Generally ridiculous....

For a few different reasons, I was recently doing a very small bit of online research on William "The Fridge" Perry.  Perry is a former Chicago Bears defensive lineman, well-known not only for his size, but also (and particularly in Chicago) for being a member of the 1985 Super Bowl Bears winning team.  As this year's Super Bowl draws ever nearer, Chicago Bears fans are reminded, yet again, that we, yet again, didn't even make the playoffs.  But I digress.

This past August, I had the luck and privilege of attending a climbing camp for cancer survivors in Jackson, Wyoming.  One of the stipulations of the week-long adventure was that every camper was given or earned themselves a nickname.  One of the amazing things about First Descents is that once you arrive, the person you were before camp, all of the pain and uncertainty that marked your life, doesn't matter.  You are given a new name; all that matters are the people surrounding you, the friendships you make; the literal mountain to climb.  On my first afternoon in Jackson, I mentioned to one of the group leaders that I was a pretty big Chicago Bears fan.  (FYI, I don't remember statistics or names or most of the football minutia.  I am unable to identify plays and only recently learned what a "pump fake" is.  In short, I am a terrible football fan.  But I also spent a lot of time in a hospital bed about three years ago with nothing to do and not much to look forward to other than playoff games and a Super Bowl in which my Home Team was playing.  Those games got me through a pretty long mid-winter in Chicago and solidified my allegiance to the Chicago Bears).

So I was dubbed "The Fridge," Fridge for short.  William Perry and I have very little in common.  Sadly, I do not get to run people over for a living.  I am also nowhere near 6'2, 382 pounds.  I do like to eat though, so I suppose that is something...

This all ties together, I promise.  In Jackson, for whatever reason, more than a few of the survivors there were runners.  Meeting them, even, once, running with two of them, I realized, hey, maybe I really can do this.  These women and men have triumphed over cancer, and now they are running marathons and participating in triathlons.  They took their illness and what they learned from it and ran with it.  Literally.  I couldn't stop thinking about them and their strength once camp was over.  I returned to Chicago and on October 11, 2009, the day of the 2009 Chicago Marathon, swore to myself that I would be among those runners in one year.

As of January 20, 2010, I have taken the second step.  I, Caroline "Fridge" Bridges am now officially registered to run with Team in Training for the 2010 Chicago Marathon.  I know it is official because they have even given me my very own Fundraising Page!  I am not soliciting donations (yet), just pointing out that I am Going to do this.  Although October and 26.2 miles seems a damn long way away from January and three miles...

Sitting in my bedroom, pushing through some SADness, I know the winter doldrums cannot last forever.  It helps to have a long-term, solid goal.  It also helps that I am running with Team in Training, and I know that everything I am doing, all the running-pain I will be willingly forcing on myself over the next eight months will (hopefully) help another person with leukemia or lymphoma.  I'm all about paying it forward, that is, once I figure out the best way for me to do it.  Which in this case, means running like a maniac for an organization I strongly believe in.

So that's what is up.  Hopefully you are surviving January....  Go for a run or something!  Haha.  Alright, happy Saturday.  Peace.

True confessions of a shamelessly lazy bum

I have a health dilemma.  Or possibly my body is just confused.  Either way, I do not know what to eat.  It has now been over a year since I finished all chemos, but I am still having diet issues.  Not weight issues, but issues with what I can and should be eating and how those foods are affecting my body's precarious internal balance.  This past August, I began having some GI problems: cramping, gassy, mostly unpleasant and definitely not dinner-table-conversation symptoms.  I stopped eating meat pretty much altogether because I thought my symptoms might have something to do with eating meat.  I also mostly stopped eating dairy (although I have had a lot of trouble dropping cheese...).  Neither of those diet changes did much to help my colon conundrum.  

Around October, I tried to stop eating wheat/gluten based products, knowing that gluten allergies can affect the bowels.  There, however, I came across a huge challenge.  I was hungry all the damn time, and frankly, I just couldn't do it.  I could not drop three major food groups from my life.  Especially when one of my personal dietary staples was (is...) pizza.  So I have retained wheat in my life, although primarily the whole and unbleached variety.  Honestly, I don't think it was the wheat anyway. 

The other thing is that I have always had a dangerously soft spot for sugar and chocolate.  Even now, even this afternoon, I would just as soon have a cookie and a Starbucks sugar bombe drink than eat food with any nutritional value.  Well, maybe that isn't quite true.  If there had been tasty and satisfying food handy, I would have gladly eaten it.  As it stood, I was super hungry at work, and, well, I work at Starbucks.  Like I said, I am lazy; I also forgot I made some delicious pasta last night and it was just chilling, all alone, in my fridge.  It's funny though because I am not ignorant.  I know the amount of sugar I consume is Not Good for anyone, much less someone who has already had a slew of sugar-hungry cells take over her body for a little while.  In the most basic of layman's terms, from what I understand, sugar stimulates cancer-cell growth.  From there it gets a whole lot more technical for my liberal arts majoring self, but I get the gist of it: too much sugar = bad for cancer patients, especially those with tumors.  Too much sugar is not healthy, period, but how does it affect former cancer patients, those of us whose tumors have (hopefully) disappeared?

I am sure all of this is somehow connected: my stomach troubles; my low-energy levels throughout the day; my sugar affinity; my lack of motivation to go to the gym.  What I am not sure of, however, is how this all connects to my having had cancer.  Because, of course, this is all cancer's fault...  Haha.  I am also not sure where to go from here.  Meat?  No meat?  Wheat?  Or not?  I'm sure we all can agree that I should get rid of all the sugar...  But that is easily the hardest part.  Does it all come down to motivation?  And, if that is the case, any suggestions on how to stay motivated....?

In all seriousness, I would really like to hear what anyone else has experienced in a similar situation.  Did cancer (or illness) force you to change your diet for good?  How and to what end?  Perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to meet with a sports nutritionist.  Or a hypnotist...  Either way.  I'm sure one day all of these things will straighten themselves out.  Or you can help me straighten them out...?  Or I will straighten them out.  Or, something like that.

also:            HAPPY NEW YEAR.  Here's hoping 2010 brings only and many wonderful things to everyone.  :)  Peace.

Getting in the Christmas stomach

Wait...  That doesn't sound quite right.  Christmas Spirit?!  No, no, definitely the Christmas stomach.  So many cookies, breads, cheeses, chocolate covered everythings...  I am feeling a wee bit guilty about all of it, especially since I haven't had time to run the past two days, and I won't be running tomorrow either...  So, definitely feeling the Christmas stomach.

Haha, but it is all good.  I love cookies and chocolate and bread and cheese, so much good cheese.  I also love shopping for my family, walking around the malls and boutiques, considering what my little brother might like or find amusing this year, what my mother deserves after another year of putting up with all of our shenanigans, what my dad could use to spruce up our camp in Canada....  And then watching as they open their gifts, their (hopefully, fingers crossed) joy as they slip a finger underneath the tape to reveal that sweet t-shirt or watch or pocket-size multi-tool.  Sitting around our living room with a fire going, hot chocolate and coffee, maybe a mimosa or two, everyone together once again; that is Christmas.

Three years ago I was plopped in a hospital bed for Christmas, and that was the only time in my 23 years that I did not spend the day goofing around with my family.  They came to the hospital and tried to bring Christmas with them, but it is obviously not the same as actually sitting in that living room in front of the fire and the tree and All of the food.  Actually, if I remember correctly, Christmas marked the very beginning of all of my chemo treatments, and I was really not feeling too well that day.  Kind of poopy, if you know what I mean...  

But now, here I am, once again, on Christmas Eve, sitting at home and laughing at the stupidity and normalcy of my family.  I actually had to work earlier today, and as I was sweeping the floor of Starbucks, I had a pretty obvious epiphany.  My thought, as another Christmas carol was playing over the speakers, was: "I am so glad I am alive right now."  It wasn't brought on by any special moment or event, just the usual mundane life thing.  It was a brief thought, but I'm glad it decided to stop into my head.

It is Christmas, and my family is all sorts of awkward and rude and tense, and I love them for it, and I can't imagine not spending these days with them.  I wish everyone a Very Merry Christmas or whatever holiday you celebrate.  Hopefully you are with people who love you and whom you love as well.  And if not, well, there is always cheese...  Whatever you need to do, do it so that you can love your life, even just a little bit.

I love you all, and thank you for a wonderful year, and to all a good night!  :)

Music makes my world a much better place

I have a number of important cancer-related updates for those of us who may be curious what, if any, lingering physical effects remain from the nearly two years of chemo I received.  Well.  Let me tell you, I am still finding little interesting tidbit remainders.  For instance:  just under 3 years ago, I started this one drug, vincristine.  Same 'ol cancer-cell killing chemo drug, one of many.  One of the notable side-effects of this drug, however, is "peripheral neuropathy."  "Numbness or tingling in the hands and feet" anyone?  Basically, the drug damages the nerves in the tips of your fingers and toes.  I experienced mild numbness in my fingers, often contributing to comedic ventures involving toast...  But I digress.  The feeling eventually returned to my fingers and toes, and all is well.  I recently learned, however, that the damage is longer-lasting than I had thought.  As the temperature continues to drop outside, my hands continue to get cold.  One day recently, my hands got Really cold outside.  And I found that when the rest of my hands started to warm up, my finger tips continued to tingle.  It took a really long time, a lot of frantic hand-shaking, and more than a few minutes under hot water for them to finally get back to feeling.  So.  In summation: whatever happened to the tips of my fingers seriously affected my cold hand peripheral circulation nearly three years later.  Hoorah!  Weird feeling to not be able to feel.

Update number dos:  As some of you may know from having seen me, when my hair decided it was time to grow back two years ago, it did, in fact, grow back curly.  For two years now, I have had a serious love/hate relationship with my hair.  When it was super short and curly, it was cute and fun.  Then it started growing out some and (I thought) it looked unshapely and awkward.  I was hesitant to get it cut though because I am vain and truly enjoy having my hair around.  'S anyway, it kept on growing.  Finally, this spring and into summer, it had grown out enough that I liked it.  I also didn't like it.  I didn't like what the curls stood for, but I had resigned myself to them.  A hairdresser had confirmed for me one year ago that I was officially a curly-haired lady.  Funny thing though; she was Wrong.  I manned up and got myself a much-needed haircut last Tuesday.  And the curls?  Are gone.  Cut off.  Caroline - 1.  Chemo Curls - 0.  My hair is still kind of wavy, but the ringlets of yore are now nothing but memories fraught with emotion.  So if you are female and in chemo or recently out of chemo and your hair grew back curly, perhaps it is only a temporary permanent...

And those are my sort of lame cancer-updates.  In separate but sort of related news, I love life so hard right now.  Maybe it is the haircut.  Maybe it is that my jeans are getting consistently baggier.  Maybe it is that I have been volunteering more and Finally going out and taking pictures.  Perhaps it is because I made a decision to be more proactive with my photography and am working on figuring out how to find myself a job.  Or maybe it is that a random guy told me I was "really cute" the other night, which, even if he was some guy I will never see again and is ultimately unimportant in the long-term, it is still nice to hear those sorts of things.

Nothing has really changed except that every day I get a little more comfortable with my current situation and what I can do to make it better for myself.  Am I allowed to be happy at stupid things?  It is so easy for me to get dragged down by life sometimes.  Obviously; I have been complaining all about it on here.  But Photos, Music, random guys, chocolate?  Rodrigo y Gabriela playing at Barnes and Noble while I'm eating a cookie and drinking tea?  Seriously, that is my idea of just about perfect, and I am living it right now.  Insurance be damned, I will smile in spite of your attempts to bring me down.

Finally, briefly:  a new, serious attempt to put my photography "out there."  It is new, in progress, and still being edited, but I am always open to suggestions and comments.  Check it out!!  HERE.  Anyway, so, Happy Tuesday, sad toad.

Hormonal Rantz!

ummm....  I am sorry for my p.m.s.-induced sob-story of a prior b-log post.  I swear and promise I am not usually that blatantly depressing.  Somewhat embarrassingly, I am pretty sure that whole thing was a result of some severe p.m.s.  I'm not sure if it is the drugs I am still on or if my body is finally figuring itself out after 3 years of birth-control, steroids, weight loss and gain, or what, but recently I have been getting this new and bothersome moodiness the week before my period.  Woot!  Personal information!  But anyway, please do not take me too seriously.

Because here is the thing.  If you were given the choice, would you take the past three years and change them?  If you could, would you erase all the events and whatever may have happened these last 36 months?  I would not.  I would not change anything that has happened.  Perhaps, in retrospect, I am a bit disappointed with how I may have reacted to some things, but every single event stemming from exactly three years ago tomorrow has shaped me into the person I am so proud to be today.

I was at the Imerman Angels holiday party this past Thursday, and one of the speakers said that cancer is "highs and lows."  It isn't always the deep darkness; there are moments of happiness and joy and hope interspersed throughout the whole thing.  The lows help us to appreciate the highs that much more, and having gotten through the dark times, I am so, So thankful to be here.  I was sitting in Caribou Coffee earlier (don't judge me.), and I realized that in spite of everything, I am freaking glad to be alive right now.  Haha, I love me so much, and I love life and my family and my friends and laughing and writing and music and running and just being able to sit at a corner table in a coffee shop watching clouds shift and fly on an almost winter day.  How can you not love those things, really?

Having cancer forced me to take a good, solid and long look at myself and figure out who I was and who I wanted to be.  Some of the realities that I confronted scared me, and some things I was okay with.  Either way, I did a good amount of serious self-examining, which I probably wouldn't have done for years.  Now I get to live my life without having to figure out who I am, which is different from trying to figure out what I want to do - also a difficult question, but not nearly as important.  Whatever I end up doing with myself, I will do it with confidence and (hopefully) a smile.

Finally, I met an author a few weeks ago at a book reading.  He had written a memoir, and I screwed up my courage and went to his reading in some random person's living room in Naperville.  The reading itself was relatively uneventful.  But I asked Stephen about being honest in a memoir.  Basically, he told me that life never ends up neatly and tidily.  In reality, the hero doesn't conquer all the demons and ride off into the sunset with no worries, and a memoirist who ends with that theme is lying to the reader.  So, as this is something of a memoir, I would like to be honest in that it has been three basically crappy years.  My "college years" were wrecked, and now I'm stuck trying to figure it all out, and it is not easy.  But, like I said, I wouldn't change it.  Life is going to continue to be messy and sticky and probably often unpleasant, but it is All Mine.

So tomorrow, as the saying goes, a very merry UnBirthday to me.  It kind of is a birthday, of sorts.  Definitely an unbirthday.  Haha, feel free to celebrate your unbirthday tomorrow, as well.  Why not?  You're still here, kicking and screaming and pushing through to the good times, and that is worth some tea and cake, at the very least.  Aight, I'm out.  Peas.

Okay, whose god did I anger this time?

And how do I get back in his or her graces??  Shiva - the Hindu god often referred to as "the destroyer?"  Athena - Greek goddess of warfare and wisdom?  Or even my God, whom I haven't really talked to in a while?  Somehow, somewhere in there I must have done something to throw my karma all off track, and I am at a complete loss as to how to fix it or even if I can.

I should be going to sleep right now.  I am supposed to get up and run some miles tomorrow morning, but I haven't been able to fall asleep at reasonable hours lately.  12.30 a.m. (for me) is not a reasonable hour.  I think there has been so much on my mind lately that I can't quiet it down, but I also cannot distinguish between thoughts.  Tonight, for instance, I have spent the past few hours looking at a number of different cancer blogs, and almost all of them have made me realize I have been rattling on in the b-log, whining about the small stuff and the emotional not-really-drama in my life.  People - young people, old people, generally beautiful people - are sick; they are dying, and some have already died.  And I read those blogs and struggle not to cry because it is not fair that I should be sitting here bitching about a stupid cold while they are savoring life even though they may be struggling to breathe.

How is it so easy to forget what we've learned?  After the hard stuff is over, when the life-loving glow of surviving a trauma fades away, which it inevitably will for most of us, we often forget what it means to truly appreciate each and every day for what it is.  Why has it been so easy for me to forget?  A year ago when I had the face tumor, I was happier than I had been in a very long time.  Yes, I was in serious pain for a while and couldn't really eat, but my friends surrounded me and supported me, and I was completely and absolutely in love with life.  I was recently perusing some of the b-log archives and my old journal, and I realized why I felt so free.  I had, yet again, escaped a death-sentence.  Before they finally diagnosed and started treating my tumor, I thought I was going to die again.  Not die, again, but face the fear for the second time.  And then they told me it was non-cancerous and four weeks of Rituxan and Bam! face-tumor free.  The physical effects of the tumor were negligible on my overall mood because I was just so freaking relieved to know what it was and to have a plan of action.

Only one year later, however, and one week away from my three-year anniversary of my diagnosis, and everything seems to be just a bit off with me.  Losing important things; breaking things; sniffling.  I really don't want to get sick again, and I don't think that I will, but I might.  I am only one year out of treatment.  It is anyone's game at this point.  Looking into my chest full of emotions, I can feel a storm brewing (mixed metaphors, what?).  Right now though, the swirling intangible cloud is comparable to when you are in second-grade art class and don't yet fully understand the color wheel and so mix All of the colors together and get... a muddy sort of grey?  That's not pretty at all.  Nor is it possible to discern one color from another.  Nor am I sure what I feel or even what I want to feel.

So I blame the cosmos for messing with my chi (qi).   Although in fairness, I have completely lost or am ignoring my inner peace.  I know it used to be there...  I read other blogs or hear from friends and see their amazing news, their daily stepping out to meet the day head on, and I wonder what I am missing right now.  I have accepted and am generally no longer inhibited by the cancer, but the next step is eluding me: the maintaining of the found or acquired peace in daily living, throughout the mundane and the frustrating everyday annoyances.  People survive.  They get through, somehow.  They smile, then laugh, then move on, if they can.  If they can't, hopefully they are happy now.  I am learning just how much of a challenge life can be, but it is still wonderful.  I am still sitting here next to some of my photos, in a sun-yellow wrap, watching a candle flicker on my desk, and it is still beautiful and hopeful.  So there's that.  There will always be that.  Well, that, and my ramblings...  In the meantime, hopefully you have your own      Peace.

A rant. And a bit of a rave.

Warning: I am in a bit of a foul mood.  I assume no responsibility for transferral of said mood to others who might otherwise be in a good mood.  Read at your own risk.  Thanks!

Why in the name of all things worth fighting for am I getting sick?  Again!?  It is not okay, and I am not okay with this.  All I want and have wanted for the past three years is to be healthy and to stay healthy.  Sure, sure, yeah, yeah, there is no more cancer in me.  I am "healthy."  But this death-cold is getting ridiculous.  It has been a year since I finished any and all cancer therapies, and yet here I am, still battling the Plague almost every other week.  According to my doctor, it is possible to still have a lowered resistance to infections maybe three to six months following treatment.  (If anyone has any other science to refute this, please, share....)  At this point, I should be completely in the clear.  I should not be cutting my runs in Half because I cannot breathe and I do not have the energy to push myself.  Perhaps it is the running that is doing me in...?  But no!  Not yet, anyway.  According to Runner's World, running can actually boost your immunity, at least until you start running longer than 90 minutes, after which point it inhibits immunity.  But I am barely running 30 (40 if I'm lucky and have eaten) minutes.  So.  Running, out.  What else is there?  I wash my hands like a maniac; my job pretty much requires constant hand-washing.  I usually get at least eight hours of sleep, often more.  I drink lots of water and eat generally well.  Why, then, am I Still Getting Sick?  Gaaaahhh.

And a rave:  I have always sort of alluded to this, but now I am going to lay it all out there.

I have not gotten through treatment and post-treatment and after post-treatment by myself.  My friends have been there for me.  My family has been indescribably amazing.  Even though it was often difficult living at home and then dealing with my parents' concerns long-distance, I would not have been able to do anything without my mom and my dad's support.  And finally, just about two years ago, I started seeing a psychologist.  Once I returned to school after my major treatment, I struggled to assemble some new sense of self, and I felt desperately alone.  I needed professional help, and while it was very hard for me to admit I could no longer handle everything alone, it was also a huge step that I sought therapy.  I saw my psychologist up until the week I left Boston this past July, and I cannot imagine what would have happened to me if I hadn't started working with her.  Friends and family can only offer so much empathy, and I was failing at readjusting.  She helped me to flesh out and at least attempt to resolve a lot of cancer-related issues and more than a few issues exacerbated by cancer.  One of the major revelations and acceptances was that I was/am depressed, and the cancer was making it worse.  So a year and a half ago, I started taking anti-depressants, and they have made such a tremendous difference.  I did not want to start taking them; again, I thought I could handle my emotions on my own.  The last thing I wanted was to start taking another drug, especially one that would affect my mood.  I figured I could bring myself out of my depression on my own.  Alas, I really couldn't.  So, pills, therapy, family and friends.  My survival kit for post-cancer treatment ailments.  I am still working through most of my issues, and I am still struggling with depression.  Somehow, I don't think that is ever going to go away.  Every day requires a concerted effort to push through, to smile at the stupid little stuff.

I am and have always been stubborn.  I downplay and even ignore my problems, whether physical or emotional. My stubbornness is why it took me so long to see a doctor when my bones were all stuffed full of cancer, and it is why it took me six years to seek out help for something I have always struggled with, the depression thing.  But ultimately, we all reach some sort of breaking point, a point where we can either admit we need help and receive it, or else we can block the pain out and let the potential for healing become exponentially more difficult.  I wish I could say I always recognize and ask for help when I need it, but I don't.  Especially when I am dealing with myself.  Maybe that's why I am still getting colds; maybe my body is really saying, "Caroline, seriously, pay attention to me!  Eat more leafy greens!"  But who knows, really.

Well, I feel a bit better now, having gotten all of that out.  haha, I still have a whole treasure trove of concerns I may or may not get around to addressing at some point on here, but I will hold off for the rest of this evening.  (A teaser though:  Chemo Brain!  Real?  Imagined?  Am I going completely crazy?  Am I already crazy?  Why can I not remember that freaking word...??)  Otherwise, I hope everyone has wonderful Sundays.  It is supposed to maybe snow-ish here on Thursday, so we will see what this coming week brings.  Personally, I am hoping for good news of Any kind.  Word.  Peace.