"...I got a real good feeling something bad about to happen...." Miranda Lambert (Something Bad About to Happen)

Nov 8, 2015

It seems that when times get rough and my emotional tank is empty, I always find myself back in the mountains. And I kinda feel like Pavlov’s dog in the sense that because I now associate the mountains with replenishing my spirit – as they have done time and time again on this path -  I find that my brain and my emotions go into auto ‘relax’ mode as soon as I am on my way to the mountains.

So it was that I found my pain dull, just a little, as we drove out towards the mountains the day after Jan’s funeral. Me and 8 of my girlfriends were on our way to Banff for the annual Winterstart race – a 5 Mile (8k!), uphill RUN,  at night in the dark, up a mountain, in Nov…Did I mention the bear warnings and snowfall warnings in effect??

To be honest though, I almost cancelled going. With Daisy starting the week off rough, and Jan’s funeral the day before I just didn’t have the heart to go. Phil, who always seems to know what’s best for me even when I don’t, pushed me to go anyways. Grudgingly I consented to go, on the promise that if Daisy took a turn for the worse he would tell me right away so I could come home. Never mind all the years we had her since she was a pup, but she had been with me through the whole of my canser treatment as my constant companion – I was not about to abandon her at the end of her life when she now needed me.

I suppose it’s not that surprising that within a few minutes of getting to the room, wine was being poured by the 3 of us who got there first, waiting for the others who would be showing up in the next couple of hours. I think we were 2 bottles in when some of the others started to roll in…

Obviously alcohol is not an answer when you have pain in your life, but that night, with my wonderful girlfriends, it was exactly what I needed. The stress melted away and those girls – my girls – surrounded me with their love and support without even talking about it – and kept me in the present moment the whole weekend. I could finally breathe again. We laughed so hard we cried, and I’m sure all of Banff knew we were in town from the noise we made when we finally left the room and hit the town – a few more bottles of wine later…Not everyone knew each other super well, but by the end of Friday night you’d think we were all friends for years (which some of us were!)

Terrorizing the town

We spend Sat shopping, or hot tubbing and ate at my favourite restaurant Nourish (and I now think most of the girls favourite too!) and were again the loudest ones in the place. We may or may not have had a few beverages that had alcohol in it…before we went back to the hotel to change and get ready for our 5k run ….apparently fancy boozy drinks are the stuff of champions!

The thing to know about Winterstart if you don’t know anything about it, is it’s not your typical competitive race…people go there dressed up. Like in costumes…like there were a bunch of lit up Bananas running around…yes, bananas. Yes, lit up… Among elves and all kinds of elaborate costumes or gaudy, bright clothing, often adorned with Christmas lights. We, for our part were in Skeleton Tutu’s (ha) and all wondering how this would turn out. There was a thin sheet of ice on the road where it had been snowing and melting so that added to the challenge. And most of us hadn’t run in weeks…or months…or ever!

There were A LOT of people at the start line. We were pretty excited; even if we weren’t sure we would make it the whole way…without being carried! Then the starting gun shot went off, and as my mom says, we were “off like a heard of turtles in a cloud of pepper dust”. Like turtles on ice…which I’m sure was entertaining for anyone watching.

 It was dark…like really dark! They gave everyone glow sticks, and I could understand why – at least then you had something to light you up, not to see, but to at least be seen. But it was really well organized and I was surprised when I made it to the turnaround point, which was part way up Tunnel Mountain…I was even pretty sure I had at least 1 lung still working…though I couldn’t be sure with how loud I was breathing…but breathing I still was, so that was a good sign.

Before

All 9 of us came in within 15 minutes of each other. I’d be lying if I said the finish line was what motivated me to push through the 2nd half of the run – it was really the free beer I knew awaited me!

After - look at those smiles!

As I crossed the finish line I remember thinking “wow, 230k bike ride in Aug, 5k run up a mountain in Nov…maybe I’m having an early mid-life crisis!”. And then I found the rest of the girls, was handed a beer and my shoulders felt lighter. I don’t even like running! But we decided then and there that this would be our annual girls’ event…and that maybe we might recruit a few more for next year’s.

The setting and the company of those with me were incredibly healing for me. It turned out to be a fun weekend full of laugher and no responsibilities. I think it wasn’t just healing for me – I think some, if not all my girls needed it.


I also think that weekend allowed me to recharge enough to be able to handle the heartbreak I had no idea awaited me upon my return.

“We need never be ashamed of our tears.” ― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Nov 6, 2016

I think I’ve been putting off writing about the next few weeks after I got the BRCA news…although the reason why is not related to genetics. It was in the weeks following that my friend Jan died. I also found out a friend’s cancer went from treatable to terminal. And my dog Daisy’s head cancer also started to really progress to the point where we knew her good days were numbered.

When I write a blog, I get right back into the mind frame of the time I am writing about, especially when I am behind (which I have been by 6 months). I re-live whatever I write about – good or bad. It’s helped me to process things but there are certain blogs that are very difficult for me to write. I have not shied away from any of them. But for this one I am finding it hard to find the words. Those few weeks of my life were some of the hardest since being diagnosed.

I have met so many people because of my cancer diagnosis. It has been one of the most amazing, unexpected things to come out of being inducted into the “canser club”. I met Ray at the Tom Baker during his first oncologist appointment and my last before my last chemo. My parents knew him from when they worked at the same company. His wife recognized my mom and they got to talking. Turns out I knew Ray’s son from when he and I worked together. Ray has a blood cancer, and throughout our treatment we kept in touch. His chemo was brutal on him and he usually ended up in the hospital with an infection or other chemo related issue each round of chemo. I love Ray’s fighting spirit and his seemingly unfailing hope. He was not so dissimilar to me and my outlook during treatment. Ray and his wife even came to the mall when Phil and I participated in the CanSuffer to Conquer spin event to lend their support. I was extremely touched as I was not expecting to see them there. He has said some incredibly nice things to me over the few years I have known him and I have been rooting for him since that first day at Tom Baker. His original treatment failed to get all the cancer so he had to go back for more chemo. So he was one of the people foremost on my mind who got me up some of the hard hills during The Ride while he was back in treatment (and is the “Raymond” in my slidshow from The Ride)

I still remember when I got the message from him in October. I was at work and I went to get a coffee. I checked my Facebook messages and saw there was one from Ray (I had messaged him to see how he was doing earlier that morning). I nearly dropped my coffee as I read “Three are no more treatments possible. Unfortunately, I have terminal cancer it sucks but it is what it is “. I knew things had not being going well with his health but I was not expecting this news. I quickly tried to make it to the bathroom as the tears started rolling down my cheeks. Not Ray. His cancer was treatable. How could the doctors say there was nothing they could do? I was so angry. It just wasn’t fair. 

Losing Sarah in the summer was heart wrenching. She was a constant in my world as I tried to put the pieces of my life back together. Losing her made my world tip on its side. I lost hope for a while. I got a big dose of what cancer means and it was a reality so horrible that it left its mark on me.

Ray’s news was a shock. It never crossed my mind that his outcome would be any different than my own.  My heartache that started with Sarah’s death grew with his news.  I also felt guilty. Why did my treatment work and theirs not?

Jan was another constant. I met her after she was diagnosed with glioblastoma brain cancer. It is not curable. I met her at Wellspring while I was going through chemo. She knew she was terminal. Yet she blew away all the stats on survival. I guess it was easy for me to believe she would be one who would beat the odds.

Jan accepted that she would die from her type of cancer. She was a doctor. When I first met her I wasn’t sure how to act around her – she was the first person I met since my own diagnosis who was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. But she had this very calming aura. I always felt at peace in her presence. Even when I put my foot in my mouth a few times. Even when I cried as she would give us an update or talk about her fears. I would look forward to seeing her each week. She was kind. She was compassionate. And smart – so very smart. Eventually we had a strange sort of friendship. We shared many laughs. We hugged hello and good bye. She was one of the people I was thankful that came into my life because of my diagnosis. A silver lining.

About a year after we met, we lost touch with my going back to work and her having to have another brain surgery. In August she moved into a palliative care facility that she had gone out and hand-picked while she was still doing well. I remember her telling me about how she was very happy with the place she decided would be her final home when her disease progressed to a point where she couldn’t live at home any longer. I admit hearing Jan talk about this kind of stuff – including getting all her funeral and burial stuff sorted out – was hard. I would watch her talk sometimes and think “how can she die? How can there be no way to fix this?” She was a live, warm, amazing person. I guess I never really wrapped my head – or my heart - around the finality of it.

And then October 28 she passed away.

With Jan’s death following on the heels of Ray’s news, the last of my hope faded. I was not in a very good place emotionally anyways which I think made this news all the harder to process. I arranged my work schedule in a fog so I could go to Jan’s funeral. Daisy was not doing well. I spent an entire night on the floor sleeping by her side, wondering if the time had come to let her go too. We got a reprieve for Daisy the morning Jan died. The last effort to keep Daisy comfortable seemed to be helping, and Daisy perked up and appeared to be more her happy self. I hoped it would keep her through Christmas.

But my heart was heavy.

I didn’t ask anyone to come to Jan’s funeral with me. None of my “non canser” friends and family had met her and I just wanted to grieve with those who knew her, and loved her.  When Janis told me she’d be there, my heart lifted.  I wondered what other familiar faces from Wellspring I’d see.

I ran into the Wellspring gang almost as soon as I walked through the doors. I could feel the lump in my throat grow. The last time I saw these wonderful women, Jan was among us. Once we sat down and I took one look at Janis, the tears started to fall. Here we were all together again, but one of our own was gone. It felt so unfair. The service started and was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever been to. The people who got up to talk about Jan were from the different parts and times in her life. Every eulogy had those in attendance listening with rapt attention – she had an extremely interesting, fascinating, selfless life that was full of love and compassion and generosity. I kept thinking if everyone lived and gave half as much as Jan, the world would be a better place. It made it seem 1000x more unfair that of all people Jan was taken. She did so much good with her life. A lot of the good I didn’t even know about because Jan was modest and probably didn’t see it as anything heroic but it was. It made me feel even more blessed that I was lucky to have met this amazing person, even if it was just for a short time. She was an extraordinary person. And you didn’t even have to listen to all the eulogies to know this – you could just look around. The church was packed to the rafters with standing room only. She was dearly loved.

 And is sorely missed.