Is it just a crappy day or am I really this unhappy?

When I was in cancer treatment it was easy.  Even though at every turn I was faced with some decision that would affect my life, even though, at what seemed like a daily event, I watched my body slowly get worse and worse, it was still easier than this.

It is the aftermath of cancer that strips you of everything you might possibly have left.  It just seems that disaster never ends and just when you think you might have a leg up, you get slapped in the face again.  I haven't slept in 3 years.  My body hurts more than I like to admit. And the financial piece seems to never end.

When the days are bad, I snap.  I can't keep my anger within the cells of my body any longer.  I don't even care who my anger is directed at anymore.  What's worse I'm mean.  They say that the mean people are those with miserable lives -- they are right.  I am miserable and in this vortex that I have no idea how to get out of. 

I want people to know they've done me wrong when they've done me wrong and they don't seem to even care.  It seems the more we attach ourselves to technology, to our phones, our Ipads, our MP3 players the more we detach from the world.  We forget that we're human, that people have feelings and that there is more than just "I" in the world. 

I want to crawl out of my skin and fly away, but I cannot. I'm not a dragonfly waiting to end this life stage and enter into the next.  I'm just a girl with a really heavy suitcase.

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.