Sometimes it's just not OK

Along the path of life there are ups and downs and we're told to "be positive" or paint on that happy face, but sometimes it's just not OK.

I woke this morning to a horrific email. A friend of mine lost several people in her life. The first lost her battle to ovarian cancer. The next three lost their lives in Haiti's earthquake.

Currently there is no early reliable detection for ovarian cancer. It is one of the most deadly cancers to women. All of the women I've heard of with ovarian cancer are now dead. For more information about ovarian cancer visit www.ovariancancer.org.

I don't watch TV; I don't even own a TV. I learned there was an earthquake in Haiti about 3 or 4 days after the event. But not my dear friend's friend. She lived it. While working for the UN she moved her husband and three kids to Haiti. On that fateful day she lost her husband and two of her children. In the wake of one of the most devastating earthquakes, she finds herself a widow. In the aftermath she will is left with only one of her beautiful children.

Should you choose to help any of the Haiti relief efforts, you will find many ways to do so. Perhaps you can "adopt" a family so that they can begin to heal; donate money or supplies. I would encourage you to scout out the way in which you help. Make sure your supplies, money, or donation is actually getting to where it needs to be.

People asked me over the last nine months, how do you stay so positive. It is simple really. I get to live.

My heart and all my thoughts are with the friends and family of the ones that have lost their battle to cancer, to my friend's friend who passed with ovarian cancer recently. My heart is with those in Haiti and affected by Haiti. May you find a place where you can heal.

Gymnastics is somersaults right?

I read the bumper sticker correctly: Gymnastics build better bones. It is the fine print I never saw: And it'll kick your butt also!

Holy cow and a half!

I researched what builds bones -- apparently we all need a little "bone" every now and again. Oh there were other things, super exciting things like doing squats, race walking, and doing body weight exercises. A small tangent here is necessary. What are body weight exercises? And do you only have to do half of them if you are heavier? Or is this some new thing college kids are doing? Anyway...

Gymnastics was also on the list so I immediately let my fingers do the walking all over the internet for adult gymnastics in Boulder. This is where I should have stopped. My fingers got a workout. After signing a quick please don't sue us when you realize gymnastics is REALLY REALLY HARD I paid my 10 bucks and joined Tuesday Night Tumble. Ready to rumble (OK, I just had to write that). We started by running which again was a clue they were serious.

The finality, however, was worth the lashing -- flips on the bouncy thingy with a padded belt around your hips that is affixed to ropes. I was flip goddess!

I have to go back.

Today I packed up cancer

...Our lives are better left to chance, I could have missed the pain, but I would've had to miss the dance... (Garth Brooks "The Dance")

Exactly eight months ago I paced back and forth at the Boulder Community Hospital getting up the nerve to call my brother, to call my sweetie, to call my friends. I painted on my happy face. I practiced perfect sales technique -- stand, smile, speak. I pretended to be happy. I pretended everything would be OK. I pretended until I didn't need to pretend anymore. And today -- I packed up cancer.

A pill a day keeps the side affects away, and another pill keeps the side affects from the pill that keeps the side affects away, and another pill keeps those side affects away...and a lymphedema sock, thermometer, various secret herbal remedies, and ginger. By god don't forget the ginger! I shan't think that I shall ever eat crystallized ginger again.

I'm ready. Two boobs, check, overnight bag, check, throw away all my bras for life, check. The morning of my double mastectomy. Kristin, I can't think of a more appropriate time to have the memories of our marathon in New York than wearing this shirt to one of my biggest events.

And I woke. I wasn't wearing a cast (good thing!) so my friends signed my "wall". Well, they also took a sharpie and drew happy faces on my knees and ... OK not really, but it would have been funny!

Into every one's life a little hair must fall! 12 inches!

Second chemotherapy. This is fun. I swear! But I recommend signing up for a root canal first.

And then it's over. Seemingly as fast as it began chemo was over and my debut singing "You've gotta have boobs" began.

For the encore, "Staying alive," before my second surgery to replace the sinking water balloon!

And the after hours party I prepared for that radiation glow.

Beam ON! And then it was over -- 6 weeks in the blink of an eye.

Cancer was a journey. Today I looked over at the most wonderful man I know and said -- and believed -- we're not meant to be on this earth to figure everything out, to analyze everything. We're just here to live and have fun doing it.

A gigantic thank you to those that went before me, to my friends that stood beside me, and for all those wonderful people I get to meet in the future. (And to finally writing about something else besides cancer!)

"Almost Done Connie"

I received it in the mail. Purple construction paper with a big red star: Almost Done Connie. Accompanied by photos of friends from Montana, the poster hangs on my fridge. Today I read those words and I know I am almost done.

It is not without an element of sadness. I've grown attached to my nurses, my technicians, my new friends.

I will miss Terry. Deb. Mike. Jennifer. Kathy. Alan. Carry. Gale. Nina. I will miss going to the cancer center. Strange, but true. I will miss having my blood drawn. I'll miss chemo, well not the part where I get sick, but the other part -- talking to Nina, using the IV pole like a skateboard, seeing if it is truly possible to pee every 15 minutes while receiving main-line saline. I won't get the Sarge and Lewis daily updates. I didn't have enough time to talk Mike into seeing the largest tree made solely of poinsettias. I won't see Carry's golden retriever. I won't get to see which pair of cool shoes Terry is wearing or talk to her about all the wonderful things we've talked about. I won't leave radiation waving goodbye to Jennifer, Kathy, and Alan everyday. I may never have another opportunity to sing wearing blue hair in the chemo room. (The Taxotere made me do it!)

In just a few days I'm set free. I'm well.

I had cancer.

Me and Sam at Arapahoe Pass after my 5th chemo treatment.

It's hard to see me with hair. With my body. Whole. Old photos have a lot to say.

I met a new friend at radiation (started today!). Her name is Teri. When I met her I asked "so do you have breast cancer also?" She said "no. I HAD breast cancer." Well so did I! While I opted for the whole show -- double mastectomy, chemo, radiation -- Teri was one of those lucky ones that caught it early. Her endearment included a lumpectomy and 33 radiation treatments.

This morning she greeted me with crossed legs, high-heeled stilettos, radiation smock and robe and said she was intrigued by my words...cancer was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.

About then I set off to walk "the radiation mile" just after she uttered we will start with this question tomorrow....

At my second doctor's appointment for the day I began my list. Cancer is the best thing that ever happened to me.

I learned to forgive and I started with myself.

I learned to let go and I started with myself.

I learned to slow down and to live.

I learned not to define each word in the English language; definitions are limiting and I found I have no limits.

I found beauty in a deformed body.

I learned to paint on my happy face and then one day I found that I no longer needed the paint -- I am happy.

I learned to cry and that it is OK to cry.

I learned tolerance and I started with myself.

I learned that if it is a beautiful day, enjoy it and I found that every day is a beautiful day.

I learned it is OK to be weak; everyone makes a comeback.

I found strength in other people and I learned it is OK for them to help me.

I found my soul and learned how to keep it alive.

Now with just 32 radiation treatments left I know I am the lucky one. I had cancer.

It's not just raw fish...

The dragonfly is a symbol of happiness, renewal, and new beginnings.

As I sat there satiating my taste buds with bite after bite of raw fish it slowly began to sink in. I was done. I moved from "I have breast cancer" to "I am a survivor". Sushi symbolized the end after a four month doctor imposed moratorium on raw fish. No more chemo. No more cancer. I am well.

My sweetie was there that pitiful day I heard those three little words "you've got cancer". His arms held me. He was my strength whispering in my ear that everything would be OK while I cried. He will always be my strength when I am scared. I will always hear his voice and know that everything will be OK.

After what seemed like a lifetime in one moment and a minute in the next, we celebrated its finality. Together over spicy tuna and salmon nigiri. The only thing left to do was smile.

Done with chemo!

To listen to the song I was singing Click here! Thanks Jodi!

(Right click on the link click "open in a new window". Click the "play" arrow in the right hand box, just right of the album cover.)

It didn't even really hit me until I was leaving work Tuesday that Wednesday would be my last chemo treatment. After 4 months of poisonous injections into my body, restricted diet, nausea and vomiting, and one good week out of every three -- I finished yesterday!

I realize as I look back over the last four months that I haven't spent much time in my life. My life became doctor's appointments, information gathering, and outpatient infusion. As I move forward I contemplate "now what"? A lot of people people I've met have made monumental changes after their lives were affected by cancer. Case in point: the Susan G. Komen foundation, a promise between sisters to knock out breast cancer forever!

For me it is all the small stuff along the way. It is those simple little changes in my life that when added together make it spectacular -- noticing sunsets, smiling at strangers, holding the door open for people, spending time with my sweetie and my friends, one random act of kindness a day (thanks Jody!), saying "yes" because it means a lot to the other person and saying "no" to be kind to yourself.

As I move into the radiation phase of treatment, the last phase of my treatment, I may put some edges along my life path and add some new turns and twists, but I can say for sure I'll always watch the sun rise and set in whole new way.

A very HUGE THANK YOU! to Nina my chemo nurse that took such great care of me!