Beating the Blerch

Sharon, Melissa, me and Lynn at the Resolution Run.
©kittelberg writes

On Sunday, I did my first long run in two weeks. I had been away visiting family and friends in Ontario and while I managed to work in two runs per week (including one hill training session), the humidity and the fact that I was running solo made long runs unappealing.

So one day after my return, I hit the Seawall and one of the Stanley Park trails with Melissa to run 13k. Yes, 13k. After hovering near the 10k mark for months, it was time to up the ante.

In September, the Superstars are taking part in the inaugural Kelowna Wine Country Half Marathon.

The running resolution

Back on December 31, 2012, I went to a New Year's Eve party where there was a giant piece of paper? Bristol board? I can't remember exactly, but the point is, it was a space where guests could jot down their resolutions for 2013.

I decided putting it in writing made it that much more of a commitment. I wrote, "Run a half marathon". The next day, I made good on working towards that goal by starting the new year with the Resolution Run.

I've kept running since then. But I have to say that Sunday was the first time I saw a hill and nearly burst into tears. I think I said something along the lines of "I don't know if I can do this hill" to Melissa. She told me I could and suggested slowing down. Another reason I love running with friends!

Clearly, it didn't kill me as I'm writing this post. I did feel like vomiting at the end of the run, but it went away after cooling down.

Enter the Blerch

Some of the non-runners I know think I'm nuts for doing it. Heck, I thought runners were nuts when I wasn't a runner. And at the point that Sunday's hill nearly had me dissolve in tears? I had a serious WTF moment.

Today, my friend Gord shared a link to the Oatmeal's The terrible and wonderful reasons why I run long distances. It pretty much sums up my feelings. It puts a name to the little devil on my shoulder who tells me I can't: the Blerch.

On Sunday, I silenced the Blerch. I imagine I'll do so every Sunday for the rest of the summer, and possibly multiple times on the day of my first half marathon.

Kicking kancer's ass one shirt at a time

The Juggernauts (from left): Wynter Trace, Chrissy Watson,
me (in team shirt), and Kirstin Ellis. Photo © Image Maker

You may have heard my Bust a Move team is selling t-shirts with a saucy illustration by Bret Taylor as a fundraiser.

It's the perfect opportunity to support a great cause and local art all in one fell swoop. Just head to Red Bubble and buy your shirt, pronto!

Now that you've made your purchase and have come back, here's a bit about how it all happened.

About the artist

If you're on Twitter and into art, cars, or rock 'n roll, you know Bret Taylor as @BretInVancouver. I've known Bret since George and I visited Vancouver in May 1999.

It's been mighty inspiring to see him develop his style, and watch his following grow. We've road-tripped, we've seen many a rock show, and we've eaten a lot of nachos. As a member of our core circle of friends, Bret is also one of the people who has helped us out in a pinch or two during my treatment, not to mention he was a member of the cheering squad the day I had my head shaved.

So when I thought a team t-shirt would be nice, there was no question about who I wanted to do the illustration.

About the design

Bret has my complete confidence when it comes to design, so I threw a couple of concepts at him. He liked the can-can dancer idea, and we agreed a message about kicking kancer's ass would be a good fit. I opted to misspell kancer for consistency with the #kancerkronicles. And Bret pretty much took it from there.

When he sent me the completed illustration, I was thrilled. From the tiny red hats to the Louboutin red soles, I was sold.

I won't knock anyone for donning the pink at these breast cancer fundraisers. I've done it myself. But nowadays, red speaks to me more. It symbolizes passion and anger. Hence my choosing the red shirt for myself.

Another shameless plug

So now that you know a little more about it, if you haven't already, head over to Red Bubble and order yourself a shirt.

Or if you prefer to have the tax deduction, go directly to my Bust a Move page to make a donation.

And don't forget to head to Bret's website to see more of his work. Oh, and one place I will be wearing pink? Bret's upcoming art show with Alex Stewart, Hot Pink. Drop by and say hi if you're in the Vancouver area.

Coordinating help for a loved one

I've sung praises of our network of friends many, many times in this blog. They were our lifeline during my treatment last year.

However, one of the huge challenges we faced was keeping everyone organized. Did I need to book a volunteer driver for chemo, or did someone offer to drive me? Had someone already said they would pick Malcolm up at daycare? And who was making dinner?

Remembering it all, even in the iPhones age was tough, particularly once chemo brain set in.

Eventually, George took on the vast majority of the organizing, along with being my caregiver. Frankly, it's too much work for one person to be expected to do. He did it without complaint, but it worried me that he felt he had to shoulder so much.

CaringBridge

Today, I received a message from a friend, who knows a woman who is just beginning the whole cancer treatment gong show. She thought I might be able to offer her support. She sent me a link to her friend's story on CaringBridge.

I clicked, and holy crap, do I ever wish I'd known about CaringBridge last spring!

You can set up a site, where you can connect with family and friends, keep them updated on your health (it's open to people with medical issues of all sorts). It's all in a protected space, with privacy settings, no ads.

Clearly, I don't have issues sharing information in a public format. But here's what really interested me: they also have a calendar you can set up (or a loved one can on your behalf).

Fill in what's needed and when, and your friends and family can pick the tasks they're able to take on - cooking, getting you around, providing childcare, feeding the cat, etc.

How did I not hear about this until now?

What you can do

So, if you know someone who needs this sort of support, tell them about CaringBridge, or better yet, set up a site and calendar for them.

And if you're feeling philanthropic, head to the CaringBridge donations page.

Kicking kancer's ass one step at a time

From left: Ceci and Roxy, Melissa, Sharon,
me, and Claire with the Harry Jerome statue on
the Terry Fox Run route. © kittelberg writes

Four weeks ago, I took a major step in kicking kancer's ass and some personal demons. I started running.

Barring one summer in my early 20s when I was training to get to and from work in case Ottawa bus drivers went on strike, running hasn't been my thing

As a kid, I was a chunk and never liked running. Running hurt. I assumed it was because I heavy. When I was diagnosed with asthma at 19, the pain made sense.

As an adult, being fit certainly helped with running, but by then, I was more into aerobics and weight training.

Run for your life

I decided recently to participate in Bust a Move, a fundraiser for the BC Cancer Foundation. My teammates and I will be doing six fitness classes on April 13, 2013.

I've gone back and forth with my fitness regime, working out like a mad woman for months, even years at a time, then being a lazy slug for a while. I now know I need to commit myself to moving my body for the rest of my life.

I mentioned to colleagues that I wanted to do the Run for the Cure as a way to kick myself in the ass to get moving. Sharon used to lead Running Room learn-to-run classes, and offered her expertise. And Melissa wanted to confront her fear of running. We started a running group. I mentioned it on Twitter, and Ceci joined us.

Terry Fox Run

So after three weeks of training, we decided to make last week's Sunday run the Terry Fox Run. Melissa's friend Claire joined us. I also got to meet my Bust a Move teammates Kirstin in person for the first time at the registration tent. She did the run with her mom, and may be joining me, Sharon, Melissa and Ceci for training now and then.

Ceci brought her daughter Alex who biked, and their dog Roxy who ran with us.

Running becomes fun

We debated whether to do the 3k or 10k run, and opted for the 10k route, rationalizing that we could turn around at any time. We followed our 2:1 (running for two minutes, then walking for one minute) training. When we hit the 5k mark feeling good, our decision was made for us: finish it.

Kudos to Roxy, who provided us with the funniest moment of the day by pooping as we ran, resulting in what was coined the "shit relay".

I want to thank these ladies for an incredible morning, and plenty of laughs on our training runs. The laughs will be needed this week when we begin hill training!

Operation fuck kancer: Chemo 8

Final chemo, baby. Decked in the shield necklace,
borrowed from Becky, and red power lipstick from Sharon.
© gscameraworks

So I think it's fair to say I'm 2/3 through treatment. Surgery and chemo are done, just a month of radiation to go. Unfortunately, radiation is not starting as soon as I thought it would. Apparently, the body needs four to six weeks to recover from chemo first. Looks like I'll be starting in four weeks, fingers crossed.

My tribe rocks

Again, my family and friends came through with flying colours for the final chemo.

I've told you about the awesome colleagues who have become awesome friends. For today's treatment, I wore the lovely necklace Becky loaned me, which she termed a shield. Funny thing is, I'm pretty sure the only treatment I forgot it was the day I had an allergic reaction to the Taxol. Coincidence?

I also donned my red warrior lipstick, given to me by Sharon T. And in my pocket, I carried the St. Agatha rosary Dragos brought back from Malta. The middle digit you see in the photo is my gift to cancer.

Tablet games from Rahel,
and a hello from Jerome.
© kittelberg writes

Rahel came for a visit again, and brought her tablet so I could play games. She also brought a hello from Jerome, who she'd run into at the coffee shop on her way to the cancer agency.

A gift from away

When we got home, there was a gift from my cousins Alison and Patti and their mom, Aunt Phyllis: two pretty scarves, red and purple. My cousin Pam had given them my favourite colours. When our fall weather hits, I'll be sure to post photos of me wearing them.

And just days ago, a hat arrived from my friend and partner in youthful craziness, Jenn.

My point

I know some people feel like they need to do this journey alone. And who am I to say what will work for everyone? All I can do is say that my family and friends have been a huge part of my making it this far through treatment. Thanks again, everyone.

Operation fuck kancer: Chemo 7

To say this week has been crazy would be an understatement.

On Tuesday I turned 40. On Wednesday, the project I've been working on for nearly a year - the fabulous, shiny new City of Vancouver website! - launched. And on Thursday, I had chemo 7.

It's kind of weird when getting a half-day off for chemo feels like a break.

Staving off the panic

After having an allergic reaction during my last treatment, I can't say I was looking forward to chemo 7. My oncologist offered to prescribe Ativan at my appointment the day before, but figured I would try the mind-over-matter approach.

The fact that my chemo nurse, Sue, was the same one who lead the Chemo Teaching class I attended before starting treatment probably helped, as did the fact that Angie, the nurse who took awesome care of me when I had the reaction, happened to be covering Sue's lunch break when my Taxol drip started.

Then there was the pre-Taxol Benadryl. I was dosed with enough that I couldn't complete words, much less sentences by the time George arrived with sandwiches. In fact, I managed to turn "Bena Dryl" into two words.

Chemo a welcome non-event

By the time my manager, Rahel, came for a visit, I had recovered enough to eat and speak. We talked shop a bit, but mainly chatted about books and TV shows we liked. Which of course, made me want to start watching shows I have yet to see, like Nurse Jackie. But first, I really do need to finish two-and-a-half seasons of Sons of Anarchy.

After Rahel left, I did something I had yet to do during chemo: I napped. My first four treatments, the A/C part, I never napped because they were less than two hours. My first Taxol treatment, I almost napped, but couldn't fall asleep when I heard the woman next to me vomiting. Last time, when I started to lay back, I had the allergic reaction.

This time? Sweet sleep. I guess I needed it.

Crossing the threshold of awesome

On my way to cross the threshold. © kittelberg writes

I stole that headline from my friend Lynn. If I say that right away, it's not really stealing, right?

At 7:40 this morning, I turned 40.

Does kancer make a difference?

I'm not sure how much the whole cancer thing has influenced my vision of 40. Honestly, I didn't really care that much when I turned 30. The last time I cared about the number on my ID was when I turned 25. And then, it was only because everyone kept reminding me I was a quarter of a century old.

The cancer has certainly made me care less about other things that would have once driven the younger me nuts.

At one time, the fact that I couldn't take the days off around my birthday would have made me unbearable to be around. But this year? There's a big deadline at work that happens to fall on August 8. No big deal.

Friends who I thought would join the weekend celebration at a cabin on Pitt Lake didn't come. Only meant there was actually comfortable sleeping space for everyone, so you know what? No big deal.

And the friends who could make it made the weekend unforgettable.

Moonrise brings a new year

As we were being devoured by mosquitoes the last night at the cabin, we watched the moonrise. This is something I've never done before, not because I wasn't awake for it. Rather, I either didn't care, or was too busy partying. Perhaps I've seen double-moons at times. It's hard to say.

It was amazing to first see the light, then the moon peek out a bit at a time. In minutes, there it was, a glowing egg, perfectly reflected in the lake. All this happening to the background of my crazy friends laughing at at a combination of old jokes, and new ones ("Terri, I want an apple. Peel it!")

Lynn has right. We have crossed the threshold of awesome. And there is only more to come. Bring it on, 40.

Operation fuck kancer: Chemo 3 and an attitude adjustment

My wall of happy.

Had my third chemo yesterday, the second last of the AC part of my ACT treatment. This puts me close to the half-way mark chemo wise, which I'm quite pleased about.

The huge thing was yesterday, I had four members in my chemo posse: my husband, current colleagues Kirsten (who doubled as our driver) and Melissa (who had me laughing about making Elizabethan ruffs for dogs), and Erica, a former colleague who's now a great friend.

I was waiting to see if the nurse would kick two of them out, but it wasn't a full room, and only one other patient had one visitor with him, so I guess she decided it wasn't a big deal. Now more about that attitude adjustment...

Getting needed perspective

It was a huge kick in the pants for me. You may recall I've been having a pity party.

Then a few nights ago, I was magnetized to a magazine in our laundry room called Fresh Vancouver. The feature story was an interview with Bif Naked, a rockin' woman who happens to be a breast cancer warrior. One quote really stuck out for me:

"...there are cancer patients who take the bus in from Surrey for chemo, or who have four kids and can't find child care so they lug their kids in with them." Sweet merciful crap. I can't imagine taking my one kid with me, much less four.

Challenges are just that

Yes, we have had challenges arranging child care, or finding someone to do daycare drop-off and pick-up for us at times. My husband has taken over that task because it stresses me out (thing one to be grateful for).

And every single time, whether it takes 10 phone calls or one, a friend steps up to the plate (thing two to be grateful for). Indeed, the childcare posse is in full effect y'all, with Shemim helping us last night Yvonne this morning, and Nikki tonight since George is working. It takes a village, folks. And our village is pretty fucking awesome.

My wall of happy

All this brings me to my wall of happy (sorry about the photo quality, will try to get something better, but you get the idea). The wall started with a couple of art pieces by my son and one of his best friends. Last night it grew to include photos and greeting cards.

I've been posting my progress on Facebook with some uncertainly over how much I should be sharing. But within a few hours of posting that I'm almost halfway through chemo, the number of responses floored me. And that's why I do it. Living far from most of my family, I need to know my friends are there for me.

When I roll over to get out of bed every morning, and when I'm lying down because I feel like hell, I now have a hard-copy reminder of how many people have my back. And a reminder of how much hair I had when I was young and wild (yeah, that's a perm - don't judge, it was the 90s).

Operation fuck kancer: Bald on my terms

Here's me in my bald glory. I may have not won the genetic lottery as far as cancer goes, but I did luck out with a well-shapen head. We didn't go shiny bald, as I've started chemo and my skin is already feeling pretty sensitive, but we got pretty darn close.

A huge thank you to my hairdresser, Sherry, and today's entourage - George Smeltzer, Bret Taylor and Patti Catroppa. After the big shave, hubby, friends and I headed for Granville Island, where I purchased a new cap at Edie Hats. The breeze feels pretty awesome on my head, but it can get cold, so I thought a new hat was in order.

Why I cut it off

A few people asked me after my last post if I was certain I wanted to go this route, and I gave them an emphatic yes. Enough of my life is now beyond my control because of breast cancer. I can control my hair. And if what little I have left doesn't fall out, it will grow back.

I met Sherry, a fellow warrior who has beaten cancer to a pulp, early in my diagnosis. She cut my hair shortly after my surgery and mentioned that if I found out I was going to lose my hair, she'd be happy to shave it for me.

I pretty much decided then that I would rather be spared the experience of waking up with my hair detached like some sort of dead animal on my pillow. She was the first person I called when I found out I had to do chemo.

Sweet liberation

As a woman, my hair has certainly played a role in my life. Cutting, growing, dying, braiding, curling, perming, flat-ironing. I worried this morning that I might cry when it was shaved off, thinking of what I was losing. Instead, I felt liberated. When it comes back, I will be healthy. And I will be a new me.

Friends help make kancer be less krappy

So my kid ended up in emergency last weekend, three days after my mom headed back to Ontario. Four stitches later, and not allowed to go to daycare or play like a normal 5-year-old boy made for a stressful week. Without my friends, I would have likely ended up in a padded room.

My new friends

There are the friends I've met at my current job, who I may never have encountered otherwise. Tony is one of them. He told me about the video above, and I told him I needed to see it. Tony knew I had a crappy week, and posted it today. Enjoy!

I came home, and saw Tony's video on my Facebook wall, after having a nice walk with another friend from work, Melissa. Just another reason to be glad I took my job. I'll share more about these fantastic folks in further posts.

My old friends

No, not old, old. I mean friends I've known for several years. Patti, who helped look after the boy the day after his accident. Bret and John, who helped us out the day of an oncologist's appointment by getting up in time to be here at the ungodly hour of 8 a.m., the former to babysit, and the latter to give us a lift. Erica, who gave me a lift to another appointment, and kept the kid entertained.

Then there are the many friends who have been helping to keep my spirits up with e-mails, texts, and phone calls. And my best friend of all, my husband, who is handling an excessive amount of crazy these days.

Play the kancer kard

If you're dealing with an illness, call on your friends. Don't feel guilty. Chances are, they'll go above and beyond the call of duty.