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Posts Tagged ‘radiation’

Because I Can

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, family, hair, lymphedema, radiation, recovery, work, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 28, 2013| 2 Comments »

“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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It’s Not Fair

Posted in Cancer, chemotherapy, connections, family, hair, prayer, radiation, recovery, Road trip, tagged , , , , , , , on November 18, 2013| 4 Comments »

With Joncille and Aunt Patsy, October 2011

With Joncille and Aunt Patsy, October 2011

I. Hate. Cancer. I want to scream and cry and hit things. But none of it will bring my cousin back.

I found out this morning that my cousin Joncille – my dad’s cousin, so my second cousin if you want to get technical – passed away. She gave in to stupid cancer. She has been suffering off and on for years, and, according to my uncle, didn’t want to fight any more. I was shocked.

I got to know Joncille when I visited her and her husband in Sugar Land, Texas, on my road trip. (You can read about it here: https://amysamerica.com/2010/11/09/finding-my-roots-on-day-61/) They welcomed me into their home with open arms and I couldn’t have felt more at home. It was like we were long lost friends. It was actually the beginning of a great friendship. Joncille was a wonderful support through my treatment. A constant cheerleader, encouraging me to remain positive, to trust in God and to know that I really would get past it all.

“I would like you to know, though, that this too will pass, and you will move  through this hardship one day at a time and in the bright future it will seem  like a bad dream,” Joncille wrote to me – and she was right. She sent me love, thoughts and prayers for strength, courage and healing. And they gave me strength and will to continue to plow through treatment.

“…grab hold of the positive things. Doing that will absolutely save your life and your sanity,” she wrote to me.

“From one who knows, bald ain’t too bad. One swish with a wet wash cloth and you have washed, dried and styled your hair and are ready for the day. And again,  from one who knows, it grows back.” Yup, right again.

And when I found out I did, in fact, need radiation, Joncille gave me a new way to look at it: “I do want to warn you that when you first see the tattoo that  marks the spot to radiate, you will feel that you have been marked as a CANCER  VICTIM, but YOU ARE NOT!!!! They are marking a survivor. I knew a radiologist many years ago that envisioned the power of the Holy Spirit entering  her patients as she applied the radiation. I held that vision in my mind  when receiving mine. I promise that there is a life after cancer.  It  just seems like a never ending saga right now. Hang in one treatment at a  time and before you know it they will all be over.” I adopted that vision from Joncille, and it was such a comfort…

I feel robbed. It’s not fair. We didn’t get enough time together. I want to hear more of her stories. I want to take her up on her offer to return to Sugar Land with my Aunt Patsy, who was one of her best friends. Joncille and Aunt Patsy remind me of Tara and me, cousins, confidantes, travel buddies and dear friends… and that just makes it all hit home even more.

No, life is not fair. I guess we all know that by now. And life is short. So don’t waste it. Spend time with the people you care about. Tell them that you love them. Be a real friend. Cherish the time you have. You don’t know when it will end.

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What a Difference a Year Makes

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, family, hair, Planning, radiation, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , on July 1, 2013| 2 Comments »

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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