It's October again ... eleven years ago I finished my last chemo treatment. I am thankful to be here and thankful for NED (no evidence of disease). Some things have changed. Some things have stayed the same. I'm personally tired of pink; tired of the hype. Women (and some men) are still being diagnosed with breast cancer; they are still having to choose surgical and treatment options; they are still dying. It makes me sad. And I'm afraid it's making me cynical. Perspectives.

A memory from 3 years ago ... Following my training schedule, I was supposed to run 6 miles today. Around 2 miles in, as I was thinking about my canceversary, I had the bright idea that I should run a mile for every year I have survived since being given the sucky diagnosis of breast cancer 7 years ago today. Screw the weather; screw my healing knee; screw cancer! Then the wind picked up, coming from the side it was strong enough to force one ankle into another. Fine. Then pelting rain. Perfect. BRING IT ON! It only boosted my resolve. Not only resolve to finish 7 miles today, but resolve to remember that every run is a gift, every day of life is a gift, despite the metaphorical whipping wind and pelting rain. Seven years complete. Seven miles complete. And now? Now I’m sitting in front of a fire, watching Olympic events I really don’t care about, surrounded by cats, with ice on my knees. Gifts. Oh, and having a big piece of John’s birthday cake!

Friday run

My run last Friday started off nicely enough. I hadn't run since the 1/2 marathon almost 2 weeks before, so I was anticipating having a hard run. But the rain had kindly stopped, and I made it up the first hill without breathing too hard. I had not quite gone a mile when I received a text from my Mom letting me know that my brother was getting a maintenance dose of rituximab that day. I knew it was going to be happening, I just didn't know exactly when. So I shot off a quick text to him saying I was thinking of him. I kept going.

Twenty-some minutes later I received a text back. He was all hooked up, ready to get the benadryl on board to hopefully prevent any reactions to the rituximab. Another 20 minutes and another text that a double dose of benadryl was in, and he was feeling snoozy already. I replied for him to have a good nap. I kept running.

It is times like these when it all comes flooding back: the weekly trips to the Cancer Center, the "getting hooked up", the comfy infusion chairs, the faces of familiar oncology nurses quietly attending to their patients, watching the poison empty out of the bag and into my body, hopefully to save my life.

As I continued to run, I thought about why I run. The first reason that popped into my head was "to lose weight", followed closely by "I really, really, really like dessert!" But a song that I recently came across addresses the physical aspects and beyond. It is by Melissa Etheridge, herself a breast cancer survivor, and the chorus goes: I run for HOPE, I run to FEEL, I run for the TRUTH, for all that is REAL. I run for your mother, your sister, (your daughter), your wife, I run for you and me my friend, I run for LIFE. Lately my thoughts have been focused around the "I run to FEEL", but it all comes down to "I run for LIFE."

I finished my run. It ended up being a hard run, just as I had anticipated, but for totally different reasons. When I got home I checked my brother's blog. He had posted the previous evening that he would be going in for the infusion. I thought I was subscribed to get notified, but I did not. Hours later I got another text that he was all done. For this week anyway. He will have 3 more Friday infusions this round.

Five years ago, on April 10, 2007, I started my chemo treatments. I have been going to write about it, but life keeps happening (thankfully!) and I just hadn't gotten to it. But then last Friday when I went for a run...

Remembering

Today is the 5 year anniversary of losing my brother, Ted, to leukemia. While my memories of him are not as painful as they once were, there are still times when it feels like a sucker-punch to the gut that he is gone. My sister-in-law wrote a remembrance of him today describing him as "a good man, a hard worker, kind, and a man of integrity." Those words all describe him well. My daughter used these words in a post on facebook to refer to him: "A Kestrel named Ginger. Soccer. Skiing. Mountain bikes. Five years... hard to believe..." and she changed her profile picture to one of Ted holding her in 1 arm, while holding his Kestrel Ginger in the other.

It has been a long time since I posted anything here, so I don't recall (and don't want to take the time right now to look to see) if I wrote this before, but the thought that keeps hitting me is I have lost the one person I shared my childhood memories with. My younger siblings were born when Ted and I were 12 and 10, so there were quite a few years that it was just the 2 of us. There are things I wish I could ask him if he remembers, but sadly those are lost forever.

A year ago (I can't believe it's been that long) I had a wonderful conversation with a cousin who was very close to Ted. That time spent with her brought me much comfort, and just remembering our talk still comforts me.

I am having a hard time finding the words to wrap this post up. I guess I'll just end with "I miss my brother."

Last day of 2008

2008 has been a year of hope, a year of healing and a year of restoration. I have a couple of new favorite quotes:
1. "Life is not the way it's supposed to be. It's the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference." Virginia Satir.
2. "We are all broken and wounded in this world. Some choose to grow strong at the broken places." Harold J. Duarte-Bernhardt. He was not the first to talk about being strong at the broken places. Ernest Hemingway, a very broken soul himself, is quoted "The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."

In 2008 I have seen a lot of sadness, a lot of brokenness. I have also seen strength and courage, determination and healing. From members of my own family, to close friends, to people I don't even know, I've seen the pain of loss, but I've also seen the light of hope; the struggle to be strong at the broken places.

So as 2008 comes to a close, I'd like to share the following story, written by Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis

"We have seen Yitzhak Perlman who walks the stage with braces on both legs, on two crutches.

He takes his seat, unhinges the clasps of his legs, tucking one leg back, extending the other, laying down his crutches, placing the violin under his chin.

On one occasion one of his violin strings broke. The audience grew silent but the violinist did not leave the stage. He signaled the maestro, and the orchestra began its part. The violinist played with power and intensity on only three strings.

With three strings, he modulated, changed and recomposed the piece in his head, he retuned the strings to get different sounds, turned them upward and downward.

The audience screamed delight, applauded their appreciation. Asked later how he had accomplished this feat, the violinist answered, It is my task to make music with what remains.

A legacy mightier than a concert. Make music with what remains. Complete the song left for us to sing, transcend the loss, play it out with heart, soul and might, with all remaining strength within us."

A year after treatment

Oct 5 was the 1 year anniversary of my last chemo treatment. To celebrate, John and I walked in the ACS Making Strides Against Breast Cancer - 1st Annual walk in Everett. (Not really to celebrate, it just happened to be on the same day) Next year I hope to plan ahead a little better and have a team. It always amazes me to see so many people united to fight breast cancer.

We also measured my hair. I've always heard that hair grows about 6 inches a year. My hair used to grow faster than average, so I was pretty disappointed when it only measured 5 inches. John reminded me that it didn't start growing the next day, it took awhile to get going. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. I am very thankful that I HAVE hair!

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month - so CHECK YOUR BOOBIES! Or for you husbands out there...Save a life - grope your wife. Save the TaTas.

Just a little suggestion - don't schedule your mammogram on or even around your birthday. I have heard of so many people who have, for some it was their first mammogram at age 40, and they find out they have cancer. It's really not something you want to associate with your birthday! Of course, sometimes the timing can't be helped. I had my biopsy on Valentines day, the next day was John's birthday, then the next day I got my diagnosis. Oh well.

Rebel with a cause...and the bucket list.

Yes, that's me on my Honda Rebel motorcycle, complete with pink ribbons. Why, you ask? Well, John has wanted a bike since he was about 12 years old, and with the rising gas prices, he finally had a good excuse to get one. He has the perfect commute for it and has really been enjoying his rides. But it's really not "me" to be a "bird" (biker talk) and ride behind him on his bike, so I had to get one of my own. I'm not as into it as he is, but he got SCUBA certified for me (and now he loves diving) so I got my motorcycle license for him. Our first trip was to San Juan Island in August. To get to the ferry, we had to ride up Hwy 20, which was a little nerve wracking, especially since in our motorcycle safety class, we had never gone faster than 15 mph. All of a sudden I had to go 50-55 mph with cars and trucks and...yikes! I was very thankful that Brian, Sharon and Nick were following us in their car. I knew they had my six! We've gone on a couple other fun rides, sticking to the back roads as much as possible.

Not too long ago, we watched the movie The Bucket List. I thought it was just going to be about two old guys living it up before they got too old and kicked the bucket. So it was a rude awakening to discover they both had cancer. Regardless, I think creating a bucket list is something everyone should do, not that I've gotten mine started yet. (I did tell John that for my 50th birthday, which will also be my 5 year survivor anniversary, I want to go skydiving. I don't know that he'll be joining me for that one, since he doesn't even like roller coaster drops.) My attitude has changed a bit since my diagnosis. I'm more willing to do things that might be considered "dangerous". I still have a very healthy sense of fear, but I'm trying not to let that keep me from doing things I want to do. Like the song says, "Someday I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying".

I was going to stop there - but that song has a phrase that really touched me. Maybe because it wasn't what I was expecting. When I heard the word "forgiveness" from the man in his 40's, facing his own mortality, I expected him to be asking for forgiveness. But instead, he says "I gave forgiveness I'd been denying". I GAVE forgiveness. I had never really thought about it that way before and I found the concept very interesting. Whether you have faced cancer or not, life is too precious and way too short to be burdened by having an unforgiving spirit.