So Long, Old Friends

I think I got lucky with my breasts. I really like them. Even though I always wished they were as big as my sister's, they have served me quite well. In high school, I was flat-chested. I was recently looking at a photo of myself wearing my senior prom dress. It was turquoise with fluffy sleeves and a fitted bodice that did not really fit my bodice. Let's call it "gappy". This was all fine with me because they did not get in the way of running up and down the field hockey field or around the track, two things I was way more concerned with than boobs during those years. I was too skinny anyway and big boobs would have been weird. However, along with college came the dreaded freshman 15! And, luckily for me, most of that weight went straight to my flat chest . . . and my hips. I definitely filled out my slutty "clubbin' clothes" much better. Right, girls? Anyway, they were cute . . . until post pregnancy and I didn't even torture them with breastfeeding. I knew long before I ever had a child that breastfeeding was not something I could ever do . . . way too sensitive . . . and as much as that was frowned upon by society, and seemingly gasped at in the circle of breastfeeding warriors of 2004, I did not succumb to the pressure and my son is pretty healthy and somewhat normal. Now, ironically,those sensitive parts will no longer be a part of me, but replaced by tattoos instead. Again, ironically, something I always wanted, but not exactly the location I had in mind. Anyway, in the past six years my breasts have changed location, but still fill out a sweater or bathing suit fairly well, as long as the suit has some tough underwire. And although I uttered the idea of getting them lifted at some point, that will no longer be needed as I say 'so long' to these friends this evening. Breasts are like snowflakes, right? I mean, no two (or four) look the same, but they are all beautiful . . . beautiful parts on God's creations. I would much prefer the 40-year-old, drooping ones that God gave me now, but that was not part of his plan. So, I will go along with that plan tomorrow and tonight just remember He is in control.

Chemo Has Left The Body

I can tell it's gone because all the things I took for granted are slowly coming back. And now I am really paying attention to them. 1. Let's take my taste buds, for instance. Food has never tasted so good as it has over the past couple of weeks. Coffee, I missed you. Chocolate, I adore you. Although I have to tighten the reins on my eating habits for my health's sake, I have thoroughly enjoyed pigging out lately. However, my jeans may not agree. 2. "Unwanted hair". Of course, all the hair I didn't miss in the first place is coming back fast and oddly patterned, but I am not complaining. I shaved my legs today for the first time in a few months and it was nice. Only, Bob's razor needs a new blade. He surely will not appreciate sharing with me again. There's just something about his razor . . . I like it better. Don't judge me. 3. "Wanted hair". Slowly but surely the fuzz is darkening and looking more like hair. Bob says it is getting long. I guess compared to his bald spot it is getting "long", but I can be patient. It's my eyelashes and eyebrows causing me strife. I never lost them completely, just have vacant spots here and there. So I spend a lot of time obsessing over the growth while examining them in a magnifying mirror hourly. Eyebrows are filling in, but eyelash holes are slow to respond. 4. Energy and pain. Energy level has increased and the burning pain in my legs . . . vanished. I even ran two miles last Sunday and felt good! Joy. I feel joy from the inside out. With surgery coming up, I still feel like I am over the hump. The worst is behind me. And that is where I'd like it to stay.

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.

When Nothing Is Happening

My son talks incessantly. Really. He can't stop. It is a constant stream of thoughts and ideas, a running narrative of absolutely everything or complete nonsense. He can talk about very intriguing things like what "webbins" Mario and Luigi would use in a battle with Darth Vader and Darth Maul. He can convey his life plan as if it is happening tomorrow: to own his own Silly Bandz store, not get married, but adopt a little girl and homeschool her, so she can work at the store and because he can teach her lots more things than school. Or he can just ramble endlessly. The mean kid at school might want to turn to him and yell, "Shut up for five seconds!" But I'm his mom, so I can only think that in my head on these long summer "no-plans" days.

So last night I decided to treat him to a stargaze while Dad was working late. We put on our jammies, squirted on some bug spray, searched for our favorite "Magic Blanket" and headed across the street to "Cemetery Hill". Now, in my mind, stargazing is supposed to be a calm, quiet, peaceful look at the stars. Apparently, in Ethan's mind, it was an excuse to run around like a lunatic howling at the moon and creating the most nonsensical knock-knock jokes, which then put him into a fit of fake laughter. "This is so fun, Mom. We should do this more often." Look, I'm not totally insensitive. I love that he was having fun, and I did a little real and fake laughing myself. But this was not in my mind's eye when I imagined our evening together. So, I sat him down on the blanket and asked if we could just be quiet and watch the sky. Sometimes, as a parent, I will say something to Ethan and then be so grateful no one else heard it because it made no sense whatsoever, but at least HE didn't know. Last night was one of those moments. In my frustration I said, "Ethan, sometimes the best moments in life are when nothing is happening." It is not profound in anyway and definitely needed some explanation. But, upon explaining, it even became more clear to me.

Amidst all the summer hoopla, when I think of my best summer moments two things come to mind. First, it doesn't get any better than waking up each morning to a kiss on my bald head accompanied by a "Good morning, Mommy". Next, one afternoon I am standing in the kitchen sneaking a chocolate chip off the top of a magic bar and I hear "Mommy?" with a slight panic in his voice as if he is not sure where I have gone, yet I am only a few feet away from him. I return with a quiet "Yeeessss?" And since he really doesn't need anything, just wants to make sure I am close, and the best part is I know exactly what he is doing, he replies with, "I love you." Best moments.

So, when we finally sat still and listened to the crickets and smelled someone's fire burning and made wishes on the stars, even though he wished for Star Wars Mighty Beans, he also wished we could do this every night. Best moment.

Top Ten Good Things About Crappy Genes

Upon discovering that my sister also carries the BRCA gene causing her now to have to undergo the same surgeries as I, I felt the need to come up with a "cheer up" top ten list for our situation. And here it is:

Tina,

I'm sorry! This gene sucks. It is forcing you to make decisions you should not have to make and it sucks!

But let's look at the good things about this:

1. We will have no place for breast and ovarian cancer to grow which puts us in a pretty good spot!

2. We will be watched like hawks by our doctors and screened regularly, so if we ever do get cancer somewhere else, it will be caught early, and it will be survivable.

3. When we have our surgery, our husbands will not be able to complain about anything and must wait on us hand and foot!

4. We get to have those tattoos we always wanted . . . right on our nipples! Ok, that's not a good one.

5. We are going to have some nice boobs! No sagging! No bras! Our friends will be soooooooo jealous!

6. We get to tell people our story and encourage people with histories like ours to get tested and maybe even spare someone the heartache of cancer!

7. We finally can confirm that I was NOT left by gypsies like you always told me when we were little.

8. We can pose naked in Playboy for an informative article on gene testing!

9. No more periods!

10. We will always have someone else who knows how we feel. We are in this together, and it is going to be ok. We are both cancer-free and we are going to stay that way!!

I love you!

Good Morning, Leg Hair

Good Morning, Leg Hair!

I don't fully understand your growth , but I will not challenge you! Shaving will never again be a complaint from these lips. You have been diligent in growing back despite two impending treatments on the horizon. I commend you for your efforts and realize you must be exhausted from your trip. I will happily lather you up today and send you into the depths of Bob's razor blade, allowing you the rest you truly deserve.

Thanks,

Toni

PS-On your way back, could you encourage your friends on my head?