To The Top

Long, long ago before internet was on cell phones and home computers were commonplace, I saw a photo of Denali reaching towards the sky. I remember riding bikes to the library (one of those buildings that holds books) and turning the pages in mountaineering books…one day.

This is definitely one thing I can blame on my mom, she is the hiker.  I know now she had a daughter so she would have a hiking buddy.  When we would visit my grandma she always said “hey let’s go for a hike at Will Rogers State Park” and off we’d go.  Will Rogers State Park is as nestled as anything can be in Los Angeles offering spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean the higher up you go and we always managed to hike the loop trail to the highest point we could reasonable reach in a few hours.  Our weekend jaunts included what seemed like endless car rides to Sequoia National Park for more hiking.  I “discovered” my very first period in the campground bathroom.  My mom told me “just wrap some toilet paper around my underwear, the nearest store is 30 miles away.”  By the time I was nine she was taking my brother and me up Half Dome in Yosemite.  (Here is where I must admit the cables were a bit to daunting and I waited at the bottom, which haunted me until my 30’s when I returned to the very top to dangle my feet off the edge as the climbers topped out over Half Dome’s face.) 

My mom decided it was time to hike to the highest peak in the lower 48, Mt. Whitney, 14,505 feet.  I was fourteen.  The first plan was to hike part way, camp, and then reach the summit on the second day.  Instead, we hiked up and back in one day, 22 miles round trip.  Being fourteen and sexy I raced some cute boys to the top, leaving my mom and brother behind.  My mom said I wrote “18” in the summit log book, instead of my real age. I can’t remember and it was so long ago I doubt there is proof anymore.  But it was Mt. Whitney, at fourteen, when I knew my heart belonged in the mountains.  After tackling the highest point in the lower 48, why not the highest point in North America, Denali?

I truly believe I had absolutely no idea back then of what it meant to climb Denali.  Until then I had only hiked.  But as time went on I learned to climb rocks, ice and mountains.  I joined backcountry ski patrol to learn about avalanches.  I soaked up rescue clinics to learn crevasse travel and survival.  I read – at the library.  In 2007 I made my first attempt, successfully reaching 14,200 feet where bronchitis set in and my climb was over.

 Since then there have been some hiccups.  In 2009 I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I had nine surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation.  When treatment ended I set my sights on climbing once again.  After an incredibly hard weekend of testing to become an AMGA certified single pitch instructor I was diagnosed with lymphedema.  Lymphedema was my personal death sentence.  I was told no lifting weight over 8 lbs, climbing would forever be easy and simply recreational, no caffeine and no spicy food.  Of those, I gave up caffeine. 

 On Friday I begin my journey to Alaska.  My climbing partner and I will fly onto the glacier May 13^th.  Like when I hiked Mt. Whitney with my mom, we will make our summit bid about May 25^th from 14,200 feet, climbing just over 6,000 feet to reach the summit in one very long day….

Will it stop?

Special K has nothing on Magnesium Citrate. Just one 8 0z serving and you'll drop a jean size in 24 hrs. Special K cereal you have to eat all week! I'm fairly convinced at this point my intestines played a symphony in B-flat through the night. I am sufficiently caught up on my bathroom reading, my toenail polish is removed, fingernails buffed and filed, I managed a few Suduko puzzles, and some journaling. I know now that tomato skin is not digestible at all, but does in fact linger in your body for days after eating.

In a few hours the remaining parts of my female-hood will be removed. Two and half years ago I was diagnosed with cancer. Now that I know what a Seton stitch is (don't even ask!) I akin cancer to a Seton. It rips away at you as you slowly rebuild on the other side into, hopefully, a better person.

 

 

Two days ago I was high on the Second Flatiron overlooking Boulder, Denver, and Kansas with a friend. We swapped leads as she learned and I taught. She was a fast learner and a great climber. At one point -- her lead -- she turned around and said she wished she had a camera, that would be a great picture. I turned to see the view, Kansas, and remembered she was born in Kansas.

We spend so much of our time pushing forward, achieving success, becoming something. But in the end, in our view, don't we all just want to go back to when life was simple?

Here's to Kansas.

Yippee!

You know that feeling you get when you round that last corner and you see your house after you've been on the road for three days? I just rounded the corner.

School will be out on December 9th. I've completed 3 clinic hours and the first day of two of my classes. Shortly I will be taking...and passing...my national certification exam. I'm moving to my new home in Frisco, CO in 18 days. In a week I meet my potential climbing team for Denali 2012.

Life is good.

The Definition of Courage

Last year I received one of the most devastating phone calls. I learned that one of my dear friend's best friends had lost her husband and two of their three children in the Haiti earthquake. In the aftermath of heartache, Emily created the Kenbe La Foundation. Kenbe Law means "Never Give Up" in Haitian Creole. She exemplifies courage and grit and embodies love. The Kenbe La Foundation provides educational opportunities to disadvantaged children in Haiti. Click here to learn more.

Race for the Cure!

Denver's Race for the Cure is October 3, 2010. Come and participate or donate to help men and women diagnosed with breast cancer receive treatment. Click here for more information.

To see the Channel 9 news clip, click here. (I'm still technologically un-inclined!)

Thank you.

My Cancer

Sometimes it is simply easier to count the amount of sleep in minutes...last night was one of those nights. A year ago this morning about now was the very last time he touched my real breasts, playfully tugging at my nipples. It was the last time I stood naked in front of a man. In less than an hour -- a year ago -- the anesthesiologist delivered the potion rendering me helpless as the surgeon made two perfect horizontal six-inch incisions across my chest and carefully removed the woman inside.

It's not like cancer...

Lymphedema is forever.

I don't know anything about it and neither do a ton of other people. It has something to do with protein and fluid filling in the spaces within our cells causing unsightly swelling. Twenty percent of breast cancer survivors get lymphedema.

When I joined the alumni association of the pink ribbon club I thought I was done. I just got to be the big sister to the up and coming pink ribbon stars. But when I could not longer put my fingers around my wrist and had recurring [what I thought was] nerve pain down my right arm I asked what the heck? Within 10 minutes I had my first appointment for MLD -- manual lymph drainage.

I feel like I fell back into that spiraling tornado of medical mayhem.

I am just beginning my journey down Lymphedema Lane, but in these three short days I've had an opportunity to meet a true superstar. Her name: Rachel. She founded Lymphedivas. It was her mission in life to offer a lymphedema garment that women could feel good about wearing so that they could heal. She devoted her energy towards the betterment and healing of others. She truly is a pink ribbon superstar. She is the big sister for me that I hope so much to be for someone else.

I will never get an opportunity to thank Rachel for traveling this path before me -- for helping me see that lymphedema can be fashionable and fun. Rachel passed away on January 22, 2008 from breast cancer. She was 37 -- I know because we shared the same birth year.

Next week I will be fitted for my lymphedema garment. I will be honored to wear one of Rachel's designs.