A Big C-ancercation

I'm now discovering that it has been too long since I blogged. Or put together a LIVESTRONG event, for that matter. I'm a bad blogger. I'm a bad LIVESTRONG Leader.

I've had myself convinced for the past few months that it was due to family matters that had to be addressed, which is true. I've told myself it was because I'm not in chemo, so there is nothing else to share. I've used the excuse of a new job, busy life, new hobbies, etc.

But, early this morning, as I wrapped up a binge on the Showtime series "The Big C," which came out almost a year earlier to the day that I had my double mastectomy, I had an epiphany. Well, I had a few epiphanies.

Epiphany #1: I needed a C-Cation.

Subconsciously, I think I "took the year off" of cancer, particularly after Mary was rediagnosed with Stage 4 and then when she passed away. By no means do I blame her, but I think I had to take a break from all things cancer-related, aside from my mandatory surgeries and appointments. But why?

Epiphany #2: Fear

Yes, I'm a "survivor." Yes, I acknowledged guilt over surviving when friends like Mary, Ryan and others ran out of time and died. But I either never wanted to or never realized just how (pardon my French) just how fucking scared I am of cancer. I'd numbed myself to the anxiety of going back to Dr. Tepler's office time and time again. It creeps out every time I second guess Dr. Tepler's report that my counts and blood work are fine. Every time Dr. Tepler tells me that my requests for an MRI and scansare unnecessary   because all signs are positive that I'm cancer free.

Epiphany #3: Hypocrisy

Throughout this blog, and my cancer journey, I have stated and restated that you have to trust your gut. But have I trusted my gut? Lately?

Here's the reality. I don't know that I can trust my gut right now. I can't decipher between Fear and My Gut anymore. Why do I say this? My Gut keeps telling me to tell Dr. Tepler to wake up and give me a godammned body scan because I "know" the cancer is back. But at the same time, isn't that a natural Fear for cancer survivors? That terror-inducing nickname, "Mets." Not the second-best New York baseball team (Yankees rule), but metastases. See, if you get Mets, you're automatically Stage 4. Plus, my chances of survival plummet from the 80% or better to numbers that aren't even worth putting out there.

I've been in complete denial of this. Of the fear. Of my gut.

All of this has resulted in my LIVESTRONG apathy this year. Guilt of hypocrisy and not living up to the STRONG in LIVESTRONG. I was afraid. I felt weak. I felt like I betrayed the message of LIVESTRONG.

But worse, I have been terrified of the cancer returning.

Blogging, for me, was a means of expressing what I was feeling and sharing how I was feeling. But I had made myself numb to how I was feeling. I had to be. Right now, I don't want to leave my bed. I'm paranoid about my cats' affections - is Samson just maturing from kitten to cat and less restless, more affectionate, and that's why he is sleeping with, next to and sometimes on me? Or is his instinct kicking in like "Death-enny" in "The Big C?" Why has Schmooie, who has been like Sean - living outdoors for weeks, even months at a time, despite having a home, decided to stay, not only indoors, but within inches of my head - either behind my pillow or dwelling on my nightstand at eye level, with little interest of going outside, where she loves? She's 15 years old - and now she decides to be an indoor cat? Or is it the same instinct Thomas had?

How could I write my blog when I couldn't even acknowledge what I was feeling? If I wrote it, it was real. If it was real, I'd have to deal.

So, I blame "The Big C." How dare you expose us like that? To the world? To ourselves? Did you have cameras set up in my home? My head? Is Adam modeled on Zach, who may not have acted out sexually as Adam did, but in other ways? How dare you make your character the same age as my son? Why couldn't Cathy have been single? I'm now furious I had to be my own Cancerierge - I had to be my own Paul, with a splash of my Dad and My Rock in the mix.

And worse, how dare you film in my backyard? Sometimes within yards of me while I was going through chemo? Filmed on backroads that I know like the back of my hand? And did you base some of Dr. Sherman on Dr. Tepler? Seriously?

Sometimes, we project a lot of ourselves on shows and things we are watching on TV and on screen. But this... how could I not? Particularly when so much of the footage was filmed where I would go for treatment, for recreation, etc? When Cathy experienced chemobrain at the Stamford Mall, I felt sick to my stomach. The minute that the elevator went up in the background - the elevator I had been riding since I was 8 and the Mall first opened - my stomach fell. When they shot the vertigo shot on Cathy's way up to the 7th floor, I got lightheaded. As she was speeding down Long Ridge Road near the old GE headquarters, my first instinct was to blurt out, "If you're going to hospice, you're facing the wrong direction - the fastest route is in the opposite direction - you missed your turn."

But this show, even though Cathy had a very different cancer, a very different treatment, this was too close to home - literally and figuratively. I'm very confused, outraged, appreciative and terrified now.

Clearly, I'm going to be calling Dr. Tepler tomorrow and fighting to have a full body scan, if possible. I'm going to call a dermatologist. I'm questioning every mark on my body, every ailment, every ache, every pain, every dream, every thought... is any of it an indication that the cancer is back?

I know so many people who I know have remarked that I'm so strong, that I've inspired them, etc, but when I said months ago that I'm just me, I wasn't kidding. I'm terrified. How can I inspire others to be strong when I feel so weak right now? And I'm not even in active treatment?

So, thank you, Laura Linney, Oliver Platt, Gabriel Basso, Phyllis Somerville and Darlene Hunt, for fucking me up. Thank you for holding up a mirror that I feared as much as death. Thank you for last night's night sweats, fear and anxiety induced dreams, and forcing me to second guess every, "You're cancer free," report I've gotten from Dr. Tepler.

And thank you for making me blog again.

One way or another...

I love Blondie. She was blonde, gorgeous, feminine but lethally fierce. She was untouchable. Would that we were all that indestructible.

But we aren't. This medical parasite keeps eating its way into our lives and silently strikes harder and faster the more chances it gets. Cancer is voracious. Unless you put a stop to it right away, it seems to not relent until it has consumed you.

My chemo buddy, whom I've mentioned had a recurrence and metastases, took a terribly sudden turn during the Christmas holiday. I heard from her sister that the cancer has seemingly spread. Discussions of hospice are arising.

There is nothing more than I'd like to do than to visit her, but we, her friends, are being asked to remain supportive from afar.

How can we? What can we do from a distance while she is in a hospital bed? I want to hold her hand, make her smile, tell her jokes, reminisce with our friend and give her comfort. From afar, what I can I do? Send her a card? Flowers? We're even advised not to call!

I've begged her family to reach out, to build a support network - for her and for themselves - but they refuse. If I could drag Doug Ulman personally to her bedside and Chris Brewer to her family's home, I would. But they don't want the support.

I find this terribly perplexing. Why would they want to fight this battle without anyone there? Without any support or guidance? Is it denial? I don't get that sense. Is it fear? Fear of accepting my friend's illness? I could understand that with her first bout, but this is a different animal.

I know that I'm the LIVESTRONG Leader, but that doesn't mean that I have all the answers. Aside from praying, "sending good vibes," and continuously asking if it's ok to visit yet, what more can I do?

First Descents Days 1

If anyone is wondering why I'm not online much, nor answering my cell phone, it's because I'm in Colorado climbing the Rocky Mountains. No, you didn't misread, I'm climbing the Rocky Mountains. I'm participating in an adventure trip for fellow cancer survivors called "First Descents." My friend, Tal, kept raving about this organization, and I think he would have boiled my kitty if I didn't ultimately go. (He's not a demanding kind of guy, but this he was pretty stern about.)

Saturday morning I boarded the flight and landed in Colorado a few hours later (during which I completed the entire first book of The Hunger Games and started Catching Fire once I got to Dallas). When I arrived in Denver, I followed the directions towards Baggage Claim where I was supposed to meet the First Descents crew. Instead, I wandered around in circles, eyes enlarged, completely lost. I had no idea where to go. An unfamiliar number called my cell, but I ignored it - I didn't have a clue. All of a sudden, I hear people calling and I look up - there is the First Descents sign. I head up to where they were bunked out, but I soon had to "Hit & Run" (which became my camp nickname - we don't go by first names - not yet), and catch up with my friend & fellow LIVESTRONG Leader, Erik Pearson, and his wife, Lynne. Erik was at the US Pro Challenge, so I didn't get a chance to see him right away (and I was quite jealous, as he was hanging with Chris Horner, possibly the chillest pro cyclist I know!). His wife picked me up, and we went to her dad's home, into which she & Erik are moving, and headed out to lunch with her sister, brother-in-law and waited for Erik and his son to join us.

Once we were all in one place, and we were regaled with tales of the US Pro Challenge, we piled into the car and headed out to Estes Park. Our destination was, first, to hit the Stanley Hotel, the most haunted hotel in the country and the inspiration for The Shining, and the remake with Steven Weber (the Nicholson/Kubrick original movie was actually filmed in Oregon). I got a couple of fantastic souvenirs (will reveal later - can't spoil the surprise!), had gelato, and took some obligatory photos. Then, we were off to Narrow Trail Ranch, our home for the next week.

Wow - what a place! This is a stunning 5-bedroom log cabin, with plenty of extra space for more beds to be set up to accomodate all of us "campers" and staffers. The kitchen is a tremendous chef's kitchen, an amazing set of decks, including one that has a hot tub, a fireplace, etc. One of my fellow campers and I share the loft - I'm sofa-couching it, but I'm happy! This place is palatial. We had a meet & greet over "Happy Hour" and then a splendid dinner of tacos - fillings included all kinds of vegetables, bison, homemade guacamole, and this incredible green rice. After dinner, we chilled out, we all got to know each other and then got to bed.

The next morning, I got up very early (as, apparently, many East Coasters do), and I helped Antelope Jamboree & Chamomile, our cooks/camp mom, make stuffed french toast. The group filled up on breakfast and headed to Mary's Lake for our first climbing outing.

The night before, the 13 of us shared that most everyone, but me, had climbing experience. I really had none. I'd gone bouldering locally years ago, but that was about it. So when I saw what was being set up for us to climb, the fear built up. The "easy" climb had a large, round piece of rock jutting out of the side. I'm sorry, but I thought that sheer, flat rock was going to be tough, let alone rocks that were convex! I started to climb, but it was not happening. The panic of climbing set in. I was way over my head. Everyone else seemed to be flying up these rocks with very little struggle. I couldn't get higher than 4 feet in the ground.

Defeated, I went to as quiet, removed part of where we were as possible, pulled out Catching Fire, determined to finish reading it, which I did. Our camp dad, Two Dogs, came over to chit chat. While talking, I explained my hesitation. Not only was I afraid of heights, but I'd been out of commission, physically, for too long. I was stressed over the expectation of being affiliated with LIVESTRONG as a leader to be the one cancer survivor in the group who excelled in athletics despite teh disease and treatment, and that I felt lost because I couldn't meet those expectations. And the fact that I hate quitting, but it was too much.

I honestly felt that I was going to miserable all week - that I'd be sitting for hours on the ground watching everyone else, just as I had on Monday. I just wished that a guide had set up a real beginner rock to work on. I started to cry, once alone, as I saw that there was such demand iun the group that the guides set up additional climbs to keep up with everyone's pace while I sat, watching, without the ability to climb anything but in and out of the minivans.

Then, Little Bits came up and told me that he'd set up a climb just for me. It was on the same rock as the most advanced climb, plus, it had a tree. I was a bit intimidated, but he assured me it was easy. I harnessed up and I started climbing. And climbing, but he assured me it was easy. I harnessed up and I started climbing. And climbing. And climbing. I hear people shouting, "You go, Hit & Run!" "Kick that rock's ass, Hit & Run!" Little Bits told me to look down, and I did. I was high up in the air. Not a little, but a lot. And I was inches away from touching the caribiner in victory. When I reached up to that metal hook upon which my life-line was hooked, I couldn't believe it. I had climbed this rock. My confidence was up.

I came down and saw that everyone was charging back to the "beginner" rock. I followed suit and discovered that Spare Parts had set up some rappelling. I decided that I would go for it.

I go on belay again, and start my descent. I'm doing fine until I get to a roof. I cannot see anything below this rock. I cannot see where to set my foot. Panic sets in. Spare Parts keeps reassuring me that he has me. He tells me to just do it. At this point, all eyes are on me. And the hysteria sets in. I'm cursing at Spare Parts, screaming, crying, snot bubbles blowing out my nose because I realize that I'm trapped. I can't go up, I can't go down. My legs won't move. I'm shaking, I'm terrified, and I'm paralyzed with fear. I can't see where my feet should go. I don't trust the equipment. This guy who weighs as much as my thigh is literally holding my life in his hands, and I've got a big drop to go.

"Trust your feet" starts echoing through my head, the mantra my old friend, a climber, taught me when we were sixteen - that same friend who got me into cycling and that hasn't spoken to me for 2 years and won't because he can't get over his anger. This makes things worse - now, not only am I hanging over a precipice, but now I'm flooded with grief and longing for a friendship that is overdue for repair that I miss terribly. So now, I'm friend-sick, terrified of the drop, feeling out of control, weighing way too much than I should, with the harness digging into me leaving what I'm sure will be wicked welts. I'm low enough to the ground and far enough from the top that I really only have one choice - GO DOWN. I'm trapped. With all eyes on me, cheering me on. "GO HIT & RUN! You can do it!" I can't type out what I said because I'm too much of a lady, but let's just say that I threw curses at the man handing the rope keeping me from falling - probably not the wisest move - and throwing profanities that would shock Robin Williams.

Then, there's a scramble at the top. Two of my caribiners clack together and there's a shift. I feel a small rock fall on me. I start panicking even more, but Spare Parts explains it was just the rope adjusting, nothing was falling, it was ok. He was cool as a cucumber (earning him the second nickname "Ice Man"). Another guide, Little Bits, rushes over with another rope and some gear. I just close my eyes, now shaking because my arms are so tired and my hands are burned from holding the rope in a death grip. Next thing I know, Little Bits is next to me, with his leg below mine guiding me below the roof. All of a sudden I feel rock beneath my toes. Slowly, we go down together and I make it to the ground.

I have no other reaction but to laugh hysterically. And I start cracking jokes.

I did it. I was done for the day.

After that, we went back to dinner and our campfire. I was floored that so many folks brought up my breakdown as their favorite moment - not because of entertainment value - though it must have been quite spectacular - but because I conquered my fear.

I don't know how much of that was me conquering a fear, but just doing what I had to do. If it helps someone else, though, that's awesome.