another day

Nurse called yesterday - you all know what that means.  The bits they removed last week, being the good little solders they were, carried zero cancer.

We celebrated by drinking tea and watching a movie after the kids went to bed.

We also, for some reason, had a conversation about the day of my mastectomy.

If I had to zero in on the worst day, after the first day, in all of this it would have been, Tuesday, October 18th.

When I am nervous, or scared, or really super mad, I become very still and very quiet.  That morning, Doug said, I spoke maybe 10 words.

Then I led my little tribe of my mom, my sister, and Doug into the hospital.  I had to keep all of them behind me, because if I looked at them I would have fallen apart.

Doug told me, for the first time, that he was devastated by that day.  That he wanted more than anything for me to turn around and go back home.

We did have a laugh about how terrible I looked.  If any of you remember, at this point I had no eyebrows, eye lashes, a little bit of hair, and horrible cysts all over my face.

But we got through that day, and all the days that led up to today.

It feels like we have been at this forever (17 months actually), but slowly we are moving towards our normal lives.

I told Doug that our theme for 2013 is going to be, "have fun and no cancer talk."

Thankful - it's complicated

As I was waiting to pee on Tuesday, the patient across from me was also trying to find her way out of the recovery room.

The problem was she, "doesn't have any friends or any family, " and needed the nurse to call her a cab to take her to the homeless shelter.

She said this not 5 minutes after I had said to Doug, "I can't wait to get home to my warm and cozy bed."

So while I have a lot to be thankful for, that crystallized it even more.

Like I have said through the last year or so, it is the simple things that I appreciate more than anything.

But simply having friends and family who I not only love, but who love me back, seemed like a given.

Apparently that is not the case for everyone.

A request

So a few more body parts are going to be sent packing tomorrow.

My lovely ovaries and fallopian tubes are spending their last night with me.  As I kissed each of the Eikenkids goodnight, I thanked my lucky stars for what these body parts have given me.

And part of me feels bad for tossing them to the curb.  I mean they really haven't done anything wrong yet, its just after my boobs tried to kill me, I am not trusting my ovaries not to.

As you have all done the last 3 times I have walked into surgery, I simply ask you look up from your busy lives around 9am tomorrow morning, and send your good vibes my way.

Whatever form that takes for you works for me.  

You have kept me safe and have gotten me home each time -  for that I am forever grateful.

Stand

A friend of my is the executive director for an incredible non profit called Stand for Children.  For the last few years I have tried to come to their fundraising luncheon only to be out of town each time.

I was happy that this year I would be able to take a few hours away from work, and learn more about what Stand for Children does.

Boy did I.

As we sat and ate our lunch, a student spoke about the scholarship she received from Stand for Children, that gave her the college education she would have never been able to afford on her own.

After that we watched a video of the 3 high school students who had been awarded the Stand for Children college scholarships this year.

The first girl had overcome sexual abuse, neglect, homelessness, and just as she was about to fall through the cracks, dug her way back to be a straight A student, with a bright future in front of her.

I couldn't even look at my friend Cindy who was sitting right across from me, as she silently pulled out her travel pack of Kleenex.  Thankfully my lunch napkin was still in my lap and I could discretely mop my face up before the lights came back on.

Next up was a sweet faced boy who had an idyllic childhood until...his mother died of...cancer.

I have to say, the second his video began I had this feeling of dread, somehow I knew where his story was going.

This is probably a good time to mention that every single person at my table knew my story.  To say the energy at our side of the room changed in an instant is an understatement.

Now I really couldn't look at Cindy.  Not because I was afraid to see the tears streaming down her face, but because my vision was so blurred from mine.

And if Doug did have his arm around my chair, and if I had not been sitting in the front row, I would have run out of the room, as if that would make it all go away.

But I sat.  And I watched this boys story unfold.  I watched as he spoke about how he was able to comfort a friend who had recently suffered the shocking loss of a loved one.  How he was able to tell his friend that it does get better.  That you still have your life to live.  

And I saw an ending to my greatest fear that was different than I thought it would be.

It was really just the beginning. 

Here we go again...

I am not sure if meeting your insurance deductible two years in a row is a good thing, but it does mean that my surgery on Tuesday will be free!

It is hard to tell people that you are going in for surgery without having to explain the whole story.  Sometimes I just want to say, "read my blog", and move on.

As I have said before I work for a pretty great woman.  Smart, compassionate, direct.  But it is still super awkward having to explain BRCA 2 genetic mutations, cancer risks, treatment options, in between meetings.

So I did what any chicken would do - I sent a text.

As strange as it may sound, the text message at Nike is read faster than any other communication.  And sometimes you can carry on a pretty good conversation, usually while sitting in your 5th meeting of the day.

When I realized I had forgotten to tell her I was going to be out next week, I dropped her a text.

Short and sweet - it read, "So I have to have another surgery, I will be out a few days.  After this I will be done removing body parts.  I think I have reached my lifetime limit."

Her reply, equally short and sweet, "Fuck Cancer".

My sentiments exactly.

DC 2.0

My apologies to the 3 of you that still read my blog!  It has been a crazy few weeks, and I simply was too busy to write.

Today an old friend and a total stranger told me how much they enjoyed my blog so I figured I better jump back in.

So when I last left you I had just arrived in DC, had a great night with old and new friends, and was heading to Georgetown to get a new store open.

I have been traveling the country for the last decade getting stores open for various retailers.  Those of us in the biz know that every store has its own story, as does every store opening.

The overall experience is typically the same, arrive to job site, realize some major element is not done to your satisfaction, push the construction team, push the visual merchandising team, push the marketing team, panic that all the work will never get done on time, go to breakfast, lunch, dinner, hotel, sleep 6 hours, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, cry from happiness that all the work got done, open, fly home.

What is typically missing from store opening trips is any time to do anything fun.  The entire time I was in DC all I wanted to do was visit the Monuments at night.  And I told anyone who would listen.

The problem was our nights were long and by the time we were finished for the day I could not muster the energy to do much of anything.

But hope was not lost.

As our final night in DC was drawing to a close, we stumbled upon a limo, jumped in, and found ourselves in front of the Lincoln Monument, at 2am.

What followed was one of those nights that only happens when you are trying for something totally different to happen.

We went from monument to monument, in the moonlight, in the unusual October warmth.

And as much as I wanted to take photos of everything I was seeing, I knew that it was not necessary.

It was a night I would never forget.

I felt lucky to be alive.

I felt lucky to be me.