Light the Night - Success!

On October 6th we rallied the troops and set out to light the night. Not only were we raising money for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society, but we were also celebrating exactly 1 year cancer free! Our team, It's Go Time, consisted of 37 walkers that braved the coldest night yet this fall. Bundled to the extreme, holding our light up balloons we walked what they told us was 1.2 miles around West Glen in West Des Moines. However, given our sluggishly slow pace, I am thinking there is no way we walked 1.2 miles. Chances are the people in charge rerouted the course to save our extremities from frost bite. 

Our team made the top ten list for West Des Moines fundraising with over $2400 raised! Not that I am competitive or anything, but it sure did feel good to be at the top. :) Thank you to all who donated, bought a shirt, or even just cheered us on. 

Our team of walkers for It's Go Time

While the walk was important and significant, the real fun came at dinner afterwards. To warm up, we went to Bravo and enjoyed some yummy appetizers and various Italian food. I felt very humbled to have so many friends and family in one room as a culmination of support. The words I expressed as a thankful sentiment didn't do my heart justice. 

Even though October 6 was a momentous day for me, I still feel as if I am right in the moment   on this ordinary Saturday morning. Reflective on all that I learned and am still learning through this process and feeling thankful for the love I have in my life, I realize that no day is truly ordinary if you choose to view it otherwise. 

Light the Night!

I mentioned in a previous post about the absolutely wonderful celebration I have coming up on October 6th. That is the date of the Leukemia Lymphoma Society's Light the Night Walk AS WELL AS my exact one year anniversary of being cancer free! I believe this collision of dates is no accident and will be celebrating being cancer free by walking and raising money to help people that are in the same situation I was last year. 

My cancer journey has shaped who I am today and I am thankful for everything I have learned and am still learning through the whole process. I hope you will consider being a part of my team by celebrating with me in one of the following three ways. 

1) Sign up for my team "It's Go Time" to join me on October 6 for the walk. I would love to have as many supporters there as possible. We will be walking with light up balloons to Light the Night - how cool is that? Simply click the link below. 

I want to walk with Lori!!

2) Make a donation directly to our team's web page. Donations of all sizes count towards treatment and research so other people can one day celebrate being cancer free.

I want to donate to It's Go Time!!

3) Purchase an It's Go Time t-shirt. These words were my motto and attitude throughout treatments. I will send them near or far. Proceeds go towards Light the Night - shirts are $15. 

I want a shirt!

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Survivor?

Recently I discovered a column in the New York Times written weekly by a cancer survivor about her experiences and thoughts throughout her treatment. While she writes with such precise insight into the life and thoughts of a cancer patient/survivor, her underlying messages and themes in regards to life are universal. Her most recent article entitled, "Am I a Cancer Survivor?" resonated deeply with me as a former cancer patient. The author describes her inner struggle when called to be in a "survivor" photo because she is not technically considered in remission yet. In her article she explores several meanings of the term "survivor" and eventually accepts that she is in fact a survivor. 


I too relate to her struggle to coin herself with such a valiant title but for different reasons. See, I am considered in remission. In fact, I consider myself cured. The cancer is gone. Blasted into oblivion. Not a trace to be found on my check up scans. But sometimes I don't feel like my battle was worthy of the survivor trophy. Hodgkin's Lymphoma has one of the best cure rates. When I was first diagnosed, people kept saying, "Well, if you're going to have cancer, that is the one to have!" As if that were a consoling sentiment. My doctor's plan of action was very clear cut and I felt confident going into treatment that there was really only one possible outcome at the end of chemo and radiation - cured! 


I wouldn't use the term "fun," but my experience with chemo and radiation were not unbearable. Maybe it is because I am almost a year removed from the treatment process and I have simply blocked all discomfort from memory. Do I want to go through it again? Heck no. But I know that other people experience more pain and suffering than I faced. And it is for that reason that I often feel as if I didn't have to fight hard enough for my survivor title, for my life. Others endure much more to earn their title of "cancer survivor." Does my puny 6 month stint with cancer qualify me for such a brave term? 


Sometimes it is even weird to say that I had cancer. I was lucky enough to continue my normal routine in life that people I interacted with on a daily basis at the time had no idea that every other Thursday afternoon I quietly stepped out of work and took a seat at the cancer center. They had no idea that the following Friday's I would use my break time to return to the cancer to receive the little blast of Neulasta to ensure that my white blood cell count would be high enough for the next treatment. Sometimes I let what others saw, or didn't see for that matter, impact how I view my experience. People around me didn't see me fighting so how can I call myself a "survivor" of the cancer battle?


But then I try to remember the facts. Cancer is still cancer. And I once had cancer. Now I don't. Therefore I have "survived" cancer. No matter the severity of my diagnosis or the size of my battle, I can call myself a survivor and be grateful for the love that grew from cancer and what it taught me about life. 

On the Hunt

Since the last post, Shane and I have moved to Iowa and both started new jobs. I am so excited to be closer to family and back in the homeland. But with moving comes a new adventure in the doctor front. I need to find new ones. How does one even go about finding new doctors? The classifieds? One thing I learned from the whole diagnosis and treatment process last year was how important it is that I take charge of my health care and be confident in decisions I make. 


My new insurance kicks in July 1 which will give me a little over a month before I need another check up scan in August. Currently I am on the hunt for three different types of doctors - 1) Primary Care Physician 2) Oncologist 3) Radiation-Oncologist. Whew. That is about three more than the usual number of doctors I had before cancer. New doctors always means gobs of paper work. And my medical history isn't so simple anymore. Previously I could just check 'no' down the whole line of questions. Now, I will have to mark 'yes' and then explain. Ugh. My hand is cramping just thinking about it. 


In other news, I have discovered the Light the Night walk to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society here in our new town of West Des Moines. By no means happenstance, the walk this year is on the exact day that will mark 1 year from when I had the scan that showed I was all clear. I have created a team called It's Go Time and will post more details later about how to join and/or donate to what I am calling my "celebration." My hope is to have friends, family, and supports join me in this awesome opportunity to celebrate remission. 

6 Month Mark

Well, to say it has been awhile is an understatement. Trust me though, "write blog" has been on my to-do list for quite some time now. I had my 6 month check up a few weeks ago with my regular oncologist. It was a typical visit as there were several moments that involved me wreaking some sort of havoc because my impatience got the best of me. When I arrived, my favorite check-in lady wasn't there. I'm not sure if she moved on in her career or if she was just gone for the day. But luckily, her usual terrible, toad-like replacement wasn't there either. It was someone new altogether.

My first stop was to get my blood drawn. Because I no longer have my port (insert dancing with enthusiasm here), I visited what I refer to as the blood closet. Right off the waiting area, it is literally a very tiny room where the phlebotomist draws patients' blood and analyzes it. At most, the max capacity of the closet is three people. Of all days I have my appointment scheduled, this particular day there is some computer/blood analyzer failure. So not only are there two nurses in the closet, one for drawing blood and one to figure things out, there is also the computer guy, another patient, and myself. As we packed in like sardines, I took a seat in the chair for the nurse to draw my blood. As the nurse began to shuffle around with needles and other sharp instruments, I began to wonder if it was too late to escape to the chemo room and have my old nurses just draw my blood. Alas, she honed in on my arm and hit a vein. After the draw was complete, she instructed me to hold the cotton swab against the draw site. And I did, for what I deemed an appropriate amount of time. While she was still wiggling her way around the closet trying to put my blood in the appropriate analyzer, I simply tossed the cotton swab into the nearby hazardous waste receptacle.

She must have had the nurse's sixth sense, because as soon as I did that, she turned around and scolded me, "Did I tell you to take that off, yet?"

"Uhh, no, but I thought it was done bleeding. I think it will be okay."

"Well, it isn't done bleeding, look!" she said as she pointed to the tiniest drop of blood in the crook of my elbow. As she handed me another cotton swab, she firmly instructed me to hold it on my arm until she said told me otherwise.

After successfully following directions the second time, I made it out of the blood closet back to the waiting room. After my doctor visited with me, checked me over for any unusual lumps, and told me to "keep having tons of fun," I went to visit my nurses.

Seeing them again was wonderful. They were excited to see me healthy. I gave them all a quick update on my life and munched on some of the usual sweet goodies that reside on their desk. As I went to leave, one of my favorite nurses, Sally the drug pusher, came over and gave me a hug and told me she was happy for me. I can only imagine the importance of remembering and savoring success stories in a job where sadness can be so prevalent. The nurses were genuinely happy to see me healthy and their joy reminded me to always be thankful for not only the health I have, but also the path that brought me to where I am today.