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6/14/2010 9:16 AM
Months ago when I was first approached about writing a blog I was rather resistant to the idea. My husband, Mike, encouraged me to do it telling me that it might help someone. I reluctantly agreed to do it with that in mind – if I could help one person in some small way, then I would do it.
Though you may find this hard to believe I am a rather private, reserved person. However, having breast cancer somehow made me feel that privacy wasn’t an option since I was going to be out of work for my surgery, I was going to have chemo and I was going to lose my hair. I was very open about my journey right from the start with my friends, family and coworkers. So I went into writing this blog with an open mind and an open heart.
Remembering that I wanted to somehow help someone in some small way now makes me smile. The feedback I have received from so many of you has truly been humbling. At times, writing the blog brought me to tears. To write about getting diagnosed with breast cancer was difficult all over again. But then it was OK because someone e-mailed me to tell me that reading my story gave her the push she needed to schedule her mammogram.
I’ve had wonderful support from my husband, Mike, and my children. My journey and life was made so much easier with their love and support. They gave me the determination I needed to fight as hard as I could. And Trish has become someone who entered my life that I wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for my breast cancer. She gave me the push and encouragement I needed to plow forward and achieve my goals.
Through the last months, I shared my journey of recovery, my fears, my triumphs and introduced you to my family. But what makes me smile now is that, though I wanted to help others somehow, I found that this all helped me! I found writing therapeutic and hearing from all of you carried me through some bumps along my journey.
I thought that writing a blog would be very “one directional," but I heard from so many of you. You left comments on the blog, e-mailed me or stopped to talk to me. I heard your stories, your suggestions, your ideas, your energy and your prayers. I heard them and I felt them.
This is my last blog entry. I accomplished running the Race for the Cure on June 5, a goal I wrote about from the beginning of the blog. Though this is my last blog entry about that portion of my journey, my journey is not over. It will continue for years - shared by so, so many women already. Unfortunately, it will be a journey one in eight women will embark on in years to come. I started my own journey on June 26, 2009 when I was diagnosed. It's almost a year and I don't know what I'll do on this anniversary. I don't know how to feel about it. But nearly a year later, I am still standing. I am a survivor. I am surviving.
So, in parting, I have only two final things to say. First, please schedule your mammograms. And second, thank you for walking alongside me on my journey.
6/5/2010 1:11 PM
 June 5 race starting line
View Photos...or Photo Slideshow from race
June 5th. I woke up this morning and it was still dark – today was the day for the Race for the Cure. This is what I’ve been working and waiting for. My husband, Mike, and 7-year-old son, Mikey, wouldn’t be at the Race with me. Mikey’s last flag football game was at the same time. I asked him where he would prefer to be. He wanted to be at football because “I need to be with my team." I’m proud of his comment and commitment. We try to instill the spirit of team and camaraderie in our children and at 7 years old he “gets it." He also understands that as our St. Mary's team captain, I needed to be there for my team and for the commitment I made to myself months ago. In the kitchen I applied a pink ribbon tattoo on my right hand. I then went and sat at my son’s bed and applied another on his right hand. I woke him up slightly, and the first thing he said to me was, “Good luck on your run, Mama.” He hugged and kissed me as he fell back to sleep. Fast forward to the Race. The day was beautiful, cool, slightly overcast and just perfect. I’ve heard that there are thousands of participants at the race. I never imagined what I saw. Through it all, I saw old friends and so many of my new friends. Jane (who took notes for me when I had my doctor's appointments) was there, several ladies from the retreat, a woman from my gym, my dear friends from work. So many survivors and supporters. My team consists of nearly 70 participants. There were so many people that it took quite a bit of time just to get the runners started at the start line. And I started. I ran through the streets, with so many others. I ran. I walked. Residents that lived along our race path waved to us from their porches, their driveways and front lawns. Some tied pink ribbons on their trees. Some had boom boxes. (I think I heard the Rocky movie theme!) There were cheerleaders cheering us all on. I ran. I walked. But I ran more than I walked. I ran and saw the 1-mile marker. Only one mile? I thought the 1-mile mark was the water station I passed several minutes ago. Oh. But I kept running. As Trish-my-trainer had told me before - one foot in front of the other. My oldest son, Russ, ran on ahead (the skinny kid). At mile marker 3, I knew I was almost there. Someone from the sidelines yelled, “You’re almost there!” I was and I did it. I crossed the finish line. There is a special section for survivors to cross. I received a pink carnation and a survivor medal. I did it. I did it for me and for my team of survivors and supporters. I get it too.  Me, after crossing the finish line.
(Go to Archives to follow Emilie's journey and posts from February, March and April 2010.)
5/31/2010 6:54 AM
By the time you read this blog entry the Race for the Cure will either be days away or already done. I’m starting to get a bit nervous. THE big day is coming - June 5 where I live. THE day I’ve been working, training toward. Will I run the whole five kilometers? Probably not. But I'll certainly run farther than I could eight months ago. Months ago I couldn’t go up a flight of stairs without getting winded. Now I’m running! I started off entering this race for me. But I’ve heard that others run in this race in honor or memory of someone else. And now I guess I will too. Since I started my own journey with breast cancer, I’ve met countless women who took this journey before me. I've heard from some of you in this blog. When I was first diagnosed with cancer on June 26, 2009, I rushed to get the chest X-ray my physician suggested. Everything was a whirl in my mind - I kept trying not to break down sobbing from fear. I also remember the X-ray technician telling me, “You’ll be OK…I’m a 15-year survivor.” So many new people I’ve met have inspired me. They've said, "I'm a 17-year survivor...a one-year survivor...an eight-year survivor…three-year survivor..." and on and on. A few months ago I met a wonderful woman at the salad bar in the cafeteria at work. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer “even before it had a color.” These are the countless women that helped me through the past year of my life. I don’t remember many of their names. But I do remember feeling that if they could be survivors then I could too. My husband told me I was a survivor from the first day I was diagnosed. Now I, too, want to tell the next women in line for this journey that I am a survivor and they can be also. I want to encourage them and carry them as I’ve been carried through the past year. It’s for them that I’m now going to run on Saturday.
(Go to Archives to follow Emilie's journey and posts from February, March and April 2010.) 5/24/2010 9:07 AM
 I did something for myself that I haven’t done before. I went on a retreat for breast cancer survivors. Having breast cancer has opened up new worlds for me. I never knew such a thing existed before I got breast cancer. I signed up for the retreat last December. I’d been anxiously waiting to go and finally, five months later, it was time. I didn’t know what to expect, and as I sit here writing this post, I know I won’t be able to convey to you what an extraordinary weekend I experienced. The retreat was over four days, three nights and held in northern Wisconsin. Though it rained the first day, I didn’t mind. When you have a group of breast cancer survivors together, it doesn’t take long for strangers to become friends. Despite varying backgrounds and ages, a sisterhood quickly formed among the 14 survivors there. We talked, walked a labyrinth, created crafts, had a pajama party and had “me” time. (I kept to my training schedule!)
One of the first things we did was read a story. It’s a children’s story, called "There’s No Such Thing as a Dragon." The gist of the story is that you must confront those things that you fear. Those things that are ignored will only grow and grow and cause destruction. In this story the dragon was being ignored and caused damage in the home, but once acknowledged and touched, the dragon became small and manageable.
At the retreat, I entered a safe haven with other women who are going through and feeling the same thing. Not only were we pampered by the compassionate group leaders and a very talented personal chef, but my psyche was also pampered. If you look up the word "psyche" in the dictionary it means soul, mind, spirit. Psyche. My psyche was pampered.
Words cannot explain to you the gift that this retreat provided me. I went into it with an open mind and an open heart. I tried new things (such as kayaking!) and learned to accept that there are simply no guarantees in life. As much as I want the reassurance that everything will be fine, there are no such guarantees. Do I like that? Certainly not. But that’s the reality. There are no guarantees in life. Will I still have moments when my dragon gets out of control? Of course. Lots of times, but maybe now I will feel more comfortable about reaching out and touching the dragon to tame it. I came out of the retreat changed somehow.
(Go to Archives to follow Emilie's journey and posts from February, March and April 2010.) 5/13/2010 1:05 PM
Friends are invaluable. When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, a fellow nurse offered to go to my appointments with me. I told her it wasn’t necessary. My husband would be there and I’m a nurse, too. She stressed to me that she wanted to be there because she could take notes for me.
Though I was resistant to the idea at first (I didn’t want to impose), I agreed to it in the end. Jane went with me to my appointments. I can’t tell you how helpful that was. She took notes for me, so I didn’t have to. She asked questions that I didn’t think to at the time. When I was first diagnosed, everything was a blur. It didn’t matter that I’m a nurse – I was a woman just diagnosed with breast cancer. I couldn’t get beyond that and think straight. I only assumed the worst.
The day I received my diagnoses one of the staff in the surgeon’s office suggested I read Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book. After leaving the office, I went and purchased this book before heading home. I sat on my couch for the next few hours trying to make sense of the 640 pages in front of me. None of it seemed to make sense. I never picked that book up again.
But I kept Jane’s notes from those initial doctor appointments. Bless her heart – she went to more than one. Nearly a year later, I read over them. I still smile at her editorial comments such as “this is good” or “early stages." When I read her notes hours and days after the appointments, I couldn’t remember being told the information. I didn’t remember the doctor saying certain things, but Jane wrote them down. Her notes helped me remember and they gave me strength. I’ve always been an advocate for patients, but if you ever have a friend that needs a friend to go to the doctor’s office – offer to go. You don’t have to be a nurse, but you can be a friend, supporter and note-taker. It’s invaluable.
(Go to Archives to follow Emilie's journey and posts from February, March and April 2010.) 5/10/2010 8:21 AM
Fearless. Some moments I feel fearless. Some days I feel fearless. Though there have been dark times of desperate fear, especially when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I now have a heightened sense of fearlessness. Not all the time but more often. I’m not sure where this feeling comes from. Maybe, after surviving cancer, I suddenly feel like I can deal with just about anything. Exercise, too, has made me more confident.
I wake up at 4:30 a.m. nearly every morning during the week to go to the gym. I used to be so skittish about going outside that time of day (or night, I should say). Now I take Tippy out before I head off to the gym and I am fearless in the dark. And, as I find myself running/training for the Race for the Cure in June, I am thinking more and more about something I wrote about a few weeks ago. Where do I put all my stuff? What’s important to keep with me when I am running?
I was speaking with a friend at work a few weeks ago about this very topic. If something were to happen while someone is out running or walking, do they have the necessary identification? My friend’s daughter runs and it’s a concern.
I recently read a book about a runner being hit by a car and it took five hours to determine who she was and to get in contact with her family. She ended up fine, but it begs the question: When you’re out and about, what’s needed in case something happens? It’s one thing to be fearless and more courageous in life, but there is a line between that and being reckless and “tempting fate.”
My friend bought an arm strap for her daughter that will hold her driver’s license and phone. I’ve read that some people write their names and telephone numbers inside their shoe with indelible ink.
I don’t exactly travel light. I run with a stopwatch, with the strap wrapped around my wrist; an iPod clipped to my clothing; and, for now, my driver’s license tucked into my bra until I can find a better place for it. At the Race for the Cure, I will be surrounded by thousands of women. Nothing to fear in a crowd. But, once the race is over, I plan on making exercise a regular thing in my life. Does anyone else out there have any ideas for where to securely put my identification when I'm running?
(Go to Archives to follow Emilie's journey and posts from February, March and April 2010.) |
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