The Ride To Conquer canser: Thousands of Journeys. One Destination. Part 1

Aug 7, 2015

The Ride to Conquer cancer. It was finally here! It allowed me to zero in on it and block out anything else. For one weekend, riding was the only thing on my mind. They say The Ride is Epic, and it truly was. It was one of those life events that you never, ever forget, and talk about until you’re old and grey.

 I will never forget my first Ride.

The kids were having a weekend sleep over at our parents – they each took 1 kid – divide and conquer lol. The night before Phil and I were wired. I was excited, and scared and nervous all at once. It was finally here!! That thing that had come into my life and forever changed it, and that I had been actively training for for months…

Last year I was bald and about to go in for my 6th round of chemo. I cheered my team from the sidelines, and cried a good part of the weekend from being so overwhelmed with emotion. I looked at them like Gods… Or Angels.

My Mall Angels.

And now I was about to embark on the same journey that led my beloved teammates to me.

The Tuesday before the ride was the day after the tornado that happened in Calgary, and the weather in the NW where we ride from was dark and ominous. So we spent our last Tuesday team training ride with the team, drinking in the pub. Which is funny because that’s exactly how we spent our very first Tues team training ride with the team – also due to bad weather! I thought it was a fitting end to our first season of training. The first of many….

The night before the Ride we had some practical stuff to do – a run through at COP for the ceremonies the next day,  pack for the overnight stay, attach the identifying tags to our helmets and bikes, check over our bikes (ie admire our bikes lol). We just kept grinning at each other at odd moments throughout the night and saying “I can’t believe it’s tomorrow!”. It was kinda like Christmas Eve at our house that night. I didn’t know how we were going to ever get to sleep.

My happiness though was tinged with sorrow.

As excited as I was, I also found myself reflecting on how canser had impacted my life, and those I had met, and sadly lost. Taking my cue from Matt, who rode with his survivor flag covered in names – I started writing down all those I was riding for.  Matt rides for lots of people – but the main person I think on his mind is his friend Jordan . There were 4 of them that went through treatment together. A while later Jordan had a relapse, and died. It gutted them. So he rides for Jordan. For me, I was doing the Ride for my Dad. My Dad never made it to 36. He was diagnosed with pancreatic canser at 35 and died at 35. So I decided my 36th year would be the year I conquered cancer twice – once for me -  in treatment- and once for my Dad – on my bike. I made a sign with a pic of me and my Dad when I was 9 months old in PEI to put on my back:

I felt like my Dad had been with me while I was training. Sometimes when I was flying down a hill, or witnessing some particular beautiful sight on my bike, I felt like he was close to me. I had no doubt he would be with me during The Ride - and now everyone else would know too. Because he died when I was 2, he wasn’t able to be part of my life. It was through no fault of his own. In those bad moments when I wonder if I’ll see my kids grow up, my biggest fear is I’ll be the mom they don’t really remember. I feel sad to think my Dad maybe worried about that too.  I never really found a way to honour his memory – until now.

4:30AM came fast the next morning. I think it took us until 4:45 to be up and in the shower…we were on the road by 5:45…and by that point we had our coffee and were so excited. I thought back to my car ride last year to COP to cheer on One Aim. I cried when I saw all the different license plates from all over. This year I was just too damn happy to cry. And it probably helped that I had an idea of what to expect. I kept stealing glances at Phil to see if he was as enthralled with everything as I was. He was. The smile never left his face either.

It was chilly that morning. And it was still pretty dark out when we got up and parked at COP, although the sun had started rising. Everywhere we looked, there were cars. And bikes. And people in bike gear. I felt a thrill move through me as we unloaded our bikes and started to walk toward the stage to meet up with the rest of our team. We saw teammates in the parking lot. Hugs all around. My stomach was a bit knotted because of the part I had coming up in the opening ceremony. And at the thought of the over 100k I’d be riding that day. And the over 100k I’d get up and ride again the next day…

We loaded up our gear that was going on one of the many colour coded trucks to camp, and then we ran into a few more teammates as we carried on. More hugs. First stop, pick up my survivor’s flag pole, which attached to my bike.  Anyone who has had or has canser gets a tall yellow flag on their bike. It’s extremely inspiring to see all the yellow flags at the start – last year it gave me hope. This year I would learn that those riding with a yellow flag are treated with a kind of reverence by the other riders. It’s kind of hard to explain.

I’ve gotten used to walking with my eyes downcast, which probably started after I shaved my head. When I realized I was doing this I was bothered by it and have tried to stop doing it. But like any habit it’s hard to stop once you get used to doing it. Well, as I walked with my flag towards the meet up spot for our team, every time I raised my eyes and met another riders’ eyes – they smiled at me. This simple act encouraged me to walk tall – and smile back. I thought it was just the camaraderie between all riders who were united for the same cause, and was happy to be part of it. I think it was partly that, but I think my flag may have played a part as well. I just didn’t realize it at the time.

We finally got to the spot in front of the stage. We ran into even more teammates – more hugs. I had a moment when I was standing looking around, taking it all in. It was like a hum of energy . All the memories of the previous year standing there with a bald head came flooding back. A huge lump grew in my throat. And next thing I knew, tears were falling. It was a such an emotional moment. Last year I was a baldy on the sidelines, standing with my handmade sign of encouragement and a heart full of hope. This this year I was at the start line, with a head full of (short) curls, dressed proudly in my Ride To Conquer gear, about to take on the biggest physical challenge of my life.  Everything in the last year had led me to this spot. I guess I should have expected the tears, but they still caught me by surprise.

My wonderful team took it in stride. I got pats on the back and knowing smiles. They got it. After all, they were there last year. And they had been with me ever since, encouraging and helping me get to this very spot.

Then I saw Matt. My tears quickly dried as the joy filled my heart. I hadn’t seen Matt in months, and he had never met Phil. I introduced them and gave Matt a big hug. My inspiration to sign up for this crazy ride was here – this day was almost complete. I just needed to see Nigel.

My nerves started to amp up as we got closer to the time for the opening ceremonies. We met up with my mom and a couple of close friends of the family. I found out later that Phil's parents and Em were there too. The ceremonies hadn’t even started and it was already such a great day. All the challenges since ending treatment and going back to work slowly faded into the background. I was completely present in the moment. I wanted to drink it all in - enjoy and cherish every second.

And then Nigel was there, arriving in a bustle of energy trying to get all the last details nailed down and organising the last bit before we crossed the start line. Hard work being the leader of a team of over 100 riders! But when he saw me and Phil he got a huge smile on his face, and gave us a big hug. Typical Nigel. Then he was off, making sure everything was in order. 

Suddenly I was called to the other 3 survivors who were holding the riderless bike, and the Opening Ceremony began. We were set up right in the middle of the whole crowd, with an aisle leading from us right to the start line. Nigel told me there was usually 2 ways to handle the emotion of the part I had in the ceremonies – completely stoic, or balling like a baby…I figured there’d be no hope for me – they’d have to walk behind me with a mop…

Quite surprisingly as we walked the bike up to the start line, I didn’t ball like a baby. I did everything I could to hold the emotion in, though not sure “stoic” would be the right word for it…The MC was talking about how the bike represents those we’ve lost. And how us survivors represent the hope. As he was finishing up, that was our cue (the ones walking the bike) to go get on our bikes so we could take off with everyone once they said Ready, Set RIIIIIIDE!

I cried from the moment I crossed the start line with Phil and my team by my side, until we got to the highway. They were tears of pure emotion. Happiness. Sadness. Loss. Change. Celebration. Exhilaration. Hope.

And so began my Epic weekend, with my Epic team, riding an Epic 236 km across Epic scenery, united in our Epic goal of Conquering canser.

It was a hell of a start.

"Anyone can give up; it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength" - Unknown

Aug 5, 2015

So I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

I tried to focus on The Ride which was in a few weeks. It was my light at the end of, what felt like at times, a very dark tunnel. As was camping. We went camping the weekend before the Ride. Just us and Daisy (our dog). My inlaws were also camping at another campground that wasn’t too far away.  It was exactly what our family needed.

A few weeks earlier we noticed a bump on Daisy’s head. I thought maybe she had an infection. Her back legs had also started giving out every now and again. It was few and far between but she didn’t get up on our bed anymore. So I thought we could get that checked out too to make sure it was just the normal process of aging since she is an 80lb Rotti cross who was 10 years old. Andrea came with me.

Man I was not expecting what the vet had to say.

The back legs issue was a degenerative disease sadly common in larger dogs. Not hip displacia, but a disease that is progressive…and leads to eventual paralysis, and death.

As for the bump…The vet strongly suspected bone canser. Like 99% sure. It was on her eyebrow and there was a bump on her head too. Not operable because of where it was located. We could look into chemo or radiation, but that would not cure it. Just buy time, (potentially only weeks), and she cautioned if the canser was slow to progress, her legs could take her before the canser did.

WTF?? How did my dog go from being a frisky 10 year old, to a dog with not 1 but 2 terminal conditions in the span of a night? I was so shocked I couldn’t even cry. The vet gave us pain meds, and off we went to essentially provide our dog hospice care.

Buying our trailer a few years ago was one of the best decisions we made. Every time we’ve gotten bad news, we’ve been able to escape to nature. I know I’ve mentioned it lots, but camping really has been so rejuvenating for our family.

Especially with the additional stress of being back at work.

I wasn’t at work full time. I was on a graduated back to work schedule. This was put in place by Dr Taylor at Breast cancer Supportive Care Foundation based on my treatment. What a life saver…It’s a schedule that works in 2 week increments over about 3 months. I started at 2 half days, then after 2 weeks, I’d increase to 3 half days, and so on. Once I’m at 4 half days (4 hours a day), I go up to  4 days at 5 hours…2 weeks later, its 4 days at 6 hours etc. Wednesdays are my recovery day. Once I’m at 4 full days, I move up to half day Wednesdays then 2 weeks later I’m full time again. After only a few weeks in I was VERY glad it was graduated.

I wasn’t having fatigue issues yet per sae – which I had been expecting and prepared for– though I was definitely tired by the end of my shift. But it was the mental fatigue I wasn’t really expecting. Between chemo brain and headaches from being on a screen for 4 hours straight I was getting frustrated. Plus I had been away over a year, and my job is the kind that the longer you are away from it, the more you forget. I was feeling like with each problem that came into the inbox, the answer was just beyond my brain capacity. I may have shed a few tears over it, because I was so frustrated with myself. I guess I was expecting it to all come back within the first few shifts.

It was making me doubt myself. My confidence started to slip. I went from feeling like this really strong person right before I came back, the kind who could do anything I put my mind to,  to the weak link on the team. That’s a hard mental & emotional adjustment. I felt the frustration with myself at one of the last team rides too before the Ride – like I had gone backwards in training. I got my “riders high” as usual afterwards, but during the ride I could feel the frustration with myself, which formed as a lump in my throat. It’s amazing to me how self-doubt can cling to you like that and seep into other areas of your life. Positive thinking is so powerful, but so are the bad emotions. At the time though, I didn’t see it like that. I just felt like things were starting to unravel and my life was spinning out of control.

It made things seems completely overwhelming. Which was probably completely normal with going back to work and all that entails,  but at the time, that thought never occurred to me. I thought I was failing at being back at work.

And just to add a little more to my plate, I had a follow up physical appointment with Dr Kubic the Wed before the Ride. My very first physical appointment after treatment (in April), I cried before she even laid hands on me. I was terrified for the physical part of the exam. I felt really stupid for being so emotional. I tried really hard to stop the tears from flowing, esp since it was the first time meeting this doctor but they just kept falling down my face. My heart was racing and my hands were ice cold. This Aug appointment was my 2nd follow up and I think I was only slightly less nervous than the first appointment. I didn’t cry. But as we were going through any concerns I had and her list of questions, she wrote a requisition for me to get an ultrasound. Cause I was having an ovary type pain – which seemed cyclical (good thing if it was just menstral related), but seemed always just after my period instead of when I should be ovulating, so she offered to do a peace of mind ultrasound to make sure all was well.  I would say on a scale of 1-10, the idea of an ultrasound put my terror at  level 100. To be fair, the last ultrasound told me I had canser…

I wanted to take that piece of paper and tear it up.

When I got up on the table for the physical part I think my heart sounded like I had just run a marathon. I actually closed my eyes and started to use the relaxation techniques I had learned at Wellspring and at the Breast cancer Supportive Care class. After about 10 minutes the doc said:

“Everything feels and looks good! All done”.

My heart was lighter with those words, but the pit of my stomach was in knots over the ultrasound that she wanted me to book…all I kept thinking was “I haven’t gotten my BRCA results yet but what if I have ovarian cancer?”.

Thankfully we had had that long weekend of camping and then only a few short days till The Ride weekend. I could hold on till then….I knew that weekend riding with Phil and my One Aim team would be deeply healing.

And boy was I ever right.

"That's life...you're riding high in April, shot down in May..." - That's Life by Frank Sinatra

July 28, 2015

With Sarah’s death, something broke inside. I don’t know how else to explain it. The hope I felt was gone. What’s the point of wearing pink when young women are still dying? This was a game changer for me. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel joy without it being tainted with pain. For the first time I felt cynical. It was a terrible place to be.

The next day was the day I cried all the way into work.

When I got into work, I got a text from Kimmy A. She is my childhood friend who just went through cervical cancer. She had went that morning to get the results of the scan a few weeks earlier to see if the treatment worked. Her text read:

“Hey :) I am canser FREE :D I am so relieved. "

Her treatment worked.

And in all my despair, I suddenly felt pure joy. The kind of joy I had been wondering if I could feel without it being tainted. Guess I had my answer.

Later that same day I got a call from The Ride To Conquer Cancer office…They asked me if I would consider being part of the opening ceremonies on Ride day. I was taking that in when she continued “Part of the ceremony consists of 4 survivors who walk a riderless bike across the start line to signify those we have lost, but also the hope of those who have survived. We try to get survivors who are doing the ride for the first time to do this. We got your name from your teammate, Matt Anderson, who thought you’d be interested”.

I had a huge lump in my throat, and tears in my eyes (and a few might have escaped my eyes…sweaty eyes as Nigel says…). First because last year when I watched that part of the ceremony, I was balling like a baby. And it wasn’t just me - there wasn’t a dry eye to be found…It is the most emotional part of the ceremony and is a huge honour! I was thrilled and touched that they would ask me. Secondly, Matt is a huge reason I was riding in the 2015 Ride. His story of how he signed up for the ride while his body was still thrashed from his brutal Leukaemia treatment and how he finished it inspired me to attempt to run my first 5K when I was still bald and just finished chemo.  He put my name on his flag and said he would “ride for me” (I was 5 chemo treatments in at last year’s Ride) before he even met me…so I was determined to ride alongside him as a teammate this year after completing my 5k run. He was already on a pedestal in my eyes, and now he went and gave them my name to be part of a ceremony that would ensure my first Ride To Conquer was one I would never forget. I think he’s up there with Nigel now when it comes to my hero worship ha.

I left work that day a bit dazed. And I once again wondered if my Dad was working overtime on his Guardian Angel duties, cause those 2 pieces of news could not have come at a better time.

Life in this canser world is unpredictable. It sucks. The day before I was top of the world after my big ride with my team, and then a few hours later found myself thrown into the depths of despair. And then I got the call from Kimmy A and the Ride Office, and I was back up, even if only temporarily. Ping ponging emotionally like that is so draining, and very confusing. I know life is unpredictable, but I find the “surprises” in this club are either totally awesome or heartbreaking as hell. There’s very little middle ground.

I will say though it does makes you really savour the sweet moments, because you never know what’s around the corner….