One year ago today, I got the call from the surgeon confirming my biopsy results were cancerous. I was in the school library with the 5th grade class at the time. Their teacher had stepped out for a minute and I remember feeling bad leaving the 4 or 5 students alone, but had been waiting for the call for days (eternity) at that point and needed to know what I already strongly suspected.
I remember the surgeon was so calm and kind - just as he had been at my consultation and on the day of my surgery. He explained that as cancers go, this was an easily treatable one. He gave me a referral to a highly recommended oncologist. He spelled things out for me (both literally and figuratively) and made sure I took notes as he talked so that I could remember all the things he said.
After we hung up, I went back into the library to check out books for the boys that were still waiting. I remember chanting "act normal, everything's fine" over and over in my head as I scanned their books for them. Then I set about notifying the teachers of the classes who had not come up yet that I would be leaving early. But one of the teachers was out of her classroom.
I was wandering around, trying to figure out where to leave a note, probably in shock, when my two fellow-lunch-lady friends saw me. I'll never forget the looks on their faces when I said I had cancer. It was the first time I said it out loud. They were the first people I told. They also happened to be two of my biggest cheerleaders, friends and supporters throughout treatment and beyond. One friend was shocked with me while the other helped me leave a note and made sure I was OK to drive myself home.
I don't actually remember much else from that day. I know I texted a bunch of people. And I know we told the kids what was going on because I remember having a conversation with Anna about lymphoma being a kind of cancer. That was probably my worst moment as a mother.
A year has passed, almost 6 months since my last chemo treatment. Some days I'm in awe of how far I've come out of the brain fog and eyebrow-less post-chemo existence of the months following treatment. Some days I'm angry at the fact that cancer took up almost a year of my life. Some days I'm thankful for all the really good things that came along with cancer. Basically, though, it's there every day. Cancer. Whether I'm thanking it, cursing it or fearing it coming back, it's always there.
Wednesday, April 17, 2019
Thursday, December 20, 2018
Post-Chemo Update
As of yesterday, I am two months out from my last chemo. And I finally feel like I'm back at about 98%! I'm sporting a lovely Christmas mullet and eyebrows that are not 100% pencil. I even have had to shave my legs multiple times this month. Never have I been so happy to feel like a Sasquatch.
I'm still napping occasionally, but guys, it's cold. And sometimes I just like to hunker down under lots of blankets with my heating pad underneath me and my dog beside me and watch weird stuff on YouTube while my brain resets for a while. It's usually a choice and not a necessity, the way that rest has been for the last few months.
I'm not back to running regularly yet because I need to drop a few more steroid (brownie) pounds before I really commit so I don't destroy my knees and hips. But I am exercising normally again. And walking the dog a couple times a day. And going to the grocery store. And all of this WITHOUT HAVING TO SLEEP FOR HOURS AFTERWARD!
I cannot fully explain how awesome it is to enter the Christmas season without having to pick and choose which activities I can do and what I just don't have the energy for. I love knowing that for Christmas break with my kids, we can go-go-go as much as they (and I) want, and I won't have to build in time for naps, or make excuses about too many germs/not enough energy/generally feeling crummy. I'm SO excited!
Yesterday I was walking through the school parking lot to pick up the kids. A friend stopped me to tell me her youngest daughter spotted me and said "Her is SO happy." Very perceptive, little one. I am so happy. I'm glad it's written on my face.
I'm starting to think about my goals for 2019. I was able to achieve (and surpass) my reading goal of 65 books and I successfully tested for and received my pink belt at Gracie Jiu-Jitsu Milwaukee (the completion of the Women Empowered program). The rest of my 2018 goals got pushed aside, but I SURVIVED, so I'm counting it a win.
I think my theme for 2019 is going to be Someday is Today. I'm done with thinking in terms of what I might maybe someday do with or in my life. I'm making someday today. I'm interested to see what kinds of things I embrace and what I let go of with this perspective.
I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, October 20, 2018
I Did It
It's done. This chapter of my life that I lived because I had to. That my family had to live because they had to. We did it. The elation and incredible emotion I feel about getting through this is overwhelming. And if you see me in the next month, I am gladly accepting millions of hugs!
Six months of tests and surgeries and scary news and chemo and feeling awful. But also 6 months of incredible friendships, supportive family, finding fun where I could, and living the best way possible on my good days. I didn't lose six months to cancer. I lived differently, certainly, but nothing was lost (except my eyebrows!).
Though I'm (hopefully) through the worst of this cancer journey, it is unfortunately a life-long deal for me. In the coming months I'll have a PET Scan to double-check that we got everything. Then I'll meet with my team of doctors to do what they call a survivorship meeting, where we lay out what the rest of my life will look like (spoiler alert - getting very healthy and active, as there's no known way to prevent my particular kind of lymphoma from coming back). Then every six months for the next year or two I'll have a CT scan to make sure nothing is popping back up. Eventually I'll go down to annual check ups with my oncologist, but I imagine for a long, long time, if not forever, I'll be very nervous any time I get sick or have any of the symptoms I had that lead to my diagnosis.
I will not let that nervousness stop me. I'm thankful to have gained an incredible perspective from this experience and that is - Life is too short for planning. The time to DO is NOW. Be with my family. Travel. Enjoy the odd little things that make me happy. Laugh with my friends every day. Get the tattoos I've been thinking about forever. Take a trip with my husband. Visit my family who I haven't seen in a long time. I WILL NOT SIT AROUND WORRYING OR PLAYING THE WHAT IF GAME. I refuse to waste my time like that.
Whether you have supported me from near or far, brought us meals or flowers, dropped off my kids, sent me cards, walked my dog, texted me late into then night, sent gifts, sent prayers, walked or run with me, encouraged me and my family in any way through this - THANK YOU. I hope to never have reason to support you through something like this, but rest assured, if you ever need me for ANYTHING, I am a phone call away. I cannot stress enough how much I love and appreciate the people in my life. I just can't put it into words. I have an amazing tribe, and I'm so grateful you're part of my life.
Six months of tests and surgeries and scary news and chemo and feeling awful. But also 6 months of incredible friendships, supportive family, finding fun where I could, and living the best way possible on my good days. I didn't lose six months to cancer. I lived differently, certainly, but nothing was lost (except my eyebrows!).
Though I'm (hopefully) through the worst of this cancer journey, it is unfortunately a life-long deal for me. In the coming months I'll have a PET Scan to double-check that we got everything. Then I'll meet with my team of doctors to do what they call a survivorship meeting, where we lay out what the rest of my life will look like (spoiler alert - getting very healthy and active, as there's no known way to prevent my particular kind of lymphoma from coming back). Then every six months for the next year or two I'll have a CT scan to make sure nothing is popping back up. Eventually I'll go down to annual check ups with my oncologist, but I imagine for a long, long time, if not forever, I'll be very nervous any time I get sick or have any of the symptoms I had that lead to my diagnosis.
I will not let that nervousness stop me. I'm thankful to have gained an incredible perspective from this experience and that is - Life is too short for planning. The time to DO is NOW. Be with my family. Travel. Enjoy the odd little things that make me happy. Laugh with my friends every day. Get the tattoos I've been thinking about forever. Take a trip with my husband. Visit my family who I haven't seen in a long time. I WILL NOT SIT AROUND WORRYING OR PLAYING THE WHAT IF GAME. I refuse to waste my time like that.
Whether you have supported me from near or far, brought us meals or flowers, dropped off my kids, sent me cards, walked my dog, texted me late into then night, sent gifts, sent prayers, walked or run with me, encouraged me and my family in any way through this - THANK YOU. I hope to never have reason to support you through something like this, but rest assured, if you ever need me for ANYTHING, I am a phone call away. I cannot stress enough how much I love and appreciate the people in my life. I just can't put it into words. I have an amazing tribe, and I'm so grateful you're part of my life.
Friday, September 14, 2018
Remember - A Letter to My Future Self
Dude.
Remember that one time you had cancer?
Remember how you went from working out 5-7 times a week to not being able to walk up a flight of stairs without having to lie down and wait for the dizziness to pass? Remember when you fainted trying to walk to the bathroom? Please remember that when you're lamenting the fact that there's a 4 mile run on your workout schedule. Run it with joy. Because you can!
Remember how scary it was to tell your kids about your diagnosis? Remember how it felt like you physically broke saying the word cancer to Anna because you knew she knew what that could mean? Remember how she hugged you that one hard night when you cried that it wasn't fair that this was happening and shared her beyond-her-years wisdom that no, it wasn't fair, but it would be OK? Remember how Henry always had a perfectly timed butt or fart joke to break the tension? Hang on to those feelings of immeasurable love and joy. Know that these kids are the best gift you've been given in life. Hang on to that tight, because puberty, it is a-comin'!
Remember how you felt like you were married to your pillow, your bed, the couch. Like you would never want to "rest" again after cancer? How many books you read - so many that you actually got TIRED OF READING (that is not even a thing!)? Remember how you longed to be busy again? Treasure those commitments that you enjoy and let go of the ones you don't. Because you now know how easy it is to put your life on pause. And the things that need to get done, will get done, either by you or someone else.
Remember the incredible joy you felt about the simplest things on your good days during treatment? How just sitting at Anna's volleyball game or Henry's jiujitsu practice made you feel like all of life was perfect? How taking the dog for a walk was the best part of your morning? How excited you were to do laundry? Stop looking for happiness in the big moments and just accept it in all the thousands of little ways it floods your life every day.
Remember how easy the "I love you's" flowed when you felt scared and vulnerable - your rawest self? Let them flow like that always. Tell your friends, every day, that you love them. Because you have some of the very best people on your side and they deserve to hear it!
Remember when you shaved your head? Lost your eyebrows? Felt like everything about your exterior was different? Appearances change. Work on holding on to the things that matter, like humor, kindness, love. Those last, even in the face of cancer.
Remember when it felt like 6 months of treatment would last forever? That you'd have a metallic taste in your mouth for the rest of time? That your body would never fully physically recover from the harsh medicine required to knock the cancer out? Well, you did it. NOW GO LIVE! Climb the mountain, hike the trail. Explore the woods. DO THE THING! Don't wait for life to deliver adventures to you. Seek them out. Go see this beautiful crazy world and meet as many people as you can. Life is too short not to.
Remember when you only had 3 chemo treatments left? 7 weeks? 49 days? Remember when it felt like maybe you could do this after all? Survive this? Not just survive, but come out the other side even better than "before"?
Remember these things - these are the things I want you to take from cancer.
P.S. Future self, do you still feel euphoric about laundry? Or no? Did that wear off already?
Remember that one time you had cancer?
Remember how you went from working out 5-7 times a week to not being able to walk up a flight of stairs without having to lie down and wait for the dizziness to pass? Remember when you fainted trying to walk to the bathroom? Please remember that when you're lamenting the fact that there's a 4 mile run on your workout schedule. Run it with joy. Because you can!
Remember how scary it was to tell your kids about your diagnosis? Remember how it felt like you physically broke saying the word cancer to Anna because you knew she knew what that could mean? Remember how she hugged you that one hard night when you cried that it wasn't fair that this was happening and shared her beyond-her-years wisdom that no, it wasn't fair, but it would be OK? Remember how Henry always had a perfectly timed butt or fart joke to break the tension? Hang on to those feelings of immeasurable love and joy. Know that these kids are the best gift you've been given in life. Hang on to that tight, because puberty, it is a-comin'!
Remember how you felt like you were married to your pillow, your bed, the couch. Like you would never want to "rest" again after cancer? How many books you read - so many that you actually got TIRED OF READING (that is not even a thing!)? Remember how you longed to be busy again? Treasure those commitments that you enjoy and let go of the ones you don't. Because you now know how easy it is to put your life on pause. And the things that need to get done, will get done, either by you or someone else.
Remember the incredible joy you felt about the simplest things on your good days during treatment? How just sitting at Anna's volleyball game or Henry's jiujitsu practice made you feel like all of life was perfect? How taking the dog for a walk was the best part of your morning? How excited you were to do laundry? Stop looking for happiness in the big moments and just accept it in all the thousands of little ways it floods your life every day.
Remember how easy the "I love you's" flowed when you felt scared and vulnerable - your rawest self? Let them flow like that always. Tell your friends, every day, that you love them. Because you have some of the very best people on your side and they deserve to hear it!
Remember when you shaved your head? Lost your eyebrows? Felt like everything about your exterior was different? Appearances change. Work on holding on to the things that matter, like humor, kindness, love. Those last, even in the face of cancer.
Remember when it felt like 6 months of treatment would last forever? That you'd have a metallic taste in your mouth for the rest of time? That your body would never fully physically recover from the harsh medicine required to knock the cancer out? Well, you did it. NOW GO LIVE! Climb the mountain, hike the trail. Explore the woods. DO THE THING! Don't wait for life to deliver adventures to you. Seek them out. Go see this beautiful crazy world and meet as many people as you can. Life is too short not to.
Remember when you only had 3 chemo treatments left? 7 weeks? 49 days? Remember when it felt like maybe you could do this after all? Survive this? Not just survive, but come out the other side even better than "before"?
Remember these things - these are the things I want you to take from cancer.
P.S. Future self, do you still feel euphoric about laundry? Or no? Did that wear off already?
Friday, September 7, 2018
Who Am I?
I had the very strange experience this week of looking at a pre-cancer picture of myself and not recognizing the person in the photo as me. So much has changed - my hair, my weight, my eyebrows/eyelashes, my activities that defined my days, my energy, my outlook on so many things, my innocent belief that I'm invincible against horrible health things that only happen to "other people". In a lot of ways, I'm not the person in that photo any more. It's disorienting.
I know ultimately, I'm the same person deep down, and things will go back to normal. But I've been living in crisis mode for so many months now, that it's hard to remember which direction is up. I just want to put my life back together. I want to not feel awful any more. I want to not feel so exhausted and so incredibly lonely.
By the time this is done, I will have spent 6 months of my life dealing with cancer. That's a long pause. It's a long time of feeling not like me for a majority of that time. I'm so scared that I won't be able to get back to me. That my husband won't get his normal wife back, my kids won't get their normal mom back, that this whole experience will have changed me into someone that I don't recognize. Permanently.
I know I have only 3 chemo sessions left. But today I am mad. I'm so mad. I don't want this. I didn't ask for this. Or do anything to deserve this. My kids don't deserve to have a mom who's in so much pain and nausea that they can't even sit on the bed next to me. My husband doesn't deserve to have to act as a single parent every other week. THIS IS NOT FAIR. I HATE THIS. I JUST WANT TO BE DONE WITH CANCER. I want to be me again.
Ugh. I don't even have the energy to end this post on a positive note.
I know ultimately, I'm the same person deep down, and things will go back to normal. But I've been living in crisis mode for so many months now, that it's hard to remember which direction is up. I just want to put my life back together. I want to not feel awful any more. I want to not feel so exhausted and so incredibly lonely.
By the time this is done, I will have spent 6 months of my life dealing with cancer. That's a long pause. It's a long time of feeling not like me for a majority of that time. I'm so scared that I won't be able to get back to me. That my husband won't get his normal wife back, my kids won't get their normal mom back, that this whole experience will have changed me into someone that I don't recognize. Permanently.
I know I have only 3 chemo sessions left. But today I am mad. I'm so mad. I don't want this. I didn't ask for this. Or do anything to deserve this. My kids don't deserve to have a mom who's in so much pain and nausea that they can't even sit on the bed next to me. My husband doesn't deserve to have to act as a single parent every other week. THIS IS NOT FAIR. I HATE THIS. I JUST WANT TO BE DONE WITH CANCER. I want to be me again.
Ugh. I don't even have the energy to end this post on a positive note.
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Light the Night
Tonight I'm equal parts exhausted and relieved that I seem to be through the worst of the side affects from round 8 of chemo. This round, rebounding from the steroids was extra hard and I had intense pain all over my body for about 48 hours. I am officially in a fight with dexamethasone (steroid) and I think we need to break up. Permanently. Forever.
Nine weeks from tonight I'll be getting ready for my last round of chemo. Nine weeks. I can do this. I don't want to do this. But I can do this.
I've developed psychological nausea in response to going to treatment and to receiving one of my drugs, which is bright red. My doctor offered me some extra meds to take on my way to chemo to keep me from feeling sick. I feel like I'm just taking pills upon pills upon pills. Pills to help with the side affects of pills to help with the side affects of pills. Ugh. Guys, I USED TO BE SO BORING! I took an antidepressant. That was it. One tiny little blue pill, minimal side affects. I want to be boring again. I miss boring.
Anyway, the purpose of this post - Milwaukee's Light the Night Walk is coming up on Thursday, October 4th. I've created a team (Kerry's Cancer Crushers!) and would LOVE for you to join me at Veteran's Park that evening. I'm so excited to be surrounded by other people who have walked or are walking this same path I am. Plus there's the added bonus of raising funds for LLS - a great organization helping patients and families in my current situation.
Click HERE (best from a computer, the mobile site isn't great) to join my team, or if you are able, make a donation. If you have troubles, shoot me a message and I'll help get you signed up.
Nine weeks from tonight I'll be getting ready for my last round of chemo. Nine weeks. I can do this. I don't want to do this. But I can do this.
I've developed psychological nausea in response to going to treatment and to receiving one of my drugs, which is bright red. My doctor offered me some extra meds to take on my way to chemo to keep me from feeling sick. I feel like I'm just taking pills upon pills upon pills. Pills to help with the side affects of pills to help with the side affects of pills. Ugh. Guys, I USED TO BE SO BORING! I took an antidepressant. That was it. One tiny little blue pill, minimal side affects. I want to be boring again. I miss boring.
Anyway, the purpose of this post - Milwaukee's Light the Night Walk is coming up on Thursday, October 4th. I've created a team (Kerry's Cancer Crushers!) and would LOVE for you to join me at Veteran's Park that evening. I'm so excited to be surrounded by other people who have walked or are walking this same path I am. Plus there's the added bonus of raising funds for LLS - a great organization helping patients and families in my current situation.
Click HERE (best from a computer, the mobile site isn't great) to join my team, or if you are able, make a donation. If you have troubles, shoot me a message and I'll help get you signed up.
Monday, August 6, 2018
We're STILL Doing This
I'm more than halfway through chemo. And while I'm glad, I'm also a whiny brat who just wants to BE DONE NOW! I'm to the point that on my good weeks I don't feel like I'm sick beyond the usual fatigue. So it feels like torture having to turn myself in for another treatment every two weeks.
That's dramatic. It doesn't feel like torture. But it is unpleasant and something I definitely don't ever want to do again. Five more treatments. I can do this. I CAN, but I don't WANT to. Isn't that life, though?
I've gained a lot of weight through a delightful combination of steroids, stress eating and delicious desserts brought by caring friends. I'm not sorry - I love brownies. But with the absence of consistent workouts, the pounds are piling on. I know this is better than losing weight uncontrollably, which I was also doing in the beginning of this whole business. But now that I've gained back everything I lost and kept off a few years ago, I'm anxious to tackle it and get my body back into shape. Between that and my hair situation, I think my self-esteem is at an all-time low.
This is not a cry for compliments. Just where I'm at mentally in this illness/monstrosity. I know it will get better when I can start running/working out consistently again. I want to look back on this a year from now and be like, "yeah, took care of that business, let's do a triathlon!" But for now...this is what it is.
I found out from my labs this morning that my immune system, which has up to now been hanging on by a thread, is beginning to tank. It's expected. But it's also coinciding perfectly with my kids going back to school in 2.5 weeks. This has me very nervous, as a hospital stay is about the last thing I want (next only to ever seeing the doctor who did my second port surgery again). Hand sanitizer is the name of the game for the foreseeable future. SANITIZE EVERYTHING! ALL THE TIME! The kids love me...
So this is where I am now. Just very "eh" about everything. We survived the summer - today was my last treatment with my kids home on summer break. Five more and I'm done. It doesn't sound like a lot, but as I'm staring down the barrel of 5 days in bed/on the couch, it sounds insurmountable. I know I'll take it one day at a time like I always do, but, dang - CANCER IS ANNOYING. Chemo is annoying. Everything is annoying. The end.
That's dramatic. It doesn't feel like torture. But it is unpleasant and something I definitely don't ever want to do again. Five more treatments. I can do this. I CAN, but I don't WANT to. Isn't that life, though?
I've gained a lot of weight through a delightful combination of steroids, stress eating and delicious desserts brought by caring friends. I'm not sorry - I love brownies. But with the absence of consistent workouts, the pounds are piling on. I know this is better than losing weight uncontrollably, which I was also doing in the beginning of this whole business. But now that I've gained back everything I lost and kept off a few years ago, I'm anxious to tackle it and get my body back into shape. Between that and my hair situation, I think my self-esteem is at an all-time low.
This is not a cry for compliments. Just where I'm at mentally in this illness/monstrosity. I know it will get better when I can start running/working out consistently again. I want to look back on this a year from now and be like, "yeah, took care of that business, let's do a triathlon!" But for now...this is what it is.
I found out from my labs this morning that my immune system, which has up to now been hanging on by a thread, is beginning to tank. It's expected. But it's also coinciding perfectly with my kids going back to school in 2.5 weeks. This has me very nervous, as a hospital stay is about the last thing I want (next only to ever seeing the doctor who did my second port surgery again). Hand sanitizer is the name of the game for the foreseeable future. SANITIZE EVERYTHING! ALL THE TIME! The kids love me...
So this is where I am now. Just very "eh" about everything. We survived the summer - today was my last treatment with my kids home on summer break. Five more and I'm done. It doesn't sound like a lot, but as I'm staring down the barrel of 5 days in bed/on the couch, it sounds insurmountable. I know I'll take it one day at a time like I always do, but, dang - CANCER IS ANNOYING. Chemo is annoying. Everything is annoying. The end.
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