It has been a year since I was told I was diagnosed with colon cancer. Funny how it feels like it happened a million years ago and yet still gives me goosebumps like it happened yesterday. 

For the past few weeks, nearly every day, I have been thinking about what was I doing this time last year.  This time last year, I was prepping for colon resection surgery still not know how bad the cancer was- if it had spread- if I had to go through Chemo/Radiation etc.. This time last year, I was told it had spread into 3 lymphnoids and that I would need 6 months of Chemo. This time last year, I was insanely stressed and scared to death with the unknown of everything I had to go through.

I wish I could tell myself then what I know now to make it easier for me (Hope that makes sense).  I would tell myself that this experience, as much as it will suck, will show how strong and awesome I can be.  How much I can push myself to keep life 'normal' for my kids, my husband, and for myself. This experience will teach me what is really valuable in my life. It will let great friends and family shine and show you who to invest your time, love and energy into. It will open your eyes to how many people are going through or have gone through the same fear of hearing those words...You have cancer.

I would tell myself to 'Love Life and Be Brave'.

Happy Anniversary- here's to many more!!! 

So I have been cancer and chemo free since the end of March 2010.  Just when I start feeling like my life is getting back to normal, I hear that a close friend has found a lump.  OMG!!!

My first reaction is fear for my friend and the family. My heart goes out to them cause I know what that feels like. I know the emotions that are going rampant, taking over. I know the 'not knowing' is the worse thing ever and the feeling of hopelessness if overwhelming. I fear for them but try to be optimistic for them.

My second reaction when I got in my car to come home was anger. My friend had already battled and won over cancer and now it was back?! WTF?!! Why does this happen? Why them?

Third reaction, will that happen to me too? Will this fear ever subside?  I almost feel like it isn't a 'will it' as much as it is a 'when will it', if that makes any sense. I am 42 years old and I fear that I won't be here for my grandchildren, my husband, my retirement years floating on a raft or travelling to Europe.

Good news is that my friend's lump ended up not being anything to be concerned about- tough month for them. I am so happy for them and pray that this will never be an experience they have to deal with again.

I also hope that fear will subside, not only for me, but also for all who have heard those dreaded words...'you have cancer' or 'we are not sure what this is...'. Let's keep that hope alive that those words will eventually disappear.

I first heard about www.caringbridge.org when my cousin Jen was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  

I joined with the encouragement of family so I could be kept up to date on Jen's progress. Almost immediately I was hooked. I was excited to get an email telling me about another post- not because I was being nosey- but because it was an amazing way to feel connected to someone I cared about. It made it easy for me to hear how she was- laugh with her about her hilarious stories- cry when you could feel her pain...without intruding on her and her family's privacy. 

Little did I know that I would need it so shortly after she was 'done'. Little did I know how important it would be throughout my ordeal.

When I found out I had cancer, we called immediate family (parents and siblings- 13 in all) and told them the bad news.  We then had to tell friends who were connected with the kids to make sure carpooling to school and sports was covered. That was exhausting and we hadn't even started our journey. 

When I had my surgery to remove the cancer, we were inundated with well intentioned calls, email, texts and visits looking for updates. It was overwhelming.  It was hard to explain and re-explain what had happened and what will happen. It was exhausting to explain crazy things like 'we didn't know- why weren't we called...' questions (yes that actually happened quite a bit).

We made the decision to post all updates about my condition on www.Caringbridge.org  and let everyone know in one swoop what was happening to me. As I put it in my opening page...'I wanted my time at work to be very productive and my time at home to be real quality time'. I really wanted to be left alone, sleep, and not have to talk 'cancer' 24/7.

This site was and is amazing. It saved my sanity and made me feel closer to family & friends from all over the country. I received messages from so many that I had lost contact with over the years. Words of encouragement helped me get through many days.  Also, it was great that everyone got to hear the 'story' first hand from me rather than through the inaccurate family gossip line.
   
When I finished my last treatment, I signed off Caringbridge with one final post. I was a great way to help move on. I did print the entries I made and the messages left- someday I will show them to my children. Maybe they can get a true glimpse of what was happening at that time. Maybe it will explain some of my behavior.

I strongly encourage anyone facing a crisis to visit thier website, www.caringbridge.org and give yourself a break during what could be the most difficult time of your life.

Had to laugh a little bit when my daughter (age 10) said that to me recently. Really?

I thought it had been pretty obvious that this was what our family had been dealing with through the last year. I thought it was pretty clear why I was undergoing Chemo for 3 days every other month.  I thought...I thought.

Once I stopped 'thinking', it dawned on me that I never used the word 'cancer' in front of my kids. I said 'chemo' but not cancer. I spent so much time making sure they knew that the doctors took out the crap in my body and that the medicine (chemo) they were giving me was to make sure it never came back. I spent so much time making sure life was 'normal' for them and that I was sooooo strong.

When I referred to my chemo treatments or when I felt lousy, I said that I was 'sick' but going to get better real soon. I never really told them the honest to goodness truth.

I was trying to protect them from being scared. Was I successful? Would it really have harmed them to know the truth? How do you judge what a kid can digest for info...how much info is too much?

I don't think I would have handled it differently except maybe use the word 'cancer' at the beginning and then continue to emphasize that chemo will make sure it does not come back...will make you sick as a dog, but should help...

My kids did great through my ordeal. I hope they gained some strength from our journey and never have to experience it again. Perhaps I should have them both do an entry to give their perspective- I bet it would be fascinating.

Curious to see how others handled telling/dealing with their children through cancer...

I did not lose all of my hair like many people I know who went through chemo, mine thinned. Many said they didn't even notice, but I did. I still do.

Can't tell you how many times I woke up over the last year to see how many hairs were on my pillow or how many hairs I counted in my hand in the shower. Blow drying my hair was torture because my hair would be on the sink, walls, floor etc..

I almost shaved my head to end the pain, but couldn't do it. I think I just wanted to postpone that as long as possible thinking it would be easier for my kids, easier for me to keep up the 'normal' act. My plan was to see if the thinning continued or was isolated to just the front, then I would bite the bullet and embrace being a bald ChemoHead.

In fact, the ChemoHead character is how I felt I looked over the last year, a self portrait to a point.  I wanted the character to show all ChemoHeads, those thinning and those regrowing their hair, keeping that smile but feeling fuzzy inside your head and out.

My chemo treatments ended in March and I am still hoping to regain the hair I used to have. Actually, I was hoping it would come back thicker and a pretty auburn color (wishful thinking rather than the thin brown hair I have always had). So far, I do have some wispy hair coming in but not as quickly as I hoped and not an overwhelming amount.  

Anyone else dealing with this? How long do I have to wait? Will I be one of those chemo patients who do not grow their hair back- another exception to the rule?  
 

Emotional is an understatement. The idea of walking the Survivor Lap at the Relay for Life (Fri, June 25-26) made me feel sick.  Why? I can't put my finger on it.

On one hand it felt like it would give me some closure to my ordeal. On the other, it meant admitting that I wasn't as 'normal' as I pretended to be over the last year. Then of course, there was the announcing that I actually had cancer to many people in my town that probably did not know.

I admit, I can be a bit loud (my friends are laughing at that understatement), but I do not feel comfortable putting myself in the spotlight. I am more of a loud-in-a-group kind of gal. Walking a lap in a bright purple shirt that screams 'I had Cancer' was not my idea of subtle... yikes!

I did it, with the help and support of two friends who also were walking (survivors of Cervical and Ovarian Cancers).  We linked arms then held hands and tried our best not to cry (super hard).  It was incredibly weird to be walking in the lap rather than watching and cheering from the inside of the track. Many were crying, whether for us, or perhaps for those they wished were walking. Back to that word emotional....

Then we reluctantly let go and our families & friends joined us for the second lap (Caregivers Lap), which felt great.

Walking with my fellow cancer survivors then walking with my husband and kids reminded me that I am not in this alone. I never was.  I never will need to be. 

I am glad I did it.

During chemotherapy, I knew that I would have fuzzy, lost moments. That was obvious after the first treatment.  What I didn't realize was how mushy I would get.

My husband tells stories now about how often I would repeat myself and tell the same story or re-do something I just did. We can laugh now that I have no more treatments (knock on wood) but during chemo, hearing I was less than normal was a topic I could not take.  Don't know about you but I tried very hard to maintain a sense that I was normal, fine...etc.  After a while, hearing other ChemoHeads tell me their 'moments', helped me to lighten up.

Today, I have been treatment free for about 3 months and I still have many ChemoHead moments. For example, last week at my daughter's graduation (correct term is really 'promotion' since it was a graduation from 4th grade), I had the great idea that we should all walk home and enjoy the fresh air.  As we were ready to depart, my husband reminded me that I drove to the school. I seriously forgot I did that and forgot about the car in the lot.  DOH!

My brain is better but those moments, I assume, will continue for a while. Hopefully it will continue to fade as the poison/chemo fades. I'll let you know.... 

I can remember clearly hearing those words and I knew that life would never by the same. Melodramatic? Not if you are on the receiving end.

Hearing those words made me think a flurry of crazy thoughts- denial/not me, must be a mistake, they are wrong; then complete fear, bordering on hysteria- am I going to die- who will take care of my girls- how much time do I have; and finally, a crazy acceptance (to a point- I'm not that logical). I just mean that, as my Mom would say, 'It is what it is' and now I was on a mission to get through it.

I think I went through all these, and many other emotions, through the entire experience. 8 months later, I am trying to learn how to move on without the treatments, the constant testing, the mush brain (still have that to a point) etc.. How to get back to 'normal' in other words.

Hoping this blog can be a source of comfort, a way to express what we are or have gone through, and what life is like after cancer.