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ACS Blogger Advisory Council Family & Friends losing a parent

New York!

I am writing this post from my hotel room near LaGuardia airport in New York City!  I arrived here this evening, and so far I love it.  I have always imagined myself going to New York, but it has never happened- until now.

Last year when I was recovering from cancer surgery and extremely hypothyroid, the annual BlogHer convention was occurring.  I was supposed to have gone with my good friend, Amy, but obviously cancer changed that.  Amy had found out that BlogHer ’10 was going to be in New York, and she entered us in a contest to win a trip to it.  We were finalists!

I was so touched, and had told my mom about the possibility of Amy and I winning the trip.  She told me I had to go to New York. She had been there several times in recent years for her job. She told me even if we didn’t win the trip, I had to go with Amy to New York this summer- she assured me I would love it.

My mom had asked me a few times to go with her, on her business trips, but I never did. I was too busy, or didn’t want to leave the boys, or it wasn’t a good time for me to go.  There was always a reason not to go.

I decided to boycott BlogHer ’10, after I had already obtained tickets because of their Nestle sponsorship.  But I had also been invited by the American Cancer Society (ACS), by the Blogger Advisory Council I serve on, to come to New York for a tour of their Hope Lodge, a meeting, and an event.  Amy decided to attend BlogHer, so our plans were set.

None of the flights would have given me enough time to arrive and be able to attend the ACS event tomorrow on time, so I came out today- by myself.  I was a little bit anxious about coming here alone, but I’ve been fine.  All the people who have helped me have been wonderful, and Amy is arriving tomorrow. I only have to get myself from this hotel to a hotel in Times Square, but I can handle that.  😉  The man I sat next to on the plane even gave me an app for the iPhone that shows all the subway routes, so I am feeling more confident about the subways too.

But all I could think about today was my mom.  I thought about how much I miss her and how much I regret never taking the time to come to New York with her.  As the plane was approaching New York, I touched my mom’s bracelet and I felt her presence- just a normal feeling- like she was sitting next to me.  the sun was setting and it was a gorgeous scene When we landed I got tears in my eyes.

My mom wanted me to come here.  She told me I should do whatever I could to get out here this summer.  My mom loved to travel, loved New York, and clearly she wanted me to experience this.  I got tears in my eyes because I get to do just that.

When I walked off the plane, I was calm-not nervous.  I was traveling alone to a huge city, but I didn’t feel alone.  I felt my mom’s presence with me, and I think- in that place where the sun shines off the clouds at sunset, painting vibrant colors- my mom is with me in New York.

Categories
Cancer Family & Friends Health losing a parent Mothering

Cancer Surgery- One Year Later

One year ago today, I underwent a thyroidectomy (complete removal of the thyroid) surgery, and a neck dissection to remove almost all of the lymph nodes in my neck, because I had cancer.  (You can read more about the surgery here, After Thyroid Cancer Surgery. I have posted some other pictures at the end of this post, I thought may be helpful to others who are facing a similar surgery.)

A lot has happened during the past year.  At the time it was my biggest challenge.  Cancer is a big deal.  Even thyroid cancer, which most every doctor will say is the “best” cancer to have is a major, life changing event.  I haven’t talked to one thyroid cancer survivor yet, who hasn’t experienced some type of problem, or issue with their recovery.  For me, it was a mistake the endocrinologist’s office made, and I ended up without any thyroid replacement hormone (usually synthroid) for three months.  I developed severe hypothyroidism.  There were some days, I could not physically get out of bed, and I felt like I was 100 years old.  I had extreme pain from the surgery still, and I was confused, exhausted, and I could barely function. A year later, the left side of my neck is numb, and I still have shoulder pain. 

I receive e-mail’s weekly from other thyroid cancer survivors who are on synthroid, but the dosage is wrong, and they are experiencing hypothyroidism.  It paralyzes your life, and for me, the surgery ended up being the “easy” part.  When any organ is removed from your body, and a drug has take over the function, there are going to be complications.  Fortunately for me, when I finally was able to take synthroid, after radioactive iodine (RAI), my dosage was correct the first time.  I felt better hours after I took it.  One year later, I still have not had to have an adjustment in the dosage.  My doctors tell me this is extremely rare.  However, I still feel like I lost three months of my life.  Time with my boys, I will never get back. 

Four months after my surgery, I started running.  I was going to run in one 5K race- the Race for the Cure for breast cancer.  I enjoyed it, and it gave me a new appreciation for my health and fitness.  I think it is very important to become active as soon as you can.  It helped me get out of a “cancer patient” mode, and on to the next stage, which is a new life- cancer free.  Running made me strong again, physically and mentally.  I could not have known at the time, how strong I was going to have to be, in the very near future.

At the time I was diagnosed with cancer, I had been separated from my husband for three months, and in the process of divorce.  It was not an easy divorce to say the least.  There was a small “break” if you can call it that, while I was recovering, but after the RAI treatment, the divorce continued, adding an enormous amount of stress to my life.  I had a friend tell me after cancer, getting divorced would seem like a vacation, but this sadly, was not the case.  There wasn’t anything I could do, except plow through it until it was over.  The divorce was finalized last month, at the end of May.  Divorce was far harder emotionally than cancer had been.  

But the hardest thing- harder than cancer or divorce- was the unexpected death of my mother in February of this year.  It is the most devastating thing to lose a parent.  My mom came out last July (she lived out of state), a few weeks after my cancer surgery, to help me recover.  At this point,  I had hypothyroidism, and she took care of me, and Ryan and Cole during my parenting time.  It was one of the last times we had together.  I saw her for a few days at Christmas, and then I watched her die.   

Her friends all came to visit her, and they told me how utterly worried and scared my mom had been over my cancer.  My mom had never let on to me she felt that way.  She had always been so strong- always telling me I was going to beat cancer, and I was a very healthy person.  Her friends also told me how distressed she had been over my divorce-over the tactics that were being used, and the high stress I was under.  Again, she never let me know she was feeling like this.  She gave me strength and encouragement to keep going.  She told me all the stress the divorce was bringing to me was like cancer itself.  I could let it consume me, or I could fight, and beat the stress- knowing there would be a bright future when it was all over. 

I had seven days with my mom, while she died.  A day and a half later after I had returned home from her death, I had to jump right back in to divorce mode, and meet with a child family investigator (CFI) and a forensic psychologist for interviews and psychological testing.  These interviews and tests would result in parenting recommendations for the judge in the divorce case to consider.  This was in March, and cancer seemed like it happened a million years ago.

Now it is a year later from that day.  A year ago, I thought having cancer was one of the worst things that could happen to me.  Over the last year, I have learned-harshly-there are worst things than cancer. 

I remember thinking if I could get through this cancer, I could get through anything.  In a way I was right.  It turns out, cancer was the “easiest” of the three things I faced during the past year. 

I would not have gotten through any of this without my family and friends.  I hope I tell you enough how much I appreciate and love you all.  You are the ones who got me through this past year.  From the moment I checked into the hospital a year ago, to just the last few days- thank you for being there for me when I needed you.

For anyone who is reading this, who has just found out they have cancer, is going to have to have cancer surgery, or is recovering from thyroid cancer, there will be good days and bad days.  Don’t let the bad days devestate you.  Cancer changes a lot about your life, but you also have an opportunity to really see a lot of love and support around you.  It teaches you to let go of the small stuff, and to just enjoy the days you are given. 

Some of these days will be dark.  Some of these days you are going to have to fight with every ounce of strength you have just to get to the next hour.  Some of these days you will have to let other people help you, because you won’t be able to do it all.  Some of these days, you will have to let things go, and be okay with just being.  Some of these days you will question if it is even really worth it.  When you realize, without a doubt, yes it is- then the clouds start to fade away.  Instead of feeling weak, you feel strong.  Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you feel grateful you are alive.  Instead of feeling guilty, you feel content.  Then you will know in your soul you have beaten cancer, and it is far from the end- it is your new beginning.

 

One day after surgery, recovering in intensive care, 6-13-2009

My scar, seven days after surgery, 6-19-2009

My scar, one year after surgery, 6-12-2010

6-12-2010

Categories
Family & Friends losing a parent

One Month Later

It occurred to me yesterday that today is the day my mom has been gone for a month.  Some days it seems like this still isn’t real.  And then there are days where it is all too real. 

Last week my sister’s husband, Kevin, and our friend, who was friends with my mom too, went to Minnesota to pack up her house for us.   Kevin said he didn’t want us to have to go through her things-it would be way too difficult.  So they flew out there, packed everything up, and drove back to Colorado.  We are so grateful to them for doing that for us.  Her things arrived at my house last week.  My brother Jeff, and my dad came up to help unpack the truck, but it was so difficult.   

I can’t tell myself she really busy at work, and that’s why she hasn’t called, when I saw all her things she owned in life- some of it she still had from when I was a little girl, in the back of a U-Haul.   

There was one picture she had holding my brother when he was a baby- she was 21, young, free, and beautiful, as a new mother.  I found it years ago in really bad shape and had it restored professionally for her as a Mother’s Day gift.  I wanted to find that picture last night.  I opened all the boxes that were labeled pictures, and found so many pictures she had of us.  Pictures from when we were babies up to just a few months ago.  I wanted to find that picture, because I feel like part of her gets a bit more distant everyday, and there is nothing I can do to stop that.  Seeing that picture would have helped. 

I didn’t find it last night, but I know it is there among her things somewhere. In some box, wrapped in tissue paper.  Her life.  Our life.  Our memories of her are in boxes now.  That is all we have left of her.  It isn’t nearly enough, but it is all we have.  When I saw the box with all our old family and childhood picture books, I felt a sense of relief.  The years she spent creating those for us, we have them now.  We will always have a piece of her and our history with those pictures. 

I drive by the cemetery on my way to work.  I had planned to stop today, but it snowed a foot of snow last night, and I would not have been able to find her grave.  I feel bad  I couldn’t “do” something today and at the very least go to her grave. 

I mentioned in a previous post one of her favorite songs was Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and it was sung at her service.  One of my friends posted a link to a new version of the song she had heard.  I think it is neat that happened.  It reminded me to keep looking for my mom in small things.  Another friend sent me a link a few weeks ago I had forgotten about until now.  It was to another version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow.  My mom would have loved this version, and the pictures. 

I miss and love you, Mom.   

Categories
Family & Friends losing a parent Running

Runnin’ of the Green Race

I kept my promise to my mom, and ran in my first 7K (4.4 miles) race.  It was the Runnin’ of the Green in Denver.

I was going to run in this race with my friend, Alison, but sadly her mother-in-law passed away recently, and she hasn’t been able to train for it.  

I arrived downtown about half an hour before the race started, and it was PACKED.  I couldn’t even find the registration booths to pick up my bib and timing chip.  I could barely make my way through the crowd.  I finally found the line; a full city block and a half away.  There was no way I was going to be starting the race at 10 AM.  I figured I’d be lucky to get up to the booth by 11. 

After my last timing fiasco, I was happy to hear the announcer tell the crowd several times the timing chips are not activated until you cross the starting line.  A few minutes later they announced the entire race had been sold out, and if you hadn’t preregistered, there was no more space for runners.  That cleared out some people and lines collapsed.  I walked and made my way to the booth, and only had to wait for about five minutes.  They were announcing it was time to start when I put my timing chip on my shoe.

It was so crowded though!  The race was not started in waves, and really should have been.  I waited about 10 minutes until they said it was time for the walkers to line up before I started.  I hit the start on my watch, and off I went.  The morning had been sunny, and I usually get hot when I run. I wore my capri length running tights and a jacket. I was so glad I had thought to bring my gloves and hat, even though I didn’t think I would need them.  The day before, it was 60!  I think at race time it was in the 30’s, and it was windy.  I definitely needed them!

There were a lot of people walking right off the bat.  There were lots of strollers, dogs, and just a lot of people.  I didn’t start out on my normal pace, because I couldn’t.  I had to watch out for people.  As we ran out of downtown and across I-25, there were two big hills we were running down.  I knew we would be running UP these at the end of the race. I thought back to the Oatmeal 5K when the hills killed me at the end.  These hills were twice that size, but I have been doing the work, and I was actually somewhat excited to see how I would manage them at the end of the race.

As I ran down the hills, I broke away from the mob of people a bit, and I just felt free for a few moments.  I got tears in my eyes- I was thinking about my mom.  It just overwhelmed me in the moment.  I was only about a mile into the race, and knew I had a lot of work to do, so got myself focused again and started thinking about my pacing and breathing. 

I loved the course.  There were some flat parts, and some smaller hills.  It was challenging without being a killer course.  I wish I could say I completely broke away and found that perfect pacing, but I didn’t.  There was just too many people for me.  Every time I started to speed up, someone would step in front of me, or a stroller would stop, and everyone would have to adjust. There was no room to run really like I wanted to. 

As I got back to the section where the big hills were, I figured there was about a mile and a half left. I had way more energy than usual because I had not been running as fast as I normally do.  I thought about running conservatively up the hills, or trying to go a bit faster.  I opted for a little faster.  I sped up, and was kind of shocked when I reached the top of the second one.  I wasn’t out of breath, and wasn’t tired at all. 

I slowed down a little, because there is nothing I hate more than running out of steam right at the end. I like to finish strong. I held myself back until the final half mile, and was ready to sprint, but found out I couldn’t.  There were still too many people, and the streets were narrower now that we were back in downtown.  I tried running around as many people as I could, but it didn’t feel like I was really running- more like maneuvering. 

I finally saw the finish line and figured there was no point in sprinting.  I would have run into people if I did.  I thought of my mom again, and silently told her I was a few seconds away from finishing what I promised her I would do.  I touched her bracelet she wore, that I have been wearing since she passed away.   As I got to the finish line, it was bogged down by people, walking across, so I had to wait for them to walk across, so I could  run across.  Kind of crazy.

I looked down at my watch and it said three minutes!  I knew that wasn’t right and obviously my watch got reset somehow.  I was going to have to wait for the official results.  I decided right then and there I was done with the watch, and not knowing my times, distances, and splits.  (More on that in a future blog post)

I had to wait for someone to cut the timing chip off my shoe, and by the time that happened and I saw the official clock it said 53 minutes.  I figured my time was probably about 45 minutes. It was getting really cold and windy. I found a few running friends from Daily Mile and chatted a bit with them.  I drank some water and waited in the longest line ever for some soup, but it was good.  It had started snowing, and I was freezing, so it was time to go. 

The parking lot was nearly empty when I got to my car, and the snow was coming down. It seemed like another world, being so crammed into so many people while running, and not even an hour later, being in such a wide space alone.  

I turned the heat on and sat in the car for a minute, trying to get warm.  I touched my mom’s bracelet again.  It occurred to me for the first time after a race, she wasn’t going to be calling me to see how I did.  But as I watched the snow fall on Union Station, I felt like she already knew. Sometimes words aren’t necessary. 

Results

Time: 41:12

Age Group Place: 21 out of 74

Division Place: 240 out of 918

Gender Place: 536 out of 2189

Overall Place: 2436 out of 3832

Categories
Family & Friends losing a parent Running

Running and My Promise

Since I’ve started running, I notice time a lot more now.  Minutes, seconds, tenth of seconds. 

It’s been two weeks.  Two weeks, one day, sixteen hours, and twenty minutes to be exact since my mom died.  At times it feels like I just talked to her yesterday, and at other times it seems like it was years ago.  At times things seem hazy- they are familiar but not quite the same anymore.  There are times everything feels “normal” and then something reminds me of her- a song, a book, and the haze settles back in. 

Staying busy helps.  Being with my children, family, and friends help. Being at work helps.  But the loss is always there, and always will be.  Accepting this, I think, is the first step in moving on. 

Last fall I was suffering from shin splints that weren’t healing, and I was thinking about quitting running.  After a lot of thought, and some great advice, I decided to keep running.  I told my mom I had been contemplating stopping, but I wasn’t going to.  She didn’t even hesitate- she told me “don’t stop running.  You love it.”  Point blank-no discussion.  She knew me well.  She called me every week after that to see how running was going.  She called me after every race to see how I had done. 

On the last day before she fell unconscious, she asked me if I was going to keep running.  I told her “yes,” and she smiled.  I got in her bed with her and rested my head on her shoulder. 

She asked me what the next race was, and I told her I was planning on a 7K race (4.3 miles) on March 14th.  She said “good.”  Then she asked what the next one was.  And the next one, and the next one. She asked me what my goals for running are.  She knew I like to plan things.  🙂  She stroked my arm for a few seconds and told me, “Don’t quit.  Don’t you dare quit.  You are so strong, you don’t even know.  Running shows you how strong you really are.  Keep going Heather.”  I promised her I would.  She closed her eyes then to get some rest.   

In the moment, I took that to mean she only meant running.  But since I have thought about it, she meant it in the context of my life too. 

I haven’t felt much like running in two weeks, one day, sixteen hours, and twenty minutes.  But I have. Last week I ran fifteen miles- the most I have ever ran in a week.  It has helped- my mom was right.  When I have been running the haze is gone, and my new sense of normal doesn’t hurt as much.  It is peaceful. 

So on Sunday, I will be running in my first 7K race. It is the Running of the Green race through downtown Denver, and it is a huge fun, party atmosphere run to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.  It will be fun race to run in.  But I’m not running the race to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, or to party. 

I’m running in it because I promised.