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.