This morning Tessa is doing well. She ate all her cereal, drank all her milk, and dressed herself for the day. The day includes a playdate with Jessie & Emma while I go to get Herceptin at the hospital; I often bring her to this appointment, but a) she hates it, b) it's hard to entertain her while I have an IV, and most importantly c) there are too many immune-compromised people in a chemo ward to bring in a kid who has been sick for a week. THANK YOU to Katie for covering for me!
I'm hopeful that today will go well. I'm tired, physically and emotionally, after a week and a half of illness in the house (cabin). I want my summer, and I want it now!
I've received many phone calls offering love and support for Tessa....THANK YOU. Your emails and calls have meant the world to me.
Love,
Kristina
Thursday, July 05, 2007
All is well?
I put the question mark in the title because who knows what is up any more, but we are home after another very uneventful doctor's visit (our fourth this week for Tessa). The doc looked at all of Tessa's vitals, and said, "She probably has/had a virus. No concern at this time," which is what each appointment tells us. I would feel like a fool for going in today except that the nurse at Children's had been so adamant...and I'd rather go too much than miss something important.
Tessa had a relatively good dinner, not quite her usual but her appetite is returning. She's going to bed right now and complained of a tummy ache again but this time it passed quickly - who knows, maybe she has gas! This virus is of an unknown quality and that makes me nervous but it seems that it is disappearing as mysteriously as it arrived.
We hope for a normal day tomorrow. Katie will watch Tessa so that I can go to Herceptin, and hopefully the day will be uneventful. I got caught up on a lot of chores today - laundry, sweeping, vacuuming, bathroom, some dusting (where on earth does so much dust come from?!) and even organized Tessa's room a little and purged some stuff from her room, and after the doc we went to the grocery store for the first time since returning from Orcas, so the house is relatively caught up at last. Tomorrow maybe I'll put up the wading pool and Tessa can run with the dogs in the back yard and I will do some weeding....we'll see!
Love,
Kristina
Tessa had a relatively good dinner, not quite her usual but her appetite is returning. She's going to bed right now and complained of a tummy ache again but this time it passed quickly - who knows, maybe she has gas! This virus is of an unknown quality and that makes me nervous but it seems that it is disappearing as mysteriously as it arrived.
We hope for a normal day tomorrow. Katie will watch Tessa so that I can go to Herceptin, and hopefully the day will be uneventful. I got caught up on a lot of chores today - laundry, sweeping, vacuuming, bathroom, some dusting (where on earth does so much dust come from?!) and even organized Tessa's room a little and purged some stuff from her room, and after the doc we went to the grocery store for the first time since returning from Orcas, so the house is relatively caught up at last. Tomorrow maybe I'll put up the wading pool and Tessa can run with the dogs in the back yard and I will do some weeding....we'll see!
Love,
Kristina
Here we go again...
After talking to Children's about the lab results (nothing unusual except that her counts still show that she's got an inflammation somewhere in her system...same as before...) about Tessa's tummy pain, crying, and subsequent napping (she's been in bed since 11:30ish), they said, "Bring her back here today or go to your primary care doc today" and since I'm not big on hospital waiting rooms :-( we have the first available appointment with the pediatrician, at 4:5opm today.
Tessa is still sleeping. No signs of fever.
I have Herceptin at 3:30pm today and I had to reschedule for tomorrow at 9:30am. I pray that by then this will be resolved. This SUCKS.
FYI, since she has pain on one side of her abdomen, I looked up appendicitis online. Her symptoms do not correspond.
Tessa is still sleeping. No signs of fever.
I have Herceptin at 3:30pm today and I had to reschedule for tomorrow at 9:30am. I pray that by then this will be resolved. This SUCKS.
FYI, since she has pain on one side of her abdomen, I looked up appendicitis online. Her symptoms do not correspond.
Now what?
Tessa woke up today crabby, but I sort of expected this because after a week of us saying "yes dear" to her every request ("You want pizza? Sure!" and then when she ate literally two bites, "oh well do you want anything else?") due to her illness, we expected "re-entry" (Katie's term for it) issues. So, the bad, bossy, whiney mood didn't strike me as too unusual.
(It didn't grate on my nerves any less, but that's another post!)
Anyway, at about 11:30 this morning, Tessa started crying and told me she had a stomach ache, on one side of her abdomen. Then she went to bed and went to sleep.
This, to put it bluntly, sucks. I've got a call in to the nurse. What do I worry about next?! No fever right now, but....
I'm hanging in there. While she sleeps, I'm scrubbing things and putting things away and trying to get caught up, so at least there's progress there. But I don't like this, not one bit.
(It didn't grate on my nerves any less, but that's another post!)
Anyway, at about 11:30 this morning, Tessa started crying and told me she had a stomach ache, on one side of her abdomen. Then she went to bed and went to sleep.
This, to put it bluntly, sucks. I've got a call in to the nurse. What do I worry about next?! No fever right now, but....
I'm hanging in there. While she sleeps, I'm scrubbing things and putting things away and trying to get caught up, so at least there's progress there. But I don't like this, not one bit.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Home again and a sigh of relief
We are home from Children's, exhausted, but well.
The short version: After further blood work, another urine test, a chest x-ray, an some kind of awful nasal aspiration (vacuum tubes into Tessa's sinuses....horrible), Tessa started to perk up. The fever is gone, her energy is returning, and the tests show that some of her counts (including the CRP I mentioned earlier) are falling back towards normal ranges.
We were released before all of the tests come in as some won't be done until tomorrow at noon, but they've ruled out mono, Epstein-Barr (which is another name for mono?), UTIs, pneumonia, and some other concerns. At this point the diagnosis is "unspecified viral infection" or, in short, "we think it might be a virus." As long as it disappears and doesn't come back, this diagnosis is okay with me!
I'm exhausted. I held Tessa while she cried and tried not to think about the what if's as they poked and prodded her. I didn't enjoy that, and nor did Ryan.
Afterwards, Tessa was recovered enough to pop in at C&P for their BBQ, and we got to catch up with a few friends there and Tessa got to be a regular kid instead of hospital-kid. This is a major improvement, needless to say.
And now we're all exhausted. A quiet night for us - no fireworks, no parties - and we will just go to bed early. Tomorrow, I'll unpack from Orcas, arrange playdates, clean the house....and live in the gratitude that it looks like Tessa is healthy once again.
Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. The last time I was at Children's was to visit nephew Josiah when he had cancer.....dark days. I am grateful that this was a very different experience.
Love,
Kristina
The short version: After further blood work, another urine test, a chest x-ray, an some kind of awful nasal aspiration (vacuum tubes into Tessa's sinuses....horrible), Tessa started to perk up. The fever is gone, her energy is returning, and the tests show that some of her counts (including the CRP I mentioned earlier) are falling back towards normal ranges.
We were released before all of the tests come in as some won't be done until tomorrow at noon, but they've ruled out mono, Epstein-Barr (which is another name for mono?), UTIs, pneumonia, and some other concerns. At this point the diagnosis is "unspecified viral infection" or, in short, "we think it might be a virus." As long as it disappears and doesn't come back, this diagnosis is okay with me!
I'm exhausted. I held Tessa while she cried and tried not to think about the what if's as they poked and prodded her. I didn't enjoy that, and nor did Ryan.
Afterwards, Tessa was recovered enough to pop in at C&P for their BBQ, and we got to catch up with a few friends there and Tessa got to be a regular kid instead of hospital-kid. This is a major improvement, needless to say.
And now we're all exhausted. A quiet night for us - no fireworks, no parties - and we will just go to bed early. Tomorrow, I'll unpack from Orcas, arrange playdates, clean the house....and live in the gratitude that it looks like Tessa is healthy once again.
Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. The last time I was at Children's was to visit nephew Josiah when he had cancer.....dark days. I am grateful that this was a very different experience.
Love,
Kristina
Getting ready to go to Children's
I don't want to face this day. We were going to go to the Admiral 4th of July Parade this morning, and we bought streamers and flags to decorate Tessa's bike, and she was going to throw candy from her bike basket. Then we were going to go to the C&P BBQ with friends & neighbors, and then we were going to BBQ with the Hisatomi's. It sounded like an amazing, wonderful day. We'd even talked about letting Tessa nap after dinner, and then walking her in the stroller to Alki to see the fireworks.
Instead, we have to face needles, fevers, the ER, and scans searching for "something." I hate this. Of course all of my own experiences leading up to this don't make it any easier; I can't help but remember what it was like to see my own scan results up on the light box as the doctor talked about tumors and malignancy for the first time. Will today be like that day?
If there is something awful, it will be worse than the first time. Worse, for two reasons. One, because I would know how awful the journey could become....very little is left to the imagination, having been down that road already. Two, because it's Tessa. I would go through it myself ten more times rather than have these fears for HER.
And yes, I know, this could still be nothing. I'm praying for that. It's just that I know how "something" can go, and it scares me more than I can say.
I'm off to put on a good face, to gather a bag of toys, and to take my daughter to the ER. Please wish us luck and health, and that this will become just a bad memory and nothing more.
Instead, we have to face needles, fevers, the ER, and scans searching for "something." I hate this. Of course all of my own experiences leading up to this don't make it any easier; I can't help but remember what it was like to see my own scan results up on the light box as the doctor talked about tumors and malignancy for the first time. Will today be like that day?
If there is something awful, it will be worse than the first time. Worse, for two reasons. One, because I would know how awful the journey could become....very little is left to the imagination, having been down that road already. Two, because it's Tessa. I would go through it myself ten more times rather than have these fears for HER.
And yes, I know, this could still be nothing. I'm praying for that. It's just that I know how "something" can go, and it scares me more than I can say.
I'm off to put on a good face, to gather a bag of toys, and to take my daughter to the ER. Please wish us luck and health, and that this will become just a bad memory and nothing more.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
What is CRP?
From the web:
Normally there is no CRP in blood serum. From Lab Tests Online, "a high or increasing amount of CRP in your blood suggests that you have an acute infection or inflammation. Although a result above 1 mg/dL is usually considered high for CRP, most infections and inflammations result in CRP levels above 10 mg/dL".
A positive CRP may be an indicator of several conditions, including:
rheumatoid arthritis
rheumatic fever
cancer
tuberculosis
pneumonia
heart attack
lupus
Well, I wish I could say all that made me feel better. :-( Normal is 0 to 0.5 and Tessa's is 18.9.
Normally there is no CRP in blood serum. From Lab Tests Online, "a high or increasing amount of CRP in your blood suggests that you have an acute infection or inflammation. Although a result above 1 mg/dL is usually considered high for CRP, most infections and inflammations result in CRP levels above 10 mg/dL".
A positive CRP may be an indicator of several conditions, including:
rheumatoid arthritis
rheumatic fever
cancer
tuberculosis
pneumonia
heart attack
lupus
Well, I wish I could say all that made me feel better. :-( Normal is 0 to 0.5 and Tessa's is 18.9.
Tessa update
We don't know too much.
It is not definitively a virus. It may be, but it may not be.
The WBC and CBC is all normal. Her CRP is elevated to 18.9 (normal is 0-0.5), her polys are slightly high. I have little idea what this means and I'll be researching it online in just a second.
The doc said that there wouldn't be much benefit in taking her to the hospital at midnight, so she's arranging for us to check in tomorrow morning. Tessa will get a chest x-ray to check for pneumonia and "other things" and we'll go from there.
I am trying very hard not to over-react. I am also trying hard not to throw up from the anxiety.
It is not definitively a virus. It may be, but it may not be.
The WBC and CBC is all normal. Her CRP is elevated to 18.9 (normal is 0-0.5), her polys are slightly high. I have little idea what this means and I'll be researching it online in just a second.
The doc said that there wouldn't be much benefit in taking her to the hospital at midnight, so she's arranging for us to check in tomorrow morning. Tessa will get a chest x-ray to check for pneumonia and "other things" and we'll go from there.
I am trying very hard not to over-react. I am also trying hard not to throw up from the anxiety.
No update yet
I spoke to the doctor on call a few minutes ago, and the lab work isn't done. So we're still waiting, though it's past the time I'd been lead to expect.
I am not patient, and this is difficult.
I am not patient, and this is difficult.
Tessa is sick and I'm scared
We are back from Orcas Island tonight; we got home about 5pm.
Tessa has had a fever since our first day on Orcas. It spiked at 103.7 (digital mouth therm.) on Saturday, and it's remained above 100 for days. We have been on the phone almost every day with the nurse at our local clinic, and yesterday we took Tessa to the doctor on Orcas Island. He couldn't find anything wrong, other than her fever, lethargy, achiness, and lack of appetite.
Tessa has spent much of the past week -and it's been a full week- lying in my arms, sleeping, or sitting still, not even wanting stories. She rallies for a couple of hours to play Play-Doh or something, and then she drops off again. She naps for hours each day, multiple times per day. Over the past two days, when she should have been getting better, she has gotten worse than before. She doesn't even want to hear stories, she just sits with a glassy look most of the time. She slept the entire ferry ride, she slept on the way home, she asked to go to bed as soon as we got home.
We made an appointment with our local doctor as soon as we got home, and we saw them at 6:20pm...I just got home 20 minutes ago.
Unexplained fever lasting a week is concerning. Tessa's urine tests come out normal, and her eyes, ears, nose, mouth all look normal. Her breathing is normal, her heart sounds good. Finally, we had to do a blood draw (Tessa cried and shook in my arms, allowing the test to happen but still screaming "Stop! Please stop!" and it was awful) and now we are awaiting the test results. Her in-ear temp was 102.5 today.
It's 50/50 right now if we have to go to Children's Hospital tonight for more tests....x-rays and scans. This makes me sick to my stomach. I know what x-rays can look for, and it's not all about broken bones. I've had too many scans not to be scared at their mention.
I should hear test results by 10pm - they rushed the blood over to Children's Hospital with a "stat" order...a courrier was coming to get it. If the blood counts indicate a virus, we're in the clear (it won't mean that Tessa's better, just that it's "just a virus") and if the CBC doesn't indicate a virus then we don't know what it means, and we'll have to do more tests to rule everything out.
Please pray that my daughter is well. Please wish, hope, cross your fingers, send good thoughts, and pray that she is healthy, and that this is "just one of those things" and nothing to be concerned about. Please pray that I will be strong and steady and able to smile for her, and that my fears will not show, and that I will be brave so that she can be brave.
I'm so scared.
Tessa has had a fever since our first day on Orcas. It spiked at 103.7 (digital mouth therm.) on Saturday, and it's remained above 100 for days. We have been on the phone almost every day with the nurse at our local clinic, and yesterday we took Tessa to the doctor on Orcas Island. He couldn't find anything wrong, other than her fever, lethargy, achiness, and lack of appetite.
Tessa has spent much of the past week -and it's been a full week- lying in my arms, sleeping, or sitting still, not even wanting stories. She rallies for a couple of hours to play Play-Doh or something, and then she drops off again. She naps for hours each day, multiple times per day. Over the past two days, when she should have been getting better, she has gotten worse than before. She doesn't even want to hear stories, she just sits with a glassy look most of the time. She slept the entire ferry ride, she slept on the way home, she asked to go to bed as soon as we got home.
We made an appointment with our local doctor as soon as we got home, and we saw them at 6:20pm...I just got home 20 minutes ago.
Unexplained fever lasting a week is concerning. Tessa's urine tests come out normal, and her eyes, ears, nose, mouth all look normal. Her breathing is normal, her heart sounds good. Finally, we had to do a blood draw (Tessa cried and shook in my arms, allowing the test to happen but still screaming "Stop! Please stop!" and it was awful) and now we are awaiting the test results. Her in-ear temp was 102.5 today.
It's 50/50 right now if we have to go to Children's Hospital tonight for more tests....x-rays and scans. This makes me sick to my stomach. I know what x-rays can look for, and it's not all about broken bones. I've had too many scans not to be scared at their mention.
I should hear test results by 10pm - they rushed the blood over to Children's Hospital with a "stat" order...a courrier was coming to get it. If the blood counts indicate a virus, we're in the clear (it won't mean that Tessa's better, just that it's "just a virus") and if the CBC doesn't indicate a virus then we don't know what it means, and we'll have to do more tests to rule everything out.
Please pray that my daughter is well. Please wish, hope, cross your fingers, send good thoughts, and pray that she is healthy, and that this is "just one of those things" and nothing to be concerned about. Please pray that I will be strong and steady and able to smile for her, and that my fears will not show, and that I will be brave so that she can be brave.
I'm so scared.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Return of the muffin-top
(I really must be the extrovert that I think I am....am I really writing about this online?!)
My muffin-top is back. ARGH! I have been off program, eating whatever I feel like pretty much, and my clothes are tight again. Today I stepped on the scale, and it told me what I already knew....some pounds have crept back on. Dang it!
I can't stand the muffin top. Talk about unflattering - ugh. And the low-rise style that has been so popular is the WORST for someone with a muffin top. And have I mentioned that it's summer and I want to wear clothes that are more revealing - shorts, tank-tops, and even bathing suits? And that I promised myself to wear a bikini all summer? Bikinis and muffin-tops are mortal enemies, that's certain, and they shouldn't be in the same room together. DRAT!
So, hoping to cut my losses, I'm back on Weight Watchers. I'm announcing it publicly in the hope that it will keep me honest, and also to inspire anyone else who is struggling with weight loss....if I can do it, they can too. There's nothing "magic" about how I lost my 40 pounds, and there's nothing "magic" about how I put 10 back on. The only magic is in how I will feel when I lose those pounds again! I know what to do, and how to do it. Time to begin!
Ryan's high school reunion is coming up this summer (end of July) and I completely intend to be the hot wife. I WILL meet my goal, wear a pretty dress, and look good in it. :-)
It's unfortunate that my truth to myself (it's not like these pounds leapt on to my body overnight, and my clothes have been telling me for a few weeks) today, the day before a week at Orcas Island, but that's okay. Better to discover it now than to eat like Bacchas all week and add on even more. Time to pay the piper!
Love,
Kristina
My muffin-top is back. ARGH! I have been off program, eating whatever I feel like pretty much, and my clothes are tight again. Today I stepped on the scale, and it told me what I already knew....some pounds have crept back on. Dang it!
I can't stand the muffin top. Talk about unflattering - ugh. And the low-rise style that has been so popular is the WORST for someone with a muffin top. And have I mentioned that it's summer and I want to wear clothes that are more revealing - shorts, tank-tops, and even bathing suits? And that I promised myself to wear a bikini all summer? Bikinis and muffin-tops are mortal enemies, that's certain, and they shouldn't be in the same room together. DRAT!
So, hoping to cut my losses, I'm back on Weight Watchers. I'm announcing it publicly in the hope that it will keep me honest, and also to inspire anyone else who is struggling with weight loss....if I can do it, they can too. There's nothing "magic" about how I lost my 40 pounds, and there's nothing "magic" about how I put 10 back on. The only magic is in how I will feel when I lose those pounds again! I know what to do, and how to do it. Time to begin!
Ryan's high school reunion is coming up this summer (end of July) and I completely intend to be the hot wife. I WILL meet my goal, wear a pretty dress, and look good in it. :-)
It's unfortunate that my truth to myself (it's not like these pounds leapt on to my body overnight, and my clothes have been telling me for a few weeks) today, the day before a week at Orcas Island, but that's okay. Better to discover it now than to eat like Bacchas all week and add on even more. Time to pay the piper!
Love,
Kristina
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Catching my breath
Life goes by in such a whirlwind that I sometimes wonder when the earth started spinning at double speed; each day is filled to the brim with so many things to do, and we cram as much into the day as possible, but still, every day we run out of time. This is both a blessing and a curse: we're NEVER bored, usually tired, always busy. This is how I like it, but sometimes I just wish that I could slow things down.
Right now, I'm doing my best to do that.
Preschool is finished for the year, swimming lessons are finished for a while (I've decided to spend pool time with Tessa this summer without official lessons), the Race is over, my major 3-Day fundraising events are over (though I am still soliciting funds - I am well short of my goal and would TRULY appreciate any support you can give), I've survived my MRI...and it's time to catch my breath.
Yesterday Tessa and I went to soccer class, then hung out afterwards for a leisurely play-time at the park's play structure nearby, then met friends for coffee in the Junction. The afternoon was reserved for chores, and then we met 3-Day friends at Greenlake for a walk around the lake. After Greenlake, I dropped Tessa off at Ryan's office and they caught the bus home (a grand adventure for TK!), and I went to a Young Survivor's meeting at Gilda's Club. This may seem like a busy day to some, but to me it was a breath of fresh air! We weren't rushed, we spent lots of time out of doors, and I got a bit caught up around the house. A great day, overall.
Today, we went to the gym (I ran on the treadmill while Tessa and Zoe played at the kids' gym), then we hopped in the car and went to the zoo. I'd packed a picnic, and so we had fun hanging out in the grass for our lunch, watching the other families, eating, and even running around some. I brought bubbles, and while I packed up our blanket etc. the girls had a great time blowing bubbles everywhere - such a simple pleasure! We walked all over the zoo - including the incredible butterfly garden - until the girls complained about how tired they were, and then hopped into the car to go to Alki to meet Jenny and drop Zoe off. We came home, did chores for an hour (Tessa was content to hang in her room) and then Heather and kids came over for a simple grilled dinner, more bubble blowing, tree climbing, and relaxing in the back yard (Ryan's out for a bike ride tonight, and Heather's hubby was at a soccer game).
Re-reading this, I realize that I'm as busy as ever...it's just that I don't feel deadlines so much, I don't feel pressure to hurry up, and so many of these activities are for the pure joy of experiencing them with Tessa. These are lovely days, lovely moments, and I am savoring them.
A small moment today: Tessa, as is absolutely appropriate in the summer, was absolutely filthy by evening - her feet were black with dirt, her fingernails thick with dirt as well, smudges of (homemade raspberry orange) popsicle on her face, and a tangle of grass in her hair. It was definitely a bath night - at this rate EVERY night is bath night - and so we took her hair down from the loose bun it had been in, and she hopped into the tub. Down from it's elastic, her hair was full of loose waves, streaked with the colors of honey, straw, sand, and wheat, and I was struck in that moment by her incredible beauty - clear skin, wide, laughing eyes, long legs, and golden body from the sun (despite SPF 50!). It's a mother's pride, certainly, but I don't mean to boast, simply to say that I was struck by my daughter, and she took my breath away with her beauty. Often, I am too busy or it's too chaotic or I'm too preoccupied to really see her in this way, but today I felt that I could see her clearly, and I could enjoy what I was seeing rather than seeing the task list that is usually floating in my vision. (I know that every parent believes his/her child beautiful, and this is only natural and right. It's just that often I'm too busy wiping her face, correcting her manners, dealing with her protests as I brush her hair, or hurrying her up to enjoy her, and today I was able to enjoy her.) She had an impish smile as she jumped into the tub, and I had a wave of satisfaction wash over me that such simple things could be so beautiful and pleasureable. She was smiling and laughing as she took that gorgeous head of summer streaked hair and dunked it into the water over and over, and as she carelessly scrubbed the dirt from her feet, and something about it was absolutely perfect.
No doubt I will find myself struggling not to raise my voice again as soon as tomorrow begins ("Don't do that to the cat!" "Do NOT dump food on the floor!" "I told you several times already you may NOT have chocolate for breakfast, and that's final!" etc.) but I hope that I can carry the simple pleasures of the evening into the next day.
In almost every way, I'm trying to catch my breath. I'm trying to remind myself that I do not have to be go-go-going every minute of the day, and that I can lead a full, rich life even when sitting still. My diagnosis has made me oh-so-aware of my mortality, and I struggle to face that mortality and accept it, and part of that (for me) has included a need to cram as much into each day as humanly possible, so that if my time on earth must be short, then at least it will be full. I don't allow time to slip by without noticing it, because I KNOW that every minute is precious. When I waste my time, or use it poorly, I feel the loss in a way that I never did before. And, I have to say, it's exhausting. This living fully wears me out sometimes, even though it's what I want.
I do all the volunteer work and fundraising because I must; I must make my life meaningful; I must find a way to channel my cancer energy into something positive and worthwhile. Still, it's a hard way to live sometimes, being this hyper-aware all the time.
So, I'm trying to catch my breath. To slow down. To stay as long as we like in the butterfly enclosure at the zoo because we are having fun, and not rush to see every other exhibit. To make a simple meal rather than a more complex one, because then I can chat with Heather more than I spend time in the kitchen. To watch our children get covered in soapy bubbles and grass stains and not worry about it, just allow them to go a little crazy. To attend a survivor meeting and not worry about staying out too late, to not worry about keeping it deep and finding meaning, but just laughing with other women who "get it."
Next week we'll go to Orcas Island - some days just Tessa & I, with Ryan arriving on the weekend - and we will REALLY slow down. Nothing to do sounds pretty darn good. Reading books, going for runs, sipping coffee on the deck, soaking in the hot tub under the stars. I think I'll make pancakes one morning, too. Pancakes sound good to me today....decadent and slow, slightly impractical (unlike my Kashi Good Friends with nonfat milk and fruit that I have pretty uch EVERY morning for breakfast). Yes, I think that one day at the cabin I'll make pancakes, just because. We won't be in a rush, so why not?
Disjointed rambling, perhaps more than usual, but this is what I'm thinking of today. I hope that this evening finds you well, and that you're finding time to stargaze, to sip your coffee slowly, or to watch your daughter get good-and-dirty before bathtime.
I'm SO glad that it's summer!
Love,
Kristina
Right now, I'm doing my best to do that.
Preschool is finished for the year, swimming lessons are finished for a while (I've decided to spend pool time with Tessa this summer without official lessons), the Race is over, my major 3-Day fundraising events are over (though I am still soliciting funds - I am well short of my goal and would TRULY appreciate any support you can give), I've survived my MRI...and it's time to catch my breath.
Yesterday Tessa and I went to soccer class, then hung out afterwards for a leisurely play-time at the park's play structure nearby, then met friends for coffee in the Junction. The afternoon was reserved for chores, and then we met 3-Day friends at Greenlake for a walk around the lake. After Greenlake, I dropped Tessa off at Ryan's office and they caught the bus home (a grand adventure for TK!), and I went to a Young Survivor's meeting at Gilda's Club. This may seem like a busy day to some, but to me it was a breath of fresh air! We weren't rushed, we spent lots of time out of doors, and I got a bit caught up around the house. A great day, overall.
Today, we went to the gym (I ran on the treadmill while Tessa and Zoe played at the kids' gym), then we hopped in the car and went to the zoo. I'd packed a picnic, and so we had fun hanging out in the grass for our lunch, watching the other families, eating, and even running around some. I brought bubbles, and while I packed up our blanket etc. the girls had a great time blowing bubbles everywhere - such a simple pleasure! We walked all over the zoo - including the incredible butterfly garden - until the girls complained about how tired they were, and then hopped into the car to go to Alki to meet Jenny and drop Zoe off. We came home, did chores for an hour (Tessa was content to hang in her room) and then Heather and kids came over for a simple grilled dinner, more bubble blowing, tree climbing, and relaxing in the back yard (Ryan's out for a bike ride tonight, and Heather's hubby was at a soccer game).
Re-reading this, I realize that I'm as busy as ever...it's just that I don't feel deadlines so much, I don't feel pressure to hurry up, and so many of these activities are for the pure joy of experiencing them with Tessa. These are lovely days, lovely moments, and I am savoring them.
A small moment today: Tessa, as is absolutely appropriate in the summer, was absolutely filthy by evening - her feet were black with dirt, her fingernails thick with dirt as well, smudges of (homemade raspberry orange) popsicle on her face, and a tangle of grass in her hair. It was definitely a bath night - at this rate EVERY night is bath night - and so we took her hair down from the loose bun it had been in, and she hopped into the tub. Down from it's elastic, her hair was full of loose waves, streaked with the colors of honey, straw, sand, and wheat, and I was struck in that moment by her incredible beauty - clear skin, wide, laughing eyes, long legs, and golden body from the sun (despite SPF 50!). It's a mother's pride, certainly, but I don't mean to boast, simply to say that I was struck by my daughter, and she took my breath away with her beauty. Often, I am too busy or it's too chaotic or I'm too preoccupied to really see her in this way, but today I felt that I could see her clearly, and I could enjoy what I was seeing rather than seeing the task list that is usually floating in my vision. (I know that every parent believes his/her child beautiful, and this is only natural and right. It's just that often I'm too busy wiping her face, correcting her manners, dealing with her protests as I brush her hair, or hurrying her up to enjoy her, and today I was able to enjoy her.) She had an impish smile as she jumped into the tub, and I had a wave of satisfaction wash over me that such simple things could be so beautiful and pleasureable. She was smiling and laughing as she took that gorgeous head of summer streaked hair and dunked it into the water over and over, and as she carelessly scrubbed the dirt from her feet, and something about it was absolutely perfect.
No doubt I will find myself struggling not to raise my voice again as soon as tomorrow begins ("Don't do that to the cat!" "Do NOT dump food on the floor!" "I told you several times already you may NOT have chocolate for breakfast, and that's final!" etc.) but I hope that I can carry the simple pleasures of the evening into the next day.
In almost every way, I'm trying to catch my breath. I'm trying to remind myself that I do not have to be go-go-going every minute of the day, and that I can lead a full, rich life even when sitting still. My diagnosis has made me oh-so-aware of my mortality, and I struggle to face that mortality and accept it, and part of that (for me) has included a need to cram as much into each day as humanly possible, so that if my time on earth must be short, then at least it will be full. I don't allow time to slip by without noticing it, because I KNOW that every minute is precious. When I waste my time, or use it poorly, I feel the loss in a way that I never did before. And, I have to say, it's exhausting. This living fully wears me out sometimes, even though it's what I want.
I do all the volunteer work and fundraising because I must; I must make my life meaningful; I must find a way to channel my cancer energy into something positive and worthwhile. Still, it's a hard way to live sometimes, being this hyper-aware all the time.
So, I'm trying to catch my breath. To slow down. To stay as long as we like in the butterfly enclosure at the zoo because we are having fun, and not rush to see every other exhibit. To make a simple meal rather than a more complex one, because then I can chat with Heather more than I spend time in the kitchen. To watch our children get covered in soapy bubbles and grass stains and not worry about it, just allow them to go a little crazy. To attend a survivor meeting and not worry about staying out too late, to not worry about keeping it deep and finding meaning, but just laughing with other women who "get it."
Next week we'll go to Orcas Island - some days just Tessa & I, with Ryan arriving on the weekend - and we will REALLY slow down. Nothing to do sounds pretty darn good. Reading books, going for runs, sipping coffee on the deck, soaking in the hot tub under the stars. I think I'll make pancakes one morning, too. Pancakes sound good to me today....decadent and slow, slightly impractical (unlike my Kashi Good Friends with nonfat milk and fruit that I have pretty uch EVERY morning for breakfast). Yes, I think that one day at the cabin I'll make pancakes, just because. We won't be in a rush, so why not?
Disjointed rambling, perhaps more than usual, but this is what I'm thinking of today. I hope that this evening finds you well, and that you're finding time to stargaze, to sip your coffee slowly, or to watch your daughter get good-and-dirty before bathtime.
I'm SO glad that it's summer!
Love,
Kristina
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Race for the Cure
Today was The Day. It was a success! The I AM THE CURE program was wildly successful, and I'm grateful to have been a part of it.
I am exhausted. Absolutely bone tired. The stress of this week - Carmelia's fundraiser, Race for the Cure, and that horrible day of scans - has me completely wiped out.
Next week is a new week, filled with playdates, parks, pools, working out, walking Shep, and the like. I can't wait!
But now, at 2:20pm, I have to go lay down. Exhausted!
My love to Jenny, who ran with me, helped in a thousand ways, and cried with me when the time was right. xoxox
Love,
Kristina
PS I met a 33 year survivor today, as well as a number of 25+ year survivors. Some hugged me, and told me that one day I could walk in their group. They told me that I would make it. I choose to believe them!
I am exhausted. Absolutely bone tired. The stress of this week - Carmelia's fundraiser, Race for the Cure, and that horrible day of scans - has me completely wiped out.
Next week is a new week, filled with playdates, parks, pools, working out, walking Shep, and the like. I can't wait!
But now, at 2:20pm, I have to go lay down. Exhausted!
My love to Jenny, who ran with me, helped in a thousand ways, and cried with me when the time was right. xoxox
Love,
Kristina
PS I met a 33 year survivor today, as well as a number of 25+ year survivors. Some hugged me, and told me that one day I could walk in their group. They told me that I would make it. I choose to believe them!
Friday, June 15, 2007
It could have been me
Tonight I went out and celebrated my clean MRI with friends, Ryan, and Tessa. I am grateful with every cell of my body that the beast is at bay, and that I have been granted a reprieve. I've had far too many glasses of wine, eaten too much, and laughed deeply with my friends. I've kissed my daughter, held my husband tight. I have much to celebrate.
I came home tonight and read the following post on "the boards" from a young woman - beautiful, strong, positive - who is living with mets. I know it could have been me; I know that I could be in her shoes. I hate that this is what the disease does to people; I hate that anyone could possibly experience this level of grief.
I am eternally grateful that it's not me yet. I am resentful that it must be anyone. I know what breast cancer can do.
When you wonder if you should donate to "the cause," please remember this. Cancer isn't pink ribbons, it's this. It MUST be stopped.
-----------------
Tuesday night, I collapsed with a seizure at home. After several gruesome hours in emerg that I would not wish on a dog, I was diagnosed with nine massive tumours in my brain, which were causing quite a bit of swelling. They now have that under control for the moment and I am on a weekend pass home (hurray) on massive doses of drugs I cannot be bothered to pronounce - steroids, etc.Just to make it all more fun, my eight year old saw the whole thing. He is OK. I had this strange presentiment and luckily called a neighbour over who comforted him. My six year old heard my tortured breathing and is scared of me. Can someone please explain why this monster has to take everything away from me? I so wanted to protect them from this disgusting disease.Nancy, thank you for posting pictures of your head after whole brain radiation which I start on Monday. This site means so much because I knew exactly what my options were even as I lay in emerg. Bless you Nancy for your dignity and your courage and your humour in telling your story. You have no idea what it has meant to me over the last few days to have some idea what is ahead of me.I am remarkably fine considering that my brain looks like a train wreck on an CT. I have a perfectly normal neurological testing now. I seem to function fine. I was dragging my leg and that has gone away entirely.Victory? Well, I did have mine. As I lay gasping for air in this horrible seizure, I was, gruesomely, conscious. I could hear my own horrible breathing growing more and more infrequent. The only time I have ever heard someone breathe like that is when my grandmother died. I thought that was it for me. I have never wanted air so much. I could feel my husband's tears dripping down my face, and I chose to exhale and tell him that I loved him. I chose love over breath itself. Do the same if you have to. Be strong. You have all been so good to me over the last few months.
---------------
Do you hate cancer as much as I do? Do something about it. Race for the Cure is tomorrow - join, donate, SOMETHING. You can donate to my 3-Day website using the link on the right. Do something. NOBODY should have to endure this. Nobody.
I HATE CANCER. This isn't a ploy, this isn't a scam, this is just the way it is. And I hate it.
It could have been me. I have been granted a reprieve, but it could have been me.
I came home tonight and read the following post on "the boards" from a young woman - beautiful, strong, positive - who is living with mets. I know it could have been me; I know that I could be in her shoes. I hate that this is what the disease does to people; I hate that anyone could possibly experience this level of grief.
I am eternally grateful that it's not me yet. I am resentful that it must be anyone. I know what breast cancer can do.
When you wonder if you should donate to "the cause," please remember this. Cancer isn't pink ribbons, it's this. It MUST be stopped.
-----------------
Tuesday night, I collapsed with a seizure at home. After several gruesome hours in emerg that I would not wish on a dog, I was diagnosed with nine massive tumours in my brain, which were causing quite a bit of swelling. They now have that under control for the moment and I am on a weekend pass home (hurray) on massive doses of drugs I cannot be bothered to pronounce - steroids, etc.Just to make it all more fun, my eight year old saw the whole thing. He is OK. I had this strange presentiment and luckily called a neighbour over who comforted him. My six year old heard my tortured breathing and is scared of me. Can someone please explain why this monster has to take everything away from me? I so wanted to protect them from this disgusting disease.Nancy, thank you for posting pictures of your head after whole brain radiation which I start on Monday. This site means so much because I knew exactly what my options were even as I lay in emerg. Bless you Nancy for your dignity and your courage and your humour in telling your story. You have no idea what it has meant to me over the last few days to have some idea what is ahead of me.I am remarkably fine considering that my brain looks like a train wreck on an CT. I have a perfectly normal neurological testing now. I seem to function fine. I was dragging my leg and that has gone away entirely.Victory? Well, I did have mine. As I lay gasping for air in this horrible seizure, I was, gruesomely, conscious. I could hear my own horrible breathing growing more and more infrequent. The only time I have ever heard someone breathe like that is when my grandmother died. I thought that was it for me. I have never wanted air so much. I could feel my husband's tears dripping down my face, and I chose to exhale and tell him that I loved him. I chose love over breath itself. Do the same if you have to. Be strong. You have all been so good to me over the last few months.
---------------
Do you hate cancer as much as I do? Do something about it. Race for the Cure is tomorrow - join, donate, SOMETHING. You can donate to my 3-Day website using the link on the right. Do something. NOBODY should have to endure this. Nobody.
I HATE CANCER. This isn't a ploy, this isn't a scam, this is just the way it is. And I hate it.
It could have been me. I have been granted a reprieve, but it could have been me.
No evidence of malignancy - Tears of JOY!
At 11:50am I couldn't stand it any longer, I had to call.
I got put on hold.
Then, after I explained what I was looking for, I got put on hold again.
Then, the receptionist came back and said that the results were ready but I'd have to wait until they faxed them over.
Hold again.
At this point, I was shaking and near a nervous breakdown. Scenerio after scenerio played out in my head. I was parked near Qwest, waiting to go do my volunteer work, and I thought "if it's cancer how will I get this done? How will I do my job today and tomorrow?" which was the first thing that popped into my head, but not nearly as scary as "How could I ever put my family through this again? I don't feel strong enough yet. I'm so scared..." and then the fear stuck and it was just a vibration of fear running through my body.
More holding. More shaking.
To distract myself, I played a little game. "I'll turn on the radio, and whatever song is playing will tell me the answer to my question: am I okay?" I know this is stupid, but I needed SOME kind of distraction.
The song that was playing? "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley. "You must be crazy," it told me. Well, yes, I knew that already, and didn't need the radio to tell me.
She came back, calling, "Are you still there?" "Yes," I whispered. Now I was really shaking.
She said, "Mumble mumble mumble Dr. Rinn's out of the office so we had another doc take a look but mumble mumble mumble mumble there's no evidence of malignancy. Oh, I'm sorry, I should have said THAT first!"
I broke down and cried, and then, embarrassed, told her that I didn't know why I was crying for GOOD news.
GOOD news. Thank God. This was really, really scary.
And then I went and did set-up at Qwest Field for I AM THE CURE. The race is going to be a HUGE success tomorrow and I can't wait to see it all come together!
Thank you to those of you who went through it with me, and who sent out prayers and thoughts. We've made it through another round, and now we can enjoy the sunshine.
(I hate cancer.)
Love,
Kristina
I got put on hold.
Then, after I explained what I was looking for, I got put on hold again.
Then, the receptionist came back and said that the results were ready but I'd have to wait until they faxed them over.
Hold again.
At this point, I was shaking and near a nervous breakdown. Scenerio after scenerio played out in my head. I was parked near Qwest, waiting to go do my volunteer work, and I thought "if it's cancer how will I get this done? How will I do my job today and tomorrow?" which was the first thing that popped into my head, but not nearly as scary as "How could I ever put my family through this again? I don't feel strong enough yet. I'm so scared..." and then the fear stuck and it was just a vibration of fear running through my body.
More holding. More shaking.
To distract myself, I played a little game. "I'll turn on the radio, and whatever song is playing will tell me the answer to my question: am I okay?" I know this is stupid, but I needed SOME kind of distraction.
The song that was playing? "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley. "You must be crazy," it told me. Well, yes, I knew that already, and didn't need the radio to tell me.
She came back, calling, "Are you still there?" "Yes," I whispered. Now I was really shaking.
She said, "Mumble mumble mumble Dr. Rinn's out of the office so we had another doc take a look but mumble mumble mumble mumble there's no evidence of malignancy. Oh, I'm sorry, I should have said THAT first!"
I broke down and cried, and then, embarrassed, told her that I didn't know why I was crying for GOOD news.
GOOD news. Thank God. This was really, really scary.
And then I went and did set-up at Qwest Field for I AM THE CURE. The race is going to be a HUGE success tomorrow and I can't wait to see it all come together!
Thank you to those of you who went through it with me, and who sent out prayers and thoughts. We've made it through another round, and now we can enjoy the sunshine.
(I hate cancer.)
Love,
Kristina
by noon
I should find out by noon. I'll count on 1pm. By then, I'll know.
I'll be at Qwest Field at that time, but I will update the blog when I have answers...
I'll be at Qwest Field at that time, but I will update the blog when I have answers...
nothing to report
With a little help from Ativan, I made it through the day yesterday. I don't have any news; they told me that they'd have results in 24-48 hours. I'll start calling at noon today, as I do not have the patience to wait until Monday with this hanging over my head.
I alternate between demobilizing fear and the belief that all is well.
Today I'm off to set up for Race for the Cure, which is tomorrow. I'm excited to see our work come to its culmination - I believe we are doing good things. I AM THE CURE! :-)
I alternate between demobilizing fear and the belief that all is well.
Today I'm off to set up for Race for the Cure, which is tomorrow. I'm excited to see our work come to its culmination - I believe we are doing good things. I AM THE CURE! :-)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
interview link
My KJAQ interview is now online:
http://965jackfm.com/pages/505554.php
I'm having a hard day. I can't get the MRI out of my head. But now...I'm off to get ready for the Carmelia's fundraiser (for the 3-Day) tonight. Hopefully that will make me feel better!
http://965jackfm.com/pages/505554.php
I'm having a hard day. I can't get the MRI out of my head. But now...I'm off to get ready for the Carmelia's fundraiser (for the 3-Day) tonight. Hopefully that will make me feel better!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Scary thoughts
I just posted this on my survivor website (after a hiatus, I felt drawn to return), and thought I'd risk posting it here.
For friends and family to read this concerns me; I don't want to unnecessarily freak anyone out. The odds are, likely, in my favor that I'm worrying over "nothing." My oncologist has good reason to believe that what I'm worried about is not the case, and I trust her opinions.
But, annually, I have to go for a series of scans. As Thursday approaches, I am a bundle of nerves and emotion. Actually, just trying to identify what those emotions are, to describe them here on my blog, gives me a sudden urge to throw up. I'm pretty sure that I've over-used the word "terrified" on this blog, but it's all I can come up with. My approaching scan terrifies me.
I hate that I'm saying that. I hate that I have not rounded some corner from which I can look back, glowing with wisdom, to inspire those who are behind me in this journey. I'm in a position to inspire women through my work on the 3-Day, the Race for the Cure, and the local Komen office, as well as through Genentech, and I've spent a good deal of the last week telling listeners on the radio how well I feel and how glad I am to have this behind me. MOST of the time, that's true. My life is a testament to how well I feel. But today I find myself, literally, quaking with fear.
So here's the post I wrote to my survivor "friends" on the internet. They have applauded my honesty, and this gives me courage. I think it's important to be honest here, too, despite my best desire to be 100% PollyAnna and to cure myself through positive thinking (ha!).
To those of you who are following behind me, know that this is only part of the truth. Today's fear is palpable (just like a lump...did I really just use that word?!) but hopefully the relief will be just as strong, and then I will be ready to fight for the masses again.
----------------------------
I have not had an MRI in two years, since my initial diagnosis. I have been in recon for a year, so we put it off, and now it's time.
I have a number of small lumps. Tiny, sand-like ones in my incision on the healthy side, and a larger (inch?) one also on the healthy side. We (oncologist and I) suspect that the tiny sand-like ones are sutures that have scar tissue around them, and that the larger one is the edge of the implant. They're relatively new; I only did my implant exchange on Mar 2 and they're since then. I've had regular clinical exams, and my tumor markers are on the low side of normal with a downward trend.
But I won't know that I'm okay until we get it checked out.
I'm scared. My first MRI was a horrible experience...how can anyone enjoy that cold, loud, claustrophobic tube? And knowing that you are there to Look For Cancer? It's creepy, surreal, and awful.I have five appointments on Thursday: oncologist, Herceptin, MRI, MUGA, and physical therapy. I haven't had a day like that in a long time and being in Cancerland that long is freaking me out. Worrying about the lumps is freaking me out.
I haven't felt this scared in a while. I know that it's normal, and that most people freak out for their yearly scans. Knowing that doesn't make it easier, even though it should.I will be asking for an Ativan or equivalent at my onc meeting. I can't go from 8:40am (first appointment) until 4:45pm (end of last appointment) in Cancerland without some help. I can not lie in that tube without screaming without a little help. I'm worried that I will get even a false positive - not unlikely - and that I will lose my mind. I'm worried that I will re-experience my first MRI and hear "Sorry but yes you have cancer and it's more than we thought and probably in the nodes" and that I will have to face another year of torture when I'm most trying to put it all behind me. I am Freaking OUT!
Where's my inner PollyAnna? I need her right now and she's deserting me?!This weekend is Race for the Cure and I'm rolling out I AM THE CURE in Seattle at that program. I have a fundraiser tomorrow night for the 3-Day. I have a survivor support group next week. I'm training again (sciatic appears healed) and ran 50 minutes today for the first time in weeks. I spent part of the day at the beach with my daughter. So why am I doing this to myself? I'm channeling my energy in positive ways but inside I'm a mess.
I'm in a position through my work with Komen to "inspire" women. I've been doing radio and newspaper interviews, and I'm becoming a local voice for Komen. So why, today, do I feel like a sham? I feel like I'm totally faking it and that if anybody knew what I was really thinking I'd scare them instead of inspiring them.
So, ladies, I'm throwing it out to you. Can someone please talk me down? Or remind me that, most likely, by the end of the day on Thursday I will know that things are okay?
For friends and family to read this concerns me; I don't want to unnecessarily freak anyone out. The odds are, likely, in my favor that I'm worrying over "nothing." My oncologist has good reason to believe that what I'm worried about is not the case, and I trust her opinions.
But, annually, I have to go for a series of scans. As Thursday approaches, I am a bundle of nerves and emotion. Actually, just trying to identify what those emotions are, to describe them here on my blog, gives me a sudden urge to throw up. I'm pretty sure that I've over-used the word "terrified" on this blog, but it's all I can come up with. My approaching scan terrifies me.
I hate that I'm saying that. I hate that I have not rounded some corner from which I can look back, glowing with wisdom, to inspire those who are behind me in this journey. I'm in a position to inspire women through my work on the 3-Day, the Race for the Cure, and the local Komen office, as well as through Genentech, and I've spent a good deal of the last week telling listeners on the radio how well I feel and how glad I am to have this behind me. MOST of the time, that's true. My life is a testament to how well I feel. But today I find myself, literally, quaking with fear.
So here's the post I wrote to my survivor "friends" on the internet. They have applauded my honesty, and this gives me courage. I think it's important to be honest here, too, despite my best desire to be 100% PollyAnna and to cure myself through positive thinking (ha!).
To those of you who are following behind me, know that this is only part of the truth. Today's fear is palpable (just like a lump...did I really just use that word?!) but hopefully the relief will be just as strong, and then I will be ready to fight for the masses again.
----------------------------
I have not had an MRI in two years, since my initial diagnosis. I have been in recon for a year, so we put it off, and now it's time.
I have a number of small lumps. Tiny, sand-like ones in my incision on the healthy side, and a larger (inch?) one also on the healthy side. We (oncologist and I) suspect that the tiny sand-like ones are sutures that have scar tissue around them, and that the larger one is the edge of the implant. They're relatively new; I only did my implant exchange on Mar 2 and they're since then. I've had regular clinical exams, and my tumor markers are on the low side of normal with a downward trend.
But I won't know that I'm okay until we get it checked out.
I'm scared. My first MRI was a horrible experience...how can anyone enjoy that cold, loud, claustrophobic tube? And knowing that you are there to Look For Cancer? It's creepy, surreal, and awful.I have five appointments on Thursday: oncologist, Herceptin, MRI, MUGA, and physical therapy. I haven't had a day like that in a long time and being in Cancerland that long is freaking me out. Worrying about the lumps is freaking me out.
I haven't felt this scared in a while. I know that it's normal, and that most people freak out for their yearly scans. Knowing that doesn't make it easier, even though it should.I will be asking for an Ativan or equivalent at my onc meeting. I can't go from 8:40am (first appointment) until 4:45pm (end of last appointment) in Cancerland without some help. I can not lie in that tube without screaming without a little help. I'm worried that I will get even a false positive - not unlikely - and that I will lose my mind. I'm worried that I will re-experience my first MRI and hear "Sorry but yes you have cancer and it's more than we thought and probably in the nodes" and that I will have to face another year of torture when I'm most trying to put it all behind me. I am Freaking OUT!
Where's my inner PollyAnna? I need her right now and she's deserting me?!This weekend is Race for the Cure and I'm rolling out I AM THE CURE in Seattle at that program. I have a fundraiser tomorrow night for the 3-Day. I have a survivor support group next week. I'm training again (sciatic appears healed) and ran 50 minutes today for the first time in weeks. I spent part of the day at the beach with my daughter. So why am I doing this to myself? I'm channeling my energy in positive ways but inside I'm a mess.
I'm in a position through my work with Komen to "inspire" women. I've been doing radio and newspaper interviews, and I'm becoming a local voice for Komen. So why, today, do I feel like a sham? I feel like I'm totally faking it and that if anybody knew what I was really thinking I'd scare them instead of inspiring them.
So, ladies, I'm throwing it out to you. Can someone please talk me down? Or remind me that, most likely, by the end of the day on Thursday I will know that things are okay?
Monday, June 11, 2007
interview on the radio
So, as I mentioned before, I was on KJAQ this weekend (8am on a Sunday - not a prime spot!). The interviewer, Kimi, was gracious and kind to give Komen 30 minutes to discuss issues surrounding breast cancer, to put out the plea for joining Race for the Cure (it happens this Saturday!), and to tell my story. Soon, you'll be able to hear it here:
http://www.965jackfm.com/pages/505554.php
(As of today I don't see it but this is where all of Kimi's interviews are posted.)
I am not famous, and perhaps only 2 people in the world heard the interview (Susan & I listened together, despite the kids' protests that it was "booooorrrring" and they wanted to watch TV or listen to kid music) but I'm still proud of it.
I was also on some other stations this weekend, and heard after the fact which ones at which times - here's the info I got:
The Sandusky interviews ran on Sunday, June 10 on the Morning Magazine Show on the stations below. Starting today, listeners can tune into the interviews again on the website, www.warm1069.com There will be a full podcast available for download through the week up until the Race.
Here were the air times for each station on Sunday.
KRWM 106.9 FM - 5:30 am
KKNW 1105 AM - 6:00 am
KWJZ 98.9 FM - 6:30 am
KIXI 880 AM - 6:30 am
Here's a direct link to that interview summary:
http://warm1069.com/rwn.asp?displayOption=&contentGUID={947DD0CE-B54B-4006-A6B2-CC35F0087AF7}&groupName=KRWM%20Cares&siteGUID={AFEDDA3C-2BDA-4E6A-8259-8B3901703883
....and to the MP3 to listen:
http://www.warm1069.com/podcast/media/smm061007.mp3
My fame is, ummm, rather small. But still, if I reached someone and made a difference, then it's all worthwhile!
http://www.965jackfm.com/pages/505554.php
(As of today I don't see it but this is where all of Kimi's interviews are posted.)
I am not famous, and perhaps only 2 people in the world heard the interview (Susan & I listened together, despite the kids' protests that it was "booooorrrring" and they wanted to watch TV or listen to kid music) but I'm still proud of it.
I was also on some other stations this weekend, and heard after the fact which ones at which times - here's the info I got:
The Sandusky interviews ran on Sunday, June 10 on the Morning Magazine Show on the stations below. Starting today, listeners can tune into the interviews again on the website, www.warm1069.com There will be a full podcast available for download through the week up until the Race.
Here were the air times for each station on Sunday.
KRWM 106.9 FM - 5:30 am
KKNW 1105 AM - 6:00 am
KWJZ 98.9 FM - 6:30 am
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Here's a direct link to that interview summary:
http://warm1069.com/rwn.asp?displayOption=&contentGUID={947DD0CE-B54B-4006-A6B2-CC35F0087AF7}&groupName=KRWM%20Cares&siteGUID={AFEDDA3C-2BDA-4E6A-8259-8B3901703883
....and to the MP3 to listen:
http://www.warm1069.com/podcast/media/smm061007.mp3
My fame is, ummm, rather small. But still, if I reached someone and made a difference, then it's all worthwhile!
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