Gary

Today was my 23^rd session of radiation. Only five more to go. I was feeling pretty foul this morning as I was headed to the hospital for my session. I woke up feeling tired.  The fatigue from radiation is accumulative and I am definitely feeling the effects as I near the end.  This week has been very busy at work and coming in late everyday makes me feel rushed once I get to work and I spend the entire day feeling behind.

I have the first appointment of the day for my radiation therapy.  They have two machines, so there are two of us that arrive just before 8 AM – me and Gary.  Gary is older than I am – maybe in his late fifties or early sixties.  But he is a spry looking gentleman.  Had I not met him in the radiation waiting room, I would have never suspected he is a cancer patient.  He likes to watch the news in the morning and often chats with patients as they arrive.  He has always been cheerful and I have often wondered about why Gary was receiving radiation.

Today Gary and I finished up at the same time so we rode the elevator down together and had to wait for our vehicles.  Gary was not his usual cheerful self this morning and started telling me about his treatment.  He is not only receiving daily radiation, but is also undergoing chemotherapy right now.  Gary can’t eat at all because his throat is too raw.  I shared with him that I had previously gone through radiation of the neck area and understood his plight.  He said he’s tired, he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, and he feels like he has no quality of life right now.  He said they gave him a 60-70% chance of getting through this and that it had better work because he wouldn’t do this again.  Gary asked me how long it took to get my taste back after treatment.  I shared with him that it was a good 2-3 months before food tasted right again.  He said that his cancer was Stage 4 which is why they are treating him so aggressively.

Our cars arrived around that time so we waved and headed our separate ways.  Gary also goes to work each day after his radiation.  Those of us who fight for the early appointments usually have someplace to be.

Talking to Gary definitely gave me an attitude adjustment.  I have been complaining about being tired, but at least I can sleep.  And I can’t eat the things I would like to eat, but I am able to eat without pain.  And most importantly I am fighting the potential of cancer and not actual cancer.  Gary is fighting the real fight.

I am grateful for Gary and am sending him my hopes for the strength that he needs to get through this experience.  I am also reminded that I need to practice kindness.  You can never tell by looking at someone what they are going through at any given moment.  Life is hard sometimes, and everyone has a rough patch now and then. 

My rough patch is almost over.  And for that I am very grateful.

Simple Gifts

As another year comes to a close, it is human nature to take a moment and reflect.  Since the cancer diagnosis and treatment, each year that goes by is viewed as a gift.  Each day and all the moments are the extra, the icing on the cake – the things that may not have been if the cancer had won. 

With each passing day and month and year, I find it harder and harder to live each day with a feeling of gratitude.  I was so overcome with that feeling when Kelly 2.0 emerged from beating cancer.  But now, the worries of daily life sometimes cloud my ability to see past those things that aren’t important.

But stopping to reflect helps me re-center and to focus on the right things.  The things that matter.  The things that make humanity awe-inspiring.

Moments worth remembering were plentiful this year.  Many days were spent in the sunshine enjoying laugher with friends.  It was a year in which we made new friends.  I gazed upon the Golden Gate Bridge in wonderment.  I loved watching the joy that making a great batch of wine brought my husband.  There were many beautiful sunrises and sunsets.  I stood at the top of NC watching the clouds roll in and feeling totally alive.  There was much creating – whether with words or ideas or with my hands.    

And yes, there was sadness at times.  Losses.  Struggles.  Unspeakable and unexplainable things that happened.  But all the darkness only emphasizes the need to focus on the light.

I will make it my goal this year and every year that I am given to live a life of gratitude and of joy.  To not just enjoy great moments, but to find ways to create them for myself and others.  And I ask you to do the same.  Together we can make the world a better place – one moment at a time.

Haunted by Somebody I Used to Know

Thanksgiving is right around the corner.  For the most part, I could not be more excited.  I love the holiday season, and I can’t wait for the weeks of festivities.

I find myself preoccupied by events that took place in the fall of 2010.  I can’t help but to try to mentally walk through the many firsts that happened – all between Mid-November and Christmas.  It was this very week that I had the critical ultrasound and biopsy.  Two days before Thanksgiving I received my cancer diagnosis.  My first meeting with the oncologist and PET scan occurred the following week.  My first chemotherapy happened the very next week.

I am grateful that I kept a blog.  I can remember the big moments – some as if they are in slow motion. But a lot of the detail of that time has now faded.   But having captured it in writing, I am able to read and trigger my memory.  It is a peculiar sensation though, because I feel like I’m reading someone else’s story.  And in reading that story, I am so very proud of the humorous and strong heroine.

Glumly, I am haunted by her.  She is an impossible role model.  She got out of bed everyday with a kick-ass attitude.  She was able to beat cancer!   And even in illness, she was so full of life and so grateful for the people in her life and for all the moments that we take for granted.

It’s hard to live up to her.   She conquered the Big C!  If I’m lucky, I might conquer the Starbucks drive-thru.  She woke up grateful to be alive each day.  I wake up wishing I could sleep another hour.  The small stuff meant nothing to the mighty heroine.  I am sometimes so buried in the small stuff I forget to notice the sunshine peeking through.  She knew her mission and never detoured from it.  I’m no longer sure what my mission is. 

I need to consult with the heroine.  She must be around somewhere. Surely she can give me some advice on how to be more like her.   Strong.  Grateful.  Focused.  I want to be more like this somebody I used to know.

Living the Dream in the Valley

I’ve been writing bits and pieces of this post since we returned from California nearly two weeks ago.  It’s been so busy since we’ve gotten back that it has been nearly impossible to sit and capture my thoughts.

Vacation was blissful.  It was filled with the best life has to offer – quality time with my husband, remarkable food and wine, breath-taking scenery, and wonderful people.  It was the perfect time to celebrate life and to put cancer a little further in the past.

One of the things I enjoyed most were the stories shared by the people we encountered.  As I get older and as anyone who has had cancer or a similar experience will tell you, life is about being in the moment.  Furthermore, enjoying life is about recognizing those moments and appreciating them before they have passed you by.  I am grateful that I during my vacation I was able to recognize these wonderful moments as they were happening and fully experience the joy!

A highlight of our trip was a private Napa tour we took with Dave from the Napa Wine Project.  Dave and I corresponded prior to our trip, and I told him that I wanted to have an “off-the-beaten path” experience.  Robbie, being an amateur winemaker, loves to talk to other winemakers about the craft and I knew that he would enjoy this type of tour immensely.  Dave did not dissapoint.

The first place we went during the tour was Sciandri Family Vineyards where we met with Ron.  They have a beautiful 20-acre state and currently produce an estate cabernet sauvignon.  I loved sitting on his back porch eating cheese and drinking their estate cabernet while Ron talked about their family heritage and how they got started in the wine making business.  We listened as he showed us a small row of grapes smuggled from Italy that he had planted for the enjoyment of his grandchildren. 

Next he took us to meet Emil Tedeschi from Tedeschi Winery.  We ate lunch at a picnic table outside of his winery, while he told stories about how he started a winery in Maui of all places.  Robbie’s favorite moment of our vacation was when Emil pulled out his grafting knife and literally showed him how to graft a grapevine.  Emil was one of those salt-of-the-earth types and I loved that he spoke as a farmer that works hard to produce great wine.    

The last place Dave took us that day was to meet with Heather Brakesman at Summit Lake Vineyards on Howell Mountain.  Her parents started the winery before she was born, and she grew up in the Napa Valley.  We spent time enjoying a spectacular view, drinking wine, and playing ball with a relentless labrador.    She told us about how all she longed to do while growing up was to get out of the valley.  Now she is back, and listening to her kids talk about how there is nothing to do in the valley.  Her language was colorful and she had a great laugh.  I could have sat there all day.

Even without Dave as our ambassador, we stumbled onto some great people all on our own.  Our week started with George Hendry’s two hour tour of his winery.  He was a straight shooter who had obviously done some hard work during his time, as shown by the wear of his shoes, the roughness of his hands, and the aged skin that had spent many long hours in the sun.  But I loved his cantankerous demeanor and hearing him talk about wine with great passion and a suprising level of understanding.

I think this is one of the first vacations in which I was content to sit for hours and just listen to stories.  I took photos to remember rather than be able to show the amazing places I had been.  The wine was great, but not nearly as great as sitting on a deck listening to music while we listened to someone’s story.

If you ever make it to Napa, I highly recommend veering off the beaten path and looking for the hidden gems.  The big name wineries are great and we did spend some time hitting a few of those.  But those are definitely not the stops that are still resonating with me after I've gotten home.

One Year. One Hundred Posts.

It seems appropriate that for my 100^th post on my cancer blog I get to write about my one year check-up with my oncologist.  I’ve always been very nervous prior to previous visits, but I felt pretty confident that I would get a thumbs up.  I feel great this go-around and didn’t get the phantom symptoms I sometimes get prior to my appointments. 

As I sat in the waiting room, I was feeling so grateful to have my hair back.  I saw a lovely bald woman come into the waiting wear a pink bandanna, and the memories of wearing wigs and scarves during the hot summer flooded my mind.  I wanted to go to her and tell her that it grows back and that a year from now she’ll be dealing with unruly inconsistently textured hair.  But I also remembered how crabby and tired I was when I was going through chemo and that I may not like her response to my “helpfulness.”

 When I was called back for my appointment, I was put in the Lance Armstrong room.  Always a symbol of hope that Lance!  I should note that I didn’t actually get to meet with my oncologist.  I am doing so well apparently that he felt it appropriate to just pass my visit off to a physician assistant.  And in all honesty, that was perfectly ok with me.  Let him focus on saving lives rather than carrying on chitchat with someone who feels great.

She said that my blood work looked good, and then proceeded with the usual list of questions they always ask during the check-ups.  Any fever?  Feeling tired?  Trouble breathing?  Lumps or bumps?  Problems going to the bathroom?  Any vomiting?  Night sweats?  Coughing?  Aches and pains?  And on and on … I was given a clean bill of health and will go back in August.  I will be scheduled for a PET Scan prior to the August visit since it will have been a year since my last one.

Probably the only lingering side effect from the “Cancer experience” (almost sounds like a Disney theme park ride – ha ha) is a continuing struggle to fully bounce back.  I think the break you take from leading a normal/regular life is both good and bad.  Good in that you get perspective and clarity around those things that are important.  But bad in the sense that you took a break from the “game of life” and have to get reconditioned to play again.  Lately, I have been struggling with time management, creativity, balance, etc. and I had an epiphany about this just this week.  I don’t think I’ve lost the ability to do those things, but I do think I’ve lost my confidence.  Believing you can do something is such a HUGE part of actually being able to do it.  Just having that thought process has made me feel so much better.  I can be awesome; I just have to believe it.  I just laughed out loud as I was typing this because for a moment I thought about the blog reader and envisioned them thinking “How ego-centric can she be?  Seriously?  What kind of dribble is this?”  That is completely alright; I know I’m a little crazy.  But I also know that some cancer survivor will read this and totally get it.

Thanks for sticking with me.  If you’ve read all hundred of my posts, I should bake you cookies or give you wine.  But this will have to do for now:   A virtual toast to you wishing you love, friendship, good health, and a spirit of gratitude!

Breaking Dawn

Life can change immensely over the course of a year. 

On this day last year I found out I had cancer.  I was in shock.  I felt hopeless.  I was terrified of the future.  I couldn’t imagine how I would get through the next hour, let alone a day or a week.  It was one of the worst days of my life.

On this day, I am cancer free.  I feel full of hope.  Full of gratitude.  I try to embrace each hour.  Each day.  Each week.  Every day I am here is a great day.  Ok, let’s not be crazy.  I have bad days.  But I appreciate that a bad day is still a life-filled day.

It is officially time to put this whole cancer thing in the past.  It’s time to move forward.  For now, I’m going to stop this blog.  It’s become a place of focusing on the negative aspects of my recovery, and I need to focus on the positive.  I need to focus on living.  Should I need it, I know where to come.  It will always be here for me.  I will leave it online as a place of information for those just starting their journey.  But I don’t need it anymore.  I may occasionally write a “still cancer free!” post after my regular check-ups, but that will be the extent of it.

I also find it appropriate to end it at a time of year when it’s tradition to share gratitude and thanks.  My cup overflows with gratitude to each of you who have been with me through this journey.  You will never know the strength you gave me.  You are the reason I got through this.  You are the reason people say I’m strong.  Thank you for laughing at my dark humor, and for knowing when I needed a note or an E-mail or cookies. 

 “Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.  It turns what we have into enough, and more.  It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity.  It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.  Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow.”  ~Melody Beattie

Gratitude

Four months ago I was barely breathing.

The cancer had literally shoved my trachea out of the way. This picture shows my initial PET scan. Sorry for the clarity, this photo was taken of the Doctor’s computer screen with my cell phone. The picture is as if you are looking from the top of my head down into my body. Right in the center is my neck. The part glowing bright yellow in the middle is the cancer. The little black dot in the left of all the bright yellow is my trachea. It was supposed to be in the middle.

I am so lucky that I couldn’t breathe. So often, cancer quietly spreads with no symptoms – making it hard to discover. Way too often it’s too late. My cancer was sort of like me – it wanted to be the center of attention. It was shouting “Here I am! Here I am! I’m going to take your breathe away!” Thank you cancer, for being such a show off.

Today, I take deep breathes often. Some are sighs of relief that I am approaching my last chemotherapy session. Some of the deep breaths are just sighs of frustration that this takes so long. But mostly, I take deep breathes because I can and I’m grateful for it.

Today is a good day. Robbie and I have been married for 15 years today. Without chemotherapy, we may not have made it to this day. So thank you for this Anniversary, chemotherapy. Today I also meet with the oncologist. We will make plans for the future. Today we will talk post-chemo scans and tests. And then begins the waiting for results. Those results determine what my next few months will look like. And the waiting will suck. But as they say, good things come to those who wait.

For so long I was just trying to get through the day. Thinking too far ahead was terrifying. And I finally got to the point where I was trying to get through each chemo cycle. And after I reached about the halfway point I was focused on getting to the end of chemotherapy. Thank you, chemotherapy, for being a good distraction from the big picture. You really know how to be all-consuming. You can go now though, I’m ready to look up from the rabbit hole.