When I started blogging 18 months ago, I had no idea what a therapeutic healing tool it would be. It started as a way to communicate with my friends and family after my initial diagnosis and to keep everyone posted during my treatments. It turned in to way more than that. It has been a gift to me, and hopefully it will be a gift for my children to read years from now. I just went back and read entries from Scarlett's Journey, and earlier entries from A Great Day, and often times can't believe those are words that I wrote. And, quite frankly, can't believe any of this has happened to me. I wish more than anything I could wipe this all away and go back to July 1, 2008...the last day before I became a breast cancer patient. And now, a two-time breast cancer survivor. It's so hard to believe that this has really happened to me. To us.
The last two months since my final chemo treatment has been a lot of fun, for the most part. I have had great times with my family and friends, and life is good. Finally. I feel strong on the inside, and strong on the outside. But, I don't look like me, and that is really, really bothering me. I have been very vocal about the fact that I miss my hair. But I am finally ready to say out loud that I miss my old body, too. (On a side note, my peach fuzz is growing every day -- still only peach fuzz but at least I know it's growing back!)
A year ago, I joined a new gym and started working out regularly, and met a trainer that I have met with nearly weekly for the better part of a year. Last week she did the first workout we ever did together, and even with another surgery, 35 rounds of radiation, and 4 rounds of chemo, I'm so much stronger than I was a year ago. I feel strong, but I am finally determined to get my body back in shape.
The other day I was on the treadmill and had an a-ha moment. I have battled cancer twice now, and am ready to put that behind me. I often quoted "a dream is a goal with a plan and a deadline." Being a project manager at work, I tend to thrive with structure and a plan. The last two months since I finished chemo, I've been enjoying good times with family and friends. It's way too easy to fall in to a mindset that "I've been through all this crap, I'm going to drink and eat whatever I want because life is too short." But, that is no way to live a healthy life. It's time for a plan.
What I appreciate more than ever is that this body of mine has been through hell, and really deserves some focus and dedication to maximize good health. I am not going to do anything crazy or drastic, and I'm not going to go for the quick fix. Rather, I'm going to do my best to live life to the fullest, but spend the next two years getting myself back to optimal health.
My ultimate goal is to be fabulous, fit, and cancer-free on my fortieth birthday. That gives me a little over two years to work hard, but also enough time to enjoy life and have some fun! It's all about the 80/20 rule, and finding a balance between good health but enjoying life.
Goal? Check. Deadline? Check. Plan...working on it right now. Dream...will come true. It's times like this where being a competitive Type-A comes in handy. I owe this to myself. I owe it to my children. I owe it to my family and friends. When we were in college, my roommates and I had a weekly workout chart on the fridge. It had 5 smiley faces on it, and we had to cross off a smiley face with every workout. No wonder we were in great shape! I am actually writing down my fitness plan, and will have it out for anyone who wants to see. I will be accountable to this, not only to myself but to anyone who wants to keep me honest.
So, cancer, adios. I don't have time to worry about you anymore. Instead, I'm going to fuel my body, mind, and spirit with all things good to keep you out of my body. Out of my mind. Out of my heart. Out of my life. FOREVER.
To those of you who are my loved ones who have faithfully read my blogs, thank you for caring. Thank you for taking time to read what has been going on in my life and in my heart. For those of you I have never met, I hope I have touched you in some way, for there is a reason you stumbled upon this out in internet land.
With that, this is my final entry for a while. I will be enjoying life and focusing on optimal health. Wine, I will miss you in March, but will drink you again soon. To my family and friends, please continue to encourage me and love me. You mean the world to me and continue to uplift and inspire me every day. YOU are the reasons I have fought so hard. I love my life, and it's so worth fighting for.
Nothing tastes as good as feeling healthy. And nothing is more fun than fitting in to your skinny jeans. Mine are hanging in my closet, and I fully intend on wearing them in Paris this fall.
Love you all. Thanks for saving my life. And I look forward to fun, happy, healthy times ahead.
Monday, March 1st is the first day of the rest of my long, happy, healthy life. To keep myself accountable, I will post my progress on June 1, 2010. So, if you remember, or if you are curious, check back. I promise to give you an honest update! :-)
Ciao -- for now...
xoxo
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thankful...
Life has been a whirlwind since returning to my cancer-free world. In my work world, I'm in my busy time, and it seems like I am finally in a groove. With the 30"+ of snow that fell recently, we had loads of fun times and togetherness with our family and neighbors. Please, spring...hurry up! We really need some sunshine!
A silver lining of going through cancer treatments for a second time in such a short time is the rare opportunity to leverage the hindsight and lessons learned from the first go-round. My family and friends have been through so much with me on this journey, and these last seven months have been hectic and emotional but with a powerful strength, confidence and closeness that was a true gift only received from experience. Last year at this time, I still had the roar of fear and cancer ringing in my head. I am convinced it was a sign to not let my guard down. Now, I am done with treatments and have an amazing sense of peace and tranquility that the cancer has been wiped from my body...and the fear has been erased from my soul.
When I was first diagnosed eighteen months ago, I did not ask, "Why me?" Instead I had faith that all of this was happening for a reason, and instead of questioning the Big Plan, I said that one day I would have an a-ha moment of clarity.
It seems that young women are coming out of the woodwork with new breast cancer diagnoses. They are not strangers I have met in a support group. They are not women that I have gone searching for. They are friends of friends...strangers in a waiting room...former colleagues. I find myself spending time with these women who have been diagnosed, and with a calm sense of confidence, I share my story, and I offer lessons learned. When I was first diagnosed I was alone. I did not know anyone else who had breast cancer, and along my journey I have met women who will forever be angels in my life.
Recently, I met up with one of my angels and a new member of the pink sisterhood for dinner. She was about to have a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction, and will start chemo next month. The three of us spent over four hours at dinner, talking and laughing and sharing. The evening included a couple of trips to the bathroom. One trip, the three of us lifted up our shirts and showed the handy work of our skilled surgeons. I took off my wig and let her see my bald head, and she tried on my wig to get a sense of what it might be like to look different. Here we were in the bathroom like school girls, giggling and not caring who walked in as we played dress up. No longer were we strangers.
I got a call from a woman I had met in the waiting room at CW. She needed someone to talk to as she was about to shave her head, and wanted to know where I got my wig that she admired. After thirty minutes, she was no longer a stranger. Her tears turned to laughter, and she thanked me for being there for her.
The other day, I got an email from an old colleague who through a mutual friend found out about my journey, and told me about her diagnosis. As a mother of young children and a woman in the same profession, we talked and by the end of the call, we were connected. Her surgery went well and she just closed her email to me with, "Your words have really helped me."
I have not been to a formal support group, yet I have the most amazing support. I started writing down their names the other night, and there are 17 women that I consider my pink angels. Seventeen. Amazing. The youngest was 26 when she was diagnosed. Most are under 40. Why on earth are so many young women getting breast cancer? Am I more aware of it now that I have a pink ribbon myself? Or is it an epidemic that is getting out of control?
Whether I am the one in need of comforting, or the comforter, I am so blessed to have these women in my life. I have no idea about the day-in and day-out of their lives. But we have all been there for each other, and I find strength in all of them for different reasons. Whether it's hearing their words, or hearing myself speak and realizing how far I've come along on my journey, it's strength none the less.
Yesterday, my husband took me to the hospital for my port removal. He has taken me to so many appointments and procedures, and I am so grateful to see his beautiful face as I drift off to the OR. My favorite nurse happened to be working there, and we embraced like long lost BFFs! She knew me when I had long hair, has seen me with my short hair, and has smiled just the same as I donned my sassy scarf, concealing my bald head. You know it's bad when you personally know the staff at Interventional Radiology at the hospital! The procedure was a piece of cake, and now I'm left with one more scar to add to the lot. It's OK though...I'd rather have a scar from my port removal than needing to have a port.
Just as predicted by my oncologist, my hair just started sprouting baby peach fuzz. It's daunting to think of growing out my hair...again. BUT, I'm cancer free, and surrounded by my darling kids, my wonderful husband, my amazing family, and my kick-ass friends. I may look like hell but I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I will see my plastic surgeon in a couple of months to discuss my final reconstruction. Until then, I'll enjoy the benefit of perky boobs sans bra.
Time to live my cancer-free life -- happy, healthy, full of energy, and eyes wide open. Life is good...savor each day.
And to all of my peeps -- and you know who you are -- thank you for giving me so many reason to smile, fight, and live. I love you with all of my heart!
xoxo
A silver lining of going through cancer treatments for a second time in such a short time is the rare opportunity to leverage the hindsight and lessons learned from the first go-round. My family and friends have been through so much with me on this journey, and these last seven months have been hectic and emotional but with a powerful strength, confidence and closeness that was a true gift only received from experience. Last year at this time, I still had the roar of fear and cancer ringing in my head. I am convinced it was a sign to not let my guard down. Now, I am done with treatments and have an amazing sense of peace and tranquility that the cancer has been wiped from my body...and the fear has been erased from my soul.
When I was first diagnosed eighteen months ago, I did not ask, "Why me?" Instead I had faith that all of this was happening for a reason, and instead of questioning the Big Plan, I said that one day I would have an a-ha moment of clarity.
It seems that young women are coming out of the woodwork with new breast cancer diagnoses. They are not strangers I have met in a support group. They are not women that I have gone searching for. They are friends of friends...strangers in a waiting room...former colleagues. I find myself spending time with these women who have been diagnosed, and with a calm sense of confidence, I share my story, and I offer lessons learned. When I was first diagnosed I was alone. I did not know anyone else who had breast cancer, and along my journey I have met women who will forever be angels in my life.
Recently, I met up with one of my angels and a new member of the pink sisterhood for dinner. She was about to have a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction, and will start chemo next month. The three of us spent over four hours at dinner, talking and laughing and sharing. The evening included a couple of trips to the bathroom. One trip, the three of us lifted up our shirts and showed the handy work of our skilled surgeons. I took off my wig and let her see my bald head, and she tried on my wig to get a sense of what it might be like to look different. Here we were in the bathroom like school girls, giggling and not caring who walked in as we played dress up. No longer were we strangers.
I got a call from a woman I had met in the waiting room at CW. She needed someone to talk to as she was about to shave her head, and wanted to know where I got my wig that she admired. After thirty minutes, she was no longer a stranger. Her tears turned to laughter, and she thanked me for being there for her.
The other day, I got an email from an old colleague who through a mutual friend found out about my journey, and told me about her diagnosis. As a mother of young children and a woman in the same profession, we talked and by the end of the call, we were connected. Her surgery went well and she just closed her email to me with, "Your words have really helped me."
I have not been to a formal support group, yet I have the most amazing support. I started writing down their names the other night, and there are 17 women that I consider my pink angels. Seventeen. Amazing. The youngest was 26 when she was diagnosed. Most are under 40. Why on earth are so many young women getting breast cancer? Am I more aware of it now that I have a pink ribbon myself? Or is it an epidemic that is getting out of control?
Whether I am the one in need of comforting, or the comforter, I am so blessed to have these women in my life. I have no idea about the day-in and day-out of their lives. But we have all been there for each other, and I find strength in all of them for different reasons. Whether it's hearing their words, or hearing myself speak and realizing how far I've come along on my journey, it's strength none the less.
Yesterday, my husband took me to the hospital for my port removal. He has taken me to so many appointments and procedures, and I am so grateful to see his beautiful face as I drift off to the OR. My favorite nurse happened to be working there, and we embraced like long lost BFFs! She knew me when I had long hair, has seen me with my short hair, and has smiled just the same as I donned my sassy scarf, concealing my bald head. You know it's bad when you personally know the staff at Interventional Radiology at the hospital! The procedure was a piece of cake, and now I'm left with one more scar to add to the lot. It's OK though...I'd rather have a scar from my port removal than needing to have a port.
Just as predicted by my oncologist, my hair just started sprouting baby peach fuzz. It's daunting to think of growing out my hair...again. BUT, I'm cancer free, and surrounded by my darling kids, my wonderful husband, my amazing family, and my kick-ass friends. I may look like hell but I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I will see my plastic surgeon in a couple of months to discuss my final reconstruction. Until then, I'll enjoy the benefit of perky boobs sans bra.
Time to live my cancer-free life -- happy, healthy, full of energy, and eyes wide open. Life is good...savor each day.
And to all of my peeps -- and you know who you are -- thank you for giving me so many reason to smile, fight, and live. I love you with all of my heart!
xoxo
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