Revenge of the Skinsuit, And Other Stuff.

Wow....someone got a little bit behind on blogging again.  Lots of big things have happened in the last five weeks, the biggest of which was I FINISHED TREATMENT.  It still seems really weird to write that in all caps because that last radiation appointment was very anticlimactic.  I sat under the microwave for 60 seconds, the clinicians gave me a guardian angel pin and then I cried in the car for about 15 minutes.  

And now, here I am, floating in a sea of "Now What?"  

Here's "what," the bullet point version.  Some adventures, some bike races and a lot of alone time.

• I raced Kruger's Kermesse at the end of August.  I'm thinking of it as my first real post-cancer race, even though short track was really my first time lining back up.  I had expected to finish in the back of the 15 person group.  Instead I got second and might have won if we had another lap.  Kermesse races are awesome...all the fun of dirt, but without that running nonsense.  I wore my new short sleeved skinsuit as I was still too chubby to fit into my kit.  Made some new friends, drank some beer and slept like a baby.

• The day after treatment ended, I drove to Bend to spend the weekend with my teammates.  My original plan had been to do Cycle Oregon, but I made the (wise) decision to postpone that for another year.  Me + tent + putting up said tent by myself after riding for 80 miles = probable catastrophic nuclear event.  The girls and I climbed South Sister on Sunday:

 South Sister is much more of a trek than I had anticipated.  Straight up for 7 miles.  But the view at the top was totally worth it:

The reason that I have made this picture extra large is to point out that I am wearing the completely wrong footwear for the occasion.  I sprained my ankle on the descent and then got horrendous shin splints from wearing borrowed boots and limping 6 miles out of the wilderness.

But for that view?  I'd do it all over again.

Saturday night Amanda hosted a "intimate accessories" party at her house.  Between the hike and the ankle and three glasses of wine, I got pretty tanked and almost died when the very masculine, 50-something year old friend of the consultant slammed a suction-cupped glow-in-the-dark dildo onto Amanda's fireplace. And just let it sit there bobbing for the next 15 minutes.  Thank god I was dehydrated or I would have peed myself. 

• The next weekend, Amanda and I went yurting on the coast near Newport.  Yurts are rad.  It's all the fun of camping (nature, peeing outside, listening to RV generators hum all night long), but without tents.  We basically ate our faces off in Newport (Local Ocean=best meal I have ever had on the coast), drank a few bottles of wine, read books and slept a lot.     

• Two weekends ago I rode in the Echelon Gran Fondo out in the Columbia Gorge.  100 miles with one very long 20 mile ascent that started at mile 45.  I rode in the Chris Horner peloton for about 30 miles, but didn't actually get to meet him because each time I got close to the front, some middle age wingnut in a Primal Wear jersey porkchopped me for the spot next to Chris.  I wanted to get some face time in and all, but it wasn't worth being injured by a guy in a Grover jersey.  

Part of the event was an OBRA sanction hill climb "race."  You could start whenever you wanted since the event was chip-timed. A big group of testosterone left together, but I waited for Julie and Rich and we headed up the hill about 20 minutes later.  I had no intentions of racing, but settled into a good pace as soon as we started gaining elevation. I climbed most of the way alone and felt great until running out of water about 2 miles from the summit.

I forgot about the whole "race" aspect until there was a photo posted on facebook that night.

Because the event awards time bonuses for fund-raising (I raised over $3500 for Livestrong and the OHSU  Knight Cancer Institute!), I had 20 minutes chopped off of my already respectable time and finished in ninth place....overall. Three minutes behind Chris Horner. Hilarious.  Even more hilarious is that I must have also been the fastest female with an OBRA license that completed the whole 100 mile ride, because I also "won" the hill climb with my non-bonus time.

• Finally, I started racing cross last week.  I'm operating under the theory this month that racing is a lot more fun than training, so why train?  I did three races in five days and was very pleasantly surprised with how my body is rebounding from treatment.  

First up was Blind Date at the Dairy on Wednesday night.

Photo:  Stephen Fitzgerald

 I rode my singlespeed and had a great race (other than looking like I was doing the truffle shuffle over the barriers) until the last half lap.  I was on a choppy, rocky section--a point on the course that was the physically furthest from the finish line--and felt my back tire go flat.  I rode on it for another minute or so until it rolled and I was forced to hoof it back to the finish line.  This involved running when people were watching and walking when no one was looking. Man, I hate running. However, I hadn't had a race flat in the last three years, so I suppose it was my turn. 

Saturday was the David Douglas CCX race in Vancouver.  I am really getting into this Saturday race stuff...new courses, small fields and no bathroom lines.  The course had a lot of great, fast flat sections and swoopy singletrack.  The "highlight," however, was the run-up that you couldn't see the top of until you were almost there.  That makes for about 60-90 seconds of run-up.  Man, I HATE running.  I finished a respectable fourth place after crashing in the first lap and sort of dinking around on the third lap. 

Sunday was the shitshow know as the Cross Crusade Series opener:  Alpenrose.  I love Alpenrose and have done really well on that course for the last two years.  With over 200 women in the race, and over 60 in my category, I just wanted to get a few points to reserve a call-up for the 2 or 3 crusade races that were on my schedule for the rest of the fall.

Photo:  Jose Brujo Sandoval (I am easy to spot in photos--just look for the Euro-trash neon yellow sunglasses.)

This is what the women's field looked like.  Insane.

The wonderful thing about cross racing this year is that I am not wasting a whole lot of energy being nervous before the race.  I ate a big waffle and shot the shit with friends I hadn't seen on months.  Only pre-rode 1/4 of the course and my warm-up consisted of rolling around the parking lot for 10 minutes and standing in the bathroom line. 

Photo:  Brujo. (Look at how much hair I have now!!)

I got a little anxious once we lined up, but mostly because I thought I was going to wet my skinsuit. Which,  after I lost about 10 pounds in the last month, now fits considerably better than it did at the Kermesse.

Here was my race strategy:  get in a fast first quarter of a lap to get out of the riff-raff, then settle into a pace that I could keep for 40 minutes.  

Photo:  Tim Schalberger. The entry into a two-barrier truffle shuffle.

Since we began catching Master A riders in the first lap and lapping beginners almost immediately upon starting the second lap, it became hard to tell who was chasing and who was being chased.  I knew Elise and Sarah were right behind me and that Anna Christiansen was probably making us all look like amateurs up front, but had no idea who else was in the game. 

Photo:  Rich Rosko

I was pretty sure I was in the top 7-8 riders after the first lap, and top 5 after the second lap, but then my math got a little fuzzy.

Photo:  Dave Roth.

I'd pass some people, then I would get passed, then pass back.  Then oxygen deprivation kicked in and math became impossible and irrelevant.

Credit:  Stephen Fitzgerald.  The skinsuit...how to look fast without actually being fast.

I rode the race completely clean and rolled in right in front of Elise.  

Then, as with all races where there are dozens and dozens of riders, there are hugs and high fives and the speculation begins.  Where did we finish?  Who beat whom? 

Turns out that the only person that beat me was Anna Christiansen.  That's right, this cancer patient on a single speed got second place at a Cross Crusade race. What was the best about the day, however, was racing with my friends and rejoining the collective suffering that is bike racing. Suck on that, cancer.

Accidental Semi-Fame.

When I was in high school, it was always my dream to have my face on the front page of the local paper's sports section.  I was a decent all-around small school athlete.   We didn't have soccer or cross country programs at my high school.  In the fall, your choice was volleyball or cheerleading.  Notwithstanding my height (5'6" in sneakers), I was a decent volleyball player, mostly because I was fast and strong and willing to dive headfirst into chairs. But never a standout. 

Basketball was my thing in high school.  I was just another short, insecure and awkward girl in braids until I hit my freshman year.  I spent the previous summer at one of my uncle's camps playing with boys and generally getting my ass handed to me.  But when I started playing with girls again, I had grown three inches and figured out that I was the fastest person on the court and threw the meanest screen in three counties.   It was a revelation.  I was never tall enough to play the position that suited my love of banging around in the paint, but I was quick and fit and fearless.  Won some all-state and all-league honors, but never made the front page.

My high school basketball career ended on a sour note when we lost by one point in a playoff game because I had fouled someone who made both free throws as time was running out.  I came back to basketball in law school and played on three straight intramural championship teams.  I still obsessively follow college basketball, but haven't played since I broke my wrist in 2004. 

I started running track in junior high school.  Softball was the other option and it was pretty obvious from my short lived little league career that I couldn't throw a ball for shit.  My dad and his sisters were all runners in high school and I know he was pretty pleased when I decided to run track.  At first, I just wanted to keep in shape for basketball.  But then I started winning races and was hooked. I won almost every 200 meter race I ran in junior high and became one of the best high school quarter milers in the area by the time I was a senior.  The best, though, was a phenomenal talent....and my teammate.   

My track coach (one of the best human beings on this planet) suggested during my senior year that I try training for the 800 meters.  He justified this by claiming that most small school 800 meter runners were 1500 meter runners that were stepping down and that my 400 meter speed would be an advantage.  But I also think he wanted to give me a chance to step out of Andrea's shadow. 

My big moment in local high school sports history finally happened during my last race at the state track meet.  I had finished fourth in the 400 meter race after I ran a crappy final corner.  And I was not a happy camper.  I had easily qualified for the 800 meter final, but didn't want to run it.  I was 17, hot and stubborn and pissed off.  I don't remember what my coach said to me other than to just run in third or fourth place until the last 200 meters, then take off like by butt was on fire. 

Somewhere in my parent's closet at home is a videotape of that race.  Starts with a closeup of a nervous girl in double french braids and striped knee socks, digging at the track with her spikes.  Then we are running.  I do what I was told and hold my position in third or fourth place until the last 200 meters.  The great thing about the video is listening to my coach's commentary throughout.  When we hit the 150 meter mark he's positioned somewhere behind the camera, screaming at me to go.  There is no possible way that I would have heard him, but in the instant that he starts hollering, I pull out into the second lane and put on the afterburners.  I held on and won by about 3-4 meters.  

My dad was working the track meet that year and got to be the person that got to hand me a small slip of paper with the number 1 on it as I passed through the finish line.  I still have that slip of paper.  One of the best moments of my life. 

My front page article came during week that I graduated from High School.  It was a good article chronicling my high school track career, which culminated in winning that state championship and later setting a school record in the 800 meters.

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Last Saturday I rode the Crater Lake Metric Century with my friend Jennifer.  The even organizer is a friends of my parents and when he got notice that I was going to be riding, the information was passed along to the local paper. 

So here it is:  my second appearance on the Herald and News Sports Section front page.  The full article can be found here.  Not exactly the way I had pictured things turning out when I was 14, when I wanted fame for being good, not just for showing up.  It is funny how life changes.  

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Finally, another fundraising plug. On September 26, I am going to be riding in the Portland Columbia River Gorge Echelon Gran Fondo.  The event raises money for the OHSH/Knight Cancer Institute and Livestrong. 

My plan is to continue to celebrate the end of my cancer treatment by finishing the 100 mile ride.  My goal is to raise at least $2500 dollars.  I also think I get to meet Chris Horner (for all of you uninitiated in the world of pro cycling, Horner is from Bend and was the highest placed American at the Tour de France this year),

I am halfway to my goal and need help from my friends and family.  If you would like to donate to help stomp cancer , you can do so online at this link.

Ask, and Ye Shall Recieve.

There is an enormous amount of release and relief that can be found simply by saying, "I am not OK.  I need some help.  I cannot live like this anymore."

Break-ups suck.  Cancer sucks.  The hormonal fluctuations caused by chemo-induced menopause suck.  Chronic fatigue sucks.  Put them all together and you've got yourself a perfect storm for going completely fruit loops.   

The fact that I'm anxious and depressed right now is probably not surprising to anyone that has been within 15 feet of me in the last month  My schedule is pretty chaotic with trying to fit exercise, eating right, working and getting to treatment in the 8-9 hours a day that I'm not completely wiped out.  I've gained about ten pounds in weird places that make my body feel unbalanced and awkward.  And I'm not sure what is more emotionally overwhelming:  coping with being single again or wrapping my head around the idea of intimacy with a new person in a post-cancer world. 

It took ten days of spontaneous, uncontrollable weeping and the return of the terrifying "pubic hair growing on my head" dreams before I decided to take the advice that I had so freely doled out to others.

"Go get some help.  Talk to someone.  You don't have to live like this."  

Lucky for me, it only took one phone call and six hours of waiting before I was sitting in a counseling office in the hospital's cancer center.   Admitting that I was having a problem getting a grip, and hearing back that that grip-lessness was not at all unusual for someone in my set of circumstances, was sweet relief. 

Lucky for me, there is something that can be done about all of my grief and frustration.  Some medication to help me cope for few months and a lot of talking to people who deal with people like me all of the time.  Learn how to deal with the stress of scans and tests, the tedium of five years of hormone therapy and the awkwardness of talking about my disease with strangers that may someday want to see me naked.  Ride my bike.

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As of today, I am halfway done with radiation.  My left boob is abnormally tan and the breast tissue is starting to harden, but my skin is still in pretty good condition.  I'm using aloe vera on the area throughout the day and some emu oil at night.  And I like that I have a medical excuse not to wear a bra.  

I really like the ride to the hospital, now that I've got the logistics and timing dialed in.  The ride is 16.8 miles round trip.  Four miles of climbing each way.  The climb through Washington Park and the Zoo in the way out is steeper, but beautiful.  The climb along Hwy 26 coming back is exposed to the sun but the elevation gain is more gradual and gives me a chance to feel a sense of superiority over the afternoon traffic that is moving along more slowly than I am. 

Finally, I am getting my hair back.  Last weekend it was a mere five o'clock shadow under my scalp, but five days later my head is covered with a thick mix of both peach fuzz and real hair starters.  I also have a bit of peach fuzz along my lash line and in my armpits.  I'm four weeks out from chemo, so I expected to see something by now, but I've been surprised about how quickly it re-appeared.    

As my physical self starts to regenerate, looks like its time to re-focus on my mental self. 

Reality Check.

Sometimes we cross paths with people who are put in our path to give us a reality check.  After sitting next to me on the MAX today, hopefully there is a guy in a BMW somewhere that realizes that his life isn't as bad as he thinks.

Today has not been a good day.  I'm really pissed off about having cancer.  My relationship with the Mexican finished disintegrating this weekend and since I wasn't sleeping already, my ability to handle life in the last 48 hours has been questionable. 

I took the MAX to the hospital today.  I was scheduled to have my port flushed, then go to radiation.  I checked in at the oncologist's office and, after checking in, sit there for 20 minutes.  Upon reminding the receptionist that I was here, it was obvious that she had forgotten to notify the nurses.  

So I left to go to radiation.  Radiation is usually a pretty brief appointment...in and out in less than 15 minutes.  But I had to see the doctor today.  Basically waited a half hour (with nothing to entertain me other than a three year old People magazine) to have her look at my boob for 10 seconds and tell me it looked fine. As fine as 2/3 of a boob with a wonky nipple can look. 

Then back up to the oncologist's office.  I'd never had my port accessed without numbing the area first, and upon the first attempt to insert the needle, understood why we numb the area first.  Because it fucking hurts.  I jerked 6 inches in the air and the movement tore the needle out of my skin.  I started crying, there was a lot of blood involved and I left the office with a huge gauze pad taped to my chest. 

Which brings me to the guy with the BMW.  First, even though the train was packed with commuters,  he had his stuff spread out on two other seats. He was gracious enough when I asked him to move his things, but then he wanted to chat me up about how bad his day had been because his BMW was in the shop and he had to take the train.

This, in my opinion, was a full-on demonstration that some people live on a completely different planet  of self-awareness than the rest of us.   This planet is called Planet Paris Hilton. A planet where a lost day of BMW driving is a catastrophic event that must be shared with the puffy-eyed and exhausted woman sitting next to you.  You know that woman,  the one with a huge gauze pad sticking out of her shirt and no eyebrows. 

I managed to tolerate this for about three minutes.  Finally, it was one huff of frustration and complaint too many.

"You have to be fucking kidding me," I said.

At this point, BMW man finally exited orbit and made contact with planet reality.  I think he finally looked at me, really looked at me, and became deeply ashamed.  I don't purposely like making people uncomfortable, but it is my guess that, for once, I may have made the world a better place by feeling sorry for myself and completely losing my shit on an innocent bystander. 

Bikes! Dirt! Hot Flashes!

Last weekend, I described my cancer experience as being a filter between the old and new normal.  If nothing else, this disease gives us the opportunity (and down time) to take a look at our lives and decide what we want to bring through from the old life into the new life.

My first "in with the old" is my grand tradition of being overcommitted to things that I'm really excited about. I've taken on a new major volunteer project.  This year OBRA (the Oregon Bicycle Racing Association) is developing a cyclocross series for high school clubs.  I agreed to be the Grand Master High School Cyclocross Regional Coordinator for the Portland Metro area.   The goal for 2010 is to get some high school 'cross clubs up and running and get the infrastructure set up for bigger and better things next year.  I'm sort of bossy, so this is a good project for me. Our first meeting is tonight, which gives me approximately 5 hours to get the hell over the fact that I hate talking in front of crowds.  Must tell myself to remember this is about getting kids on bikes, not about my public speaking neurosis.

I've also decided to ride, and fund raise for, the Echelon Gran Fondo on September 26.    Go here to donate.  I promise that the proceeds will benefit Livestrong and the OHSU and Mid-Columbia Cancer Centers, not the "Lindsay Needs to Purchase a Race Bike Before February 2011 Campaign." 

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I did my first post-cancer race last night.  The season finale at the Portland Short Track Series.  I wanted to do the team relay, which required that I do my category race earlier in the evening.  My plan was to do two laps, then drop out.  But two laps went by and I was not last.  In fact, I was passing people.  Competitive nature overrode common sense and I finished the race.  I forgot how hard short track is, especially when one is as aerobically un-fit as I am right now, but it was so fun. 

You know what this means...the return of the race report!!!  I'll put that together tomorrow and you can marvel in now I managed not to crash and in how it only took six months for my team jersey to become unacceptably and inappropirately tight fitting. 

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And, oh yeah, I finished chemo.  Did you hear that?  Shall I say it louder?  I AM ALL DONE WITH CHEMO BITCHEZ.  And thank god for that, really.  Because I am hot-flashing like a maniac and don't know how I'd be able to deal with much more of the sleep deprivation that is caused by waking up every hour of every night feeling like someone has placed my head in a convection oven. I did read last week that the hot flashes caused by chemo can last months after treatment is done, but, for my own sanity, I'm ignoring this possibility.  WAKE UP OVARIES. 

I have already started radiation.  Three down, 28 to go.  The treatments themselves aren't that bad, but I haven't seen any side effects yet. Other than the unusual side effect of than wanting to stab myself in the eye with a pencil each time I think about commuting out to St. My Cousin Vinnie's EVERY DAY FOR SIX WEEKS. 

I'm going to need a twelve step program for Beaverton overdose by the time all of this is over with.

Some Shameless Self Promotion, and Some Om.

I was interviewed on Monday for an article in the Bend Bulletin this morning about cancer, Lance and this weekend's Tour Des Chutes in Bend, Oregon. (Thanks to the wonderful Miss Heather Clark, for thinking of me and listening to my decaffeinated rambling.)  This was my second time as an interviewee (the first time was for an article in June's RaceCenter magazine, "Return of the Athlete"), and I can't say that I've mastered the arts of not repeating myself and not forgetting what I was originally asked in an attempt to formulate an eloquent answer. 

Here is Heather's article. 

During the interview, we talked a bit about cycling, the limits of traditional medicine and taking control of one's own care.   Looking back on my own experience with chemotherapy, I can definitely point to the moment where I started regain control of my physical and mental health.  It was when I posted the list from the naturopath on the refrigerator, ate my first dose of mega-protein and went for a walk.  

Being accountable for my own care has been something that has carried through since that day.  I can tell when I fall off the wagon and eat too much sugar and too little green food.  Or when  I skip exercising.  Or exercise too much.  It doesn't feel too great, but what does feel great is knowing that it is 100% on me to make the needed corrections and get back on track.

If  are curious about what I've been doing, keep reading.  If not, I wish you Happy Weekend. I'm taking off tomorrow for a long weekend in Bend--the Tour Des Chutes ride, some easy mountain biking and a whole lot of sunshine.

Without further ado:  My accountability list. 

Eating:  My diet has seen some major re-working in the last four months.  Although I am still getting that occasional nacho or coke fix, I am concentrating on avoiding processed foods and incorporating more green stuff and fruit stuff into my diet.  This hasn't been hard to do, as I've discovered that I like cooking (!?) and that I'm not so bad at putting together healthy and delicious meals.  I'm also very lucky that I live in a city where there is a farmer's market nearby on every day of the week.  I'm able to get fresh produce on a whim and I try to buy one item per week that I've never used before and incorporate it into a meal.  

Right now, I'm big on smoothies, green tea, meal salads and anything with quinoa.

As far as recipe resources, I get many of mine from Sunset magazine, MIX magazine, Real Simple,

Elana's Pantry, and Jamie Oliver cookbooks. 

Exercise:  I try to exercise for an hour every day.  When I first started chemo, this hour mostly consisted of walking, but due to a serious bike jonesing, a chronically crabby SI joint, and a sore ankle from a glorious hiking wipeout,  I have gradually replaced most of my walks with bike rides.  I also have rejoined my twice-weekly core strength/speed/agility class. 

I have had to bring a whole new perspective to that class.  In the days BC, this early AM class was the first of two workouts.  Class in the morning, followed by a bike workout at lunch or after work.  No problem, easy breezy.

In the days AC,  I have to use a much lighter medicine ball, and if I can make it through class without having to cut back on repetitions or sit out an exercise, I am totally killing the workout.  KILLING IT.  And if I can ride the 3 miles to work afterwards...BONUS. 

Acupuncture: I have been going to acupuncture for four years, and have been seeing my acupuncturist 2-4 times a month since my diagnosis.  She's been able to help me with the inflammation issues associated with surgery, the GI issues brought on by Adriamycin, the aches and pains of Taxol and the mental challenges of being a cancer patient. 

Massage:  I haven't been as consistent with massage, but it has been a great tool for both relaxation and for getting normal range of motion back into my affected arm.  In my ongoing battle with my right SI joint, I'm trying a Thai massage tomorrow. 

Yoga:  Developing a regular yoga practice is my latest challenge.  Lots of excuses:  Yoga classes are not cheap, I am remarkably inflexible and the the idea of having to quiet my mind and BE CALM for an hour is mildly terrifying.

All of this being said, there is a lot of material out there that indicates that a regular yoga practice lowers stress which, in turn, lowers my recurrence risk.  Since all of this accountability stuff is not only about getting rid of my current cancer, but also doing whatever I can to avoid a future cancer, seems like a good thing to incorporate into my routine. 

I've decided the best way to go about this is to work with someone one-on-one so I can develop a practice that addresses my two needs:  stress reduction and increased flexibility.  That starts this week.  Stay tuned.

Reiki:  I am seeing a practitioner that I know through Team in Training and it has been, surprisingly, one of the most effective means of dealing with my symptoms.  If you don't know exactly what Reiki is, there is a decent description on Wikipedia. 

I've only been to Terry twice, but have come out of both treatments with increased energy and a relaxed mindset,  and the post-chemo treatment completely relieved my body of the aches and pains caused by Taxol and the Neulasta shot. 

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I've been blessed to belong to a community of people that have made much of this available to me with minimal out-of-pocket expense.   Bike people rule, y'all. 

However--if you don't have these types of resources available to you as easily as I do, I would highly recommend looking for programs that are available for free through hospitals and non-profit organizations.  For example, OHSU provides yoga classes and massage to cancer patients at little or no cost and the Cancer Centers at Providence have more patient programs that you can shake a stick at.

Me, 7. Chemo, 1.

How did almost three weeks come to pass since my last blog post?

I'll tell you--I'm a tired cookie. On my good weeks I'm trying to bill 35-40 hours at the firm and on my bad weeks, well, they're bad weeks. I'm really anemic and my white blood cell count has dipped enough where I've had to keep on with the Neulasta shots. The shots, after not really affecting me that badly during the A/C days, are really kicking my ass now. Doctor says that its likely the combination of the soreness that Taxol already causes and the fact that my body is finally needing the hard-core bone marrow kickstart that the Neulasta causes.

The shot was this morning, and I'm hoping that premedicating with Advil and yoga will head off some of the discomfort and the resulting lack of motivation to do anything other than lie around in bed watching the World Cup and the Tour. Thank god for the Tour--when I'm too tired to put on anything other than underpants and wife beaters, tuning out to Phil and Bobke is a little more dignified than MTV's "True Life: Facebook is Ruining My Relationship." (I came to the conclusion that it was Jersey, not Facebook, that was ruining the relationship.)

My eyebrows and eyelashes are currently in the throes of Custer's Last Stand. I'm awkwardly (and rather unsuccessfully) learning how to draw eyebrows and used the alien-like change in my face as an excuse to go drop $80 at Sephora this morning. Apparently you can mitigate looking like an albino bowling ball with the clever application of eyeliner and creme eyeshadow. We'll see how that goes.

I have only one chemo treatment left. One. This is a good thing for many, many reasons, not the least of which is that I am completely over this. By "this" I don't so much as mean the Franken-eye, the perpetual exhaustion and the scaring myself in the mirror in the middle of the night. What I am over is the waiting for the net chapter of my life to begin. I have a million things I want to do, need to do, and it's hard to be patient.

I had a small tempter tantrum about this a while back. I've got an ongoing mental list of things I want to accomplish in the near future. It includes some small things--like learning how to make biscuits from scratch and buying new towels for my bathroom--and not insignificant things like outlining a book, writing a business plan for something I'd like to try in 2-3 years and starting a small non-profit.

With all of the downtime I've had in the last few months, it logically (?) seemed to me that I should be using it to get some of these bigger things accomplished. Then cancer reality sets in and all I have the energy to do is lay in bed, watch bad TV and feel guilty about my utter lack of productivity.

The Mexican finally had enough of this last weekend. I can't remember, verbatim, the lecture I got, but the gist was this: You need plans and things to look forward too, and you need to follow through with these things when you are well, but not a single one of these things has to be done RIGHT NOW. You are making yourself (and me) crazy trying to be a super-hero.

As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. I have placed an enormous amount of pressure on myself to be a Cat 1 Cancer Patient. To be tough and inspiring. Putting on appearances is almost as exhausting as the treatment itself.

So here's to being lazy and vulnerable and skipping out on more productive activities in order to make, and subsequently eat, a bowl of whipped cream and watch Footloose on CMT.

Cheers.

Health Update for June-uary

(If you don't get the title of this post, you obviously don't live in Portland.  It's the middle of June and I wore a GoreTex jacket, shoe covers and a wool hat to commute this morning.)

Enough with the recent existential whining.  Here is the latest on the nuts and bolts cancer stuff.

First, congratulations to me for hitting my 100 day mark as a cancer survivor.  On my 33rd birthday, no less. 

Second, five chemo happy hours down, three to go.  I am now on a new drug, Taxol.  So far, Taxol has been much easier to deal with, primarily because Taxol does not cause nausea.  As I'm on the third consecutive week of being able to eat on a normal schedule, I've gained back all of the weight that I lost when I got sick six weeks ago.  All of this has conveniently reappeared in my gut region.  Hellooooo, chemo potbelly.  Hellooooo, stretchy skirts and empire waist sundresses. 

I refuse to be totally accountable for this, and almost have myself convinced that part of the weight gain is attributable to the fact that the chemo is fucking with my ability to poop on a regular basis.  This has become one of my daily cancer patient gripes.  So much so that I might have to turn this blog into "Confessions of the Bald and Chronically Constipated."  Thirty-three is entirely too young of an age to be figuring out how to incorporate prune juice and Miralax into one's daily smoothie.  But so it goes.  

Taxol's major side effect (other that fatigue) is muscle aches and joint pain.  So far, all of this has been manageable with rest, Advil, Epsom salt bathes and staying warm.  The weather, of course, is not cooperating with the latter strategy and I have taken to wearing a thick wool stocking cap and wool socks in my office to compensate.

Some of the expected side effects are becoming more pronounced.  I am officially anemic, but my blood numbers have been outstanding otherwise.  My skin is dry enough that my face now soaks up shea butter hand cream and my nails are splitting.  I also have some sort of member of the mushroom family taking up residence on my left hand.  Its not exactly the same fungus as last summer, but still....fungus.  Nasty.  So now, in addition to the wool hat and socks, I am wearing a latex glove on my left hand to keep the fungus cream on my hands and off of my keyboard.    I look and feel like a crazy person, only one step away from the guy in front of my office building that wears a sleeping bag like a cape.  

Now for the fun, unexpected side effects.  First, I am a walking, talking booger factory.  All of my nose hairs fell out, so my nose drains constantly and any debris in the air collects on the inside of my nose in solid form.  (Surprisingly, so far I still have my eyelashes and enough eyebrow to get by without an eyebrow pencil.) I have boogers that will randomly fall out of my nose when I am talking to people.  This is really sexy and not at all distracting.  But, however, not as sexy and distracting as:

The Franken-eye.

This is the name I have given my left eye.  Something about chemo has made my eyes very dry and sticky, therefore causing them to stick shut when I blink.  So please do not be alarmed if we're having a normal conversation and quite suddenly I look like Sloth from the Goonies.  Just give me a minutes to manually open my eye and pretend like nothing unusual is happening.

----

I met with a radiation oncologist last week and have that stage of my treatment tentatively scheduled.  Because I haven't had any setbacks or blood work issues, the doctor was willing to bump up my start date eleven days (July 31) and increase my daily dosage such that I will be done (D-O-N-E) with treatment the day before I leave for Cycle Oregon.  This pleases me to no end.

Re-Entry Woes.

So where have I been lately? That's a question with no easy explanation. I'll start with my weekly Free Will horoscope:

"If you have long conversations with the image in the mirror this week, I won't call you a megalomaniacal narcissist. Nor will I make fun of you if you paint 15 self-portraits, or google yourself obsessively, or fill an entire notebook with answers to the question "Who am I, anyway?" In my astrological opinion, this is an excellent time for you to pursue nosy explorations into the mysteries of your core identity. You have cosmic permission to think about yourself with an intensity you might normally devote to a charismatic idol you're infatuated with."

The mysteries of core identity. Who am I anyway?

I might not be having long conversations in the mirror, but I sure have been talking to myself a lot lately.

Figuring out who we are is often referred to as a process of "finding oneself." For me, it feels more like a process of elimination. Take all of the things I could possible be and gather them up. Some of the identities were easy to get rid of. Some of them I had to experience to realize whether they fit or not. Some of them I didn't realize existed until after experiences of extreme joy or fear.

Being diagnosed with cancer was like having my existing slate wiped almost completely clean. Which is simultaneously a blessing and a curse.

In the times BC (before cancer), I lived this frenetic, competitive, structured existence that I thought suited me to a "T". I did what I thought I was supposed to do: college, law school, got a good white-collar job. I got married (and yes, divorced), bought a place to live and incurred some good old fashioned American debt. I trained and raced and won things. Life was a whirlwind of billable hours, training rides, take-out and happy hour.

I thought I had everything I wanted. But after spending the last few months thinking about other things and doing other things, it is apparent that this pre-BC existence won't work for my in the times post-BC. The times where the simplest things are making me the happiest: cooking, sewing, reading, spending time with friends and moving my body just for the sake of moving.

Instead of being a liberating thought, this scares me to death. Since I went back to work and realized that the break has not reawakened any enthusiasm for my current career, there are frequent moments where I'm paralyzed by dead and anxiety. Thirty-three year old women should not tear up with dread at the thought of being lonely and bored in their offices. Yet, this is exactly what I did on Monday morning.

Knowing that things need to change is easy. Figuring out what to do next is terrifying. But something has to give. I know that I would be wasting my newly discovered (and precious)state of cancer enlightenment if I just went back to the status quo at the end of treatment. And the status quo will not keep me healthy in the long-run. I am sure of that.

People change careers all of the time. ALL OF THE TIME. They go back to school and start businesses and write books. They take risks despite the odds. There is nothing about who I am that makes this impossible for me. I might not feel like I have many useful skills, but I can learn to do anything...I can write a book, run a bike shop, rule the world, own the Internet...if I can get out of my own way long enough to get started

So here's the Catch-22. While cancer has given me the gift of enlightenment, is is also a big impediment to following through on change. I have to keep my health insurance and need a steady stream of income to pay for food, my mortgage and what will be a lifelong stream of doctor's bills. And my chronic bike habit...nothing about that will ever change.

I've talked about this with a couple of people this week and they both pointed out that getting physically healthy should be my first priority right now, that the lifestyle changes will work themselves out. This is true, but getting healthy means not only becoming cancer free, but getting my other ducks in a row so that I am happy, anxiety-free and, ultimately, stay cancer-free. And procrastinating and doing nothing is not exactly moving me in the right direction.

Advice...anyone?

Oh, Lance.

I bet if you own a bike, you have an opinion about Lance Armstrong.

Just in case you have nothing better to read this afternoon, here's mine.

Reading "It's Not About the Bike" after I was diagnosed was mind-blowing.  The story was a good one when I read it for the first time.  But the second time was like reading about my own life.  Other than the whole winning the Tour seven times thing. And that's just because they don't let women ride in it. 

Lance is one intense mutha-fucker.  Maybe you'd call him a jackass.  As someone know for opening her mouth at inopportune times and taking ill-advised flyers off the front to a race just to get my thirty dollars worth out of it, I get that.   

I get that the first thought that went through his mind when he received his diagnosis was that it would effect his bike racing.  I get the whole thing about being weak and poisoned and despondent.  I get the epiphanies that you get when you realize that you are being given a second chance to get your shit together and go be the person in the world that you were supposed to be all along.

I get all that.

What I don't get is what to think about Lance and doping.  Here's why.  He's a survivor.

Lance went thought something significantly more toxic than I am enduring.  The radioactive substances they pumped into his body killed his reproductive system, wasted his body and caused uncontrollable nausea.  What I am going through is much more doable, but the fact doesn't change that it is all incredibly toxic.  My body and my soul will never be the same. 

After being exposed to so much toxicity, after being stared in the faced with my own mortality, I couldn't imagine going back out into the world and exposing my body to more chemicals, more medical uncertainties, solely for the purpose of winning races.  It makes zero sense to me. 

If the hand grenades that Floyd has been launching at Lance and the cycling institution turn out to be true, I'll be honest with you.  I'll be sort of devastated.  

I used to not care about this sort of stuff.  Cheaters were cheaters and we all know about cheaters not prospering.  Or dying of heart attacks at 35 or having their balls shrink into their chests.  They all get their's in the end.

But Lance?  Lance is a survivor.  No, correction, Lance has made himself into "The Survivor."  If he also turns out to be a doper it will feel like a slap in the face to thousands of other survivors who have drawn inspiration and strength from his intensity and perseverance. 

Oh, Lance.  

----

But, all of that aside, as a cancer survivor, I cannot help but appreciate the attention he has brought to our disease and the struggles that survivors face even when we become cancer free.  So there's that. 

So I'm suspending judgment for the time being and am planning to support the efforts of the Lance Armstrong  Foundation by riding the Tour des Chutes on July 17.   Because, when it really comes down to it, there are still survivors out there, and sometimes we need all of the help we can get.

To the Left...To the Right...And Back to the Middle.

We all know that progress rarely occurs in a straight line. Instead, it undulates or peaks and plateaus before peaking again. This is definitely true in cycling and I am finding that it also holds true with dealing with this disease.  

After a few weeks of zen, I got sick, got tired and found myself falling back into old, less healthy patterns.  I judged, procrastinated, worried and skipped new practices that I know made my life better.  I didn't exercise, slacked on my writing, was needlessly unpleasant to bank employees and dropped the ball planning my own birthday party.  I let the fatigue win. 

Its a delicate balancing act--trying to get back into my normal pre-cancer routines (working, cycling, socializing), but keeping only those elements that are healthy and productive while eliminating the things about that life that weren't so great.  Forming new habits is hard...its always three steps forward, a step or two backwards. 

The self-judging has been the hardest old habit to brake.  The cycle of thinking that I should be working more or feeling stronger.  That there isn't ENOUGH to my life...am I healing enough, working enough, resting enough, eating enough good food, exercising enough, getting enough from my relationships.  Enough already.

Today's lesson: Living a balanced life is not like standing on solid ground.  More like standing on one foot, blindfolded, on a wobble board.  It doesn't come naturally--without training, conscious planning, constant adjustment and the acceptance that sometimes we lose our balance and slide off. 

So for this cancer patient, it is time to get back on the wobble board.  To plan meals ahead of time so I eat well during my bad weeks.  To lace up the shoes, put on the rain coat and walk, even when the Portland weather is doing everything it can to discourage us from going outside.  To write without worrying whether there is anything relevant or humorous within the words.  To not judge myself as weak when  the concentration necessary for three hours of lawyer work kicks my ass.  To embrace the simple and eliminate the stressful.  To remember that even when I feel strong, I need rest.  To ask for help when I need it.

Escape from Portland.

OHMYGODFUCKINGCABINFEVER.

That is the best way I can describe, using letters instead of frustrated and unintelligible noises, how Round Three has gone so far.  

Chemo was Monday this time around, due to a scheduling issue with the doctor's office.  And I woke up Monday morning with a head cold.  So I knew going in that R3 not going to be the cakewalk that R2 had been.  

The infusion itself...no problem.  As the owner of a brand new iPad, I spent the two hours geeking out on my new toy.  Some out there might say that porn is the best way to kill time on the internet.  I am not one of those people.  I am a person that spends an hour in a measurement conversion application calculating that I weigh 10.71 stones and averaged 16.7 knots at Jack Frost this year.  All very useful and important information. 

By Monday afternoon, I could feel the fatigue clamping down on me.  And it didn't let loose until Thursday afternoon.  Cold fatigue on top of chemo fatigue was not fun.  Didn't exercise, didn't cook.  Just shuffled in a bermuda triangle from the bed to the couch to the kitchen.   Slept, dazedly watched bad TV, ate burritos and tried to stay hydrated.  (One of the strange things about masking nausea with medication is that it really doesn't affect my ability to eat.  What it does affect is my fluid intake.  There is something about drinking water that made me feel more wonky than eating a heavily loaded bean and cheese burrito.  Go figure.)

I now have a serious case of cabin fever.  It started yesterday afternoon when I was driving home from acupuncture.  The treatment did wonders for clearing up my sinuses and lungs--one of the last things that I need right now is a respiratory infection.  Stuck in the construction traffic on MLK, I had an overwhelming urge to get on to I-84 and drive until the car ran out of gas.  To go anywhere with wind and fresh air and sunlight and without a incessantly beeping clothes dryer.  Something to jerk me out of falling back into bad habits of funk, procrastination and ambivalence.

A horn honked nearby and I was jerked back to reality.  The reality of my body and its need for more rest.

I gave myself another twelve hours of couch surfing, tea drinking and wedding-reality-show-watching.  But this afternoon I am headed to Astoria to spend some time with a friend, then to Pacific City to meet some teammates at the end of the Reach the Beach ride.  Time to get back into good habits--writing in my journal, finishing a book that has taken me too long to read, walking, connecting with people. Living, not waiting.

Hair We Go.

This cancer shit can never be simple, can it?

My hair started falling out over the weekend.  Whatever, totally expected.  What was not expected was creative path my hair decided to take before its curtain call.

There isn't an "easy" button for chemo hair loss.  Because that would be nice.  Press the easy button and all of it falls out at once, I rinse out the shower and that would be that.  I could then proceed along with being awesomely bald or, at least, able to wear hats and wigs without my stubble catching, pulling and hurting my suddenly sensitive head. 

Of course, it doesn't really work like that.  Instead, I have been up shedding stubble all over the greater Metro area and, after six days, am still left with a hair yarmulke. 

Yes, my hair is falling out....everywhere but from the crown of my head. 

I feel like the cancer monster is getting back at me for kicking ass through the second round of chemo.   In exchange for increased energy and a healthy GI system, I am now afflicted with the opposite of male pattern baldness.  Its so ridiculous that it is, quite honestly, hilarious. 

-----

I made two big steps forward toward normalcy this week.  First, I went back to work.  For those of you that just started reading this blog, I am a lawyer.  I have a specialty practice area and only work for a few attorneys, all of whom I adore.  However, I can't say that I adore working in a law office.  Even in great firms like the one I work in, there is always this overarching vibe of panic mixed with self-importance mixed with entitlement and expensive cologne. 

After two days back in my office, I can already see that my biggest work challenge will be not letting this vibe ruin my new sense of zen.  My office is on a busy hallway and I frequently found myself trying to concentrate over loud conversations that made me want to tip over my desk and  run around in a circle screaming "NONE OF THIS REALLY MATTERS."  Nothing would ruin zen like a psychotic episode. 

Second, I started back up with strength class on Tuesday.  I'm sore.  But it's a welcome soreness because it is movement related, instead of caused by surgeries or medication or being unable to sleep.  I have to be very careful not to stress my affected arm and, this morning, learned the hard way that I have to focus a bit more because misjudging the speed and trajectory of a medicine ball could mean taking an eight pound weight directly into the chest.  Not good when one has a port on the right side and a structurally compromised half-boob on the left side.

This...I Can Deal With.

Cycle 2, Day 4 is almost in the books.  

I'm still really tired from the chemo, but life has been so much easier this time around.  Physically, I have had enough energy and motivation to do my daily walkabouts.  Today, it was just three meandering laps around Willamette Park with my friend Delyne, but yesterday I was able to do most of Terwilliger. I'm hoping to make it down to the Eugene Roubaix tomorrow and get a walk in while the girls race, and Sunday, hopefully, take my track bike to the velodrome for a half hour or so.  A couple of good runs off of the top rail at Alpenrose will definitely be good for the legs--and the soul. 

Mentally, its been like living on a different planet.  Simply put, I feel like I can deal with all of this right now.  

We made a few changes to my medications this time around and I think it has made part of the difference.  I'm taking half of the original steroid dosage and, fingers crossed, haven't had any nausea complications as a result. My skin immediately cleared up and it has been easier to wind down in the evening.   I've also don't need as much sleep medication.  Part of that is probably attributable to the lower dosage of steroids, part of it to keeping up with the exercise. 

I've become one of "those people" in the last two weeks.  You know, "those people" that watch every little thing that they put into their body.  Many things have been eliminated from my diet because they don't agree with my newly finicky stomach:  coffee (!!!!!!), processed sweets and heavy carbs, soda.  I'm drinking a ton of homemade iced green tea and Nuun-flavored water.  Alcohol doesn't even sound good...a glass of wine or a half of a beer with meals on my good days has been all I've been able to handle. 

And I'm eating like a champ:  lots of protein, fruit and only organic eggs, dairy and meat.  Slowly learning how to work more legumes and greens into my daily routine.  It's been hard because by the time I eat everything on my "must-eat" list, I'm usually at my food intake limit for the day.  (The anti-nausea meds keep things down, but also make harder to funnel stuff in the opposite direction.)

Too bad it took me 30 years to consciously think about these things, because, all things considered, I feel great right now.  Less toxic, less bloated. Able to, you know, deal. 

Time for a nap...have a wonderful weekend, y'all.  I'll get into some trouble this weekend and have some good stories on the flip-side.

The $102 Dollar Haircut, And Other Weekend Stories.

Health stuff first.  Round Two of the Adriamycin/Cytoxin Cocktail Hour Extravaganza took place this morning. Post-chemo retail therapy courtesy of Whole Foods.  My household is going to eat well tonight, if I don't manage to undercook or overcook something.

My weight is stable.  If anything, I've lost some weight in the last two weeks.  Probably a regular pooping thing.  My blood work was all excellent.  Some numbers were predictably down, but I'm well within normal levels of everything that they test for.   

Chemo itself was uneventful.  I went by myself and behaved. Passed the time by listening to the She & Him albums (if you like Camera Obscura, the Noisettes or alt country, I think you'd like this collaboration) and reading another chapter in Anti-Cancer. Next time I think I'll wear my new hat to make things interesting:

Thanks, Mel.  And yes, this cancer does make my ass look fat. Thanks for asking. 

Now the fun stuff. Winner of the previously unannounced best chemo text contest: My goat, Angela Jamison.  Angie has been encouraging me to turn all of this word making into a book and had this insightful comment:  

"I bet cancer would feel exploited if you used your relationship with it to get famous." 

I was driving when I finally read this text and almost had to pull over from laughing.  (Yes, I am aware playing with my Blackberry while behind the wheel is now against the law in Oregon.  However, I was on Highway 26 at a dead stop.  So you sanctimonious traffic safety nazis can go fuck yourselves.) 

Yes, I could become the cancer equivalent of the winner of that "Be Paris Hilton's Best Friend" reality show.  Or Nicole Richie.  Same difference.

----

And speaking of sanctimonious traffic snobs...onto the story about the $102 haircut. I went to the Bishop's on NE 28th on Thursday afternoon to get rid of the hair. It was supposed to cost $12.

It was a refreshingly pain-free process.  It took three run-throughs with three different clippers.

No tears, no negative emotion.  Just a lot of relief, a wacky gay guy with clippers and some bad cheap beer.  And lots of inappropriate jokes:

I am now SO ready for the wind tunnel.  Watch out Lance, I'm going to KILL IT at the Tour time trials this year. In an old T-Mobile kit and on a recumbent tricycle with a flag and a Burley trailer  You will cry in embarrassment, then give me a six-figure deal to ride for the Shack next year.

When we got back to the car, I had a parking ticket.  A NINETY FUCKING DOLLAR PARKING TICKET.  And a snarky, mis-spelled, grammatically incorrect note from the owner of the driveway I was blocking by three inches.  I admit that it was a crap parking job, but I was so distracted when I parked that I didn't even notice.  And, truthfully, I am the type of person who re-parks.

Christy and I drove away quickly, and I'm glad we did.  It was the only event that ruined my zen last week and I really didn't need to make a scene in the middle of some bored, stupid person's porch.

Life has a ironic sense of humor.  Shaving my head was the most expensive haircut I have ever received. 
-----

I spent last weekend out enjoying the Cherry Blossom Cycling Classic.  Enjoying it because I wasn't fucking racing it.  The road courses on Friday and Saturday were short enough that I was able to ride them in the opposite direction and watch the racing from my bike.  I did 18 miles on Friday and 25 on Saturday.  The Saturday ride was what I like to refer to as a Grandpa's Tall Tale Ride:  either uphill or into a headwind the entire ride.  All it was missing was a blizzard and a plague of locusts.  But it was sunny, and,  dear jesus, I was ON MY BIKE.

My team had a great weekend.  The Mexican finished 6th in the Cat 4 race.  He's only been bike racing for six weeks and finished sixth in a stage race.  I am very impressed. (Yes, I am hanging out with the Mexican. Again.  Don't judge.  Next time you catch the cancer, shave your head, have a wonky boob and are covered in some sort of weird steroid acne breakout, you will understand how good it feels to have someone in your life that tells you that you are sexy, and acts like you are sexy, every time he sees you.  Even if that person is certifiably insane most of the time.  Turns out that it is all about regulating my own exposure to that crazy, sexy, irresistible insanity.)

But my girls?  My Cat 3 girls ROCKED it:

From left to right:  I won the 10-lap cancer patient crit (as the only entry) on a borrowed bike while wearing running shorts and wore a rad cowboy hat for the rest of the afternoon.  Everyone else here made it to the real podium.  Alice finished 5th in the General Classification for Cat 4s:  5th in the Crit, 5th in the TT and 6th and 7th in the Road Races.  She is now a Cat 3.  Mindy was second in the GC in a totally stacked Cat 3 field. Rock. Anna was second in the Stage 1 road race.  Amanda was second in the criterium.  The gal in the Veloce kit is Kelly McKean.  She finished second in the Stage 3 circuit race (also known as the "Hardest Circuit Course I've Ever Seen").  I am a climber, for sure, but Kelly is a climber on a whole different level.

The Cat 4's also did exceptional:  everyone finished and Mo pulled a Ninth Place GC finish out of her sarcastic, gluten-intolerant ass.  And didn't get dropped in the crit. Mo is awesome.

But, team business aside, I do have to say the highlight of the weekend was watching one of my favorite people, Anne Linton, win the Cat 3 crit.  Anne is older than dirt (which is something I tell her every time we race together), but is one awesome fast old lady.  She has been part of my lead-out for several PIR victories and I still owe her some return favors.  I was so excited to see her finish first that I almost missed my own teammate finishing second.

So proud of you, Anne. 

Cycle.....Well...Cycle!

First, the big news.  I rode outside yesterday. For the first time in 45 days. 

Before the ride was the mixed joy and frustration of working on my bike.  An activity I hadn't done for months.  I sold my race bike to a teammate before the diagnosis and, now that there is no reason to spend big money on a 2010 model race bike (why do that when I can buy a 2011 model race bike-duh), I am planning on using my Tri-Cross for summer riding and Cycle Oregon.  

Which meant conducting what is usually a very simple exercise...swapping out wheels.  A simple task that was made completely infuriating by one of the most aggravating pieces of equipment in the cycling world:  Tektro cyclocross brakes. It should not be that f-ing hard to (1) undo the brake arms and (2) adjust the brakes to eliminate rub.   

I threw a tool yesterday. I have been doing some of my own mechanic's work for a long time and had never thrown a tool in frustration.  I felt like there was a hidden camera in the ceiling and a roomful of lab-coated engineers and psychologists in a secret test facility sitting in front of a screen and rejoicing that there nefarious plan had finally worked. 

Anyways.  Breathe. 

I met Heidi at her house for a short spin around SE Portland.  For some reason, I didn't want to wear my team kit, just casual knickers and a long-sleeved shirt.  It seemed like if I wore the pinstripes, there would be pressure.  Pressure to do what, I have no idea. Train?  Win the hills? Not die of a heart attack in the Springwater Corridor headwinds? Who knows.

The first 15 seconds were a total rush.  My legs literally went:

What??

What?!

What!!

The motions were automatic were once I had a few minutes to adjust:  Shift, pedal, brake, weight the corners, bunny hop to check for rattles.  

It was like my soul was coming out of hibernation.  

I think we were out for an hour, but an hour was enough.  I was breathing pretty hard into the headwinds and inclines and my shoulders were aching from being forced back into the cyclist's hunch.   But I finished the ride feeling more joyful than I had been feeling for weeks.  And between the hour on the bike and the hour on foot in Forest Park in the morning, I fell asleep without a sleeping pill last night.  Again, for the first time in weeks.

---

Second piece of news.  I'm shaving my head today.  

It's a control and timing issue.  I'm on Chemo Day 10 and common wisdom is that it starts to fall out around Day 14.   I'm going out to the Gorge this weekend to support my teammates and friends at the Cherry Blossom Cycling Classic.  (And by support, I mean heckle.  And by heckle, I mean finding the longest hill on the course and yelling "Why are you going so slow?" at everyone.  This also might involve an air horn and a bucket of Gatorade to pour over people's heads. I'm a good teammate like that.)  I didn't want to deal with the hair over the weekend if it happened early, and I can already tell something is happening with my body.  I haven't had to shave my armpits since Saturday.  (Yes, we're talking about my armpits again.  Hopefully for the last time in a few months.)

I also didn't want to deal with shaving my head in the first few days after chemo. And I sure as shit don't want to deal with any clumps of hair falling out, EVER.

So today's the day. 

Which is totally ironic because my hair has been behaving marvelously for the last two weeks.  Its mocking me.  So, with everything that dares mock me, it's time to dole out some punishment. 

But in all seriousness, I'm expecting to need to grieve for a little bit of  time over this.  I've never been a hair person.  It's been short for over 12 years and my haircut has always been about keeping it out of my face and off my neck (its very thick) and how quickly I can look normal after taking off my bike helmet (with the help of a few genius styling products, I can go from ride to work appropriate in 15 seconds).  

But although bald may be beautiful, it also immediately flags me as a sick person.  Throughout all of the surgeries and scans and doctor visits, I was able to hide my "sick person" status under my bra or by holding my affected arm close to my body.   Can't so much get away with hiding anymore.  

Being bald will also force me to work on my patience with other human beings.  Like most reasonable people, I do not like being stared at.  And I'm going to get stared at.  Yelling "WHAT?! I HAVE FUCKING CANCER. FUCK OFF!" to everyone in Portland is not going to make me someone anyone else wants to be around for the next few months.  

So I am going to have to grow up and learn to make eye contact and smile insanely at strangers.  My theory is that if they think I'm also totally cuckoo for CocoPuffs, the staring will stop in a more timely manner. 

My life is already one big lab experiment.  I might as well make it an entertaining one.

 

Cycle 1, Days 7-8. There Is Light at the End of the Tunnels.

Gaaaahhhhhh!!!  If you were using this blog to check in on me and have been worried for a few days...Sorry!!  I have improved 4000 percent since Sunday evening, took Monday off from the computer and felt so good yesterday that I spent most of it out of the house catching up with some friends (go eat brunch at Tasty & Sons on Williams, owned by TNT alum John Gorham, NOW), running some personal errands and going on a walkabout in the West Hills.  

Monday morning was like waking up on a new planet.  I slept seven straight hours and was able to eat breakfast and drive myself out to my naturopath appointment at St. MCV's.  

Going to the naturopath was probably the best thing I've done for my mental health since the stupidfuckingcancer odyssey began (by the way...its been exactly two months since my diagnosis.  Never has a 60 day chunk of time seemed so short and so long at the same time.)  Our appointment was 30 minutes of my verbal dump, 15 minutes of him processing that verbal dump and 15 minutes of him laying down some new laws.

At first, I thought the guy was a bit of a kooky hippie, but by the end of it I found him to be quite remarkable.  Working with cancer patients is all that he does and I believe him when he says that he's good at it.  This is why.  

For 30 minutes he listened to my life story quietly, without affect, judgment or posture.  Asked me about work, about why I liked bike racing,  if I had set any post-treatment goals.  Then he left the room, gave me 15 minutes to compose myself and came back into the room in exactly the form I needed:  the coach.  Which is basically to say that he was able to read me like a teary-eyed open book and presented his treatment plan in a way that totally resonated with my personality.  He's given me a set of nutritional, mental and physical challenges and has basically said "If you do this, you can win."  And by "win," he means "not get your ass knocked around by chemo for four months." 

We're starting small--base miles, bitches.  There is a list on my refridgerator that is 6 items long.  Three of those items are related to digestive health, otherwise know as pooping.  I will save the lengthy pooping discussion for another day, because it really does merit its own post.  Suffice to say, everyone knows that if you're not pooping, that is bad.  If you are doing chemo and not pooping, this is super duper bad because that means your system is struggling to get that toxic shit out of your body.  It just sits there like antifreeze in a sewer.  Ugh.

The fourth item is protein related.  In a nutshell, chemo kills your fast growing cells like a Serbian mercenary--that is, without discrimination.  Chemo get cancer, but it also gets hair cells, fingernail cells, cells on the inside of the mouth, blood cells.  Without protein, the body struggles to rebuild the good fast growing cells. Most people get enough protein, but apparently cancer patients struggle with protein because many of the food that are palatable during chemo are high-fat, high-simple carbohydrate foods, not high protein foods.

Sorbet and dry cheerios, my comfort foods of choice, do not contain enough protein for my body to rebuild and fight.  Thus, from here on out, yogurt and at least two eggs per day, every day.  Normally, I can't eat eggs on a regular basis because my body doesn't do well with them when I am exercising at a high intensity.  Which, obviously, is not happening right now.  So eggs now taste good.  I'm going to try and learn how to poach eggs one of these mornings.  Maybe should get a video camera first. 

The next item on my marching orders, pun intended, is to walk at least 5 miles every day.  Even if I have to do it in 3 or 4 segments on my rough days, 5 miles.  I made it four miles on Monday (was still pretty tired from the four days of chemo hell), but did five and half yesterday afternoon.  On Terwilliger.  None of this pussy waterfront shit for me.  If I was going to walk five miles, I am going to WALK FIVE MILES. In the rain.  Uphill both ways (seriously-it was Terwilliger, people, there is no downhill.). 

My whole concept of five miles has changed.  On a bike, that's what....15 minutes?  Maybe 30 if the whole 5 is uphill?  Five point five miles on foot took me eighty minutes yesterday.  Granted, that was because most of it was uphill, but still.  Eighty minutes. 

I was fucking sore and tired by the end I got home.  But I was gloriously happy the entire time.  It was like exercise crack.  Slowing down made me appreciate the scenery and really listen to song lyrics.  As much as I hate to admit it, Lady Gaga is sort of a genius.  Madonna, too but she tends to waver between awesomely ridiculous and ridiculously awesome.  Compare anything on "American Life" to anything on "Erotica."  Night and day.  

Next item is my reading list.  He looked at me and said, "You're a smart woman.  You can read two books this week."  Um, okay, hippie facist doctor man.   First on the list was Lance Armstrong's book.  You know, that one.  The one we have all already read.  I read it ten years ago, while my grandfather was dying of leukemia.  Reading it ten years later as a bike racer and cancer patient, it basically blew my mind.  I will write more on that later.  The second book is "Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life" by David Servan-Schreiber.  Going to start on that one today. 

The final item on my list is a writing exercise that is intended to help with my anxiety.  As soon as I wake up, five minutes with a written journal.  Whatever is making me happy, anxious, angry, depressed, sad gets written down--without proofreading or wordsmithing.  

It may surprise you, but I've never been a private journaler.  I've kept private blogs every once in a while, mostly to play with writing styles, but nothing freeform, personal or on a consistent basis.  I've only done this exercise twice, but both times its lasted over 20 minutes and I feel like I've been through detox when I'm through.  So THIS is what I've been missing with journaling, but its better to have learned this lesson later than never. 

Whoa.....it's eight AM and I have to get moving.  I have a walking date in Forest Park, lunch with another survivor and, if the weather holds, a short bike ride with the effervescent Ms. Heidi Swift planned for today.  Better go eat my eggs and yogurt.

Over and out.