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Archive for the ‘lymphedema’ Category

“Why, why, whhhhhyyyyy???” I woke up whining. And I hate whining. But it’s also very cold and I hate the cold. And while I love that running lets me eat and helps me not get huge, I don’t love running. (Sorry Phil.) And have I mentioned that I am not a morning person? I thought so. Yet here it is, Thanksgiving morning, when really I don’t need to be anywhere before noon, and what am I doing? Getting up. Early. To run. In the cold. Why? Because this year I can.

I never think of the weather when I sign up for these 5ks. I think of the cause (in this case Multiple Sclerosis – it’s the Boston Volvo Village 5k Road Race for MS) or the other people running (some of my Genzyme Running Team peeps) or the great people watching (people dressed up like turkeys, pilgrims, Indians and I’m sure there will be at least a few Santas).

I did, however, start to think about the weather yesterday, when I heard how incredibly cold today was predicted to be. Andrew asked where and when to meet, and I told him I’d be there if it was above 30 and not raining or wicked windy – I can’t afford to get sick with surgery less than two weeks away. Then, last night when I was snuggled warm in bed, and was thinking how crazy it is to be out in the cold period, I texted Tara.

Me: Remind me there’s no excuse not to run in the morning. I won’t get sick and it doesn’t matter that I haven’t run in two weeks or how slow I am.

Tara: Slow and steady! Something is not just better than nothing, it’s an investment in you. I’m running/walking a turkey trot in the morning. You’ll feel better for doing it.

And I know, as usual, she’s right.

So I woke up and rolled over to check the weather, figuring above 30 and I’m good, since the beams of light shining into my room already told me it’s not raining. And what does the weather say? 30 – and then “feels like 19” – ugh! I could’ve texted Andrew, told him I didn’t want to risk getting sick (which is seriously the big fear in the back of my mind, but also an excuse), but I didn’t. Because then I started thinking about last Thanksgiving.

Last Thanksgiving I couldn’t run, regardless of the weather. Thanksgiving week 2012 I finished my 24th week of chemo. It was the last, but my body ached more than ever, I had tons of numbness and tingling in my fingers and feet, and the lymphedema had just started. And I had radiation still ahead of me. Oh, and I was bald. No eyebrows, no eyelashes and no hair on my head. Running was the last thing on my mind – I was just thankful I could get up in the morning!

So today I am running. Because I can. Because God is good and has given me a great life, and a second chance, and I don’t want to waste it. 2013 may not have been the easiest or best year, but it’s been a hell of a lot better than 2012. I am so thankful for all my family, friends, and work buddies who have stuck by me, encouraged me and even pushed me when needed. And I am thankful for the new people in my life, including someone who makes me smile every day, even when he’s not in the same state! I have incredible hope and confidence that as great as things are now, they are going to keep getting better. And for all that I am beyond thankful.

Andrew just texted.

Andrew: Running?

Me: Yup. Will be there shortly.

So I better stop typing and go freeze, I mean run. 😉 Happy Thanksgiving all! Xo

Post run update: Yup. I ran. And froze. But it was worth it!

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One month from yesterday I will be back under the knife (the unbelievably skilled knife of Dr. H) again. This time, rather than shell shocked and scared, I’m eager and excited. Wouldn’t you be, if you lived 24/7 for more than a year and a half with bowling balls (even light-weight ones) on your chest?

I’m so done feeling like a freak every time I hug someone. I do my best to block it out, but it is constantly there, lingering in the back of my mind: “What are they thinking?” “If they don’t know, can they tell?” “Ugh, this just sucks!”

It’s not just the physical feeling that I’m anticipating – to feel somewhat ‘normal’ again – but for that portion of the waiting to be over. I’m not good at waiting. If you know me, you know patience is definitely not one of my virtues, although I try (lots of deep breaths and exhales…). And I feel like so much of this, after the initial rush to surgery, has been a waiting game. Not that anything about cancer is pleasant and how you want it to be, but does so much of it have to take so darn long???

A few people have mentioned how glad I must be that after the surgery it will be over. Oh, how I wish! I’m afraid this is the never-ending gift that just keeps giving. Every day I’m reminded as I take my tamoxifin (for, oh, five or ten years – and don’t you dare get pregnant while you’re on it!). And every time I get a cut, bruise or burn (yes, I’m a klutz) on my right hand or arm and hold my breath, praying it’s not going to swell. And trying to be good and at least wear the sleeve when I run and fly. And worst of all, the voices in the back of my head analyzing my body and pointing out all the symptoms of related cancers – signs of breast cancer recurrence, subsequent cancers or chemo-induced cancers… it’s hard to shut them up sometimes!

So while no, this surgery will not be an end, I do think it’s going to be a great next chapter, giving me a bit more normal in my life, and hopefully quieting some of those voices in my head…

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20130929-152648.jpg This morning I ran the Susan G. Komen MA Race for the Cure along the very foggy South Boston waterfront, at much too early in the morning for a Sunday. Maybe it was the overcast weather, maybe it was the early morning (you know I’m not a morning person), maybe it was the fact that I was there alone, but the day definitely got to me.

I love the breast cancer events – there are always interesting, strong, inspiring women, a shared mission, electric energy, and a lot of pink. So I thought I’d be ok, going alone. I just figured I’d run instead of walk, since I always prefer to run alone, at my own pace. But there was all the build up before: the survivor parade, pictures and dancing warm up. And it seemed everyone had someone there – family member, friend, significant other. I seemed to be the lone loner – although that’s probably not true. Survivor sisters that we are, women around me soon adopted me. “How many years,” one woman asked. “Oh she’s a newbie,” chimed in another, “just look at her new hair! Love the curls!”

Soon I was on my own again as all went back to their loved ones. The bell went off, I put my standard starting song (Fastest Girl in Town by Miranda Lambert, of course) on my iPod and off I went. I tried to focus on the music, but more watched the interesting mixture of survivors and supporters. The little boy with pink knee socks running with his mom, the big teams in their matching uniforms, the moms running while pushing strollers. And then I heard my name and a friendly face! Pat, one of the first people to share his cancer experience with me and to help me see that a positive attitude can beat cancer any day, was walking on the other side of the road. We exchanged waves and big smiles in the seconds that our path’s crossed, and then he was gone. And all of the sudden the tears started flowing and I couldn’t catch my breath. Breathing while running is actually my biggest challenge, so the crying definitely didn’t help. Seeing Pat was such a high point – but then the reality set in. Yes, you can be completely alone in a sea of people. Even friendly, happy, supportive people.

So I guess the lesson I learned is that I just shouldn’t go to these things alone. I go to breakfast alone, the movies alone, shopping alone, but not this. Some things you just need your own team for – even if it’s a team of one friend! Luckily, there are others joining me for all the rest of the Breast Cancer Awareness Month events – and hopefully even more of you will join in. You know my motto: the more the merrier! So check out the dates and events on the right and let me know if you can join us for any – the Nashua Harley benefit is a great night out, and so worth the drive!

Oh – and I should mention that even with the crying bout, I ran my new personal 5k record: 37:10, 11:58 pace. Slow, I know, but fast for me, as I’m typically a 13 minute mile. I think it was all the positive energy surrounding me, and wanting to finish strong, since the bright pink shirt I was wearing said “survivor.”

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