The price of dedication

There is one story of heretofore uncharacteristic dedication to running that I accidentally left out of my last post.  As it happens, though, that particular little gem developed into an incident that deserves a story all its own.

The day I got my port out, which was August 10, was a Friday.  Obviously I wasn't going to be going to the 4-miler training on Saturday morning with a fresh incision, so I dutifully decided to do my Saturday run on Friday morning.

I was allowed no food after 6am that day, and I wasn't due to the hospital until noon.  I knew I'd be hungry enough without the running.  So I actually got up at 5:30am so I could have breakfast, so  I could run 3.5 miles with appropriate calories on board.  This blows my mind.  But it's true!  I did that.

Then, after a very hungry morning and an uneventful procedure, I am making a bathroom trip while we wait for wheelchair that will deliver me to the car and I notice a little scab on my thigh that looks like it's been grazed so it's just attached by one edge.  I try to pull it off and I can't.  I try again, and again.  But then I decide that I'm not very coordinated at the moment, on account of the drugs they give you, which are very effective at making you not care that they are doing things you would normally find disturbing.  I think of food and a nap.  The scab can wait.

Come Sunday morning, which, mind, is two days later, I rediscover said scab and again attempt to pull it off.  But it doesn't come.  And it doesn't come.   And then I think...  That is not the same color as it was on Friday...  And I think it's moving.......

It's a good thing Mom was here.  I come out and say, Will you see if this is a tick, and if it is don't tell me?  And she looks.  And she pulls,   And she looks up close and says, I'm not saying anything, and heads to the trash.

Ew.  It seems that on my little 3.5 mile adventure, which went down the river trail a ways, I picked up a friend.  I wonder what its experience was of those incredible drugs?  Well, that's fine.  I had a tick for a few days and didn't what it was--apparently I was not only uncoordinated but unobservant.  I suppose that's to be expected.

But a week to the day after the tick was removed, I wake up with a very round spot about the size of a dime around the bite.  Uh oh.  And come Monday morning, I'm picking up antibiotics for Lyme disease.  Lyme disease!  The only tick I've ever had, and Lyme disease?!  Are you kidding me?

Nope, not kidding.  But on the bright side, because I knew I had a tick, and I knew it was attached for 72 hours, and I could see the rash start (which didn't look like a bulls-eye until it started healing, but they don't all), we could treat it immediately and I didn't experience the flu-like symptoms or any of the crazy complications that happen to people when it takes a long time to figure out what's going on.

It was too early to test the blood for antibodies, but based on the story and the symptom, and the prevalence of Lyme around here, it is not at all unlikely.  It would explain why the week before was the first time since early summer that I felt very compelled to nap and unable to finish planned errands.  Still, I feel silly saying that I had Lyme disease, since I didn't really suffer from it and recently a friend of mine really did.  But it's just such a kicker to, well, the cancer.  Like I needed that.  It gets to be funny, because it wasn't serious.  And it's another opportunity to be grateful for how fortunate I am even in my misfortune.

I still haven't made it back to the river...

The Charlottesville Women's 4-Miler

I have gotten up at 5:45am and driven across town to make 6:30am weekday runs--I don't do that any more, but I do go on my own, just out my front door, usually sometime between 7 and 8:30am. I have gotten up hungover at 6:30am on a Saturday to make a training day--the running itself was surprisingly pleasant, but leaning over to stretch out was woozy business.  I have run twice on vacation--letting my running shoes take up valuable real estate in my suitcase and once making my dad find me a spot on the beach in San Diego and then wait 45 minutes for me to do my thing. Since June 16, I have run three days a week without fail--except that one day that dad and I rode bikes along the Pacific coastline for twice ten miles.  

I started at a 16:50 mile, at our first time trial.  I am now running, by  my own calculation, about a 13:15.  Still slow as dirt, but I care less about speed (though improvement always feels good) than about controlling my pace so that I can run the whole whatever, which I do in true neurotic fashion by using a heart rate monitor to keep my heart rate in a reasonable range.  I'm getting better at doing that without the monitor, actually.  I'm comfortable between 70-85% of maximum; over 92% and breathing gets painful.  I am up to about 10 miles a week.  Tomorrow is our first shot at four miles--a dry run of the race called a "fun run".  I am dubious of this description, but still willing.

I cannot say that I love it.  The race is what gets me out the door many times, making me wonder when the next one should be.  And, man, this place is hilly. But I don't hate it, either.  I like the personal challenge and sense of accomplishment.  I like the feeling of conveying myself across the earth, my feet hitting the ground, the air in my lungs.  I like doing something that I know is so good for me, and I think about that a lot while I'm doing it. I try not to use the time to mull over my problems or plan my day.  My running time, like my yoga time and, not often enough, my sitting time, is time for peace of mind and attention to body.  On a lower note, the fact that hormone-blocking Tamoxifen has killed my metabolism...well, that's also motivating.

And so, the race has come a long way in its first purpose:  getting me off the couch, out of the house, and healthy.  But I also signed up for this particular race so that I might give something back to the UVA Breast Care Program, which has been nothing short of amazing.  The money raised by this race does all kinds of wonderful things, some of which have been of direct benefit to me.  

When I was diagnosed, I got a huge gift basket and an equally huge binder of material explaining breast cancer and cancer treatment, all of which were supplied by 4-miler funds.  Those same funds allowed the massage therapist at the cancer center, whose services I am lucky enough to have access to for as long as I am here to access them, to attend a course specifically on breast massage for breast cancer patients, which addresses scarring and reintegration with the body after the trauma of surgery.  Another thing the race has paid for, which has nothing to do with me but I just think is awesome, is a mobile mammogram unit--a bus that drives to the medically underserved areas of Virginia and provides free and low-cost mammograms to women who otherwise wouldn't get them.  How great is that?  And there is so much more.

I have had so much help for the past 13+ months that it is hard to ask for more. But that's my problem.  I know that many of you will be happy for the opportunity to contribute.  And so I humbly ask that each of you consider sponsoring me for the race, if you are able.  Any amount, however small, would be put to good use.  Here is the link:

https://www.dominiondigital.com/Womens4Miler/donations.asp

You'll click the "make a donation" box, then choose the option to sponsor a runner and look me up by last name.  If you have any problems or the desperate desire to support the USPS, please let me know.  You can also read more about the race, the programs thus supported, etc.  And the doctor in the picture there? That's my oncologist.  She's fantastic.

Thank you in advance for your generosity.  The race is September 1--there's only two weeks left, so don't wait!  

Happy birthday to me!

Today is my birthday.  And continuing a series of incredibly fortunately-timed events in this year of cancer treatment (if such things can ever be called fortunate), I just had my port out on Friday.  What a perfect birthday present:

The end of infusions!
The end of invasive treatments!
The end of surgeries!
The end of discomfort on the massage table!
The end of awkward hugs!
The end of a limited wardrobe!
The end of wearing my seat belt behind me on the passenger side...

Most importantly, the all-clear from my doctors.  Another form of it, anyway.  A physical manifestation of the cancer-freedom I officially earned with my surgery in January.

It took me a long time to decide what I wanted to do this year.  Last year it was easy.  I had known for a month that I wanted to shave my head on my birthday, and that party was awesome.  Then I needed the support, the boost, the strength from all the love around me--which came freely, fully, amazingly from all sides.  This year, I don't know. This year has been enough work and I've called in enough favors; I just want to do something easy, something effortless for myself and for everyone else, too.  So, a movie in the afternoon and dinner and drinks out later.  Simple.  Plenty of room for celebration and frivolity while someone else can clean up and no one has to think up a costume on 24 hours notice. ;)

And I thought it would be nice to write this quick celebration of such an important milestone:  Bye-bye port! Hello first post-cancer birthday!  Now, off to enjoy that birthday, but there will be more from me soon:  an update on my life as a runner, such as it is (and a link to sponsor me in the big race!).

Much love!

Cancer made me a punk vegan blogger...

and other things I never thought would happen.

Punk

     Well, not really. But I did rock a mohawk in my 30s and I looked damn fine without any hair. Embracing the baldness was such an empowering thing. Pretty scarves; fun wigs; big earrings. Henna. No apologies. It was actually the most fun part of having cancer. There. I said it.

Vegan

     Alright, also not really. But mostly. More and more research supports the protective qualities of either the absence (or limitation) of meat and dairy or the abundance of fruits, veggies, and whole grains--or both. Certainly there is no harm and only good that can come from the latter. I now cook almost exclusively vegan, even more reliably vegetarian, though I do get indulgent sometimes when I go out in the world or on special occasions. It's amazing how quickly every day can become special if you're not paying attention! But there it is. I don't eat much meat, eggs, butter, cream, or cheese. I hope they enjoy ice skating in hell.

Blogger

     I'm not sure which is less likely: me giving up cheese or me posting this stuff on the internet. I distinctly remember, when the internet was young and blogging was new, I thought...That's just weird. Between the ego required to plaster yourself all over public spaces to the vulnerability involved in sharing an intellectual or emotional product so freely--either way and every way in between, I was sure I'd never be doing that. But here I am. Besides, if I can't learn to write for a wider audience than myself and, ever so reluctantly, my faculty, I picked a very strange profession. So why not embrace the opportunity? Never say never! Really.

Runner

     I am not a woman who has ever gotten up in the morning dying for a run. I've gone through jogging phases. They have always been short-lived. I can say that over the past few years I've transitioned from preferring the treadmill to preferring heading out my front door, but this is from laziness more than anything. My front door is a lot closer than the gym. And my own shower awaits my return; that's nice, too. Every year, however, the UVA Breast Care Center holds a fundraiser: the Charlottesville Women's Four Miler. I am going to run it. I have personally benefited from the money that race raises, and I want to contribute to that. (More precisely, I want you to contribute. Funny how that works...) Besides, apparently regular exercise is supposed to be good for you. Who knew? Now I'm told that running becomes addictive, but I am not sure about this. I have had the following, totally serious thoughts, however: Once the four miles are up, well, that's more than a 5k, and a 10k isn't so much more. And once you've run a 10k a half-marathon isn't so much more than that. A marathon is twice as much again, though, and I think I draw the line there. Wait, am I actually considering voluntarily running 13.1 miles???

Shakespearean Actor

     Life is short enough when it's long, and sometimes it's just short. You should do stuff. I decided, after having an invigorating time getting my butt kicked at a dance workshop, that I wanted to do some more personally challenging and awesome things, so I thought...It's been 13 or so years since I've been in a show; I wonder what's playing around here this summer? When I mentioned said impulse to a friend in my dance troupe, she helpfully said that her company was holding auditions for Midsummer Night's Dream on Monday and I should come. After much agonizing, for so many reasons, I decided much at the last minute to get in the car and betake myself to nearby Staunton, VA, and just go for it. What the heck? What better way to cultivate a little more trust in my intuition? It would be fun. And it was--even though I found myself pantomiming a crab in a room full of experienced actors all but one of whom I didn't know. (Of course, it's hardest in front of those you do know, anyway.) Ah, well. I enjoyed it. And, lo and behold, I was cast in the show! Not only cast--as mechanical Starveling and fairy Peaseblossom--which would have been fabulous enough, but also made part of the production team as Fairy Movement Coordinator. That was a fine compliment. And it got better, when someone backed out and I was also offered Hippolyta! To think. Me, queen of the Amazons! Hee hee!

Belly Dance Volunteer

     I have been wondering for a while now how I could give something to the cancer community, but I couldn't think of something that really suited me, that I could comfortably do and that I would enjoy. I have benefited no end from introducing mindfulness into my life, but I'm not qualified to be a meditation teacher. I might be a contact person for local women, especially young women, whose diagnosis comes as much of a shock to them as mine did to me, but I'm not a counselor. But one day it came to me in a flash and I knew it was right: I want to offer belly dance to cancer survivors.

     I was inspired in part by the six-week group I recently participated in that helps people move from treatment to survivorship. Every week we did some form of exercise, to encourage activity and to reintegrate mind and body after the trauma we all endured. Belly dance is such an inclusive form of movement--suitable for all ages, body types, levels of fitness. It can be done, as anything can, as mindful movement, as a means of cultivating joy in the present moment, trust in self, awareness of body. And it is something I can do.

     My hope is to put together 4-6 weeks of hourly classes, hopefully this summer, just for fun and for free. I was so inspired that in a fit of boldness I asked the people I knew at the cancer center whether they would, or could, help me promote such a thing; in a fit of even more boldness I contacted the owner of the Tai Chi dojo downtown, whom I'd just met a few days earlier, to see if she would donate her space for the purpose. To my delight, everyone has been very supportive! There is still a bit of waiting to be done to see what the hospital will say, but even without a direct endorsement, I think I will still try to put something together in the community. Either way, I've been asked to run an activity at our own group's check-in meeting a month from now, and maybe to run one of those exercise sessions when the next survivorship group forms in the fall! Again, the hospital has a say in all that, so I'm not sure whether it will happen, but there is interest, anyway, and positivity in response to my off the wall inspiration! So I am very excited by the prospect, and a little surprised--if pleasantly--at my relative fearlessness. But I guess after what I've been through I'm a little less risk-averse and a lot more confident.

Whatever it is, you should do it!

Much love!

Recommitment

How do the weeks fly by?

Well, to be perfectly honest, I know one way: I've been hesitant to write for fear of disappointing people. Isn't that weird? Whenever I get positive feedback, I doubt my ability to meet the expectations I have raised by doing something well, and I am paralyzed. It happens in my work all the time, ever so unfortunately. In this case, my self-consciousness about sharing my writing (not about sharing myself or my experience--I have no problem with that) is magnified by my awareness of cognitive difficulties left-over from the chemotherapy. It's hard enough being a perfectionist when your faculties are fully present; it's a bit (more) torturous when you know that they're not. But all of this--the fear of being good (heck, of being adequate), the shyness around my written self, my perfectionism, whether complicated by chemo-brain or no--all of it I am determined to work through. Step 1: Break through the silence! Say anything! (This must actually be, like, Step 7. I've been thinking about this for ages!)

I suspected that keeping up this semi-public form of communication would be a challenge for me, but I wanted to do it, and still do. It's funny how different it feels. I can write a three-page email in under an hour. Ask anyone who's served as chair in my department! But I made the choice to move beyond email and I want to follow through on it.

I know that most people who take the time to read my updates are people who know and love me, and people whom I know and love, and you all could hardly care less whether I post a well-crafted essay; you just want to know that I'm alright. To you I send special apologies: I have let my anxiety cause you anxiety by keeping you in the dark, which decidedly defeats the purpose of this whole project in the first place!

The short story is that I am alright. Treatment has been as effective as it could possibly be, to the extent that such things can be measured. Though I am not without lingering side effects, the most debilitating of which is fatigue, overall I am doing just fine.

An email would accomplish that, though; I would like to recommit to my intentions that go beyond letting people know how I am:

I want to share what the experience itself is like. In case you're curious. In case you know someone who has been through something similar who wasn't so willing to be open about it. In case you know someone who is going to go through something similar and wants to know something about what to expect.

I want to share what I've learned. It's so cliche, but it's cliche for a reason: It's hard to come through such an ordeal without *some* kind of new, or altered, or expanded perspective. Pushing beyond sharing the experience itself and sharing more evaluative observations on life, the universe, and everything, based on that experience is even harder for me. It seems...narcissistic somehow to assume anyone would want to read such observations from little old me? But number one, there's that thing about how most people around here love me. Why wouldn't at least some of them want to know what I've gotten out of this? Why wouldn't a perfect stranger or two be curious about the same thing? Never mind all those people in between! And number two, I think I've officially earned the right to have opinions. I mean, I know intellectually that I already had that, but now I've really been through something. None of this 'what do I know?' business. I've got life experience coming out of my ears!

I want to share what helped me. This is probably the second most important goal to me in keeping this public record. There's no doubt that what I went through was difficult, sometimes traumatic, often uncomfortable. I came through it, somehow, most of the time, with a lot of strength, and if I could shed light on the thoughts and feelings that gave me that strength, maybe it could help someone, or help someone help someone.

There is another, more mundane and obvious reason that the weeks fly by: I've been busy! And when not busy, tired. Now that the semester has ended and I have gotten up the gumption and energy to write again, I hope to be in touch more often.

So, that is my latest manifesto! Thank you, as always, for your kind thoughts, and prayers. I've been buoyed by a veritable sea of well-wishes, and I'm so grateful.

I should add that if you have any questions about my experience, feel free to ask. As you may have noticed, I'm very open about it and interested in helping people understand it.

Everyone, take care!