Another Year!

Another year!

Another birthday celebrated!

Another diagnoses anniversary!

Another whole year!

8 years.

My baby is turning eight which in-turn marks the 8th year from my cancer diagnoses.

Most days I don't think about "it" anymore, but sometimes something inside me gets triggered and a type of depression and sadness overcomes me.  Usually, it only lasts for a few days.

Most days are just busy - kids and work life.

My oldest turned 16, got a drivers license and bought a car. This new phase of life is scary.  I definitely worry more about sending my child out into the world than I do about cancer.  Actually, I worry about both.  I do a lot of worrying.

I had my annual oncology appointment this week.  

I adore my oncologist and it strangely brings me peace of mind when I get to see him.  It didn't always feel that way.

The good news - my blood work looked great and the doctor was proud of the weight I have lost since my last visit. 

The not so good news - the chemo, hysterectomy and the medication I still take have is weakening my bones.  He is suggesting more meds.  Ugg.  

Other events have happened over this year, but I feel like that is for another time.

As far as things in the cancer world - all is well and life continues to move forward.

  

It's Ok

    Guess what today is.

Besides the one time a year I update this blog.

 

I had my annual oncology appointment;

not as much anxiety as I thought I would have.

My doctor was super happy with everything and said

that we are adding another year for a clean bill of health!

My baby is turning seven years old and therefore 

that marks my 7 year anniversay since being diagnosed!

7 Years!

With 4 kids, 2 part time jobs and a crazy, busy husband

some days I don't even think about "it".

Those are the best days.

Life continues to go forward.

But then some days are hard and they knock me down.

If you didn't know me seven years ago, 

you would really have no idea I beat cancer.

I don't talk much about it anymore unless some one asks.

My family asks me what to buy for their neighbor going through chemo.

Or friends ask me the best advice to help their friend who was just diagnosed.

I still love to attend my support group - 

those amazing women provide invaluable love and support.

Although it is a hard club to be a part of.

We have lost a number of beautiful women over this last year

and I am reminded how quickly life can change.

Life will never be the same for me. 

I've tragically lost friends and made courageous new ones.  

I've been humbled and needed to ask for help and honored to give it.  

I have hoped for good results and struggled through depression.  

I have tried to change my outlook on life on this journey. 

And I believe everything will be okay.

Have you seen the AGT audition by Nightbirde?

Her voice, her story, her attitude.  

I love everything about her.

You should watch it.

The song she wrote and sang was called "It's Ok".

 It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok

If you’re lost 

We're all a little lost 

and it’s alright.

Oh, it’s alright to be lost sometimes.

Simple. Beautiful.

Equally beautiful were her comments about having cancer:

"It's important that everyone knows that 

I'm so much more than the bad things that happen to me... 

You can't wait until life isn't hard anymore 

before you decide to be happy."

Six Years

I am not sure who is still reading this blog but,

apparently my father is because he keeps asking me to update it.

And I am not really sure what to write about.

Maybe about being brave.

Since my last post in November, Ryan and I went to Spain for business in February.

Exciting part was, we took Abby with us!

It was incredibly beautiful.

We spent 10 days in Barcelona and Valencia.

We saw ancient sights, breathtaking buildings and sacred grounds.

We ate lots of interesting foods and sought out the yummiest of desserts.

After a few days in Barcelona we headed to Valencia via a 3 hour train ride.

Now I am the first to admit - my sense of direction sucks.

Always has.

So while Ryan was working, Abby and I had two choices.

Sit and wait in the apartment or 

brave the subway system and taxis and venture into the city.

I really didn't know which one we would choose until that 1st day there.

I don't speak Spanish and I can't read it.  Neither can Abby.

To say we were nervous was an understatement.

But at least we were together, even if we did get lost.

Brave is not a word I would typically use to describe myself.

But in Spain, I felt brave.

We took a bus tour of the city, found city hall and the old guard towers.

We admired the unique architecture of the The City of Arts and Science buildings. 

We walked the long stretches of beach and collected shells.

We ate pastries or ice cream for lunch.  Everyday.

Ryan joined us on the last few days to explore Valencia on bikes, 

riding miles along the Turia, the old river bottom.

On the last day we kayaked through the water filled Coves de Sant Josep.

Such an amazing trip of a lifetime, it was a wonderful experience.

Then a few weeks after we got home - the world went crazy...

And here we still are.

Social distancing, mask wearing, distance learning, not leaving the house...

The last few months have been long and confusing.

Since lock down, I admit I have been spending 

way to much time on Facebook.

But the other day I ran across this... 

posted by another survivor in an online support group, 

Anna Gatrell Sanders.

People with cancer are supposed to be heroic.

We fight a disease that terrifies everyone.

We are strong because we endure treatment that can feel worse than the actual malignancies.

We are brave because our lab tests come back with news we don't want to hear.

The reality of life with cancer is very different from the image we try to portray.

Our fight is simply a willingness to go through treatment because, frankly, the alternative sucks.

Strength?  We endure pain and sickness for the chance to feel "normal" down the road.

Brave?  We build up an emotional tolerance and acceptance of things we can't change.  We pretend the things we can't change.  We pretend that life is going good so the kids in our lives won't worry as much as we are.  Faith kicks in to take care of the rest.

Abby helped me be brave in Spain.

She was unbelievably good at navigating.  

I got turned around every time we came up out of the subway.

I would show her places on my phone I thought would be cool to see, 

and she would get us there.

Sure we got lost a few times, 

couldn't understand our driver and just got out on some random street. 

We even walked past our destination, multiple times, 

not knowing it was right in front of us.

Eventually we always found our way.

All this got me thinking about my diagnoses.

And how much my family, friends and even strangers 

helped me to be brave.

Helped me get though things.

Things I wasn't sure if I could.

Everyone helped me become brave - so I could fight.

This week I remember the day I was diagnosed 6 years ago.

It was June 17, 2014

SIX YEARS!

Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago

and yet some aspects feel like they were yesterday.

A number of years ago a family member was in an accident.  

She fell over 40 feet to the ground from a rope swing. 

 I followed her journey and progress online. 

Following are parts of an essay she wrote for a contest.

She starts out - 

6 years ago today I died. Time keeps moving on, but the feeling for me on this, the anniversary of my death never changes. Sometimes I wonder if there will be a day that goes by and I won't think about what happened. You'd think that after years it would start to fade, but it doesn't. My body is now covered in stitches and scars. But there is no therapy for putting your old life together again.

She spent 2 months in the hospital. She suffered a broken femur, twenty shattered ribs, a fractured spine (T12 and C7 discs), a frontal lobe injury with bleeding on the brain, a ruptured gall bladder and partial paralysis. With months of physical therapy and with occupational therapy she was able to learn to walk again.

Six years. My braces and crutches are stored in the cellar. The medication has long since run out and the unpaid mountain of bills have been pushed into a forgotten corner of the closet. Everything appears back to normal but sometimes my leg unexpectedly buckles, sometimes I catch myself, sometimes I don’t. My friends want to talk about boys, clothes, and TV shows.

I want to talk about my accident, about pain and death.

“So are you all healed now?”, well-meaning family and friends ask me.

What does being healed even mean?

Does being healed mean dealing with pain every day?

Does it mean replaying what happened over and over?

Will the world be able to look past my scars and love me anyway?

It is late at night. I pull the blinds aside and stare out into the dark night waiting for the pain in my legs to subside. The girl I used to be would be curled up under piles of blankets, sleeping. In the morning she would jump out of bed, humming along with her music as she combed her hair. That girl would run downstairs, gulp in a quick breakfast and head outdoors.

That girl had a reckless spirit, a thirst for life, and a yearning to be more.

That girl was a dreamer, and a romantic. That girl was naive.

I’m not that girl anymore. The truth is, that girl died the moment she jumped off the tower. I rose up in her place. I know too much to ever be her again. That other girl could never know the quiet strength that comes from suffering, the determination to never quit. She didn’t know that the brokenness would shape her into a better person or that scars could be beautiful.

That girl didn’t know she would die so that I could live.

So that I could be the me I always was.

The me I always wanted to be.

While we have not gone through the same experiences, her words feel like my thoughts.

My six year follow up appointment was last week.

The anxiety and stress leading up to appointments usually send me

into a downward spiral of "what if" questions.

But this year it felt different.

Even with mask requirements, hand sanitizer and

staff to take my temperature at the front door

before I was allowed to step into the cancer center, I felt optimistic.

I felt different.

Six years since my diagnosis.

Six years of learning, failing, and trying.

Six years of hoping, struggling and over-coming.

Six year later and I got the "everything looks good,

keep doing what your doing" from my oncologist.

Six years of fears but also six years of being brave.

Busy

At the multiple requests of my father, I guess it is time to update this blog.
I don't know why, it has only been 5 months!
This is what I have been up to the last few months.

Summer was awesome and crazy busy!
The kids, Ryan and I were all constantly going in different directions.
Swim lessons, dance camps, girls camp, summer school, water sports camps, movies in the park, camping at Palisades, a surprise 40th birthday party, trips to the river and farm, Camp Kesem, playing at the lake and sand dunes...

Then, in the middle of it all,
June 17th came.
And went.
I tried not think about the events of "that" day.
Or at least not for very long.
I saw my oncologist.
Everything is good.
Just a DEXA  - bone density scan - in December.
And, at my request, I asked if I could see him again in 6 months.
For no reason at all.
It is just reassuring knowing he is still there, keeping tabs on me.

At the end of June I took the kids to Salt Lake and showed them all the sites I went to as a kid, but that we usually don't have time for when we are up that way.  We did lots of hiking - Bridal Veil, Silver Lake, Lisa and Hidden Falls, Donut and Battle Creek Falls, 5th Springs and Stewart Falls.  Plus Seven Peaks, Trafalga, Lindon Aquatic Center and ice skating.  We also visited This Is The Place, the State Capitol, Temple Square, Ensign Peak, Kennecott and Lagoon! ALL IN ONE WEEK.

(Thanks to my awesome sister and brother and their families for hanging out with us and letting us crash at their homes.)

In July, Alyssa was able to join Kaden and Abby at Camp Kesem this year.  So while they played at camp, I dropped Gage off with my mom and went on a vacation with my friend, Michelle, to Seattle.  She was so good to let me plan the whole thing.  And I packed in a lot, as per my usual.  From the coast to Olympia and Tacoma to Seattle. She was an awesome travel buddy - we had a ton of fun.

In August, my whole side of the family headed to Lake Powell for a week.  It has been a decade since I was there last and it still never ceases to amaze me how beautiful it is.  It was a fantastic trip - no one got to seriously hurt or sunburned.  (I did however drop my phone in the lake on the second to last day, which I am still pretty sad about.)

I didn't dare tell the kids but by the time we got home from vacation, I was ready for school to start.  I was pretty excited, because with Gage in kindergarten I would have 2 1/2 hours all to myself, 5 days a week!  But nope, the awesome principle asked me if I wanted to be an aide and help out in the classrooms.  So, I started a second job as a paraprofessional aide, sounds fancy doesn't it.  I work about the same hours Gage is in school, so it is pretty nice.

And finally, just a few weeks ago I went to Boston with my mom on our annual trip.  It did remind me a little of Philadelphia - lots of people, little streets, no parking and so much history to see. We covered a lot of ground, literally.  Walking and driving.  From Plymouth, Cape Cod, Downtown Boston to Harvard and Salem.  I got home and needed a day to rest from all my vacationing.

So why have I rambled on forever about all the things I have been doing?
Just that - I am doing.
(Plus I thought maybe you would rather see pictures
than just me talking - blah, blah, blah.)
I am feeling great and enjoying life.
I am not in treatments or tied down by one doctor appointment after another.
I am still learning to not let fear control me,
and how to handle stress better.
The other day as I was scrolling through Facebook,
I saw this quote.
It immediately stopped me in my tracks.
I read it, and re-read it. 
This is where I feel like my life is at right now.
Just breathe...

And, on a different note, I am still having a lot of fun with my purple hair.
Don't know if I would have ever dared dying my hair purple before cancer!?
(It has officially been 5 years since my last chemo treatment - October 20th)

Before Chemo

5 Years After Chemo

Having fun trying to look like my bitmoji.

;)

The Big 5!

Not to be confused with the big 5-0!

Which I am not even close to...

I did however just celebrate the big 4-0.

And my awesome family managed to throw me a surprise party.

I have sat down a number of times to write this blog update and

 am struggling to find adequate words.

I am not sure what to say, 

but I seem to have a lot of thoughts running through my mind.

So forgive me if this is long and a little all-over-the-place.

Last month I was fortunate to be able to attend a 

cancer survivor adventure retreat hosted by 

Image Reborn and The Little Wellness Place.  

Ryan and Michelle, two of my friends from support group, 

and I drove to the distant, big city of Leeds. 

Just kidding, it is a super small town about 20 minutes away. 

There we met up with 9 other survivors - from SLC, Vegas and California - 

at this big, beautiful vacation home.

How do I begin to describe this courageous group of women?  

We were all so different. 

Different backgrounds. 

Different ethnicities. 

Different lifestyles. 

Different careers and hobbies.  

Some newly diagnosed, some still in treatment, 

some re-diagnosed and one 25 years in remission!!   

Yet we all had this 1 thing in common - Breast Cancer.  

We were all there trying something new.  

Trying to be brave.  

Trying to be open to new ideas.  

Trying to be vulnerable and honest with ourselves.

It is astonishing to me how this life-altering scary disease 

can instantly make you feel so close and connected 

to someone you have never met before.  

We spent the weekend laughing, meditating, relaxing, 

hiking, crying, doing yoga, getting acupuncture, 

canyoneering and repelling (in a hailstorm no less), 

swapping stories, staying up late, eating delicious food 

and well, just being.

The four women, Ally, Rachelle, Amanda and Savannah, 

(and the many more behind the scenes I don't know about) 

who put this retreat together were incredible!  They thought of everything.  

From the first moment I walked in and they all hugged me, 

I felt accepted and welcomed.  

As someone who does not open up and let people in very easily, 

I was surprised how quickly I was at ease when I was around them; 

there was this immediate bond and trust.  

(Which, if you understood how much I hate needles, was very helpful 

when Amanda was doing acupuncture on me.  PS It didn't hurt!)  

They were not just there to plan and organize the days - 

they were doing all the activities with us, fixing our meals 

and telling us their stories.  You could genuinely feel how much 

they cared and wanted to be there to help in any way possible.

The theme for the retreat was, "I am."

During a meditation walk, we were asked to complete that sentence.

Some of my answers are personal and will stay with me, 

but here are a few of my answers:

I am scared.

I am healing.

I am learning to let go.

I am still angry sometimes.
I am grateful.

I am capable.

I am hopeful.

I am here.

But my favorite was simply,

I am.

It has been 5 years -

60 months, 261 weeks, 1,825 days, 43800 hours, 

2,628,000 minutes and 157,680,000 seconds (but who's counting?)

since I heard those three, life-altering words of "You have cancer."

I think anyone who has been through something traumatic can agree,

some days if feels like yesterday - so raw and full of emotion and

yet other days it feels like a lifetime ago - almost not real because I have come so far.

My hair is longer than when I had to shave it all off - with some purple color added.

My physical scars have all healed.

Looking at me you would never know the battles I have fought.

Mentally, emotionally and physically - and I like it that way.

I no longer "look" like cancer.

This doesn't mean I still don't have struggles or bad days or relapses, I do.

I have battles that are won and sometimes lost - everyday.

But I am so grateful for another day to try again.

To fight and win them.

I meet with my oncologist for the last time in July.

A scary, joyous, terrifying, exciting, and weight-releasing thought.  

I have seen this doctor, who I adore, more over the course 

of the last 5 years than some of my family members.

I feel confident it will be the shortest and nothing-of-consequence appointment.

I feel I am still NED - no evidence of disease!

I feel this journey is at the end of a chapter.

Same book, just ready to turn the page.

Thank you to those who still follow this blog.

To those who check in on me and ask family how I am doing.

I am so grateful for all the love and support from 

family and friends, near and far.

Please know, I really am doing well.

The following words are from a friend's multiple facebook posts.  

I don't know her very well but her words are beautiful and so true.  

Thanks Cammi for sharing your thoughts and feelings. 

"Finding joy in the journey involves talking about deep down honest truths. 

This journey has been filled with every emotion imaginable. 

I've had good days, sad days, scared days, great days, laughter days, mad days, 

funny days, mean days, painful days, gleeful days... cancer is every one of these. 

It tilts you and pushes you and just when you feel like you can't keep going - you do. 

You just do. You have to.

Your self image, self esteem and self worth are tested beyond comprehension. 

Cancer isn't glorious, beautiful, wonderful, magical, mystical, lovely... but the journey is. 

The people you meet are. The love that surrounds you is.

I’m not mourning this day.. 

I’m choosing to recognize the hard work and hard choices 

I make every day that got me here.  

I feel more compassion. More love. More forgiveness. 

More understanding. More peace. More resilience. 

More hope. More. More. More.  

I have been given more than I could have imagined... 

I am truly blessed and know that life is short."