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.