On election day, four years ago, I had my first chemo treatment. We left the house too early to stop by the polls and returned too late. It was the first time I'd ever missed a chance to cast my vote in an election. I guess chemotherapy is a reasonable excuse.
But, today I vote, because I can.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Thursday, November 3, 2016
The good news just keeps on coming
Three and a half years ago, a skilled cardiothoracic surgeon performed a thoracotomy and separated two of my ribs to look for remaining signs of metastatic endometrial cancer. He found one last cancerous node and removed it. I've had PET scans every six month since then to check on my status.
I just got word that my latest PET scan is, once again, clear of any return of cancer. I continue to beat the odds. I was diagnosed with stage IV endometrial adenocarcinoma in May of 2012. A round of radiation and chemotherapy, along with two surgeries, and I remain cancer free.
A few weeks ago, I started a yoga class with my friend Lisa, and I've noticed, for the first time, I don't have to fight to forget my cancer while in class. I'm totally in the moment and free of worrying thoughts about cancer regrowth, PET scans, doctors' appointments, and the things in my life that I might miss if my prognosis turned downward. What freedom!
No, I'm not out of the woods yet, but with each additional clear scan, I get closer and closer to putting this stage of my life further in the back of my mind and concentrate instead on my family and my friends. It's nice to focus on things like vacation planning, college searches, and holiday get-togethers and not on the microscopic growth of those little nasty cancer cells.
Thanks to all of you who have made this journey with me. I couldn't have done it without you.
I just got word that my latest PET scan is, once again, clear of any return of cancer. I continue to beat the odds. I was diagnosed with stage IV endometrial adenocarcinoma in May of 2012. A round of radiation and chemotherapy, along with two surgeries, and I remain cancer free.
A few weeks ago, I started a yoga class with my friend Lisa, and I've noticed, for the first time, I don't have to fight to forget my cancer while in class. I'm totally in the moment and free of worrying thoughts about cancer regrowth, PET scans, doctors' appointments, and the things in my life that I might miss if my prognosis turned downward. What freedom!
No, I'm not out of the woods yet, but with each additional clear scan, I get closer and closer to putting this stage of my life further in the back of my mind and concentrate instead on my family and my friends. It's nice to focus on things like vacation planning, college searches, and holiday get-togethers and not on the microscopic growth of those little nasty cancer cells.
Thanks to all of you who have made this journey with me. I couldn't have done it without you.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
It's a wonderful life
Nearly four years ago, I received my diagnosis of metastatic uterine cancer. I was terrified. Terrified for myself. Terrified for my husband and terrified for my children.
Of course, I took to the Internet to research my disease. Dismal. Twelve percent five-year survival rate. Two surgeries, radiation, chemo, numerous PET scans, and many sleepless nights later, I'm still here. And, I'm not just here. I'm living my life, with the power of cancer fading more and more every day.
Through this blog, I've received over 35,000 views and have followers from afar away as Australia and South Africa. I've been encouraged and supported by people I know and love and by people I don't even know. Though I'm writing less and less, this blog is perhaps one of the best things I've ever done for myself. I've felt free to share my triumphs and my challenges, my fears and my happiness.
Yesterday, was one of those happy days. I got a report of yet another clear PET scan. The area in my lung the oncologist was watching after the previous PET scan is now off the radar screen. Just a pesky looking bit of tissue, but it's not cancer.
I'm not out of the woods yet. I may never totally be. But, I'm learning life with a cancer diagnosis is doable. It can even be wonderful.
Of course, I took to the Internet to research my disease. Dismal. Twelve percent five-year survival rate. Two surgeries, radiation, chemo, numerous PET scans, and many sleepless nights later, I'm still here. And, I'm not just here. I'm living my life, with the power of cancer fading more and more every day.
Through this blog, I've received over 35,000 views and have followers from afar away as Australia and South Africa. I've been encouraged and supported by people I know and love and by people I don't even know. Though I'm writing less and less, this blog is perhaps one of the best things I've ever done for myself. I've felt free to share my triumphs and my challenges, my fears and my happiness.
Yesterday, was one of those happy days. I got a report of yet another clear PET scan. The area in my lung the oncologist was watching after the previous PET scan is now off the radar screen. Just a pesky looking bit of tissue, but it's not cancer.
I'm not out of the woods yet. I may never totally be. But, I'm learning life with a cancer diagnosis is doable. It can even be wonderful.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Life goes on
I've been spending the last six months since my last blog entry living my life, well, normally as possible. I find myself thinking about my cancer less often, but it's always there somewhere. I'm three and one-half years from my initial diagnosis in May 2012. Still beating the odds.
In the meantime, I've gone kayaking and hiking (8 miles!) in California. I've gone camping twice with Allen and Boyce's boy scout troop. I've gotten together with some old girlfriends (old, as in I've known them forever) for a mountain getaway. I even snuck in a trip during the summer back to visit friends in France.
Allen and Boyce have reached a milestone of starting high school, and I find myself getting very emotional whenever I think about that because there was a time when I didn't think I'd make it to see this happen. They're both in the high school band, Allen on percussion and Boyce on trumpet. I have to fight back tears every time they take the field.
I think one of the gifts this cancer journey has given me is getting me more in touch with my emotions. I feel the good stuff even more intensely.
Yesterday, I celebrated my birthday by getting my six-month PET scan. I love my new oncologist. I already got a phone call from her about the results. I'M CLEAR OF MALIGNANCIES! This makes my sixth clear PET scan since finishing chemo.
However, there is some thickening of scar tissue around one of my lung resections, so my oncologist wants me to see my pulmonary surgeon just to be sure that's all that's going on. I have an appointment on November 30th to see what he thinks.
So, it's a clear scan with a slight 'but'. Be thinking of me as I live my 'normal' life.
In the meantime, I've gone kayaking and hiking (8 miles!) in California. I've gone camping twice with Allen and Boyce's boy scout troop. I've gotten together with some old girlfriends (old, as in I've known them forever) for a mountain getaway. I even snuck in a trip during the summer back to visit friends in France.
Allen and Boyce have reached a milestone of starting high school, and I find myself getting very emotional whenever I think about that because there was a time when I didn't think I'd make it to see this happen. They're both in the high school band, Allen on percussion and Boyce on trumpet. I have to fight back tears every time they take the field.
I think one of the gifts this cancer journey has given me is getting me more in touch with my emotions. I feel the good stuff even more intensely.
Yesterday, I celebrated my birthday by getting my six-month PET scan. I love my new oncologist. I already got a phone call from her about the results. I'M CLEAR OF MALIGNANCIES! This makes my sixth clear PET scan since finishing chemo.
However, there is some thickening of scar tissue around one of my lung resections, so my oncologist wants me to see my pulmonary surgeon just to be sure that's all that's going on. I have an appointment on November 30th to see what he thinks.
So, it's a clear scan with a slight 'but'. Be thinking of me as I live my 'normal' life.
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Let it go
When did I lose my perfect balance on a bike? When did I start worrying about being knocked off the trail by some hot shot eight year-old on a 10-speed, flailing arms and legs as I smack into a moss-covered live oak? Your canopy is nice, tree, but your close proximity to the trail is just a little too distressing now.
Of course, I can blame it on the one-speed rental bike. Poor quality, indeed. If I had my old 20-speed (and my helmet), I'd be zipping along the trail with nary a concern about the looming Tour de France wanna bes and the flora that beckons me into their not-so-loving arms.
My first day out earlier this week, it took only a half mile before my shoulders were knotted with tension and my hands became numb from squeezing the handlebars too fiercely. Yeah, that was fun. Downright recreational.
Then, there was my walk down to the beach at dusk (twilight) last night. It's a short block away from the condo. I used to do it in less than five minutes, while directing my cat-herd-like twins out of traffic, pulling a beach cart with enough supplies to last through to the next day. Last night, the thirty yards or so of deep beach sand felt like cement. I am beyond doing this anymore, I think. I want a beach-front place. (Ha ha ha.)
But what's that? The twilight sand felt cool and comforting on my feet. Instead of slogging, I stopped and wiggled my sandal clad toes in it. This is one of those pharmaceutical-free Xanax-like moments. Feel it. Breathe it. Let it go, Beth. The water isn't going to disappear before you get there. This is your time.
This morning, I took another ride before the heat got going. Loosen your shoulders, Beth. Grip the handlebars lightly. Yeah! Three miles without a tightened muscle or numb hand. However, I did have a close encounter with a septuagenarian on a three-wheel bike. I recognized the dyspeptic look on her face. I smiled and said good morning and wondered if she thought I was some hot shot chick, shooting my bike down the trail with no concern for her safety. Let it go, lady. Let it go.
Of course, I can blame it on the one-speed rental bike. Poor quality, indeed. If I had my old 20-speed (and my helmet), I'd be zipping along the trail with nary a concern about the looming Tour de France wanna bes and the flora that beckons me into their not-so-loving arms.
My first day out earlier this week, it took only a half mile before my shoulders were knotted with tension and my hands became numb from squeezing the handlebars too fiercely. Yeah, that was fun. Downright recreational.
Then, there was my walk down to the beach at dusk (twilight) last night. It's a short block away from the condo. I used to do it in less than five minutes, while directing my cat-herd-like twins out of traffic, pulling a beach cart with enough supplies to last through to the next day. Last night, the thirty yards or so of deep beach sand felt like cement. I am beyond doing this anymore, I think. I want a beach-front place. (Ha ha ha.)
But what's that? The twilight sand felt cool and comforting on my feet. Instead of slogging, I stopped and wiggled my sandal clad toes in it. This is one of those pharmaceutical-free Xanax-like moments. Feel it. Breathe it. Let it go, Beth. The water isn't going to disappear before you get there. This is your time.
This morning, I took another ride before the heat got going. Loosen your shoulders, Beth. Grip the handlebars lightly. Yeah! Three miles without a tightened muscle or numb hand. However, I did have a close encounter with a septuagenarian on a three-wheel bike. I recognized the dyspeptic look on her face. I smiled and said good morning and wondered if she thought I was some hot shot chick, shooting my bike down the trail with no concern for her safety. Let it go, lady. Let it go.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
I'm still here!
Yes, I've been a delinquent blogger, but perhaps I can redeem myself by sharing some happy news.
My PET scan from yesterday was clear! That's two years now of clear scans. Whew!
Gotta go. Time to plan a family vacation...and celebrate a little.
Monday, September 1, 2014
Still vibrant old clunkers
Most days I'm always thinking of my cancer. Why am I so tired? Must be the cancer. Why was I so short with that person? Must be the cancer. Why do I have diabetes? Cancer drugs. Why must I map out the location of all the restrooms in the public places I frequent? Pelvic radiation damage while treating cancer. Why can't I remember how to use the key pad to open the garage door? Chemo brain.
But then, there are days like the last few I've had when cancer has taken a back seat. I've been away on a girlfriend trip with Anne, an old college friend of 30+ years. Unfortunately, she's had her own up close and personal experience with cancer too. Perhaps this is why it's been such a relief to be with her. Yes, we've talked about our cancers, but it's been in a way that's allowed us to find comfort in the common experience.
Our focus has not been on the anger and guilt and frustration, but rather on the triumph, the joy of still being here with our friends and family, and the realization that our bodies might not be what they used to be, but in each of our own ways, these old clunkers of ours are still vibrant. Heck, Anne runs and plays tennis.
And, just this morning, I woke up at 6:00 and went for a swim in the solitary dark, quiet morning at the pool belonging to our vacation condo. I stroked far less than the mile I used to be able to swim, but my mere 6 laps felt glorious!
But then, there are days like the last few I've had when cancer has taken a back seat. I've been away on a girlfriend trip with Anne, an old college friend of 30+ years. Unfortunately, she's had her own up close and personal experience with cancer too. Perhaps this is why it's been such a relief to be with her. Yes, we've talked about our cancers, but it's been in a way that's allowed us to find comfort in the common experience.
Our focus has not been on the anger and guilt and frustration, but rather on the triumph, the joy of still being here with our friends and family, and the realization that our bodies might not be what they used to be, but in each of our own ways, these old clunkers of ours are still vibrant. Heck, Anne runs and plays tennis.
And, just this morning, I woke up at 6:00 and went for a swim in the solitary dark, quiet morning at the pool belonging to our vacation condo. I stroked far less than the mile I used to be able to swim, but my mere 6 laps felt glorious!
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