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The mental side of running

Posted in Alone, Boston, Cancer, connections, Decisions, family, tagged , , , , , , , , , on June 23, 2012| Leave a Comment »

Running isn’t just good for me (and you) physically, it helps mentally, too. Phil always told me that when he has something big to think about, he goes for a run. And he’s right. Even with my music blaring in one ear (I never put both ear pods in – learned that in self-defence class – always stay aware of your surroundings), I can think more clearly and better concentrate on a run. This first run I thought about a million things, but the one that really stands out is my upcoming meeting Thursday morning at Dana-Farber.

I received a letter the other day from the Development office at Dana-Farber, wanting to thank me for my significant donation in December and to find out why I made it – what my story is. And boy, will they get a different story than they probably expect – it’s certainly evolved since I wrote that check! So as I ran, I began to think about what I will tell them.

And halfway across the Harvard Bridge (amongst the ‘Smoots’), I began to cry. I cried as I ran (thank goodness, once again, for sunglasses) and thought about telling them how devastated I’d been in mid-December when my dear school friend Sarah found out that her 10-month-old daughter has cancer – a neuroblastoma in her lower pelvic area and a nodule in her lung. It was so unfair!!!  I thought about the other people close to me who’ve been hit so hard by cancer, like my friend Kristen who lost her brother Greg after his long, brave fight with the disease. And it being close to Christmas, I thought how no one really needs anything more than health and decided to make that donation to Dana-Farber in honor of Mirany and everyone impacted by cancer. I printed out the donation cards from the website and give those to people instead of other gifts for Christmas. And then March came… I cried some more, just thinking about how I’ve gotten to know Dana-Farber more than I ever wanted to.

I am happy to share my story with them (heck, I can just give them this blog address!), my heart just breaks for Sarah, Scott and Mirany’s lives, my life, my family and friends going through this with me, all of us, and wish in this one way we were all where we were last November: blissfully ignorant of this damn thing called cancer.

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Am I ready?

Posted in Alone, Cancer, chemotherapy, Decisions, family, Home, radiation, recovery, work, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2012| 2 Comments »

I asked to go back to work early. Was it the right thing? Who knows. It is how I am programmed. If I’m not in bed, I should be at work. Even as a child, when it was snowing really bad out but school wasn’t called off, my mom would tell me I could stay home anyway. But I wouldn’t – if school was in session, I was supposed to be there. People would claim to be sick to stay home from school or work, but that’s something my mom always warned me not to do – don’t ever lie and say you or anyone else is sick, or it might come true – simply bad karma (although I don’t think she used that word). So I never did.

I know, I know, I am sick. But I am off the painkillers and don’t take naps every day any more. I now feel well enough to leave the house, to shop, to go to dinner, to walk around the city (as my doctor’s have encouraged me to do – the healthier I am going into chemo, the better it will be for me). And if I feel well enough to do those things, why not go to work? Nick reminded me I was told I should take a minimum of six weeks, up to 12, to recover and I’ve only been out five. (I can’t even believe it’s only been five weeks – it feels like surgery was a lifetime ago.) But I think I can do it. And want to do it – for many reasons:

  • I love my job. I like what I do every day, the people I work with, our mission. It makes me happy. I miss it. And I feel guilty not being there (even though I know I shouldn’t).
  • Work distracts me from the cancer. Thinking about chemo. And going bald. I don’t want my life to be all consumed with it, although I know I can’t hide from it either.
  • I only have a total of 13 weeks of short-term disability at full pay. I would really love to stay in that and not slip to long-term disability (60% pay), which would make life difficult. And with at least one more surgery where I will be out one to two weeks and not knowing how I’m going to feel or how long I’ll need to be out each round of chemo and during radiation, I need to conserve my time.

I know I can’t let Workaholic Amy take over – I will need to take it slow (and know my colleagues and bosses will support this) and listen to my body, so that I can be strong and healthy through chemo. I will not be working my normal crazy hours. And I am actually not allowed to lug my laptop back and forth on the bus and T. I will be smart about this. I will pace myself – as Nick keeps reminding me to do. I will balance work with what I need to do for my health: continue physical therapy (I can now raise my hands straight up to the ceiling, sleep on my side with only a little pain and only take ibuprofen a couple of times a day rather than 24×7), go to all my doctor’s appointments, get plenty of rest, try to teach myself to eat right and exercise as much as I can.

So physically I think I can do it. And mentally I know it will distract me. Otherwise, I am nervous. I feel kind of like I did in September 1991 when I returned to high school for my senior year and was nine months pregnant. I remember walking in and down the hall, my red blazer barely buttoning around my giant belly. Mike, Jay and Mike were with me, both to support and to protect me, as I was scared of the looks I would get and the whispers around me. I know this isn’t the same, but I still feel somewhat like the circus freak show. I just want to be normal. And treated normal. It’s times like this I wish I was a little more private about my life so people wouldn’t know I had a bilateral mastectomy and cut my hair because soon I will be bald. Yes, I know, ironic, as I’m typing this into my blog. But I am doing that because I know this will help others who are going or will go through the same thing as me.  And if nothing else good comes out of this stupid cancer thing, I hope I am at least able to help a few people in this way.

So am I ready? I don’t know. But I guess I’ll find out…

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It’s only hair…

Posted in Alone, Boston, Cancer, Dating, Decisions, Denial, family, recovery, work, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 30, 2012| 16 Comments »

I cried a lot today. I guess a lot of things hit home. Now that we’re not at the hospital every day with Grampa, and the planning and service is over, I have been alone for the first time practically since before the surgery. I began getting somewhat back to normal during the weeks with family at Grampa’s bedside. I weaned myself off the painkillers and naps. I began physical therapy. I started walking more and more. Much of my strength has returned, now it’s working on endurance and regaining full range of motion in both arms. And so I got everyone to agree I can return to work next week – I can’t wait!

On the top of my to-do list is dealing with the issue most nagging me: my hair. From the moment I heard I had to have chemo, I knew I would cut it all off before it began to fall out. I said I’d have fun with it. Try something I hadn’t done before. I was gung-ho. Let’s do it! Then the day – today – arrived. And I wasn’t quite so eager…

Luckily, my favorite hairdresser is my friend Leane. She’s given me my best haircuts ever. And she was so sweet when she heard I was doing this and said she would be honored to cut it, under the condition that I not pay her. An incredible gift! So I knew I would be in good hands. And timing-wise, I wanted to do it both before Alivia left for London (tomorrow) and before my parents went back to Tennessee (Thursday). And before I started back to work.

But when we finally confirmed a time early this afternoon, I burst into tears. (Of course I was in a public place – Brigham and Women’s for PT – surrounded by strangers. Thank goodness for large, dark sunglasses!) I was so angry and sad! WTF?!?! First I lose my boobs and now my hair??? How unfair is that??? I finally, for practically the first time in my life, actually like my hair – not a normal thing for a woman. I waited a long time for this hair. I almost had it to where I liked it in November 2010 when I got a call for an interview at Genzyme. The career adviser I was consulting with told me I HAD to cut my hair short. That I looked much too young and no one would believe I was as experienced or trust me without a more polished, short ‘do. So I listened to her and had my hair cut at an expensive salon in Atlanta (where I currently was on my road trip). And I hated it! I did get the job, but I have the feeling I would’ve still been hired had my hair remained long.

Now a year and a half later, my hair is just the right length, with layers and body (and yes, a few more greys). And now I’m going to go bald. F@*$! Yes, I acted nonchalant, searching through magazines, asking other’s opinions, talking a good game. Really, I was stifling the screaming girl inside. And she busted out today.

I DON’T WANT MY HAIR SHORT!!! I DON’T WANT TO BE BALD!!!

Proven fact: Men prefer women with long hair. Oh, and boobs. I think in this case, two strikes means you’re out. What guy would want to be with a bald, boob-less woman???

But yet again, I don’t have a choice, do I?

I know psychologically I won’t be able to handle seeing my long strands falling out. And I don’t want to be one of those people who clings to her hair and attempts to comb over bald spots. So off it needed to come. And tonight it did.

I cried most of the drive to Tara’s house, where Leane was to cut it. Tina and Nicole (Tara’s friend from high school – not to be confused with my Nicole from high school) joined for moral support. We looked at a few hair styles and Leane asked which I preferred. “My hair. Long hair,” I whined. “Oh, I know honey…” all my friends chimed in with soothing voices. That made me realize I was acting like a child and had to just suck it up and do it. I took a deep breath and told her to do what she thought was best and chop it off. And she did.

And I love it. I really do. I knew she was the best woman for the job – thank you Leane! If I can’t have my long hair, this is the absolute best I could have in the interim. And best of all, I had exactly 10 inches cut off: the minimum amount needed to donate to Locks of Love. So my hair will be used to make a wig for a disadvantaged child who needs one. That’s way more important than being on my head!

So now it’s time to start looking at hats and wigs because in about a month, all this short hair will be gone, too. But I think I’ll go back to my denial and forget that for a few days and just enjoy my new ‘do…

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