5 years down

July 2 was another milestone.  I passed the 5 year mark since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. This is kind of a big deal since I've read that getting this far without any reoccurrence is very good news.  I went back on July 21 to get my annual mammogram as scheduled.  All went well. Then five days later, I got a call.  Oh no.  Seriously? My heart sank.  They could see something on the mammogram that was unusual. I needed to go back for more tests.  This is how it all started last time.

Five more days passed. I didn't want to panic until I knew more.  I forced my mind to focus. I had had false alarms before and it could be nothing.  Or it could be something.  I started running various scenarios through my mind.  What would I do if I had a reoccurrence? I know pretty firmly what I would do in my mind.  I told Rick about the need for more tests, but didn't want to alarm anyone else until more was known.  We talked.  We prayed.  We waited.

The sonogram proved that the spot was just a cyst.  Nothing more.  Confirmed by two doctors.

A reprieve for now.  Hopefully forever.  That is the unknown part of dealing with cancer.

Two of my friends have recently been diagnosed.  My heart and soul goes out to them.  I hurt for them.  I know.  I know what they are going through.  I wish they didn't have to travel this road. One friend going through this trial is the wife of Rick's cousin who is my age and a good friend. Another is a friend in our area who is younger.  Two strong, brave, beautiful women who are facing this beast.

Cancer of any kind is such an insidious disease.  I hate it so much.  I hate how is disrupts lives and changes happy circumstances to trying ones.  I hate how it becomes the focus of everything.  I hate how it steals good people and carries them away.  I hate how much it costs to fight it and that some people can't afford the cost of treatment.  I hate that it leaves holes in families and heartache so profound in its wake.  I hate that it sneaks in and robs what was whole.  I hate that it robs peace of mind. I hate how it causes fear, anxiety and pain in every way possible.  I hate that it changes family circumstances that will never quite be the same if it overcomes a person's body and takes them away.

And yet, IT causes refinement in an ironic twist of circumstances.  IT causes everything that doesn't matter to fall away.  IT brings into focus sweet relationships and cherished time spent together.  IT shows us that we aren't in control of much of anything.   IT humbles us in a way that nothing else can. IT shows us that the One Supreme Being over us all knows why things happen the way they do. IT shows us our nothingness and our weakness.  IT shows us our dependence on a greater power. Nothing more can combat IT.

Peace comes from knowing, really knowing this.  God is our Father.  He knows us.  He hears our prayers. He knows our hearts.  He feels our pain.  He sends his love through many avenues and most of them appear at the front door with a flower, a plate of food, a hug, a smile, a kind act of service, a note, a call, a remembrance, a word of encouragement.  They have different names, different faces, different ways to show HIS love.  The comfort and peace that can be felt during these extreme times of anguish come through the marvelous atonement of His only begotten Son.  Would we turn to Him and this source of strength otherwise?  He is the answer to getting through this terrible thing we call cancer.  Come what may. He only One.

4 years down

When the 4th of July comes along, I'm reminded of another anniversary that comes before it.  July 2, 2012.  That was the day I found out I had breast cancer.  It's been four years now and time marches on.  We have seen some highs and some lows in our lives. So much has happened in those four years. Some of the major events were:
     My mom's husband David died and she moved back to Utah.  Her dementia shifted into high gear.
     We got two new grandchildren:  Margaret and Tommy
     Andy married Chelsea in the Los Angeles LDS temple
     I retired from working at BYU after 25 years
     My sister Carol lost her husband Robert to a brain tumor
     Our country lost the chance for Mitt Romney to be our president
     Rick and I finished our goal of visiting all 50 states
     Jake was diagnosed with brain cancer, went through all kinds of treatments and died on April 23, 2016

I learned many lessons through that trial and those lessons have not been lost as the years of good health have continued.  I value life more.  I feel more gratitude. I'm grateful that advancements have been made in breast cancer treatments and that the drug Herceptin is on the market as a target therapy drug to treat aggressive cancers like mine.  I value relationships more.  I value time on earth more.  I value people more and recognize the contributions they have made and continue to make in my life. I understand the great good that comes from reaching out to people in need and serving, as I try and pay it forward.  I realize that my trials are small compared to some people and by helping them with their challenges, it lessens by own burdens. I trust God more and know that ultimately whatever happens will be for my good and that all trials bring the opportunity to learn and grow if we let them. I love my husband more and appreciate him and his love for me.  Our love, friendship and appreciation for one another is stronger.
Every year I go in to the cancer doctors for check ups and every year that I get a good report I am grateful that I get more time to enjoy life and all the opportunities it affords.  Life is good.
   

Passing the three year mark

I don't always think about it, but sometimes I do.  I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago.  I passed that ominous anniversary date last July 2, 2015.  My check ups with the doctors are becoming less frequent and everything looks great.  Once I hit the 10 year mark, I should be able to say I have been cured.
When I hear of other people struggling with cancer and I actually know some of what they are going through, I get a pit in my stomach.  The doctor visits, the new procedures, the waiting for results, the struggle through chemotherapy, the daily grind of radiation, the feeling of perpetual illness, the fatigue, the look of sympathy on the faces of others, the loss of appetite, facing the unknown, struggling to stay positive and hopeful, seeing the concern on the faces of loved ones who want so much to help, the prayers and pleading to God, seeing my body change and not be my own body anymore, facing complete and total body hair loss, facing the possibility of a painful death.
But I also saw great love and support, great faith and hope and so many kindnesses from people that buoyed me up and made the journey bearable.  People made the difference.  They usually do.  I also felt the love of God in my life and witnesses his goodness.  Regardless of the outcome, I knew he was there and that he loved me. My trust in Him never wavered.

I recently read the most interesting book called Not Fade Away about a man named Peter Barton who, at the pinnacle of his career and family life, got stomach cancer.  His observations were very insightful.  I marked about 15 pages of some of what he said in the book.  I laughed, I cried and I could relate. Not only for my own experience, but for the experiences I've seen my dear loved ones endure who have gone through a similar experience.  Here are some of my favorite thoughts:

• Mortality doesn't limit us in time.  It limits us, as well, in what we can ever hope to understand.
• Once my unproductive anger about this lousy break started to subside, I began thinking less about what cancer was doing to me and more about what it was doing for me.  I realized something sort of wonderful.  Cancer was giving me the opportunity to live more attentively, more wholly in the moment.  It was letting me be as free and as focused on the present as I'd ever been in my life.
• Luckily for me, I had, by then, done most of the hard work of separating my spirit from my physical self.  I could almost accept the notion of my body as a beat-up old car that simply wasn't worth repairing anymore.  I say almost, because readiness isn't something that appears all at once.  It's something you earn by increments, at the cost of much anxiety, and rage, and sadness.
• Well, one of the things I've learned from having cancer is that it's always worth it to continue.  Death will come when it's ready to; the bad stuff will end.  You can count on that- and I don't think it's morbid to consider it a comfort.  But in the meantime there continues to be good stuff, too.  Small pleasures loom large.
• Gradually, I had to stop thinking of my illness as a fight that I would either win or lose, and begin to understand it as a mysterious process that was bound to run its course.  My disease and I were not opponents, we were more like unwilling roommates forced to live in the same tight quarter of my body.  I had to accept the annoying truth that I was no longer in sole control.  My death would bring the death of my cancer.  It couldn't live on without me.  Ultimately, I would be the victor. It would kill me and I would kill it.
• Ultimately, though, all the wishes and all the rambling prayers come down to one unchanging plea for the health and safety and happiness of my family.  What else matters next to that?
• The thought of saying good-bye to my wife and children, however, is agony.  It's the one thing I just can't seem to get reconciled to.  I'm sorry to say this, but I think it's a sadness without an antidote. 
• We cut the cord at the start of each life.  In a different way, we cut the cord at the end.  We have to say good-bye.  
• And now my story is almost over.  Its two strands - the story of my life , the story of my illness- have nearly come together.  I've wanted to believe, I guess, that they'd keep running parallel forever, stretching like a pair of tracks toward a wide horizon that could never be reached.  But that isn't how it works in life.  In life, all story lines eventually converge.  Death is the completion.  Death is where the horizon finally stops receding.  Not a separate thing from life, but life's last resounding cord.  
• There's just one final thing I want to say.  It's simply this:  I really tried.  I did my best.

So on I go.  I'm still trying to do my best. For whatever reason, I was granted the gift of recovery. My wide horizon stretches before me because of modern medicine, trust, faith and prayer.  In my case, the treatments worked, but that isn't always the result. I wasn't appointed unto death.  Not yet anyway.  I came through it.  I feel great.  I've been able to do some things with my body that has recovered from breast cancer and from a total knee replacement. There were many times I didn't think it would happen, but it did.  I'm grateful, so very grateful and I do value the extra time I have been given.  Life is a marvelous gift and I appreciate the fact that I am still here to live my life and to try and help those around me to see the good in the world and all the marvelous possibilities that life affords.

Great cave, my first time exploring it

Hiking buddies John, Ann, Rick and Grant

800 plus stairs going up and down in the cave - no problem

500 foot climb, three miles round trip - no problem (thanks to Rick)

Beautiful Arches National Park, happy to be here
 and experience the beauties of the world!

2 years ago today

So, two years ago today, I was driving to work when I got "the call."  I was instructed to go to Dr. Taylor's office and get the results of my breast biopsy.  Now. When the office didn't just give me the results over the phone, I knew I was in trouble.  Big. Trouble.  

And I was right, my life changed that day and it has never been the same since.  Facing a potentially fatal disease changes you.  It takes away whatever plan you were living and replaces that plan with different plans, uncertain plans, unwanted plans, scary plans, hard plans.  And it takes everyone who loves you along for the ride.  It takes time to adjust and rethink and to finally submit to a new reality.

Submission.  That is a loaded word, isn't it?  I had previously associated submission with the concept of giving up, of giving in, or raising a white flag and saying "stop, I want to get off." 

I use to think that Submission = Quitting. 

Now I look at it differently.  Submission to me now is an act of faith and courage and a belief that "not my will be done, but Thine."  It's a realization that the control I thought I had over my life was very fragile and fleeting.  Submission to me now is having faith instead of fear, hope instead of anxiety, courage instead of worry.  A cancer patient submits to surgery...to chemotherapy...to radiation...and through the process ends us with a different body, mind and attitude.  It's a refining process.  It's not a process I would have signed up for, but one that came my way nonetheless. The cancer patient gets to choose if their anger, fear and frustrations will overpower their desire to hope.  And hope. And hope.  After all, there is always H*O*P*E.

Still ... it is hard to let that worry go. Worry, anxiety and fear. I’ve spent a lot of time with these three feelings over the last two years. What if...  I’m also learning a lot about courage.  Courage is going on in spite of the dark and scary unknown. I’ve wrestled a lot with the concept. Every day each of us step into the void. There is no road map. We don’t know what is going to happen next. I felt that if I just knew what was going to happen, I could handle it, but life doesn’t work that way. Letting go of the anxiety and illusion of control is the only way to make room for courage and hope and to be able to press forward.

As I've mentioned before, I always felt that I would survive this cancer.  And so far, I have.  I have had blood tests, mammograms and other measurements/tests every three months this past year.  Everything looks fine.  That is such wonderful news and a sweet treat to me and all those who love me.

Now my hopes and prayers are directed towards two men in our family who have their own struggles with the unknown results of brain cancer.  I hope they (and all those who love them) find the courage and strength to dwell on the "knowns" in life and not the "unknowns."  Reviewing the "knowns" and actually writing them down and contemplating about them can bring great comfort.  I know I have a Heavenly Father who loves me.  He was a plan for my life.  I know I have a family who loves me.  They support me through everything that comes along.  I know I live in a great land with freedoms and opportunities that are endless. And on and on it goes.  After all, that is what we want most in this life, right?  Comfort and peace to know that we aren't alone and that someday all the things that don't make sense will make perfect sense.  Someday.

Walking for a good cause

On May 10 Andy, Rick and I participated in the annual Elevate 5K walk/run to benefit six families who have someone in their family fighting cancer.  Our community has participated in this event for several years now and it has grown to include thousands of people.  All of the proceeds go to the people who are battling cancer.  The families who benefited this year are listed here.  It was fun to see people we knew and to see all the businesses and organizations that donated to this worthy cause. 
Rick and Andy ran the route and I walked it.  My time was 55.36 which wasn't bad considering I got a new knee three months ago. 

It was a beautiful morning and it was fun to participate.  The annual Susan G. Komen race for the cure was going on in SLC at the same time.  I would have participated in that again this year, but instead decided to stay and contribute in our community. I felt good to be cancer free myself and to walk for those who are in need.  I hope our efforts helped them not only financially, but emotionally to know that many good people are behind them.

Monetary donations and race registrations that are made on behalf of a specific family will be transferred directly to the family. Funds that are not designated for a specific family will be divided between families - See more at: http://elevateutah.com/elevate-5k/about-the-race/#sthash.nWQ20tDh.dpuf

October ~ Breast Cancer Awareness month

Sometimes it seems surreal to me that I had breast cancer.  I know I'm in remission and that it could come back, but I don't dwell on that. Sometimes I look back on my posts from last year and read what I was going through this time last year.  It was tough. It brings tears to my eyes to remember it.  It was a dark, heavy place going through treatment.
I recently came across the stories of two young mothers (one made the video below) who have been diagnosed with breast cancer.  They are aggressively fighting it with the best known medicine and procedures on the planet.  They are opting for the most aggressive methods of treatment in the hope that they will win the battle and be around to raise their small children.  The young woman below had gone through a double mastectomy and had had her first treatment of chemo.  Her hair had started to fall out.  
The victory isn't in the achieving the hoped for final outcome.  Some fight hard and still lose. The victory is in getting through what needs to be done with hope and faith that the outcome will be positive and successful.  The battle is in the journey, in the submission, in the knowledge that to live, you almost have to die.  My hat is off to these brave young women and thousands of others who have been diagnosed this year.  I love that pink ribbon and all that is represents...membership in a club of fighters.

Am I an upwinder?

Could my breast cancer have been caused from exposure to atomic testing in the 1950s?  When my dad died of cancer in 1983, could it have been caused from the fallout from atomic testing in  Nevada?  Was my Mom's breast cancer caused from the same testing?  We were all living in Idaho at the time of the nuclear testing. Three cases of cancer in our family.  How unusual.  Or is it?

Nuclear testing  at the Nevada test site was conducted from January 21, 1951 until October 31, 1958 and again in 1962.  I was born in Idaho in 1955, right in the middle of that test period. The fallout from all the testing drifted across our country.  However, some areas were harder hit from the fallout that others, depending on weather patterns and air flow.  Test your exposure here on The National Cancer Institute web site.

In 1997 an article was published in the Deseret News called Fallout in the Family.  That was the first time I read about the fact that several counties in Idaho were very hard hit by atomic fall out.  While the county I grew up in (Minidoka) wasn't among the four counties mentioned, it is surrounded by Blaine county that was a hard hit area.  The idea is that wind currents carried the fallout into Idaho and it fell on the crops that were growing there.  Farmers and ranchers were exposed to that fallout as well as all the cows that ate feed that was dusted with the fallout.  The cows ate the tainted fallout particles and passed it into their milk. My siblings and I grew up drinking raw milk from our neighbors cows.  We undoubtedly were exposed to radiation.  From the article:

However, when I learned in August that four Idaho counties were among the five that received the most radiation from Nevada blasts (the fifth was in Montana), I immediately suspected that Minidoka County, where Rupert is located, would be among the four. Wrong. The list consisted of Blaine, Lemhi, Gem and Custer counties. Not being familiar with the names and locations of most Idaho counties, I consulted a map. Guess which county I discovered shares two borders with Minidoka County? Blaine - one of the five heaviest fallout areas in America. And when I took an even closer look, I could see that my uncle's farm was about five to 10 miles from a Minidoka-Blaine border. 

Currently the federal government is only recognizing and taking responsibility for people who were affected by the nuclear testing in certain counties in Arizona, Nevada and Utah.  They are providing compensation for certain types of cancer through the Radiation Expose Compensation Act or RECA.   Their website is located here.

       See If You Qualify for Downwinders TM $50,000
If you or a family member have had internal cancer or leukemia within the last fifty years (even if family member is deceased) or if you get cancer and lived in any of the following counties for a period of at least two years between January 21, 1951 and October 31, 1958 or during the entire month of July 1962.  In ARIZONA - Apache, Coconino, Gila, Navajo, Yavapai.  In NEVADA - Eureka, Lander, Lincoln, Nye, White Pine or the northern portion of Clark.  In UTAH - Beaver, Garfield, Iron, Kane, Millard, Piute, San Juan, Sevier, Washington or Wayne you may qualify for $50,000 tax free.

The following are Primary cancers that are covered under this program:    Bile Duct Cancer    Bladder Cancer    Brain Caner    Breast Cancer (male and female)    Colon Cancer    Rectal Cancer    Esophagus Cancer    Gall Bladder Cancer    Leukemia’s (other than CLL or chronic lymphocytic leukemia)    Liver Cancer (except if there is evidence of cirrhosis or Hepatitis B)    Lung Cancer    Multiple Myeloma    Nasal Pharynx Cancer    Lymphomas (other than Hodgkin's disease)    Ovarian Cancer    Pancreas Cancer    Salivary Gland Cancer    Small Intestine Cancer    Stomach Cancer    and    Thyroid Cancer 


Check out these links: Here.  Here.   Here.  Here.  Here.  Here are a few excerpts:

BOISE — For much of her childhood, Sheri Garman drank poisoned milk.
Like many other children in eastern Idaho in the 1950s, Garman and her family drank locally produced raw milk. But the cows on Garman's family dairy and other regional dairies were ingesting radioactive fallout from Cold War nuclear testing in Nevada, and passing on the radiation to humans through their milk.

and this...

The consequences of 90 bomb tests that took place between 1951 and 1962 weren't made public until a National Cancer Institute study was released in 1997.
The study identified four Idaho counties — Gem, Blaine, Custer and Lemhi — among the five hardest hit counties nationally in terms of doses of radioactive iodine.
Since winds from the Nevada Test Site typically carried the radioactive nuclear fallout, specifically iodine-131, to the north and east, certain counties in Utah, Arizona and Nevada are eligible for compensation. But not Idaho.
Many were exposed to the radiation by drinking milk at a young age. Winds carried the fallout to alfalfa fields where it was ingested by cows, distributed in milk and consumed by people, especially children.
But despite the evidence presented in the 1997 study, Idahoans still are not eligible for the $50,000 compensation.

Since I grew up in Idaho, I don't quality for compensation.  Neither does my dad. Neither does my mom. I am more interested in knowing what caused our cancer.  Was it caused by  atomic testing in the 1950s?  I want to know and so do a lot of fellow Idahoans.

Summer recap

I'm always just a little melancholy when school starts in the fall.  On the one hand it's great to see the little kids march back to school and to remember when our little kids stood tall on our front porch in their new school clothes for their "back to school" picture with new backpacks, clean shoes and smiles on their faces.   I can still picture them in my mind's eye.  Now those little kids are sending their own little kids out the door.  I don't miss the expense of school fees, new clothes/shoes expenses, lunch tickets and such, but I do miss the ritual of ending summer and starting fall with a change in family activities. Time.  It travels, that's for sure.
This summer has been on hyper drive. Days...weeks...months...gone. 
Here's a recap of what kept us hopping:

April and May included trips to Arizona and North Carolina to visit our kids, and:

• Rick's annual conference in St. George
• meeting with my Rupert girl friends
• attending Republican meetings representing my precinct as chair
• being assigned a new CASA child and getting to know her
• visiting Dr. Mortensen and deciding that something had to be done about my left knee
• hosting a bridal shower for Chelsea
• attending Les Miz at Pioneer
• doing my Young Women activities/calling
• taking a serger class
• going to the Provo temple with Chelsea to receive her endowment
• Jake Jensen's farewell and delicious lunch hosted by his family afterwards
• end of the season Cleofon garden party
• Memorial weekend in Logan with extended family
• Rick performing lots of marriages

June

• attending the temple with our niece Kate when she receive her endowment
• going to California for Andy and Chelsea's wedding, dinner and reception (we are still basking in the memory of how wonderful everything turned out and how happy we are for this outstanding couple) so happy Mom could travel with us
• a restful stop over in St. George at the Philipps' home, attending Mary Poppins at Tuachan with Jord and girls, Claire and Lizzie, Courtney, Mom 
• enjoyed some time with our kids and grands in town doing lots of fun activities including Trafalga, Provo Rec Center, riding Front runner, 7 Peaks, going to the church history museum, going to Sheels and riding the Ferris wheel, making maxi skirts, etc.
• Pat and Vern hosting a family breakfast for the newly weds
• the wedding celebration we hosted at Mt. Timpanogos lodge in Provo canyon...we LOVED seeing family and friends and appreciate all who came and all who help us
• June 24 - Rick's birthday celebration with family
• tending our three little grand girls for four days while their parents went home for a break
• Rick hiking to the Y on the mountain every Saturday with a friend

July

•  Our annual 4th of July celebration!  So happy Jordan, Jake & girls, Claire and children, and Chelsea could be with us along with most of Rick's family and most of the Coil family.  We love our traditions
• Stadium of Fire with lots of family, including Carol, Madi and Taylor.  Love that show.
• my 40th high school reunion and seminary reunion (which I loved attending!)
• stopped by "the ranch" on my way back to Utah to visit cousin Scott and have a good visit
• mammogram check...all is well!!!
• hired cleaning girls to help me get my home deep cleaned along with the help of a hired professional cleaning lady
• shopped for the food for girls camp and helped get them on their way 
• visited Vern at the VA hospital in SLC as his health was failing
• July 13, 2013 my dear father-in-law Vern passed away
• all our kids came back to town for the funeral on July 20
• helped with the funeral preparations.  Rick wrote a press release and I got it out to be published in many, many newspapers, including the New York Times
• Courtney and Charlie spend four more days with us and we loved every minute of it
• darling niece Kate's mission farewell to Peru
• visited my 2 CASA girls throughout the summer.. I'm getting really attached to them and hope I can help them
• Rick played tennis every Thursday with a friend and every Friday morning with a doubles group

August

•  finally we celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary at the ROOF restaurant in SLC with a sleep over and activities in the city
• Find an enormous wasp nest in our window well.  Sick.  Called in help
• 7th of August - knee scope surgery of my left knee.  No fun.  Last attempt before replacement
• recuperate in Logan visiting Mom.  Go to Bear Lake and spend some time with Deborah and Pat.  Attend Spencer's baptism. Visit family in Logan.
• get back to work and help with my 35th graduation at BYU
• teach Young Women lessons/activities
• went to the temple, watched the new temple film and enjoyed it
• August 14th.  Receive my LAST dose of Herceptin at the Central Utah Cancer Clinic.  I'm done!  It's 13 months and 12 days since diagnosis and all looks great!  Say goodbye to the clinic nurses who I've come to know...go to my car...cry my eyes out for JOY!
• start physical therapy for the knee.  Ouch!
• get my first hair (trim really) cut in one year from my stylist Kirby.  Turn on the blow dryer again...it works!
• spent four days at home by myself while Rick was out of town at a conference
• got the port removed from my neck...the last thing to happen with chemo/infusion treatment
• enjoy a visit from my great friend Sue Bowen
• friend Marcy comes to town
• attend meetings for the start of a new school year, get all ready at BYU
• attend my Uncle Val's viewing and see my great cousins and wonderful Aunt Lorna...love that family

Goodbye summer 2013!  It's been one for the books.

The new normal

Is anything truly normal?  Life is constantly changing and "normal" usually doesn't last for very long.  Things come and go.  Relationships change.  People change (some for the better, some for the worst.)  Jobs, homes and interests change.  People grow up, grow older and they try and endure the hand they are dealt.  Life.  The only constant thing about it is...change. There is no going back to the "old normal."

Last July 2 I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  That realization changed a lot of things.  More than anything it made me realize that I'm not in control of much of anything.  I had a life plan.  I was working my plan.  Life was going along well.  Then...boom! Change.  I'm still working my plan but I'm much more aware of the precious time we are given in this life and of the precarious position we are in at all times.  Relationships are what matter most.  Accumulating "stuff" and possessions matter least. I've been the recipient of tremendous love and support.  I know who I can count on.  Some power, some larger plan is in control of the details of our lives and if we can learn to have faith, patience and hope, we can weather the storms that will surely come our way.  I've decided that everyone has challenges.  They test us, try us and make us dig deep to see what we are truly made of.  Our reaction to our challenges is a pretty good measure of who we really are and who we trust and turn to when the going gets tough.  I decided long ago to put my faith in God.  I truly believe that He was a plan for me and mine.  He knows what challenges I need to refine my body, mind and soul.  This past year has taught me that.  He is in control.  He loves me.  I love Him.

This last year has been a journey through new experience and uncertainty.  I'm winding down on the new experiences.  I've got three more doses of Herceptin and then I can get the port removed from my neck. The uncertainty will remain and I will live with it now.  Will the cancer return?  When?  Where?  What can be done about it?  Those kinds of questions inevitably go through a person's mind.  I don't dwell of them, but they are part of the new normal. I've had cancer in my body and while I'm hopeful it has been eradicated, they are no guarantees.  Next week I go in for a mammogram.  I'm hoping for a "normal" review of things of course, but have to also prepare for any eventuality. Part of the new normal is that breast cancer is now a member of our family. Like it or not, those are the facts.

My new normal involves changes to my body that weren't there before.  Of course my hair looks so different.  My little grand daughter saw my wig on the dresser and wanted to know when I was going to wear it again.  I asked her if she wanted me to wear it every day and cover up my short salt and pepper hair and she said yes.  That look was the "old normal" look that people are use to and comfortable with.  I don't look like I use to look.  I'm OK with that.  I'm not the same person.  I don't want to go back to coloring my hair and wearing it longer.  Been there, done that. I'm different and I'm going to embrace that difference, knowing that it will take people time to get use to the new normal.
I bruise easily.  I usually have some bruise somewhere on my body from simply bumping into things.  I have neuropathy in my hands and feet. The bottoms of my feet close to my toes are numb.  Can't feel much and that feels weird.  My toes feel like they are on fire many times during the day.  My fingertips are numb and very dry.  I hope that changes with time but it may not.  Chemo kills off the bad cancer cells and some of the good cells as well and can cause nerve damage.  A few lingering digestive issues may remain.  Overall, I feel fine and I'm grateful for that, considering the poison treatments that were put in my body.  I'm grateful to be standing and moving forward to find my new normal.  My oncologist told me that if I completed all my treatments, I would have a good chance of a 90% survival rate. One year done, hopefully many more to go! The first two years after diagnosis are critical.  Get past those and I should be good to continue to enjoy my "new normal" life.

A sea of pink

I didn't expect to be hit with emotion like I was. Neither did Rick.  It was overwhelming. I wasn't prepared for it.  We couldn't contain the tears.  It was a total surprise to me to feel those emotions participating in the annual Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure event in Salt Lake City last Saturday.  I really felt the love and the support of total strangers and my support team. There were so many people there. More than 10,000 to be exact.  Just think of that.  10,000 people who have been affected in some way by breast cancer.  10,000 people who know.  10,000 people who get it.  10,000 people who have seen it up close and personal.  And then to think that this walk was just for breast cancer survivors and also to honor those who have lost the battle.  What about all the other types of cancer? There would certainly be thousands more representing all those different types of cancer.  Cancer is a beast.  I hate cancer.
We walked with many people who were in family groups.  Some had signs on their backs that said "in memory of Mom or grandma or aunt or sister" or "in memory of __________(fill in a name)" or "celebrating with_________" or "standing with _____________"  Some people cried.  Some people celebrated.  Everyone felt the emotion.  It felt good to take off my hat and expose my head and in some ways stand together with those who have been through a similar experience.  It's just hard to imagine the human cost and suffering this disease has caused until you see the faces and read the names and look at the staggering numbers of people who are fighting to defeat it.  And that is exactly what we did.  We raced for the cure.

Sweet nieces Kate and Maridon.  Love you girls!

I did last June 22, 2012 and it saved my life.

The best supporter a girl could have.

Celebrate LIFE!

I'm not gonna lie, the Celebrate LIFE party was a blast!  It was so fun to see so many of our family and friends and an added bonus was that Jord, Jake and the girls got to come at the last minute.  Jake's sweet grandmother C. passed away and her funeral was scheduled for the following Monday, so they came to town and got to attend the party as well.  I feel so blessed and so humbled by the out pouring of love and well wishes from so many people.  It was great to visit and get caught up with some who we haven't seen for a long time.  Chelsea's Mom and sister came from Las Vegas and it was fun to have them stay for the weekend and to make more progress in wedding planning.  Here is a look at the refreshment table and some of the people who attended my pink-breast-cancer-awareness-birthday-bash-celebrate-life-thank-you party.  All in all, a great weekend!