Four years

Four years may not seem like much. I mean, really, what is it? A student may finish high school or college. A baby has grown to toddler and learned to sit up, crawl, stand, talk, walk, run, laugh, reason and test their parents. The parents are seeing their baby disappear as a child emerges. Four years may not seem like much, but to them, this is significant.

To a cancer survivor, four years is a miracle, a blessing, a prayer answered. To a cancer survivor, four years is hope fulfilled.

On April 19, I marked four years since I heard the horrible words, metastatic melanoma. Had I known more about melanoma at the time, I would have been petrified, but as it was, the word metastatic sent enough terror through me. Spreading. My mind wondered, where, how far?

I remember the days before surgery. As I exercised, I did pushups and with every pushup, I willed the cancer cells away. I shouted at them. Told them, “You will not get away with this. Get back to this one tumor and don’t think of going anywhere else.”

I’ll never know if that worked, but only one of 26 lymph nodes had cancer. And that one lymph node was a beast, wrangling in all those unruly melanoma cells. I hope all my other lymph nodes took note, in case I ever need to call on them again.

But I have four years behind me. Four years and I have no evidence of disease (NED). We all have grown very fond of NED in my family.

Even more so than that, at four years, there is a sense of the pre-melanoma me returning, measured mostly by my physical ability.

I am without a doubt, stronger than four years ago, and I continue to gain strength. I am getting faster, despite age and other setbacks. And my confidence has returned. There still may be occassional bouts of anxiety, wondering if I can handle something before me, but those instances come fewer and farther between.

My four year cancer-versary was marked in other notable ways – in new beginnings.

At the end of March, I took a new position within our company, a promotion, to associate editor for the Wiscosin State Farmer.  It was an answer to a question I’ve had since my diagnosis. How do I continue to work and manage stress? Someone asked me today about the job change and I told them, I feel like I have my life back. Watch for a future post with more about that.

To me, however, a more significant new beginning was the start, this week, of the Livestrong at the YMCA classes I will be teaching.

I would not be teaching this class if it were not for melanoma. Strange, but true.

There are so many things I would not have done in the past for years, had it not been for melanoma rearing its ugly head. And I don’t regret any of them.

Actually, I embrace everything melanoma has brought to my life – the countless conversations with people about cancer, the opportunity to advance research by participating in a clinical trial (in essence to help someone else), the chance to talk to seventh graders every spring about sun safety and skin cancer, the opportunity to lead Beat Cancer Boot Camps and make cancer survivors stronger, to lead group fitness classes at the Mukwonago YMCA, meet a fabulous bunch of people and help them lead a more functional life. Mostly, the moments I lived completely, embracing every ounce of whatever that moment had to give.

Even the suffering, the pain, the setbacks. I embrace them all (although I have to remind myself of this at times) because overcoming these, gives twice the meaning to life. If life were easy, there would be no joy, but joy comes in overcoming insurmountable obstacles.

My cancer journey has lead me to places I’d never imagine. Never. Would I trade the uncertainty that accompanies every skin check, every lump, every scan? Probably, but I’ve travelled roads I could not imagine. I’ve touched lives I hadn’t even known. I feel like I’ve truly made a difference, in my own small way, and isn’t that why we are here?

Four years may not seem like much, but it has been more than a lifetime to me. Not to steal lyrics, but I’ve loved deeper, I spoke sweeter, I gave forgiveness I’ve been denying, because I learned to live like I was dying. That alone has been worth the journey and I don’t want to lose that lesson, because I would like to multiply four many times over.

So, as I begin my journey this week of helping other cancer patients gain a more functional, satisfying life, I look back on the lessons cancer gave me in the past four years and give a little salute. Without this experience, I wouldn’t be who I am today. And I don’t regret that one bit.

Four years may not seem like much. It seems like everything.

 

An unusual door

Wow, it’s been five months since my last post. Crazy how time flies when things are going well. Not that they aren’t going well now.

As a writer, there are times you feel the need to be quiet. There are times you feel the need to speak out. I’ve never been one to say something unless it’s worth mentioning. As a journalist, one of the things I dislike the most is filling pages when it’s a slow news week (since I work for a weekly paper). It’s like making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Something I’ve done many times – and rarely enjoyed.

However, today, I fee like I stepped into a new chapter – it’s worth mentioning.

I entered the fitness world (industry) through an unsual door. Melanoma.

I’ve always been active. Growing up on a farm does that to you. You don’t sit still for long and that is not a bad thing.

I’ve been a runner since I was a teen and discovered I could cover a mile faster than most other kids my age. I was hooked. Suddenly I had an identity.

Yet, through my young adult, early parenting years and beyond, I ran because I needed that fix. I didn’t run, didn’t work out, to be fit.

Enter melanoma. And immunotherapy treatment that did crazy things to my muscles and joints, but ultimately (I hope) saved my life. But I never stopped. That wasn’t in my nature. I slowed quite a bit, but never stopped.

I joined Beat Cancer Boot Camp and loved it. I remember thinking early on how it would be so cool to lead this some day. Then my physical therapist, Colleen, asked me to sub for a class, and another, and another. She asked me if I would lead an extra class during the week.

How could I not? This group, this boot camp, showed me the importance of whole body fitness, not just running. This bootcamp gave me strength, support, camaraderie, in a world too many of us have come to know – cancer. We can talk, joke, support, make fun of each other, because we have all been down the same road whether it’s breast cancer or melanoma. It doesn’t matter. Cancer sucks no matter where it strikes.

Going back to Colleen’s request to lead boot camp – despite my years of running, I didn’t feel qualified to lead a fitness group. So I fixed the situation and became an ACE certified group fitness instructor.

Which in turn lead me to the Mukwonago YMCA.

Through an odd chain of events, I applied to the YMCA, got hired, went through several training sessions (even in the midst of diverticulitis – not a good idea, but maybe for another post), and subbed for my first class tonight.

I admit I was nervous. Don’t ask me why. Probably because I was subbing for a class that required rhythm and grace (cardio barre – what was I thinking? – a runner, a farmer, a writer/photographer?), which I usually lack. But I know strength and endurance and fun and admitted to my shortcomings and did the best I could.

What I loved the most was the people – connecting with the people.

In boot camp, it’s easy because I am one of them. I share my cancer story. I share my hope. I serve as a role model. In turn, I hope I can help them achieve the benefits I’ve discovered by being fit (extra fit) after a cancer diagnosis. I hope I can help them realize strength they never knew. I hope I can help them live life fully because they are fit and active and vital.

That’s something everyone can aspire to. Even members of the YMCA who come to a class because they haven’t exercised in forever and there is this wedding coming up and exercising on their own just isn’t working.  Or they take a cardio barre class despite admitting to having little coordination (high-five, I’m there with you and I am leading the class).

So my metastatic melanoma diagnosis lead me to become a group fitness instructor at the YMCA. Isn’t that a crazy path to follow? That’s how I’ve introduced myself in group exercise instructor training sessions. It makes heads turn and grabs attention. It’s the truth.

I wouldn’t be working (part-time) for the fine organization of the Mukwonago YMCA if it had not been for my melanoma diagnosis. Ok, so there was more to it than just that, however, melanoma lead me down paths I never thought I would travel.

I’ve stepped into the fitness industry through an unusual door. I have much to learn and am eager to do so. In turn, I hope I can share some of that with many others. Especially those of us with little rhythm or grace, but much heart. Especially those of us beating cancer.