Resting

I really had it out with Ryan yesterday.

He really hasn't understood what I'm going through, and how much I need his help to be the glue in this family when I am down and out. That everybody needs to have their hand held, me included. That nobody is as strong as I was being. NOBODY. That I hurt just as much as anybody else, that I need love just as much. That "I'm fine" doesn't mean anything if I'm bleeding and swollen and hurting and tramatized. I think that "I'm fine" in those circumstances means that you if can't see how not-fine I am, how much I am struggling, how much extra care I need, then you are not really looking at me. If you can't look me in the eye, I can not reveal my pain.

That's pretty messed up. I know. Ryan is closest, so he gets the brunt of it.

Ryan protests. He wants to help. This is where it gets sticky. He is so frustrated that I have not let him help; I am frustrated that he has not tried harder. I am frustrated that I wasn't allowed to ask him for help as he struggled with his own demons, and that I had to shoulder so much in his place. I'm damn angry, as a matter of fact.

Ryan is a good man. I'm glad I married him. I love him. He is a great dad, and Tessa thinks that he hung the moon. He is capable of great things. This is not about belittling him. I'm just trying to be honest about where all of this "stuff" I'm dealing with is coming from, and it's not all roses.

My strength is real, but also a farce. It's what I did to hold it together through a long ride through hell, but it has its limits.

And I have reached those limits.

A woman on the YSC has been through more than I have. I won't tell her story here because it is not mine to tell, but she knows about pain and loss and cancer and other tragedies; she started her journey before mine, has been going without a break, and isn't done yet (though she will be soon). I admire her more than I could possibly express here; she is graceful and real at the same time. She sent me a reply to my "help!" message that I sent out to the girls in Cancerland, and she told me that she had been watching me since the beginning. She told me that she's been waiting for this, and that it was okay for me to break down now.

Suddenly, it all feels so transparent. This was inevitable, and I didn't see it coming.

I have not really dealt with all of this. I have told myself that Bad Things Happen and It's Okay.

Bad things happen. It is not okay. It's reality, but it sucks.

And a LOT of bad things have happened to me.

As somebody else put it to me, PollyAnna never got cancer.

It has been pointed out to me that a lot of survivors get post traumatic stress disorder. A counselor on the YSC pointed out to me that she thought I had an acute case, and to get thee to a shrink post haste. I'm pretty sure she's right.

I have taken great pains to prove to people that I Am Okay. That I am Bigger Than Cancer. That I Am an Inspiration.

Well, maybe I am. But I'm also human. DAMNIT. This part hurts. That no matter how much I deal with pain in various forms, in the end, I am not WonderWoman. I can take bullets to the chest and lift SUVs off innocent babies but in the end, I'm just human, and I still hurt, and I still bleed. I can lift the SUV to save the baby (or myself), true, but I still put out my back, damage my muscles, break my bones, and burst my blood vessels. I am not unscathed from the process.

I have forgotten how to acknowledge pain. When is pain too much? For me, it's when the nausea overwhelms me and I feel terror because if I throw up my chest stitches will burst open from the force of the vomit expelling from my body. I know the pain is too much if I start shaking uncontrollably. I know the pain is too much if I wake up moaning. I've experienced those things more times than I can count.

But right before the moaning, or the shaking, people ask me if I'm okay and I think "Well, all my parts are there. I guess I'm okay," and so I say "I'm fine."

I'm not fine. It should be abundantly clear that I am not fine. But when the pain is a throbbing in my body and it's almost manageable if I lie perfectly still and keep my breathing shallow, I haven't been able to acknowledge that this is the kind of pain that nobody should ever experience. Never mind that if I HAD to, say, if the hospital caught fire, I could make it out on my own two feet, it's not okay. Never mind that I can take it as long as it doesn't crank up any more. I shouldn't have to take it.

The nurses are surprised when they come to check on me and ask me my pain. "What number on a scale of 1-10, 10 is worst?" I think. It feels like I'm dying. But I know I'm not dying. 7? Oh, don't be a wuss, 7's for really bad stuff, and this isn't all that bad, because I can still talk in short sentences if my eyes are closed. "Five?" I say, uncertain. "FIVE?" they respond, "Why didn't you tell me! Let me get you some more narcotics! Let's bring that down."

How come I don't even know how much pain I'm in, on my own personal scale?

My cancer has been inconvenient to more people than I can count. People are tired of my complaints. They like it when I'm brave. "Oh I'm so glad you're up and about so soon!" they say. This is how I have defined myself. I am successful when people are telling me how brave I am.

I'm the girl who lost 40 pounds while in the middle of hell. The girl with a mastectomy who went swimming the day her head was shaved bald. If I can do that, I can do anything. I'm the girl who speed-walked the first year of the 3-Day.

I'm also the girl who wrote a 3-Day speech that had 2500 people in tears. It honestly struck me - why are they crying? It was supposed to inspire! It was supposed to show that there could be joy with pain! We all know that cancer is painful, but I was showing joy! Why were they crying?

More importantly, why were they crying so freely when I was not?

If you've followed any of this rambling, you know, as I am now realizing, that I am completely crazy. I have really lost it this time.

I spoke to Rev. Peg yesterday, and she reminded me of the sermon from last week, teachings of a Buddhist monk whose 3-part name (Thac? Nan?.....?) I can never remember, even though he is an amazing teacher and human. Anyway, it was about owning all of our parts. It was about allowing ourselves to acknowledge our anger, to turn it over in our hands, to accept it, and to look at it with acceptance before doing anything with or to it. Or maybe it's about not doing anything to it, just acknowledging that anger is real, as much as joy or other "positive" feelings. I need to go online and read the sermon, that's for sure. (I heard the lecture when 24 hours out of the hospital, in pain, on narcotics. Pardon me for getting the details mixed up.)

Because I think that I have said, "There is no point in being angry over something I can not control," and I have tried to turn my anger into positive actions (focusing time on fundraising, for example). I have not accepted that I have burning anger. That it just "is." That it is an (acceptable?) part of the package. That you cannot go through what I have been through and emerge unscathed.

And now the anger has exploded and taken over. Instead of apologizing for this, instead of smoothing everything over, instead of pretending that I feel better than I do, I am attempting to stand back and watch - let - it blow.

This meant that I spent a lot of last night crying and yelling. Let me tell you, this is not Lifetime Movie material. This is ugly.

Part of what I am realizing is that I have spent a lot of time making people feel better about the fact that I had cancer, the fact of my pain, the fact of my concern. People love to talk about how I'm going to fight this thing and win; nobody wants to talk about the fear of losing. "Oh that won't happen to you," they say. Well, I'm allowed to worry. I'm allowed to acknowledge my fear. My cancer isn't scary because I had to take bad drugs and do awful surgeries; my cancer is scary because it threatens to take away my breath, to turn me back to ashes.

And I'm angry that I have all of this fear and nowhere to put it.

I'm angry because if I spend an hour at home watching Dr. Phil I feel like I have let down Tessa and myself and everyone because Dr. Phil is junk-TV and not useful and I have wasted a day that I was lucky enough to have. I feel guilty because I could be doing something useful to improve the life of my family or of the planet. I feel guilty because I'm resting when I should be working. There is always work to do. But when am I allowed to just rest? When am I allowed to take an hour to gather my thoughts, or to just rest?

On Monday, fresh out of surgery, Tessa at my mom's, why did I do four loads of laundry, change the sheets, take out the recycling, load and unload the dishwasher? WHY? There are a lot of answers to that questions, and I'm not interested in the most simple answers.

I guess I'm running out of steam. I'm waiting for Dr. Rinn to call. I need meds. I still feel completely off balance.

Ryan stayed home today to take care of me. I am under orders to rest.

Our fridge and freezer are stocked with meals from friends and Mom. Tessa has been under wonderful care from my Mom, Heather, Katie, Beth, and others. I can't blame any of this on a lack of a support system. I have bouquets of flowers, food, desserts, cards, gifts to remind me of how much people love me. It makes no sense at all that I would feel unlovable, but I can't explain it. I am so grateful to my friends and family - you know who you are, and how much I love you.

I'm just a basket case.

And for those of you reading this and thinking that this is just a phase, let me say in no uncertain terms: this is me, too. This me has been there all along. I need to be in this place right now. It's dark and it's scary and I hate it but I've got to get through it. PollyAnna is still missing but I'm starting to resent the hell out of her because she led me down this path and then abandoned me in the wilderness with no map to get out. I'm pretty pissed off at her, for letting me believe in her, for letting me believe that I could count on her to stick around, because she has left when I needed her more than ever.

In a day or two I hope I will be functional again, not weeping at every turn. But not today. Today I'm crying a lot and so confused. In a day or two I will have to emerge from my hole and face the day and look at the sun (or feel the rain on my face; it is Seattle) and I will try to find some middle ground between PollyAnna and the darkness where I don't feel schizophrenic. I will take all of the necessary steps (make gratitude lists, meditate, deep breathing, take drugs, seek a counselor, blah blah blah) to figure my way through the mess and I'll figure it out. But this part of me is not going away.

I have to deal with this part of me so that I am prepared when it comes back again, because I am very ill prepared this time.

What a freaking disaster. Just when I think I'm at the end of the awful journey, just when I think I'm the most healed, I fall apart. Great.

Depression

I am relatively certain that I have slipped from a bad mood into a clinical depression.

If I look, it's been coming for a long time.

I have called the amazing Dr. Rinn (who was out of the office today) and left a message asking for anti-depressants. Maybe magic pills can make my problems go away.

I am completely drained of strength. I do not have anything left to give to others or myself.

I am ashamed of my inability to be a good mom. Thank GOD I can blame the surgery right now so that Tessa doesn't need to worry about one more thing.

I want to crawl into a hole, to disappear.

I can not shake the feeling that it is my job to make everyone else feel better, and that it's my Good Attitude that keeps the world spinning. It seems that now my Good Attitude has gone away the world will stop, but I know that's stupid and egocentric of me. I'm not that important, and I know it. Maybe a better way to put it would be to say that without My Good Attitude and Amazing Strength and Courage, which are ways I have defined myself, I feel unlovable. I feel like a screw up. My Good Attitude, Strength, and Courage have defined me for a long time and without them I am lost. Scared. Hopeless. Lonely. Frightened.

If anyone is seeking inspiration from me today, I'm afraid you'll have to go elsewhere. Shop is closed until further notice, with apologies from management.

And yet a tiny bit of me remains. For those of you who know and love me, know that I am working on it. That I am hopeful that Dr. Rinn has some new magic pills in her arsenal that will take the edge off. That I will remind myself of all of the things that I have to be grateful for, even though such a list makes me want to gag. That I will work on repairing my damaged relationships (I'm pissed off right now and there are those who know it). I'll get over it. I always do. It's just that right now, it's so dark, and I can't find a match, and I'm cold and scared.

Maybe all I need is rest.

Good God, reading this, I sound like a bad novel; like a cliche'. Whatever. It's all I've got right now.

Bad mood reigns

I am in a horrible mood.

Horrible.

PollyAnna is on vacation. I can't find her anywhere, and frankly, I am too freaking tired to look for her.

I do not have the ability to hold polite social conversations on the phone at this time. If you ask me how I am, I will tell you. Be warned. It's not pretty.

Physically, I'm doing fine. It sucks, but it's fine. I'm trying not to take pain meds because they have too many bad side effects. I'm managing.

Emotionally, I'm a wreck. I have done too much, been through too much. Ryan and I are arguing, and I'm very angry with him (and he with me). I have to come to terms with the fact that I ask for too much, and I need to ask for less. This is a struggle for me.

I am tired of being the strong one. I am tired of having to hold it all together. I am tired of doing the right thing, I am tired of being an optimist, I am tired of making lemonade from lemons. I am tired of trying to buoy the spirits of everyone around me. I am tired of telling everyone that I'm fine. I am tired of making others feel better that I had cancer. I am tired of smiling. I don't feel like smiling. I feel like crying. I am tired.

I do not need advice right now. If you offer it, no matter how well intentioned, I may snap. I apologize in advance for this anti-social behavior. I value good manners, but I am at my limit. It is best that I avoid social interactions right now, because I don't have one milimeter of patience or extra goodwill to share. I'm at my limit.

I'm just tired. Really, really tired.

PollyAnna, where are you?

Damnit PollyAnna, come back here. Right. This. Minute. Come here! Where are you?

I really need PollyAnna, and she has left me when I need her most.

I am in a terrible mood.

Surgery

Surgery was not fun. It makes me feel sort of ill just to think about it.

I got to the hospital early, and spent a joyful half hour holding Michele & Dave's newest family member, Everett. It was the only highlight in a miserable day.

But then I had to go check in to surgery.

I checked in, and answered all of the questions. "No, I'm not pregnant." "Yes, I'm sure." Don't you people read my chart? I've had a hysterectomy - I am NOT pregnant! I even told them, "I've had a hysterectomy and oopharectomy" and they continued to ask, "Are you sure?" Whereas I realize that they have to be careful, there is a point at which this type of thing is insulting.

Anyway.

First, Ryan was late, because his work meeting ran late. On a normal day I could handle it, but I was feeling really alone and scared and I couldn't stop watching the clock, wondering when he would get there. In a hospital, right before surgery, 25 minutes feels like a lifetime.

Then, they had to poke me multiple times. First, to do blood work, with a "sorry no I can't hook up the IV someone else has to do that." Idiots! Then, to hook up the IV, but I told her it wouldn't work without a hot towel to enlarge my vein, and I got the "oh I've done this lots of times" and then she tried and poked me but it didn't work. She was surprised; I wasn't.

Then waiting for the anesthesiologist, who got the IV in right away, but put it right in the bend of my wrist so that I couldn't move my hand without feeling the needle jab me inside of my wrist.

Then, off to a supply room filled with boxes (!) with the surgeon to take pictures and mark me up for the operation. Lots of Sharpie pen on me, as I stand there, mostly naked, a gown tied around my waist because I am not allowed to wear underwear into surgery (but it's CHEST and FACE surgery.....?!), my bare rear end up against the cold wall.

Lots of marking, lots of discussion about where the nipples should go. The surgeon couldn't seem to understand that the muscles on my chest still have feeling even though the skin doesn't, and she kept pinching me and moving my breasts around in a way that hurt me. I kept saying, "That hurts" and "that's really uncomfortable" but she kept saying "Oh really?" and "oops I'm sorry" and then she'd do it again in a moment.

Throughout this, there are knocks on the door, and we are interrupted by three different people, each of whom comes in, rummages through boxes and drawers, says, "Sorry!" and leaves. All while I am standing there naked and covered in Sharpie.

Small indignities such as these add up after a while.

Then we discussed the different things that would be accomplished in the surgery. I asked about what size the new implant would be to make my left breast smaller to match my right breast. The assistant got nervous, stating, "Wait I didn't know about that and I didn't order another implant" and she rushed off to track it down.

What the ****?!

She came back, sans implant. None had been ordered.

At this point, the doctor changed what we had talked about. She said, "Oh, I'm sure it will be fine without the implant exchange; when we remove the encapsulation it will look smaller," and I said, "If this is true, then how come you wanted an implant in the first place?" and there was some discomfort in the room.

I was told that I could reschedule the surgery if I wanted to. She told me that the implant was just for back-up purposes, and that she thought things would be fine.

So now I'm expected to go into surgery without a back-up. Great.

I knew that I should walk away. I knew that the risk of things not going well was too high, and that I should reschedule.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't face walking into the hospital again. As I have blogged here, I have felt the weight of a thousand worlds on my shoulders as I faced this surgery, and I have hated the worry about it. I couldn't do it again. It makes me shake to face surgery, and I couldn't face it again.

I started to weep. My choice was to go into surgery without a back-up plan to put in a smaller implant if necessary - the back up that the surgeon told me we would have, that she felt comfortable with. Or, I could walk away from the hospital, explain to Tessa that Mommy didn't get nipples, that we weren't done after all, that we needed to plan for another surgery.

Naked and shaking, I slid to the floor and sobbed uncontrollably. I could not stop crying. It is so brutally unfair that I would be forced to make this decision, minutes before surgery, naked, IV in my arm. The assistant said, "Just look on the bright side. I believe that a positive attitude will help!" and I wanted to commit her to an insane asylum. I know a LOT about being positive. I'm Ms. PollyAnna most of the time. But things go wrong, and not because I have a bad attitude. I'm the one who got breast cancer, who needed an extra surgery because the sentinal node results were wrong, who had an allergic reaction to Taxol, who got third degree radiation burns, who is already on her second set of corrections to the plastic surgery. Don't tell me to have a good attitude! A good attitude will not help if I'm under anesthesia and the implant size is wrong and there is no back up.

A horrible choice, and I fear that I made the wrong choice. But what could I do? Walk away from surgery, rescheduling my families' lives; or get it over with. I knew if I walked away that I could not be certain that I would ever have the strength to sign up for it again. I knew that I couldn't put myself through it again. And I knew that I could not face telling Tessa, who has counted on this symbolic moment for so long, that Mommy wasn't getting nipples after all.

I can not believe that I was expected to make such an important decision while naked, IV in wrist, covered in Sharpie, in a supply room closet, minutes before surgery. I am only human. How was I expected to manage this? What was the right thing to do?

So I said, "Okay, I'll do it."

We'll see if it worked. I'm still in a straightjacket bra, and will be for two weeks.

I woke up from surgery feeling fuzzy headed, nauseated, and in pain. I couldn't get the pain to go down - it climbed and climbed, and they kept giving me more meds. I couldn't sleep. It was all I could do not to throw up. They hooked me up to a pain pump at night - it was realized, amongst all of us, that there was no way I could go home - and this was idiotic because I was exhausted and the pain pump was set up for every 10 minutes. So, every 10 minutes, I would need to wake up to re-deliver pain meds, or suffer the pain of not doing so (which would wake me up anyway).

At about 1am I asked to be given oral pain meds, and to have the pain pump removed. I slept in half hour stretches after that, but at least that's better than 10 minute stretches.

I was more than ready to go home in the morning; I even stopped at the coffee shop on the way, before collapsing into bed, just to prove to myself that I was alive.

I am trying to steel myself for the fact that I might need another corrective surgery, and I could kick myself into next week for not having more strength and courage to walk away.

I will certainly let my plastic surgeon know how incredibly disappointed in her I am; I will make sure that she understands that the "minor clerical error" of not placing an order has had a huge impact on me, and that I find it extremely unprofessional of her/her office.

In the meantime, I'm trying, often unsuccessfully, to have a good attitude about this, and to heal.

Tessa has been in a bad mood much of the weekend; Ryan and I are still in bad moods.

Today goes on much like normal, though Tessa is with my mom. I've folded four loads of laundry, emptied the dishwasher, taken out the recycling (it's garbage day), etc. Life goes on even when I'm feeling miserable.

Healing is hard work

For reasons of modesty, I will not publish photos of my new nipples online, but here is a picture of me post-surgery; my eyelids were the donor sites for my nipples. I'm told that I look better than expected, but still, I feel pretty beaten up. I can not bed over, raise my arm (the left side, where there was encapsulation, hurts the most; the right side feels really good), and I have the overall feeling of blecchhhh that comes from anesthesia, inactivity, pain meds, and four incisions (maybe more; I haven't seen my breasts because they're confined in some kind of straightjacket thing).

For the past few hours I've been lying in bed listening to podcasts of This American Life, with ice bags on my face and sweet Mozart snuggled up under the covers with me. Tessa has popped in and out bringing me things, and Ryan brought me dinner in bed (thank you Ian and Tami for providing a delicious lasagna). It could certainly be worse.

However, healing is hard work.

I am hopeful that I will feel well enough for church tomorrow; there is a newcomer's meeting that I'd like to attend, and the sermon is on "mindfulness" which is a topic that greatly interests me.

I have learned that right now, I need two of the "one or two every four to six hours as needed" Percocets.

And back to bed for me. Thank you to everyone for your kind thoughts and calls. I'm not really up to talking on the phone right now but hopefully tomorrow...

home from the hospital

I am home, and about to go hibernate for a while. I ended up spending the night for pain management reasons, but I'm glad to be home now.

I am very glad to start putting this behind me. I'll be down and out for a few days, minimum, but hopefully the results will be good.

Almost time

13 hours from now I'll be at the hospital, wearing a backless gown (which they will remove before operating, to expose my front) and hopefully taking some really nice anti-anxiety meds to make me feel calm and peaceful.

Because I do NOT feel calm and peaceful.

Part of me thinks that I should think that this surgery is no big deal because it's just cosmetic and I've done much, much worse; but the other part of me is completely freaked out because they'll be cutting my eyes and because this is the second round of corrections and they might not work and it's a lot to go through for an uncertain result.

Part of me wants to go under the covers and hide.

I had a good time at bookclub tonight; I joked with Katie that it was a bunch of "alpha types" and I love alpha women. They were bandying about book names back and forth, and I was impressed with their literary depth and knowledge. It was a great distraction.

Even though, in the closing pages of the book we read, two women died of "the cancer." Nice. And even though one of the book suggestions was about a book written from the perspective of a child who mourned her deceased mother. (NO, I'm not reading that one.)

Bad attitude again.

It will be okay. Tomorrow I will feel better. But I don't think I will ever get used to surgery, even if I have to do a million more. I just want to move past this, to live my beautiful life.

Bad attitude

I have a bad attitude.

I'm faking it relatively well, most of the time, but I'm at a loss for words. I don't want to deal with this. I'm tired of surgery, tired of being brave, tired of holding myself together, tired.

Tonight is my first book club meeting with a group of women I don't know (except Katie, who invited me to join, and Jenny, who is joining tonight as well). Hopefully this keeps my mind off things.

And WELCOME TO THE WORLD, Michele & Dave's baby boy, Elliott's brother! He was born this morning, and mom and baby are healthy and happy. I will meet him tomorrow before surgery, and I'm looking forward to it immensely.

City girls

We just got back from our downtown adventures.

Katie & Jessie arrived at 9:10, and we walked to C&P for coffee, and then caught the bus downtown. We meandered through the aquarium for a while, then walked up through Pike Place Market and met "the dads" (Ryan & Mike) for lunch at Le Panier. We munched on yummy treats (European style sandwiches) at the cafe bar, and then walked up to SAM. We barely touched on the various aspects of the museum, but we had a wonderful time exploring some of the textiles, Native American art (particularly Pacific Northwest Coast Indian art), and the children's play area. Then, we caught a bus and came home.

Today was the type of day that I vow to have more often. Certainly, not every day can or should be like this, but it was a wonderful experience. Next year, Tessa will be in school five days a week, and these days won't happen. But today, there were no crowds, there was no hurry, and it was just about enjoying each others' company and our beautiful city. It didn't cost much (memberships at SAM & the aquarium), and we filled our eyes with the beauty of the art, we learned about nature, we chatted with friends, we shared some mid-day time with Ryan (very unsual for us)...and it was lovely. This is why I'm grateful to be a stay-at-home mom in Seattle.

This is also why I'm grateful to be healthy. I can walk all over, I can enjoy the cold breeze (and my warm jacket), I can feel energetic enough to do these things with Tessa. A day like today is a gift.

More days like it will follow this winter. We can bus to the Seattle Center and go ice skating; we can ride the carousel at Westlake Center; we can go to the market to buy fish for dinner; we can revisit the museum or aquarium; we can enjoy the public library....there are many, many adventures to be had.

A day like today, experiencing all of that, made me momentarily forget my surgery troubles.... hallelujah. My spirits were lifted, and I'm reminded why moping is counter-intuitive, even when it's what I most want to do.

And again, I'm grateful to have a wonderful daughter to share these things with - interested in nature, not at all shy about exploring the touch and feel tanks, and willing and eager to see beautiful art, to learn how it's made, to behave in a cafe, to hold my hand and walk through downtown. I'm grateful to have a husband who works downtown, not miles away on the east side, and who is interested in joining his girls for lunch. I'm grateful for friends - adult and child - to share these adventures.

Gratitude feels good.

Hunkering down

I have noticed the same pattern with each of my successive surgeries. For a week before surgery, I feel absolutely out of sorts, and (dare I use the word) depressed. It's hard to get out of bed in the morning, hard to face my usual chores, hard to be attentive to Tessa, hard to focus, hard to maintain healthy eating habits (I want to stuff my face with scones).

I know, from experience, that when surgery is done this feeling will lift very quickly. It's replaced in the short term with the pain and exhaustion of new wounds and new healing, but in the intermediate term - say, a week after surgery - I hope to be up and about, running around, making decisions with a smile on my face. I hope to be chomping at the bit to return to the gym, inviting friends over for dinner, organizing playdates, watching my friends' children for them so that Tessa can play and I can repay.

But this week, I'm wallowing in it. I just feel absolutely wiped out by it all. Eight surgeries is enough, certainly. I'm fearful, just like with the first surgery, of anesthesia, pain, side effects, results...but now I've learned to choke down my fear, to face it head on. The fear is still there, just now I can look it square in the face without blinking, even though I'm trembling from head to foot.

I alternate between feeling like I am a conquerer and feeling as timid as a mouse.

It's hard to talk to people this week, because I know that people are worn out by my cancer. It's gone on ENOUGH. I've received so much support through the past couple of years, and I'm wearing out my support network. I understand, but it's still kind of hard.

I just feel the burden of surgery weighing me down. Once I'm done with this surgery, I can set down my burden and return to my usual sunny self (!), but right now I feel overcast and gray and lethargic.

However...

Today I was determined to be a good mom, and to give Tessa lots of attention. After preschool, I took her to the aquarium, and we had a wonderful time, and then I took her out for sushi (we shared edemame and sushi - mango/tuna rolls and mango/salmon rolls....I'm so proud of her for eating "real" sushi with raw ingredients, and I know how lucky I am that she has such a diverse palate) at Azuma in the junction. We had fun together.

Tomorrow I've scheduled us for another busy day, because if I didn't, frankly, I wouldn't get out of my bathrobe until noon.

Tomorrow morning we're going back to the aquarium to see some things we didn't get to today, and then we're having lunch with Ryan, and then we're going to the Seattle Art Museum. We have memberships to the aquarium and SAM so it's worth it even if we don't stay for long, and I'm excited to do it. Katie & Jessie might join us, and Mike might meet for lunch, too, so I'm totally excited for that. It'll be nice to be out and about, forgetting my troubles instead of dwelling on them.

And now, off to bed for me. I wish I could shake this feeling, but I know I just need to give it time.

Pinking up October

Welcome to Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

October is officially breast cancer awareness month. This month, every woman's magazine will have an article or two about survivors, treatment, breast self exams, and the like. Every talk show will have a breast cancer segment. Every store will be stocked with pink items. Breast cancer is in the air - it's on people's minds, everywhere.

Don't believe me? Just look for all of the pink merchandise. Ribbons abound.

There is a small, very vocal group of people opposed to pink merchandising. They believe that a ribbon is not a very good symbol for a horrific disease, and that it is offensive that companies are making money from their pink marketing efforts. I disagree - strenuously - with this position.

First of all, I'm not sure what a better symbol for breast cancer would be: a cancerous cell? a picture of a mastectomy? an image of a family grieving their deceased mother? I don't think that anyone would wear one of those images on their coat, or use it as a conversation starter. A pink ribbon isn't perfect, but somebody came up with the idea of ribbon marketing, and since pink has long been the color for women and girls (pink for girls, blue for boys) there you have it. A woman's disease, marked by a pink ribbon.

And pink ribbons ARE effective. In the 1970s, the word "breast" could not be published in a newspaper, even in reference to breast cancer. Women didn't know about breast cancer like we do now, and as a result, they often waited too long for mammograms or exams, and they died from their lack of knowledge. I recently saw the 1970s breast cancer statistics for my stage of breast cancer, and found that if I'd been diagnosed then, I would have been 20% more likely to die of the disease within five years. Pink ribbons have raised awareness - I did a breast self exam because I had been educated on the subject of BSE, and because, in part, pink ribbons reminded me of what I should be doing. And pink ribbon marketing has, in great part, funded the research that has improved my odds so significantly.

The argument that companies are immoral or misdirected by making money from pink merchandising is also misplaced in my mind. Companies are not, at their essence, philanthropic in nature: they are created to create profit for their owners (shareholders), and in doing so, they employ others and create livelihoods. When a company decides to ally itself with a cause, and donate money to that cause, the cause benefits. Certainly, companies do not usually donate 100% of their proceeds to a cause, but to do so would drive them out of business, and I don't expect or desire that.

Take M&Ms. I am told that a bag of M&Ms (large size) is $5 or something like that, and that only $.50 goes to Komen. On the surface, that doesn't sound like much - $.50 doesn't buy much of a mammogram, and doesn't pay for even a minute of research - but it's not about the $.50, it's about the total donation. In the past 4 years, M&Ms have donated $2.8 million to Komen from their pink M&Ms campaign. I believe that the success of this program is BECAUSE they are making a profit from the pink M&Ms: people choose to buy the M&Ms because they like M&Ms and because they would like to support the breast cancer cause, and therefore M&Ms sells more of their product. The $.50's add up, and suddenly they've amounted to $2.8 million dollars.

I would rather support a company who chooses to do cause based marketing than one who chooses simply to market their product. Certainly, M&Ms is going to do a lot of marketing of their product, and is going to spend oodles of money on marketing programs; they can do it to benefit breast cancer (or some other cause), or they can do it only for their own profit. I choose to support companies who have recognized that supporting a cause helps people, even as it helps their bottom line. Everyone benefits. Could M&Ms donate $1 per package? Maybe, but I am not going to knock them for donate $2.8 million and declare their $2.8 million a paltry sum. Sure, I'm happy to ask for more, but I will not insult the $2.8 million.

There is another argument that says that it would be better for everyone to fund breast cancer research directly, rather than to just buy M&Ms, thus eliminating the middle man. Sure, this is a great idea, except that it doesn't play out in real life. Ideally, people would recognize the needs of society and step up to pay for those needs: healthcare, health research, etc. But people don't. They are bogged down in their own need to pay for food and shelter, and their desire for cute shoes. SOME people give generously to charity, and others do not (either because they can't or because they won't, but the end result is the same). I say it would be great if companies AND individuals practiced philanthropy without prompting or marketing, but I think it's very unrealistic. So, there are individuals out there who are unwilling or unable to write a check to Komen, but are eating M&Ms anyway and decide to buy the pink package....and every little bit helps.

Also, companies have much deeper pockets than individuals. A team of 35 people - Team Kristina and Warrior Women - did grass roots fundraising over two years to raise about $120,000. I'm very proud of this work and my part in it, but I recognise that it was a LOT of effort, and though it's a lot of money from my perspective, it's nowhere near what a corporation can give. Breast cancer research needs work from people like me, but it also needs the deep pockets of the corporations. I can work tirelessly, around the clock, to raise money for breast cancer to donate directly to the cause, but I will never come close to the amount that a large corporation is going to give. This doesn't make me give up on my own efforts, but certainly, I appreciate the money that the corporations are giving, too.

There are some companies, though I think they are few, who give pink marketing a bad name by putting pink ribbons on products without benefiting the cause. I don't know who these companies are, though.

Komen has a list of million dollar partners on their website, as well as "5 Questions to Ask" for cause based marketing. If you wonder who to support, and how to determine who is legit, you might wish to take a look at their website information:
http://cms.komen.org/komen/Partners/index.htm

So, as you proceed into the month of October, consider buying pink. Make sure that you read the fine print: who is getting the proceeds of the product? Is it Komen, Breast Cancer.org, The Young Survival Coalition, The Breast Cancer Research Fund, or some other reputable organization? GREAT. What is the minimum donation that the company is giving? If a company is only giving $0.03 per item, that seems small, unless you read that they are committing a minimum of $500,000 to the cause. You, ultimately, decide where to spend your dollars, of course. But I hope that as you proceed into the pink month, you will consider supporting those companies who have decided to take action against the disease that has threatened my life, and the lives of over two million survivors in the US, as well as uncounted women who have not survived.

All of our pennies are adding up, and we ARE going to find a cure.

a slow, quiet weekend

I'm getting over the emotions of last week, but steeling myself for the emotions to come. Next Friday - less than a week from now - is my eighth surgery, when I get nipples. Another anesthesia, another set of sutures, another recovery. Hopefully this is my last surgery, and there will be nothing but sunshine after this.

I am very, very tired of having things looming over me, of having so much work ahead of me. I am hopeful that with this next surgery, I will feel the weight of them lifting from my shoulders. I am hopeful that I will feel that my future is the same as a normal person's: full of challenges, certainly, but not with looming doom (surgeries, chemos, trips to the hospital, pain).

I find myself a lot more tired than usual this week; last night I was in bed by 8:30pm. I think it takes a lot of energy to process this stuff, and I hope that's all it is, and not that I'm coming down with something.

Last night we had the Starkey-Burdett's over for dinner (and I discovered a new salmon recipe that is definitely a keeper), and enjoyed their easy company. Today, we went to the coffee shop, we went to Lincoln Park with the dogs (Max is visiting), and we are hanging out at home. I made a crock-pot dinner (a lemon chicken dish with lots of winter veggies) that will be ready when we're hungry, and the house smells like roasting chicken, citrus, and rosemary, which is quite pleasant.

Tomorrow we'll go to church - our third week in a row, something unprecedented in my previous decade - and we're having the Hisatomi's (and perhaps Marisa, too) over for dinner to celebrate Heather's birthday. I found a crabcake recipe in my Stephanie Inn cookbook (thanks, Mom & Dad S for that birthday present from a couple of years ago - it's perfect for special occassions) that I think I will use as the meal's centerpiece, and tomorrow Tessa and I will make a cake (Heather, Tessa, and I share a love of frosting - yummm) as well.

Now I think I'll go plant some bulbs; we have two packages of them in the garage, so it's time.

Quiet days. I was ready for some quiet. Not so much running around, hustle and bustle....just some peace and quiet, times shared with friends, times outdoors, time with family at home.

The 46th Trip to the Chemo Ward

Today I finished Herceptin.

It was overwhelming to think about where I had been, and where I was going.

In an effort to calm myself, I put on my iPod and listened to the Dixie Chicks' song "Lullaby" and thought about Tessa. I thought about how long I want to love Tessa, and the tears started flowing, and I found my thoughts coming fast and furious like a prayer. "Please, let it be enough. Please let the Herceptin work. It's my last time, it has to be enough. Please I want to love her longer...please..." and it honestly took my breath away.

Herceptin has been my safety net. A hassle to go to the treatment center, an annoyance in a busy life, but today I remembered why I insisted on two years. I remembered that it's got magical science in it, and that it could be my lifesaver. And I felt terrible grief at stopping.

I'm flying without that parachute now. I've still got Femara or Aromasin, but I have one less weapon in my pocket, and I feel vulnerable without it.

Still, 46 times to the chemo ward is enough. It must be, right? There is no evidence to suggest that more would have been wiser, and it is certainly time to stop. And yet, here I am, trembling.

I think I just need a good night's sleep; tomorrow will be another busy day. Tomorrow will feel different.

I am proud of myself for fighting so hard. I could have taken an easier path and quit a long time ago. I guess it's not so crazy that all of this fighting would wear me out, and so the ending of this particular battle (though not the war) has me bittersweet.

I will most certainly slip into Tessa's room tonight to snuggle her as she sleeps. She'll wriggle away from me in her sleep because she doesn't like to be bothered when she's sleeping (can't say I blame her) but still, I will hold her close for a moment in the darkness, and I will hear the words in my head, reminding me not to give up, reminding me about forever, reminding me about love.

I had two visions in my head as I tried to calm myself, sitting in that chair, the IV in my arm.

First, I was thinking about Michele & Dave's new baby, who is due any day, and who will be delivered at the same hospital. I thought to myself, "Perhaps 30 years from now, I will be home, and I will get a call. 'Mom, your grandbaby is here....come here to see us!' and I will fly to Tessa's side to kiss her and hold my grandchild."

Then, I thought about Ryan and I, in our old age together, on a trip to Tuscany, walking between the hill towns of Cinque Terre. I could see the old, worn path beneath our feet, and I could see a town in front of us, and one behind us, too. Ryan and I were smiling in the sunshine, enjoying each others' company in retirement.

The visions couldn't stop the tears, because I could taste the desire in both visions, and I was filled with longing. But I could see them so clearly, I thought that maybe they'd come true.

One day at a time.


"Lullaby" by The Dixie Chicks

They didn't have you where I come from
Never knew the best was yet to come
Life began when I saw your face
And I hear your laugh like a serenade

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

I slip in bed when you're asleep
To hold you close and feel your breath on me
Tomorrow there'll be so much to do
So tonight I'll drift in a dream with you

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

As you wander through this troubled world
In search of all things beautiful
You can close your eyes when you're miles away
And hear my voice like a serenade

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

Last Herceptin

Tomorrow morning is my last Herceptin.

My 46th trip to the chemo ward. My 46th time getting an IV to fill my body with potentially damaging drugs. My 46th time taking an anti-cancer mix into my bloodstream.

I feel strangely flat about it. I'd thought of throwing a last hurrah party; I thought of marking the occassion in some important way...but instead, I just find myself wanting it to be done.

Of course, I'm not done. Femara, Aromasin, or whatever, and the dang-blasted fear that comes with the territory. Not done, not done at all.

Still, I'm delighted to cross this item off the list.

NOT arthritis

I just got my labwork results; I do not have arthritis, just regular joint pain from Femara. (Great news!)

Initially, I was very reluctant to switch from Femara to another drug, because there were some early studies that showed that Femara worked best in Her2+ patients like myself, and I'm fighting for every percentage point I can find. However, subsequent, larger, better controlled studies have come out, and the three drugs like Femara all look about equal now, and Femara is no better than either of them.

With that, I've called in the new prescription to Medco, and I will start taking Aromasin, another AI (the same type of drug as Femara) next week or so. It will take 4-6 weeks to know if Aromasin is better than, worse than, or equal to Femara for joint pain, but it's worth a try, so I'm going to try.

It's not arthritis, so that means that I can hope that this pain goes away when I'm done with the drug. I'm done in February 2011, so whether Aromasin is better or not, I know I'm counting down until 2011 and then I'm DONE!

Unless the cancer comes back. Which it won't. But it might. But it won't. I hope.

My speech at the 3-Day

I have received some requests for my 3-Day speech - here it is! If you would like to use part of it anywhere, I ask that you speak to me directly first.
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Thank you to the 3-Day organizers for inviting me to speak with you today. Thank you also to my husband, Ryan, and my daughter, Tessa, for supporting me by being here, as well as to Team Kristina and Team Warrior Women.

Anger, Sorrow and Joy

My name is Kristina Surface, and I live in West Seattle. I am a mother, wife, daughter, friend, writer, reader, 3-Day walker…and breast cancer survivor. This is part of my story.

When I was 35 years old, the stay-at-home mom of a gorgeous two and a half year old, I found a lump in my breast and I was diagnosed with stage IIb breast cancer. So the journey began. Two weeks after my diagnosis, my left breast was removed.

Showing my husband my scar hurt almost as much as the mastectomy itself: what would he say? How would he feel about this loss of femininity? Would he still find me attractive? Would he still desire me? Bitter anger at cancer filled me as I faced these questions.

In the recovery room, still groggy from anesthesia, I looked up at Ryan and, with shaking hands and tears in my eyes, said, “Look” and pulled my hospital gown aside.

He looked as I waited, full of fear. Then, he kissed the flat bandage. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s beautiful because it means you don’t have cancer anymore.”

Thank you for that moment, Ryan. It taught me, for the first time in my cancer journey, that joy could overcome the anger and sorrow.

The journey continued; chemo was next. Just before my second treatment, right on schedule, my hair started to fall out. I ran my fingers through it, and a dozen strands came out at once. Reality was upon me.

I was determined to call the shots where I could, and I did NOT want to wake up with a pillow full of hair and bald patches, so I called my stylist and begged for her help. “Please, Krista. Please shave my head.”

I went to the slaon on a Saturday morning before it was opened, and Ryan, Tessa, and a handful of loyal girlfriends came to cheer me. The mood was almost festive – I received presents and coffee, and I thought I would be okay, despite my fear and distress.

I asked to be faced away from the mirror, at my family and friends, so that I wouldn’t’ see the destruction of my hair falling. Krista, with shaking hands, began.
Tessa sat in my friend’s lap, her face white. “How are you doing, honey?” I asked. Tessa’s eyes were so big and blue, and her golden baby curls looked so beautiful to me…what would my lovely daughter think of her mother’s baldness?

“It’s okay, Mama,” she told me. She was nearly shaking, bu my brave daughter did not cry. “Mama, it will grow back,” she whispered.

That a two and a half year old needs bravery makes me angry. It makes me weep. But Tessa’s strength gives me a joy greater than any other I have known.

At last, it was done, and I looked in the mirror. My baldness made it look so… so… so real. For the first time, I actually looked sick. The tears started, and the fist words out of my mouth surprised me.

“I have cancer!”

When the tears were wiped and hugs given, it was time to get on with the day. What to do? Tessa said, “Mama, let’s go swimming!”

I thought about this. Bald, missing a breast, and an ugly port-a-cath showing? SWIMMING? At first, I almost shouted, “NO!” but then I thought again. The August day was sunny and beautiful, and my strong, brave daughter wanted to swim. Was I going to take that from her? Was CANCER trying to take these simple pleasures from me, too? Anger and sorrow overwhelmed me. Damn cancer.

Well, no way. I would swim in the sun.

We got to the pool. I put on my new mastectomy suit, and took off my scarf, and stepped out on the pool deck. I’m pretty sure that the whole pool was staring at me. Tessa didn’t notice – “C’mon, Mama, jump in!”
And so we played and splashed, and I felt the joy overcoming the anger and sorrow.

But it didn’t always.
7 surgeries.
16 chemos.
33 radiation treatments.
Two years of Herceptin.
Femara.
Treatment was relentless.

I needed to believe that it could be better, that I could be better. I knew that if I could walk 60 miles, I could do anything. I had so much sorrow and anger, and I needed a place I could use it. The 3-Day was the place.

I am here today because I am a breast cancer survivor, because I am a fighter, and because I desperately want to watch my daughter become a woman. I want to grow old alongside my husband. I want to write a book, to run a marathon. I am here because I believe that the 3-Day is our best chance to make that happen.

But I’m also here because I’m mad. REALLY angry. Nobody should have to go through what I’ve gone through, and worse. I have friends who “did everything right” and still got stage IV. I have acquaintances who have died of this disease. I have seen women young and old feel the fear of wondering if they will live to see tomorrow; fear of wondering if they are strong enough to face treatment. Breast cancer is full of fear and sorrow, and it makes me so angry that these are part of mine – or anyone’s – day to dady life.
I know that you, too, are mad, and that you’ve decided to do something about it. Because you’re here, the next generation of women will survive. Because of what we’re doing here together, the cure is closer that it was before. Because of this event, somebody’s life will be saved. Maybe yours, maybe mine, maybe my daughter’s…someone’s.

I believe that because of Komen’s work, and the work of the 3-Day and other events like it, I can look my daughter in the eye, and say, “Tessa, you will not have to do what Mama did. We will find the cure, for me and for you!”

Thank you for coming here, and for being angry enough about breast cancer to do something about it. You are making the difference, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. I thank you for myself, and also for my daughter. What you are doing here today gives me joy. We WILL find the cure.

And to those of you who are fighting the disease, I have one final story.

In the survivor lineup at last year’s 3-Day, somebody called out, “How many years? How long have you been survivors?” I chimed in, “One year.” Somebody else said, “Five years.” Numbers flew left and right, and we cheered for those who had made it. The woman behind me said, “One month,” and we hugged her and promised that it would get easier one day.
Then one woman close to me smiled and said, “Twenty seven years.” My eyes fill with tears just thinking abou tit: twenty seven years after my diagnosis, my daughter will be a woman. What I woudn’t give to see her grow up, to see her as a twenty-nine year old, and even, if I should be so lucky, become a grandma.

The twenty-seven year survivor caught my eye, asked me about my treatment, and told me about hers. She said that she’d made a tape of herself envisioning her futre life, and all its wonderful milestone, and that she would listen to it every night as she went to sleep while she was in treatment. She said she talked about watching her children graduate from high school, and trips she would take, and other important life milestones. And at the end, she said, shefell asleep every night to the words, “I will rock my grandbabies to sleep.” She told me that she has held her grandchildren in her arms; her vision came true.

And then that woman, beautiful soul, took my hands in hers, looked me straight in the eye, and fiercely whispered, You will rock your grandbabies to sleep.”I choose to believe her.

Joy.

May you rock your grandbabies to sleep.

Ahhhh

Today I took most of the day to myself.

At noon, Michele picked me up and we went to Lori's, where we decorated a mustache cake. (It's a long story, but there was a lot of laughter!)

At 3:30pm, I left Lori's, and caught the bus downtown. By 4pm I was at S.A.M. (Seattle Art Museum), listening to Beethoven on my iPod and gazing at beautiful art (and glancing at some ugly pieces, too....yes, it's subjective).

The museum closed and I went on a short but fruitless search for some cute, comfortable winter shoes (what part of not buying it would that fall under?) with my feet hurting more each step in my cute, UNcomfortable shoes. (Actually, cute PAINFUL shoes would be more accurate. Alas, I will never wear them again. I think they're made for narrower feet than mine.) I came to my senses, and decided to have dinner.

I went to Palomino's bar because it was convenient and the people watching was great. I had the cappellini pomodoro with some rotisserie chicken added, and a lovely glass of Malbec. While sitting there, I wrote in my journal, ruminating about life's questions, pondering things.

It was lovely. Absolutely lovely.

I am fully determined to spend more of my time doing things like this. I enjoyed my time with my girlfriends, but I really needed some time by myself. It's so rare that I spend any time by myself, and I found my soul filling up again.

I'm remembering who I am. I love to be loud and talkative and throw parties and commit every minute of the day to a day fully lived....but I also like the quiet and some solitude. I've been out of balance, and I'm aware of that. I'm trying to rebalance a lot of things.

And now, I'm going to have a cup of tea with Ryan in our candlelit living room, and then I'm going to soak in the tub up to my neck in bubbles while reading. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. When is the last time I did that?!

Saturday

After a trip to C&P Coffee, our day is going on with chores, and then I'm taking the afternoon to myself (wahoo!). I'm looking forward to the down time.

I got another call today. You know, the one that says, "My friend was just diagnosed with breast cancer." I get a lot of those calls. I hate them because I'm so sad to admit another member to the club, but I'm glad to be a part of helping people. Never hesitate to call me with that piece of news, because I do want to help and I'm glad to be in a position to do so, but still, it makes me so sad to envision women's grief and loss, as I know all too well what it feels like.

"The pile" is gone, thanks to hours of filing and recycling and such. HURRAH! I'm determined to keep it at bay in the future. I even started a folder for coupons...let's see if I can actually keep that up and use them before they expire (ha that would be new).

Okay, back to chores...

Thinking about it

I read half of "Not Buying It" last night before I fell asleep. I'm very, very intrigued. Some of it is right on target for me: my home is filled with stuff, stuff, and more stuff and I'm irritated by finding places to store it, ways to clean it, ways to feel less cluttered, etc. I do not need more stuff.

I'm also not ready to go absolutely crazy. The author (Judith Levine) had a rule where she wouldn't eat anything pre-made, and I don't really see the point. She and her partner would go to Chinatown and buy green buns (a dumpling with greens inside) and on the program, she refused to spend the $1 for her favorite treat because it was premade. I don't think that really served any purpose: it's a healthy, inexpensive item and I'm not giving that kind of thing up.

She also gave up theater, movies, movie rentals, concerts, etc. I think that this might defy some logic in my own life, as well. Those are the things I should be doing MORE of, not LESS of. I need LESS junk from Target, but the memories of a beautiful play last me a lifetime and inform my thinking. I'm looking for higher quality experiences, and less impact on the environment, not intellectual deprivation.

But I could eat out less. And I could do more books from the library, instead of buying them. Less impulse anything. Less money on coffee out (to remember why, did you see how many ways I have to make coffee in my house?!). Less eating out because I'm too lazy to cook, and more eating out for special moments. (Which equates to less eating out overall; I love resturant dinners but sometimes it's "well it's 6pm and I'm tired and I don't feel like cooking" and then it's easy to blow $30-50 on an unremarkable, unmemorable dinner.)

In other news...
Tessa LOVES her preschool. It costs more than we're used to paying but really, she loves it, and as a result, I'm loving it, too. She's learning vocabulary words, she's got a job (helping to put out snacks), she's learning all kinds of things about nature (last week it was about how spiders molt their skin, and humans shed skin too...they have a "pet" tarantula named Charlotte and Charlotte shed, and this led to the whole lesson). She is so ready to learn that she's desperate for someone to teach her, and school is going to be great.

Shep has a new friend. Our neighbor Becky, a block away, has a chocolate lab named Cooper, and we're exchanging playdates. Right now, Cooper and Shep are running around the back yard, tossing balls in the air, and (hopefully) wearing one another out.

And I have work to do - Ryan comes home tonight and I am determined to be able to say "Look, honey, no pile!" when he arrives. ("The pile" is of paperwork: resturant coupons, junk mail, correspondence, bills, magazines, preschool papers, medical paperwork....ugh. I hate the sight of it and I'm determined to make change! The pile grows overnight, I swear, and it's reached horrible proportions at this time. Every day, I vow to find a way to keep the pile away forever. We'll see if today is that day.)

We have committed to attending church, WSUU, until the new year, at which point we will reevaluate. So far, I think it's something that is going to be really great for our family. I really appreciate the opportunity to sit down and think about my life, to learn lessons, to remember how to be a better person. (I say remember because I think we all know, but need reminding.) I love this church because it has a philosophy similar to my own: it has a global stance, incorporating world religions and ideas; it's fairly liberal; it teaches that our actions are a better judge of our character than our words -it's easy to talk the talk, not to walk the walk; they have child education....many things that i admire.

I'm doing emotional, spiritual, and physical housecleaning. It is the beginning of the year, and I'm excited to make positive change.

Ryan will be home tonight, and I'm looking forward to seeing him. Absence DOES make the heart grow fonder, and I've missed him. It's not often he's gone for four days, and we'll be glad to have him home.

Not Buying It

I picked up the book at the library today. I am more and more serious in my contemplation of this idea.

I went to Target today to return something, and managed to walk through the store without buying anything: not one impulse purchase. But it did cross my mind that I would do better if I didn't GO to Target. There's always something there that is just a bargain and so cute and maybe I could use it and....wait a minute. Before I saw that item, whatever it was, I had no need for it. So why do I need it now? I don't. But when I see things I want them.

I have started throwing away all catalogs that come to the door. When I look at Pottery Barn I become convinced that my things are the wrong color, that I need something different, that my room would be so much more comfortable if I just had an X. Again, things that I wouldn't notice until I saw the catalog.

I'm also letting my magazine subscriptions run out. I enjoy the articles, but I'm tired of being told that I need 30 Top Make-up Products, that the new clothing color is gray and that it's replacing black (let's face it, black is black and black is cool.....other colors come and go, but black is here to stay, and I bet that the same writers of that article are still wearing black), that my purse is all wrong...you get the picture. Sometimes, when I get dressed up, I feel cute. And then I read a magazine and learn that I am not cute. Where exactly is the advantage, here? And isn't beauty beautiful from one year to the next?

I have four sets of wine glasses. Countless towels (and they match). Two computers. A coffee maker, a large french press, two small french presses, and an espresso machine. Oh, and a camping percolator coffee pot. I have several fancy dresses (the kind I wear once a year, maybe). I have three pairs of knee high black boots (pointy toe, round toe, square toe). I have bookcases filled to overflowing. I have everyday dishes and flatware to serve 12, everyone matching, and I have enough china to host Dinners of State.

I could go on, and on, and on about how much excess I have.

Very little I own is from Pottery Barn. I am not stylish, most of the time. My clothing does not have the "right" labels in it, for the most part. My home does not resemble a home decor' magazine cover, a showroom floor, or even an Arts & Crafts period ad. I rarely wear make-up, because I don't like to. But my home is comfortable, and often filled with people who have come to share in it. There's coffee to go around. Children run and laugh here; adults drink wine and laugh and talk here. Nobody has ever come here and said, "What a dump!" because it's not (and because rude people aren't invited). I'm not fashionable, but I don't think I'm a frump, either. My clothing is appropriate, and some of it, I even love to wear. I'm not too cold or too hot because of my clothes, and I have things to wear to the ballet, the park, the Junction, girls' night out, and gymnastics class (Tessa's, not mine).

Still, though, I find cravings. I crave silly things that are inconsequential. I craved getting a new couch, even though the one I have is very high quality, matches our other things, and is a beautiful reminder of my Grandpa Goddard. I'd like to get rid of all of my dishes because I'm tired of the dark blue band around them, and get plain ones instead (so much more versatile, I tell myself). I'd like a gray wrap dress....all the rage, you know. And that little shirt would look so cute on Tessa (never mind that her drawers are so full that when laundry is caught up it's hard to close them)...

It goes on. I'm declaring that I must stop! I see things and I crave them for no particular reason other than that I want them. I do not wish to be this kind of consumer, but I really am. Ugh.

There are other reasons for me to stop.

The environment is one really good reason to stop: the packaging alone is enough for catastrophe, but the pollution of manufacturing, the stuff that ends in landfills, and the use of resources alone would be enough to stop. Finances are another (less sexy) reason to stop: who couldn't stand to save some money? Life lessons (mine, and what I model to Tessa) are another. World politics are another (I'm pretty sure that half the stuff I have is made in China in suspicious factories).

But still, I think it would be really, really hard to stop buying things cold turkey. I'm American! That's not what we do! Is it even possible? Do I have what it takes to do this?

There will have to be rules. Obviously, I can't just cut up my bank cards and be done. We must eat. The car must have fuel (no I'm not giving that up; I like to visit people, pick up groceries, etc.). There are gifts to buy for others (I'm not expecting the world to jump on this bandwagon with me, and I don't want to be stingy.) Candles burn down and need replacing; light bulbs (even energy efficient florescents) burn out; soaps get used; toilet paper is a necessity. Things that we use get worn and quit working.

What then?
- Groceries and other consumables (gas, TP, candles, batteries) will be used as always
- Gifts...problematic. Maybe experiential stuff that doesn't end up in a landfill?
- Broken items...repair instead of tossing and replacing. When not cost effective, replace with gently used items.
- Tessa outgrows things...buy consignment.

This is not a done deal; Ryan and I have a lot of talking to do (a note here: this was Ryan's idea to begin with, and he read the book already). I think I'll re-read "Voluntary Simplicity" and "Your Money or Your Life" and "All Your Worth" in addition to "Not Buying It." I have a lot of thinking to do. I want to save the environment, buy consciously, save money and get out of "year from hell debt," teach Tessa life lessons....but this is pretty extreme, and I know that. Can I do it?

Enough. I'm declaring enough. We'll see where I take that exclamation.

"I feel more confident than ever that the power to save the planet rests with the individual consumer." - Denis Hayes, Chair, Earth Day Network

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world."
— Mahatma Gandhi

"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Oncologist appointment

Today I met with Dr. Rinn to discuss my joint pain and fatigue.

I've crossed lines; the quality of life is being impacted. My fingers don't work the way they're supposed to sometimes, and this is frustrating. I can type well, but it's hard to hold a pen and to write. This morning I couldn't push the button on the coffee pot to release the coffee, and I ended up having to take the lid off to get my cuppa Joe. This is relatively new, but unacceptable.

It's probably the Femara.

I have agreed to switch to another AI, Aromosin (Aromasin?).

Hopefully both the fatigue and the joint pain will improve. I could go to bed at 7 every night and not feel rested, and that's REALLY old. And who can go to bed that early? My productive time used to be from 8-11pm, and if I lose that time it's usually my only "me" time in the whole day.

I'm also getting blood work done to test for arthritis. It runs in the family, and the symptoms are the same.

Musings

Today I found out that Tessa's preschool teacher's mom, the beloved "Grandma Dorothy," is a 29 year survivor of breast cancer. YES! I need more people like this is my life, and the more success stories the better.

In the paper yesterday (or the day before?) there was an article about a violinist who is about to celebrate his 90th birthday; the article talked about his involvement with music, the community, etc. The headline read "How do you get to 90?: Practice, practice, practice". I'm practicing living right now, as a matter of fact. And the headline is currently taped to the bottom of my computer monitor.

Ryan is in Montanta, so it's just Tessa and I for a couple of days. I did the lazy way out tonight and we went to Korkoras, a local Greek place (total bill with tax: $11.21 - nice!).

I am still seriously contemplating a year of buying nothing, or some derivation of it. I think it would be good for me at a number of levels...

Tessa is growing and learning by the minute. At school they have vocabulary words and she is filled with them: she told me about being "absent" and what that means. I love that she loves words and language as much as I do, and that she's proud of her learning.

I'm starting to get the pit-of-my-stomach dread that comes before each surgery. Mine is fast approaching and I dread it.

Tessa's doing art, and I'm puttering around....time to tend to her. Bath night!

Dinner disaster and strange flashbacks

Tonight I made a dinner disaster.

This one compares with the time I made a stirfry with flank steak and didn't know to cut the steak on the diagonal. (For those who don't know, I'll point out that cutting WITH the grain creates a great shoe leather, almost impossible to chew.) It also ranks up there with the time I made a red snapper dish that was so fishy it made me gag (and I'm a seafood lover; I think the fish wasn't fresh). It's been years since an incident of this caliber; I'm a decent cook, but about every 5 years I do a doozy.

Tonight it was a home made chicken pot pie, Cooking Light style, with lots of root vegetables. I'm in a fall mood, and it seemed like comfort food.

I went to buy the groceries a couple days ago: celeriac root, parsnips, sweet potatoes, potatoes, carrots. I thought I'd be creating a gentle melding of delicious nutrients...yum, yum.

I went wrong with celeriac. I didn't expect it to be available at Trader Joe's, and it wasn't, so I went to Thriftway. I didn't see it at first, even though I was staring at every bin of produce. Finally, I found the sign: celeriac (celery root). It didn't look the way I'd remembered it; I remembered it being a kind of a hard, knotty root ball, but I discounted my memory as it's not an ingredient I use very often. What they had in the bin labeled celeriac was more of a long tuber root, with the top and bottom chopped off. Whatever.

Whatever is right. What I bought, I discovered AFTER an hour of chopping, simmering, stirring, whisking, seasoning, baking, rolling (dough) and setting the meal on the table is that I bought horseradish.

You know, the kind of thing where a tablespoon can feed the whole table. Only I used the whole darn horseradish root in my chicken pot pie. NOT celeriac.

Oops.

To say that it was inedible would be kind. Dang it! Oh well, we all had a good laugh.

And in a totally unrelated post...
For my birthday I asked for, and received, a video of Tessa's life, which had been trapped in the camera for four and a half years. Watching it gave such sweet joy; our gorgeous baby getting a bath; Christmas presents; Easter egg hunts; birthday parties.

The first haircut scene took my breath away, though. May 7, 2005. I saw the date in the lower left corner of the screen and all I could think was, "I had cancer, but I didn't know it yet. I didnt' know that on May 25 my whole world would get turned upside down."

It was hard to breathe, seeing that. And remembering the moments that followed.

I also saw, briefly, myself bald and with a crewcut. I was smiling for the camera, catering to Tessa, cheerful voice, but I know better. I know it wasn't happy at all, even when I was pretending.

And on that, I must go to bed. I ate just enough of the chicken-horseradish-pot-pie to feel rather ill, and I think I'm going to have to sleep it off!

Happy birthday to me

At 9:59am today I turned 38 years old.

There were some times I didn't think I'd live until or past my 36th birthday.

Today I am happy and healthy. I will take any wrinkles that come my way, should I be lucky enough to receive them. Every birthday is a victory.

I'm looking forward to birthday cake this evening.

Busy days

Up and at'em, today is a "typical" fall day.

Breakfast with Tessa, then hurry into clothes to get ready to go to school. Out the door, grab the bike, and we're off. Tessa rode her bike to preschool (it's about a mile) while Shep and I walked; we dropped Tessa off and then Shep and I went for a run. Home again, a quick shower, get some laundry going, and then off to Trader Joe's for groceries. (Proud to say that I did menu planning and a grocery list yesterday.) Grocery shopping, back to West Seattle....oh shoot, traffic on the bridge, no time to drop off groceries, so straight to preschool.

Pick up Tessa, admire her artwork. Time for lunch. Katie & Jenny took us out to Capers for my birthday lunch (thanks, ladies) and the girls had fun being a threesome again. My phone rang, oh shoot, it's the windshield place, a half hour early, and they're at the house. Hurry home, meet the windshield guy ("hey that's a BIG crack!"), and start unloading groceries as he works on the car. Zoe & Jessie get dropped off so that the girls can play, and I begin chores. Three beds stripped and re-made, laundry done, girls playing, popsicle snacks. Bring out the fall stuff (leaf plates, other misc. stuff), put the feather comforter on the bed for cooler nights. Two girls picked up, and Tessa, Shep and I are alone in the house again.

A little bit of playing, a few more chores, a bit of time on the blog, and then we'll do a couple of errands.

Fall days. Not bad getting caught up a bit, even in the mundane. It's a good thing to be healthy enough to do these mundane things.

Tonight is Family Night. (Most are, but this one's official.) We'll have a nice dinner, then eat popcorn as we watch a family movie together. Sounds snuggly and nice to me.

The new year

This is the first week of the new year. Not the calendar year, obviously, but for me the new year really begins in fall, with the first week of school.

Tessa is at her new school right now, and she's loving it. Teacher Shelley is kind, the kids seem nice (and Tessa appears to be making new friends), I've enjoyed my short interactions with the other parents, and so far I think that the program is excellent. Tessa loves the fact that there are "pets" in the classroom, incluing a turtle named Myrtle and a tarantula. *shudder* Tessa came home and said, "Daddy, a tarantula is like a really big, hairy spider. You can't pick it up though because it bites." Well said, my dear, and I will stay away. I'm glad that Tessa doesn't have those types of fears, but you won't find me peering lovingly into the spider habitat.

But back to the new year.

I'm filled with the desire to live my life to the best of my abilities and not, as Thoreau said "when it came to die, discover that I had not really lived." I don't have a lot of fears in that regard but I still contemplate the idea regularly to keep myself sharp. Am I being who I want to be? In this minute, am I giving the world the best of myself, or am I taking the easy way and cutting corners and turning a blind eye to what I must do and in the process hiding my best self away?

Some things in the past year have made me extremely happy.

I've been on two teams, Team Kristina and Team Warrior Women, that have collectively raised over $120,000 for breast cancer. I have begun a public life speaking out against breast cancer, and I've done radio, newspaper, and speaking engagements for the cause. I ran the "I am the Cure" program. I did my first half marathon. I'm a good mother, and a decent wife. I've stayed true to my health plan, and I continue to buy and eat healthy food, going organic when possible, with lots of whole grains, lean proteins, fruits, and vegetables. I've kept (most) of my weight off, and I still wear a size 6 (not bad for a 5'7" girl). I read to my daughter, and play with her at the park. I camp with my family, roasting marshmallows (I don't need to be healthy 100% of the time!) under the stars in front of the campfire.

These things all make me happy, but there is so much more!

I'm thinking a lot about the environment these days, and I have a number of thoughts going through my mind on that topic. Last year I went on a "turn off the lights!" campaign for myself at our home, and I was delighted when we got a revised statement for our bill saying that our average bill has fallen by $9 per month. $9 does not alter my pocketbook significantly, and it doesn't save the planet, but it is a great beginning. There is so much more to do, though.

I'm shifting from grocery-store cleaning products (Windex, Clorox, Mr. Clean, Lysol, etc.) to simpler, more earth friendly products. I am finding that baking soda and vinegar are amazing cleaners, and I'm having good success with them. Hopefully the salmon will appreciate my efforts.

We sold our van last year, and the one-car thing is going very well for us. I'm trying to walk and take the bus more myself, as well. (Tessa and I are walking to preschool; today, she rode her bike. It's a great walk for Shep, and I can run home, taking the long way, with him, and we get some exercise.)

I am trying to decide if I can go on a "buy nothing" campaign for a year. There's a book on the subject that I am getting from the library (I had to place a hold) and I've been thinking it through. Could I go a year only buying perishable items or items that run out (food, gas, etc.)? How could I make my carbon footprint as small as possible? If Tessa needed something (she grew two and a half inches since April - my goodness!) could I commit to only buying consignment clothes in an effort to stop buying new goods? What would we do about Christmas?

I want to run the Vancouver Marathon '08, which takes place May 4.

And I think I'm almost ready to stop writing the blog, and to write my book. (I'll still post updates about Tessa with pictures on occassion, but enough of my ramblings already.)

I have a lot on my mind, and I'm determined to make positive changes in my life, and to keep up the positive changes I've already made. Sometimes it's easier said than done, but I'm working on it. One foot in front of the other...

My Herceptin Video

http://www.herceptin.com/herceptin/patient/herstory/videos.jsp

It's online at last! Enjoy.

Tessa's first day at a new school

Today Tessa begins the school year in the pre-K class at A Child Becomes... preschool. Here are pictures of our pretty girl to commemorate the occassion. Tessa has gone from being very nervous to saying "Can we go now? Is it time?" and I'm hopeful that today will be wonderful for her.

Is it all worth it?

I've met some incredible women on my cancer journey; I've had a chance to learn my own strength; I've had a chance to implement positive change in the world (3-Day, Race, etc.) through my breast cancer journey. My marriage was shaken beyond what I'd imagined possible, and survived; my friendships were tested and given gold stars. Still, the question is asked, is cancer worth it?

This question is often asked in the cancer community. When I was at the LiveSTRONG event in Portland in 2005, I met a testicular cancer survivor who saw my bandana over my bald head and said, "Cancer is the best thing that ever happened to me. My life is so much better now!" He's lucky he was able to walk away from me, his words made me so angry. "The best?" I practically spat at him, "My husband and daughter are gifts, the best thing that ever happened to me. Cancer is a disease!" The poor man was trying to reach out to me, and looked surprised, and looking back, I'm surprised at my own rudeness toward him, but I was in a bad place.

Well, today the question came up again on the YSC boards, and as usual, there are two sides: those who think that the disease has brought more joy (friendships, etc.) than pain; and those who feel differently. Here is my response.
----------------------------
It is NOT worth it, and that is why I fight so hard to find an end to the disease on both a personal and a public level.

I look at my daughter when she's sleeping, and I vow that I would do anything to stay on this planet, mothering her. Yes, I want to write my book; yes, I want to retire with my husband; yes, I want to revisit Tuscany; yes, I want to run a marathon....but I'd give it all up just to be here to be her mother, to love her, to hold her, to reassure her, to tell her how beautiful and strong and kind she is.

Cancer is trying to take that from me, and I'm resentful about it.

I don't believe that it's 100% a terrible experience, because with deep sorrow comes deep joy. Because of the depth of my sorrow, I've been granted an opportunity to do more meaningful things with my life, I've learned the quality of my friendships, and I've seen my marriage tested beyond belief only to survive. I've met incredible women, that's certain. And I've learned a new type of compassion and empathy; I relate to people in a different way that I believe is healthy and empowering and helps me to feel even more connected to humanity. I will take joy where I can find it, and there have been many joys along the way.

But I'd give them all up to stay here with Tessa. I would give up these new joys for the old ones. The old ones were so innocent; I didn't know I was missing anything, because I was so happy. Life wasn't bad at all before cancer. I wasn't on the wrong path, I didn't have shallow friendships.I don't feel particularly bitter about it all, I just feel filled with the desire to change things. I can accept where I've been as long as I feel that I can find meaning where there is none.It's meaningless that I got cancer. I'm creating meaning by fundraising, speaking, and changing my life to change the disease. That's ME, though, not cancer. Cancer is a devil, and there's nothing good about it. The joy that comes after cancer isn't because of cancer, it's because of an inherent beauty within ourselves, and in our desire for something more than cancer, that makes us create new, wonderful, positive meaning where there might only have been pain.

Cancer is not a gift. I've paid, and paid, and paid for my learning. The cost has been too high. I'll take my learning, since I paid for it, but the debt is overwhelming.

And yet? I think I see where others come from when they describe cancer as a gift in their lives. Lance Armstrong says it, and he's not a fool. I just feel differently.

Surgery #8

Eight. I've always thought it my lucky number - let's hope it's true.

I've already gone under the knife seven times since my diagnosis:
- left mastectomy
- port placement
- left node dissection
- hysterectomy/oopharectomy
- right mastectomy/lat flap/expander
- left lat flap/expander and right implant
- left implant, removal of scar tissue, and corrections on right

This time I will do nipples (trust me, Barbie breasts aren't all that great), which means that they will also take skin from my eyelids. There will also be corrections on both sides: on my left side, the implant is encapsulated, which makes my breast very round, high, and odd looking, as well as very firm to the touch. Again, they'll cut scar tissue, making it easier to lift my left arm. On the right they'll also try to fill out the dip in the middle of my breast using Alloderm (don't look it up unless you want to know what that is - I have mixed feelings about it but I'm grateful to have it and owe someone my eternal gratitude).

I will not be able to bend down or making jarring movements for a week or it may cause bleeding in my eyes. Nice. I won't be able to run or work out at the gym for 3 weeks, though I'll be able to walk. Sometimes people's eyes swell shut for a couple of days. However, I'll only be in the hospital for the day, as it's outpatient surgery. Go figure.

I'm feeling a bit cynical about all of it. How much work do I have to do? Eight surgeries is a lot. More than a lot.

But this is what it takes for me to feel healed, and for me to feel whole. This is what it takes for Tessa to see healing. I will go ahead, even though healing is pretty ugly sometimes.

Home from the 3Day

The 3-Day approaches

It's nearly here, and all of the fundraising, organizing and (lack of) training comes to a head now: Carolyn arrives this evening, and on Friday we begin our walk.

I am looking forward to the relaxation of it, strangely enough...I really need to take a breather, and the 3-Day sounds immensely relaxing to me. Walking in the sunshine (highs of 70, much cooler than last year), talking to friends, and taking time to just 'be' sounds pretty fantastic.

I'm at a strange place in my breast cancer journey. My hair is past my shoulders, I have two (weird, nipple-less) breasts, and I look relatively normal. I ache like never before and I'm facing the fact that one of my side-effects from Femara might be arthritis. I finish Herceptin on September 27, and then I hope to never enter a chemo ward again. I am not in the fighting mode I was in not that long ago, but I'm not done, either. I'm in a state of limbo, and trying to figure out where I fit in in all of that. The 3-Day will be a good place to think of these things, and to hopefully move forward.

Many, many, many thanks to the donors who have contributed to the 3-Day this year, supporting me and the cause in so many ways. I really couldn't do it without you. Walking is fun, but the donations will save lives. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Smiling in the rain

Last night I woke up to the sounds of thunder and a downpour. I lay in my warm, cozy bed, and smiled. Not a drop of water landed on me or my tent, because we escaped the rain by at least 12 hours.

I love the sound of the rain under most circumstances; when I am cozy indoors and the rain beats on the windows I feel a strong desire to drink mint tea, to curl up in a chair with a blanket and a good book. These days the good book might be "Sally Jean the Bicycle Queen" and Tessa might be under the blanket with me, but I revel in that, too.

This morning, Tessa was up early in anticipation of her playdate at the zoo with her cousins Caleb & Joshua and Auntie Krystal. The rain was no deterrant in her eyes: as a matter of fact, it added to her delight, because she recently acquired a dog umbrella complete with pop up ears, and she was over the moon that she could use it today. We donned our waterproof boots, rain coats, and umbrellas, and set off for the zoo to be there when it opened. We had a fantastic time with the kiddos, and enjoyed watching them zoom about at Zoomazium (indoors). The rain let up, too, so we walked all over, with Tessa stomping in the puddles. The cousins were having so much fun interacting, and Krystal and I had fun, too, although we didn't get much time to discuss much other than "oh look there's the bear" and "which exhibit is next?" and "don't get your pants wet, kids!"

This afternoon Tessa and I are both tired, as it's been non-stop busy with camping, unpacking, and this, that and the other, and the zoo involved lots of walking and running. We're having a quiet afternoon (does laundry count as "quiet?" because I have about 6 loads to fold when I hit the "post" button) and then we're having dinner with Adrienne while Ryan gets a night to himself. Carolyn arrives tomorrow evening, and on Friday it's the 3-Day.

Today it struck me that it is exactly one year until Tessa starts kindergarten; this begins the countdown. The zoo was particularly sweet in that context. My little girl is still little, and I relish her smallness as much as I relish her growth. At the end of our zoo visit, she was tired, and I carried her, and she rested her head on my shoulder. These days are getting shorter, and I will try to remember to live them fully, and to carry them with me once they have passed.

So much more to say, but that will suffice for now.

Home from camping

We returned late this afternoon from our trip to Newhalem (North Cascades National Park) with the Hissongs. The whole thing was great, and I'm so glad that we went. The company was fabulous, the weather was great (sprinkles as we set up the tent, but then not a drop after that), the scenery beyond compare. We ate well, sat around the campfire telling stories and laughing, attended evening programs put on by the park rangers, and did a couple of little hikes. We saw various small wildlife (including Douglas squirrels, stellar jays, chipmunks, little brown bats, woodpeckers, and more; we saw bear skat but not the bear it came from) and countless wildflowers. The kids learned a bit about the life cycles of the forest; the adults smiled as the kids got dirtier and dirtier in the best ways possible, including making mud cakes, drawing with sticks in the dirt, roasting marshmallows, and skipping showers.

More later, as chores (much unpacking and the inevitable laundry that comes with this kind of trip) beckon, and my bed isn't far from that. An air mattress is a luxury while camping, but I will be glad to sleep in my own bed tonight.

So many thoughts about my own return to wilderness and the trip, but they will have to wait. Good night.

Just checking in

A quick check in...

We're getting ready to leave for a long weekend of camping in the North Cascades with the Hissongs. I love camping, but I confess that I'm less in love with getting ready to camp. We pack the car to the gills, and it's a lot of work....the clothes aren't hard, but all of the kitchen stuff, tents, sleeping bags, etc. is a pain, and it's all the little details (extra batteries, kitchen soap, paper towels, twine to make a clothesline, art supplies to keep Tessa occupied....this list is endless) that stress me out. Anyway, once the car is loaded, the groceries purchased, and we're on the road, I'll forget all of that and just enjoy it. I'm particularly looking forward to campfires in the evenings, nature walks, hot cups of coffee in the morning, wildflower identification.....love it.

I'm also gearing up for the 3-Day, as it's in a week. I'm not ready, but that's okay. I am starting to work out my speech (I've been asked to be a survivor-speaker) for Saturday night. This will become a priority over the next week....I need something to say, and I'm getting on that.

Yesterday I put out my back or my sciatic pain came back. **** it. I yelp when I move "wrong" because it really hurts. This is NOT ideal for camping or walking 60 miles, but I'll figure it out. There's always ibuprofen and Vicodan. I'm not gonna let a little pain run my life. I have important things to do, laughter to share, and I'm not backing down.

Until Tuesday! Love,
Kristina

Busy weekend

A busy weekend. I'm tired, as I mentioned, and I don't know if it's the Femara, my thyroid, or my busy schedule. I'm tired of being tired.

Today was Michele & Dave's baby shower, which we hosted. It was a treat to honor them in this way, as I truly adore them, and am so grateful to have them in our lives.

Off to bed for me.