Home of the Fairfield/Westchester County LIVESTRONG Army leader, Rica. What goes on in the life of a LIVESTRONG Leader? Raise funds so Rica and her kids can represent at the Austin, TX Challenge again & bring some friends to kick cancer with us!
Well, yesterday was a bust. I didn't ride. I didn't canoe. I got wrapped up in the Olympic equestrian cross-country events and then I had an interview. Lame, I admit.
Today, I've got a lot of housework to do, some planning for the upcoming ROCK the RIDGE benefiting LIVESTRONG on September 23 with my partner-in-MTB-crime, Sean. But the weather doesn't look like it's going to cooperate for a ride, either.
So this self-motivation thing hasn't been working so well. I guess my own cancer journey isn't stimulating enough for me.
As I reflect on what a lazy slob I've become (well, I've always been a slob, but the lazy part is relatively new post-cancer), I think it's time that I rely on an oldie but a goodie when it comes to motivation - I look to YOU to kick my ass into the canoe and/or onto the bike.
The bike, sadly, poses more difficulty. Because I live at the bottom of a valley, it would mean a 3-4 mile climb up onto decent roads, with some hills close to a 10% gradient. Pardon my French, but it's a bitch even when one is in great fitness. Not me.
Therefore, I would have to load up the bike and drive to a new location to start the ride. Given the state of my fitness, it would have to be relatively flat, so I'd be shooting at the Norwalk/Westport beaches, a ride I was introduced to on the Blooming Metric 3 years ago. So, for a donation of $36 or more, I will ride the Norwalk/Westport beaches.
I want to do this. I really do. But wanting to do it hasn't been getting me out the front door. There is too much anxiety and fear. But you all have made me fearless over the years - from my first mountain bike races, to taking on ridiculous distances. And this isn't lip service - every single time I've looked to quit, I think of all of you supporting me, investing in me, and I stop myself. If I've ever quit an event, it's been with aching guilt.
You really do motivate me. Please, help me regain my fitness again. Help me get back on my bike.
... another door opens. I cannot tell you how many times I've heard this from my LIVESTRONG peers. And, in many ways, it's true.
A door slammed shut last week, and is locking shut today. As a result, I am planning on spending the next couple of weeks training my body back into some semblance of being fit in preparation for my cancer survivors' rock climbing expedition with First Descents.
I look to canoeing around the lake every morning, throwing some bike rides into my days, doing housework, and getting back into the day-to-day, physically. Yes, I have a couple of minor residual procedures to complete reconstruction, but, for the first time since last August, it should not interfere with physical efforts.
I look to my rock climbing trip in Colorado as a restart. (Though, I'm most unhappy at the prospect that I may break some nails - I've been working very hard to regrow them since Chemo - and they are splendidly long now!)
I won't lie - I've been terrified that this ending would put me in dire financial straits - more than before. But an interesting thing has been happening - I've been getting more and more interview requests, and from corporations that I've been trying to get into for years. Better than that, they are such interesting positions!
The coming months will be telling ones.
Will I find that "dream job" that will solve my career, and financial, needs? Will the best thing for my son be to continue high school here or in Boston with his father? Will I be able to regain my strength and athleticism and be able to ride 100 miles in Austin in October? Will I be able to get back on the mountain bike again?
It's been a crazy couple of months. Emotional, strange, and somewhat deflating.
It all started when I left my former employer. It had been 3 years of some great ups, and difficult downs, and it was finally time to leave. Within 2 days, I was at what was a dream job. It was such an ideal situation that I was willing to put some of my LIVESTRONG advocacy to the side while I acclimated to this new position - hence why I've been relatively under the radar. But I had to work hard to ensure benefits, as a cancer survivor, COBRA and private insurance was astronomical. I had to make sure I had financial security - my medical bills have been coming in with a frenzy, I was just struggling my way out of foreclosure. The salary promised, the position, the place - it was all finally what I had been working towards for so long.
When I interviewed, and started, I wore my wig. I figured I had to put my best foot forward. I didn't want to flaunt my cancer survivorship - I wanted my work to stand on its own. I didn't want to make anyone question my ability. I didn't want any sympathy or favoritism. Yes, some isolated individuals, including my friend who referred me and the Director of HR knew, but otherwise, I was under the radar (so I thought).
Right around my birthday, June 20, we'd been hit by heat waves. I was getting more and more paranoid about my wig sliding off as my hair grew in. I felt that I was secure enough in the position to finally go wigless, so I did. I got a lot of compliments on my new "haircut," to which I stammered, "Uh, right, yes, thanks." I didn't want to lie - after all, for some reason, I was still freelancing vs. having the permanent offer as I'd been told would happen within a week or two. So it was an awkward transition from full head of long, straight hair to short, Little Orphan Annie curly hair.
During my time there, and especially once I'd gone without the wig, I noticed this young woman, with long hair and a pleasant smile, would extend an especially friendly smile and nod when we passed in the hallway. I responded in kind, of course - I had no reason not to.
One morning, while I was getting coffee, she approached me, introduced herself. I gave her my name and, after a moment of small talk and once everyone else had left the kitchen, she leaned forward, told me that she admired my hair, smiled, and lifted the front of her hair - she was wearing a wig, too, and was a survivor.
While I hadn't been advocating as strongly as before, I guess I just had that vibe.
Last week was especially bittersweet. While I worked terribly hard to make the impressions I needed to in order to go permanent, I realized that my first cancerversary was quickly approaching. I was, admittedly, getting more and more depressed as I worked more and more without a permanent offer. Additionally, I had very much seen this position as the light at the end of my very long cancer & financial tunnel. It was the hope that I was unsure existed while I struggled through treatment with a most unstable previous employment.
Just a couple of days before my cancerversary, I was told "my assignment" was ending next Friday, and I was being replaced by a former co-worker of some of the folks in my department. I realized that there really wasn't much that I could have done. I had done my best, but the sense that nothing I could do would yield a permanent offer seemed to be accurate.
So, as if my first cancerversary was going to be a cocktail of emotions already, it was compounded with even greater fear and anxiety. A while back, I had been questioning why I had gone through all of what I had just to return to a job that was so frustrating, where I felt like I had to fight to get my job done and help make things better at work. But I couldn't really leave it - I had to have the security of benefits. I had felt trapped. So when I was out of that situation and in this one, I felt liberated.
But now, I just feel abandoned. I really liked it where I will be until Friday. Granted, it was awkward for me to meet people, introduce myself and feel part of a team where I wasn't really sure how I stood, but I did my best. The people, as a whole, are fantastic. And there is so much potential that I really know I could have impacted.
Now? I don't know how I'm going to afford COBRA. I'm just, now, in a position to be able to regain physical strength. I am struggling so hard to see this as one door closing and seeing another door opening. But this door just felt slammed in my face, at one of the most difficult times.
I apologize if this doesn't seem very inspiring. But this is my cancer experience, to date.
I guess my cancer surviving peers that didn't experience are terribly lucky.
My best advice is do your best to secure employment, so when you come out the other side, you can still work, earn a living, and not have to worry.
That Tweet sent me reeling. I'd Tweeted Lance many times before, as many fans and LIVESTRONGfollowers do, with no response. This was unsolicited. It was touching and moving to think that I crossed his radar and he chose to speak up. I was flattered. And inspired.
The second was when Alberto Contador & team made some futile attempt to sway those determining whether or not he'd be stripped of his Tour de France title by starting a school in Israel. All of a sudden, he developed a keen interest in Israeli-Palestinian politics - coincidentally while he was being judged by an Israeli. I tweeted, "@velonews @lancearmstrong What's your take on Contador's & Saxo Bank's 'project' in Israel this week?" Lance's response?
@rica620 haven't seen it but I'd like to go to Israel!
— Lance Armstrong (@lancearmstrong) December 1, 2011
I will go on record that I consider this exchange an official acceptance of my invitation to give Lance Armstrong a personal tour of Israel as his tour guide. We now, obviously, have a strong personal relationship. (Ok, well, maybe not a strong, personal relationship, but at the very least, I'm a repeat Tweet offender.) After all, I met him at Gracie Mansion, only a month later, I was having dinner at his house in Austin. (Ok, well, me and, like 300 other people during the Ride for the Roses festivities during the LIVESTRONG Challenge.)
But his last Tweet to me (and the title of this blog entry) this week meant a lot. And, to me, it is a big reminder of why LIVESTRONG is just such an important organization.
You may have noticed that my blog has slowed to a trickle. Yes, I've been busy, that's a big part of it. Between appointments, trying to get back into the swing of a regular schedule, and all the LIVESTRONG events I've been putting together, finding time to write is challenging.
But there's a bit of a confession I should make.
My surgery to replace my expander implants with the silicone implants took place 3 months ago. I was excited. The way it seemed, I'd have the nipple reconstruction by end of March, early April, I'd be back on my bike, and progressing rapidly towards recovery. Normalcy. Putting the whole active cancer "thing" behind me and moving forward. Of course, I could never leave behind the journey I took, but I saw the hardest part of the journey as being almost behind me.
I've spoken before about cancer's sick sense of humor. Even when you have "No Evidence of Disease," medically, the damage it causes with primary, secondary and tertiary treatments never seem to go away. I am the evidence of disease.
Take my fingernails, for example. My significantly altered hyponychium (quick), with the whites of the nail drifting closer and closer to my cuticle, is just one reminder of this. Every time my still-brittle nails break in an awkward or dumb way, and I can file my nail down much farther after than I ever thought I could, I'm reminded of the chemotherapy. Every time I simply try to clean under my nails when I give myself a manicure, and the skin attaching my nail to my finger flakes and separates in odd ways, I know it's a result of the chemotherapy. Which is because of the cancer.
That's a small thing, I know. But it's constant. As is the fact that here I am, 3 months later, and the nipple reconstruction is still weeks away. Why? Because my left breast isn't healing properly. In a sick twist of déjà vu, my left breast is not healing right. It is swollen, not quite as badly as before, and not quite as pink, but still bad enough that my doctor doesn't want me to exercise, still. I mean, it's only been since October that I've been back on the bike. That's not so bad, right? (Tell my ever-expanding waistline and rear end that.) How to put this delicately? Um... the wound was still seeping along the incision from the last surgery in a couple of spots. No matter what I did, nothing was making it heal faster. Sadly, my surgeon was out sick for a long time, so I couldn't see him until recently.
So, for the past few weeks, I've stuck in this stupid limbo. And I couldn't get any closer to putting cancer behind me. There really wasn't much to report. Had I kept up my blog, it like would have read along the lines of, "Got the kids out the door for school. Went to my loft, logged in for work, went down into my room to change, put on yoga pants and a t-shirt, as they are the only things that fit. Too lazy to make coffee, so I drowsily got my work done. Kids came home, started their homework, kept working, made dinner, slinked back to bed." Wash, rinse and repeat, with a few aberrations. I didn't think it was noteworthy.
Nor did I think it was something a LIVESTRONG Leader should admit publicly. There's a tremendous guilt when you put yourself forward as a leader in an organization like LIVESTRONG, and that strong face you put forward is concealing something very different. You feel like a hypocrite. Like a failure to the organization and the people you address.
Then, when things were getting really depressing, I saw my doctor who decided I needed to get a sonogram on the left breast and I was put on the same antibiotics I was put on right before I went into the hospital with the infection. I was terrified that I'd have the same thing happen again. That I'd have to go into the hospital, that the implant would have to be removed and replaced again, that I wouldn't heal any faster, or worse, the reconstruction wasn't working and I wouldn't be able to have reconstruction at all.
The terribly clear sonogram. Top slides present day, bottom slides,
from before. This is a good or a bad thing? Who the hell knows.
So, yet again, I found myself at the Tully Center having another sonogram on the left side. I had to explain to the technician that this wasn't my first time I was at the rodeo, no, we aren't looking for cancer, we're looking to find a reason for the swelling and to rule out a seroma or infection.
My left breast was tender and painful enough that even just the gentle pressure of the sonogram's transducer on my side and along certain areas was enough to make me flinch and wince. It shouldn't be that painful anymore. I sat there, looking at the screen, seeing the vast black half of the screen where breast tissue used to be and is now occupied by silicone and foreign matter that the sonogram no longer considers a part of me, seeing nominal lumps of mystery along the horizon. There was, once again, a reminder that there isn't a honeycomb of breast appearing on the screens. It was dead, alien crap filling that void, now.
The depression grew as, after the technician was done and went to consult with the radiologist, I attempted to wipe off the gel from my breast, but struggled as gobs of it had fallen into the valley of the 4-inch incision across my breast where a nipple used to be. It hurt when the towel brushed against the top half of my breast, where the nerve endings were still trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and only sent a half-burning half-itching sensation to my brain. Finally, I gave up. Who cares if the crap was still on my breast? No one was going to see it, touch it. I didn't feel it the way I did before. It didn't matter. It wasn't a part of me anymore. It wasn't something I was proud of, nor did I see it as beautiful or attractive. So what's a little dried up goo?
The technician came in and said that there were signs of necrosis, but nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about? Necrosis isn't something to worry about? Necrosis is the premature death in living tissue. Nothing to worry about? She further explained that the necrosis wasn't as bad as what they saw in November, the last time I was there. I asked if it was normal to see necrosis like this. She said it was as normal as could be expected.
What did she mean by that? How should any of this be expected?
I came home feeling defeated. The week before, a night that was supposed to be wonderful and romantic, etc ended up a disaster because my patience was shot, as well as my self-esteem, and I couldn't at all enjoy the evening because I hated the way that I felt and looked. I'd been looking forward to this getaway for months, and anticipated it to be a wonderful time. Instead, I left the evening angry, disgusted, disappointed and sad. Then, I was back in the very place that detected my cancer, and the previous infections, seeing images on a screen that just got more depressing every time I walked into the facility.
Now, my left breast has dying tissue, it's painful, but it's not enough of a concern to admit me, but enough of a concern to continue to ground me, delay reconstructive surgery several weeks, and leaving me in this god-damned limbo. I went to change out of the clothing that I see as presentable to wear outside the house and into my torn up, stained yoga pants, soft t-shirt and sweatshirt. As I got out of one set of clothing, I looked down at the body that I no longer saw as mine, that disgusts me, and, as soon as it was covered up with volumes of fabric, I got into bed and cried.
I still had the ROCK the RIDE & RUN to finish prepping for on Sunday. In the back of my mind, I kept telling myself, "Who the hell do you think you are to represent LIVESTRONG when you don't even know how to do that yourself? What does LIVESTRONG mean anymore, anyway?" The guilt that I was even asking myself those questions made me even more depressed.
But, I'd made a commitment, and I don't back down from my commitments. So, I got ready for the weekend. Saturday was the Sustainability Fair at John Jay High School - not only a last chance to recruit runners, riders and walkers for Sunday, but also to talk about how LIVESTRONG sees their commitment to sustainability as a means to make the world better for cancer survivors as demonstrated by our Headquarters - and Sunday was the ROCK the RIDE & RUN.
Instead of making more flyers for the Sustainability Fair, which is not exactly the most "green" option, I decided to put together a PowerPoint presentation with information about LIVESTRONG's headquarters, features of the building that promoted green living, etc. While gathering information, photos and slides for the presentation, I decided to include the Manifesto at the tail end to remind people of what LIVESTRONG was all about. It was about 4:40am, and I was alone on the sofa.
I was running the slideshow, making sure the automation and loop worked, going into the other room to get our stuff ready to load into the car, and then I heard the intro to the Manifesto. I heard Lance's voice speaking, with authority, about all that LIVESTRONG believed in. I walked into the room and saw my friend, Ashleigh Moore, on the screen. I sat back down on the sofa, fixated on the screen. And then I wept.
"That's right," I thought. "That's right."
So, I Tweeted Lance. At 5:16am EST. I knew it was too early for him to read anything. But, in my hazy, insomniac thinking, I felt that I needed to thank him, and LIVESTRONG.
Bad post-chemo day emotionally. Watched #LIVESTRONG Manifeso 2 prep for tomorrow. Reminded me what it's all about. Thank you @lancearmstrong
— Rica Mendes (@rica620) April 28, 2012
And then I got my third Tweet from Lance.
@rica620 hang in there Rica. We're here for ya and all pulling for you.
— Lance Armstrong (@lancearmstrong) April 28, 2012
Now, of course, in 20/20 hindsight, I realize that my Tweet may have made it seem that I had just had chemo they day before or something, so I was going to post a clarification Tweet saying, "Just so you know, it's been a LONG TIME post-chemo, so forgive me for intruding." And, then I stopped myself.
The cancer experience doesn't end with the last chemo treatment. The pain, stress and struggle doesn't stop when they remove your port, or stop radiation. It can linger for years or days. It can be absent from your life until months, even years later.
But, unlike most other organizations who cease all support and care for you when the chemotherapy & radiation stops, that's where LIVESTRONGpicks up. Yes, LIVESTRONG does a tremendous amount during what most consider as "active treatment," but, like no other organization, LIVESTRONG doesn't drop you as soon as "active treatment" ends. They still care. They still do.
And I shouldn't feel guilty, as a LIVESTRONG Leader, for feeling weak, being depressed, etc. Just because I'm a bit more tapped into the innerworkings of LIVESTRONG doesn't make me immune to cancer and the struggle it presents. (Hell, if that were the case, I wouldn't have gotten cancer in the first place, right?) Do I get special treatment or support because I'm a LIVESTRONG Leader? I don't think so. I mean, yes, I got to attend the LIVESTRONG Assembly, just as a Mary Kay Consultant, I can attend Seminar. So, in that sense, I was treated just as any other LIVESTRONG Leader would have been. And, yes, I have a more personal, direct relationship with some of the amazing folks at LIVESTRONG, so I have a more direct line to them. I don't get to "skip the line" as a LIVESTRONG Leader fighting cancer.
But as a cancer fighter, I need & get the same support that anyone else does. Lance needed it when he was going through treatment, as he reminded us in Austin in March. Cancer is status & title blind. As such, the need for support during and after treatment is still present.
Lance & every single one of you at LIVESTRONG, the partner programs, and fellow Leaders that are pulling for me and have given your support, if I don't say it enough, I'll say it again: Thank you. I try and do my best to make you proud, to represent, to raise awareness and funds, and be a good leader. But you also remind me it's ok to just be me, take some time and take care of myself with you by my side.
Dance With me Dance Studios is one of the nation's leading ballroom dance studios and home to Tony Dovolani, Maksim Chmerkovskiy and Val Chmerkovskiy who are dance professionals from ABC's Dancing with the Stars. The studio was founded in 2004 by Maksim Chmerkovskiy, Sasha Chmerkovskiy and Jhanna Volynets. Dance With Me recently opened doors in Stamford, Conn. and is proud to provide LIVESTRONG and the Lance Armstrong Foundation with a rare private coaching session with Tony Dovolani at its elegant new studio at 20 Summer Street in Stamford.
Other raffle items include services by the Travelling Bike Shop, sessions with SpinCycle in Pound Ridge, NY, Pound Ridge Pilates in Pound Ridge, NY, an item from Antiques & Tools and more!
Tickets are available for a $5 donation for one ticket, $10 for 3 tickets and $20 for 7 tickets. You can donate the day of the ROCK the RIDE & RUN or you can make your donation online at laf.convio.net/goto/RicaRocksAustin2012. Please include the tag #DWTS to indicate that your donation is to be entered into the raffle.
Rica Mendes oversees the Pound Ridge Rock the Ride and Run to help raise money for Lance Armstrong's LIVESTRONG Foundation.
Photo credit:Bob Dumas
POUND RIDGE, N.Y. - Breast cancer survivor Rica Mendes, a longtime Pound Ridge resident who currently resides in South Salem, recently had the opportunity to join 500 people from around the world to discuss the ongoing global fight against cancer.
Mendes, a leader for the cancer-awareness and service group LIVESTRONG, which was founded by Lance Armstrong, met in Austin, Texas with LIVESTRONG partners, advisors and constituents. She advocated for the 28 million around the world living with cancer and brought awareness about cancer survivor services to the Westchester area.
“As a LIVESTRONG leader, I’m always organizing local events like the upcoming Rock the Ride and Run on Sunday, April 29 in Pound Ridge that brings people together to raise funds for the Foundation," Mendes said. “We try to raise awareness of the services [LIVESTRONG] provides to anyone affected by cancer and help address the needs of cancer survivors at home and around the world.”
Mendes said the Austin event was not only like a family reunion, but it allowed the members to “plug back into the bigger picture and to learn more about what LIVESTRONG is doing in 2012 and the future.”
At the State of the Foundation lunch, participants listened to a speech from Doug Ulman, the group’s president and CEO, and were then surprised with a visit from Armstrong. The renowned cyclist and cancer survivor talked about what LIVESTRONG has planned at the Foundation for 2012, which includes implementing international anti-stigma campaigns.
“The opportunity for all of us to meet face to face with one another is rare, and we embraced it,” Mendes said. “To be able to engage with LIVESTRONG staff, as well as veteran Leaders and fundraisers, social media influencers and our partners was invaluable. It’s the first time that we were able to workshop as a group and I can’t wait to do it again next year.”
Mendes said she now feels even more prepared and equipped to work for those touched by cancer in the Westchester and Fairfield areas.
“In addition to programs like LIVESTRONG at the Y, which was just approved for the Wilton YMCA, LIVESTRONG-supported programs are just as strong for the family members who support the cancer fighter,” she said. “Camp Kesem (at Columbia University), for example, provides a free week of recreation and support to the children of cancer fighters. There are so many fantastic resources that are becoming more and more available and I look forward to helping connect cancer fighters with all that LIVESTRONG has to offer.”
The foundation provides help to individuals and families facing cancer by phone at855-220-7777, online and in person at the LIVESTRONG Cancer Navigation Center in Austin. Services are free of charge.
I woke up to another lovely morning in Cedar Park, with just enough time to pack up and watch an episode of "Shahs of Sunset" on my Blackberry (dear BravoTV, why even bother having Full Episodes on your website when you only offer the current full episodes on mobile... um, hello? People still use laptops and such and would rather watch a full episode on a larger screen than my cat's forehead.) before my friend, Dave, came back from his early start at work to rid his home of me take me to the Renaissance Austin Hotel. In all fairness, he has a newborn, and was going back to work, and hosting in-laws that don't speak English, so much of the previous days I would stay out of the house to stay out of the way, let his wife sleep, and then try and come back in before everyone went to sleep.
Either way, I made it to the BEAUTIFUL Renaissance Austin Hotel with plenty of time to check-in, unpack in my ridiculously large room, layout all my wigs, take a nap, schmooze with several LIVESTRONG Leaders as they came into the lobby before meeting my college friend, Emily, for lunch. One of the nice things about going to Austin with plenty of time around the planned events is that I had been able to meet up with a number of folks I rarely get the chance to see.
How good does that look. I mean, SERIOUSLY!
Em and her NOM lunch!
Now, THAT'S a spread!
Em and I went to Manuel's for lunch - NOM! - and I was given a lesson on the evils on infant circumcision. (Of course, as a Jew, I'm not averse to the practice for religious purposes, but I get and appreciate the issue for which Em is lobbying.) We got to catch up on the pros and cons of different cities' theatre scenes.
After lunch it was back to the hotel for some lounging, meeting and greeting with my Senior LIVESTRONG Leader, Patrick and a number of others that had been coming in throughout the day. Dinner was at Bandera's, and, yeah, I went for the rib eye. Shoot me. After that, I took a pass on bar revelry and hit the sack. I needed some shut eye.
3/29/2011:
The morning buffet at the Assembly was a sight to be seen. Two lines of tables covered in eggs, fruit, tortillas, salsas, beans, pastries... you name it, it was there. Except for the coffee. That was served individually. In teeny cups. (Dude... yeah, I know, they were standard catering cups, but this is not your typical crew.) No complaints, though - all in fun. Off we were to the Oak Glass Room (Glass Oak Room?) which was a lovely room relatively removed from the rest of the hotel, so we got to take a nice little stroll. There, we were privy to some great information about the Leader program. There are 3 main areas where we function, and many of us pick one and focus on that. The sessions were great with helping us see how to branch out a bit more, what programs were taking place and how we could help locally, nationally and legislatively.
Lunch was a delightful meal, and we were treated by a State of the Foundation update by Doug Ulman.
We were then treated with a surprise visit from none other but "The Boss," Lance Armstrong.
Finally! I got a photo of him smiling! Photo Credit: Rica Mendes
After lunch, our meetings continued, where we were introduced to Elden Nelson, aka "Fat Cyclist," and we had the opportunity to learn more and more about how we can bring LIVESTRONG back to our communities. A few sessions more and then we were dismissed so we could get ready for the "Texas Casual Dinner."
Now, a few words of caution. When inviting people from outside of Texas to a "Texas Casual" dinner, you need to explain what this means. As previous posts describe, I spent nearly a full day searching for a pair of cowboy boots, and ended up driving in circles for almost 45 minutes to find a cowboy hat. I also figured I'd look to "GCB" for an idea of what "Texas Casual" might look like. The result was this:
Of course, I learned, after realizing I was the only idiot outside of the University of Texas marching band to be wearing a cowboy hat and boots to the dinner. (A few folks wore their boots, but weren't stupid enough to match them with the hat.) I, however, felt I was committed to the look, so I stuck with it. This cowgirl knows to leave her hat on. And, after a few dozen margaritas (cleverly served in mason jars), I didn't really care that I looked like a reject from "The Real Housewives of Texas."
Hanging out at the hotel bar for a while, making plans to go out the next night and some fun stories and photos with ghostly orbs and Pat Chetfield and some of the LIVESTRONG staffers ended the night before I hit the hay.
3/30/2011:
After breakfast was the Collaborative Mission Meeting, where we got to meet some of our partners including the Patient Advocacy Foundation, which provides case managers who give financial, emotional and other practical support and advice to cancer fighters, the Navigate Cancer Foundation, which assigns a nurse navigator to a cancer fighter to help them through the medical process, clarify the diagnosis and terms, and help the cancer fighter sort out their treatment plans, etc, Camp Kesem, which provides children of cancer fighters a free camp getaway all over the country, run and funded by college students and their own fundraising efforts, and our international partners. To kick things off, Camp Kesem led us in a round of "I'm a Little Teapot" Kesem style.
Especially meaningful for me was when the panelist for the Navigate Cancer Foundation announced her name. I immediately teared up. Sharon, whose voice was unmistakable to me, was not only representing this amazing partner organization, but she was my nurse navigator. I had the privilege of standing before the Assembly to declare without wavering that Sharon and her staff were largely responsible for why I was standing before them, confident in my decisions, etc. After that heartfelt reunion and Q&A session with the program leaders, we continued on with a role-playing exercise so that we all had an understanding of the complexities of just a basic diagnosis and the impact on an individual, as well as the many networks involved.
As quickly as one could say "LIVESTRONG," we were off to get our pictures taken by the amazing Liz Kreutz in a group photo that could have been a disaster had it not been for a little invention known as "deodorant."
Can you find me? 5th row, 4th from the left, framed in armpit land.
Since the canoe is much more convenient in terms of location (the lake is literally a couple of hundred feet away from my house), for every $18 that is donated to my LIVESTRONG Challenge account daily (even once I find a job), I will canoe 1 clockwise lap around the circumference of Lake Kitchawan - that is a 2-mile lap.
