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There are countless things to be thankful for every single day. And when bad things happen to you, it just gives more opportunity for the good things to shine through. While we should continually be saying ‘thank you,’ Thanksgiving provides us all the perfect platform. So here is just a very small sampling of the many, many things I am thankful for…

  • that I am here to be able to say thank you
  • early detection
  • my crazy, loving, unbelievable family here, in Florida (Tennessee), West Virginia, etc.
  • Nicholas George Tull Atwood – and that there is only one of him! 😉
  • friends – old and new, close and distant, who provide distractions (whether big like Nashville or small like WWF), make you laugh, let you cry, take you to Outback, join you at chemo or just wish they could
  • long walks and talks, planning sessions and Pinkberry
  • people who stick by your side, even when they are going through so much themselves and it’s not easy for them to do so
  • people who tell you what they think, even when they know it’s not what you want to hear
  • cards, e-mails, texts, facebook posts, calls just because
  • hand made cards and crafts by (and hugs from) children who love you and just want to help make you feel better – and do!
  • little boys who have pink birthday cakes
  • Dana-farber, the Jimmy Fund and Brigham and Women’s
  • doctors, nurses, researchers and all healthcare workers who not only treat you but care
  • organizations like the American Cancer Society, Susan G. Komen, Bright Pink, Gloria Gemma and so many others that raise awareness and funds for research, and help people with cancer in countless ways including to feel better about themselves
  • that I live now, when cancer is not an automatic death sentence and treatments have come so far…
  • that side effects will fade, my hair will grow back and with a little effort when I get my energy back, I can lose the weight I’ve gained during treatment
  • Genzyme and the incredibly supportive people who work there
  • running friends who inspire and encourage me
  • music, movies and books you can escape into
  • Boston, the best city for practically everything – at least the best city for me, now – wouldn’t want to be anywhere else
  • Cape Cod, the ocean, the healing power of just being by the water
  • that I was born an optimist
  • that people love me even when I’m the Wicked Witch
  • that every day is a new opportunity to start over
  • all the people who have added me to their prayer lists around the world, and all the people who don’t know me but pray for me, send me positive vibes or simply wish me well

I could go on and on and on – I know I’m leaving so much out! – but we all have friends, family and turkey to get to, so I will leave it at that… Happy Thanksgiving, all, and thank YOU for caring about me and my family and reading this blog. What are you thankful for?

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“Doesn’t your body know you’re done? Can’t it just be back to normal?” Tara and I mulled over how wonderful this would be as I laid on the couch following my nap. To just snap my fingers and be normal me again. Week 24 of chemo, week 12 of Taxol: done. Only it’s not the end I hoped for.

I know everyone wants me to be excited and to celebrate but I honestly don’t feel it at all. (Although I loved the congratulations card Tina gave me from my Goddaughters, including the Thanksgiving picture eight-year-old Nadia drew me that said “p.s. One thing I am thankful for is that you don’t have Taxol!”)

My body aches more than ever, the tingling and numbness in my feet and fingers has steadily increased and now I have phlebitis in my right arm. So in addition to starting radiation, I am heading back to physical therapy, too. Doesn’t seem like an end to me. I really wish I could be happy, but I’m not.

I did, though, appreciate how the nurse practitioner put it to me today. She said, “It’s just like you’re in a triathlon. You’ve made it through two huge parts: the surgery and the chemo. Now for the third part: radiation.” I liked the sound of that, but also can’t help thinking that it’s even more than that – then there is the implant surgery, which now won’t be until summer, then the two follow-up procedures to that, which brings us near the end of 2013. Then the five years of tamoxifen. As I said last time, it’s the never-ending saga. I need to just suck it up, accept it and stop whining about it – I’m getting sick of myself! And I will, I just have to get back on my feet and then I will start to feel better.

I think I just keep feeling like every time I take two steps forward, it’s followed by one step back. Like the pain that’s been growing in my arm the last couple weeks today turns out to be phlebitis and so I now need to add PT back into my regimen. At least it’s coinciding with being able to take ibuprofen again, now that the chemo is over! And then I was excited because I signed up for the Jingle Bell Run in mid-December thinking ‘Of course I can be running again a month after chemo!’ I didn’t realize how bad my feet and legs would get – and today the nurse said it probably won’t go away for a month, maybe more. So yet another race I paid for but won’t be able to run. (Note to self: no more signing up for races until I am actually fully back to running!!!)

I know I need to give my body time to rest and heal. I just get so impatient with it and simply want to be normal again. And look half as good as Giuliana Rancic.

Giuliana and Bill were on Katie today, as I was dozing on the couch. My ears perked up as I heard them start to talk about her breast cancer. I knew she had, like me, a double mastectomy. But, even though they said she had an aggressive form of breast cancer, instead of chemo and radiation she opted to go straight to the five years of tamoxifen. I don’t get it: why and how??? That certainly wasn’t presented to me, I thought as I looked at her beaming at me from the TV, looking so beautiful with her long dark hair. (Yes, that is jealousy you sense.) I just don’t get it – how can you go through that major surgery and not do the other things to lessen your chance of recurrence? I know it’s a personal choice, but I guess I never felt like there was really much of a ‘choice’ at all.

Jealousy will get you nowhere – and it’s not like I lost my hair so Giuliana could keep hers. And hey, my hair is starting to grow back – it almost covers my head, so soon I won’t look like a middle-age balding man anymore. The aches, pains, numbness and tingling will go away. I will be able to run again. I will lose all the weight I gained. Yes, radiation will have its own challenges, but they will be less than the chemo. If I made it through 24 weeks of that, I can make it through 25 sessions of this. And then I’ll be that much closer to the finish line… and maybe then I’ll feel like celebrating.

Update, 9 a.m., Nov. 21: It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do! I woke up with a new perspective and felt the need to update this post. As I just posted on Facebook, “Today I am thankful for mornings where you wake up with a new perspective! I feel better – more energized, determined and like my old self. Crappy cancer can’t change me!”

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Those of you who have been following this blog for a while will remember many mentions of Mirany, my dear friends Sarah and Scott’s sweet little girl who was diagnosed with neuroblastoma last winter when she wasn’t even a year old. I will never forget the moment I found out – where I was, what time it was, how I felt – everything froze in horror, fear, disbelief and sadness. Then, after months of treatment, Mirany had surgery and was released from the hospital on the same day I was diagnosed in March. Since then, it has been eight long months of ups and downs for both of us.
Today we received the most wonderful news. Since so many of you ask me how she is doing, here’s the note Sarah, Scott, Mirany, and TommyBoy (their dog) sent:
“Dear Friends and Family,
Today Mirany’s oncologist shared incredible news with us: For the first time in her life, she is cancer free. Both her MIBG scan and urine analysis were 100% negative for neuroblastoma, and her MRI reveals only scar tissue. In addition, the nodule in her lung that caused much anxiety and distress is gone.
It is, in some ways, as difficult to believe this wonderful news as it was to accept the initial diagnosis. It seems impossible that this ordeal could be over. As painful as this journey was, we were always aware of the blessings we received upon the way, and our hearts ached (and will ache) for all those still fighting. The past 335 days have been a lesson in humanity and compassion; we can only hope to “pay it forward” and be as good to others as you all have been to us. Let’s keep looking out for each other.
With love,
Sarah, Scott, Mirany, and TommyBoy”
I have learned so much from all of them this year. About love, strength, perseverance, sacrifice, friendship, faith – so much. Even about cancer, doctors, hospitals and coping. And innocence: Mirany is simply precious and innocent. I am so thankful she will not remember this battle she’s just fought, and will now be able to simply be the normal little girl she deserves to be.
Dreams do come true – thanks to fabulous doctors like those at Dana-Farber and Brigham and Women’s, researchers, The Jimmy Fund and most of all, the prayers, love and positive vibes from all around us… I can’t help but think of how holiday season is approaching and we’re all going to go out and spend oodles of money on things no one really needs and, in some cases, don’t even want. Consider the charities this Christmas: buy your holiday cards, make a donation or even name a gene, all through Dana-Farber‘s web site. How much easier could shopping get – and you could help make many dreams come true…

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