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Moving on…a little

Today we head to the school where Cass will begin Kindergarden in a few short months.  Apparently it’s Kindergarden Bingo night.  Should be interesting.  

It’s nice to be thinking ahead.  There have been a few chunks of time recently where I have actually forgotten I had cancer.  When I was standing along the marathon route craning my neck to spot my husband chugging along, cheering with friends, that whole time, I totally forgot about cancer.  I was in a meeting that got heated recently.  No cancer on the brain for a while.  Someone said something that irritated me recently and I found myself mulling it over.  (For the past 6 months that stuff didn’t even hit my radar – I just dismissed it as totally unimportant.)  I woke up the other day and it was a solid 20 minutes before my mind went there / to Cancer Town.
It’s almost like grief – nothing seems to alleviate it for the longest time.  But then one day, you cautiously realize the pain is a tiny bit smaller.   
Not long ago I really wondered if it would ever not be on my mind.  And yet, here I am, with my mind just relaxed enough to worry about some other crap for a while.  It’s nice.
One moment recently that definitely had me thinking about cancer was when I crossed the finish line for the 5K I ran this past weekend.  A race I trained for while undergoing chemo.  But the way I was thinking about cancer was good.  Triumphant.  Fearless.  Defiant.  Those feelings won’t be how I feel forever.  But they ruled the day.  And they were awesome.  
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Today, I ran

Today I ran a 5k.  That isn’t all that impressive in and of itself considering the number of people I know who regularly run full and half marathons.  And I’ve run in 5 races prior, so it’s not my first time.  But for me it’s a huge deal.

For one, I’m not great at running.  At my physical peak, I’m built like a mediocre swimmer, not a runner.  And I’m not at my physical peak.  Because I’m 36, I like pizza and I’ve had poison in my body for the past 6 months.  
But I decided to run.  Because I wanted to show cancer and whoever is paying attention that I could do anyhing I decided to do.  So I trained.  And I trudged.  And I did it even though it hurt and once actually made me barf. That might have been the chemo.  But, I puked and got back on the treadmill.  My feet go numb unless I’m barefoot and they hurt when I walk a lot.  And running is worse.  But I don’t care.  
I ran today.  And it rocked.  I mean, the hills sucked and I wanted to die a couple times.  And I was slow.  Only a few hundred people out of the 1600 timed runners finished after us – hey, I’ll take it – if the lions were chasing us, they would have had to eat like 350 people before they got to me.  (You don’t have to be the fastest – just don’t be the slowest, I always say.)
I ran today and I was inspired.  You see, at the back of the pack is where the inspiration is.  People are slow and jiggly and sweaty and red faced and it freaking rocks!  Those gazelle like creatures at the front, they are awesome too but it comes naturally.  Look at us back here!  I’m not the most compassionate or sensitive person, but damn, I love the under dog in a 5k race.  I love the older ladies scurrying along, the huge person moving forward by sheer will.  The 9 year old in their first race.  The guy with the knee brace.  The girl with big boobs who just finished chemo.  🙂  We are fantastic.  
The whole time, I want to shout “look at us!  We’re doing it!  We rock!” 
And the supporters.  OMG.  You people and your handwritten signs and high fives and cow bells and “the finish line is right around the corner!” shouts!  I love you. I tear up when I see a kid on Daddy’s shoulders with a sign that says “Go Mommy!”  Damned right.  Go, Mommy.
My own kid stood on the corner, waiting, cheering for me.  That’s an amazing feeling – your child seeing you achieve something important.  
I ran today and I wanted to kiss Pittsburgh on the mouth.  The city is beautiful during a race.  The rivers shimmer a little more and the buildings sparkle.  Such a show off, Pittsburgh.  Such a flirt.  
In a race, it’s like we’re all in this together.  We all want each other to do well.  The whole city wants us to do well.  Maybe the whole world.  It feels like it, anyway.
Today was a challenge.  I loved it.  When’s our next race, friends?

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Tomorrow is race day

Back in October, when I was first diagnosed with cancer, I needed something to look ahead to. A goal to reach for. I chose the 5K of the Pittsburgh Marathon. Now, read that again – the 5K. Not the whole marathon. Or even half of it. No matter how much I’ve tried to be clear about that, some people seem to have the impression I’m running the actual marathon. Ha. Hahahahahahahaha. Haha. Have you met me?! Have you seen me run? If the answer is no, well, that’s because I’m not exactly an avid runner, and usually do so in secluded areas where I risk being murdered and never seen again because I don’t want anyone to see me – it ain’t pretty. Which brings me to…if you HAVE seen me running. Well, you know.

I mean…

Right?

So, no marathon for me, folks. Pittsburgh and all of the cheering crowds just could not handle it. Just the 5K. And that will be a stretch. Running is hard for me. I will probably have to walk up the bridge. Oh, you didn’t know the bridge was a hill, did you? Yeah, it’s the worst. You can’t tell it’s a hill when you’re driving across it. Then you try running across it, and you realize you have to run UP it. Sigh. Thanks, jerks who designed the course. 5K people are afraid of hills! They make us cry. So, we hate you.

So, here we are. I’m as ready as I can be. I promise to do my very best. If you still haven’t donated…clicky-clicky HERE.

Thanks!

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Even if He does not

You can learn in any number of ways.  But one of the most intense ways to learn and grow is to (either purposely or involuntarily) dive into the depths.  The physical and psychological places where fear originates and persists.  

The past 9 months or so, I was pushed closer and closer to the edge of that precipice with each doctor’s appointment and lab result.  At first I fought, clawing my way back, unwilling to “go there.”  But at some point, I stopped fighting, got up and walked to the edge on my own power and…jumped.  
It was icky down there.  (Not that I’m out of it entirely, now.) Confronting pain, suffering and the distinct possibility of not ever being whole again or even death.  That shadowy place of frightening possibilities.  Of sharp edges and dangerous creatures.  
It’s been a daily battle, to varying degrees, facing whatever lurks in the darkness, while going about my routine of dealing with traffic, workplace adventures and a preschooler who wants to wear the same dress three days in a row.  There’s an over dramatized musical montage in my mind of me slaying beasts with a bloody sword while wearing heels and approving a proposal via cell phone, while ordering a latte at Starbucks, late to pick up my kid from school.  Those were the good days.  Other days, the beasts were kind of winning.  
But that’s where Jesus shows up, right?  Well, not shows up so much as gently clears his throat and waves, reminding me he was here all along.  I kind of picture him looking like Ryan Gosling.  Hey, Girl.  Cheering me on.  Holding my hand.  Cutting a hole in my swollen eyelid like that scene in one of the Rocky movies so I could keep fighting.  Offering rest.  Hope.  Some cucumber water.
I got good news from my oncologist on Friday.  Still waiting for the official word from a radiologist, but my meticulous doctor smiled at the weird gray images of my organs on the screen and said things look good for now.  
What amazing words.  But I find myself wondering if they’re too good to be true.  I hesitate a wee bit to embrace the good news just because I’m pretty familiar with bad news.  But!  Just because I’m not assuming the good news is reliable just yet doesn’t mean anything except that, well, I’m realistic.  I’m not particularly afraid of bad news or convinced the news will be bad.  But I’m not doing the victory dance quite yet.  
This is interesting – some people of faith seem to chastise me a bit when I don’t, say, proclaim that I am healed.  Look, you can do what you want, but that’s not how it works from my perspective.  Sometimes the news isn’t good no matter how much we say we believe it will be.  No matter how much we pray it will be.  Sometimes we need to go through a tough thing.  Sometimes that is God’s will for us.  Saying out loud that God has healed me will not make it so.  Don’t get me wrong, I pray like gangbusters and expect you to, as well.  Prayer is glorious and mysterious and required of us.  And hope is beautiful.  I’m not saying don’t pray and I’m not saying don’t hope – I’m saying this “name it and claim it” stuff is crazy.  You know what’s way more powerful (in my opinion) than trying to (sorry if this offends) manipulate God into healing you?  Trusting Him no matter what.  Trusting Him in the darkness.  I mean…have you read the Bible?  People suffered, yo.  And beauty came from their eternal perspective.  Like, umm, Jesus? And Job.  And Paul.  
I love the passage in Daniel where Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego are about to get tossed into the fiery furnace and they say (paraphrased) “Our God will save us…but even if He does not…we will not worship you instead of Him.”  Basically they know God can save them, they think He will, but more importantly, they trust Him no matter what.  EVEN IF HE DOES NOT.  To me, that’s real faith.  
Turns out, they get tossed in.  I wonder if they thought maybe God would send angels to scoop them up before they hit the fire.  And when He didn’t…was there an “Oh, crap” moment?  Instead of an angelic air lift rescue mission, into the flames they went.  But they were not burned.  And Jesus (or possibly an angel, depending on your interpretation) was in there with them.  
I’ll probably always wonder if the cancer will come back.  That doesn’t mean I’m not trusting God.  I’m not trusting Him to make my life easy because He never said He would.  I’m trusting Him no matter what crazy thing happens.  
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California Love part 2

Today is a scan.  I’m nervous.  A little nervous. Not like crazy nervous.  But, unexpected bad news today would be really upsetting.  And good news, while very much hoped for, isn’t a guarantee about anything except right now.  Grappling with the idea that I may never feel totally free of cancer is hard and sad and weird.  But there is something special about the pronounced feeling of uncertainty.  Basically, I just have to live my life, trust God and enjoy each wonderful moment.

So instead of ruminating on fear and nerves, I choose to let it go (enter the Frozen song) and instead, tell you about my trip to California this week.
It was great!  
Our direct mail partners are so smart and helpful and treat us so well.  We love you, Russ Reid!  I also love the weather, staying in a nice hotel (nice hotels have such glorious beds!)  the actual work we do when we’re there (yes, I actually love staring at bar graphs!  Especially when they confirm that we’re doing good work!) I also love the views, the coffee (great coffee is everywhere!) and of course, my trusty travel companion/lap top operator, as well as my friends who have moved there.
Some pics:
And one from Detroit (the airport, anyway.). Because this fountain is sweet.

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California Love

I go to California once or twice a year for work.  While I always miss Cass and Kevin, I do enjoy the change of pace, visiting with the team at our vendor’s headquarters and getting to see some Midwest/east coast ex pats turned SoCal friends.  

For some reason, this trip feels like getting back toward normalcy.  Some pics from our last venture out west:
I feel like going out there, getting some good work done, seeing good friends and unplugging from all things related to cancer, chemo and such.  
Here we come, Pasadena.  

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I don't know how to do this

Well, I don’t.  But one thing I’ve gotten good at is figuring out how to do stuff I don’t know how to do.  And it usually starts with asking people who have done it or are doing it in a way I can relate to.  So I’m reaching out to those inspiring people who have or are beating cancer and are living large – and by living large, I mean going about their business, working, taking care of families, accomplishing great things like finishing advanced degrees, having babies, planning vacations or emptying the dishwasher, being positive and thankful.  

My first order of business is to calmly wade my way through the next 9 days, which include Easter and a business trip to California, leading up to my next CT scan.  
I choose not to worry.  I have to choose this daily…sometimes hourly.  But it’s my choice and I can reject the temptation to fret, and choose instead to put my trust in God and get on with my day.  So that’s what I’ll do.  
And I’ll be calling on the cancer conquerors for advice and support.  
Also, my chemo destroyed the skin on my fingertips.  They are now covered in what appears to be a collage of hashtags.  
Exhibit A

 

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Good company

Had a great conversation with another cancer destroyer.  She’s pretty badass – having done his twice now and she’s younger than me.  It was so encouraging and healing.  There is a sense of deep comradery between two people who have fought the same battle.  And things can be said freely in such company that are quite simply taboo elsewhere.  

Misery loves company.  But so does triumph, fear, resolve, anxiety, courage and uncertainty.  We’re a mixed bag, cancer survivors.  And we need to gather with frequency.  
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The NEW new Normal

When I started this blog, my first entry was titled The New Normal

I felt it was necessary to acknowledge and even declare that we were in a new situation – that life as we knew it was a thing of the past and we were in a brand new chapter. Well, here we are again. While I won’t feel comfortable saying I’m “in remission” until my scan in a couple weeks, let’s just assume that I am and that is the new state of affairs. No longer a cancer patient, no longer a cancer warrior actively fighting cancer – but rather a cancer SURVIVOR.

In some ways, this new era is trickier than the previous one. On one hand, you want to shout from the rooftops ” I BEAT CANCER!” and “GOD HEALED ME!” and “YOUR PRAYERS WORKED!” and “MODERN MEDICINE IS A MIRACLE!” and “MY DOCTORS ROCK!” And on the other, you want to whisper “but it might come back.” When you’re battling cancer, you’re a street fighter – you’ve got your enemy right in front of you where you can punch it square in the face – you KNOW what the problem is and where it is. You can see it. It’s big and bad and ugly and it scares you, but you have a target to hit. In remission, you are tempted to see yourself moreso as walking through the streets at night with a hoodie pulled down over your face, ducking your head and nervously glancing over your shoulder, flinching at every skittering leaf and alley cat.

I don’t want to be that. So I’m not going to. And this blog is now going to be the story of how I figure out how. How do I parent and work and be a wife and a friend and daughter and mentor and mentee and human SURVIVOR that is vigilant and responsible about my ongoing health, without living each day terrified of it coming back? I’m not sure yet. But I have some ideas – and I’m taking this bull by the horns and wrestling with it. Sorry for the mixed metaphors – but that’s how it is in my head for now. Mixed.

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I'm so grateful

Tomorrow is my last day of chemo pills.  Wooooo!!!!

As I reflect, I have mixed emotions.  But one thing is for sure.  I am grateful to have (had?) cancer.  It might be gone or it might not.  Either way I’m grateful.  Here are a few things I’m thankful about:

I’m more convinced than ever that what I believe about how God loves us and that those who believe in Christ have much to look forward to beyond death.  To a significant extent, I’ve confronted my mortality.  I’ve faced, to a degree, the fear of death.  It’s not easy or simple or fun.  But.  I’m deeply convinced that God works all things for our good.  We can trust Him.
People have been so good to me.  Encouraging cards.  Funny texts.  Visits.  Foot rubs.  
Thoughtful gifts:  Shoes.  Homemade hats.  Tea.  Enormous scarf.  Coffee cup holder.  Home roasted coffee.  Books.  Journals.  Beard photos.  Wine.  Flowers.  Soup.  Chapstick.  A scarf worn by a courageous cancer survivor.  Lunches out.  Coffee mug.  Wonder Woman stuff.  Organic, fresh made juices.  Pizza.  The best Mac & Cheese I ever had.  The glove I left behind.  Reusable hand warmers.  Scratch off tickets. Gorgeous earrings.  A personalized tote.  Gift cards for food so I didn’t have to cook.  Popcorn.  Stuff from Whole Foods I’d never splurge on.  Cool necklaces.  Amazing stuff from Europe.  Bath stuff.  Awesome lotion – the best I’ve ever tried!  Dinner at nice restaurants.  
Support for my 5K – 101 donors so far!!
Sage advice.  
Prayers.  Serious, earth shaking prayers. What a gift to be prayed over.  
Cancer survivors/patients reaching out and pointing me in the right direction.  Showing me the way.  
Grace, mercy and patience when I haven’t been at my best.  
Perspective.  Nothing gives you perspective like a life threatening illness. 
The chance to learn how to support people who are going through something like this.  I had no idea before.  I have been remiss.  I won’t be again if I can help it.  
Thank you, if you’ve been there for us.  If you’ve visited, cooked, cleaned, watched our child, prayed for us, checked in on us, cared for us in some way.  Kicking cancer’s ass is a team sport.  Thanks for getting me this far.