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Posts Tagged ‘Boston’

One year ago today I shaved my head. So many other things were happening – I was moving, I had just started chemo, my relationship was ending, I fell and fractured my arm and bruised my knee – and then my hair started to fall out, so I shaved it. I remember the day so well; thinking about it makes me feel like I’m reliving it. (It all really hurt, some mentally and some physically, so I’m not going to spend much time thinking about it or rehashing it here.) But then in other ways, it feels like it was a lifetime ago. Sometimes I’m amazed at all that happened in the span of a year!

Last night, I took a break from unpacking (yep, I moved again!) and Tina and I went to see Tim McGraw at the Comcast Center. And of course he sang Live Like You Were Dying. Just as last year when I saw him perform it live at Gillette, it wrecked me. As I listened to the words (and cried my eyes out), I thought. Have I lived like I was dying? I know that was my original intention, but what have I really done in this past year? The first thing that jumped in my head was “survived.” I have survived the year. I fought through the year. I struggled to remain some semblance of normalcy through the 24 weeks of chemo and six weeks of radiation. I bought any beauty product that I thought might make me look more normal while bald. I tried to keep everything going even when I felt like just going to sleep.

I didn’t go sky diving. I haven’t been mountain climbing or bull riding since my road trip in 2010. I’ve tried to stay close to my friends and family, but I haven’t seen or talked to them nearly as much as I would like or feel I should. In fact, my life has seemingly resumed its normal chaos, pace and craziness. Maybe that’s not a good thing. Maybe it’s time to change that.

The problem is, there simply is not enough time in any day, not enough days in a week, not enough… well, you get it. There are so many things I want to do and never, ever enough time to do it. So maybe what that song means is not just that I have to rush to do all the things I want to do (in case I die tomorrow), but to take the time to do the things that really matter. To spend what precious time you do have wisely. I need to think about that. And I will. But for right now I am happy and thankful. Happy and thankful to have hair again, to be settling into my new apartment, to have a job I love, and family and friends who mean the world to me. And that I don’t have to go through chemo this summer and remember to put lotion or a hat on my bald head!

Tim2013

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It occurred to me that there are so many cool things going on that I want to spread the word about, so I created a new widget on the right of your screen called Upcoming Events. I’ll try to keep that as current as possible, and will usually provide a link for more info, too.

Learn: Bright Pink Boston is hosting Breast and Ovarian Health 101 on Tuesday, June 11, 6 p.m. at the Boston Public Library. “Become empowered to be proactive with your breast and ovarian health. This educational workshop could be life saving for you and/or someone you love!” I’m going and it would be great to see friends there!

Walk/Run: Some of our Genzyme Running Team members have teamed with employees from other Cambridge area life sciences companies to organize a 5K to remember those affected by the Boston Marathon bombings, to raise money for the One Fund, and to recognize local police officers for their service. You don’t have to work for a biotech – everyone is welcome! Thursday, June 13, 4 p.m., Genzyme Center, Kendall Square, Cambridge: Cambridge Life Sciences Memorial 5k for The One Fund

Walk/Run/Roll: This Saturday, June 15, 10:30 a.m.at the Massachusetts Hospital School in Canton is the fourth annual Spina Bifida Walk-N-Roll! I’m not sure if I will be able to make it, but please support my cousin Hannah’s team, Hannah’s Banana’s: http://www.walknrollsbagreaterne.org/ng/index.cfm/aa26888/regPages/pledge/HBANANAS97/

Paint: Urban Art Bar Event to Benefit Bright Pink Boston, Wednesday, June 26, 6:30 p.m. “Sip, socialize and paint at the Urban Art Bar and benefit the Boston chapter of Bright Pink!” Really wish I could go to this, but believe I will be away for work. Please go and have a drink for me – and have fun painting. 🙂

Walk with Us!!! I am FINALLY getting organized and really getting our Boston Marathon Jimmy Fund Walk Team (Sunday, September 8, 2013) rolling. Please join our Team Inspire Boston – sponsors are also welcome/needed! I’ll post more about this soon, but no need to wait – sign up or donate here: http://www.jimmyfundwalk.org/2013/teaminspireboston Thank you very much!

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I felt stupid as silent tears streamed down my face as I walked through the bridge connecting Brigham and Women’s, where I’d just seen Dr.H, my reconstructive surgeon, and Dana-Farber, where I was parked. And I was mad at myself for not making it to my car before crying.

This was the appointment where I was supposed to be cleared to have the implant surgery, so I could start to feel normal again, rather than have these two solid rocks sticking out from my chest. But instead I learned that my body just isn’t ready. I quickly explained that I’m seeing a trainer, and my physical therapist, and that I can ask them for exercises to loosen me up, and Dr. H looked at me sympathetically and said ‘Its not you, dear, there’s nothing you can do. It’s just your body, your tissues just aren’t loosening and ready.” Then he patted my arm, smiled broadly and said ” If you do find a way, let me know – I have 250 other patients who would love it!”

I hate it when there is nothing I can do, when it is completely out of my control. I left feeling totally and utterly disappointed. I really thought the end was somewhat in sight. But now I can’t even think about scheduling the next surgery until I see him again in September. Ugh. This really is the neverending story. Hence the tears. As soon as they started flowing I made a pit stop in Dana-Farber’s Healing Garden, the oasis where I feel a little less stupid crying, and usually can calm myself down.

Why did I feel stupid? Because this is simply a little set back. It’s cosmetic, essentially. And people in these hospitals have so much bigger problems. I am lucky. I am done with all treatment but tamoxifin. My hair is growing back. And I am going to be fine. So really, the tears were unnecessary. I wish my mind could have just convinced my body of that! I guess we can’t control everything. Or, sometimes, anything. And we just have to wait.

When Nick and I both got home tonight I told him my disappointing news. He hugged me and said he’s sorry, but maybe it’s for the best. I looked at him like he’s crazy and he just shrugged and said “Hey, you’re the one who always says everything happens for a reason, so maybe there’s a reason for this.” How can I debate that? I can’t, so I will listen and I will try to be patient. Definitely not one of my virtues…

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