tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76646560114007342222024-03-05T03:32:55.834-08:00A Boob Flew Over the Cuckoo's NestLaurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-53043744950974302442012-06-28T16:16:00.001-07:002012-06-28T23:22:30.726-07:00Relay for Life According to Laura<br />
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As you know, this year was my first doing the Relay for Life. 2012 is only the second year that our town (a suburb of Seattle) has had a Relay for Life. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My husband, Greg</td></tr>
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I had heard of it before - raise money for cancer. Ya, that's nice. But, I didn't know anyone with cancer, not really. Sure, you hear people on the news who have/had cancer or someone might say they are related to someone with cancer or know someone. But, cancer was never really on my radar until I got it.<br />
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I remember a few months ago when I was struggling with the "WHYs" - "Why did I get cancer?" "Why did this happen to me?" My new physical therapist, Kelly, said that maybe I got cancer so that I could have more empathy for others with cancer. Well, I thought that was a sucky reason to get cancer! Somebody could have just come and smacked me upside the head and said, "WAKE UP!" A nicely worded letter would have been nice - "Hey! People have cancer! Be more caring!" <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kris (and Sheepie)<br />
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Regardless, I got cancer (twice) and survived and, as I find my way in my post-cancer world, I realize that I do want something good to come of this - maybe THAT's WHY I got cancer. (Which, again, I'd like to say that's a terrible reason but whatever.)<br />
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Anyway, this led me to Relay for Life. It took me several months to decide to actually start a team. I don't really like to be in charge of things. I don't particularly like to be a role model. Being a good role model for my children (most days) takes a lot out of me...I don't have time or energy to be on good behavior for other people too. I decided, though, that it was for a good cause. Could I behave myself for a good cause?<br />
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Before I could make a team, we had to have a name. I did the most intensive research I could to find a good name - I asked my friends on facebook. There were several "interesting" suggestions including: "The Booby Bunch," "The Boob Squad" and "The Boob Crew." After much deliberation (I asked my Mom), I decided on my friend, Elizabeth's, recommendation: NO BOOBS REQUIRED!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shana!</td></tr>
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We had a name, I had the $100 starting fee - I registered our team. I set out recruiting members, again on facebook because I'm cool like that. I was surprised at how many of my friends wanted to join! People, not only willing to fundraise, but also give up a whole weekend for the cause. I was honored that they would want to be a part, especially of a team ridiculously named "No Boobs Required." I would find out, as Relay neared, that all of us had a personal connection to cancer.<br />
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In the beginning, our team consisted of my family, Greg (husband) and Kyra (daughter) and my friends Shana, her daughter Jade, Tanya, Monika, Karen, Kris, Shereen, Brenda, Deb and Christy. Karen's son, Drew, joined later as did my son, Carter, rounding out the team to 15 members, the maximum.<br />
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We all made plans and coordinated fundraisers and begged...um, asked...for donations. Karen Williams made and sold hundreds of cake pops for a dollar each. Our friend, Elizabeth (the team namer) helped decorate many of them as did I. Even my Mom pitched in to help with the decorating. I also donated my services as cake pop taste tester. I was really good at it! Decorating those little suckers isn't easy in my opinion, since I was born without any sort of crafty gene, but tasting, THAT I could do!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUUKdrGeddutJOkkF8w215F_yT7pTs7DXpTRre8RRJZjJ83Byatj3BebWUzx-BSxsPcdz7eWoxk7XV9-G6HwuOzxGxIHFRsrzSzTWwi-ErDSbapWFiCVsiGQhjIAh6qaWj26FtBrGywuP/s1600/468547_3266474133790_368337347_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUUKdrGeddutJOkkF8w215F_yT7pTs7DXpTRre8RRJZjJ83Byatj3BebWUzx-BSxsPcdz7eWoxk7XV9-G6HwuOzxGxIHFRsrzSzTWwi-ErDSbapWFiCVsiGQhjIAh6qaWj26FtBrGywuP/s200/468547_3266474133790_368337347_o.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collection Jars</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tanya and Christy, at Relay<br />
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Shana Warner held a jewelry party with profits going to Relay (I did this as well). Kris Bitnes put my scary picture on jars and collected money - I was a CAUSE for people to donate to (which saddened my Mother). Brenda held a very successful fundraiser pool party with drawings. I helped my 10 year old daughter, Kyra, organize a book sale. People bought things, People donated.<br />
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As Relay approached, we had no clue what we were in for. We held a meeting and Relay Goddesses, Carrie Blankenship and Kim Demary, came to answer all of our endless inane questions. We were as prepared as a bunch of newbies who had no clue could be.<br />
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The day finally arrived and I got up a little after 7 a.m. I don't appreciate anything that starts that early, but, again, this was for a good cause. The realization that I would, likely, be awake for the next 27 hours or so was daunting but I felt empowered (delirious from lack of sleep too). I loaded the car and made a quick swing by Starbucks on my way there. Armed with a Chonga bagel and Double Chocolate Chip Frappacino, I was ready to conquer the Relay!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxefJ710QkgDDh79xOssbtj62ckaQWvdtljHq-zicU7IY95aq8JOEMdVtIsUgk-v8poM-5kQOVurcw1DE2ItZduBj_zKhCm7vKEdhrzQeEJt8AjrPTzo4UpyuHCTLdu40xnrUDC9yhixr1/s1600/528060_3955911782602_1046372429_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxefJ710QkgDDh79xOssbtj62ckaQWvdtljHq-zicU7IY95aq8JOEMdVtIsUgk-v8poM-5kQOVurcw1DE2ItZduBj_zKhCm7vKEdhrzQeEJt8AjrPTzo4UpyuHCTLdu40xnrUDC9yhixr1/s200/528060_3955911782602_1046372429_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karen!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our encampment! #8</td></tr>
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I found our camp spot (lucky #8) and started to haul things over. Shana and Jade (crazy early risers) were already there and Karen and I arrived at the same time. We set things up quickly and Greg (along with Kyra and Carter) arrived a little after 9 to help. <br />
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Kyra was selling books and Shana was doing four <strike>raffles</strike> drawings (in the state of Washington, "raffles" are illegal, so we must call them "drawings." Raffles are gambling but drawings aren't. Go figure.). Karen was selling more yummy cake pops (I was all "taste tested" out at this point) and her son, Drew, took on most of that duty. Since food had to be sold in a different location (away from the track), Drew was away from our site most of the day. As a teenage boy, he was super bummed to not get to spend the whole day with a bunch of 40 year old women.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbrgrY1mx8EKTL36Rst-1htcbKN-ssQsxE4Cci2p1rI1PuTNS9pKLQqyVvE6DUwbJ6HVFfJ0gZJxjoSWbogZNbD2bTtZkzXf5v2fVrnyFnwSI9UnBcbZ4tqlZmZJI8MxxrhnwdK52cbsM/s1600/207931_5561635907_5435_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbrgrY1mx8EKTL36Rst-1htcbKN-ssQsxE4Cci2p1rI1PuTNS9pKLQqyVvE6DUwbJ6HVFfJ0gZJxjoSWbogZNbD2bTtZkzXf5v2fVrnyFnwSI9UnBcbZ4tqlZmZJI8MxxrhnwdK52cbsM/s200/207931_5561635907_5435_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shereen!</td></tr>
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A little after 10 a.m., the opening ceremonies began. Everyone was called into the bleachers. The opening ceremony was really beautiful and touching. Several people spoke about the meaning of Relay and someone beautifully sang the national anthem. It was then time for the Survivor's Lap. (To read about the Survivor's Lap - Go Here: <a href="http://aboobflewoverthecuckoosnest.blogspot.com/2012/06/survivor-lap.html" target="_blank">Survivor Lap</a>)<br />
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Following the Survivor Lap, it was time to really get serious. Of course, it being MY team, that never actually happened. But, as the day progressed, we sold books, "drawing" tickets, walked laps and gave the children endless dollar bills to buy treats, snacks and hot chocolate from the vendors. <br />
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Many of us took the special pledge to stay up ALL night without sleeping. We were full of energy and empowered! We were women (well, except for Greg) hear us Roar!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deb!<br />
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Each hour throughout the day had a theme and it was fun to watch the costumes. As our team members walked by, I cheered for them. A few were really honored by the acknowledgement, most acted like they didn't know me. Our little Energizer Bunny of the team, Brenda Dykgraaf, walked so many laps, so fast, that I think I missed her about half the time. Our plan was that some people signed up for specific times to walk and the rest of us would fill in. Sadly, I "filled in" much less than I had planned. It was a particularly achy day for me and I'd been battling a migraine for 2 days. The bright sun (a rarity in Seattle!) was not welcome to my eyes or head.<br />
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At 7 p.m., Shana prepared to draw for her raffles. She was giving away 2 sets of Office Pro, an Xbox Kinect and a bundle of Xbox games. I quickly bought three tickets for the Kinect. I made sure to rumple my tickets and fold them and kissed them for extra luck. Shana had me draw the names for the Office Pro packs and first Christy and then Tanya won those. They were thrilled. I drew a little boy's name for the games bundle. Then, it was time to draw for the Kinect! I was so excited! I KNEW which ticket to look for! As I reached my hand in, I gloated! Shana was suddenly on to me and my cheating ways and she snatched the bag from me. She turned to Tanya to draw a name. I gestured to Tanya behind Shana's back to pick the FOLDED TICKET!!! Shana caught me and, in disgust, she stomped away to find a stranger to pick the winning ticket. Darn. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKS6KswO97gLh4GR6HOat2N3JacmTQ3IX82CsoHN49h56XDhbDqWd3MxAeuDN1iix0HGwGgbxfTtOUM_B1a8XVRxI6uCG1kOVwe8drCZcBkIMu0tSPzagxHGfbmi5-bEYvJJO1rgJhrN20/s1600/15540_1299611369863_5443563_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKS6KswO97gLh4GR6HOat2N3JacmTQ3IX82CsoHN49h56XDhbDqWd3MxAeuDN1iix0HGwGgbxfTtOUM_B1a8XVRxI6uCG1kOVwe8drCZcBkIMu0tSPzagxHGfbmi5-bEYvJJO1rgJhrN20/s320/15540_1299611369863_5443563_n.jpg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monika!</td></tr>
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A minute later, she stomped back in a huff. I'd won anyway!!! She had gone out into the field and found someone to draw the winning ticket and they chose my name out of the bag anyway! It was great! Shana wrote out the list for the announcer to call out the winners over the loudspeaker. When the announcements came on, they called all the names and then read mine as, "Laura 'I LOVE COCONUT' Shelton." Not okay Shana! NOT OKAY! But, hey, I won a Kinect, so it didn't matter. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiWc2L49w-PaQ3e1jbZJ-FdEhed-wt7AJ9sO9r4vjMGZ96pe0LA1XsjmIqcXUjDW7R4XmQHRVkGgm2OIer20CmJ8r9ycDX_YngqhLPIk4ok-OFKxuMQVEPyphX8W-6wnhxWorkWcMlSeXV/s1600/IMG_2551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiWc2L49w-PaQ3e1jbZJ-FdEhed-wt7AJ9sO9r4vjMGZ96pe0LA1XsjmIqcXUjDW7R4XmQHRVkGgm2OIer20CmJ8r9ycDX_YngqhLPIk4ok-OFKxuMQVEPyphX8W-6wnhxWorkWcMlSeXV/s200/IMG_2551.JPG" width="150" /></a>As night neared, we gathered white bags to make luminaries. Luminaries are bags decorated to honor people you know and love who have fought cancer (some that have won and many that have lost). Shereen made a Luminaria for me. She also made one for our 5 year old friend, Jenna, who died from cancer 3 years ago. I made several for friends that I know. Others made them for family members and friends. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-w7ixDZULqI3j7AuYOwrPQjwWmJPyTYEQ93OVFBoDMjpUsx00v1IkVZLw9TmsB5eD-MCk02d3VKRMcu8Zp1M8gCOwkpLJR3MbqagjdB6sH1Rum2oKQWaqwDd-cdKXEY9wop_-dG02o7Rx/s1600/IMG_2550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-w7ixDZULqI3j7AuYOwrPQjwWmJPyTYEQ93OVFBoDMjpUsx00v1IkVZLw9TmsB5eD-MCk02d3VKRMcu8Zp1M8gCOwkpLJR3MbqagjdB6sH1Rum2oKQWaqwDd-cdKXEY9wop_-dG02o7Rx/s200/IMG_2550.JPG" width="150" /></a>We walked around the track to look at the luminaries before it got dark. There were just so MANY of them. It was beautiful and overwhelming. Some had pictures, some had drawings, most had names. They said things like "Grandpa," "Papa" and "Sis." I stopped to read one in particular. It had a letter on one side to "Mom" and a letter on the other side to "Sis." The writer wrote letters about how much she missed each of them and how she was now, "the only one left." I cried. <br />
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Dark fell and the luminaries glowed from the little battery operated lights inside. At 10 p.m., we were all called to the bleachers. Once everyone was gathered, the lights were all turned out. The track now only lit by the glowing circle of bags that outlined the track. Pink bags spelling out HOPE glowed in the stands on the opposite side. It was beautiful and sad.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs08o0k5Qc6TxD0buzqGVdUxo5YG6PjwbFh81OG6ipYR-wHm3xKpTfhIouT_VgY_J5iowHJrEuEXo1_S4GoCn-OBXYFHMNxF2IzjfOi8BD0tKhdG4txJcjrPyFA1wY23ZL05r3eVt8FIct/s1600/IMG_2552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs08o0k5Qc6TxD0buzqGVdUxo5YG6PjwbFh81OG6ipYR-wHm3xKpTfhIouT_VgY_J5iowHJrEuEXo1_S4GoCn-OBXYFHMNxF2IzjfOi8BD0tKhdG4txJcjrPyFA1wY23ZL05r3eVt8FIct/s200/IMG_2552.JPG" width="150" /></a>Voices spoke over the microphone but we could not see them in the dark. It was like a voice from another world. Eerie and haunting. Survivors were then called down from the bleachers to get a purple glow stick and walk the track. <br />
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This was when I was sure the Relay people were trying to kill me again. It was completely dark and they wanted me to navigate the dark bleachers and make it down to the bottom for a little purple glow stick. After surviving cancer twice, I was pretty sure this was what was going to do me in. I didn't think a little purple glow stick was enough reward for me to risk my life. I do like glow sticks though...and they were free. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFIfH_GmqsXDy_M5SjConOxQ48fgnJOoxkkHUz76_WXxmQYatTG41ATmg2l25rYJ1Ojv_LVpf4ff-tdmHIy4iiOeNU7_vQgFwjXzD9hoFuyrFYF-ukpv8Tu4FcViNeVUlPAbHh1Nsut_V/s1600/IMG_2560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFIfH_GmqsXDy_M5SjConOxQ48fgnJOoxkkHUz76_WXxmQYatTG41ATmg2l25rYJ1Ojv_LVpf4ff-tdmHIy4iiOeNU7_vQgFwjXzD9hoFuyrFYF-ukpv8Tu4FcViNeVUlPAbHh1Nsut_V/s200/IMG_2560.JPG" width="150" /></a>Luckily, I did make it down safely to the flat ground of the track to get my purple glow stick reward. Everyone else was called out of the stands for a white glow stick. I waited for my family and our whole group walked the track once more mostly in silence, in awe of the glowing luminaries. <br />
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The Relay peeps had announced at 10 that they were going to leave the lights off all night and let the track only be lit by the luminaries. Our group was not happy. First, we had NO light in our little compound. Second, it was much harder to keep track of our children in total darkness. Third, we knew we wouldn't be able to stay awake in darkness. And last but not least, we feared that someone would get hurt on the dark track. I feared that person would be me. I have enough trouble walking in light! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtUKTDP9FJ0y229PGCljFE3OIGGcP6wu-a7KPwFFD9SR1QeWvZyn8ZXwrDlzegr3xltWOYHEjVDRMDzqjPsnovh-4aM5Yh251b9okL7-zU1DQx55U-12unn2wAvAsq0koiqxxts2Hy8R-/s1600/IMG_2556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtUKTDP9FJ0y229PGCljFE3OIGGcP6wu-a7KPwFFD9SR1QeWvZyn8ZXwrDlzegr3xltWOYHEjVDRMDzqjPsnovh-4aM5Yh251b9okL7-zU1DQx55U-12unn2wAvAsq0koiqxxts2Hy8R-/s320/IMG_2556.JPG" width="240" /></a>Luckily, at 11 p.m., after one hour of darkness, the Powers that be in Relay decided to turn the lights back on. Not only did they have some of the same concerns as us; but many are parents of teenagers and decided that a bunch of teenagers loose all night in total darkness was probably not a good idea. (Good call).<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjngkboZJKXR2cOwNcohuLEZSg1hyphenhyphenL3s2TE5QklT4YRm-mDg_lNNPcL8DD7FzKXPn2-u53JDi0Th_owL-XgS9JaosPQbxidr4fldn8zWklQ7Q-BfV5xvfI-f9pyjy8B9QxtvmwJ4dnUaQN/s1600/IMG_2576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjngkboZJKXR2cOwNcohuLEZSg1hyphenhyphenL3s2TE5QklT4YRm-mDg_lNNPcL8DD7FzKXPn2-u53JDi0Th_owL-XgS9JaosPQbxidr4fldn8zWklQ7Q-BfV5xvfI-f9pyjy8B9QxtvmwJ4dnUaQN/s200/IMG_2576.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy Zumba peeps!</td></tr>
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<br />
At midnight, Karen's niece, Emily, brought a friend and directed an hour of Zumba. Christy jumped right in to Zumba. I decided to give it a try myself. I was a natural! I picked it up right away and was rocking it. And then they started to move their feet too. I was not told I would have to move more than my arms! I am not coordinated enough to manage that. I was bumping into all the people around me. They were not amused. It was a disaster. I was going to maim someone. I quickly bowed out. My Zumba days over before they began. Christy, Tanya, Shana and Shereen decided to do their own little Zumba club over on the side. It was "entertaining." Zumba lasted for a whole hour! The vast majority of the Zumba-ers were kids and teens. The rest of us didn't have the energy to Zumba at midnight (or any other time for that matter).<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7JGCuy6ML5GTHwFtK-XHWOjwFzZPHCBljBrvMZkKM0-nGpPZnczpt1YpM_cYEHFSB5ghyAzQIxDSDt8mcJsXOIz3N6ZyqOBnqYpU8clOG0DGCOyf8CCC9XkGOWcydei91q1XLwHvfiYg/s1600/156178_3757919060846_1474287559_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7JGCuy6ML5GTHwFtK-XHWOjwFzZPHCBljBrvMZkKM0-nGpPZnczpt1YpM_cYEHFSB5ghyAzQIxDSDt8mcJsXOIz3N6ZyqOBnqYpU8clOG0DGCOyf8CCC9XkGOWcydei91q1XLwHvfiYg/s320/156178_3757919060846_1474287559_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jade?</td></tr>
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When Zumba ended at 1 a.m., it was the PJ hour. My kids and Karen's son, Ian, happily participated. Then at 2 a.m. was the Zombie Hour. Jade wore a scary mask (or maybe that is just how she looks when she's really tired - Kidding Jade, Kidding!). Carter dressed up as a zombie. He made it around the track twice with only one flip flop because he says that zombies always lose one shoe. I did not know this about zombies so this was helpful information.<br />
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At 2:30, Carter gave up and went to sleep in the tent. Kyra and Ian were both still up and full of energy, hyped up on $1 hot chocolates. <br />
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At 3 a.m., it was Obstacle Hour. The Relay people put out little "fences" to jump over. Ian did the obstacle course with such enthusiasm that he won a prize! I also energetically leapt over many of the obstacles (well, okay, I carefully stepped over them) but I got no such prize. Hmph!<br />
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By 4 a.m., only nine of us remained. Me, Kyra, Carter, Karen, Drew, Ian, Shana, Jade and Shereen. Things started to get pretty delirious at this point. We were sitting under the canopy talking. Everything was funny. Shana called her daughter (Jade) by the name "Lily" (Chrisy's dog's name). Jade didn't even notice. Shereen tried to convince us that she could have been a rapper in another life. Karen was quiet (never a good thing). We laughed so hard that we cried. There were moments of long silences when we all sat in a trance and moments where we laughed so hard we cried.<br />
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I waited a long time for another team member to cross in front of our booth so I could cheer for them (and they could, as a result, pretend they didn't know me). This is when I realized that we were all under the canopy. No one was walking. Whoops! We all decided that just BEING THERE was enough. We thought that was hilarious too.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AZ4iHOdr_ww5zS0UYY03JDR4xry14YTNSzL_Bf6RFrfAjYmhR5MkhBLUjo1GWCmQute3AXc7hMawOQnHfDSRJKVbfytjChpEGJsWw6Z_RLGSwQbbXVV5-jH2g2H2yYdPNUvxf6v_auc4/s1600/IMG_2585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4AZ4iHOdr_ww5zS0UYY03JDR4xry14YTNSzL_Bf6RFrfAjYmhR5MkhBLUjo1GWCmQute3AXc7hMawOQnHfDSRJKVbfytjChpEGJsWw6Z_RLGSwQbbXVV5-jH2g2H2yYdPNUvxf6v_auc4/s200/IMG_2585.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kyra - 6 a.m.</td></tr>
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As dawn approached, we were all fading fast. Shereen managed to convince herself that she should leave. I was still resolved to stay until closing ceremonies at 10 a.m. At 6:30 a.m., Kyra (who had been up all night) started having a nervous breakdown. She was sitting in the chair under the canopy staring into space and crying. I knew we were through. None of us could go on. I called Greg to come get us. Karen left with her two boys and once Greg arrived, Shana and Jade left. <br />
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We packed up and waited for Brenda to arrive at 7 a.m. I didn't want her to come back to an empty campsite. What a shock that would have been! Ha! Once she arrived, we left and stumbled to our car. <br />
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Greg brought us breakfast and we ate and then all collapsed into bed and slept for hours. We spent days unpacking the cars completely.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc6UcxO0-XFHSwdNxgF3BOoz9XxL1C1IDcqdqwGbBAKaQ79mdoIKwQCKuWTs3CJTtHMoNxPzpXjzT_4HBSeB3mIXmgUV_AlVOtWpONym1fbumd03uymkTsmQYi9YkPp_-Ve5crm69IsfC/s1600/57123_101045676635397_1348811_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc6UcxO0-XFHSwdNxgF3BOoz9XxL1C1IDcqdqwGbBAKaQ79mdoIKwQCKuWTs3CJTtHMoNxPzpXjzT_4HBSeB3mIXmgUV_AlVOtWpONym1fbumd03uymkTsmQYi9YkPp_-Ve5crm69IsfC/s200/57123_101045676635397_1348811_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Energizer Bunny, Brenda!</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaaw8ueF4wklUJ1VJFreTKodDVQQhL6lHvc890xKx4XCnkALHycxnhQ9zNJK_eVhoFo8iCVSMEj3avJo2V-f1comSm93-uCUsDeBhjIxikPH5WHo7iMSWtC2ID8qZphLp2IKQbdFDIfwgv/s1600/IMG_2586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaaw8ueF4wklUJ1VJFreTKodDVQQhL6lHvc890xKx4XCnkALHycxnhQ9zNJK_eVhoFo8iCVSMEj3avJo2V-f1comSm93-uCUsDeBhjIxikPH5WHo7iMSWtC2ID8qZphLp2IKQbdFDIfwgv/s200/IMG_2586.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jade 6 a.m.</td></tr>
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<br />
Brenda walked the most on our team, completing 80 laps (that's 20 MILES!!). <br />
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Our team raised $4,594.50 for Relay. That's really impressive considering it was the first year for all of us and I wasn't even sure if I wanted to do it!<br />
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Relay was an amazing experience. To be surrounded by people who had lived through something similar to what you had - to see people that had survived for years more than you dare even dream for yourself - it was humbling and beautiful. Relay is highs and lows, we laughed until we cried, we laughed through tears, we just cried. There were so many times that you could almost feel the presence of those that we walked for. Those that couldn't be there. Those that lost the battle with cancer. So many times throughout the day, I just closed my eyes and absorbed "Relay." Soaking in the sounds and emotions. Looking at my children and all the children there and knowing that we are playing a small part in making sure that none of them have cancer. <br />
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Relay is for more birthdays. It's as simple as that. Making sure that all of us have many many more birthdays to celebrate!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPvYplrAetWsjzEjzvyniNBERMHL3_Aa2A-0TE2HfZRx-i0kkKhgDBY9Bj4zgGPPqwQe0kBoSs-pk-bb8r570jDgLOkpkZJ0n2-DSK4BIxA6c951A3T-lwcJTmetvWXTUi_HJVAOGadzz/s1600/IMG_2554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPvYplrAetWsjzEjzvyniNBERMHL3_Aa2A-0TE2HfZRx-i0kkKhgDBY9Bj4zgGPPqwQe0kBoSs-pk-bb8r570jDgLOkpkZJ0n2-DSK4BIxA6c951A3T-lwcJTmetvWXTUi_HJVAOGadzz/s640/IMG_2554.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RELAY!</td></tr>
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<br />Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-48013206070086439212012-06-21T15:47:00.001-07:002012-06-21T17:13:17.337-07:00Life is UnfairI complain a lot about the current state of my hair. I know I should be thankful that I even HAVE hair. I know I should. I KNOW! And, I am....sort of. It's just that when my hair started to grow back, I didn't envision THIS:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE8EGcmVgFwC4syLMlhhNz42VSKj2516K1MnnnsZwljyKgiRcEl55qVqrk6BqeiL68_eYyXjtKNoQJYcVS-ciow1YNKVza-LgIgrrwaWYA6vf698rDEq9L_4xGKz3op8uMUAuR_9-hne1/s1600/532791_10151053201493698_1188317480_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE8EGcmVgFwC4syLMlhhNz42VSKj2516K1MnnnsZwljyKgiRcEl55qVqrk6BqeiL68_eYyXjtKNoQJYcVS-ciow1YNKVza-LgIgrrwaWYA6vf698rDEq9L_4xGKz3op8uMUAuR_9-hne1/s400/532791_10151053201493698_1188317480_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I know that, after chemo, often people have hair that grows back curly (this is a bit ridiculous though). However, I would like to show you a picture of my adorable friend, Jen, who finished chemo three weeks after me:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FdlBBDovXbSHsEbL_hamx-ShhYbNSRnB62YMo-4_-Lbd82bHSx3HB-pyrEJVhF5P5iXndrzFuNGRyw2Dy-YrJde09GNW59mX5_4_ycEB3d0vsyFSABCx8LnhRMYQmGpVS6Ab_SdEaSze/s1600/556174_10150963612048830_1105584059_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FdlBBDovXbSHsEbL_hamx-ShhYbNSRnB62YMo-4_-Lbd82bHSx3HB-pyrEJVhF5P5iXndrzFuNGRyw2Dy-YrJde09GNW59mX5_4_ycEB3d0vsyFSABCx8LnhRMYQmGpVS6Ab_SdEaSze/s400/556174_10150963612048830_1105584059_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Jen is adorable anyway - but this is just ridiculous. Look at her cute hair in that darling pixie cut! <br />
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Again...<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">My adorable friend, Jen, with her cute pixie cut:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FdlBBDovXbSHsEbL_hamx-ShhYbNSRnB62YMo-4_-Lbd82bHSx3HB-pyrEJVhF5P5iXndrzFuNGRyw2Dy-YrJde09GNW59mX5_4_ycEB3d0vsyFSABCx8LnhRMYQmGpVS6Ab_SdEaSze/s1600/556174_10150963612048830_1105584059_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FdlBBDovXbSHsEbL_hamx-ShhYbNSRnB62YMo-4_-Lbd82bHSx3HB-pyrEJVhF5P5iXndrzFuNGRyw2Dy-YrJde09GNW59mX5_4_ycEB3d0vsyFSABCx8LnhRMYQmGpVS6Ab_SdEaSze/s320/556174_10150963612048830_1105584059_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Me:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE8EGcmVgFwC4syLMlhhNz42VSKj2516K1MnnnsZwljyKgiRcEl55qVqrk6BqeiL68_eYyXjtKNoQJYcVS-ciow1YNKVza-LgIgrrwaWYA6vf698rDEq9L_4xGKz3op8uMUAuR_9-hne1/s1600/532791_10151053201493698_1188317480_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE8EGcmVgFwC4syLMlhhNz42VSKj2516K1MnnnsZwljyKgiRcEl55qVqrk6BqeiL68_eYyXjtKNoQJYcVS-ciow1YNKVza-LgIgrrwaWYA6vf698rDEq9L_4xGKz3op8uMUAuR_9-hne1/s320/532791_10151053201493698_1188317480_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Adorable friend Jen:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FdlBBDovXbSHsEbL_hamx-ShhYbNSRnB62YMo-4_-Lbd82bHSx3HB-pyrEJVhF5P5iXndrzFuNGRyw2Dy-YrJde09GNW59mX5_4_ycEB3d0vsyFSABCx8LnhRMYQmGpVS6Ab_SdEaSze/s1600/556174_10150963612048830_1105584059_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FdlBBDovXbSHsEbL_hamx-ShhYbNSRnB62YMo-4_-Lbd82bHSx3HB-pyrEJVhF5P5iXndrzFuNGRyw2Dy-YrJde09GNW59mX5_4_ycEB3d0vsyFSABCx8LnhRMYQmGpVS6Ab_SdEaSze/s320/556174_10150963612048830_1105584059_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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What I look like:</div>
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Adorable friend Jen:</div>
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Me:</div>
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LIFE IS SO UNFAIR!!!!</div>
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<br /></div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-20653575675724393622012-06-12T14:47:00.002-07:002012-06-12T19:43:34.370-07:00The Survivor LapSaturday May 19 to Sunday May 20 was my first Relay for Life event.<br />
<br />
A year ago, I'd barely heard of Relay for Life. In May of 2011, I was just beginning to navigate the road of breast cancer. At the time of Relay last year, I hadn't been officially diagnosed yet. I had just started the testing. I was "only" a renal cancer survivor - 4 months out from surgery. I remember in April of 2011, my friend, Carrie Blankenship (a Relay Goddess), asked if I would like to come walk the Survivor Lap at Relay 2011. <br />
<br />
That felt like such a weird invitation to me. Sure, I'd had cancer. Renal cancer. Sure I'd lost part of my kidney and recovered from a difficult and painful surgery - but I didn't *<b>REALLY</b>* feel like I'd had cancer. I had heard about people suffering through surgeries and then chemo and radiation and losing their hair and so much more - but all I'd done is had a teeny little bit of a kidney loped off. What right did <b>I </b>have to walk a Survivor Lap among those who'd lost so much and suffered so deeply. I didn't really feel like I'd had cancer. My journey was too easy. Cancer was "easy" for me - snip off part of a kidney and I was done! Sure it was scary and life changing to hear, "You have cancer." Yadda Yadda Yadda. But, I wasn't a card-carrying cancer survivor (or so I thought). I told Carrie, "Maybe next year..."<br />
<br />
And then...I found out that I did, indeed, have breast cancer. If cancer hadn't changed me before, it did then. I knew the road ahead would be agonizing. I didn't know the half of it.<br />
<br />
As the planning began in September of 2011 for the 2012 Relay, I went to the monthly meetings. Carrie talked to me a lot about starting my own team for Relay. Did I want my own team? Did I want to be "in charge" of something? I wasn't sure I was up to it. I was in the middle of chemo and every day I faced new challenges, scary side effects and dilemmas as to what to wear on my bald head! This alone took up a lot of my time. Could I really tackle putting together a Relay team too?<br />
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After going to three meetings, in January 2012, I officially went to the Relay for Life page and signed up. I did it. I was finished with chemo, my hair was growing back, I could do this. My friends rallied around me and joined too. We made plans and coordinated fundraisers. In early May, I was given my purple shirt designating me as a Survivor.<br />
<br />
Talk of the Survivor Lap began again. I knew this time, I'd have to walk. Had I really had cancer? Wasn't this all just a terrible nightmare? Would walking around that track as a "Survivor" make it REAL? Most worrisome: What if I tripped?! (That is something I would totally do!)<br />
<br />
At around 10 a.m. at the High School Track was the official start of Relay 2012. All participants were called into the stands and opening ceremonies began. After speeches, the singing of anthem, etc; Cancer Survivors were called down to the track. Starting with those Survivors of 25 years or more. Quite a few people trickled onto the track. Then 20-25 year Survivors - more people filled the track. And so it went - more and more people, men and women, old and young, filed down.<br />
<br />
As "Survivors of 4 years" was called, my teammate Brenda Dykgraaf joined the crowd. Then, 3 years, 2 years and then, "Survivors of 1 year!" I got up then. It hadn't really been a year but I thought that was the last category (it wasn't - they called 6 months or less as well). I ambled my way down to the track amid some cheers from the my friends and family. It all felt so silly - they were cheering for me? "Pshaw! It was nothing!" I thought embarrassed. <br />
<br />
As goofy as I am, I don't really like to be the center of attention. I was mortified to discover that I was in the back of the crowd since I was one of the last ones to be called down and all the other Survivors had already started walking. I didn't want to be LAST! How awkward! I sped up and managed to pass a couple of people so I felt better. (Okay, one guy that I passed was in a wheelchair - I'm not proud of this...okay, yes I am...)<br />
<br />
I talked to a few people around me, including my friend and fellow survivor, Stephanie Strom and her neighbor, another Survivor, also named Stephanie. <br />
<br />
Halfway around the field is where your "caregivers" join you on the lap. Really, everyone on my team, nearly everyone I know, could have joined me! So many people pitched in to take care of me and my family for the last year! However, only my family did come - my 10 year old daughter running to meet me first. Hugging me, she grabbed my hand and looked up at me and said, "I love you Mommy." Following her was my husband and 7 year old son.<br />
<br />
As I held hands with my daughter and husband (the 7 year old refuses to hold Mom's hand now - hmph!), we finished the lap. About 3/4 way around, I had the opportunity to go up the ramp and have lunch with other Survivors - but I opted to finish the lap with my family. It didn't seem right to have them finish that important lap without ME! I was the whole reason we were all there! <br />
<br />
We did finish that lap together just as we'd walked the cancer journey together. I couldn't have done the lap alone just as I couldn't have beat cancer alone.<br />
<br />
I had been reluctant about the Survivor Lap. Sure, I'd earned it, I suppose. But, as I walked, I thought of all the people that weren't there walking - those people that had lost their battle with cancer. To see the sea of purple shirts walking the track as Survivors was inspiring - but you can't help but think of all the people that aren't there. Cancer takes too many people. <br />
<br />
But, I realized part way through the lap that I was there walking FOR those people! We all were! Sure we were Survivors in our purple shirts - but, as we walked that lap, we didn't only represent ourselves, but all those before us - all those that fought cancer and lost. <br />
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In years to come, let's hope that we see MORE purple shirts out there - more purple shirts meaning not that we've "invited" more people - but that MORE people have SURVIVED!<br />
<br />
And then someday - we won't need a Relay Survivor Lap. There will be NO Cancer Survivors - because there will be NO ONE that had Cancer.<br />
<br />
Someday.<br />
<br />
(My entire Relay story (not just the Survivor Lap) is coming...)<br />
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<br />Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-69041351796915077632012-05-17T15:54:00.002-07:002012-05-17T15:54:39.790-07:00Ow! Ow! Ouch! Ow!If you see me around muttering, "Ow! Ow! Ouch! Ow!" there's a reason.<br />
<br />
Though, I'm not entirely sure what the reason is, I'm achy and sore.<br />
<br />
Not all the time. But enough of the time to look a little strange (more so than usual, my friends). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNvJCvdj1YdWeIov72JleEyol6H1w-een3hEO_qJzg5LFCC7wvMHfzoah9Fagp1bkRYs5E9-NLuesKKhV4QArl3bDD-3suMnjEgERIEisXPlm1Sj4XB_NrxLKNMZuYLZZ2BFG3HziSGX0/s1600/Anastrozole_A2011_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNvJCvdj1YdWeIov72JleEyol6H1w-een3hEO_qJzg5LFCC7wvMHfzoah9Fagp1bkRYs5E9-NLuesKKhV4QArl3bDD-3suMnjEgERIEisXPlm1Sj4XB_NrxLKNMZuYLZZ2BFG3HziSGX0/s200/Anastrozole_A2011_lg.jpg" width="115" /></a></div>
I don't know what is causing the aching and stiffness. It could be leftover from chemo (side effects can last a year or longer!). More likely it's a side effect of the cancer drug that I'm taking, Anastrozole.<br />
<br />
One of my most persistent side effects during my chemo treatment was the aching, soreness and stiffness. When I finished chemo and moved on to taking the daily cancer pill, my oncologist warned me that these side effects might still be an issue. <br />
<br />
At first, as I resumed my daily life activities, I just figured that I was (woefully) out of shape. My body had a lot of catching up to do. The most I'd done in the last 9 months was walk to and from the kitchen for an occasional cookie (which is another issue altogether). I surmised, that, as I got more used to life, I'd be less sore.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to have worked that way. In fact, I would say that I struggle more with the aches and pains than I did just a couple of months ago. Perhaps I'm doing drastically more or maybe the oral cancer drug just took this long to really build up in my system and make its presence known.<br />
<br />
Some days are better than others. Some days I feel pretty good. Other days, I'm just so sore. I feel like I went to the gym and spent hours on the torture machines (I haven't - in fact, it's been so long, I might get lost trying to FIND my gym again). It does seem to follow that the busier I am, the more sore I am.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhfWejv3XYYPPl0Ur-J1YzZL6R_LgMa7d6LS1S-tW_Q9BvXJqKvUxvB9JzCJbsqTwWtGzcViOViILlhskqZDXHtigPxi5F6MhyphenhyphenZ2DmJMC9YkDLKA2unFMwJlpP5lNcVyUWVDQIpvQDoUQ/s1600/cookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhfWejv3XYYPPl0Ur-J1YzZL6R_LgMa7d6LS1S-tW_Q9BvXJqKvUxvB9JzCJbsqTwWtGzcViOViILlhskqZDXHtigPxi5F6MhyphenhyphenZ2DmJMC9YkDLKA2unFMwJlpP5lNcVyUWVDQIpvQDoUQ/s200/cookie.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh cookie, how I love thee.</td></tr>
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The other night, after a particularly full day or errands, doctor appointments (yes, I still have quite a few of them for various reasons) and kid activities - I lay in bed in agony. I had a raging headache and everything hurt. I seriously pondered getting up to take some Motrin. But, I knew the Motrin was all the way in the kitchen. I also knew there were no more cookies. It just wasn't quite worth it to ONLY get up for the Motrin (without a cookie for a reward). So, instead, I lay there in pain.<br />
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I tried to not move even the slightest muscle. I tried to not even breathe too much. At that point, the only thing that would have gotten me out of bed wouldn't have been a natural disaster. <br />
<br />
I eventually did fall asleep and I woke the next morning feeling a little better. <br />
<br />
It feels wrong to complain about such silly things. Taking a drug that might keep you from getting cancer but makes you achy seems better than the alternative, I suppose.<br />
<br />
I'll try to remember that as my bones creak and my muscles scream. <br />
<br />
I wonder if there are any cookies in the kitchen...<br />
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<br />Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-20842677829024250312012-05-07T14:07:00.000-07:002012-05-07T14:07:11.244-07:00I'm Okay...I ThinkA few days ago, I went to my 6 month check-up. After having blood tests, a chest x-ray and ultrasounds of my kidneys and thyroid, I was to find out the results. Was there any cancer lurking?<br />
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I was so ecstatic to find out that all tests were clear! Everything looked normal! I. Am. Normal. As much as I ever was, that is.<br />
<br />
I practically skipped out of the cancer center. My cancer days behind me.<br />
<br />
An hour later, I ran into an acquaintance at the grocery store. She remarked at how fast my hair is growing back. She asked, "How are you?"<br />
<br />
I said, "I'm okay."<br />
<br />
and then I added,<br />
<br />
"I think..."<br />
<br />
Immediately after I said it, I wondered why. Why did I add, "I think." Just an hour earlier, I'd been at the oncologist where he assured me that everything was fine. There are no signs of cancer. Nothing in any of the tests to worry about. No indication of anything wrong.<br />
<br />
And yet, here I was saying, "I think..."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVEHGPTB1Bc6WV0lIG-6SZ-GKfcScmWUXYmtmTC7TOXC6tDoy2ZmcyF0VqGUqXjmYRewC89xK9xFJMwCaPqMVtTf5HbXrQp-WueGUckIrwe2-tMllSVCRO2wpk2cgaRCjUreZuDk9YtMO/s1600/alive_1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVEHGPTB1Bc6WV0lIG-6SZ-GKfcScmWUXYmtmTC7TOXC6tDoy2ZmcyF0VqGUqXjmYRewC89xK9xFJMwCaPqMVtTf5HbXrQp-WueGUckIrwe2-tMllSVCRO2wpk2cgaRCjUreZuDk9YtMO/s320/alive_1.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how you feel after getting an All Clear on your test results.<br />This is not actually me - if I tried to do this jumping stunt,<br />I'd have bigger things to worry about than cancer.</td></tr>
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It's no secret that cancer patients dread these tests. It's not the tests themselves that we dread - it's the waiting and then the finding out. Once you find out the test results, your anxiety level decreases down to the lowest levels possible. You feel FREE! You feel ALIVE! You are ECSTATIC!<br />
<br />
As the days and weeks and then months pass, getting closer to the next check-up, the next round of tests; slowly your anxiety levels creep up. Slowly, more and more doubt leaks in about whether or not you are healthy - whether or not cancer has returned.<br />
<br />
Healthy people don't generally think too much about their health. You live your life with the assumptions that you are fine. I remember when I found out that I had cancer (both times). It was such a blow. "But, I feel FINE!" I remember thinking. "How could I be so sick?!" "How could there be something trying to kill me right now?"<br />
<br />
Once you have cancer, though, you are always looking over your shoulder waiting for it to return. Watching your back. You know that cancer could be silently lurking, you've been there before. You've lived it.<br />
<br />
I've pondered the reasons that I said, "I think..." a lot since I said it. <br />
<br />
I've wondered if I said it because I just like the attention. Someone WITH cancer is much more interesting than just someone who HAD cancer. I do like to be interesting...<br />
<br />
But, I think I said it because, once you have cancer, you are just never sure. Never 100% positive that there isn't something else lurking. More cancer to face.<br />
<br />
The further I get from cancer treatment, the more days I spend being "in remission," the less I do think about cancer. Of course, it still is a main topic in my brain every day - but it's not the thought obsession that it was in the beginning when I could think of nothing else.<br />
<br />
I wonder though, if I'll always say (or think) "I think..." when people ask me how I am. Doctors may say that I'm cured at some point, but will I ever really FEEL "cured?"<br />
<br />
Doubtful...<br />Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-30494918812751543992012-05-03T15:35:00.000-07:002012-05-03T15:35:14.798-07:00What Double Mastectomy Means to a 7 Year Old...Last night, my 7 year old son was studying me. When I noticed he asked:<br />
<br />
Carter: Mom, so you don't have to wear breasts anymore?<br />
Me: (confused) What do you mean?<br />
Carter: You know, you don't have to WEAR BREASTS anymore?<br />
Me: Well, I don't HAVE breasts anymore, is that what you mean?<br />
Carter: Ya, how come?<br />
Me: Remember, I had surgery to remove my breasts because I had cancer?<br />
Carter: Yes, but you know, you don't have to WEAR them anymore? (does motions with hands)<br />
Me: Oh, you mean BRAS?<br />
Carter: YES! So, you don't have to WEAR them anymore?<br />
Me: Nope!<br />
Carter: Oh. Okay! (trots out of room pretending to be a Pokemon character)<br />
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Alrighty then.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-76955676523053643782012-05-03T15:25:00.001-07:002012-05-03T15:25:14.309-07:00Famous...Our local paper published a story I wrote for them about my cancer journey. I'm feeling very famous right now, I especially like how they put "Contributing Writer" under my name like I'm legit!<br />
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<a href="http://www.lakestevensjournal.com/news/article.exm/2012-05-01_why_i_relay">http://www.lakestevensjournal.com/news/article.exm/2012-05-01_why_i_relay</a>
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<br />
After seeing that I was in the newspaper, Kyra (10) asked:<br />
<br />
Kyra: Will the paparazzi start following you around now like they do with other famous people?<br />
Me: Yes, sweetie, that is exactly what's going to happen.<br />
Kyra: Oh. Wow. I hope no one follows me home...Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-56903623212119890052012-04-19T12:03:00.000-07:002012-04-19T17:03:59.642-07:00Hair Report<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>4/18/12</b></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQW0Z_PxnsETDFSnoiu9-m8z-pCPqx5phWhtpV78AaTwrzIzNegUCh3C8EiAlGTAOa8U6Z-QOan9FJZkOYGWfB1SyX96-0oqD3rSH6itsLf7KAxlqX-Slj2-GTm43kmWcc3PlvVYwLGzw/s1600/IMG_2481%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUQW0Z_PxnsETDFSnoiu9-m8z-pCPqx5phWhtpV78AaTwrzIzNegUCh3C8EiAlGTAOa8U6Z-QOan9FJZkOYGWfB1SyX96-0oqD3rSH6itsLf7KAxlqX-Slj2-GTm43kmWcc3PlvVYwLGzw/s320/IMG_2481%5B1%5D.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, that's not a poodle on my head...</td></tr>
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</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2/12/12</b></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEa7nHjqlYRWHYfb8cbKYV_b6EDzCaGtkDnBFsOyT6Huz9JZM4LkWVZ_Dzx_XYArEgB0bphORBnCeTJL4juIo3yPQNZCTc-qOZzdNeKMygwPqzNZLMoiNDyGg_Vr0IM-AdUXI5zEDwbRa/s1600/Liphone_021112+201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEa7nHjqlYRWHYfb8cbKYV_b6EDzCaGtkDnBFsOyT6Huz9JZM4LkWVZ_Dzx_XYArEgB0bphORBnCeTJL4juIo3yPQNZCTc-qOZzdNeKMygwPqzNZLMoiNDyGg_Vr0IM-AdUXI5zEDwbRa/s400/Liphone_021112+201.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I end up with the goofiest pictures when I take them myself. Egad!</td></tr>
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</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>1/24/12 - Almost 3 Months After Chemo</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2wtjFW_qGeAk6a5pIexM2IPvDGCfB4sfjKdatePTnli3IOhF_5QtbZhnQR3UlAFBuNeG9O6q6o8hD-BWKR7ftxGNohLtoXfauwT1Qz1Mng9llZIzQhwyr2-wY4XD7HFVVvL7FpWSUvSF/s1600/Liphone+Jan24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2wtjFW_qGeAk6a5pIexM2IPvDGCfB4sfjKdatePTnli3IOhF_5QtbZhnQR3UlAFBuNeG9O6q6o8hD-BWKR7ftxGNohLtoXfauwT1Qz1Mng9llZIzQhwyr2-wY4XD7HFVVvL7FpWSUvSF/s320/Liphone+Jan24.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goofiest Picture EVER! LOL But, it does show some good hair growth!!</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">12/28/11 - 2 Months After Chemo</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mraOEAP6UHOjp4VEP_dqxxDGi5KrrmXDxqgesoICcscgHu2Zno0GtSYeLJ5-3B3zsRM13cx6cf_xyDCDV5lvf7TFQMWnwji7pl05cHMV30lfwfU9JwJOu385xAat478eGnxmviTOpTVH/s1600/IMG_2028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mraOEAP6UHOjp4VEP_dqxxDGi5KrrmXDxqgesoICcscgHu2Zno0GtSYeLJ5-3B3zsRM13cx6cf_xyDCDV5lvf7TFQMWnwji7pl05cHMV30lfwfU9JwJOu385xAat478eGnxmviTOpTVH/s400/IMG_2028.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hair!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">12/8/11 - 6 Weeks Out From Chemo</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHrkmFDj4YK1S67qQ4R_hf07MJ-e1SYRjK1ZwBQmAIsLDutQ8IKEToecVcydsBcDooyS1CmbonsTdQCLduu-eUIuRy_ItQ914RUB3dkWjQbr6NKreJxeNpB4TqY5s2daw_kQ6xc-OOC_-L/s1600/Liphone+Dec10+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHrkmFDj4YK1S67qQ4R_hf07MJ-e1SYRjK1ZwBQmAIsLDutQ8IKEToecVcydsBcDooyS1CmbonsTdQCLduu-eUIuRy_ItQ914RUB3dkWjQbr6NKreJxeNpB4TqY5s2daw_kQ6xc-OOC_-L/s640/Liphone+Dec10+008.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Side View - Hey, starting to look impressive!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJfpqt2u0HKxW1AInsInHyh4oDHrJwTBfCq_7PGTH7lMkW89CmIKVkj197tIj0Wr6iVBr2Bz_qKAdUGbfuER9CffvQPW76St7GO6u6NOpU0YlI08yK4hyFVLnyTMnYfgMdWQ3whKzOQeJ/s1600/Liphone+Dec10+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJfpqt2u0HKxW1AInsInHyh4oDHrJwTBfCq_7PGTH7lMkW89CmIKVkj197tIj0Wr6iVBr2Bz_qKAdUGbfuER9CffvQPW76St7GO6u6NOpU0YlI08yK4hyFVLnyTMnYfgMdWQ3whKzOQeJ/s640/Liphone+Dec10+005.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not so impressive on the top of my head. <sigh></td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Five Weeks Out From Chemo 12/1/11</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b2jAJAmRf-dQotIy_HkofpOF063f9DlIOrxccQYLghDOoYZN-qOYIB2Ge4DEzDkBee3XcZejuW8-bBHIjmMaFEcyB3j6SK6781IRwwZwDZ-HVsJHvqappOD25EpC_kCe7JMQdixbxWHb/s1600/Liphone+Dec+2+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b2jAJAmRf-dQotIy_HkofpOF063f9DlIOrxccQYLghDOoYZN-qOYIB2Ge4DEzDkBee3XcZejuW8-bBHIjmMaFEcyB3j6SK6781IRwwZwDZ-HVsJHvqappOD25EpC_kCe7JMQdixbxWHb/s640/Liphone+Dec+2+003.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The long hair has been growing since the beginning, the other hair is just barely beginning to grow.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzp9LaRZqcTcSKe3PeeX69i5C02D76MMBKm3ovAnnXwCPmE7lpXr9hyphenhyphenL1yB8wi8qNilVUnwrxd8mZVN8r5XFSZ_rOjQqFZbkLRtZtalITBQibNf5AStn1X6_ZLknd5Kh5Cy1sIIJ4gRh0/s1600/Liphone+Dec+2+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzp9LaRZqcTcSKe3PeeX69i5C02D76MMBKm3ovAnnXwCPmE7lpXr9hyphenhyphenL1yB8wi8qNilVUnwrxd8mZVN8r5XFSZ_rOjQqFZbkLRtZtalITBQibNf5AStn1X6_ZLknd5Kh5Cy1sIIJ4gRh0/s200/Liphone+Dec+2+006.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, looking dorky 12/1/11</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-18362244150053184252012-04-11T14:47:00.000-07:002012-04-11T14:47:06.506-07:00"Everything Happens for a Reason"It's a common saying, origins unknown. "Everything happens for a reason."<br />
<br />
I've said it before and I think I even believed it for a long time. Sometimes things happen, even bad things. We may not know the reason behind them when they happen, but, eventually, it seems, most things turn out okay. Sometimes better. <br />
<br />
It makes me think of the song by Garth Brooks "Unanswered Prayers." In the song, he sings about how he had wanted a relationship to work out more than anything in the world. He prayed to his God to make it come true. He was devastated when it didn't work out and he couldn't understand why God hadn't answered his prayers. Later in his life, he realizes that God was right. God had something better in store for him. He then thanks God for "Unanswered Prayers."<br />
<br />
Life isn't like a song, obviously. But, I'm sure I'm not the only one who was comforted in times of need by the sentiment. "Everything happens for a reason." Sometimes when it would seem like there could be no reason in the world, other than misery, for something to happen; it's comforting to think that, perhaps, there is a higher power - there is a reason, even if you can't see it yet.<br />
<br />
And then, I got cancer. And then, I got cancer again. And, I lost my breasts. And, I endured chemo. And, I lost my hair.<br />
<br />
What reason could there be for this suffering? If there is a God, why would He make me (or anyone else) endure this? Why did my friend's 5 year old daughter die of cancer? Why does a young mother with two young boys die of breast cancer? What could be the reasoning or meaning behind such heartache and agony and suffering?<br />
<br />
I remember, soon after I was diagnosed, a friend had to go in for a biopsy after a suspicious mammogram. When everything came back clear, she sent out an email thanking God and thanking everyone for their prayers. "All of my friends must have prayed really hard for me and God listened!" she said.<br />
<br />
Did MY friends not pray hard enough for me? Did God not listen to me? Did God turn His back on my prayers? If so, why? I was happy that she was okay - but I really questioned why God doesn't love me as much.<br />
<br />
Why is one person spared (not that I wish cancer on anyone) and another not? Why is one person left to suffer and another not?<br />
<br />
WHY did I get cancer? WHAT could possibly be the greater good in this? <br />
<br />
In 2006, at an appointment at my ENT for an ear infection, he did his exam and told me I had a large lump on my thyroid. I didn't even know what a thyroid was or where it was. After biopsies and tests, it was undetermined whether or not it was cancer. The mass was growing rapidly. The smart decision was to have it removed (along with half of my thyroid) to find out, for sure, what it was. In December 2006, I had the surgery. It was a benign tumor. <br />
<br />
That experience changed ME dramatically. It changed so much how I looked at life and how I dealt with life. With two small children (ages 5 and 2) and facing cancer - I was terrified. I vowed to not take things for granted (as much) anymore. I vowed to not fight every fight that came my way. I vowed to let more go and not react so quickly to other people and situations.<br />
<br />
And, I really did change. I became nicer and calmer. I let more roll off my back. I appreciated life more and I loved my husband and kids more. I slowed down a bit and enjoyed the day to day living. I argue less. I give people the benefit of the doubt much more easily. I forgive.<br />
<br />
If *almost* having cancer changed me as profoundly as it did. If I became a better person already. Why did I still GET cancer? What am I supposed to learn from this? What am I supposed to do with this experience? Where do I go from here?<br />
<br />
I struggle with this daily - even now. I don't think "Woe is me...." But, I do question, "Why me?"<br />
<br />
If "everything happens for a reason." What is my reason?Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-31478206150670437932012-03-20T14:17:00.000-07:002012-03-20T14:17:17.837-07:00Shopping BooblessClothes shopping for women is never an easy venture. It becomes infinitely more complicated when you try it after a double mastectomy.<br />
<br />
For the first time since my double mastectomy, I tried on clothes. I went shopping with my Mom. I was only trying on shirts and sweaters since I have enough pants for now. I'm taking a trip next weekend to a much warmer climate (Las Vegas Baby!) and I need clothes for this! I'm a Seattle girl and I'm always cold, so I dress in sweaters and long sleeves until the temperature reaches well over 70 degrees. If you know anything about Seattle, you know that the temperature doesn't get above 70 that often so I wear sweaters for about 10 months of the year. I am woefully unprepared to spend a few days in a warmer sunnier climate.<br />
<br />
Living in a colder climate has been very helpful for dressing after a double mastectomy. I had my surgery in July and by September, I was wearing sweaters and scarfs to camouflage what wasn't there anymore (boobs). I'm not sure I'm really fooling anyone, but it makes me feel better.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefAk9pn7snAeL1UU-pvwNRm9ETmXCw5vvNKeGwCo7WqXM-eeigNCYKXU7MsEn3ruvlaVfbqfhrIdll8B1JxaSQQJ5Fz66JKSMBf980sugkTGzy1ozaGYUNMnAbAvA5qFBoVYTi7jDvCY6/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefAk9pn7snAeL1UU-pvwNRm9ETmXCw5vvNKeGwCo7WqXM-eeigNCYKXU7MsEn3ruvlaVfbqfhrIdll8B1JxaSQQJ5Fz66JKSMBf980sugkTGzy1ozaGYUNMnAbAvA5qFBoVYTi7jDvCY6/s200/012.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super Cute dress - but not for<br />
the boobless.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Back to the shopping trip; I found several lighter shirts and a few sweaters to try on. There are a lot of cute styles out right now. <br />
<br />
Sadly, many of these cute new styles did not look anywhere near presentable on me. <br />
<br />
Not only am I boobless, but I have some other serious fashion don'ts. The boobless dilemma is just the tip of the iceberg. <br />
<br />
The fact that I don't have breasts means that I have a flat chest. "Flat" isn't quite the right description. Since I had what is called a "skin sparing mastectomy," I have extra skin (refer to cute picture of Sharpei puppy). This extra skin is in preparation for reconstruction. Someday, it'll turn into a nice round perky boob. For now though, it's not attractive. This causes a problem with clothing. There are a lot of cute shirts that are scoop necked or v-necked to show a little cleavage. Unfortunately, for me, I don't HAVE cleavage anymore. Unfortunately, for me, all you see is wrinkled skin. It's not a good look. <br />
<br />
Not only is the fun extra skin an issue. But, also, since I don't have boobs anymore, I'm (as I said) flat where boobs should be. This doesn't seem like too big of an issue until you factor in that I do not (sadly) have a flat stomach anymore. In fact, I don't think I've had a flat stomach since I was about 12. Having children and loving food have exasperated this. Before I had breast cancer, I had a big tummy AND big boobs! The ratio was, at least, normal. Now, I have flat boobs and a big tummy which gives the effect of being about 15 months pregnant. With triplets.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF1agORNLgHbkq6zbYzw4kP1QRAceQV33efrhgmOkh7MPQvCuTekERqJ0YwctS4h7QScqaEM2AvhqQQ548lo8NFsZOm_Q9g_6F8eUAoA1Aygt9eEVDTpXranRKIwDKH7Zyx0xdtAEJwqQs/s1600/184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF1agORNLgHbkq6zbYzw4kP1QRAceQV33efrhgmOkh7MPQvCuTekERqJ0YwctS4h7QScqaEM2AvhqQQ548lo8NFsZOm_Q9g_6F8eUAoA1Aygt9eEVDTpXranRKIwDKH7Zyx0xdtAEJwqQs/s200/184.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pitiful looking port scar. <br />
The one-eyed sad face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As if things couldn't get any worse, I also have a scar on the left side of my chest where my port was put in (and still remains). It's a line with a dot above. It looks like a one-eyed sad face. Completely pitiful looking and unsightly. (Which brings me to the rant of why they couldn't make the line curved up so it, at least, looks like a one-eyed happy face!)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvAnPKEPBVeT-WGVrXqjRugkZbBxaw7GQyrOOnvlxoVaN5-pnDfQb7HWhaLMWR4EtveLgsuXRkgroDGRALw9GhqBRQxe_ypGci07WhPFid1du9xYJhG8mz9w-wtbhVvil72642IAh6Nlt/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvAnPKEPBVeT-WGVrXqjRugkZbBxaw7GQyrOOnvlxoVaN5-pnDfQb7HWhaLMWR4EtveLgsuXRkgroDGRALw9GhqBRQxe_ypGci07WhPFid1du9xYJhG8mz9w-wtbhVvil72642IAh6Nlt/s320/014.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute darts to emphasis the boobage...not so cute<br />
when no boobs to emphasize!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I also noticed, as I was trying clothes on, that many clothes are meant to emphasize the boobage. There are cute darts and strategically placed ruffles and buttons. All there to make the breasts look cuter, rounder, perkier. However, when you don't HAVE breasts, these efforts to make boobs look "cute," just look ridiculous. <br />
<br />
After trying on a few things and failing miserably to find anything that I would wear in public on purpose, I wandered around the store a bit more and noticed that there were no mannequins that looked like me. No clothes made for my body type anymore. I perused the rows and rows of different garments, feeling the materials, loving the colors, wishing something looked "cute" on me. On THIS body.<br />
<br />
Then I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks.<br />
<br />
The bra section.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGO2dtTRZtd2Qdw_R_xPso8jt6FZ7ELL168QoPMzbW6u5IpTNvDBmTzcRtN9tnfQfmobKD1K_Oba9Txy5YGpiBlvHHKXdrNAma5AhWfQL6j1LXEDqbnrCtJuDLihVXzev_Cg0Rkllk0ysW/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGO2dtTRZtd2Qdw_R_xPso8jt6FZ7ELL168QoPMzbW6u5IpTNvDBmTzcRtN9tnfQfmobKD1K_Oba9Txy5YGpiBlvHHKXdrNAma5AhWfQL6j1LXEDqbnrCtJuDLihVXzev_Cg0Rkllk0ysW/s200/015.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The BRA section!<br />
(Twilight Zone Music)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I stood there, holding my breath, staring into the abyss. The abyss that was the bra section. I felt self-aware and awkward. I haven't been in a bra section in almost a year. I wanted to venture over there to just "look" but it felt so wrong. Like a "boobless" alarm would sound and I would be kicked out of the store. I vacillated between being thankful I don't have to wear those contraptions known as bras anymore and being sad that I don't have anything to fill all those lovely lacy garments. <br />
<br />
Instead of spending my days trying to hide bra straps and too much cleavage; I'm left to be self-conscious about scars and wrinkles and a body type that virtually no one has.<br />
<br />
I don't expect retailers to start making clothes that look good on flat chested, boobless, chubby women. And that's okay. Everyone has a different body type and everyone has to accept the challenges of living in what they have. It really is what's inside that matters.<br />
<br />
Now if we could all just convince ourselves of that....<br />
<br />
(Oh, and I did buy two things...two turtleneck sweaters. Not helpful for a trip to Vegas...)<br />
<br />
Boob Count = 150Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-83554476700371753542012-03-07T15:29:00.000-08:002012-03-07T15:29:57.605-08:00The Day of No Hats<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglktGasMkRAk-OpHPdwktfNMB2wR-IjPtdfG9ysY3wlRoJeX963BRzzbBc8vawoIjTNA7znrm0FoF0xdfCKMeDCq8Q_sC4Qj0RIMrXEXVh_2rAQ0Ots1H-94bQueDQWb_Vwdbs0dIAr9p3/s1600/Liphone_030712+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglktGasMkRAk-OpHPdwktfNMB2wR-IjPtdfG9ysY3wlRoJeX963BRzzbBc8vawoIjTNA7znrm0FoF0xdfCKMeDCq8Q_sC4Qj0RIMrXEXVh_2rAQ0Ots1H-94bQueDQWb_Vwdbs0dIAr9p3/s200/Liphone_030712+002.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, in one of my favorite hats.<br />
(No makeup here, don't be scared!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My hair growth has gotten to the point now where I <i>almost </i>feel comfortable going hat-less. Almost.<br />
<br />
Before today, I was at the point where I would wear a hat places but take it off in stores. But, still, carry the hat...just in case. Just in case of what, I don't know. Just in case there was some crazy lottery where everyone with a hat in their possession won one million dollars? Just in case there was some devastating apocalypse where only hat wearers survived? Regardless, it made me feel better to know that I just had it.<br />
<br />
Having the hat with me was like a signal to other people (in my mind) that I just had cancer. A signal that I didn't do this horrible haircut to myself on purpose! A signal that I'm not trying to look "cool" at 42 years old by shaving all of my hair off. As long as I had the hat with me, it served as an explanation.<br />
<br />
Today, I went to the grocery store and I didn't take my hat! Not at all! Not even to the car so I could, maybe, change my mind later. I left all my hats at home. I thought long and hard about this. Was I ready to give up my security blanket so soon? Was I ready to face the world knowing that I would be judged for looking like this and not hiding behind a hat?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qtnx26EAbbwpNsHVQM8-FV2tJYIO-aAxO4GpSovwiBcOuWNhCFjSIUEv9U2kgcwqyRKXY4OA2ws7HPrRCdY73e3VfEHJp9CjsXAMjmbUR0Ic8JLh3rEvZLIIDK9sMQCKLDwDAxGQt6Sf/s1600/Laura's+newyears.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qtnx26EAbbwpNsHVQM8-FV2tJYIO-aAxO4GpSovwiBcOuWNhCFjSIUEv9U2kgcwqyRKXY4OA2ws7HPrRCdY73e3VfEHJp9CjsXAMjmbUR0Ic8JLh3rEvZLIIDK9sMQCKLDwDAxGQt6Sf/s1600/Laura's+newyears.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, college years. Oh hair, I MISS YOU!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As I walked through the grocery store, I felt a bit empowered. I am woman, hear me roar without my hat! But, I did get more than a few looks. There weren't any of the looks that I got back when my head was bald and I wore a scarf. The looks of sadness and pity weren't there. These were looks of, "Why the hell would anyone do that to themselves?" "Does that woman think that "hairstyle" looks GOOD?" I knew what people were thinking as clearly as if they had screamed it at me themselves.<br />
<br />
On one hand, I hate how my hair looks right now. In my vain youth, I would have never been seen out in public looking like this! On the other hand, it's a badge of honor too. "Look at me! I made it! I survived cancer! I DID IT!" Unfortunately, I think I'm the only one who knows that it's a badge of honor and not just a really bad haircut.<br />
<br />
I've had several people tell me that they love my hair. Some people, in fact, have told me that they love it now even more than when I had hair. I'm not sure whether to thank them or slap them. Was my "real" hairstyle so bad that I look better now this way? <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNaTKtBGZEut3gytsO5KbBhi4RHVFiZ-HM8NvaipbrEsqKP3HgUkYR47pkEcjL3QBCIHbi4Y-g1nC_ruhgjpJMnajQbTspIx251oloAEatSdK2DgpbQyvridUZCFn8iGiZQJPdKgUKYwF/s1600/Liphone_030712+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNaTKtBGZEut3gytsO5KbBhi4RHVFiZ-HM8NvaipbrEsqKP3HgUkYR47pkEcjL3QBCIHbi4Y-g1nC_ruhgjpJMnajQbTspIx251oloAEatSdK2DgpbQyvridUZCFn8iGiZQJPdKgUKYwF/s320/Liphone_030712+001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Closeup of the anarchy that is happening<br />
on my head right now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The gray is ever present and seems to be more abundant than before (it was the first to grow back - oh joy). I guess if anything is going to turn you gray, cancer would do it. In that last few days, my hair has also decided that it would be super fun to be curly. Instead of being a cute manageable curl, it tends to just stick out without abandon like it's trying to escape my head altogether. Places where the hair just sticks straight out as if to say, "Get me off this crazy woman!!" To me, none of this equals an acceptable look.<br />
<br />
Are hats a thing of my past? I can't be sure. It's nice to have the option to go without a hat but it's hard to do so when you hate what's on top of your head. But, hair grows only as fast as it grows (and mine does grow fast). This is who I am right now. It is a badge of honor, no matter if strangers know it or not.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-8905533378018179362012-02-14T15:13:00.000-08:002012-02-23T15:47:39.446-08:00The "R" WordValentines Day 2012 is the first time I officially heard the "R" word.<br />
<br />
That word? <br />
<br />
<b>REMISSION</b><br />
<br />
At my doctor's appointment today, I asked if I was in remission and he said YES!<br />
<br />
I asked if I would ever be considered cured.<br />
<br />
That answer was a little more complicated. Once you have cancer, you are never really considered "cured." Though, my status will officially be remission for about 3 years, then it will change to "cured." But, in cancer terms, there is no cure. Not really. It's never 100%. But, being "cured" means that the cancer is less likely to recur. However, as my doctor said, he's had patients end up with breast cancer again 12 years after being "cured." CURED is not a word they throw around lightly. Because, there is no cure for cancer.<br />
<br />
Yet.<br />
<br />
For now though, I was so excited to hear the word REMISSION! There is no trace of cancer in my blood. There is a special blood test that is done on cancer patients called a Tumor Marker Test. That test, along with other blood work ups, can show the presence of tumors in the body. All of my blood tests are coming back completely normal now, meaning there is no indication of any cancer lurking. The blood tests aren't 100% accurate, of course, but doctors can watch trends over time in blood work of cancer patients to ensure that treatments are working.<br />
<br />
I finished chemo in October and, after my hysterectomy in January, I began taking a cancer drug called Anastrozole. This is an oral cancer treatment, a little pill that I take every day. I'll have to take it for the next 5 years (at least). That is how long it's shown to be effective. In 5 years, I may take nothing or I may be switched to something different. It depends on what advances are made in the next 5 years in treating cancer. Those are decisions to be made later.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xWp5UnuxusZ0R_JTcMdqkLc4gl3bAnyhlgABJbww-LcVOIoT0NuRoY_KCmInnycvHGjxUnpa6OJi0FuWwGZ7cwkSC2bbXjbBrJfa2y-HieMdVCUITElHra5vcqXBYitYe_9NbwGuWxpx/s1600/anastrozole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xWp5UnuxusZ0R_JTcMdqkLc4gl3bAnyhlgABJbww-LcVOIoT0NuRoY_KCmInnycvHGjxUnpa6OJi0FuWwGZ7cwkSC2bbXjbBrJfa2y-HieMdVCUITElHra5vcqXBYitYe_9NbwGuWxpx/s1600/anastrozole.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anastrozole</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Anastrozole (also known as Arimidex) is one of two main drugs prescribed for cancer patients after chemo. Anastrozole is the drug prescribed for women to treat breast cancer who have already gone through menopause. Since all of my lady parts are gone, I am officially menopausal. Anastrozole is used to further decrease the amount of estrogen your body makes. Since my body apparently likes to take estrogen and use it to make cancer, this is a good pill for me. Women who are pre-menopausal often take Tamoxifen. Tamoxifen counteracts estrogen in the body by making sure that estrogen doesn't help cancer to grow.<br />
<br />
Neither drug is completely effective against cancer. But, the odds are good. Anastrozole is 1-2% more effective than Tamoxifen. It's not a huge amount, but I have rotten luck so I'll take whatever edge I can.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv71v-gkCP0Q7Jpg-vmKsf6fOAgKtrmL7cQIderDK1qa3yoizhWmQA3R94KrwY1IExSGRd0tv3w4eJdXKsYVjC1TvzZgjLcIVPhPcrbCNkwXX5buQGiAfCfPUtyRQG1Rrpt7eJP5-D1Xg2/s1600/couch-potato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv71v-gkCP0Q7Jpg-vmKsf6fOAgKtrmL7cQIderDK1qa3yoizhWmQA3R94KrwY1IExSGRd0tv3w4eJdXKsYVjC1TvzZgjLcIVPhPcrbCNkwXX5buQGiAfCfPUtyRQG1Rrpt7eJP5-D1Xg2/s200/couch-potato.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The side effects of these drugs are pages long. Every thing you can think of COULD happen. Fun stuff like cataracts and hot flashes. Luckily, after a month of taking Anastrozole, I'm doing well and tolerating it. I do have some definite aching in my joints and overall soreness. It's hard to say if that is a side effect of the cancer drug or not. It could be leftover from the chemo. Or it could be a result of sitting around like a lump for the last 9 months.<br />
<br />
Whatever the reason, I still look like I'm about 70 years old when I get up from a chair or start walking. It's a super sexy look.<br />
<br />
Time will tell if the cancer is really gone from my body completely or just hiding somewhere. For now, I'm very optimistic and I so much like my new word:<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">REMISSION!</span></b>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-61651074443290983792012-02-12T03:31:00.000-08:002012-02-12T03:33:48.666-08:00Love StoryMy husband, Greg, returns from a business trip in Orlando tonight. He's been gone for four days. I have missed him so much and there have been times over the last 4 days that my chest has actually ached. <br />
<br />
I'm really not a sappy emotional person. Sarcasm comes easier to me than sap. Though I tell my husband, kids and even friends that I love them all the time. Including my best friend, Shereen, who is highly embarrassed by my girl love for her. Yelling "I LOVE YOU" across parking lots gets me a great reaction from her - usually a look of complete disgust and mortification. I do love her, but now I usually tell her to see what reaction I'll get. It's fun. I have to find joy in my life where I can.<br />
<br />
Anyway, in our household, "I love you" is said easily and often. I want our children to grow up surrounded by hugs, kisses and I love yous.<br />
<br />
Greg has traveled for work before. It's not frequent but it does happen once or twice a year. The last time he left was a week in June of 2011. It was less than a month after I found out that I had breast cancer. It was very hard to see him go and very hard to be alone with my thoughts during that time for a whole week.<br />
<br />
This time, even though he was only gone for four days, was harder. <br />
<br />
We've been married for 13 years now. Yes, I've always loved him. Yes, I've always thought he was hot. And yes, I want to strangle him sometimes. Like how he can't manage to figure out where some of the dishes go in the kitchen despite living here for 8 years. Or how he makes a mess of the toothpaste (solved by buying each of us our own tubes - I don't care what he does with his toothpaste now). And when he throws his socks in the hamper all rolled up in little balls! Oh My! It you want to see what me having a conniption looks like, try that.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkpIe6BGTGMRa8q7XJAS5y-gwBHoSQQAxDsjA3sagj0bNnm_CCF8Hu5xKXOhZR3i7m50e7YIAhsg9pu8dXo1XF1QBEUH9h6AcpTqOICECuQ4SLb_zFkd4ktpTpAF0VAM7XSN16g3GDIRs/s1600/Greg+on+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkpIe6BGTGMRa8q7XJAS5y-gwBHoSQQAxDsjA3sagj0bNnm_CCF8Hu5xKXOhZR3i7m50e7YIAhsg9pu8dXo1XF1QBEUH9h6AcpTqOICECuQ4SLb_zFkd4ktpTpAF0VAM7XSN16g3GDIRs/s320/Greg+on+boat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg and his boat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But, ours is an epic love story (in my opinion) that started on January 14, 1998. I remember it so clearly. I had come home from yet another disastrous date and sworn off men...again. I was on my computer and came across the Yahoo ads for singles. I thought I'd browse a little, maybe find someone nice to be friends with. I found Greg. There he was with a profile set up, a picture of him sitting on his boat, saying he wanted a pen pal. He was from Washington State but was in the Coast Guard and stationed in the Bahamas (poor thing - rough life). <br />
<br />
I thought, "Hey! A pen pal! Just like back when I was in elementary school! How cool! I want a pen pal!" I wrote to him. I wrote to him because he said he just wanted a pen pal. I wrote to him because he said he wasn't looking to get married. I wrote to him because there was no pressure for it to be anything more.<br />
<br />
He wrote back the next day and that began our relationship. Fun emails and messages back and forth. We were getting to know each other. He had found out that he was being transferred back to the west coast (originally to Seattle but it was later changed to San Francisco). <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYPVb_vaHu43HBVkHpJ4ptxVs17AmMB5kUfZn0z2xtP8NonR-cpjLh0uQNzvnkYNpQiAgViHZXG7XQFedJrykaLawbyWWr_DnX68g3g4jWodDX1s8F1hSwfZSGX8bAAXUcv0QQY5PxW9I/s1600/Greg+and+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYPVb_vaHu43HBVkHpJ4ptxVs17AmMB5kUfZn0z2xtP8NonR-cpjLh0uQNzvnkYNpQiAgViHZXG7XQFedJrykaLawbyWWr_DnX68g3g4jWodDX1s8F1hSwfZSGX8bAAXUcv0QQY5PxW9I/s320/Greg+and+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg and the infamous car.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On Valentines Day 1998, he called me on the telephone for the first time. It was awkward. We talked for 30 minutes and he spent about 28 of it telling me about his car. He emailed me right after we hung up and said, "I can't believe I talked about my CAR the whole time!" He had been so nervous. It was cute and I liked him...but I was determined to not get too serious about some weirdo I hadn't even met! (I made it a rule to only get serious about weirdos I HAD met!)<br />
<br />
Over the next few months, we talked on the phone several times and he sent me cards and gifts. In May, he was on leave for a month during his transition from Nassau, Bahamas to San Francisco. He was staying the month with his parents in Eastern Washington. After he arrived, I made the trip over for the day to meet him.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrGOhD-9APhKaPZq2ukPDGWL1JDmvjPF9DWN8pl9QCEFWvyr0xmpKkx7JBFegThlI3Yorhj9xZdBSUNoE67HcUX38h0SyiaoItGCZeG3oK-QHI6ZlCsdczGmfupL8TKmm7uOwoq2nGu9Ym/s1600/Chipper.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrGOhD-9APhKaPZq2ukPDGWL1JDmvjPF9DWN8pl9QCEFWvyr0xmpKkx7JBFegThlI3Yorhj9xZdBSUNoE67HcUX38h0SyiaoItGCZeG3oK-QHI6ZlCsdczGmfupL8TKmm7uOwoq2nGu9Ym/s200/Chipper.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chipper - we were fast friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was the first time we would ever meet in person. My Mother was a nervous wreck, sure that I would be murdered. I was on my guard, but I trusted him already. As I walked up the pathway to his mother's house, I saw him standing on his boat and he invited me up. He showed me all around his boat and then I met their dogs. He took me for a tour around the town he grew up in and then to dinner at Red Lobster. At dinner, he ordered the "All You Can Eat" crab legs and was instantly mortified when the waitress brought him a bib to wear. He tentatively asked, "Is wearing a bib on a first date a deal breaker?" I laughed and said that I didn't think so. I thought he was cute and nervous and charming. He admitted later that he only ate one bucket of crabs, but he could have eaten two. He also later told me that the first question his mother asked about me is, "Did the dogs like her?"<br />
<br />
He was the perfect gentleman the whole time (darn it) and, after meeting his mother, we parted ways. He asked me to call after I'd made the 3 hour drive home. I was sure that he would ask me out again. When I did call him, he told me he had a great time and that he was glad I was home safe. And that was all. I was disappointed. He obviously didn't like me. <br />
<br />
I soon received a message from him that said, "I can't believe I didn't ask you out again!" <br />
<br />
And that's all I needed. We spent every moment we could together over the next month, traveling back and forth to be with each other on my days off. He first kissed me after a day of shopping. He met my friends and I remember my friend Tanya asking if he had hair underneath his hat. He had always worn a hat. I told her, "Gee, I don't know!" (He didn't) My Mother asked if he owned pants, since he only wore shorts. (He did) He met my father, who was in a nursing home at the time, and after we left, my Mother later told me that she turned to my father and said, "She's going to marry him..." <br />
<br />
I was devastated when, in June of 1998, he had to move to San Francisco. We said goodbye with plans to visit each other. He spent a long first day driving before calling me from somewhere in Oregon to check in and let me know he was okay. That was the first time he told me he loved me. And I said it back. And I meant it.<br />
<br />
We took turns flying back and forth every weekend to see each other. He asked me to move in with him and I told him No. Two months later, on my 29th birthday, he proposed. He was so nervous all night and kept grabbing his pocket. I knew he was up to something. We had already talked about marriage and looked at rings. It didn't really come as a big surprise. <br />
<br />
He took me to a beautiful restaurant on the waterfront and then we walked out on the pier after dinner. I had joked with him that if he brought me a Carl's Jr. burger, I'd do anything. There being no Carl's Jr. restaurants in Seattle at the time, I missed those yummy burgers. When he knelt down on the pier and pulled out a Carl's Jr. bag, I laughed. I was a little worried that there was only a burger in there - but instead, there was an engagement ring in the bag. A much better surprise. (He ate the burger, he admitted)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmKcNBF6KMKthThfkqwysd1rEf_vtr44daL0iAzclgSh6I07_kVFewTHdOufhLXUflO6BQE4hSjppPQoX0g7EB5AJ6MJLhHfpwK636La1VbGh94RYFb9Jb8r87Z93zmNNY5aulX68ZjX8/s1600/Newlyweds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmKcNBF6KMKthThfkqwysd1rEf_vtr44daL0iAzclgSh6I07_kVFewTHdOufhLXUflO6BQE4hSjppPQoX0g7EB5AJ6MJLhHfpwK636La1VbGh94RYFb9Jb8r87Z93zmNNY5aulX68ZjX8/s320/Newlyweds.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newlyweds in San Francisco</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We married on January 14, 1999; a year to the day of our first email. At the end of January, I quit my job and left all of my family and friends and my adopted home of Seattle, to move to San Francisco with him. It was a very hard move on me and on my Mother. My father had just died 5 months earlier. I left everything behind. I cried as we left Washington. I cried when we entered California. I cried when we got to San Francisco. <br />
<br />
How well did I REALLY know this strange man? I had left everything behind for him! What if he really was an axe murderer? I felt doomed. Due to my ridiculous sobbing, he was sure he'd married a lunatic.<br />
<br />
He promised to bring me back to Seattle when he retired from the Coast Guard in three years and he did. In February of 2002, we came back. This time with our new 6 month old daughter.<br />
<br />
Here we are. This many years later. Two kids. Three dogs. One cat. A new job for him, a new business for me. A house payment.<br />
<br />
And we are in this together. Oh sure, he drives me crazy. Oh sure, we've fought. We've both threatened to leave. We've both gotten as far as the garage before turning back and fighting for us, fighting for what we have built and, ultimately, forgiving. I have always loved him, even when I haven't liked him much.<br />
<br />
He has always taken care of me in so many ways. But when I got breast cancer, he became my savior. Not only did he take care of me (as he had so many other times when I'd been sick) but he reassured me. He helped convince me that a double mastectomy was the right choice. He wanted ME. He wanted me to be alive. Breasts don't matter. Not really. He held my hand. He wiped my tears. He held me. He packed my wounds. He took care of me, yet again. He took care of me in a way that neither of us ever imagined.<br />
<br />
And he's still here. I'm a 42 year old woman with braces (which has nothing to do with cancer, but they are ridiculous nonetheless). I have nothing where I should have breasts. I have stubble where there should be hair. I have no ability to have more children. I've lost so much that makes me a woman. <br />
<br />
But, as he's reminded me, he fell in love with me. Me! Not my breasts (though, let's face it, those were nice). Not my hair. ME! <br />
<br />
Ours is an epic love story. One that we keep adding to every day.<br />
<br />
Now if he leaves me for some young chippy with perfect teeth, long hair and boobs; I'm going to run him over with my car.<br />
<br />
Boob Count: 135Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-23025357544231195172012-02-07T15:36:00.000-08:002012-02-07T15:36:52.610-08:00Don't Be Afraid, Be Informed<b><span style="font-size: large;">DON'T BE AFRAID, BE INFORMED</span></b><br />
<br />
I swear I just made that up this morning. About 30 minutes after I posted about Susan Niebur dying from Inflammatory Breast Cancer - I thought that up and then added it in. It sounded profound. I like to be profound...and stuff. Profound thinking doesn't always come easily to me.<br />
<br />
Then, I started really thinking about the phrase I'd just made up.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlneOaYkeCtv8QQix4xlnvZF6wElb-XOmQDraiSv9BmOJZfkQis2WbDAAwe-XmzfsZl2XqVyJ78WRlUyeXM8hA9Uqiz-6PuNL9ZKeSdIdS-J5vgVnA0AFzZ0oMmIxGSLhPz1nTQ6xy7bh/s1600/Snoockums.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlneOaYkeCtv8QQix4xlnvZF6wElb-XOmQDraiSv9BmOJZfkQis2WbDAAwe-XmzfsZl2XqVyJ78WRlUyeXM8hA9Uqiz-6PuNL9ZKeSdIdS-J5vgVnA0AFzZ0oMmIxGSLhPz1nTQ6xy7bh/s200/Snoockums.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tanya's Cat, Schnookums. Wearing<br />
a hat. Not weird at all.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Last night, I had dinner with two wonderful friends, Tanya and Christy. I have known Tanya for nearly 17 years (neither of us could be THAT old, could we?). Tanya was one of my first friends when I moved here to Seattle. She's funnier than she knows and someone who will do anything for a friend (Remember that time I called you at 2 a.m. Tanya?). Tanya and I lived together for more than a year before I got married. We have had so many fun and silly times and I have the pictures to prove it! Despite dressing her cat up in hats and weird outfits, she is a keeper - as a friend and as a person.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuspfkrsozo9fNfbsBkRgXVZVyy1F-1OPLIv8p-El_LNrIg8q5pj2HIhrAuR9DAGHYRaxsVQnBzypmF3q3MGmibNEgatKMn7udLVKCImgOF56X008oeSuxIdEDWQup49NcBbenZohVKZPn/s1600/Tanya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuspfkrsozo9fNfbsBkRgXVZVyy1F-1OPLIv8p-El_LNrIg8q5pj2HIhrAuR9DAGHYRaxsVQnBzypmF3q3MGmibNEgatKMn7udLVKCImgOF56X008oeSuxIdEDWQup49NcBbenZohVKZPn/s200/Tanya.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tanya in Africa last summer. <br />
Awesome picture!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sadly, Tanya soon has to have surgery for a torn ACL. I asked her some questions about her surgery and she wasn't sure about some of the details. She said that she got so woozy in the doctor's office listening to the details that she thought she would pass out and all she could focus on was not falling off the table on to the floor.<br />
<br />
I SO remember being like that!! I was always like that! Want to revisit my post about my fear of needles as proof? <a href="http://aboobflewoverthecuckoosnest.blogspot.com/2011/05/needles.html">http://aboobflewoverthecuckoosnest.blogspot.com/2011/05/needles.html</a><br />
<br />
Any mention of medical procedures sent me spiraling. I felt sick to my stomach, I concentrated on the floor, the ceiling, the door, the doctor's shoes, ANYTHING but the scary information I was getting! "Is it hot in here?" I'd think to myself trying to not vomit. I didn't ask questions, I just wanted to get it over with. I refused to even READ about things like breast cancer - maybe reading about it is contagious! I never wanted to tempt fate. I never wanted too much information. <br />
<br />
It was okay though. I didn't need a lot of details. Not really. Like Tanya's torn ACL, nothing life threatening had happened to me. Things like torn ACLs are not fun and they can be painful - but, like Tanya, I didn't really NEED to know all the details. I could trust the doctors and trust that things would be okay. And they always were.<br />
<br />
And then I got renal cancer. And five months later I got breast cancer.<br />
<br />
And I learned fast. I needed to know things. I needed to be aware and informed. I needed to be knowledgeable and be able to advocate for my health. No more blind trust in doctors. No more literally putting my life in the hands of others. No more near passing out in the doctor offices. I had to be present and clear headed.<br />
<br />
It's not easy. It's not easy to stay calm when all you want to do is cry or curl up in the fetal position or run away! Especially run away. <br />
<br />
But you MUST do it. You MUST be informed. You MUST know it's out there. Know the symptoms, know what cancer looks like. Don't be afraid to be a bit of a hypochondriac. If something looks different, if something changes....chances are everything is fine...but it's possible that it's not fine. I pushed to have my hysterectomy done quickly. The doctors told me there was no rush. The doctors said I could wait. The doctors said nothing was wrong. I had a hunch. I had a feeling. I had knowledge. I was right. They DID find something - my doctor told me I was right. Pushing to have it done quickly may have saved my life (again).<br />
<br />
As hard as it was for me to face a breast cancer diagnosis. As hard as it was for me to go through surgeries and chemo and various other unpleasant treatments. It's still all worth it. I didn't shy away. Sure, I cried a gallon of tears. Sure, I spent nights curled in a fetal position in bed. Sure, I think about dying every single day. Sure, it's taken an immeasurable toll on me physically and emotionally.<br />
<br />
But, because I mustered all the courage I have and pushed forward - because I didn't ignore it - I'm here today with hopes of living a longer life. With hopes of seeing my kids grow up. With hopes of being around to spend many more years with a wonderful husband and living a wonderful life. With hopes of making a difference in the lives of others.<br />
<br />
Don't be shy when it comes to your health. Don't be uninformed. Don't wait.<br />
<br />
Don't be Afraid, Be Informed.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-74801945581364417122012-02-07T09:25:00.000-08:002012-02-07T14:38:38.436-08:00"You Don't Have to Have a Lump to Have Breast Cancer"A dear friend died yesterday. I call her a "dear friend" even though I only even knew about her for 3 days. I never met her in real life and now I never will. I usually make it a rule to not read books or blogs about breast cancer by other people because I don't want their thoughts to somehow become my thoughts accidentally. Plus, it's usually so depressing to read what people have written.<br />
<br />
I've made an exception in this case and now I must know this woman - I must read her words - to honor her.<br />
<br />
Susan was only 34 when she was diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer in 2007. It is the rarest type of breast cancer but also the most deadly. And it's a type of cancer that presents WITHOUT a lump!<br />
<br />
Please read her post about Inflammatory Breast Cancer here and be aware of the symptoms to watch for:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/2007/07/23/inflammatory-breast-cancer/" target="_blank">http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/2007/07/23/inflammatory-breast-cancer/</a><br />
<br />
Susan Niebur leaves behind a husband and two boys, ages 4 and 6.<br />
<br />
<b>DON'T BE AFRAID, BE INFORMED!</b>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-16398884246819639042012-02-06T15:42:00.000-08:002012-02-06T15:43:15.777-08:00SwimsuitsDo you know how hard it is to find a swimsuit when you are boobless?! <br />
<br />
It's hard. Really hard. If you think buying a swimsuit with a normal body is hard, try finding one when you have no breasts. And, in the place of breasts, you instead have scars and Shar Pei skin. It's not a good look in the first place and I really don't need to be emphasizing it with LESS clothing.<br />
<br />
I actually tried on the swimsuits I do have from before the mastectomy. To say that I look ridiculous would be a huge understatement. I used to really like both of my swimsuits. They were cute and stylish (well, for an old lady like me) and I thought they flattered what little I have that is "flatter-able." But now, without breasts, it's just bizarre. <br />
<br />
I'm not a small girl and, lucky for me, swimsuits come with built-in bras. Before my mastectomy, before I had cancer - back when I had boobs - this was a good thing! You need that built in contraption to keep the boob-age from going anywhere - or from looking like you need to belt them in.<br />
<br />
But, now that I don't have breasts, I have two (well, let's just say it) HUGE empty crevasses. Not only is it not a good look but it kind of makes me a little sad actually. Looking down and having nothing where there used to be "something" is disheartening to say the least. I guess I could still wear it and then I would, at least, have a place to put my googles and maybe a drink and snack.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKX5BrE9FlGLHk2enW2VxtfXWUpBcNZHKhv2AUTuV5PUX0jQdop2odBW2phiSMzJNyfNBTut0mxNI_YjEBi_WjCKRR2KRbUFtKud-kF871H4xoBy8bzfZIZvhJVWCem2qcit6xLLWus4A/s1600/swimsuit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKX5BrE9FlGLHk2enW2VxtfXWUpBcNZHKhv2AUTuV5PUX0jQdop2odBW2phiSMzJNyfNBTut0mxNI_YjEBi_WjCKRR2KRbUFtKud-kF871H4xoBy8bzfZIZvhJVWCem2qcit6xLLWus4A/s200/swimsuit.jpg" width="177" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my choices - I'd look like<br />
a palm tree!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But, because I love to swim, I know that I have to find a more permanent solution. I took to the internet to find a "mastectomy swimsuit." Sure, there are quite a few choices! Some are actually cute-ish. Some are ridiculous. Most are high necked which is a good thing. <br />
<br />
However, the catch is that most of them come with the pockets to use so that you can put a breast form in them. A breast form is a prosthesis type of contraption that women can wear in bras or swimsuits to make them look like they still have breasts. Wearing a breast prosthesis is a completely individual choice. A lot of women do, a lot of women don't.<br />
<br />
I don't. Not having breasts doesn't bother me too much most of the time. Though, it's winter now and I'm able to hide a lot with scarves and sweaters. I think it'll be harder once it's summer. But, I just don't think breast forms are for me. Maybe not having breasts is my badge of honor right now.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiB74MehyphenhyphenuInWdB1nlubDEcLHu8GzOriy1aHJE2ppvIXwvnLAxNtEkP4L45mRlxtKRbi6AHCI4RISYd_MHDFNyjfWJKkiL0YMU0Y5lNZPPM0ck_mKCJMYyt5W4RHT-F9dd35V9GErdPiV/s1600/breast+form+swimming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiB74MehyphenhyphenuInWdB1nlubDEcLHu8GzOriy1aHJE2ppvIXwvnLAxNtEkP4L45mRlxtKRbi6AHCI4RISYd_MHDFNyjfWJKkiL0YMU0Y5lNZPPM0ck_mKCJMYyt5W4RHT-F9dd35V9GErdPiV/s200/breast+form+swimming.jpg" width="177" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A breast form for swimming. <br />
Sure, it looks innocent...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>However, all of the mastectomy swimsuits I've seen so far (that I would actually consider wearing) have the pockets so you can put some fake boobs in them. This greatly concerns me. I don't feel very confident that these breast forms will STAY in the place where you put them! This is all I need - to be happily swimming along when one of those puppies pops out! Do they float or sink? I don't really want to find out! It'd be just my luck to lose one of them and then have it get sucked down the pool drain. Then I'd only have one! <br />
<br />
I'm stuck in swimsuit shopping hell right now.<br />
<br />
Boob Count: 134Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-56054436686692758952012-02-01T08:04:00.000-08:002012-02-01T08:04:45.346-08:00PrecariousI went to my two week check-up after the hysterectomy a few days ago. It's supposed to be a pretty uneventful appointment. Just checking in to make sure you are doing okay.<br />
<br />
The doctor said the main reason they have the two week check-up is to remind patients to stay DOWN and not do anything and especially not lift anything. You feel pretty good after two weeks, he said. He's right, I do feel pretty good! A few aches and pains here and there - my abdomen is a little sore to the touch - but otherwise, I do feel way too good for just having had major surgery less than 3 weeks ago. This is, by far, the easiest surgery I've had in this cancer journey. <br />
<br />
My doctor said that a lot of people feel that way. BUT, the way that my surgery was done means that I have stitches in the back of my vagina. "Stay Down!" he warned. Even though the stitches are well done - they could still FAIL if you overdo! <br />
<br />
EEK! - when I heard that, I was a believer! No more contemplating vacuuming the floor or painting the ceiling. (I wasn't really going to paint the ceiling - I added that in for dramatic effect.)<br />
<br />
As I sat perched up on the exam table (fully clothed this time - a rarity at the OB/GYN office), Dr. Brinkley rolled his chair over with his laptop so that he could show me the pathology reports from the surgery. This is where the "uneventful" appointment I was expecting took a turn. <br />
<br />
Nothing was found on my ovaries or uterus or cervix. However, on one fallopian tube, they found a mass. They wouldn't categorize it as cancer - but it wasn't necessarily benign either. It was "atypical." It was still small but, whatever it was, was growing. We caught it! He said it was very VERY good that I had this done NOW! I had really pushed for it - to have this surgery done as soon as I could after chemo even though the doctors told me I could wait...wait a few months. I just *felt* that I needed to do it. I just *felt* that time was ticking. But, still, I never expected that anything would be found.<br />
<br />
I don't know why. You would think that, by now, I'm used to hearing this kind of news. You would think that I'd be prepared for the words, "We found something..." Maybe you are never prepared. Or maybe I'm just an eternal optimist. Or maybe it's some crazy coping mechanism. <br />
<br />
Nevertheless, I was stunned. I didn't expect this. In that moment, life felt so precarious to me. So fragile. <br />
<br />
What else is in my body that shouldn't be? What else is there that I don't know?<br />
<br />
I spent the next several days reeling from the news. I thought a lot about death. I started calculating years and making deals with God. If I could make it 10 more years - I'd be 52, my kids would almost be grown. It's still young to die, but it's better than now. What about 20 years - I'd be 62, my kids would be out of college and maybe even married or have children. Is that too much to hope for? Asking to live 30 more years seems selfish under the circumstances - I'd be 72. Could I have 30 more years in me?<br />
<br />
Please God: 30 more years! Please God: 20 more years - I'll help old ladies across the street more. Please God: 10 more years! Just let me see my kids grow up! PLEASE!<br />
<br />
Everyday, we take life for granted. It seems so easy. We go about our daily routines - we don't question that tomorrow will be there. But, when you are "sick," when something threatens your health - you start to wonder how much time you really have left in you. Sure, I look both ways when I cross the street, I wear my seat belt, I don't play with matches - none of that matters when your body decides to fail on you. There's nothing you can do.<br />
<br />
I hope I have at least another 30 years in this body. But, I know that, at any minute, I could be sitting perched, once again, on an exam table hearing those same words that I dread, "We found something..."Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-66623239083296124422012-01-25T22:50:00.000-08:002012-01-25T22:50:36.046-08:00Hair and BoobsTwo things I miss. Hair and Boobs. Two things I took for granted. Hair and Boobs.<br />
<br />
I've read about how amputees often still "feel" the limb or body part that has been amputated. They have sensations of that part still being there. In a way, I have always understood it. From a medical standpoint, it makes sense because during an amputation, nerves are cut and those nerves may still send signals to the brain even though that body part is no longer there. The phenomenon is called "phantom limb." <br />
<br />
I have phantom boobs.<br />
<br />
After the mastectomy, I often had pains and sensations from my breasts that were no longer there. Most of the pain and sensations came from the nipples. Nipples that were no longer there! There were a couple of times I actually looked down my shirt. Was this all a bad dream? The pain was so real that I thought maybe, just maybe, it didn't happen. Maybe I still had my breasts? It's a cruel trick your mind plays to be sure. <br />
<br />
I also have phantom bra straps. So many times, I've reaching for a shirt or sweater that is falling off my shoulder - reached over to make sure my bra strap isn't showing. Only to find there is no bra strap to be found. I've often been momentarily horrified to find that I'm not wearing a bra. Until I remember. I also have had many days walking out the door in the morning where I've suddenly realized that I'm not wearing a bra. I recoil in terror before realizing that I don't wear bras anymore. It's such an odd sensation to NOT wear one. Such an odd sensation to not have a bra on. To feel your sweater or shirt on your body in places where a bra has been for so many years. I still often feel like I'm missing a step when I get dressed. I walk out of the bedroom with a nagging that something isn't quite right.<br />
<br />
I feel much the same way about my hair. So many times that I've reached up to brush my hair off my shoulders or neck. Or reached up to tuck the hair behind my ear. But, it's not there. Then I have to quickly make some sort of recovery move like pretending to scratch something so that no one sees me brushing my non-existent hair off my shoulder. There are also many mornings that I've reached for the brush before realizing that it's not needed.<br />
<br />
It's not that I forget that I don't have boobs or hair. Not really. I guess it's my mind playing tricks on me. <br />
<br />
I guess I could feel sad. Sad for what I'm missing. Because I'm missing a lot right now - it feels like. But, I try to remember that what I'm missing really is a small price to pay for what I've gained. A small price to pay to, hopefully, ensure a future.<br />
<br />
Boob Count: 130Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-49771266292772217242012-01-24T12:45:00.000-08:002012-01-24T12:45:18.901-08:00RecoveringAlmost 2 weeks out from my hysterectomy and I'm feeling really well. This is, by far, the easiest surgery I've had. I stopped taking pain pills 4 days after. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwbgw8SYQsFNmQJpNF-3BXxAn9BiKhf7kNK44NKGAFhkfunRGWveRoYvcZJrRoQkHsf63RuSZCfn84WxIU3sQI-EkPT8AGIoB67QvdKPPdI8_UhEbiAX3crJ1puOCTM_lpmYDtJEUHQtm/s1600/color+wheel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwbgw8SYQsFNmQJpNF-3BXxAn9BiKhf7kNK44NKGAFhkfunRGWveRoYvcZJrRoQkHsf63RuSZCfn84WxIU3sQI-EkPT8AGIoB67QvdKPPdI8_UhEbiAX3crJ1puOCTM_lpmYDtJEUHQtm/s200/color+wheel.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What color will my pee be today?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I did have to take a some a few days later because I had a horrible sore throat and got a UTI. I ended up in the walk-in clinic thinking I might have strep (I'm prone to that too) but the doctor felt it was something probably caused by the surgery. Something introduced when the tube was put down my throat. Ack! Weird that it would show up a week after surgery. The UTI was also caused by the surgery. I don't usually get UTIs but I do get them every time I have a catheter. Every. Single. Time. So annoying. I'm recovering from that now and feeling better. However, the medication I'm on turns my pee florescent <span style="color: #e69138;">ORANGE</span>!!! It's kind of entertaining! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYmjylfZxJhVnVYvviw7QqcbFdHQpWY2BY8sHZKn5ZmIt0eRliYzOe3K2jijCc1XZM_XOISmHUpTl85gLFHLQkyLh12s91k3HoT8SGAI8dzlqeSti3PsSq4LuKs-TTj5bjF7bkp8HfPTo/s1600/brinkley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwYmjylfZxJhVnVYvviw7QqcbFdHQpWY2BY8sHZKn5ZmIt0eRliYzOe3K2jijCc1XZM_XOISmHUpTl85gLFHLQkyLh12s91k3HoT8SGAI8dzlqeSti3PsSq4LuKs-TTj5bjF7bkp8HfPTo/s1600/brinkley.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr. Brinkley!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The surgery was supposed to take only about 90 minutes but when they got "inside," they found that I had a fibroid that had grown through the uterine wall and attached to my appendix and colon. This is a fibroid I knew I had so that wasn't a surprise. It has caused problems for me in the past. They wanted to make sure that I kept my appendix (I guess you can have a lot of complications if you take out a healthy appendix) so it took a long time to save the appendix and to not damage the bowel. My doctor was determined to keep the surgery laparoscopic so they took the extra time. I'm so incredibly thankful for that! Dr. Brinkley is the best! I read, after the surgery, that there can be major complications with a fibroid attaching to your bowel. I was so lucky to have caught this now! I knew I would have to have a hysterectomy at some point anyway, I think it was very good fortune that I had it done now before I really needed it. And, now I don't have to look over my shoulder waiting for ovarian or uterine cancer.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWTBoJ-abAlund0iesLXH77t0nqLcjBSnYrvLaeYQ0pS5oVkK9-xX5LMTWFctCQJC9aIeYBUwJZB96Axq6nC9_zcBhDEAOVtpfxXbnrpuMIFQgaB8qVgR6Vv7hjKT3YDvWU0JUgOUtYV3/s1600/taxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWTBoJ-abAlund0iesLXH77t0nqLcjBSnYrvLaeYQ0pS5oVkK9-xX5LMTWFctCQJC9aIeYBUwJZB96Axq6nC9_zcBhDEAOVtpfxXbnrpuMIFQgaB8qVgR6Vv7hjKT3YDvWU0JUgOUtYV3/s1600/taxes.jpg" /></a></div>I'm also looking forward to doing some taxes as soon as I'm healed! Have to wait 6 weeks to file though! Dr. Brinkley said several times, "No funny business!" I'm pretty sure he was talking about taxes. I have some fears that doing taxes won't be quite the same anymore. I've read things online where some women say it's exactly the same. But a lot of other women say it's different, and not in a good way. I really hope I don't have to learn a whole new way of doing taxes! That could be confusing and frustrating and about as much fun as doing actual taxes!<br />
<br />
One frustrating experience from the surgery is that they refused to use my port. I still have the port in my chest just for these occasions. It's so much more comfortable for me than trying to start an IV. It's the very reason I GOT the port! But, they refused to use it and gave me a plethora of excuses as to why it wouldn't work. I could tell that my doctor thought this was ridiculous. And I knew they were just making excuses because it was too much trouble and they didn't know HOW to use it. They insisted on starting an IV in my left hand which took a lot of smacking me around trying to get my veins to show (they only smacked on my hands and arms in case you were worried) and pain while they dug around in my hand. The nurse yelled at me a couple of times to RELAX! Oh sure, it's not like you are digging around inside me with a needle right now or anything! Sheesh! They did finally get it started and it worked well, I guess. But, now, almost 2 weeks later, I'm still having pain in that arm. Quite a bit of pain. I don't have full use of my arm yet. I used a heating pad on it for a couple of days after surgery and that did help - but it's still very painful. Really frustrating. I would think that they would have enough cancer patients in there for surgery that it would make sense for them to train someone and have the equipment to use ports.<br />
<br />
Emotionally, I'm doing okay. It's not like there's any reason to dwell on it now. It's over with. I feel relieved in a lot of ways but I still feel pangs of sadness when I see a baby. <br />
<br />
This is my last surgery for a while. I feel like I can maybe try to live normal life again. I know I have breast reconstruction in my future (should I still choose to do that) but I don't feel like I'm in any particular rush to have that done. I can choose when. <br />
<br />
I'm supposed to "take it easy" for another month. It's hard. I'm feeling really good and that's definitely a problem! I have to REMEMBER to be good and to stay down and to ignore that the kitchen needs to be cleaned and the house needs to be vacuumed! Ignore! IGNORE! <br />
<br />
Just vacuuming a little couldn't hurt....just a teeny bit...just the whole downstairs....I won't tell if you don't!Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-59299861336011112752012-01-08T22:32:00.000-08:002012-01-08T22:32:45.614-08:00HysterectomyIn 5 days I'll be having a hysterectomy. Even though it's an easy decision to make at this point. It's been very sad for me and I feel a definite sense of loss.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7ZYYNLxkdYWkKtpDY0xBQJz14DCKWr9vK9lcLk_3EqISXnM62qI0KHW7qfQDEltfjqRi78k7zUnM407f9th5CSf01fFtSJ3kBTbC2mbrfm4zu7KeyBUzHK45gdGkWdI8cz_qHrohcZHL/s1600/uterus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7ZYYNLxkdYWkKtpDY0xBQJz14DCKWr9vK9lcLk_3EqISXnM62qI0KHW7qfQDEltfjqRi78k7zUnM407f9th5CSf01fFtSJ3kBTbC2mbrfm4zu7KeyBUzHK45gdGkWdI8cz_qHrohcZHL/s200/uterus.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Having a hysterectomy is the "smart" choice. My risks of ovarian cancer and uterine cancer are much higher now. High enough that it's cause for concern. Both of these cancers are very dangerous and not usually detected until they are Stage III or Stage IV. While not a huge risk for the normal woman, someone like me that has had breast cancer and renal cancer within one year has to be extra cautious. (Really, at this point, I'm thinking any extra organs I can get rid of might be a good idea!) If I didn't have a hysterectomy, I'd be looking at some really invasive tests on a yearly basis. It seems easier to have surgery and not have to worry.<br />
<br />
There's also the issue of birth control. Since my breast cancer was progesterone/estrogen positive (which means it is fueled by these hormones), I can no longer take or use most birth controls. I'm also allergic to latex which rules out most condoms. Seeing as my husband would probably like to have sex with me again at some point, having a hysterectomy seems like a good idea.<br />
<br />
I'm "lucky" in that my surgery will be done laparoscopically. As my friend, Pam, says, "It's amazing what they can pull out of little holes these days..." While it doesn't quite work that way, it's still amazing. Three small incisions in the stomach area to snip things, and the uterus, ovaries, etc are taken out vaginally. I'm really sort of horrified by that whole scenario and I'm really trying to not think about it. Pam also said that I'll never be able to look that doctor in the eye again. I think she's right. How mortifying.<br />
<br />
Again, trying to not think about it.<br />
<br />
The operation itself doesn't scare me as much as after the operation. Even though chemo basically threw me into menopause, I haven't really had to experience many of the nasty side effects. Except for some fun night sweats, I've been mostly spared so far. But, no more. This will definitely do it. As fun as the side effects of menopause sound (night sweats, hot flashes, mood swings), I'm not looking forward to it at all. Because I had breast cancer, I can't take any replacement hormones to manage the side effects. I'm on my own. Eek! Please pray for my poor family and friends who have to put up with me during this time.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYr_lXttjC5q7-2ykE5ZJdTBxaSDliCuautHZxuRrc6oqfVLlAS4sLLXVXh3qcKX9rB11GjEAyFkjaSfyMbvAaVNRZ9xNlf_7HDl1_rY2nHuwRzNQGZDXReRmnRqsp1d9ZnWbx1QTSyNO9/s1600/NCam052406+040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYr_lXttjC5q7-2ykE5ZJdTBxaSDliCuautHZxuRrc6oqfVLlAS4sLLXVXh3qcKX9rB11GjEAyFkjaSfyMbvAaVNRZ9xNlf_7HDl1_rY2nHuwRzNQGZDXReRmnRqsp1d9ZnWbx1QTSyNO9/s320/NCam052406+040.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Sweet Babies in 2006 - Where Does Time Go?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>More than that though is the loss of "womanhood." This really will be it. There will be no more cute babies that look like me. Though, I was told after my son was born (nearly 8 years ago) that I would be putting my life at risk to have more children - THIS is still just SO final. My husband and I made the decision to not have more children, but I could always, technically, change my mind before if I wanted. Even though I didn't really have a choice - now I will definitely have no choice in the matter. That makes me profoundly sad.<br />
<br />
I know it shouldn't. And it's not like I really WANT another baby - though I do feel a twinge of jealously when I hold a baby. Not to mention that every time the two children we DO have fight, my husband looks at me and says, "And YOU wanted ANOTHER one!!!" Plus, I really value my sleep now that I'm old. Despite all that, it's so hard to do something so final, so irreversible. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGMYjsjzUk3rTHHXSyYE5vui9LlROvUusvu860wkevvriu98kEl4RK0LI0I9JJpbBFCY2nQopavSAzUbv74L93Q9nOY-h_jvxQ-MkA5V1UCahDW89Hrl7P5DVswtN5CPXYI8iezKOv0yC/s1600/white+pants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGMYjsjzUk3rTHHXSyYE5vui9LlROvUusvu860wkevvriu98kEl4RK0LI0I9JJpbBFCY2nQopavSAzUbv74L93Q9nOY-h_jvxQ-MkA5V1UCahDW89Hrl7P5DVswtN5CPXYI8iezKOv0yC/s200/white+pants.jpg" width="163" /></a>However, it will be SO nice to now have to worry about the monthly suffering. Also, I can wear white pants without worry any time I want! Not that I even own a pair of white pants - but I COULD! I could buy ALL white pants if I wanted! And white couches! And white carpet! <br />
<br />
It's little consolation though really. I'd wear dark pants for the rest of my life to not be dealing with any of this!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 class="r" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><br />
</h3>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-18119939370430291812012-01-07T18:31:00.000-08:002012-01-07T18:31:54.845-08:00I HAD CancerIt's a difficult transition to go from saying (and thinking), "I HAVE cancer" to "I HAD cancer." <br />
<br />
A friend told me that, technically, once you have surgery, you don't HAVE cancer anymore. While I can see that is true (technically), it doesn't feel like that. <br />
<br />
That would mean that from the time I found out that I had breast cancer in May to the time of my double mastectomy on July 6, I only got to HAVE cancer for about 6 weeks. That doesn't seem quite right. My brain doesn't process that something I only had for 6 weeks takes months or years to cure. I suppose you could argue that I had cancer before I knew about it - but, to my brain, that doesn't really seem to count. <br />
<br />
As I recovered from surgery and as I went through chemo, I didn't really view myself as I HAD cancer - I saw it as I still have it - I'm still fighting it. Whether or not that is "technically" accurate doesn't really matter to me. <br />
<br />
Regardless, it's been hard for me to transition to saying, "I HAD cancer." It's just not that simple. It's not as easy as just changing a word tense to make me feel like it's in the past. I still don't have much hair to speak of and my body is mutilated because of what cancer did to me. It's a constant reminder that I HAVE/HAD cancer. <br />
<br />
As I get further out from chemo, as my hair starts to grow back, as I leave most of the effects of cancer and chemo behind, I can see that cancer is more in my past than in my present. <br />
<br />
And, hopefully only in my past, not in my future.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-92205212331685411952011-12-07T15:02:00.000-08:002011-12-07T15:02:08.379-08:00Being Noticed<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06viCllN-Lnf_BDAvnJ57Evhuxgo_39I4UUmBSlVdDpAe1Enzw5vvXWrxGjtQbEhHWZKDV4SVIXPB5hmKZ5ERUrUtbtrbRyJjB2tJz_wUhY_KeaO_rVhpzt-KbMYPIDLv7UjHGnp1VkUr/s1600/frappuccino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi06viCllN-Lnf_BDAvnJ57Evhuxgo_39I4UUmBSlVdDpAe1Enzw5vvXWrxGjtQbEhHWZKDV4SVIXPB5hmKZ5ERUrUtbtrbRyJjB2tJz_wUhY_KeaO_rVhpzt-KbMYPIDLv7UjHGnp1VkUr/s1600/frappuccino.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Double Chocolate Chip<br />
Frappuccino - YUM</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Today it happened - finally. The moment I've been anxiously awaiting since I shaved my head. The moment when a stranger came up to me and asked me about it.<br />
<br />
At Starbucks this morning (I told you I spend a lot of time there...) a woman pointed to my head (wrapped in a scarf) and asked, "How are you DOING?" <br />
<br />
I told her I was fine, I had finished chemo and was just waiting for the hair to grow back. She told me she had ovarian cancer 4 years ago and also lost her hair during chemo but she's fine now. I gave her a big hug. She was such a nice lady. We didn't talk long, my drinks were ready and I had my 10 year old daughter with me on the way to school...<br />
<br />
I didn't mind at all that she was nosy/curious about it. I don't mind telling my story and, maybe, I secretly like the attention. I thought more people would be asking me about "my" cancer - but she's the first and it's been nearly 3 months of being hairless. 3 months since someone would be able to TELL that I have cancer (or HAD cancer). <br />
<br />
I get a lot of sympathetic looks and big smiles and strangers saying HELLO and obviously looking as though they want to say more but don't. I don't think I'm scary to talk to, I don't think I'm giving off a "Don't talk to me" vibe - but I suspect that most people don't know WHAT to say. And that's okay. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqn9A7bMoZCha11hKLa0AMRKSnyzADqmzANyUFdjrH3YvUoqw_ekLutenl-BFghKUB15WYW8c_nrozUUxRPWv_NGfffainD5AOyjS7ysPY5tgh0Tze2li0wGsJN29DqU6PZ0FMSxC5dICN/s1600/star+wand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqn9A7bMoZCha11hKLa0AMRKSnyzADqmzANyUFdjrH3YvUoqw_ekLutenl-BFghKUB15WYW8c_nrozUUxRPWv_NGfffainD5AOyjS7ysPY5tgh0Tze2li0wGsJN29DqU6PZ0FMSxC5dICN/s200/star+wand.jpg" width="158" /></a>I didn't think I would feel comfortable with so obviously looking like I HAVE cancer. But, I really haven't minded it too much and I would venture to say that it's made people be a little kinder to me. I don't think a clerk or anyone has been rude to me since. People seem to be a lot friendlier and maybe when they see me, they are reminded that maybe their bad mood isn't really all that important. <br />
<br />
Or maybe I just spread joy everywhere I go - that's possible too.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-3783498901944880532011-11-24T13:06:00.000-08:002011-11-27T20:17:42.666-08:00Thankful!A List of Things I'm Thankful For:<br />
<br />
1. Imodium A.D.<br />
2. On the other hand, stool softeners<br />
3. Cute hats<br />
4. Friends who are good cooks<br />
5. Pain medication<br />
6. Nausea medication<br />
7. Hair<br />
8. Keebler Graham Crackers<br />
9. Puppy kisses<br />
10. Sleep<br />
11. Black-out curtains<br />
12. Starbucks Double Chocolate Chip Frappacino<br />
13. Cozy slippers<br />
14. Boobs (sigh)<br />
15. Everyone who loves me and has taken care of me the last few months and longer...<br />
<br />
Boob Count = 125Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-1490561022487010782011-11-22T20:11:00.000-08:002011-11-28T02:12:55.813-08:00One Month LaterIt's been nearly one month since I finished chemo. I saw my oncologist today for a follow-up appointment.<br />
<br />
The appointment started, as always, with a blood draw. No big deal with my friend, the port. After that, I had to wait in the lobby for about 40 minutes while they checked the blood before my appointment. I sat and read a book. When the nurse came to call me, I was really stiff and had trouble getting up and walking. My muscles and joints are still on strike and I have a lot of pain, especially when I get up from sitting down after an extended period. When I first get up, I walk like I'm 90 years old. But once I get going, I do much better - I walk like I'm only 80 then! <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MDuqlpVk3AbWw-7dLuevNDDS-v1x2iLUXC_VH36_mZao2vLR-JI76HG6wj83sj86z4UPAf3M1cW3M_PCACo9wv6vZ5rgby5G2PX8QvOx7F00zW7yIlQzgojC4U3GVi0f2uUXgO_8-AbH/s1600/segway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MDuqlpVk3AbWw-7dLuevNDDS-v1x2iLUXC_VH36_mZao2vLR-JI76HG6wj83sj86z4UPAf3M1cW3M_PCACo9wv6vZ5rgby5G2PX8QvOx7F00zW7yIlQzgojC4U3GVi0f2uUXgO_8-AbH/s1600/segway.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll take the Ferrari people mover - thanks!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My not so smooth moves didn't escape notice of the nurse. The nurse suggested that I might want to look into getting a cane. A CANE! I was horrified! Trying to make her understand that a cane wouldn't help anyway, I told her, "Well, that won't work because it's BOTH of my hips that hurt..." Ha! So there! Instead of making things better, she then said, "Oh well, you could get TWO canes...or a WALKER!" Oh my gosh, I almost passed out from the thought. A walker! For me! 42 years old! I've hit bottom. Still trying to be helpful, she then suggested that I could start using those little motorized carts in the stores I go into. This whole thing was going downhill fast. We did finally agree that it'd be nice to have one of those personal motorized people movers. Just for fun...and to run over people. <br />
<br />
The doctor came in soon after and the appointment began with the whining session. The whining session is something I've gotten pretty good at. I like to include a whining session whenever I go to see my physical therapist as well. Unfortunately, Maggie (my physical therapist) isn't as amused by the whining session as my oncologist is. The oncologist tends to humor my whining. I like that.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I spent a good 5 minutes talking about all my aches and pains and the general feeling of blech that I'm experiencing. I'm sleeping all the time and my joints and muscles are revolting against me, especially my hips, back and shoulders. Dr. Coughenhour (my new oncologist since my other one left to go find a cure for cancer and stuff) looked at my blood work from that day and said that my blood counts are going up. They aren't back to normal but they are moving in the right direction. I'm still anemic, but the iron counts are also moving up. Hopefully it will continue to move in the right direction and I won't need another iron infusion. I'm concerned that I'm still having to take pain medication to sleep - I'm in too much pain to get comfortable in bed without them. Dr. Coughenhour took all my whining in stride and told me to not rush things. It's only been a month. "Rest, take it easy and be good to yourself," was his advice. I like him.<br />
<br />
We talked about "maintaining" after cancer. I'll need a chest x-ray every 6 months to check my lungs. This is already covered under the tests that I get every 6 months to monitor the renal cancer. However, if anything is found on my lungs, I'll have to have a lung biopsy to see which cancer it is - renal or breast. That was kind of a terrifying realization. A lung biopsy is not on my bucket list of things I want to try. The odds of this happening are low - I did everything right. I didn't everything I was supposed to. But, we'll be watching and waiting.<br />
<br />
I'll be starting on a daily cancer drug soon. It was something I expected to start now but since I'm still struggling with the side effects of the chemo, the oncologist thought it best that I wait. There are some side-effects with the cancer drugs like muscle aches and joint pain so we need to be sure that I'm over the chemo side-effects before we pile anything else on top.<br />
<br />
I have an appointment again in a month to see where I am and probably start on a cancer drug. Dr. Coughenhour says he expects I'll be feeling much better by then. I hope he's right!! If this goes on for much longer, I might be looking for a nice walker. I guess I could make it my own. Put some diamonds and Snoopy stickers on it or something. That would look super cool, I'm sure.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664656011400734222.post-6834246881511633752011-11-20T03:37:00.000-08:002011-11-20T03:37:27.671-08:00Advice to the BaldiesNow that I've been bald for 2 whole months, I have a lot of advice to give other baldies out there. <br />
<br />
First of all, and most importantly, you actually have to wash your bald little head. I guess this didn't really occur to me. I remember washing my hair for the last time before shaving it off and being thrilled (well...as "thrilled" as you can be when you know you are going to lose your hair) that I could skip the whole hair washing routine for a while. <br />
<br />
About a week after the head shaving, my bald head started to itch. This is when it dawned on me that you might actually have to wash your bald head! HUH! Go figure! It is skin after all. I consulted the expert baldy that I know (my husband) and asked him what he uses on his head. Well, he uses the bar of soap in the shower. This explains why any hair he has feels like a Brillo pad. Not that I had any hair at all at that point, but using the bar of soap that I use to clean "other" parts of my body, on my head....dripping into my eyes...that just seemed...well...WRONG! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XbTuNKSprdbao51Zps6Ji1MXuSBWqhYZjFxODMUSXCFzI79GopnM50qss8QNWb3JAAlsjsbxBI2pu9PRlj9Z5p-2mdp_LfLJJCQ3LFt5uY6aQ8eF1jyHRkjpc-upujcLs_4vVSd9qRCA/s1600/shampoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XbTuNKSprdbao51Zps6Ji1MXuSBWqhYZjFxODMUSXCFzI79GopnM50qss8QNWb3JAAlsjsbxBI2pu9PRlj9Z5p-2mdp_LfLJJCQ3LFt5uY6aQ8eF1jyHRkjpc-upujcLs_4vVSd9qRCA/s200/shampoo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I decided to look at all of the shampoos that I have and I was able to pretty much eliminate anything that said for "fuller hair" or "more lustrous hair" or "more manageable hair." Not really the product I was needing at that time. I settled on a dandruff shampoo that claims it soothes the scalp.<br />
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A soothed scalp is exactly what I needed. Mmmm. <br />
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Which brings me to my next piece of advice: You need DRASTICALLY less shampoo when you don't have any hair to soak it up. Suffice it to say that this did not occur to me until I had put way too much on my head and I had shampoo EVERYWHERE! Bright blue shampoo. All over the place. And since you have no hair to stop anything, it just runs down without abandon. My feet were blue, the shower was blue, everything was blue. It took me a good 5 minutes to find all of the blue and rinse it off.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkGdpDIdajnIw1FHyTqPMsO5G2frWnY8VlITP-b9Few4anmOytgeC1q6_HERTDyyo88IjuSTp-tz1kKjLmQ6cgfM1pNLewpLwlOo2haHIPqebsYlKtXDH4mrwfll91U9joV8g36Jj15qu/s1600/melissa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkGdpDIdajnIw1FHyTqPMsO5G2frWnY8VlITP-b9Few4anmOytgeC1q6_HERTDyyo88IjuSTp-tz1kKjLmQ6cgfM1pNLewpLwlOo2haHIPqebsYlKtXDH4mrwfll91U9joV8g36Jj15qu/s200/melissa.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melissa Etheridge rocking the<br />
bald head!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Something else that came as a complete surprise to me was your hair actually starts to grow back between each chemo treatment. I didn't expect this! I guess I just thought it would all fall out and that would be it and I'd be one of those cool bald chicks like you see in cancer awareness pictures - with a smooth head. I never got the smooth head anyway because of my 5 o'clock shadow - but also my hair kept just growing back and then falling out again. I found that quite irritating - just make up your mind already hair! <br />
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It was a cycle. Chemo treatment, hair growing, hair falls out, chemo treatment, hair growing...you get it. The nice thing about having shaved my head was that then the hairs that fell out were pretty teeny and not a big deal. I wasn't finding hair everywhere - it was just all over the towel when I dried my head after washing it. <br />
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Unfortunately, one of the downsides to having your hair keep growing back is that hair that is growing back is really prickly! All those little hairs feel like they are stabbing you. Especially when you are doing your favorite during chemo activity - sleeping. Poke Poke Poke. I did find that wearing a open knit hat seemed to really help with the poking sensation. However, open knit hats tend to have a mind of their own and I woke up with aforementioned open knit hat over my face a couple of times - I thought I was suffocating. I'm okay now.<br />
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Another interesting thing about chemo hair, or my hair specifically, is that once I had shaved my head, some of my hair did start to grow and never fall out. I had really expected that it would all be gone, but it didn't work that way. Some of it started growing and now I have about 10% of my hair that is an inch long or so. Sadly, those all seem to be the gray hairs. Those damn gray hairs are really stubborn! About a month into chemo, my husband saw my hair growing back and exclaimed, "It's growing in blonde!!" (He was thrilled!) Sadly, I had to inform him that those hairs weren't blonde - but gray. "Oh...Oops" he said sadly. Yes, dude, I feel your frustration, I wanted to be blonde too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgjTTw5j8tm24yMfEGV4UQu6upUHGMny8BYysQv1C8quO-ddCTHfpwN9DL-DuOx2_73QSRw8I50zd2dsnuX2jIuAcQkRPkuH5ygl-Tb6jl2WZBcbrf5ScDVzccfZOBFKFK_RFFMgq_iHe/s1600/poodle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgjTTw5j8tm24yMfEGV4UQu6upUHGMny8BYysQv1C8quO-ddCTHfpwN9DL-DuOx2_73QSRw8I50zd2dsnuX2jIuAcQkRPkuH5ygl-Tb6jl2WZBcbrf5ScDVzccfZOBFKFK_RFFMgq_iHe/s1600/poodle.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute dog but not a good look for me!<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now, 3 weeks after finishing chemo, I expect that the hair will start growing back and staying! I can't wait to see what I end up with. They say chemo can change your hair drastically. I've heard stories of straight hair growing back curly or dark hair growing back blonde (there's still a chance for me!). Who knows what I might end up with!! <br />
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However, with my luck, it'll be gray and super curly so that I end up looking like a geriatric poodle.<br />
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I'd rather be bald.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17764181216974270541noreply@blogger.com1