All I want for Christmas

On this day three years ago, our adorable, youngest grandson was born. He was our Christmas angel that year, born right before a snowstorm stopped the world for a day.

I remember when we found out our daughter was pregnant with him. We stood in their kitchen as the news of our oldest grandson becoming a big brother sank in and the realization of our family growing took hold.

We received that news sometime after I was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma – between the diagnosis and knowing the exact extent of the disease. At that time, my mind was still hung on the word metastatic, spreading. I smiled at the joyful news, but inside a part of me cried, not knowing how much of this wonderful new life I would get to see.

Today I smile on the inside too, after another clear checkup and NED (no evidence of disease) in my blood tests and scans. Perhaps another gift from a Christmas angel. Although antibiotics have not begun their work on the probable sinus infection causing the headaches I’ve been experiencing, at least it’s treatable.

I graduate to appointments every six months now, which is amazing and somewhat scary. At three-month intervals, I usually had something pop up around the time of my next visit. Now if something pops up, how long do I wait? As my oncologist said, “We’re still here,” but still.

The clinical trial I am in stretches appointments out even further after the next six month visit, to one year, however, my oncologist said we aren’t ready for that quite yet, which is fine with me. This is like weaning a baby off a security object.

Three and a half years ago, we were dealt the worst news a family never wants to hear. Two and a half years ago, I finished treatment and even now, I sometimes think certain issues are lingering side effects – like the headaches – although I pray the antibiotics knock it down and it’s truly only sinus related.

With more than three and a half years behind us in the cancer journey, we are cautiously looking ahead to the five-year mark and how we will celebrate that milestone. However, as each day passes, I remind myself, nothing is guaranteed. I remind myself of that tentative feeling in the pit of my stomach the day I first heard about our youngest grandson.

I’ve been blessed to watch him thrive and grow, and watch another addition to our family do the same. I embrace every opportunity to be with each of our grandchildren, loving them as deeply as possible in those moments, much like any grandparent might, but I know, I can’t waste any hugs or kisses or books read or movies watched or silly times together. Any of us can be gone in a moment, but I’ve been given advance notice that I don’t want to ignore.

Three years ago I held a little bundle of boy in my arms, crying at the miracle of birth, at the tenderness of life. Today I tossed him into a pile of cushions as he gleefully scrambled up and shouted, “Do it again!”

He will never know the stress our family endured in those early months of his life. Stress that tinged the most joyous news, with bitterness, but which now we wipe away with every report of NED.

What better Christmas gift can one receive than that?

 

 

Running through melanoma … and lots of other crap

The snow started falling when we were in the beginning miles of the half marathon on Dec. 4. It was the “Last Call” half, the last chance to PR (set a personal record), last chance to give it your all, last chance to prove yourself as a runner. My goal was simple. Run and finish with no pain.

Pain and long distance running are close friends, but in the past three years, since I was diagnosed with melanoma and went through immunotherapy treatment, pain took on a new meaning. I ran through neuropathy, torn hamstrings (both), IT band issues and most recently issues connected to age rather than cancer – a bulging disc and spinal stenosis. I recovered from a stapedectomy and ran. I wasn’t about to let back issues sideline me, even when I spent the month of June in pain that made it impossible to sit or drive. After a full spine CT (a¬†painful, horrible thing) ruled out melanoma, I was left to deal with the effects of living and aging.

I chose the route of physical therapy. While I am an active, strong person, obviously, something was still out of line, namely, my back. Numerous strengthening exercises, coupled with muscle release, and dry needling got me to the start line with a fair amount of confidence. I didn’t wear a watch, judging my pace solely on how I felt, on how my form was holding up.

In the first half of the race, a lady came up on my shoulder and we started talking, since our paces were similar. I told her my goal was to finish with no pain and briefly gave her my story to this point.

Everyone out there was running to beat their own demons. Everyone had their own story. There was the guy who ran past me wearing pajama pants and a backpack. There was the lady who ran with a walker in front of her. She would walk fast for a period of time then run, until she had to slow down again. There was the girl running her first half marathon ever. When she finished it was the farthest she’d ever run. There was the lady who pulled up next to me and struck up a conversation. She had a heart condition and had to watch her heart rate and her breathing, yet she was running 13.1 miles.

For those who have never run long distance, it is a mental/physical game involving many miles of training, diet, rest, carbohydrate loading, and then the mental game as you hit those last miles and your legs begin to feel like lead. The last three to four miles can be a challenge. Your legs say slow down and walk, your brain says, you can’t give up. I was fighting against pain that has plagued me for the past several years, making me wonder if would ever run a half again.

By the last half of the race, snow was beginning to accumulate. Bridges became slippery, but the snow sticking to branches provided a surreal environment and the flakes clung to eyelashes, glasses and hair. Last year, the last half of this same race was a combination of running and walking because of pain. I finished, but I paid a price.

This year, as I passed the same spots where I had to walk last year, I reminded myself to relax and keep lifting my knees and the rest would happen on its own. In the final stretch, I didn’t think I had anything left to give, yet, I managed to increase my speed, pushing to a strong finish. A finish nine minutes faster than last year. A finish faster than I’d run since the fall I was diagnosed with melanoma and started treatment. The third fastest finish since I’d started running half marathons in 2012. And with no pain, or at least very little. As I said, pain and distance running are companions on the journey.

It was the breakthrough I’d been hoping for since melanoma treatment took me down a different road and other injuries added to the detours. It was the breakthrough I’d hoped for to prove that cancer can’t win. That age doesn’t matter if you keep trying and stay strong. That the race will always go to the one who keeps running.

I know I couldn’t have gotten to this point without my physical therapists, Colleen, Jesse and Nate. I took pieces of everything they each taught me through the years and kept building. I know I couldn’t have gotten to this point without the determination planted in me by my parents and the work ethic they’ve instilled. I know I couldn’t have gotten to this point if I didn’t feel I need to be a role model to so many people, and I couldn’t let them down.

Every runner has his or her story. Every runner is running through some kind of crap in their life, yet they run. They run because of the crap. They run to survive the crap. They run to overcome the crap.

Finally, I feel like I might be on the other side of that pile.