17209

From now until the end of my life, when someone asks me my favorite number I’m going to say. . . 17209.  My bib number for the 2013 Boston Marathon.  I just received my race packet in the mail today.  Last year I cried tears of sadness when I opened my mailbox and found this inside.  Today I cry tears of joy!  When I opened the brochure this is what it said:

“This is personal.  The Boston Marathon.  It’s more than a race to you.  It’s the culmination of a longer journey—a personal one.  It’s your chance to make a statement to the world about who you are and what’s important to you.  This is about your goals, convictions and hopes.  This is your day.  This is your marathon.”

I am so blessed and thankful.  It is completely incredible that I would get to experience this after what has taken place in my life.  I’m scared and nervous about running but I smile every time I think of experiencing this incredible weekend!

My last herceptin treatment will be April 3 . . . 12 days before the marathon.  I will celebrate the end of my treatments by running a marathon.  Is that great or what?  I have climbed the hills, kept running through the wind, and pounded out mile after mile as my body was flooded with healing chemo poison.  I have faced the words I never wanted to hear, lost my hair, and become a cancer statistic.  But kept running.  I have stumbled, tripped, walked and felt at times I could not go on.  But kept running.  My friends have encouraged, motivated and inspired me.  I have found myself trudging up Moyer Hill all too many times and sprinting round and round the Indian Crest track—running, breathing so hard I couldn’t even talk, with my friends on either side of me.  Together.  Facing the hill.  Facing the challenge—one step at a time.  Up and over.  Slowly moving forward.  It is a miracle in itself that I have made it to the finish line and on April 15 I will literally cross the finish line in Boston as a reminder to myself that I have completed one of the hardest races in my life and have run well!

Last year I told Darla that I would not run Boston but that she should run with me “tucked inside her heart”.  This year all of you who have surrounded me with your love and prayers will be tucked inside my heart as I run.  And as I run I will celebrate life and joy and happiness.  And I will cherish each moment that I have been given and pray that somehow I can be an inspiration to others that I meet.  And I pray that I get to continue to run this race called life for many years to come . . . .

I will post more about the marathon in a day or two.  Stay tuned!

CELEBRATIONS!

I am going to allow myself to celebrate!  At least for a little bit . . .

When you run a longer race they time your "splits"-- the time it takes to reach certain mileage markers throughout the run.  After you pass the last split you know the finish line is next.  You are still running and still tired but you gain an extra bit of energy knowing that the finish line is closer than ever.  That's where I'm at and I'm going to breathe deep and smile for a little!

On Friday, September 14 my dear friends helped me to celebrate the last day of radiation by getting together for lunch!  Fun, laughter, yummy food!  It helped that we were celebrating Sabrina's 40th birthday as well!  YEAH!  It's about time my younger friends start catching up!  These girls (and many not on this picture) have BLESSED my life over the past months.  They have brought meals, written notes, emails, cards, prayers, cried tears, encouraged, brought flowers, brought smiles, shared kale recipes . . . the list goes on and on.  They continue to be a gift from God!

And, on Sunday, September 16 I decided to run the Philly Rock and Roll Half Marathon with my sister, Karyn. I had to prove to myself that I still was the Renae I used to be.  I often feel like the cancer has changed me and my life so greatly that I'll never get back to being "normal".  But this race was one of the first attempts at regaining that feeling and for some reason, I felt like I needed to do it for my heart and soul to believe it as well.  I bought a bib off of craigslist and ran as "Susan"!  The day was picture perfect and Karyn and I knocked out the miles together.

3 days later, Joel and I took off for Florida to spend a long weekend together on the beach and RELAXED!  At times I look back and just can't believe what has taken place over the last year.  I tell Joel that I would give almost anything to be able to go back in time and change the outcome of that day on December 14--but since that is impossible--I will continue to try to keep moving forward.

My dearest, Joel.  He has wiped more tears away than anyone will ever know.  He has provided safety and comfort when I couldn't find them by myself.  He has held me in his arms through long sleepless nights of worry and fear.  And even made me smile when it was the last thing I wanted to do.  He has been my ROCK in the middle of a very stormy sea.

And, the biggest celebration of all is that I HAVE HAIR!  I'll post more about this later. . . but I can't tell you how wonderful it is to have hair on my head again.  Just the other day my kids were teasing me because when they came down for breakfast I had "bedhead".  My hair was MESSED UP!  We laughed together and then I told them that this was a milestone for me.  We should  be having a celebration!  I haven't had messed up hair for MONTHS!  I need to comb my hair in the morning after my shower!  These are amazing accomplishments that most of you take for granted every day!

And yesterday, Thursday, September 27 I had my port removed!  That was a BIG DEAL!  When I took the bandages off this morning I cried.  I looked so normal--without the port sticking out of my chest!  I would often tell Joel that I looked like a "freak"--no hair, scars on my body, and that port sticking out of me. I feel like I'm finally running downhill instead of uphill.  My daughter said, "Mommy--your bump is gone!"  When I look in the mirror I begin to see the other Renae emerging--the one before "cancer".  And I'm so glad to finally see her again!

RINGING THE BELL

In the radiation lobby sits a large silver bell.  Once you complete your radiation treatments, tradition has it that you ring the bell signally the end.  Every time the bell is rung the rest of us, waiting in the lobby, clap and wish it were us who get to walk out of the lobby for the last time!

The bell was donated by a former patient and just the other day I had to walk over and read the inscription at the bottom:

"THE BELL RINGERS"

As the sailing ships of another generation relied on their ship's bell to signal their position in the fog, may this bell enable you who ring it to navigate your way to a life free from cancer.

generously donated by

FRANK McKEE

"Grateful Patient"

If you are ever feeling depressed or sad about your life drive down to the University of Penn and sit in the radiation lobby for a while.  I promise that you will walk out thanking God for the life he has given you.  Today I saw two parents pushing a stroller with their little one, maybe a year old, bald from chemo and just finished with their baby's radiation.  Yesterday, a little girl about Kenzie's age came bouncing into the lobby--bald and ready for her next radiation appointment.  And a couple weeks ago a man, just about my age, rang the bell and left a lasting image in my mind.  

He walked out of the radiation area and into the lobby.  His family was waiting for him--wife and 3 boys (about the same ages as my kids).  He looked so incredibly healthy I had to look twice to make sure he was the patient.  He looked like a tri-athlete.  His family had joined him on this day to "ring the bell" - his last radiation appointment behind him.  I watched the family as they moved toward the bell--because all I could think of was how similiar he was to me!  When people ring the bell, some shout--others yell "GOOD LUCK" to the rest of us in the lobby--but he did neither.  He quietly rang the bell, his wife took pictures and out the door they went.  It was his eyes that grabbed my attention.  Filled with sadness.  So glad to be done but almost afraid to celebrate.  I knew EXACTLY how he felt.  As I watched him tears rolled down my cheeks.  I keep thinking about him.  And the lyrics to the song "THE WORDS I WOULD SAY" by The Sidewalk Prophets keep popping into my head.  Because that's what I would tell him if I could.

Be strong in the Lord
And never give up hope
You're gonna do great things
I already know
God's got His hand on You
So don't live life in fear
Forgive and forget
But don't forget why you're here

Take your time and pray
And thank God for each dayHis love will find a way
These are the words I would say. . . 

Now . . . if I could just believe those same words . . . . . 

Today the bell was rung by me!  September 14, 2012

Many of you have asked how my kids are doing.  I can't express in words how much they have supported me, stuck with me and have been UTTERLY AMAZING in their acceptance of me and my bald head!  Many days I would run around the house searching for my wig or bandana and they would tell me--"You look great Mom!  GO BALD!"  So, out we would go to Walmart, school, the store without blinking an eye.  They are my little heros!  Here is what Connor wrote at school in 5th grade during one of his writing assignments.

Hey you there!  Do you want to hear about the most important thing in my life?  Well, it was when my Mom got breast cancer.  In this piece I will tell you when she told us she had it, the fun and sad and the highlights.  Now I'm going to tell you about when she told us.

When my Mom told my family (me, Dylan and Kenzie--my Dad already knew) we were all sad but then we said some great words to each other and we all felt better.  After that she told us what was going to happen, when it would start and we all started to feel better for the future.  Now, I'm going to tell you the fun and sad parts.

First I will tell you about the sad parts.  The sad parts for me is when I hear my Mom crying in her room.  So, I always think--how can I help?  Then one day a lightbulb went on.  The next time I heard her crying I went and gave her a big hug.  And it worked.  She stopped!  Some other sad parts are when she talks about what she is going to do next.  Now, I can tell you about the fun.  The fun moments for me are when we get to put her wig on.  (Her hair fell out.)  I like it because we all look different with Mommy's wig on.  I look like a hobo.  Dylan looks like a rock star and Kenzie looks like, well, Kenzie!  My Mom is the only one that looks really good.  Another highlight is when we are in the car coming home from somewhere (church or sports) Mom pulls off her wig and she looks completely different.

Now I will tell you about my family.  First of all, the breast cancer might have been a good thing because it brought our family closer together.  Now we all stick up for each other, help each other and are (most of the time) nice to each other.  I'm so happy that we know that we always have somebody there to support us in whatever we are in.

As you can see, my family and me have our difficulties but we always get through them.  I'm so happy for such a great family that I can always play with, look up to and do everything with.  We are still tackling breast cancer, but guess what, we are winning!

by Connor Derstine 5/10/12 (age 11)

Just wanted  to FINALLY update you on where I am on my journey.  I am halfway through my radiation treatments.  September 14 is my last treatment date.  After this is complete I am through the bulk of the treatments.  All of the cancer was removed last January after my lumpectomy and the chemo and radiation are considered "preventative treatments" in hopes that this will never come back again.  I will still need to head down to Penn once every three weeks to receive a medicine called "Herceptin"-- but that seems pretty easy considering all I've been through.  The Herceptin treaments will continue until next May.

If you would ask me how I'm doing I would first, probably lie to you and say, "Good.  I'm doing really good."  I mean, I should be doing good considering the fact that I am closer to the finish line than I've ever been.  But, the reality is that I have REALLY struggled the last couple months which is why there have been very few posts!  I guess the bottom line is FEAR.  I'm scared.  I never wanted this to be my life--especially at age 42.  This wasn't part of my plan.  I worked so hard to be "healthy" and here I sit.

I am angry and sad and tired.  

I've always prided myself on being strong and just haven't felt like this describes me anymore.  You should see me at my radiation appointments.  I'm an emotional wreck!  The radiation treatments are very short but I need to go down to Penn every day . . . . 5 days a week . . . . it's a commuting nightmare.  The emotion of it all always washes over me as I walk up to the doors of the "Perleman Cancer Institute" (the name of my building at Penn) and can't believe that this has all taken place.  I think part of the reason I've been so emotional is that I need to face it every day--over and over.  When I'm home,  I can push the cancer to the back of my mind.  But at Penn--it looks me right in the eyes.

I remember running the 1/2 marathon at Lehigh Valley.  It was my first one and I had only run 10 miles one time before the race.  Never practiced running the full 13 miles.  I felt great at the start.  Fast, quick, light on my feet.  Like I was born to run!  The first 8 miles passed quickly.  Around mile 10, things started heading downhill.  My legs were tired.  I felt every ache and pain.  The little voice in my head started to question every reason why I was even doing this in the first place.  People started passing me.  I felt heavy and slow.  It started raining.  And then raining harder.  And to top it off the last couple miles were filled with hills.  I kept plodding along knowing that if I just kept moving I would make it to the finish line at some point.  There are really only 2 choices--quit or keep running--even if it is a lot slower than you ever wished it to be!? Some races feel great all the way through and others not so much!  This was one of those!  And to be quite honest, that's a bit of what I feel now.  Close. . . yet still far.  Uncertain.  Aching.  Emotional.  But unwilling to quit.

I pray every day for healing and peace.  I know it will come.  Just wish it would get here faster.

Quad County Bike Ride

45 mile Loop

Saturday, May 13

Mark and Darla, Joel and I enjoy biking together.  It keeps us in shape and allows us some time to catch up and enjoy the outdoors.  The year we all turned 40 (2010) we did a 250 mile bike trip up to the Bergey cabins in Tioga County, PA.  While most couples would have opted for a relaxing cruise to celebrate this milestone--we decided on an adventure.  We are so strange!  :-)

When we found out the weather was going to be beautiful on Sunday we found babysitters and decided to tackle the 45 mile loop.  I had been out on my bike for 15-20 mile rides but never this far since the chemo started.  I'm always nervous when I head out--is my body going to give out on me somewhere along the road?  Our good friend Tim, promised he would come and pick me up if that happened.  But I certainly was not going to let that happen if I could help it!

So off we went. . . and I felt great!  Finished the 45 no problem!  In fact we averaged 15.5 --which isn't too shabby at all!  It felt so good to be on the bike and to be flying down the hills--wind in your face and to feel your muscles strain cranking up the hills.  Just to be able to be out there was so healing.  I had such a good time and felt like my old self--the Renae before the cancer.  I wish I could be with her more.  I would give anything to rewind the clock back to December 14 and change the course of events.  My life was so perfect back then and I didn't even know it.  Sigh . . . . 

Here we are at the rest stop!  The food was GREAT! 

And the day was perfect.  The best Mother's Day Present!

Krista, Joanna, Darla, Renae

                                                   LENAPE SURVIVAL CHALLENGE

If you would have drove past the Perkiomen Watershed in Schwenksville on April 28 you would have seen a bunch of runners getting ready to run the "Lenape Survival Challenge".  It's a great race--first you run a hilly 4.7 miles, then a quick sprint up and down Spring Mount, followed by a 2.5 mile canoe race down the Perkiomen Creek!  We've been doing the race for years!  But this year--with life so upside down--we didn't make any plans.  But when I received the postcard in my mailbox I decided to register myself and Darla.  I emailed her, "Are you ready to run?  We are NOT going to miss out this year!"  And with tears in both of our eyes--we decided to go for it.

So, just like every year--we met our good friends Joanna and Krista at the parking lot, tried to decide what to wear, and listened to the last minute instructions on how to paddle a canoe!  As I pinned my bib number on I couldn't help but compare myself to last year.  How different I look.  How my confidence in myself and my strength has been stolen.  How others look at me.  How much things have changed in my life.  But today was not a day for sadness--rather a day for celebration.  I mean.  . . seriously . . . how many people run races in the middle of chemo treatments?  Before my chemo treatments started I was stockpiling groceries thinking I would not even be able to make it to the store!  Now, here I stood ready to run!  This was a victory on MANY levels!

We lined up along Haldeman Road and were off!  It's funny. . . probably the place where I feel the most comfortable walking around bald is at the gym and with fellow exercisers!  Maybe it's because it takes so much energy to exercise, run, bike--you just don't care what you look like--you just hope to make it to the finish!

Here we are jumping into our canoe!  It always feels good to give the legs a rest and get the arms working!  The day was beautiful!  We were laughing about all of our canoeing experienes!  We noticed the creek was a little low and knew we might have trouble downstream!

As we worked our way downstream we came across a couple areas where the water was so low that we had to hop out of our canoe and push it over the rocks--a canoe drag!  I was wishing I hadn't eaten so many cheesy fries the night before!  ;-)

After we finished the race, Darla and I just hugged each other!  WE MADE IT!  Our first race together after this cancer nightmare.  In so many ways--a symbol--a victory--a statement to myself . . .

I am strong.
I will not give in.
I will not give up.
I will try and then I will try harder.
I will not allow cancer to define who I am.
I will cry but I will continue to push forward.
I will embrace life to its fullest.
I will love and laugh.
I will cherish every moment.
I will LIVE!