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 effects away, and another pill keeps the side effects from the pill that keeps the side effects away, and another pill keeps those side effects 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!

Into everyone's life a tree must fall...

Last spring these amazing people came by to trim my tree, so I thought. I learned later this was a crew hired from Xcel Power to keep the leaves from growing into the power lines. With the heavy spring and summer rains my tree became water logged, but never a leaf did it grow. By August I realized it was time, the tree must come down. It was dead. In fact, it had probably died years ealier.

So I called the lovely people at Xcel Power, after all, their expert trimming killed the tree. I called the Town of Berthoud, after all, the Town just hired a new arborist. What I received was a letter from the Town giving me 30 days to remove the tree and a phone call from Xcel telling me the previous owner must have been the one that killed the tree. I then called four more arborists. Turns out, Xcel's arborist is the only person who believes Xcel didn't kill the tree!

My neighbor, who must have been blessed by an angel, rounded up a crew of three, also neighbors, and about an hour later the tree was gone.

Thank you to my neighbors and my friends. I could not go through this experience (cancer adn the tree) without each and every one of you. It is my sincerest hope that I will pay forward the kindness that has been given to me.

People do this because they want to? Craziness!

I sprung a leak in my water balloon boobie! My choices: a new expander or go straight for the "real" thing -- silicon! I opted for another expander so I can continue to watch my boobie grow! (There should be a warning label on the expanders: Addicting. So much so you could spring a leak.)

Painful. I got 400 cc's of saline shoved into my new water balloon boobie and this time it is actually stretching the skin. Perfecting, of course, the two perfectly round boulder-size (and weight) pop-outs from my chest.

I ponder why any woman would ever want to do this. I say, go for the 20" waistline. it's way less painful.

Courage

Sometimes I just forget I even have cancer. I'm like all the other girls in a crowd. I'm shy around a sexy guy, I blush when someone gives me a compliment, I like girl talk and sappy movies. When the hero dies, I'm sad. Somewhere inside I still believe in Cinderella.

And then my head gets cold. I need to put on a hat and along the way to get to my hat I see the mirror. It's true then. I do have cancer. I have a distorted chest with scars. A port. No hair.

I write in my journal: "Doesn't someone else have cancer? Can I quit now?...I just want to cry -- not really. I want to hike. Swim. Be well. Run in the fields. Eat food that tastes like something other than chalk."

Courage is not winning the battle. That doesn't take any courage at all. Courage is waking up everyday and painting on a happy face. Walking with your head up when you have no hair at all. Courage is going to the hospital every three weeks to be injected with deadly chemicals designed to kill living cells. Courage is waiting it out and knowing that someday you will have a new chest that isn't hard a rocks and painfully sore. Courage is believing in a brighter future no matter how dim the present seems.

I do not find my courage in me. I find my courage in all those women that have gone before me. I find my courage in my friends that have stood beside me. I find my courage in the special man that shares his time with me. I find my courage in my aunt, my brother, and my niece who is just now starting her life. And I thank you.

What! No hair!

Every day my body changes

I don't know where it is going

When it will stop

Or who I will be when it's over

Water Balloon Boobies Get Some Float!

OK, I admit it I’m a product of the 80’s with bad hair and worse clothes. I bent my arms at the elbow and swung them wildly back and forth while chanting “I must, I must, I must increase my bust”. But not in a million years did I actually think I would watch my bust grow! But there I was – my water balloon boobies got a 55 cc dose of saline and I actually watched my bust bloat. Tomorrow it will feel like I’ve done 40 push-ups. Hmmm. Watch my boobies grow and get the benefit of 40 push-ups without even doing a single one…I could be onto something!

It could happen to you...

So there I was enjoying a nice dinner with my sweetie when all of a sudden it happened! My bulb exploded. The bulb at the end of the drain inserted into my chest to collect "boob juice". Laugh. Out loud. There is absolutely no other way.

Freshly "juiced" I managed to re-assemble myself and enjoy my chile verde and (2) margaritas. As for my date, he walked away, also laughing. It was funny! And he came back, still laughing.

Cancer can kill you and there is no joke about it. But laughing out loud will get you through the treatments. There has yet to be a good reason to be mad. I won't give cancer the satisfaction.

The Birds are Dancing

Ever since surgery I can't sleep for extended periods of time. I wake up with this incredibly stiff back. I bring my legs into my chest and roll mildly from side to side like a laying-down weeble-wobble -- OK, if you weren't little in the '70's you probably don't know what a weeble-wobble is, but it's not a compliment and I'm a broken weeble-wobble.

So usually it's about 4:00 a.m. when I wobble back and forth. Outside my window I hear the mountain chickadees singing. Their little voices are so strong. I also have sparrows and what sounds like thrushes. The birds sing heartily at four in the morning. I can picture each one scurrying about, looking for worms, insects, collecting things from the ground, feeding little chicks. The birds of the morning do not argue, fuss, or fight with each other like you see later in the day. They dance, hurry about their business, and sing.

Within the next ten minutes (it's about 5:20 a.m. right now), the eastern sky will begin to turn a beautiful rosy pink color as the sun crests the horizon. This light filters through my north kitchen window because the sun is so high in the sky right now -- it's almost the summer solstice.

Once the sun makes its appearance the singing becomes just a whisper.

A Beautiful New Day

After a week of rain, the sky turned blue and welcomed the sun with a crisp spring morning. The Rocky Mountains aglow in the morning light -- Longs Peak tantalizingly teasing me in the distance.

Today will be a whole new day. After my seemingly daily doctors appointments, I'm off towards Longs Peak. My sweetie is taking me on a drive to Rocky Mountain National Park.

Still recovering from surgery, it seems like a million years ago and just an hour ago. I'm not used to this. I'm used to sprained ankles and bug bites (spider bites being my specialty). Cancer is forever. Every turn reminding me. I still wait impatiently at the doctor's office for him to utter -- we've made a mistake, the lab mixed up the results and you don't have cancer. But they don't say that and I would not want that for then another would have cancer other than me.

I've been handed my potion: six chemo treatments of Cytoxan and Taxotere followed by five years of hormone therapy.

But today, I will sit shotgun as I ride up into the mountains towards Longs Peak. It may tease me now, but I will stand on top of Longs Peak ... and countless others in the Rocky Mountains.

Worthy. MS is one of the remaining diseases with no known cure!

Smile!

Click today for breast cancer research!

Also, this may sound so strange to be diagnosed with breast cancer and then ask people I know to donate to MS. MS is one of the remaining diseases without a known cure. Thanks to the enormous amounts of money poured into breast cancer research it is one of the most curable diseases. I will recover and go on to be 92 (the palm reader promised!) Yet thousands of people with MS will not.

My dearest friend is riding his bike 150 miles at the end of June to raise money for MS. Because I am not sure where I will be in my own treatment I will not be able to join him for the riding, but I will be there in spirit and certainly for the after party! If you can find a way to donate to this cause, even $5 that would be so great. To donate online click here.

Thanks!

The Truth is...I'm Scared.

My hair reaches my bra strap. This is a female landmark for hair length. Before the 4th of July I could be bald. I have a good head. It can't be that bad. Besides it will be summer and hot and a bald head might be nice.

Truth is, I'm scared. Not to loose my bra-strap length hair. I'm scared to throw up, to be tired, not to be as good as I once was. Scars. I'm healthy. I eat OK. I exercise A LOT. I only drink beer three times a week. I go to Shabbat (Jewish church).

I love my friends. I have great friends, the kind you meet once in a lifetime that will bring you food because you hate to cook and buy you cute hats because you have no hair. Friends that sit two hours in waiting rooms at the hospital because you forgot to line up your ducks before a biopsy.

I have cancer. The "c" word. A word that makes you cry and call your boyfriend really late at night just to make sure you're going to be OK. I'm 38. This can't be happening to me--I cry, but it is. My tree branched and my life went down the 20% branch -- the 20% of the women with a boob bump that actually is breast cancer.

I'm scared now. I cry. I know I will be OK.

Thank you.

A tree with many branches

I find two of the most important things to remember when faced with adversity is that trees have many branches and squirrels must collect tons of acorns just to make it through the winter.

If a squirrel can carry enough acorns, one at a time, back to it's nest to survive a Montana winter, I can too. OK, it's a White Stripes song, but it helped me through my Montana experience and ultimately brought me to Colorado where my home has been waiting for me.

Now the tree. After my mammogram and ultrasound my dear friend Bobbe described my situation as a tree. With each exam and radiograph my lump takes a new branch. While a cyst (the best case scenario) has been completely ruled out, I still have two branches left on my tree -- cancer and not cancer. And after I know which of those two branches my life will follow, I will have more branches to choose.

You see, a tree continues to grow and split into branches as it grows. With every branch in every life situation there are always new branches, new choices, and new directions.

I do happen to have one sexy tree I came across in Kentucky with super huge sturdy branches -- sturdy enough for Sam to climb.

So here's my tree. My cup is half full. I have the very best friends a girl could ever have. And I have a good feeling.

Get Your Breast Exam! Now!

I have great boobs. I cannot tell a lie. For 38, they’re perky and perfect. They make the young boys wild.

So here’s my story. Last week a wonderfully charming 50-something nurse practitioner felt me up. Found a lump. Not just any lump. That sucker is 5 cm by 6 cm (2-inches!). My perkiness is just a handful – 2 inches is half that handful.

Here’s the lesson – gals examine yourself! How did something half the size of my bodacious bod get there without me knowing? So if you don’t want to do it, ask your man or woman to do it for you. The Internet provides great resources, click here for a self-examination guide or do a search. My advice is to also palpate towards your chest. My lump is in the plane of my chest as if I had no boobs at all. It is directly behind the nipple and cannot be felt at all unless my arm is above my head AND I am lying down.


And now for the kudos! Susan G. Komen. Just a week ago ago I was told to go in for complete diagnostic testing. And already I qualified for funding provided through the Susan G. Komen Foundation for such testing. For more information about the Komen Foundation click here. There are other valuable resources, information, and organizations for this cause.

And for those that want, in the words of Paul Harvey, the rest of the story…I will upload the results over the few weeks as the tests are completed and evaluated. If you have any questions, email or call me.

I will be marvelous! And anyway, pink is one of my favorite colors!

Many, many thanks to Bobbe. You are so special the world is a better place with you it.

I Never Thought of Myself as a Hick

So there I was talking to a man with a pistol his sack. After Harley, his well-behaved Australian Shepherd puppy ran my old man Sam, moderately well-behaved Australian Shepherd, around for awhile, she curled up next to her owner and burrowed in for a nap. Dirt flew about as she dug her den and into her owners nap sack it landed. And then I saw the pistol.

"For lion's," he said. He'd never shoot to kill, just wanted to scare them if they came for Harley.

In panic I thought of old man Sam. I thought he was supposed to rescue me, but what if I am supposed to rescue him?

And where was I headed? I was off to explore the mountain leading to the "Lion's Den" bouldering area. A name by any other name is still as fair? or something Shakespearean like that, right?

With caution to the wind I headed uphill to the den. I had to climb, despite the endless mind-chatter. I concluded, while talking to myself and answering every question with just as much thought, that I would wrestle the lion...and then I saw it...

Not the lion, silly, the boulder. I could not resist. Dancing shoes donned, Sam at rest, I was up one, then another, and another.

Of course no lion. And do you really think a lion would go after a dog like this anyway?

Damsel in Distress

OK, I admit it, sometimes I play the helpless female card. Today was such a day. In true female fashion I even showed some leg. I can't help it. I just don't want to replace the headlight on my Subaru. I want someone else to do it for me.

So it's safe to say that wasn't the case Saturday as I was shopping the Habitat ReStore for discounted kitchen cabinets and sheet rock. I need the sheet rock so I can hang it, mud, tape, sand, paint, and install my kitchen cabinets. I'm ready for my kitchen to be done. I'm ready to plug in and use my all-pink mini appliances with matching pink utensils. Once I'm done, I'll even bake a cake for my glass cake holder and cover it in pink frosting with big yellow and pink flowers.

It's OK to be girlie and I think it's OK to show some leg. I mean, really, do you want to replace a headlight in your car?

To Bozeman

In my life I have been extraordinarily lucky -- I've escaped several earthquakes in California, avalanches in the Sierra's, rock falls, and various other catastrophes. Recently I moved from Bozeman, Montanan to the Front Range in Colorado. In the news Bozeman was "rocked" by a gas-line explosion on Main Street. The site is just 4 blocks from the house I sold in August. Four buildings were destroyed, including what had been two wonderful places to meet friends for an after work cocktail.

I struggle to wrap around the idea of so much devastation. With the economy many businesses have moved out of Bozeman's downtown area. Now this. Am I lucky to have sold my house when I did? Or unlucky that I will not be part of rebuilding the Bozeman community?

As I facilitate from my Colorado home to arrange for electric heat for my tenants and safety for the houses I manage in Bozeman, my heart goes out to the community that treated me so well for so many years.

For my Bozeman readers, best wishes and keep strong in these struggling times.

My House

I moved. I sold everything I owned, packed up Sampson and heading south -- apparently to the tropics as I don't believe Colorado has seen a day below 50 degrees all winter!

To pass the time I thought I'd buy a fixer upper. While there is still A TON to do, I've done a lot . Oh, and I have extra paint brushes, hammers, power tools, so if you find yourself in Colorado...

Basement move-in photo. The pictures on the left are actually covering up a window. This room transforms to my writing room.

After. Writing room. I put in this wonderful "plastic" flooring that looks like wood. For entertainment I toss a ball along the floor and watch Sam try to find some grasp in the flooring to actually move. Just finished this project. I started by ripping out the carpet, cleaning the floor, leveling the floor, and installing new floor, painting, and viola!

The day I moved in this is what the living room looked like. Yummy!

Jesus came by (no joke!) and removed my panelling. Everywhere you see a white dot is in fact a hole that needed to be patched. It took 1 coat of primer and 2 coats of paint to cover these beautifully green splattered walls. As you can see -- Sam is helping.

After. I still need to paint the trim, install crown molding and baseboard. After which I will be sewing together some dark chocolate brown curtains for all the windows. It is laid out like this because my bed is still upstairs as the bedroom is not done yet.

This is the kitchen the day I moved in. I removed the closet (wall you see to the left) and the center pine island. I also removed all of the "cabinets" along the wall.

I LOVE CRAIGSLIST! For a couple hundred dollars my kitchen was decked in solid oak cabinets! This room is not done either. The boards on the wall are actually blocking a spot where a window used to be. I will put in the blocks of glass there instead of a window. (I keep changing my mind, but that is the plan this week.) The sink will be moved to under the window and when that happens, that particual corner cabinet will be removed. I have the other oak cabinets to fill that space. Then paint it "garbanzo bean" yellow and I'm done!

Today History Writes a New Chapter

Today history writes a new chapter. Today America swears in it's first black president. Millions of Americans will be watching, listing to the inauguration.

Not me. Today I celebrate my freedoms. My hopes for a better country. My dreams for a brighter future finally free, at last, of Bush politics. A time for change, echoed during the campaign trail to the Oval Office.

Today, I will move more things into my house, a house I bought that no one, not even a bank, can take from me. A house of my personal touch.

Today I will walk my dog in one of the vast parks created by our country--National Forests, National Parks--recreation areas for Americans to enjoy.

Today I will go to work at a job I selected, interviewed for, and received. And at the end of the month I will receive equal pay for my day's work.

Today I will knit (yes, think crazy lady knitting circle) in a hall where we are free to talk about whatever it is we want. We may talk about the future or poke fun at the past. We may recall "Bush-isms" or even recite from a book, published under America's freedom of speech and expression.

Today many Americans will watch TV, cling to Obama's words for change. But not me. Today I will live in as an American, proud to be in a country with a black president. A freedom beyond color, race. Our final freedom...

...well, almost. We still have religion to crack.

Are you kidding me?

Most of my adult life I remember my aunt wanting to be a grandma. When she built her house, she installed a baby-tub, which is a tub with very short walls around it, suitable for sitting on your knees to wash a baby. At her house in Colorado she purchased a twin bed to put in the guest room along with a king-size bed so that her grandchildren would have a place to sleep in the same room as their parents.

On Christmas, she and my uncle received a barely wrapped gift: "I love Grandma" and "I love Grandpa" bibs.

My aunt bellowed "are you kidding me?" The room fell silent as Dara shook her head. My uncle still trying to figure it out, looked up, by then the rest of us figured it out -- he caught up.

After that moment, her face actually glowed. Not the glow from too much to drink or too much time in the sun, but an internal glow that would be impossible to turn off. I'm not sure my aunt can tell you anything else about that week, but she can definitely tell you about her soon-to-be grandchild. As for my uncle, he's aglow as well.

As for me, I'm trying to figure out how I am related to my cousin's baby -- is it my second cousin? first cousin once removed and where was (s)he removed to?

Congrats Matt & Dara!