Life's full of surprises... as is your abdomen.

So, yesterday was the oophorectomy and the reconstruction continued (part 5?). I think at least 4 prep nurses came in, which was fine, since Dad and I are old hands at the pre-op prep. My name is Rica Mendes, I was born on June 20, and I'm here for thus-and-such procedure. I so wanted to tell one of the nurses, "My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die," but the last nurse to come in didn't seem like the "Princess Bride" type.

As always, Dr. Nordberg came in, on time, looking dapper in his suit and tie, pleasant demeanor, purple marker in hand. I felt like a road atlas after he was done with me - circles and squiggles all across my chest, under my arms, and a bit below. Dr. Ratner never came in - she had a procedure earlier in the morning that was running late. The anesthesiologist came in and explained he'd give me a TAP block, and additional local anesthesia to my abdomen to ensure the least amount of pain.

I never get over the walk into the OR. Not the actual walk through the hallway, but the entrance into the OR. The room is never as dark and calming as on "Grey's Anatomy." It's bright, you can see the sound-proof ceiling tiles, the floors are white with minimal splatters of iodine staining. Various nurses are attending to tons of trays, and the operating table is there, with arms out, a Hannibal Lecter looking mask sitting where your head goes, and the blue cloths all around. I get that flash of, "Why do I feel like I'm being mounted on a horizontal cross?" when the nurses help me up onto the table and put my arms out to my sides and tell me not to move. There is nothing to do but to stare at the ceiling and the four operating room lights with those weird handles in the middle of the bulbs. This anesthesiologist didn't play music like the others, so I can hear the clanging of tools and the tell-tale, "Ok, we're going to give you a little something in the IV and then some gas and you'll fall.... " And that's about it. I lose all sense of time. I lose all sensation. And I wake up in that awful fog.

I hate coming out of anesthesia. As a result, I'm usually fast to come out - once I start waking up, I'm up.

But not yesterday. I was in that loathsome fog for way too long. I was too sleepy for too long. I had no compunction to move. I couldn't stay awake. I was too unaware of where I was, and what was going on around me. I hated it. I forced myself to try and snap out of it. I saw my friend's little sister, Kara, a recovery room nurse, and called her over. I made her talk to me. But that wasn't enough. I felt bloated - like the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka. I was sore. Something wasn't right. I was parched. The saliva glands in my mouth were in pain. My lips were sticking too much to my teeth. My throat felt way too dry and scratchy. My dad and son kept coming in and out and I couldn't keep my eyes open long enough. I felt clammy. I felt sweaty.

I felt like shit.

Something wasn't right.

I asked to go to the bathroom, and I was walked to the bathroom. I could barely feel my feet. I didn't know if I was upright. I was overly disoriented,. This wasn't right. I got to the bathroom, and all I felt was cool. I started to feel a bit like myself. I didn't even have to go - I just needed to move. Walking back to recovery felt better.

It was too hot in the recovery room. It was too cozy. It was like a womb. I had to get out. Finally, we left, but I still couldn't wake up fully. I dozed off in the CVS parking lot as my dad and son got my meds. The warm, summer breeze felt good and lulled me back to sleep repeatedly.

Ironically, once home, I couldn't sleep. Percocet, Ambien and more, and I couldn't sleep. It was awful.

And today, forget about it. I felt inflated - still. My stomach hadn't been this rounded since I was pregnant. Something was just off. I spent time in the hammock. I couldn't go to the bathroom. I couldn't move without pain - pain focused on the right.

Finally, it got to be too much. I broke down and cried. I called the doctor's office, furious, that I still wasn't "right," that I was still bloated, that I still couldn't go to the bathroom after 2 days, and that she didn't bother to see me before or after the surgery. I was neglected and something was wrong.

After too long, earlier this evening, the surgeon called me. She explained that they inflated me with gas to be able to see my abdomen clearly, and that the gas would pass. She also explained that she had come to see me in recovery - she even drew me a picture. I have zero recollection. That sent me into a panic.

But then, the fun part - they removed a 3-4cm cyst along with my right ovary. That's not small. That's big. They were going to biopsy my ovaries anyway, but holy crap! I cyst! I panicked again.

Dr. Ratner explained they decided to check out my liver and other organs. All was clear. But that cyst on the right side was not easy to remove (hence, the extra pain). But the good news - it was benign. Everything was benign.

So I am further in the clear. But far less than whole.

Good? Bad?

Right now, I'm on Percocet, so I'm in no position to make any sound judgements.

Stop riding my coat tails, Ms. Jolie!

Just like she copied my voluptuous, succulent lips, she had to go ahead and lop off her perfect breasts, just like I had to a couple of years ago. Granted, she decided not to wait until she heard the words, "You've got cancer," to do it, but still. I guess imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I'm flattered.

But, now, she's going all "Single White Female" on me with getting an oopharectomy.

Oh, no, Angelina-chica, this is where I draw the line.

I was due to get spayed months ago, it's just that my insurance got all ferkakta. And now, you come along, and you think you're getting your ovaries removed before me? No way. Get in line sista!

So, just to make sure you don't keep trying to lay claim to territory I've already staked, I'm having my ovaries removed on Monday.

Oh. And I'm having my boobs tweaked, too.

Beat that, Miss-Right-Leg-Show-Off!

Stupid BRCA genetic defect... #FUCANCER

It's been too long.

Oh, my readers and those that accidentally chance upon my blog, it has been too long. It has been too long since I've blogged. It's been too long that I've reflected on LIVESTRONG. It's been too long since I've explored what this disease has brought onto my life. It's been to long since I've shared. On some levels, I feel like a champagne bottle shaken and ready to burst. On others, I feel like a sleeping lion about to be shaken awake. So, forgive the ups and downs of this blog entry, but it's time I spill.

So, do you want the good news, the bad news or the status quo? Let's start with the good.

The Good News

I've landed a job. A great job. Yes, it's a contractor position, but this is different. There are benefits - even a 401k. The commute is brilliant (though me thinks not one I can bike to and from, but we'll see as I get stronger this year). It's for a company that I don't think is going anywhere - anyone ever hear of this little known beverage, "Pepsi?" Yeah. Pepsi. I know! I couldn't be happier! My boss is awesome. Our bosses are awesome. The stuff I do is awesome. Am I saying this because I'm new and someone from Pepsi may be reading this blog? You want me, expect me, to say, "Yes, duh." But the answer is, "NO!" I really mean it. (Ok, two flaws. First, I may end up a diabetic, as my friends, particularly my college friends, should remember I'm a cola addict. Second, I am only a contractor, which is kind of like being a Permanent Resident, but not a Citizen. It's fabulous, don't get me wrong, but I'd really like to be a permanent employee. But, maybe, someday, that will happen.)

My hammock is hung up. My summer last year was made most relaxing with the addition of a hammock. While last year's rope hammock rotted over the winter, it's been replaced by another. Next to the hammock I've also added a drink holder, as the cocktails need someplace to reside and not get knocked over.

Son got a job at the local nursery. Very happy for him.

My forget-me-nots are running wild. Literally. Which makes me so happy, as I've tried to grow them for years, and this year, they have taken off - so much so, they are growing like weeds in my yard, so I have to transplant them all over my rose and flower beds.

I have hair. I can officially pull it back into a ponytail. It's a teeny ponytail, I call it more of a bunnytail, but it's there.

Lots of hair. It officially hit my shoulder the other day. That is wicked cool. And it's curly. Not wavy, not with a bit of curl, I mean corkscrew from root to tip. I have a ridiculous Hebro. See below (and this is straightened out!).

 

That's me in the middle. Well, from the hair roots up.

We're looking towards more reconstruction. Why is this in the "Good News" section? Because part of the procedure includes liposuction. Yep! Those spare boobs I've been growing that could be mistaken as being a large butt or a beer belly are going to be put to use! Dr. Nordberg is going to suck fat out and graft it into the areas formerly occupied by breast tissue and around the implants to give a softer look, fill in some gaps, etc. I told him that if he's going to be supplementing the reconstruction with fat, I wouldn't mind being a FFF cup size. I think he thinks I'm kidding. So, we'll see where I end up in a few weeks. Hopefully, I'll end up with an itty bitty butt and waist and REALLY big boobs. If so, you'll know how that happened.

The Bad News

I'm having an oopharectomy in the near future. Essentially, I'm getting spayed, which is going to turn me into a reclusive, territorial kitty with a penchant for sitting on open magazines and open window sills. At least, that's been my experience when I've witnessed other critters getting their ovaries removed. I'm not yet 40, and I'm being put into permanent menopause. For the good news to this procedure, see the last Good News.

Just to make things even more exciting, while my status is still officially NED, during the exam, which included a sonogram which prompted the technician to tell me I have a BEAUTIFUL uterus - hey, I'll take any compliment that comes my way, they saw a "something of no concern" on my right ovary. Why is it of no concern? Because the ovary is coming out anyway and it can be biopsied then. Here's the problem: When I had the mammogram, those innocent looking salt-crystal sized spots were "somethings of no concern" until I got the letter to come back for a follow up. Those spots that I was told would be nothing ended up not only being something, but a really bad something. So, I'm chalking off the "something of no concern" as "something to be terribly concerned about which I can't do a damned thing at the moment." I'm preparing for the worst just because preparing for the best got me a double mastectomy.

The IRS seems to have forgotten that they were not only in receipt of my 2009 taxes, but, if I recall, I even got a refund for 2009. So, now, I have to find my 2009 1040s and resend them. So, here's to hoping they don't decide they didn't get 2010, 2011 and, well, they acknowledge receipt of 2012, so I guess we're good. Actually, it's more amusing than bad, but it's a pain in the butt.

My children are adolescents. My son is 14. I think that's the most catastrophic news. I have a 14-year old boy. Save me. Somebody. And he attends a school with an administration run by morons and a school board reminiscent of an insane asylum - a most untrustworthy, corrupt, power-hungry group of stubborn asses. (Can I say that outloud? Yes, I can. It's my blog and I'll say what I want.) I've had to deal with them in the past, but now they have gone above and beyond all reason. I can't get into specifics, as much as I would love to, as there are open issues in the process of resolution, and by resolution, I mean they are giving themselves a platform upon which to pontificate the most ridiculous parallels and dictating the most absurd rules and regulations. I don't say that loudly. Some of you know all the details, some of you know this isn't the first time that I've come up against this administration of pathetic power mongers who clearly have to compensate for something by asserting authority in all the wrong places and ignoring the actual, hard issues.

My daughter is a willful pre-teen. She has my stubbornness, is too smart for her own good, and seems determined to drive me insane. And wear makeup to school behind my back.

Draco, the bearded dragon, died on Saturday. Funeral services will be Friday.

Had a most unpleasant experience happen with someone whom I've long admired for being a consummate professional. I've done business with them years and now, I wonder how I can.

I had to lock the chocolate chips in the safe to keep the kids from getting at the chocolate chips. I set the combination to the safe and made sure not to write it down anywhere in case someone found it. Now, I can't remember the combination and cannot figure out how to override the combination. So, now, I can't get at my chocolate.

My house is a money pit. Just as deal with a septic tank crisis, I have a water filter crisis. Now, I have a water pressure crisis.

Oh - shoot - I forgot - 4 foot long, 4-8" in diameter limb from our oak tree fell about 2-3 stories onto my head and neck yesterday. I was gardening with my daughter in the morning before taking care of stuff inside. She was next to me, and we were bent over planting bulbs. All of a sudden, there is a sharp pain on my neck, it feels like I've been hit by a baseball bat and I'm seeing black. Once I realize the object I assume my daughter must have smacked me with is still in front of me and my daughter is telling me that I'm bleeding. I stand up and look around. She points down at the limb, now in 3 pieces, and she tells me it fell from the tree. A concussion, a bandage and a bump the size of a grapefruit later, I'm hoping I'm clearheaded and recovered enough to be able to get behind the wheel. The problem? I have a 14-year old boy and a pre-teen daughter who have been driving me nuts today. Somehow, stress doesn't seem to be helping the concussion, as I've had headaches all day - and they are not from the skyfall.

The Status Quo

Some projects have been on hold because of the insanity of my life. My LIVESTRONG efforts are kicking in, though late this year. I'm in the process of opening May 19th's ROCK the RIDE & RUN registration. Painting class is going well, though we've missed the past couple of classes. I'm still trying to get to a point where I can ride again. Not there yet. I have my dress form, but I have yet to sew again.

Other

I'm still feeling somewhat lost. The new job is fantastic, do not get me wrong. But, other than that, and my garden, I feel like I'm not getting anywhere, and I'm not sure why. Some of it is just that as much as I seem to I want to get things moving, I'm just not. This isn't like me. I mean, I can procrastinate, don't get me wrong, with the best of them. But something else is going on and I don't know what, which is just frustrating the bejeezus out of me. There is a lot going on with my kids, but I've just felt somewhat lost and foggy. I don't quite get it. I've been told this is kind of normal for survivors, but I just don't get it.

Anyway, there it is.

My Chemo Buddy

If you've followed this blog during my treatment, you may recall references to someone to whom I referred as my "Chemo Buddy." I shared with you that she was a couple of years younger, we'd known each other for some time, but we were diagnosed around the same time with breast cancer. We started the same chemotherapy regiment on the same day. We lost our hair the same day and shaved our heads the same day. We finished chemo the same day. We celebrated our chemo "graduation" together at Mary's Place by the Sea.

But we weren't identical in our cancer stories. Her cancer was triple negative - far more resistant than my cancers. I had 2 forms of breast cancer, one highly aggressive. I had the BRCA 2 gene mutation which commanded a double mastectomy. She opted for a lumpectomy and radiation with chemo. My cancer was estrogen responsive, so I had to go on hormonal treatment, she did not.

I revealed that while I was very vocal about my cancer journey, she, in my opinion far more bravely, remained relatively silent. While I worked from home, she hid her disease and went to work with little time off to the extent most co-workers has no idea of her battle.

On a personal level, she was never married and had no children. I had been divorced with 2 children. She looked forward to building a family. I looked forward to when my kids went to college so I could romp and play.

Our joint cancer journey, however, tool a drastic turn this fall. She was ripped from the No Evidence of Disease path when she discovered a lump in the same breast which has been radiated - a feat with shocking odds against recurrence. That was bad enough. She and I talked about her getting a double mastectomy as I had and that was what she was considering.

But, then, she was drawn further off-path when they found that the cancer had spread. Each exam revealed another site. Liver. Back. More.

Her doctors no longer spoke of cures, nor treatments. They stopped speaking in terms of years or months.

She was less connected. We went from phone calls to text messages to Facebook messages to the occasional like to a post. I was lucky if I got a one or two word response.

Hospice wasn't an option. She went home where her mother and aunt cared for her. Her sister kept in touch from out of state, and the friend that introduced us and I got updates from her sister, but we couldn't visit or see her. Communication died down.

Then, the phone rang on February 10 as I was wrangling my daughter and her friend who was over for a slumber party. She was gone.

Mary Caprio died at home on the Jersey Shore. This beautiful, vibrant, young woman was gone. My friend, Nadine, lost her baby sister. Lisa lost her friend who helped her recover from the death of her fiancé, one of my dear friends. And I lost my Chemo Buddy.

I'm relieved, now, to be able to name her. I hated to speak of Mary with a label because she was so much more to me. She was my friend. She was my sister with whom we could connect and speak frankly about our cancer and chemo and side effects in a way we could not speak to anyone else.

Her funeral was over a week ago. I'm here in Chicago at the LIVESTRONG Assembly in a room of survivors and supporters in an exercise where we were handed sealed envelopes with a fake diagnosis to role play. My throat choked up because my diagnosis was normal. Mary was recovering better than I was. Even in this fake diagnosis, I was devastated that I am still alive and Mary is gone.

As much as Mary's death hurt me, perhaps the heartbreak that her time ran out so early and mine is still going, but I'm doing it alone without her scares me. The guilt that I, who has been taking longer to recover while she looked better than ever, was embracing life, who hadn't yet experienced the joys of motherhood and marriage, survives is overwhelming. More than anything, the fear that I'm next is too much to bear.

But this is about Mary. A beautiful woman. A devout woman. A loving daughter. A devoted friend. My Chemo Buddy.

Choices? Or a roll of the dice?

It was brought to my attention that I seem to be preoccupied lately. Honey, you don’t know the half of it.

I’m dealing with the typical, and atypical dramas of being a divorced mom of a pre-teen and a teen. I have an ex-husband who fights doing the minimum for his children and is causing them constant angst. I’m still forced to make COBRA payments to a former employer that are higher than many mortgages monthly as I’m still contracting and not receiving benefits. And, oh yes, I’m still contracting and not working in a full-time, permanent post. 

So, in keeping with my previous candor regarding my situation, I’m faced with an even more perplexing situation: to remove or not remove my ovaries right now. If I choose to, do I opt for a hysterectomy or not? Do I voluntarily put myself into an irreversible menopause, or do I gamble on my chances with ovarian cancer? And do I permanently, without question, kill any chance of carrying children ever again?

Let me make one thing clear. I already have 2 children. Two children that, though I love them with every cell of my being, I had too young (at least, too young for me). I’d had every intention of not having children until I was older, after I’d done much more traveling, established my career, following more dreams, etc. So, the fact that my son is only a couple of years away from graduating high school and with my daughter nipping at his heels, means that I’d have my freedom from parental responsibility that much sooner. The notion of having a baby, and having to delay my second shot at my 20s, isn’t high on my to-do list.

Perhaps it’s the concept of no more conceptions: That I may never experience that surge of adrenaline, fear, nerves and excitement when you see the window on the stick I just peed on change from blank to life-changing, nor will I ever have the joy of playing “poke the baby” with my own stomach and have my stomach poke back. Or, more likely, I’ve already had my breasts carved out, replaced with plastic goo, and the final remaining body parts that define me as female will be butchered.

Ok, so I may be going a little OTT, but I’m kind of not. I already removed one breast for the sake of prevention. Now, I’m venturing south in search of new organs to remove for the sake of prophylaxis.

My oncologist wants me to have my oophorectomy yesterday. My gynecologist says it isn’t an immediate need, but it should happen soon. I know I have a short window of time to make the decision before the alleged time runs out. I can’t figure out why I’m hesitating!

Maybe it’s that word, “menopause.”

I mean, we women all face it. But I’ve barely got my head wrapped around the fact that I won’t be going to anymore proms let alone that menopause is closer to me than my high school graduation naturally. Can you imagine how mind-blowing it is that, something I thought I had another 20 years to dread is knocking on my door now? Will I grow a beard? I don’t want hot flashes! Can you imagine me even more unpredictably moody and bitchy? Holy crap! I WILL turn into my mother!

But seriously, folks, it’s like when I was rock climbing in Colorado and I was faced with having to jump off the cliff to go rapelling – and I opted out, against my protest. I could make sense of the mastectomies. I could make sense of the chemo. I could make sense of losing my hair.

Why can’t I get myself to just have the oophorectomy? Why am I hesitating?!

(And, I gotta say it, why the hell is this procedure given such a ridiculous sounding name? Is that the problem? I can’t take this operation seriously because it sounds like something a cartoon character would blurt out when punched in the gut?)

Let them without sin cast the first stone...

Never, in my life, have I been ashamed of being Jewish. Nor have I ever been ashamed of loving the state of Israel – I proudly call myself a Zionist. In my lifetime, I have been faced with international issues with Jews & Israel – from Bernard Madoff to expansion of settlements into the Shtachim, from scandals involving corruption in Israeli government to terrible behavior by Jews in community leadership positions. Yet, still, my devotion to Judaism and Israel is unwaivering.

There have been leaders in my life that have met with challenges. I proudly voted for Bill Clinton, not once, but twice. So did the majority of the country. Were we all saddened and ashamed, personally, when the Monica Lewinsky scandal came to light? You betcha. But when foreign media attacked our President, we, communally, defended the office. We defended our President against critics, sometimes having to acknowledge personal wrong-doing, but reminding them not to throw the office under the bus, regardless of our personal views.

As a mother, I often take a non-traditional approach to apologies. I'm constantly telling my children that I would much rather they never say, "I'm sorry," if they don't mean it and they will repeat the wrong-doing. I don't want false apologies, I want to see that they are willing to change their ways. I want to see action speak louder than the "I'm sorry."

So, after watching both episodes of the Lance Armstrong interview on Oprah, here's my take:

• Lance messed up. He made some really lousy choices during his cycling career to feed ambition. However, it should really be noted that Lance was hardly the only one who made that poor choice. In fact, it was the minority that didn't make the bad decision not to take performance enhancing drugs/treatments.
• He's got an ego. Tell me something I didn't know. What celebrity, politician or athlete doesn't have an ego? I mean, to be a competitor at that level, you can have some humility, but you have to have enough of an ego to say to yourself, and everyone else, "I am so much better than everyone else that I can win."
• Lance has an Achilles Heel: Pride & being stubborn. Rather than admit to being wrong, in his younger (and perhaps more immature later) years, he'd rather deny his transgressions than confess that he did something wrong.
• Unlike all the other athletes that have admitted to, voluntarily or otherwise, Lance took his fame and fortune and did something remarkable with it for the good of humanity. He took on cancer survivorship with a vengeance like no other person has to date. He leveraged every opportunity to promote the need to raise awareness for prevention sake, to strip cancer fighters of any stigmas, and to inspire those battling the disease to live strong. This does not mean that the ends justified the means, but there is a good man and a good heart there, who had his ego bungle a lot of great things up for him.
•  Critics complain that Lance was not genuine in his apologies and it was all lip service. While I will hardly call him my BFF, I've had the opportunity to see him speak in person several times now, and I've had the chance to chat with him one-on-one. I think people were expecting a far more emotional tone in his voice or facial expression. That wasn't my take at all. He's a very matter of fact kind of guy. Yeah, he can laugh, get emotional, etc. But he was absolutely in his, "I'm not bullshitting about this," mode. He was dead serious. (And, FYI, that "I didn't call her fat" line, IMHO, wasn't meant a s a dig or anything. My guess is that he was trying to lighten the mood and it just came out all wrong. Something, I am guessing, we have all done when we try and insert some humor into something to break up an awkward moment.)
• He's finally allowed himself to be aware that:
• His doping cost him the rewards, victories and triumphs that he doped for in the first place.
• Denial was not the best idea.
• It may very well be too little, too late to recover trust and admiration as he'd had before.
• He betrayed fans and others by refusing to suffer the consequences earlier on when he might have been able to salvage his career, his position and his reputation much earlier. 
• He has suffered a terrible loss - his ties with LIVESTRONG - and he very clearly is devastated by that loss.
• He needs help. And he's getting it, with this admission a first step.
• He wants to be a good father.

My son refused to watch the interview. He dug his heels in and refused. I was so shocked, as typically, any mention of Lance in any media outlet has him obsessively riveted. Lance is one of Zach's heroes, without question. Without a doubt, the highlight of his life was meeting Lance in 2011 at his house and then riding with him and Team RadioShack during the LIVESTRONG Challenge. He wouldn't tell me why he wouldn't watch it, but angrily said he'll never watch it.

I finally got him to break down yesterday and tell me why he didn't want to see it. He said that Lance had let him down. He said that Lance was a liar and a no-good-cheat. He said he never wanted to see Lance Armstrong again.

I have to tell you, I was furious, and I lashed out at him. I can't recount the number of times my son has been caught red-handed breaking rules - some large, some small - at home, at school, etc. My son will go to the grave before he ever confesses, and it is short of waterboarding that will get him to finally admit his wrongdoing. So when he dared criticize Lance for coming clean, trying to start to make amends, on top of all the charity work and kindness he, personally, has shown me, our family, and my son, I lost it. In the past 3 years, Lance has done more positive things and been a far greater role model to my son than his own father. Lance screwed up big time. But he's now openly admitting to what he did and is paying the consequences. He's not lying anymore - he has no reason to cover anything up anymore.

I turned the tables on my son and I told him that I wished he could behave the way that Lance is now - admit to the wrongdoing, show remorse, get help, try and make amends, and make himself a better person - than to sit there and brew with anger, conceal mistakes and never admit to anything.

We continued to debate for almost an hour. I asked Zach how he would feel if, after losing everything, and then apologizing, people treated him the way that he was treating Lance. Finally, by the end of the conversation, both of our anger waned. Zach understood what I was trying to explain to him. He sees that what Lance did on Oprah should be seen as a real-life lesson on how not to handle getting caught doing something wrong in the sense that Lance waited too long to be able to make half the reparations he would have been given the opportunity to much earlier on. That admitting guilt as soon as your caught often means a punishment that pales in comparison to that which comes after trust is lost.

But, even then, Lance is still showing enough remorse that he's trying to apologize and put actions to those words.

Zach is going to watch the interview. And he, like many others, may become angry and sad and disappointed throughout.

But I'd like to think that my son, and many others, including you adults who read this blog, can be enlightened and mature enough to see that he may have done some pretty disappointing things in his past, but this is a man who did a hell of a lot of good, and that he's trying. Perhaps instead of trying to beat the man while he's doing, we should all let ourselves, and Lance, lick the wounds a bit, and when the time is right, be ready to support him when he needs us, just as he supported millions of cancer fighters when we needed him.

Am I disappointed? Sure. His dope-free story was amazing. But even with the doping, his story is still incredible.

And in some senses, I have even greater admiration for Lance than I did before the interview. In his own unique Lance-Armstrong-way, he is showing great humility, he's showing remorse, and he's trying, even when he knows it may be too late to recover, he's still trying.

Lance, Oprah & Heroes

I know one reader of this blog, who keeps insisting on posting as Anonymous, feels that I am a blond blind follower of Lance, feeling that he can do no wrong, and I will do nothing but defend him even when he's wrong. A lot of people choose to see everything in black and white and not in the realistic shades of grey the world we live in is portrayed.

For some of us, those lines are clearly delineated based on subject matter. I confess that there are certain topics where my feelings are purely black and white - which isn't always the most realistic way of looking at something. I am a very stubborn human being - when I dig my heels into something, I don't budge. But I do so with a tremendous amount of consideration - even stances that may come off as "knee jerk" are, in fact, not. You are not always privy to the man behind my curtain, though this blog should reveal he exists as I explore the behind-the-scenes workings of my thoughts and actions frequently.

So, for the record, I do not, have not, nor ever will defend Lance Armstrong blindly. I may do so vigorously, passionately, etc when the task is at hand, but never, ever blindly. I do not see heroes as infallible. And I do not know if I've ever seen Lance as a "hero" in the first place. A "hero" in my mind has a very specific connotation - a "hero" must be of the same cloth of the Greek gods, extraordinary in many, many means. To me, Yoni Netanyahu was a hero. Doña Gracia Mendes was a heroine. My grandparents on my mother's side were heroes. This doesn't mean that Lance can't be someone's hero, for their own reasons. But he was never mine. This also doesn't mean that Lance - the man and what he stands for to me - doesn't matter to me, either. He does tremendously.

(This is when one of my kids would interject by telling you all that I think he's cute and that's why he matters to me. While, admittedly, he's a good looking guy, in fact, that's not the reason why.)

There are many pundits, on both sides of the Lance Armstrong aisle, that have their theories as to why he's going on Oprah now. Some say it's a sly legal move because the statute of limitations is up and he can't be brought to task for perjury. Some say he's been licking his wounds since his failed Don Quixote-like fight against the USADA and had to regroup. Some say his ego is hurt that he's not in the headlines and is now making, yet another, tactical PR error. Well, I hate to break it to you, but unless you are Lance Armstrong himself, and even if you ARE Lance Armstrong, you may not know what is driving him to do this interview right now. Speculate all you want, but let's not forget, it's all speculation. And quite a good part of it is speculation by those who feel burned, or are taking this situation way too personally when they really don't have a right to do so.

The cycling world always seemed to be divided into Lance Lovers and Lance Haters. And the Haters are having a field day while the Lovers are questioning themselves, re-evaluating, and being put on the constant defensive where they, like many allege Lance has done in many cases, have had to stand their grounds just to save face because, after years of taking one stance, it's unbearable to admit they were wrong.

I'm just as interested out of sheer curiosity about the Oprah interview tomorrow evening. Would I love the answers? Yes. Because I become rather obsessive over unanswered questions. Do I need to watch the interview to determine whether or not my feelings about Lance will change? Absolutely not. In fact, I can assure you that they won't change. and here's why:

Because I could give a rat's ass whether or not he doped. I don't care who he bullied to keep quiet. And I don't care that the haters may have their day in the light. With very, very little exception, I gain no joy by anyone's downfall. But there are two things that I do care about when it comes to people who have made poor choices in the past: 1) Do they understand the severity of what they've done? Are they willing to bear the consequences (assuming the punishment fits the crime)? 2) What have they done to make amends? (Note: Not, "Have they publicly admitted to doing anything?")

Ideally, of course, those amends would be directly related to the transgression. An eye for an eye, yes? However, that's not the real world. And that's simple to presume when you speak of the simplest, least complicated situations. Lance is hardly in a simple position, no matter whether or not he is truly innocent or guilty! Public opinion has deemed that he's guilty. If he protests his guilt, he's talking to a wall. The judge and jury made their decisions and there isn't a damn thing the man could say to undo what has been done. If he admits guilt, truthful or not, then he's just a liar as "we all suspected." He's damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. So now, he has to deal with the least of all evils presented before him, as well as the damage this whole situation may have caused a movement he cares deeply about - cancer survivorship.

Only the most troll-like haters can say that he doesn't believe in the cause of LIVESTRONG with every thread of his being. You can fake sincerity to a degree, but the lengths that I have witnessed this man go to connect with people, share their plight and improve the lives of  cancer survivors around the globe is only matched with the likes of Doug Ulman, Chris Brewer and other professionals in the cancer non-profit world - maybe.

Is it possible that part of his drive to do good wasn't just out of survivor's guilt, the responsibility of the cured, but in fact a means of trying to wash his hands of the guilt of suppressing bad choices made in his cycling career? Well, unless you are Lance himself, or his psychotherapist, you will not know. Even if he says it on Oprah, you won't know. You may hear what you want to hear tomorrow, you may not.

Some have compared Lance to Madoff, saying that Madoff was considered a "hero." Hardly. The man has showed no remorse. He gleefully bankrupted hundreds, destroyed businesses, and caused family members to choose suicide over facing what took place. There is no comparison in that regard.

To me, however, actions speak volumes louder than words. I challenge each and every Lance Armstrong critic to spend one day performing the tasks that Lance has done on behalf of LIVESTRONG before opening their fat yaps about what a scumbag Lance is. For starters, try to do this: Remember every single cancer fighter with whom you've ever interacted, and, when you randomly run into them, make them not only feel like the most important person in the room, but remind them about details from your original meeting - details that are so unique that the cancer fighter doesn't even remember that accurately. In 5 minutes, say something so heartfelt and motivating that you encourage that fighter to strive even harder than they were before. Give that person, and their family, hope. Genuine hope - not in a cure, a drug, a medicine - but in themselves. And make them feel like a rock star because of the encounter - a feeling that should last their lifetime. Then, spend another 5 minutes looking into the eyes of someone terminal. Someone whose time to fight is dwindling down to hours and tell them that their choice to die the way that they chose is alright, too. Make them believe that they made no mistakes because they are handling the disease the way that they wanted do. Give them dignity, not pity. And make sure that the family has someplace to turn from which to derive strength when their loved one perishes.

Had Lance spent 1 week doing as I described above, in my opinion, he'd have made the amends necessary to balance the injustice. But the man has been doing this for 15 years. Around the world. For cancer fighters of all ages, sexes, races & creeds.

He did that for me. He did that for my children.

And, let's face it. We all have skeletons in our closets - some great, some small, and all of which could sink our careers, our public face, etc, should they leak out. Mistakes from college, adolescence, in business dealings, relationships, financials - you name it, we all have one. And, more often than not, it's one that we've publicly denied - either when filling out applications to being asked directly at a party or someplace more formal. We've denied them one way or another, adamantly.

Think about your most shameful mistake in your life, which you may or may not have denied publicly, and imagine it brought to light, to all your co-workers, loved ones, family & friends, and in your face constantly.

What would you do? Note: I'm not asking, "What would you like to imagine that you would do?" Nor am I asking, "What is the right thing to do?" I'm asking you, human being to human being, made up of many shades of grey, What would you really do?

Be honest with yourself.

And then cast the first stone at Lance Armstrong.

Is he a hero? Perhaps.

But he's a man who has accomplished an extreme amount of good, has influenced many more to hope and strive for a better future one way or another, and, whether for good or for bad, has the ability to remember damn near every person he has ever met.

Not many of us can say any of those things. So, until we can, maybe we should silently watch what unfolds, withhold judgement, and let the man make amends for whatever he needs to make amends in peace. And maybe, just maybe, we should offer him some slack, forgiveness even, if that's what he needs, to get back on his feet and continue to do good in a way that many of us only dream we could do in our lifetime.