Spring Again

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!

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!

Ding Danged Rain

Well, this is a fine storm. My Internet connection is knocked out on this rainy Monday morning, forcing me to type this out in Word. Which is fine, because my power is flickering, and it’s safer to rely on the laptop’s battery power than any route along the information superhighway (remember that term? It recalls a thinner Al Gore in my mind.).

I’m sitting here, dressed and ready to head to the gym, facing two choices: 1) listen to the windy rain while typing away about possibly running on the treadmill; or 2) actually running. You can safely assume which option ended up winning that internal debate. I played it out in my mind by deciding I would rather watch The View on the gym’s tv than that cooking lady. What is her name? Oh, Rachel Ray. Anyway, I hate cooking and I love sneering at Elisabeth Hasselbeck. So that’s that. Well, except that I could go watch Cash Cab instead, and get a Ben Bailey fix. Have I mentioned how much I love that show?

Am I putting off going to the gym? I couldn’t go on Saturday, for, well, personal reasons. You’re right, nothing’s personal. Let’s just say I’m certainly not menopausal. Yesterday, very busy day. I got home at 5:30 and the gym closes at 7 on Sundays. I could’ve closed out the place or prepared a meal for my family. Or read email while refusing to cook bacon wrapped chicken that nobody would eat but Ken, thereby sending him out to buy the grossest piece of steak you’ve ever seen for $1.47.

So I haven’t been to the gym since my most awesome run on Friday morning. What a run. Boy, I was so proud. I walked out of that gym like a peacock. I flounced out like Dr. Wu (whom I am seeing today). I carried the Olympic torch, the elder wand, Moses’ staff. Okay, but I did smile to a couple of people who looked familiar. And I had my keys. I guess I’m in the mood for fifth grade poetic devices.

I ran for 20 minutes straight on Friday morning, and in that 20 minutes I ran 1.75 miles. Then I continued on with intervals for another 20 minutes, and had gone 3.25 miles when I hit the stop button. This was most acceptable to me, even though on previous days I lasted an hour and went more than 4 miles, burning about 500 calories. I had a half-day subbing assignment on Friday (lovely second graders), so 40 minutes gave me enough time to figure out something with my hair.

Yes, my hair. Still not resolved. It’s grown back to the point that I call it grown back. I look like Little Orphan Annie did when Daddy Warbucks decided to adopt her (see? Simile). I can dry it out straight, and except for the uncontrollable poof on the right side of my head near the back it looks so nice. I need the layers to grow longer, and then maybe my hair will work with me. I’m optimistic.

Maybe waiting was a good idea. The wind seems to have died down. It’s 10:37 am. If I put on my sneakers now and start stretching, I’ll be on that treadmill exactly when the ladies come into View. And now I’m out of excuses. Well, I’ll just look and see if I can post this, first … Nope, no connection. Off to the gym, then.

Update at 12:24. Glad I waited for The View … George Stephanopoulos! Also went 4.5 miles in one hour. Next goal: 5 miles in one hour.

Training

It's 2010, which HAS to be a good thing. Is it my imagination, or did last year suck for everyone? I never hear a positive thing about it. And here I am, still with no job, feeling like an unemployable slug. On days I don't sub, I tackle one area of my house. One day it took three hours to clean my refrigerator, but afterward Jason honestly believed we'd replaced the fridge while he was at school. Jonah's room is finally purged of everything babyish and looks like a proper place for a 7-year-old boy. Still and yet, I managed to get out of shape. Out of shape! Unacceptable! I was completely flabbergasted when my primary doc told me that a couple weeks ago. You know, I even walked through chemo.

Jill has spent months insisting I do the Broad Street Run, and guess what: I'm going to do it. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but every day for the past week I go outside (or to the treadmill) and move. I feel better already, but I've only got 15 weeks minus one day to go. I've decided I'm going to blog about moving my ruined, lazy body from 0 miles to 10 miles by May 2, but I still reserve the right to throw in cancer or traffic issues along the way. I'll probably need to discuss my hair and bar mitzvah planning and how they tie together. And maybe my job search. This ought to be a barrel of fun.

Really, though, this year has to be better than last. Congrats to all of us for making it here! And P.S., my hair is doing well, except that it wants to be in the '80s. I'll have someone take a picture later.

Just a Picture

I don't really have much to say about cancer, which is a really good thing. I tell some people, and don't tell others. I never hide it. If someone asks about something that leads me into it, I just say it. It's not exactly a secret. It's just weird.

I'm finally getting physical therapy. I worry about lymphoedema, because frankly, it's ugly and I like to wear short sleeves. And it's painful, but mostly, it's ugly. I don't want to wear that sleeve. Also, it seems I ought to do something about my absolute lack of any sort of abdominal muscles. My luck: I had just gotten them, and then I had to get them cut out of me. So I'm learning to strengthen my abs without getting a hernia. Hopefully.

And that's about it. The best news is that I got a round brush to work with my hair! I knew that would be the turning point. Once I could use a round brush I could actually attempt to have a style, and my hair looks so much better. I figured this out on Wednesday, when I took this picture. Enjoy!

I should have stuff to write about after next week, just related to life and fun stuff, but I will not divulge a word of it this week. So don't ask! GO LENAPE MARCHING BAND, NJ State Champs! Good luck tomorrow night in Allentown! (I love being a band mom.)

Maybe Next Time I'll Win the Lottery

As far as anyone can tell, I do not have cancer. I had some abnormal cells in the mole, oddly, so I'll head to a dermatologist in December, but otherwise I'm as good as new, I guess.

I realize I wasn't supposed to worry about those biopsies, but I was terrified about the lumpy thing on my breast that turned out to be scar tissue. Czerniecki always freaks me out, and when he came in to give the results he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Nancy, the NP, saw my eyes bug out and quickly announced she had good news. I later mentioned to her that I had been looking at Czerniecki's expression, and her response was, "How could you tell anything by that? Do his expressions change?" Well. No, not really. But Nancy wasn't the one on the verge of panic to start. They left the room so I could change, and I needed to do something dramatic. I knelt on the floor and raised my arms to the ceiling and thanked G-d, and then of course Czerniecki walked back in and I was completely embarrassed.

After I left the office, something remarkable happened. I had a good day. No, a great day! I felt so good, so light. Nice little things kept happening that whole day, I even made most of the traffic lights. I planned some interesting plans, visited Barb, made Allison happy, bought lottery tickets ... it was the nicest day I'd had since the Phillies parade last year. It was good, and it's lasting! My whole attitude feels different. For example, now I'm glad I'm subbing for the time being. I still work everyday that I don't have a doctor's appointment, but when each day is over I feel good, go home, rest and there's no residual stress from the day. I love meeting all of the different children and getting to know them a bit. I love asking them certain questions and hearing their interesting opinions. This lack of stress has to be good for me. Everyone insisted things happen for a reason, and it seems this is where I belong for right now.

Oh, appointments. I also had my follow-up with Dr. Komarnicky last week. It lasted 5 minutes, because all is well. All is well.

Continuing

Okay, I'm here. See? I actually went for a trim a few hours after I took this picture. It's now neater around my ears and in the back.

Medically, it seems that lately I just hop from one thing to another. I've been to four doctors this month, and by the end of September I'll have had two biopsies. I can't seem to get back to normal, and when I ask a professional, I hear, "That's normal." Nobody expects to find cancer with these biopsies, but because it's me, they have to check. And would you believe I managed to get diagnosed with a hypoactive thyroid, just as a fluke. This explains the previously inexplicable weight gain, but now I'm up to five pills a day. It's like I'm in my 60s, or at least like the many people I know in their 60s. Who are vibrant, active people, don't get me wrong, but they take a lot of pills.

My state of mind is like a roller coaster. Czerniecki always manages to freak me out, and he didn't disappoint when I saw him last week. I glanced over his shoulder at the computer, where it said I'm Stage III. I said I thought I was IIb, and he said no, the mass was too big to be classified that way, I'm IIIa. This is the difference between early detection and advanced stage. That's an adjustment for me. I think I'm getting there, though. I'll just let you know right now, it doesn't help if you point out that nothing has actually changed, I've actually been Stage III all along and my prognosis is still good. My mind simply doesn't work that way. Which is why I hid in my car at football practice last week and cried my eyes out, thinking I was alone until a mom whose children I've taught knocked on my window because she was worried about me. Humiliating.

In other news, I subbed yesterday, and I turned down an assignment today because I promised the rabbi I'd help him with some things. Sorry I'm late, Rabbi! I'll get there in about 20 minutes! The kids are off to a pretty good start with school. Allison is particularly busy. Marching band is so intense! Ken is traveling a bit, which means I run around like a crazy woman most of the time.

L'Shana Tova to those of you who know what that means. Have a healthy, sweet year. I'm hoping 5770 will be MUCH better than 5769, but considering the first week, I'm now pinning my hopes on the secular calendar.

Me Again!

August 5, I guess that was my last full day on the other side of the window, looking out at the healthy world. The final treatment was such a relief, followed by a fantastic lunch at my favorite restaurant (Buddakan!). The folks at Hahnemann were so wonderful, I posed for pictures with them. Here we are:

The top one is in the radiation room, with the techs. Boy, I wish I'd ever remembered their names. I think one is Kelly. The bottom picture is Dr. Komarnicky, me, and my mom. Don't ask why she's wearing a raincoat. I haven't taken a picture of my hair in a couple weeks, but it doesn't look much different. I'm guessing it's about 3/4 of an inch "long." It's getting thicker everyday, and hopefully I'll feel comfortable dyeing it soon.

Anyway, no depression issues as I walked back out into the world, as befalls so many. In some ways, it already feels like it all happened a long time ago. Sometimes I think it wasn't so bad, and other times it seems like it must've happened to someone else. I have my souvenirs, of course. Battle scars, whatever. And my paranoia about every little thing, which is one reason I have three doctors appointments in the next two weeks. I have two spots on my body I want looked at, and can you believe it's been almost 4 months since my last chemo? It's time to follow up with Dr. Fox. Then I have to head back to my primary, because apparently my thyroid is elevated. Probably meds.

I'm still fighting mild sleepiness. I was more tired on radiation than I am now, but I don't feel perfect. Jason and I are now running together, getting ready for our big 8K run in November (coincides with the Philly marathon, but we'll be very proud of our five miles!).

Tamoxifen = nothing. I guess I have a drop of achiness? Not sure. No hot flashes! Is that good? Or does that mean it's not working? I don't miss hot flashes, at any rate. Effexor instead of Zoloft has turned out to be a change for the better. Although I do have a bit of anxiety creeping into my days, and for the past few days I've been positively jumping out of my skin: I had a really good interview for a sixth grade teaching job on Monday, and now I'm waiting ... waiting ... waiting. This is kind of right where I started, right? Waiting stinks. This time I could get very good news. With cancer, there's really no such thing.

Anyway, here's the thing, the big thing: I'm pretty much completely me again. Not like me, but as a cancer patient. It doesn't feel like that. It's just me, going through yet another season hunting for the elusive tenure track teaching job, focusing on money problems, relationship issues, my kids, trying to get/keep fit. My life, only it turns out to be so much better than I would've thought last year. I guess it's not about stopping to smell the roses, but maybe stopping to notice that the laundry you do all day smells good when it's finished.