Competitive But Realistic

I'm extremely competitive. A game of Guesstures turns me into a nail-biting, answer-shouting, seat-bouncing freak. Lost field hockey games in high school would leave be seething under my mouth guard and cranky for hours after. And a bad run on the track, forget it . . . devastated. While training for races throughout my adult life, although my mouth is saying, "It's not about my time, it's about having fun", my competitive spirit is screaming, "It's totally about my time!" I was broken-hearted during my training for my first (and last) marathon seven years ago, when just a few weeks before the big event, I injured my knee, causing pain that should have prevented me from going forward with that run. But there was no way I was going to come that far and not go all the way. That day it was truly NOT about my time. It was about finishing. And I did. But cried almost the whole way home from Burlington, VT in pain. Stupid, you say? Yup. It kept me from running for a long time. Last June, I decided I was ready to get back out there. A half marathon this time. Doable. Even though I struggled some days while training with my two girlfriends, when the run came, it was the best I felt in a long time. The runner's high was in full effect. And crossing the finish line with a respectable time and no injuries at 39 left me feeling pretty proud of myself. Running is important to me. A lot of people don't understand it. But I love it. There is a feeling that comes with running that is tough to explain, but anyone else who is a runner knows exactly what I mean and you are shaking your head right now.

So, this cancer thing has put a bit of a damper on any running regimen. My leg muscle have collapsed to the intense build up of chemo . . . deteriorated from the shapely, strong pillars they used to be to these jello-like logs that burn from just walking up stairs. Last week I decided to get out there and try to run a mile and get in shape before the Race For The Cure 5k this weekend. I felt great mentally, so I went for it. The minute I began, I knew I would not last. The feeling was like nothing I had ever experienced. My legs literally didn't work like that anymore. In fact, not only did they feel like they were 400 pounds each, but they couldn't even "move" like the legs of a runner. I likened myself to a woman 9 months pregnant and possibly 10 cm dilated, trying to run. It was impossible. SO after about 200 yards, I stopped. I realized running a 5k was not going to be possible. I cried. I want my body back. I want so badly to run this race with my amazing supporters, some are people who have never run before and have trained for this event. I want to run with them, to show them how proud I am of them for working so hard and reaching their goal. I want to run with my old running mates and my new running mates and my friends and family and all the people who have showed me so much love and warmth and pure, beautiful goodness through these long six months. But I can't. Tough for this competitive girl to admit, but I am just not strong enough yet. I guess I have been using that strength in other ways lately, so I can wait until next year to "run" this race when I am a one year survivor. And I will be running for fun . . . and for time :)

Rock Star? Not Me.

Tomorrow the last cycle begins: take my steroids, get my levels checked, chat with oncologist about my progress, pack my chemo bag with magazines and silly games, and pray that it's not so bad on Friday. In my head I'm thinking, "Toni, how can it be bad when it's your last one?!" But having now experienced the dreaded "cumulative effects" I was warned about in May, I have some trepidation. Seriously, my first three treatments left me feeling like a rock star! I could not believe how well I was handling it all. Sure, I had a few days where I felt drugged and unlike myself, but I would rebound quickly and look forward to getting the next one behind me. Heck, I even ran a 10k the day after my second treatment. Rock star.

But this rock star has fallen. I feel like I was misrepresenting chemo. I mean chemo is supposed to make you look thin, pale and sickly, right? But the only thing different about me was absent hair and maybe some dopey eyes from time to time. Until treatment 4. And that was nothing compared to 5, the one I have still not fully recovered from with 6 only two days away! So the face (my face) of chemo has changed. In the three weeks between treatments, my body has transformed. The "face" of chemo has changed for me over the last month. Want to know the truth about chemo? Day 1: infusion. Day 2-5: drugged feeling, need for sleep and lots of it, but muscles so sore it is difficult to get comfortable to actually enjoy the rest, inability to get out of bed or off the couch in the morning, opening eyes even hurts, interest in food dwindles as the taste of metal takes over, mouth becomes dry and unable to be refreshed, certain foods completely gross me out (dairy products and coffee), while others are a staple to nutrition (watermelon and grapes).

Day 6-17: I am not becoming sickly and thin because the steroids have made me retain water, so my complexion is plump and maybe I even look a little bit younger as my wrinkles are somewhat filled in. However, my pants don't fit because that water I am saving like a camel has appeared in my legs. My cankles have turned into thankles and feel like they could explode if I make one wrong move. The taste in my mouth, unbearable at times, have to keep brushing my teeth. Still tired, but outdoing the fatigue is the extreme muscle burning in my legs even from walking up and down stairs. Now, I have to admit, when I had my chemo class months ago I watched a video of people discussing how chemo affected them. One woman said she was winded just making the bed! I turned to my husband in shock. I could not imagine that could be possible. Even though I have not gotten winded making the bed, I understand. I totally understand.

Day 18-20: Coming around! Just starting to really taste things again. Energy level is increasing.

Day 21: Infusion 6. Yup, the last one. So, I am thrilled, elated, proud, emotional . . . and dreading the next 20 days, especially as school starts on Day 5. Can't let my students down. Gotta be "on".

Over the past several days I have thought a lot about people I have met through this chemo journey, people who have had to endure chemo a lot longer than I, people who are having setbacks, people who are facing cancer a second time. It breaks my heart. To have had chemo behind them, celebrated, had their hair grow back only to find out months later the cancer is back? Devastating. I can't complain, not out loud (well, maybe only to my husband). I've only had to endure three and a half months, six total treatments, three of which left me feeling like a rock star. I do not need that title. Chemo has humbled me. My body has given in but not my mind. I am climbing my way back each day to the woman I remember pre-diagnosis. There are so many people that go through so much more than I, so much more. My journey has been short in comparison, my effects . . . minor. And although I will be tearfully celebrating Friday, I will be taking with me the stories of every woman who filled with chairs next to me and shared the good, the bad and the ugly with me, a complete stranger, but a sister to any woman with breast cancer. Forever on my mind . . . the women who have endured and keep enduring this disease. They radiate strength. They are the rock stars.