her stubborn bossy ways almost drive me to drink. But then I just look at her, and I feel like I am talking to myself. My 5 year old self. And I have to laugh.
I think my mother feels vindicated that I have a kid like Harper. She loves that Harper always has to have the last word, since that was my MO most of my childhood.
A few months ago I got a call from the principals office to let me know there had been an "incident" at school. My first thought was, "what did Harper do?".
The long and the short of it is a boy in her class spanked her on the bottom. I guess Harper let him, and the entire Elementary school know that this was not acceptable.
To quote the principal, "You are not going to have to worry about Harper speaking up for herself".
No kidding.
So I am thankful she is like me. I know she will be able to handle whatever comes her way, maybe a little louder, maybe a little off kilter, but handle it she will.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Day 284 - burn baby burn
Cooking with gas.
Man my left side is radiated. It is now a bright red, itchy patch of pain. Nothing like the weeks of expansion, just like an accidental nap in the Mexico sun kind of pain.
13 more treatments.
And yes that does seem like a lot.
Please don't say it will be over soon, that I have come so far, that this is the end of the climb. I appreciate your words of encouragement, really I do, but as any of my coaches would tell you that kind of talk doesn't work with me.
What I need is a little in the face yelling - Bobby Knight style. A little get your ass out there and nail that radiation talk.
You don't need to go as far a throwing a chair - but you do need to act like you mean it.
Tell me you don't care how hard I have worked up until this point, I have to give more, I have to push harder.
Remind me that there is someone out there who is in worse shape, who is pushing through the pain, that I have no reason to complain...
Thanks...
I needed that.
Man my left side is radiated. It is now a bright red, itchy patch of pain. Nothing like the weeks of expansion, just like an accidental nap in the Mexico sun kind of pain.
13 more treatments.
And yes that does seem like a lot.
Please don't say it will be over soon, that I have come so far, that this is the end of the climb. I appreciate your words of encouragement, really I do, but as any of my coaches would tell you that kind of talk doesn't work with me.
What I need is a little in the face yelling - Bobby Knight style. A little get your ass out there and nail that radiation talk.
You don't need to go as far a throwing a chair - but you do need to act like you mean it.
Tell me you don't care how hard I have worked up until this point, I have to give more, I have to push harder.
Remind me that there is someone out there who is in worse shape, who is pushing through the pain, that I have no reason to complain...
Thanks...
I needed that.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Day 283 - Food Front
We live about 50 steps from a "natural" grocery food co-op. Sort of like the original Whole Foods, but way crunchier.
I love it because it is small, healthy, and only gives me 2 choices of peanut butter. Too many choices is confusing, especially when it comes to peanut butter.
Since some member of our family is in there just about every day, we are pretty well known to the people who work there.
In particular a guy I will call "Ed" has paid close attention to us ever since Graham was a baby. Ed is a perfectly nice person, but I get the sense that maybe he dropped just one hit of acid too many. Or toured with the Dead.
Probably both.
Anyway - Ed likes the kids, and because of that he learned our names, and always greets me when I am in the store.
That is, until I showed up bald.
For the last six months he has avoided me like the plague. He will not make eye contact, closes his lane when I show up in the store, and even ignores the kids.
At first I took it pretty personally. I think one of the hardest things about going through chemo is how uncomfortable it makes other people feel.
But then I began to wonder if somehow he just didn't recognize me anymore. Maybe he refused to think I was the bald lady. I would like to think he felt power in his refusal. That if he didn't recognize me, then in his mind I didn't have cancer, I wasn't going through chemo.
Tonight the store was crowed, and without realizing it, I was in Ed's lane. We spent a few awkward minutes in front of each other, he scanned and bagged my groceries, I flipped through a magazine.
After I signed my credit slip, almost as if surprised, he said, "Have a good night Mrs. Eikenberry - it is good to see you".
And I thought.
But I have been here the whole time.
I love it because it is small, healthy, and only gives me 2 choices of peanut butter. Too many choices is confusing, especially when it comes to peanut butter.
Since some member of our family is in there just about every day, we are pretty well known to the people who work there.
In particular a guy I will call "Ed" has paid close attention to us ever since Graham was a baby. Ed is a perfectly nice person, but I get the sense that maybe he dropped just one hit of acid too many. Or toured with the Dead.
Probably both.
Anyway - Ed likes the kids, and because of that he learned our names, and always greets me when I am in the store.
That is, until I showed up bald.
For the last six months he has avoided me like the plague. He will not make eye contact, closes his lane when I show up in the store, and even ignores the kids.
At first I took it pretty personally. I think one of the hardest things about going through chemo is how uncomfortable it makes other people feel.
But then I began to wonder if somehow he just didn't recognize me anymore. Maybe he refused to think I was the bald lady. I would like to think he felt power in his refusal. That if he didn't recognize me, then in his mind I didn't have cancer, I wasn't going through chemo.
Tonight the store was crowed, and without realizing it, I was in Ed's lane. We spent a few awkward minutes in front of each other, he scanned and bagged my groceries, I flipped through a magazine.
After I signed my credit slip, almost as if surprised, he said, "Have a good night Mrs. Eikenberry - it is good to see you".
And I thought.
But I have been here the whole time.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Day 281 - The curls get the girls
I am pretty confident that I am going to survive this whole cancer thing, but I am not so sure I am going to make it through the various wacky grow out periods my hair is currently providing me.
It is so insanely curly, and thick, that I literally have a helmet of hair.
I have chemo-curls in spades.
My current haircut has that 1950's female PE teacher je ne sais quoi.
I am a pretty non-nonsense girl - but my non-nonsense hair is, well, nonsense.
A few weeks ago it was kind of cute - but in the last week it has taken a turn towards tortured.
Above my ears I now have these crazy wings. I tried to flatiron them into submission but only ended up burning the top of one ear, and creating even larger, longer, and flatter wings.
And as much as I would love to hide it, I am so over wearing hats that I am just going to have to grin and bear it.
After all I have been through, I can't believe this is going to be the most painful part.
Maybe I will have to go back to my pink mohawk.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Day 279 - Pink Stinks
Yesterday morning I woke up, sat in front of my computer, and wrote about the importance of getting a mammogram. I had not yet read the news of the day that has been burning up blogs ever since. That the Susan B. Komen foundation was going to pull funding from Planned Parenthood, which effectively makes it harder for under-served women to get mammograms.
Planned Parenthood suffers from a severe image problem, as it is most closely associated as a place one would go to get an abortion. But the majority of the services they provide are for women's HEALTH.
Now I don't know about you, but I have always had health insurance, but if I was one of the millions of American women who were under insured PP would probably be the place where I went for my annual Pap, my birth control, my mammogram.
In fact my PP doctor would likely be my primary health care provider.
Without him/her, I may not know when/where to get a mammogram, and probably could not afford one.
I have never been a big fan of pink, or ribbons for that matter.
I am even less so now.
Planned Parenthood suffers from a severe image problem, as it is most closely associated as a place one would go to get an abortion. But the majority of the services they provide are for women's HEALTH.
Now I don't know about you, but I have always had health insurance, but if I was one of the millions of American women who were under insured PP would probably be the place where I went for my annual Pap, my birth control, my mammogram.
In fact my PP doctor would likely be my primary health care provider.
Without him/her, I may not know when/where to get a mammogram, and probably could not afford one.
I have never been a big fan of pink, or ribbons for that matter.
I am even less so now.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Day 278 -In case you haven't learned anything up to this point...
Have you had your mammogram?
There has been a heated debate as to how old you should be before your first mammogram, which began with a government panel's report in 2009 that suggested women could wait until age 50.
The study showed that a big chunk of the breast cancers found in women in their 40's are stage zero.
While stage zero cancer is still cancer, there is a school of thought that these cancers will not progress past stage zero for at least 10 years, if ever.
However, there are always the exceptions.
I was 40 when I was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer.
I thought I had zero risk factors (did you know having a baby after 30 was a risk factor?), felt a "lump" (not a lump really, to be honest the thing that was really bothering was a pain in my armpit that wouldn't go away), saw my Dr. who didn't think it was anything to worry about, but who still wrote the referral for my mammogram.
And here is the important part. I made the call, I set up the appointment, and I went to the exam.
Want to know what would have happened to me if I waited until I was 50 to have my first mammogram?
I would not have made it to 50.
It is that simple.
Sure a mammogram is uncomfortable, you are literally squeezed between two cold metal plates. A perfect stranger fondles you with out so much as a hello.
But trust me when I tell you that a mammogram is about 2.9 billion times better than what could happen if you wait too long.
And I am not talking about myself here, I really feel like one of the lucky ones who caught it
just in time.
Who knows how much longer my cancer wanted to jump from lymph node to lymph node before diving into more precious places, places it could not be cut out of.
So do me a favor.
Make an appointment today.
Trust me on this one.
There has been a heated debate as to how old you should be before your first mammogram, which began with a government panel's report in 2009 that suggested women could wait until age 50.
The study showed that a big chunk of the breast cancers found in women in their 40's are stage zero.
While stage zero cancer is still cancer, there is a school of thought that these cancers will not progress past stage zero for at least 10 years, if ever.
However, there are always the exceptions.
I was 40 when I was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer.
I thought I had zero risk factors (did you know having a baby after 30 was a risk factor?), felt a "lump" (not a lump really, to be honest the thing that was really bothering was a pain in my armpit that wouldn't go away), saw my Dr. who didn't think it was anything to worry about, but who still wrote the referral for my mammogram.
And here is the important part. I made the call, I set up the appointment, and I went to the exam.
Want to know what would have happened to me if I waited until I was 50 to have my first mammogram?
I would not have made it to 50.
It is that simple.
Sure a mammogram is uncomfortable, you are literally squeezed between two cold metal plates. A perfect stranger fondles you with out so much as a hello.
But trust me when I tell you that a mammogram is about 2.9 billion times better than what could happen if you wait too long.
And I am not talking about myself here, I really feel like one of the lucky ones who caught it
just in time.
Who knows how much longer my cancer wanted to jump from lymph node to lymph node before diving into more precious places, places it could not be cut out of.
So do me a favor.
Make an appointment today.
Trust me on this one.
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