Tough Chicks

As a breast cancer survivor, I have several new "notable" days to observe each year. Not all of them call for a celebration.  On Sunday, June 10th, I observed the second anniversary of my cancer diagnosis.  It was the day I learned for sure that I had the disease.  I had to have had it for awhile, so it wasn't anything new to my body. But to my mind and spirit, it was a day that changed my life forever.

When I got off the phone with the nurse who broke the news to me two years ago, I went upstairs and did a Jillian Michaels level 3 workout. I didn't cry or freak out. I just exerted myself to nearly my max. I sweat like a dog.  When I got tired, the word "CANCER....CANCER...CANCER...." reverberated in my head. Each repetition was like taking a punch. As I was stretching out afterwards, I did shed a few tears. But my mindset was not that of being a victim. I had become a warrior.  Working out was training for the bigger battle for my life.

I learned through the course of my treatments that my strength did not come from myself, but it came from the Lord. If it were not for His strength, comfort, and sustenance, I would not have been able to cope with it all, physically, mentally, or spiritually.  That is why when I hear this particular song, "My All in All" I literally can break into sobs. It pierces my heart. It is like "our" song.  God's and mine, that is.  

You are my strength, oh God.

You are my help, oh God.

You are the One on whom I call.

You are my shield, oh God 

My life I yield oh God

For you will always be my All in All

Wouldn't you know it?  On Sunday, June 10, 2012, that was the last worship song we did in church. I couldn't sing, I just meditated on the words with my hands upraised in praise and tears rolling down my cheeks. There are no accidents. God was observing this day just as I was.

After church, mom and I drove up to Orange County to attend an event put on by the Komen affiliate in Orange County. It was a celebration of survivors with a luncheon and fashion show. One of the women I met doing the 3 Day commercial last fall invited us.  (It was so fantastic to see her again, and meet her family!) I can't think of a better way to have spent that day but in the company of dozens of survivors and co-survivors.  Some survivors had 20+ years. Others were still in treatment. But all of us were bound together by a common bond. One speaker referred to it as a sorority of sorts. Perhaps. I never was in a sorority in college. If it is, it is one with one heck of an initiation, to be sure.  You get a two survivors together, and they can talk for hours comparing their histories, their surgeries, and all that they have done against their common enemy.  And they genuinely care for one another. We live with so much in common.

One thing I am struck by so many of the survivors I meet is their strength. To get through the emotional, physical, and mental gauntlet of diagnosis, surgery, chemo, radiation, reconstruction in most cases and then living with the specter of possible recurrence requires strength. Especially to do it well.  We all do the best we can do. So many of the women I met and saw on Sunday are surviving with strength and panache. It was like IN YOUR FACE, CANCER!  It was so inspiring. Some of these women had battled cancer several times. One woman had a recurrence after 20 years and it was now in her bones. But she was amazing. She was a active, she was smiling, she was beautiful. She was kicking butt. I loved her.

It is one of the things that motivates me to push myself physically.  It's not vanity that makes me get out of bed at 5:30 a.m. to run for an hour. Instead, it is my way of being stronger than cancer. To kick its butt. To show the world and cancer that it doesn't have me. I may have had it, but with God's strengthening and grace, I won.  Even if it comes back, I won. I won't go down weak.  Like other survivors, I am a tough chick!

TOUGH CHICKS!

Audition Day

About a week ago, I got an e-mail from the Susan G. Komen 3 Day for the Cure. They were looking for individuals who were interested in being cast for commercials for the 2012 3-Day for the Cure. In particular, they were looking for survivors with children, survivors who had recently completed treatment, or husbands of survivors who were going to be walking.

I replied, since I fit 2 of the 3 categories. I sent them a quick, one-paragraph background about myself, along with the picture that is at the right of this blog.

A couple days later, I learned that they wanted me to appear in person for an "audition."  That took place this morning. I wasn't nervous. If this happens, it will be fun. If it doesn't, its no big deal. The meeting was in La Jolla, about 40 minutes away. They had scheduled potential cast members every 10 minutes all morning. My slot was at 10:50 a.m.  I did this on purpose, so I would have time to get in a short training walk this morning!

I was in a bit of a quandary about what to wear. I didn't want to look like I had dressed up.  I wanted to look like myself. Casual, not dressy. In the end, I wore the pink San Diego Charger T-shirt I got last fall from the American Cancer Society when I went to the Charger game and participated in the NFL's "Crucial Catch" awareness program. It says "SURVIVOR" on the back.  Along with some black capri pants, I thought that was a good look.

When I walked into the building, I saw a group of 3 women. Two of the three were in pink. I figured I was in the right place. It was pretty amazing. I walked up to them, and it was like we had known each other forever. The two women in pink were also survivors.  One woman had already done her audition, the other was scheduled for after me. As we talked, I learned she was a middle school P.E. teacher and an almost 5 year survivor. We talked about how epidemic breast cancer seems to be. This lady even had a student IN MIDDLE SCHOOL diagnosed with breast cancer! 

Anyway, as people came out of the audition room, she would ask them if they cried. Most of them said yes. I thought to myself...uh-oh. I don't *think* I will lose it in a room full of strangers. But maybe? One woman walked out with her daughter, who wore a shirt that said, "Fight Like a Girl."  Hmm.  Maybe I should have brought my kids?  As it was, I had a couple of pictures of them.

As I went into the room, the guy who came to get me drew my attention to a paper taped to the wall with 4 phrases on them. I was supposed to pick one, memorize it, and be ready to say it during my audition. I chose a short one: "You can do this."   The room was dark. There was a screen with a small stool in front of it that was for me. There were lights, and a camera set up on a table. There was the camera man, then two women at the table he was at. Closer to me on another stool was a lady who was going to ask me questions.

She asked me why I was doing the 3 Day.  I was able to talk about how last year I was in chemo and made doing the 3 Day a goal of mine. She dug deeper. But why that? There are lots of things you could do. I confessed it was the physical challenge. Especially at a time when I was being weakened physically.  She asked if I had kids. I talked about how hard the process was on them, how they are survivors too.  The closest I got to crying was when I told them about when we told the kids about my diagnosis. Isabelle had donated her hair to "Locks of Love" a few months before. The first thing she said after she found out about my diagnosis was, "I want my hair to go to you."  They thought that showed what a sensitive girl she was.  We talked a bit more about how cancer affected our family.  They asked me if I was excited about the 3 Day. I really am.  Training has been very time consuming, but being around other survivors this morning was really neat. To imagine being around thousands at the same time all weekend is going to be really awesome.

Then they asked me to say my chosen line into the camera.

"You can do this."

Then she said, "Say it like you are talking just to one person."

"You can do this."

Then they asked me to say, "I will never give up."

Easy! "I will never give up."

It was a fun experience. We'll see if anything comes of it. If I am chosen, I'll have to go up to LA in a couple weeks to shoot the commercial. If not, I'll save some gas!

Things to look forward to

Some things I want to do after my family and I beat breast cancer:

• Take the family on a real exotic vacation. Something tropical with a beach. It could be the Bahamas. Maybe the Atlantis resort? Or Beaches? Is Club Med around anymore? That would be fun to take the kids to a family resort. Eric and I met at a Club Med in 1994 and honeymooned at one in 1996. It would be kind of fun to go back. The kids have been wanting a "real" vacation for a long time. Eric and I have always put them off. After we all get through this, we're there. We've already decided.
• Participate in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. Right now, I'm in the best shape of my life. I'm not sure how far of a course it is. I could do a 5k easily now. With some training, a 10k. Even if this is a marathon, I want to do it. Being in decent shape now, I was envisioning running in some local races. If I do it with Komen, it has meaning and significance. It may take awhile to get back into shape, but it is a goal. Getting out of shape is one of the things I am dreading the most. It has taken so much work to get where I am now.
• Maybe along with, or in place of the above, the 3 Day Walk. 60 miles is a bit intimidating. But it would be amazing. My mom has walked thousands of miles in the past few years-it would be fun to do it together.
• Taking my mom, dad and as many siblings as can make it to France. We have talked about how fun it would be to visit the Battle of Normandy sites with my brother, Jared. Jared is a West Point graduate (Class of 2005), a Captain in the Army, currently serving with the 3rd Infantry Division in Mosul, Iraq. I've been to Normandy before and it is amazing. I would love to share that with my parents and siblings.

That's all I can think of right now. I reserve the right to add to this list of things to look forward to.

Lots of love,

Tonya

The MRI

I went in for my MRI today to UCSD in Hillcrest.

I've never had an MRI before. I had heard that it was noisy and I had to lay still. That was pretty much all I knew going in.

When I walked into the building, it was freezing. I was wearing shorts. Silly me. I thought to myself, okay. I can deal with lying still. I can deal with being in the enclosed space. Freezing my bootie off would make it unpleasant! There was a lot of paperwork on my medical history to fill out. I'm thankful for having everything stored in my iPhone-the date of my biopsy, diagnosis and last menstrual period were all easily accessible.

The worker led me to a secondary waiting area with some magazines and a TV that was tuned to a sports channel. I did get to see playbacks of the USA victory in the World Cup. That was neat. There was a man there waiting. I wasn't sure if he was the patient at that point. But later a woman came out and they left together. After a few minutes, I was led to a changing room and given 2 hospital gowns to change into. One open in the front, and one in the back. That helped with my sensitivity to the temperature. She also gave me some non-slip booties to wear. I changed, locked up my purse and waited.

I flipped through a "Woman's Health" magazine. I saw an interesting ad from Ford motor company advertising "Warriors in Pink." The name caught my eye because of this blog's title. I thought.....hey! That's me! I'm a warrior in pink! (And plaid). I'm not sure what all it was, but they have some some merchandise that they sell and donate the proceeds to the Susan G. Komen foundation. I made a mental note to check the website out later. I also read an article about the actress Christina Applegate who had a double mastectomy for breast cancer. But she is alive and kicking, telling her story. Good for her!

The double doors opened and another lady in scrubs came out. She gave me an IV. I didn't realize I would be getting poked. Not a big deal, the anticipation of the poke is the worst. I asked her what it was for and she said it was for the "contrast." Hmm. Maybe I should have read a bit about MRIs before coming. After the poke, she said I might taste salt. Right after she said that I did. Wierd. She led me into the MRI room which was already buzzing. She gave me some earplugs and asked if I had any breast surgery or biopsies. Surgeries....not yet. Biopsies, yes. She had me put little stickers on the 2 spots that had been biopsied and had me lay down on my stomach on the bed of the machine.

There was a trick to it though. I had to lie down on my stomach, but there were 2 holes for my breasts to fall into, and my arms had to be up over my head. It felt kind of funny positioning myself in such a way. Thank God there was a warm sheet over it all so I didn't feel that exposed. She put some pillows under my head and said I would have to be very still. No surprise there. But as I tried to get my head comfortable twisted to the right, the pillow would cover my nose and make it hard to breathe. I started to panic a bit--I had to breathe! She saw me fidgeting and asked if I wanted one of the pillows taken away. Yes! Having only 1 pillow under my head made it possible to breathe and not panic.

Then it began. The bed was advanced into the machine, putting me right in there. She put an emergency button in my hand just in case I freaked out. I heard her on a loudspeaker telling me we were getting started. The buzzing that had been kind of a pleasant "white noise" in the background became a whirring, clanking. From time to time, the noise would change to rattles.

I knew it was key to stay calm and relax. On the way down to the appointment, I thought that I would use the time praying. I tried that, but the loud noises made it difficult for me to concentrate on my end of the dialog. What helped me the most was to simply sing worship songs in my head. Some of the words I sang to the Lord:

"No more sin, and no more shame.

We are going where the streets are made of gold.

No more tears, for they are wiped away.

We are going where the streets are made of gold.

And if we just could see

One glimpse of what will be

We'd run to win this race

Living our lives by faith....

Because heaven is our home

Where we'll reign forever

Shining like the sun

with our King forever

Every sorrow gone,

we'll rejoice forever

Heaven is our home. Heaven is our home!"

"Blessed be your name

When the sun's shining down on me

when the world's all as it should be

Blessed be your name.

And blessed be your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there's pain in the offering

Blessed be your name

Every blessing you pour out, I'll turn into praise

When the darkness closes in Lord, still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

Pretty soon, the lady came in and said it was time for the "contrast." She fiddled with the IV in my arm and I again could taste a metallic salty sensation. The line that was under my hand also got cold. She said they would take 2 more images, which would be about 5 more minutes each.

At this point when the machine started its clanking and whirring, I mentally sang:

"You are faithful!

You are faithful!

You are faithful, Your joy is my strength."

Pretty soon it was over. I got up, she took out the IV and I was led back into the waiting room to change back into my clothes in the adjacent changing room. After I took off the hospital gowns, my cell phone rang. I've learned to always pick up--it could be a doctor's office or something trying to call. Not this time. It was Honda of Escondido. A few weeks ago, I had made a service appointment to get XM radio put into my Odyssey. I had to cancel the appointment last week because of doctor visits. Honda wanted to know if we still wanted the parts they had for it.

I'm standing there in my underwear, just having had an MRI to see how big my cancerous tumors were and this lady wants to know about car parts? I just laid it out there. I told her that we had to cancel the appointment for service because, "frankly, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and our summer plans kind of changed." She was apologetic. I'm sure she wasn't expecting to hear that. (It's kind of like when people ask me politely, "How are you today?" Do they really want to know? For people who know the situation, right now I'll say, "Other than the cancer, I feel great!")

Anyway, I got changed and was done. I had to drop off the mammogram films that I had carried from Kasier to the UCSD radiology department for them to digitize and give back to me. That took about a half an hour. Sadly, there was no wifi in that part of the hospital. So I got to watch and re-watch the USA winning goal.

It all took a bit longer than I had expected. But I am glad to have done something tangible in the battle today.

Next on the warrior's agenda....the oncologist on Friday. Pray that this person be the right oncologist for me. I also ask for prayers for clarity in decision making. Thank you all for your support.