I'm down to posting once a quarter? How can that be possible? I have far too much to say, and it's not like I haven't been enjoying my Internet time. However, the point to the Internet, as of late, has been to turn off my brain for awhile. We all need it sometimes, and I play word games in lieu of naps when I'm tired. It could be that I've not posted BECAUSE I've had so much to say. That's a guess. I couldn't tell you the workings of my own mind. How sad.
So I left off in January, when I first started to run. Yes, that has been an adventure. I'll start with running. All was going well, and I hit my first goal (to get 5 miles in one hour) at the end of February. Incomprehensibly, the weather turned nice for March -- yes, I know it's not supposed to be incomprehensible, but after February here in New Jersey, you understand. I went outside for a run on March 9, and felt too warm in my long-sleeve shirt. I made it a little more than a mile, then decided to walk a bit. Then run a bit, then walk a bit. I had Allison's iPod, which is an amazing device. That girl has the most impressive music collection. I was nearly home, on my own block, and Ton Loc started to play. I burst into a last sprint, enjoying the pre-spring, warm air and the sunshine, and the music, and the feel of my legs gaining strength ... and then it all went wrong. I needed to slow down a bit, and I tripped over my own stupid right toe, crashed onto the concrete. Glasses flying, iPod scraping, and my head. Oh, dear G-d. How on earth did I land on my left eyebrow, for the second time in my life. The swelling was immediate, and too disturbing to touch. I stayed on the ground for a moment, discovering my injuries. The only witnesses were a few birds, and a squinting cat. Once I had a thorough grasp of the situation, I started to wail. Tears, blood, and wailing, more from self-pity than from pain. My poor head. And my shoulder, and my scraped hands, and my ribs. My hands, my left hand, the threat of lymphoedema looming as ever with impressions of concrete imbedded in my palm where skin should've been.
I heard the school bus. Mary would stop and scrape me off the sidewalk, I knew it. Mary is awesome. The problem was, Mary is awesome. She would've felt guilty if she didn't stay with me, yet she had a school bus full of 5th and 6th graders. So I got myself off the ground and stumbled home, wailing all the way. I called Civia, who couldn't even understand what I was saying for a few minutes. We called the doctor, and Ken. My first running injury: mild concussion, nasty shiner, bruised ribs. Most people hurt ankles.
Within two weeks I was back to running, slowly but surely. I have never gotten back to that 5 miles in an hour, and at this point it's too lofty an ambition for the next two weeks. I'll do what I can for the Broad Street Run. Hopefully I won't finish last, as I did in my first 5K. Which, in all fairness, I ran in the mud at Laurel Acres Park with a bunch of teenagers. I met the other last place finisher along the way, and we jogged and walked along, discussing our ailments and medical histories. Man. Jill, who'd finished with the group, met me on the path with a soft pretzel, figuring they'd be gone ... heck, everyone would be gone ... by the time I made it back. Not an auspicious first race! So we'll see with Broad Street.
Moving on to breast cancer: not so much excitement, but some really good stuff! I had a follow-up with Dr. Fox in March, and he said I can blame everything on tamoxifen. Even the forgetfulness? Yes. Even the female issues? Of course. Even the Internet word game addiction? Well, yes, if that's what I'm doing instead of napping. So yay! I don't suck. Tamoxifen sucks! Of course, I'll finish taking it just in time for the onset of senior moments, I suppose.
Last weekend was the best: I've been on a message board through breastcancer.org for people who started chemo in March 2009. We obviously went through so much together, and I often knew I was still sane only because I recognized myself in their posts. Several of the members got together last week in NYC, and I was thrilled to be able to join them. We had so much fun, and though yes, we did talk about it a bit, we were not defined by our status as breast cancer survivors. We were a group of women with something big in common, enjoying a great mini-vacation. I will have to edit this post later to add a picture and maybe more writing, because now I have to leave for a subbing assignment. In PE. Wish me luck!
So I left off in January, when I first started to run. Yes, that has been an adventure. I'll start with running. All was going well, and I hit my first goal (to get 5 miles in one hour) at the end of February. Incomprehensibly, the weather turned nice for March -- yes, I know it's not supposed to be incomprehensible, but after February here in New Jersey, you understand. I went outside for a run on March 9, and felt too warm in my long-sleeve shirt. I made it a little more than a mile, then decided to walk a bit. Then run a bit, then walk a bit. I had Allison's iPod, which is an amazing device. That girl has the most impressive music collection. I was nearly home, on my own block, and Ton Loc started to play. I burst into a last sprint, enjoying the pre-spring, warm air and the sunshine, and the music, and the feel of my legs gaining strength ... and then it all went wrong. I needed to slow down a bit, and I tripped over my own stupid right toe, crashed onto the concrete. Glasses flying, iPod scraping, and my head. Oh, dear G-d. How on earth did I land on my left eyebrow, for the second time in my life. The swelling was immediate, and too disturbing to touch. I stayed on the ground for a moment, discovering my injuries. The only witnesses were a few birds, and a squinting cat. Once I had a thorough grasp of the situation, I started to wail. Tears, blood, and wailing, more from self-pity than from pain. My poor head. And my shoulder, and my scraped hands, and my ribs. My hands, my left hand, the threat of lymphoedema looming as ever with impressions of concrete imbedded in my palm where skin should've been.
I heard the school bus. Mary would stop and scrape me off the sidewalk, I knew it. Mary is awesome. The problem was, Mary is awesome. She would've felt guilty if she didn't stay with me, yet she had a school bus full of 5th and 6th graders. So I got myself off the ground and stumbled home, wailing all the way. I called Civia, who couldn't even understand what I was saying for a few minutes. We called the doctor, and Ken. My first running injury: mild concussion, nasty shiner, bruised ribs. Most people hurt ankles.
Within two weeks I was back to running, slowly but surely. I have never gotten back to that 5 miles in an hour, and at this point it's too lofty an ambition for the next two weeks. I'll do what I can for the Broad Street Run. Hopefully I won't finish last, as I did in my first 5K. Which, in all fairness, I ran in the mud at Laurel Acres Park with a bunch of teenagers. I met the other last place finisher along the way, and we jogged and walked along, discussing our ailments and medical histories. Man. Jill, who'd finished with the group, met me on the path with a soft pretzel, figuring they'd be gone ... heck, everyone would be gone ... by the time I made it back. Not an auspicious first race! So we'll see with Broad Street.
Moving on to breast cancer: not so much excitement, but some really good stuff! I had a follow-up with Dr. Fox in March, and he said I can blame everything on tamoxifen. Even the forgetfulness? Yes. Even the female issues? Of course. Even the Internet word game addiction? Well, yes, if that's what I'm doing instead of napping. So yay! I don't suck. Tamoxifen sucks! Of course, I'll finish taking it just in time for the onset of senior moments, I suppose.
Last weekend was the best: I've been on a message board through breastcancer.org for people who started chemo in March 2009. We obviously went through so much together, and I often knew I was still sane only because I recognized myself in their posts. Several of the members got together last week in NYC, and I was thrilled to be able to join them. We had so much fun, and though yes, we did talk about it a bit, we were not defined by our status as breast cancer survivors. We were a group of women with something big in common, enjoying a great mini-vacation. I will have to edit this post later to add a picture and maybe more writing, because now I have to leave for a subbing assignment. In PE. Wish me luck!
Pictures:
Okay, so I'm back from PE. A lovely afternoon, if only I hadn't gotten stuck behind the buses. You know how I get with driving, and that was an arduous ride home! My weekend in NYC was fantastic because of the time spent with others with similar fears, doubts, and resolve. I also lucked into being there for some of Lori's pre-wedding festivities. On Friday night I left Manhattan at 10 pm and landed at a big bar in Jersey City in time to drink a beer with Lori and Dave's friends who'd come to celebrate their upcoming nuptials. On Saturday I went with Lori for her fitting, but unfortunately had to leave Kleinfeld's before getting anywhere near that bustle. That evening, my breast cancer group arrived at Carmine's just moments before Lori and her friends arrived for Lori's bachelorette party. Thank goodness I ate with my breast cancer friends, a far more frugal group. But we had plenty of celebrating back at Lori's, later. This wedding is in one week and two days. And I sent out Jason's Bar Mitzvah invitations two days ago. Lots of occasions, lots of fun. What a wonderful spring!
