Hallelujah! I'm Another Year Older

Yep, you read that headline correctly. I am another year older. Additionally, I'm happy about it. I'm not drunk and I'm not insane, but I am thankful and 43!

Birthdays have become a bigger celebration for me since I beat cancer because there was one point when I wondered how many more I would see, or if I would see any more. Thankfully, not only did I see another birthday after that diagnosis, but this was my 4th birthday since hearing those crazy words.

I'd be crazy not reflect on the blessings that I have seen in the last year, the ways that my life has changed for the better and all of the fun that I have had. 42 was a great year (but 43 is going to be better!): I moved into a new home, made a ton of new friends, started a new business, and did a million other things that I'll never be able to recall. But all of those events, experiences and moments contributed to the serious smile on my face the morning of my 43rd birthday.

But, all of that is not why I am sharing this news with you. I'm sharing this news with you because I want you, the people who I care about the most, to reflect and realize that getting another year older is a gift. Age is just a number, and regardless of how high that number gets, it's still important to be thankful for the chance to see another birthday.

I wouldn't want ya' all to wait until something crazy happens in your life for you to start seriously celebrating the crap out of your birthdays and genuinely appreciating the fact that you are celebrating another year. Take this chance and this opportunity to do something amazing with this year, and the next one, and the one after that too.

I'll Never Remember This But... BGETH

I stumbled across this inspirational quote this morning while sipping my coffee, keeping an eye on the puppy, thinking about what I need to do today, and praying that a functioning brain would decide to bless me with its presence today. (Clearly, I have been working on getting my multi-tasking abilities back. Having a puppy in the house is great practice, but I have a very long way to go.)

I sat my coffee cup down (missed the coaster and nearly dumped it right on the laptop). I smiled because the puppy has fallen asleep (apparently dragging a gallon of mud, dirt, and tree branches into the house are hard work) and does not need her mother's watchful eye on her right this very second. Aha! I can think about this for a few minutes. (Okay, it started out as a few minutes, and then went into over time.) After all, the things I need to do today can wait for just a few minutes. They are not going anywhere, and even if they did decide to wander off, I would forget that they were here in the first place so it would not make that much of a difference. I will probably never locate them again, so they must not have been that important.

Putting on this coat of many colors, every morning, so to speak is a choice. If I choose to feel blessed, grateful, excited, thankful, and happy, I am all set. Everything else will fall into place because I will not be allowing myself to get bogged down with life and all of the crap that comes along with it. It is just better for my emotional and physical health than allowing stress and chaos to destroy me.

I can make the choice every single day to feel BLESSED. Sometimes blessings do not jump out in front of you and smack you in the knee cap (like the wall, door, bed, etc., etc., that you keep running into- I do not do this, I am just trying to help you relate to what I am saying.) Blessings have a funny way of not seeming like blessings at the time, and can even initially present themselves in an ingenious disguise. It may be days, weeks, months, or years before you realize that something bad that happened to you is a blessing. But trust me, they are most definitely there, and probably in greater abundance than you even know.

I can make the choice every single day to feel GRATEFUL. First and foremost, every single morning that my feet land on the floor, even though things crack that never used to sound that way, I am grateful. While it may seem crazy and mundane and you might wonder if I am smoking the "wacky tobacco," I can be grateful when I find myself sitting at the dealership waiting for an oil change. Stick with me here. Needing an oil change means that I have been places, and that means that I have probably seen people, done things, and made memories and for this opportunity, I am grateful.

I can make the choice every single day to be EXCITED; this is a hard one for me. I can admit when something challenges me, and this does. As a gal who used to get excited about the small stuff, over the last several years, exhaustion made it impossible for me to muster excitement over anything. Life continually popped my excitement bubble, heck I am not even sure that for a while that there was even a bubble left to pop. But, I am working on this. I will find excitement and things to look forward to if it is the last thing I do... (What was I doing again?)

I can make the choice every single day to be THANKFUL. My life is not without challenges. Rather than becoming angry and bitter over my challenges, I choose to be thankful for those mishaps which make fabulous stories and give me inspiration for this blog (and the book which is a work in progress) which keeps all of you entertained. Daily, I discover people and things that I can thank the good Lord for. I do not even have to look that hard to find them. They are right in front of my face (thank God for that because my vision is not the greatest), and yes, I have smacked straight into them on more than one occasion because I am clumsy, klutzy, and very easily distracted. ( I trip over two of my greatest blessings, at least, a dozen times a day.)

I can make the choice every single day to be HAPPY. We are responsible for our happiness, no one else. While choosing to be happy, we are also responsible for not allowing anyone else to mess with that joy. Unhappiness can kill you, so this is a critical one. Making the choice to surround ourselves with other people who are happy, and people who care about our happiness is something we need to do.  Life is way too short for people who squash happiness like bugs, and frankly, I would much rather be smiling than frowning. I am no spring chicken, and wrinkles are way too fond of me.

Life truly is about choices. Choose wisely because you never know how many redos you are going to get. Open your eyes and really take in your surroundings, not the stuff, the people. I honestly believe that it is within people that we find our greatest joys...

Membership Has It's Rewards! Are You The Right One?

During my time in rescue, I often found myself having conversations about "the right fit." Several times I had volunteers mention to me that they thought a particular boxer was the perfect fit for a family. While I have only been owned by three boxers in my lifetime, I have learned a lot about boxer parenting. I am seriously convinced that the question is not if the boxer is right for the home, but is the human right for the boxer or even a boxer in general.

I dedicate this blog post to all of the boxers that have found themselves in rescues and shelters because the humans were simply not right for them. And also to the "right fits" that I feel blessed to have been a part of.

It was almost six years ago that I made the choice to become a boxer parent. Not unlike an expectant mother anticipating the arrival of a new two-legged baby, I did a lot of reading and a lot of research and a crapload of planning. Truly, though, after six years as the human of a boxer, time and experience are really the only things that have taught me what being a boxer family is really about.

Of all of the choices I have made in my life, and all of the things that I have accomplished, being a boxer parent is definitely my greatest source of pride. I have absolutely no regrets about my life with my boxers.

A boxer is not just a dog. A boxer will inevitably wiggle its way into your heart, and every single aspect of your life. These goofy, wiggling buddies will want to be a part of everything that you do. These are little humans in the most adorable little bodies. When you make the decision to parent a boxer, you are committing to a life-long assistant. Dishes, laundry, cooking, gardening, bed-making, painting, even taking a bath (and as I have recently discovered with Jazzy, showering). Are you ready to never pee alone again? Can you handle this level of companionship? These guys are not for the admitted loner, but rather the human who is ready to share every part of their life with a four-legged, nosey, and oftentimes persistent clown.

Boxers have a concept of personal space that is very original. It is the "your space is my space" concept. This means the bed, the sofa, and pretty much every square foot of your home. If you are not okay with mud, slobber, and water all over the floor and every other place that drool can fly to, you are probably not right for a boxer. Boxer drool is a very serious topic and one that I could do a stand-alone and very long blog on. This is a unique substance that has powers beyond your wildest imagination. Not only is it comprised of something that closely resembles gorilla glue, but it is also capable of reaching places that you cannot possibly fathom. If you are OCD about clean windows, furniture, and walls, a boxer is probably a bad match.

Are you commitment-phobic? Are you unwilling to submit yourself to what can only be described as passionate, all-encompassing love? Boxers need a human that is open and willing to being loved in this way. No boxer should ever be allowed to fall in love with a human that is not prepared to love him back for his entire life. That is just not fair.

Are you a stingy lover? (Get your head out of the gutter, I am still talking about the dogs.) These guys crave attention and love. It is not uncommon to find soulful eyes staring at you  quite dauntingly because you have not loved on them in the last five minutes. My boxers remind me several times an hour that they love me very much, and in turn, they also like to be reminded that I love them right back.

One of the greatest gifts that my boxers have given to me is what can only be described as unconditional love at the highest possible level. This is a love that goes in both directions.

The love that these guys give to their humans is enduring, wonderful, and life-long. It is a love that lasts long after their bodies, but never their spirits have left this earth. We never really get over the departure of our boxers from this earth. When we give ourselves to our boxers, we are making a commitment to understanding that a piece of hearts will at some point probably go with them from this earth and yet another part will always belong to them.

Boxers really are clowns for life. While their birth certificates may say that they are "older", they are really just puppies at heart and in spirit. Are you okay with the fact that you are going to have a puppy in your home for the next 13 years, or longer if you are so blessed? They never stop entertaining, and they never stop being wildly silly.

If you are not okay with the fact that this gorgeous breed will never really outgrow "puppyhood" you may want to consider another breed. If you are not crazy about smiling, laughing and being reduced to tears at least once a day, the goofy, comical boxer is not going to be a good match.

I have been extremely lucky with little Jazzy! She might just be the world's best boxer puppy, or maybe it is the fact that she has an awesome big brother. Everyone who has met Jazzy has looked at me and said, "She's not a typical boxer puppy". Yes, I will be forever spoiled by this little darling, but in all honestly, she is still a puppy, and she is still busy and requires a lot of training, time, energy, and attention. She never really stops which is okay, because I never really do either.

If you are expecting a well-behaved boxer, be prepared for ongoing mental stimulation, not just through the puppy years, but throughout their entire life. Boxers are the world's most cuddly, loving little creatures that you will ever come across, and they are more than happy to keep you company when you want to watch a good movie.... but only after you have played tugged o' war for 55 minutes and walked around the block 17 times, shared cheese from the fridge and then walked around the block another 17 times. These are not dogs that are okay with their humans leaving the house for 10 hours at a time. Frankly, if Jazzy and Duke had their way, I would never leave the house. Crap, it takes me all of one minute to walk to the mailbox and back and by their reactions when I walk in the door, you would think I had just returned from a six-month stint in China. God, it is seriously amazing to be loved this way.

Boxers, like children can often have sensitivities and allergies to food and things in the environment around them. Be prepared for a huge financial investment in feeding your boxers things that are not only good for them, but that agree with them. Sometimes, the solutions are not always clear and the problems not so obvious. Lucy saw multiple specialists and endured many changes in routine in an attempt to rid of her allergies to food and the environment. We never really did find a solution that was a solid fix.

Jazzy and Duke enjoy a raw diet that is a combination of chicken with bones, beef, vegetables, proteins, omega-3's, and yes, cheese.

If you have never experienced life with a boxer, you might be reading all of this and thinking "Good Lord, now I know this woman is crazy!" Life with two boxers is never dull. I am never alone. I wear my heart on my sleeve when it comes to my boxers as if my heart were walking around outside of my chest all of the time. I adapt my life and my activities around my boxers needs to keep them happy because they do the same for me. We have a wonderful give-and-take relationship, but only because that is the way I want it and that is what they require.

Yes, I spend insane amounts of time cleaning and mopping floors, have nearly killed myself more than once in incidents that most certainly involved drool, and I am forever fighting for blankets and space in my king size bed. I find laundry in my living room, toys in weird places, and my car windows are always covered in boxer art work. But none of these things matter when I think about how full my heart is with love for Duke and Jazzy and even Lucy.

I am proud to be a card carrying, boxer mom.

Turns Out That A Little Bit o' Jazz Was Just What The Doctor Ordered

It has definitely not taken the whole two weeks that Jazzy has been with us for me to realize that I am in love. Actually, I am pretty sure that I knew the moment that I first laid eyes on her that I was completely smitten with this little pup. And if I wasn't sure at that exact moment, it was definite when she bunny hopped over to me in the grass as we were "peeing" (that would have been her, and not me in case you are wondering!) one last time before hitting the road in Friendship, Texas.

While my heart will never be completely whole again with Lucy gone, Lil Bit has certainly done a fantastic job of making me smile again, and Duke once again seems happy. I know that Lil Bit has found her way into my heart. I could not possibly be more enthusiastically happy about this little girl's wonderful temperament. Often, I find myself forgetting that she is just a puppy. And I've asked myself more than once, are you sure this is a boxer puppy? Then she does something ridiculously silly, and I laugh until I cry and wonder why did I ever question that this is a boxer puppy?

I can tell you that my heart could not have been heavier, nor could it have been more broken after Lucy left us so abruptly. Not a day goes by when I do not think of Lucy, but as I've said many times, I know that Lucy would not have been happy about my moping face, and Duke's lack of a wiggle. When I look at my little ball of energy, covered in soft fur and stop for a kiss from her sweet little puppy tongue, I know that we made the right decision. In my heart, I know that Lucy approves.

Our journey to Texas was completely unforgettable. I was hesitant of subjecting Duke to 32 hours in the car, but the thought of leaving him behind made me even more hesitant. Now, I'm glad that we had that time with Duke before we picked up Jazzy, and I know that I made the right choice.

Frankly, I think it was a good bonding experience for all of us, and I know that the 16 hours in the car on the way back to Florida was the perfect start to the relationship between Duke and Lil Bit. I love that we started off the Jazzy chapter of our lives with a road trip. I'll be forever grateful to my dear friend and fellow boxer mom that insisted that it was a bad idea for me to take this trip by myself. Nothing is more fun that two women in a car chatting about everything under the sun for 32 hours.

One hour away from my home in Florida, I looked up in the sky and saw the most massive, and most brilliant rainbow I have ever seen. I did not bother to fight back the tears as my heart told me that was Lucy sharing her approval of her mama's choice. (Too bad she wasn't intervening with fate when that state trooper decided to nab us for speeding... but Lucy never approved of my driving anyway, and I wasn't the one driving...)

It has been 6 years since we have had a "puppy" in our home. While I most certainly have forgotten a few things about having a little one around, I have found myself most relieved to find that most of the things I've needed to know are still stuck in my crazy head. One of the biggest joys of a puppy in my opinion is their endless curiosity, and Jazzy is certainly curious. Her reaction to every new sound and every new experience makes me giggle. The look on her face and the stance of her little body when she decides "that's just weird" has made me young again. Jazzy does not get in a lot of trouble. She leaves most everything alone that is not hers and will wander off to find a toy when she is feeling mischievous.

I did not have the pleasure of knowing my Duke as a young pup, but if I had to imagine him as a puppy, I would imagine him being a lot like Jazzy is. Maybe this is why they are such a great match!

Jazzy is sweet, patient, and funny. She is as smart as can possibly be and picks up everything very quickly. Very eager to please, she often looks at me for approval, and she never lets me out of her sight. I love the sound of puppy paws on the tile and know that wherever I go, Jazzy is sure to be right behind me.  This is not without challenges, boxer puppies have a way of getting under our feet and I've gotten tangled up with Lil Bit more times than I even wish to count.

One of my favorite things about this little girl is how sweet and cuddly she is. Not a morning goes by that she doesn't wiggle her way into my lap as I sit on the patio and enjoy my coffee in the morning... And when I get up for more coffee, it isn't uncommon for someone to steel my chair...

Duke is amazing with Jazzy and I feel like I have an assistant. He loves her to death and the feeling is mutual. They play, snuggle, and protect the house and their mama together. What a great teacher he is, but I didn't expect any less. He was amazing with Lucy and I knew he would be great with a puppy. The sheer size of him next to my 35-pound puppy is almost comical. When they play, you almost have to hold your breath and think "oh, no! He's too big". But, ever the gentleman, he is gentle with her, and mindful of his strength, but no worries, she can hold her own.

Lil Bit o' Jazz turned out to be the most appropriate name for this boxer girl. Daily she brings "lil bits" of sunshine, joy and laughter to our home. She positively loves music and new sounds. And while her "pretty songs" that she sings do not sound a bit like jazz, somehow the boxer howls are appropriately, Jazzy.

While this certainly was not the way that I saw things playing out, I should know better than to have expectations. After all, look at the last  two years of our lives. I guess I am okay with all of this. I trust that it was the way that it was meant to be. While the lesson here is not yet clear, I am sure that there is one. I do not have time to ponder it or wonder why because I need to enjoy Jazzy's puppy-hood. I am sure that some day it will be all clear but in the meantime, as I am sure you can tell, I am just enjoying my new blessing.

---

Dear Lil Bit

We are extremely excited about our new boxer baby that is coming next week to add some excitement to our home! I will be meeting "Lil Bit o' Jazz" for the first time on Tuesday afternoon and have been busy getting the house ready for a puppy!

When Lucy was little, and before I got insanely busy working seven days a week, I blogged about raising Lucy. Some of the posts were called "Lucy's Take" and through me she blogged about her life and for some reason, I can't stop thinking about it... I think she must have something she needs to tell Lil Bit....

Dear Lil Bit, 

You's has never met me, I'm Lucy! You's abouts to become a member of my well-trained family! Congwratulations! You's gonna be very happy with my hoomans! I wanted to tell you a few tings about your new hoomans and your new big brudder. I's has gone to Heaven, but I'm watching closely over my hoomans and my big brother. They are all very sad that I'm gone, but I could tell that when they heard that you were coming, that they all felts just a little bits better and mommy's even smiling again. Heels der hearts for me, k?

Duke is a fantastic big pup! My hoomans brought him to live wits me and show me da ropes. I couldn't have been happier! Of course, I took my job as pesky little sister very seriously. And I kept him on his toes. He's probably lots bigger dan what you are, but don't worry. He's a very gentle boy and trust me, he's a great cuddler. I know he will protect you and take very good care of you. Heads up, he's not too fond of the delivery people dat come to the house... but here's da thing, they bring presents to the fur people living in the house, so be very excited when you see dem coming. (Mommy has very good taste. I don'ts know what dat means, but dats what Daddy calls it!)

Play with him lots! And make his little nub wiggle again, okay? And if you could, we had sometin' dat mommy called a morning twadition. I would grab a toy and zoom all over the house wits it and make Duke try to catch me... every once in a while, I'd let him win just so his little feelings wouldn't be hurt. Let's me know if you needs help wits dis, k? Da hoomans don't mind it one bit when when we gets all roudy, and you'll see dat there's lots of room to zoom around! It's a very dog friendly kind of place.

And then der's my daddy. He called me "lil darling". I bets he's gonna luvs you bunches too! Daddy drives big trucks, and sometimes I's gots to ride in dem with him. He loved taking me places wits him. Sometimes, he even tooks me to work wits him and I got to meets customers. He has a little brown ting dat mommy calls a wallet... it's always full of green stuff. You can buy yummy stuff with dat green stuff, so if you find dat, gives it to mommy! Don't try to eats it like I did...

Daddy's not too fond of kisses, so save those for mommy! She loves em! I's never understood, but mommy used to say those kisses were like wrinkle cream. It made her giggle, so dats must be a good thing! Daddy will cuddles wits you, just make sure you don't hog his blankets... He will have so much fun playing with you! I just know it! He always turns da knob tingy on da tub too far and gets too much cold water, so if you's stick your little head in der, you can turn da cold water off! His closet is da best place in da house to take a quiet nap, and unlikes mommy's closet, der is always piles of clothes dat make great pillows.

And finally, ders your new mom! I just know she's gonna loves you to pieces and she'll probably tell you she luvs you a bunch! Momma loves to give kisses on da top of da head, and when I's was a little pup, she carried me around a lot. She's gonna be serious about teaching you all kinds of new tings, and she will probably attempts to enroll your little wiggle bum in a puppy class. Do me a favor and don't get kicked out like I dids, okay? She'll be super duper protective and will probably watch everyting dat you do, but it's okay. She's just making sure dat nothin bad happens to you. 

I'm not sure what's da matter wits her, but she uses the phrase "ugh, oh" quite often. I tinks its a good ting, but if you wiggle when she says "ugh oh" she will laugh. She'll probably bang a lot of tings around and be a bit noisy when you first arrive, she dids it to me too. It slows down after a while, if you gets tired of all da noise, just don't be scared when she makes a loud noise, and she'll probably stop! She tolds me its had sometin to do wits beings well justed! She's gonna spends lots of time making sure you're well justed too...

She's da best mommy ever! We had all kinds of adventures together, and when she looked at me, her eyes sparkled. You'll see it too, and she'll love you dat way too. We're her fur kids, and she's convinced that we are hoomans in beautiful, furry, little bodies. She'll take you all kinds of places, and you'll probably meets all of my boxer aunts.... ders a bunch of dem! Don't worry, you'll get used to her driving, it may just takes you a while. It's probably best not to watch.

Mommy can be a little bit bonkers about food and what da fur kids are eating. Several months ago she started making Duke and I veggie smoothies. I know what you're tinking... ICK! But, gives it a try. It makes her very happy when us babies eat our veggies. It'll grow on you, don'ts worry! 

She likes for da fur kids to keep her company and won't mind its one bit if you help wits da laundry, the yard work and da cleaning. Oh, and she needs supervision when making da bed. You's gots to curl up in da blankets when day comes out of da dryer to keep em warm, k? And da bed just won't looks right if you don't steal da blankets from her. And you haves to roll around in dem too. Whens you do dis, you'll probably gets a treat... den she'll close da bedroom door and you'll be stucks on da wrong side. I don'ts know why she hasn't figured out dat dis is not how it's sposed to work. Maybe you cans teach her.

 Finally ders her love of taking pictures of us. You'll see me all overs da house! Just look really cute quick and she'll let you get on with whats ever it was dat you were doing. I'm sure dat you'll figure it out! I gots da hang of it quick! Don'ts worry too much about its, my hoomans are pretty easy going peoples, and I just know you're gonna love dem! 

Tanks you for looking out for dem and making dem smile agains! 

--Lucy Lou Bugga Boo (Aren't  you glads you didn't get dat name?)

 

 

Unruly Is Definitely The Name Of The Game

For the better part of my adult life, I have envied my cousin's beautiful curly hair. (Although, I'm sure she's reading this post and saying, "WHAT?") I can't explain it other than to say we always want what we don't have. Pre-cancer, my hair was poker straight, with intermittent bursts of waves that were never strategic. Frankly, I never had to fight with it to get the poker straight hair; it was just straight. Ironically, when I did try to curl it, the curl fell right out.

I remember sitting in the chair at the salon with my hairdresser commenting over and over again about how curly my hair was. Could I dare to hope? Was it possible that cancer was going to give me the curly hair that I have always desired?  The answer is yes; that's exactly how this was going to go down.

I fought it, although I don't know why. Never mind, I do know why. Part of me just wanted to be as close to the "old me" as possible. The other part of me wanted to give my husband back the glamour girl straight hair that I have always had.

So for months, I struggled not only with the unruly curls on my head, but the voice in my head saying "You're not going to win this one!". Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and when it was time for new extensions, I made the jump to curly, and I couldn't be happier. My husband is withholding his commentary, do I dare to hope that he'll fall in love with the wild curls that now cover my entire head? I will say that not spending 2 hours fighting with the curl every time I wash my hair is a lot easier.

Of course, I have to ponder the WHY? Why is my hair coming back curly? What is the motivation here? For me, curls give me spunk and spirit, not that I totally lacked either, but this is just like a turbo boost of spunk and spirit. When you're dealing with an unruly body, you might as well have the hair to match, right? And I have got it.

I won't bother to beat around the bush, I have an unruly body, once you've dumped toxins and radiation into yourself, why would you expect anything different? It makes sense now, but it's taken me a while to come to terms with this concept.

Two weeks ago I got a headache that made me positive that I was dying. I was seconds away from calling everyone I know and saying "This is it..., I'm off to join my grandparents and my basset hound among the clouds." I probably would have done that save for the problem of not being able to focus at all. Everything was blurry, thank God I was at home and not driving, because I would have been in big trouble (although the way people here drive, I would have fit right in). Since I haven't completely mastered "Siri" calling anyone and alarming them unnecessarily was out of the question.

Tests confirmed that I am not in fact in dying (some of you will breathe a sigh of relief, and some of you will probably say "Damn"). I have developed ocular migraines. So in addition to my good old run of the mill, boring migraines now I have blinding migraines. Seriously? Can I just say that I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy? I try not to focus on the fact that my body is different than the one that I had before. Most days I am pretty successful, but there are just some things that frankly make life extremely challenging.

As long as I don't get into pressurized situations, I do all right for myself, but more often than not, my brain does not function on command anymore. You know it's bad when someone asks you "How can I help you" and you have no answer for them because you honestly cannot remember why you're there, or why you called in the first place.

I have had a lot of concerns about my post-cancer career. I have had issues finding something that was a good fit for who I am now. I continue doing many of the things in our business that I did prior to and during treatment, but I really wanted something more. Thankfully, I've found a job that makes me extremely happy; I'm writing! The pay could be a whole lot better. However I can honestly say that I am writing, which is one of my true passions and earning money doing it. Furthermore, I am developing my writing skills.

I won't do it forever, and once I've completely mastered this, I do not mind telling you that I will probably start my own thing. I seem to have a knack for writing effective copy for websites, and since I have an unlimited amount of time to construct my thought, it's working out very well with my wonky brain. Some days, it takes longer than others to get the job done, but it does get done!

And You Thought You Knew it All.... Part 2

I blogged yesterday about all of the important life lessons that my boxers have taught me.  Today's blog post is going to be specifically about Lucy.  You may think you know why I'm blogging on this topic, but just in case you might be wrong, let me do some splainen'.

When I adopted my first boxer, I had no idea of the ways that it would change me forever, and for the better.  While I happen to adore my boxers, and think the world of them and their quirky little ways, I realize that not every human is right for a boxer.  But, what I think is important here is not necessarily what the passion is, but that everyone, at this point in their lives, really needs to have something that they're passionate about.  For me, it just happens to be my boxers.  Not only have my boxers enriched my life in many unimaginable ways, but they have also connected to me a whole new group of people.  In the 5 years that I have been mothering Lucy, I have made many absolutely, positively, amazing friendships, and those friends also happen to be boxer parents. I have become involved with Florida Boxer Rescue, and Greater Ohio Boxer Rescue.  My participation in these organizations has given me a sense of completion and fulfillment that nothing else ever has.  I will never be monetarily compensated for my efforts, but my work with rescue brings something to the table that no paycheck could ever match....And so there you have it.  My reason for blogging about my boxers, as if I really needed one...

The decision to become a boxer parent was not made without great consideration.  Before I ever called a breeder, I did my homework.  At first I was very put off by the fact that this was a large bodied breed, and I was a small dog person.  The more that I read, and the more that I learned the more intrigued I became by the characteristics of this breed.  Most of all I was intrigued by the one fact that everyone seemed to agree on... boxers are clowns, from the time they're born till the time that they pass.  I clearly was lacking silliness in my life.... just like when your body needs iron, and craves it.  I was craving some comic relief.

I swear, I have never been so excited over something in my life.  The day that I committed to raising Lucy was the start of something very special.  Like any expectant mother, I began to prepare.  I had 6 weeks until I could bring Lucy home.  Before work, after work, during work, my life became a whirlwind of activity... we were going to be parents and we had to be ready.  I remember looking at the bookshelf that had become "Lucy Central", lined with toys, books, treats, blankets, and I'm sure many other things that I've forgotten and saying "Finally, we're ready!"  to which my husband retorted, "Ya, think?  Petco is empty!"

I can honestly say that while I'm sure I've forgotten a lot of the juicy details of my preparations for Lucy, I will never forget the "glow".  Someone who knew me well, with a grin that went from ear to ear, commented that I was "glowing".  "Are you expecting?"  I happily replied that, "yes, we are!", pulled out my phone and proceeded to show this lady a picture of Lucy.  The anticipation of bringing Lucy home was actually making me glow... The look of pure shock on this woman's face, was completely unforgettable.  I'm sure she thought I had lost my mind, but I was in love.

I spent hours at the breeders home in the weeks prior to bringing her home.  I couldn't get enough of Lucy, and her litter mates.  The breeder joked with me and said that if I kept it up, they were going to be able to claim me as a dependent.

No matter how many books I read, or how many people I consulted, there was nothing that really could have prepared me for the challenges that I would face "Bringing Up Lucy".  My puppy parenting had been limited to a basset hound, and frankly, there's just no comparison.  While I adored my basset, going from a basset to a boxer is like going from a Yugo to a Lamborghini with no clue that the Lamborghini actually has power...

Lucy was smart, energetic, and very head strong.  But, none of that deterred me.  Lucy and I were inseparable for the first year of her life.  She went everywhere I went, and did everything I did.  Every day, Lucy and I went to work.  She shared my office with me, although, she was never very happy with that crate.  I have fond memories of working on my computer with a sleeping boxer in my lap, and a very funny memory of attempting to navigate Home Depot with a boxer puppy in the buggy.

Yes, Lucy was definitely challenging me.  And tough love, well it wasn't my strong suite.  That little face was a constant distraction from my pre-planned course of action.  And although, no one would ever say that I was a strong Alpha, I was seriously motivated to make Lucy into a proper boxer girl.  I was headstrong too!  The fact that she could wiggle her way out of every single seat belt contraption that I ever purchased, and I would ultimately end up attempting to drive a 6 speed with a boxer in my lap, well, that never stopped from me trying.

Trouble had a way of finding Lucy.  It literally clung to my sweet little boxer girl.  No bag, no box, no envelope was safe in our home.  And forget about shoes with shoe strings, that was a real challenge.  Dirt seemed to draw her to it like a magnet to metal.  Would it ever stop?  Lucy's father had started calling her "LUCIFER" and she did everything she possibly could to live up to the name!

What was a boxer mom to do?  Well, boot camp was our only option.  Except that true to her breed, Lucy had to be the class clown, and we were asked, albeit politely, to leave puppy school.  Apparently, the boxer shenanigans that Lucy was very good at, were way too distracting to the other puppies in the class... and parents were complaining.

With the gossip around Pittsburgh flying rampantly about "Lucy the Boxer", I had no choice but to "home school" Lucy.  Over the course of the next several months, the shelves in the library filled with books on training boxers.  We spent countless hours, attempting how to walk like a lady on a leash... to no avail.  Our only accomplishments during the next several months were "sit" and "shake".  And for reasons that escape me, for some reason, Lucy had it in her head that the "COME, LUCY" command instead meant, run and hide and make your mother chase you all over the place.  "HEEL, LUCY" meant lie down on the ground, and burrow into the ground, and refuse to move. "NO, LUCY" was code for wiggle like a crazy maniac until you fall over and your human cries from laughing too hard.  She honestly thought that "LUCY, NO!" was her name.

Yet, Lucy and I were still inseparable.  I refused to give up.  I was learning that even when it's tough, you have to steer the course... and although I cussed a lot then, I now understand that the best things in life, often require the most work.  Every day, every hour that I spent with Lucy only made me fall even more in love with her.

We spent countless hours in the yard with Lucy attempting to rid her wriggling little body of some that energy.  I walked miles every day with her in hopes that she would figure out that the idea of a leash was to walk politely beside her mother, and not really a game of tug of war.  We became a constant fixture in the plaza parking lot where the store was.  I'm sure they were saying "There they go again..."  But, it didn't matter... everyone loved Lucy!  She made friends everywhere she went, humans, dogs, squirrels, rabbits, kittens, possums, raccoons.....

My creativity levels were definitely tested.  Wearing out a boxer puppy is not for the faint of heart.  But, I found that the more creative I got with Lucy, the more fun that she and I had, and at the end of the day, not only were we both tired, but we were both happy.  My husband constantly laughed at Lucy and I, and the day that he watched our "antics" and said, "Awe, a girl and her puppy", I knew that my life had been forever altered.  The bond between me and my boxer was set in stone.... And I found myself constantly loving life.  Lucy was a part of everything that I did...There was nothing that went on in our home that Lucy was not aware of.  She became a part of every activity that we took part in, and we came to enjoy having Lucy along for the ride.

Although we settled into a routine with Lucy, something was missing.  I had grown quite good at finding ways to entertain Lucy, and she was of course a master at ways to entertain her human.

She positively loved the dog park, and her evening romps with the boxer boy next door.  But, in a way that's hard to explain, I somehow sensed that Lucy was lonely.  While her humans were never that far away, or gone for that long, she really seemed to love other dogs, although she very clearly loved her humans too!

I was hell bent on "completing" Lucy in the same manner that she had "completed" her human.  But, my husband thought I was insane.  2 boxers?  Have you lost your mind?  Look at the constant state of chaos with 1 boxer.  While I had grown to adore the constant state of chaos that Lucy brought to our home... my husband was going to require much more convincing...

...To be continued (although, if you know me, you already know how this story goes...)

You Can Stick "No Bra Day" Where The Sun Don't Shine

Before you get the wrong idea, there are a lot of things about "Pink-tober" that seriously resonate with me as a breast cancer survivor.  I am all for awareness, annual mammograms, genetic testing, and breast-exams.  Hey, if early detection can save another woman from enduring what I've endured the last 10 months... I approve 100%.  Pink-tober should most definitely be a celebration of those who have battled breast cancer.   That little pink ribbon means a lot to this survivor, and it's a great way of connecting one woman who has a personal story to another who has been there and done that.  I have many pink ribbons, and I will proudly display each and every one of them.  I am blessed to be a survivor, and more than happy to share my story, or my wisdom and advice from the journey that I have taken.

But, no bra day.  Oh, this one boils my blood.  And I'm not an angry person.  Do you mean to tell me that the above picture is respectful to a breast cancer survivor as a woman who has had her own breasts cut from her body?  I think not.  It's lewd.  It's disgusting.  And it's trivializing the importance of education and awareness.  Running around for 24 hours without a bra on really means nothing in the grand scheme of things, it's just plain old sensationalism.... and this breast cancer survivor hates it.  It accomplishes nothing at all.  This had to have been dreamed up by a man.  I'm sure of it.

Here's what got me started on this rant.... other than the above picture.  The last week, I have been cleaning out my closets and my drawers.  I couldn't help but get a little bit saddened by the fact that I have 2 full drawers of beautiful bras.  I have collected bras like some people collect porcelain figurines over the last 10 years.  There is no color that doesn't appear in those drawers.  I should probably have an insurance policy just for the bras.  If you're anything like me, you've probably noticed that a certain bra can completely change your mood.  For example, I have an adorable bra with black polka dots, and a pink ribbon.  It always cheers me up when I see it.

Several weeks ago, prior to starting radiation, I attempted to put one of my favorite bras on my "post cancer body".  I mainly wanted to see if my new chest was the same size or bigger than my old chest.  I can tell you quite honestly, it was a no-go.  The "breasts" that I am living with, are not in a good place for one of those gorgeous, lacy bras, and most definitely not for an under-wire.  My expanders were placed almost where my original breasts were, but had to be a little bit off to each side because of the need for radiation on my chest wall. (If you've ever wondered what a tissue expander feels like- here's a good analogy:  It's alot like having an entire breast that is as hard and as unforgiving as an under-wire.)

So, while I look completely normal, there is no lacy, sexy bra that's gonna work with these expanders.  I can't wear any of my gorgeous Victoria's Secret's bras. I haven't worn a bra since surgery, and I'm completely comfortable, but I miss my beautiful, lacy bras.  I suppose that once I have my exchange surgery, I'll once again be able to build a whole new collection of wonderfully sexy bras.  But, for the time being, not wearing a bra isn't a statement, it's the only option.  I could wear a sports bra, but that's a little challenging.  Getting one of those suckers off with these expanders is not pretty... comical maybe, but not pretty.  And my skin is still a tad on the dry side from radiation, so having something else rubbing against it, just isn't appealing.  This is much closer to the reality of the situation for a breast cancer survivor.

So, my suggestion is this:  If you'd like to do something to honor the survivors, and those who have lost their lives to this horrible disease.... how about sports bra day?  I'm sure that most of my fellow breast cancer warriors would agree, it's much more in tune with what we're living with on a daily basis.  There is nothing pretty about a mastectomy, and while I joke about getting fabulous new ta-ta's, it's really a serious matter, because nothing about this process has remotely resembled a "boob job."

Rest, Relaxation, and A Complete Meltdown!

I know.  I have been missing in action for more than a week.  But, I have a lot of good excuses.  Seriously, I do.  It's been a very busy 10 days.

The week of August 3rd, Rob and I took the dogs and headed up to the Georgia mountains for a little- oh heck- strike that- A LOT of rest and relaxation.  We had an overabundance of peace, even though his cell phone still worked there.  (I will admit, I had secret thoughts about throwing that damn thing in the creek and pretending that I didn't know anything about it.  Lucy and Duke were no help, they're both past the point of chewing on things that they aren't supposed to be chewing on.  I secretly prayed that a little boxer mischievousness would come over Lucy, but it wasn't meant to be!)

We rented a cabin, in the woods on a creek in Blue Ridge, Georgia.  It was heaven on earth. (Doesn't it just scream come on in and curl up by the fire with a boxer?) And the Georgia mountains are absolutely fabulous.  Nothing but blue sky and tons of green trees for as far as you can possibly see.  I've never been in the Georgia mountains before, so I was completely blown away by how spectacular the skylines really are.  We just don't see miles and miles of green here in Florida.  And there are certainly no hills covered in green trees.  I am a Pennsylvania girl- a country girl- I miss the trees and the amazing hillsides.

We sat on the deck with Lucy & Duke every morning drinking coffee and listening to the creek.  Duke and I ventured down the hill a couple of mornings to collect twigs to build fires at night.  All I wanted was to roast a marshmallow or two, but somehow that never happened (maybe it was the little voice in my head that kept saying a marshmallow does not fall under the category of clean eating!).  The fires did happen, and they were amazing.  What is it about the smell, and the sound of a camp fire that just takes you back?  I guess I grew up around a bonfire, so no matter how far from the country this little girl gets- it will always be a part of me, and something that I enjoy immensely!  I was very happy to see that my fire building skills are still intact!  Yes, I was a Girl Scout.

The dogs were in 7th Heaven, and I was overjoyed to have them with us.  It's always the dogs that make me eager to return home from vacation- I always miss them so much when we're away, so it meant a lot to me to have them on vacation with us.  And Lucy, positively loved playing in the creek. (Duke was only willing to dip a toe in.  Shh... I didn't tell anybody that!) I was so proud of her- she did so well off leash.  Of course, Duke has always done well off leash- he is stuck to his mama like glue no matter where we go!  That boy isn't going anywhere where he can't see me.

I seriously could have stayed in Georgia.   Did you know that Georgia is in the wine business?  We didn't, but they are, and they are very good at it too!  Yes, I'm admitting to the fact that we drank way too much wine in the 5 days we were in Georgia.  We didn't eat any peaches, but we did have a cantaloupe that was as sweet as the ones my Grandad used to grow- that really took me back.  And the day that we bought the cantaloupe would have been his birthday- I think he would have really liked that.  He was always so proud of his melons.

We got home late on Thursday night- you can shorten a 9 hour drive considerably when you go 95 miles per hour.  I was thankful that none of the many state boys along side the road nabbed me, but radar detectors help a lot with that.  Friday was catch up day.  Why is that when I leave for 5 days, there are 30 messages on the voicemail, and 200 faxes that require my immediate attention?  It was just such a switch from the calm that I had just left.  All of the paper made me want to scream.  I would have loved to just stand over the trash can with it and pitch but that would have been a disaster of epic proportions.

Saturday was my birthday day with my 2 best gal pals.  I started the morning off with a trip to the Woodhouse Day Spa.  I had the most heavenly detox wrap.  (Of course, I was seriously in need of being detoxed... between the chemotherapy and all of the wine I drank in Georgia, my body was reeling from the shock!)  We followed our trip to the day spa with a long, girls lunch at Seasons 52, right on the water.  It was beautiful- until a storm of hurricane like proportions moved in and we were stranded.  (I'm guilty, it was all my fault.  I took the convertible thinking it was a great day for a ride with the top down.  And it never fails to rain when I have those kinds of thoughts!)  Lunch was amazing, and I had a blast with the girls.  I felt so spoiled and pampered- and blessed to have 2 friends who went to epic proportions to make me feel incredibly special.

Monday I reported to Florida Hospital for my radiation films- it was the appointment that had hung over my head the entire time I was on vacation.  It was my first time in the big, scary radiation machine.  While the process itself was not intimidating- it was just like getting an x-ray, the marks that they left all over my body really freaked me out.  I didn't know how bad it was until I got home and looked in the mirror to see my entire chest and throat covered in black and red marks.  I guess that up until this point, I just didn't know how much radiation I was going to be getting.  It seriously messed with my head.  I immediately grabbed a washcloth and a bar of soap and started scrubbing, but no matter how much I scrubbed, the image stayed in my mind.  Two days later, it's still there even though most of the marks are gone.

I know in my head that I have to do this if I really want to be sure that the cancer is gone. I know it's the best thing, it's the last step in this whole curing cancer business.  I know there could be nasty little cancer cells floating all through my body right now just looking for a place to grow, I have no way of knowing.  I'm praying that once radiation is over with, that I will have some peace of mind that I'm not going to be battling cancer all over again, but somehow I just don't think that thought is ever going to go away.  I think that once you have cancer, that thought is always a part of you.

They wanted to do my first radiation treatment yesterday.  But, somehow, having my first radiation treatment on my 40th birthday just didn't seem like a good idea.  I wanted no part of it.  So, today, August 13th is my 1st treatment.  When I was there on Monday, they gave me a schedule.  It only has 28 days of treatment on it, I was expecting 33, so I need to ask them today if the plan has changed.  Wouldn't that be a gift?  I'll probably have a melt down if they tell me that they made a mistake, but I'm going to wait and see what they say.

Monday was just too much for me.  For some reason, even with everything else I've been through, that radiation appointment was the one that sent me over the edge.  Maybe it's the fact that I've been so calm through all of this, maybe it was the calm after the storm.  I'm just not sure.  I just know that Monday night I just freaked out.  I'm sure it's sounds crazy that I went the whole way through multiple PET scans, 6 chemotherapy treatments, and a double mastectomy and then I went a little nuts.  I think the last 7 weeks of nothing going on was too much for me.  I probably would have been okay if everything had kept going, but sitting it out for 7 weeks gave me way too much time to think.  And the butcher at the grocery store who helped me find bones for the dogs, was just trying to be kind when he saw the marks all over my chest and throat.  But, his story about his wife's breast cancer returning not once, not twice, but 3 times made the idea of a straight jacket seem comforting.  If that wasn't enough, telling me that she lost her voice compliments of the chemotherapy just sealed the whole deal for me.  I hated to be rude, but I couldn't get away from him fast enough.

I really think that there is some room for improvement in the way that doctors deal with cancer patients post-treatment.  There is a huge disconnect that is challenging even for the toughest warriors.  You go through many months of endless doctors appointments, tests, and treatments, and then all of a sudden, there's nothing to do.  And for them, it's all over, but for the patient, the mind is left to wonder.

Never fear, I am okay today, good even.  My meltdown was something that had to happen.  But now, I am  ready to rock radiation, even if I am a tad nervous.  I will be better once the first treatment is done.  I think the meltdown was good for me- even if my husband thought it was completely insane.  Ironically, I still haven't gotten angry.  Now I am left to wonder if that's going to rear it's ugly head sometime in the near future.

I Must Have Been Meant To Cry Today

I saw the oncologist for the first time today since the end of May.  I don't mind these appointments, other than the fact that they never seem to run on time and I inevitably spend a lot of time sitting in a very cold (teeth chattering kind of cold) room wondering if they forgot about me.  Funny, today just at the exact moment I was wondering that very thing, the nurse comes in and says to me," We need to re-weight you!".  I admit, I was a little confused.  She said that "doc" was concerned because I seemed to have lost a lot of weight since the last time I was there (end of May.)!  This is good news, right?  

I had 15 minutes after being reweighed to laugh over the situation.  All through chemo, I hated being weighed. (And the oncologist knew that I was none to pleased by my chemo pounds!)  Those insane cravings that I had the whole way through chemo were not kind to the number on the scale.  Funny, now I don't mind being jumping on the scale (and letting everyone know exactly how I did it!)

Finally Doc appears.  On the agenda for today's discussion:

I don't really know what my future holds after my Radiation treatment is done.  My pathology reports came back very weakly ER positive. (Actually, the breast surgeon said she considered it ER negative.) What does this mean in cancer speak?  Well, it means that if they give me hormone blockers (more medication) after radiation, it will only kill 4% of any remaining cancer cells.  (Huh?  I thought that radiation was going to do that?  At this point, I am thinking that if chemo, surgery and radiation haven't killed them, they're probably not killable!)  Not very good odds, especially when we start talking side effects.  But, I'm going to hold off on making any quick decisions, and I'll let her explain her case to me when radiation is over.  Just one day at a time.  I've got 33 radiation treatments to get through first.

They're scheduling me for another echo-cardiogram to check and make sure that the Herceptin is not damaging my heart (this always frightens me- just the possibility that it's killing my heart... it kinda freaks me out).  They'll do these every 3 months....  So, by my calculations, that means only 2 more of those.  And then of course, she wants to do another PET Scan immediately following radiation.  Here comes the anxiety the everyone who has been in my shoes has told me about.  I didn't think they would do another one so soon, I just had 1 in May.  I guess that once the results arrive back in my lap, I will feel better for 6 months, until they order the next one, knowing that the sneaky little bastard didn't find his way to some other unsuspecting spot in my body.

My oncologist always sits down, and has a chat with me.  I always feel like she wants to know exactly how I'm feeling and what's going on in this goofy little brain of mine.  Today, we chatted a little bit about my energy levels, my weight loss, and how I was feeling in general.  Of course, she wanted to know what I was doing when I told her how good I was feeling.  

... And so. an hour and a half later, I was on my way to treatment.  I love to work the chemo room.  Everyone's got a story, or something interesting to tell me that will make me smile. And sometimes, it's my job to make someone smile.   Today was no different, although it was a whole new room!  I knew no one!  I did however get winked at by a 90 year old man- he was quite adorable.  His daughter apologized for him and told me he's a dirty old man. Great!   I found a cell phone in the bathroom, and thankfully was able to locate the owner because of the screensaver picture- she seemed quite shocked that I had returned it and not taken it!  I explained that one cell phone was enough, heck, there are days when I would gladly give the one away that I have.  

Then it happened.  It was somewhat inevitable I suppose.  In all the months of going to chemo, I didn't meet any patients that were terminal, stage 4.  But, it happened today, and it took everything I had in me not to cry.  Stupid cancer.  Stupid, dumb breast cancer.  Because it was breast cancer it hit me so hard.  I'm still feeling it 3 hours later.  Good God, I'm fortunate.   And what do you say?  I'm sorry doesn't really seem to cut it. I really didn't know what to say to her, but she was shivering, and shaking all over.  I got her a blanket, actually 2. I didn't have any words for this woman, but I could get her a blanket and cover her up. But I still felt horrible for not knowing what to say to her.  

Then it happened again. What are the odds?  (Apparently, the cards were stacked against me today!) I strike up a conversation with the woman sitting in the chair next to me.  (I had been trying to read, but I was completely unable to concentrate!)  Her husband is asleep in the corner with IV lines running into his arm.  She explains to me that he's got stage 4 mouth cancer that has spread to his throat, lungs, and lymph nodes.  She goes on to tell me that he's so sick from the treatment that he has lost 40 pounds- his only source of food is a feeding tube.   She goes on to tell me that she lost both of her breasts to cancer, part of her lungs, and some of her intestines.  She tells me that she's always been the sick one.  My heart really went out to this beautiful, old couple.  We talked for about 20 minutes.  As I was leaving, she hugged me and told me that I was going to be just fine, and told me to keep on fighting! 

I must have been meant to cry today.

I GOT MY MOJO BACK!

WORKOUTS HERE I COME..... AGAIN!

Well, I did it.  The day that I have been waiting for the last 6 weeks finally arrived.  Okay, I cheated, but only by 2 days.  Does that really count in the grand scheme of things?  I couldn't wait another darn second.  Every muscle in my body was screaming "WORK ME OUT!".  I couldn't ignore the needs of my muscles right?   For the last 4 days, every single time I would start to do something else, my mind would wander off into workout land.  We have to listen to our bodies, and apparently our minds!

So, last night I suited up.  The anticipation was great.  I had a lot of qualms about working out with tissue expanders, and these two miniature, hard as rock cantaloupes that are attached to my chest... but I trudged forward anyway!  The tissue expanders move, and it just feels funky when they get it in their damn minds to re-situate themselves- no fears, I can nudge em' right back!  (Take that!)  I just knew that I was going to feel so much better after a good, hard workout!  I cannot tell you how I crave normalcy!  I just want to feel normal, look normal, be normal!  (Patience my dear, patience!)  Working out is the only thing that I really have control over- I can't make my hair grow any faster.  I can't make all the goofy, funky feelings in my upper body go away... but I can return most of my body to a normal, strong state.  If this makes me a control freak, than so be it!

It has been my plan all along to return to working out by completing another 21 Day Fix, with a few challengers in tow, just for moral support!  I am actually just 5 pounds away from my pre-chemo weight (heck, that could be the twins adding that 5 pounds!) so I don't have that much more to loose.  Once I'm done with this challenge, I'm on to Piyo for strength and flexibility, but I thought it would be like a little post-mastectomy party to do the 21 Day Fix again!  I have maintained the eating and Shakeology part for the last 6 weeks- but the workouts were restricted.

So, how did it go?  I finished it!  I made it the whole way through. I was tired, sweaty, and extremely weepy by the time I finished.  (Can't really explain the weepy part!) Granted, there were some modifications.  My left side (aka the cancer side) is weaker than my right side- but I'm a right handed girl, so my right side has definitely gotten more use over the last several weeks.  All of the stretching that I have been doing has really paid off.  I have full range of motion on my right side, and am at about 95% on the left.  I was able to do most all of the exercises with weights, although there were a few that just didn't feel quite right after a few tries, so I dropped the weights and finished the set without them.  Don't wanna be injured my 1st day back in the saddle!

Today, I feel great!  I can definitely tell that I worked out yesterday! (Love, love, love that feeling!)  My legs are pretty sore, but the twins seem to be okay!  According to plan, I am supposed to do an upper body workout today, but I think I'm going to do lower body today, and upper tomorrow to give my upper body a rest.  I know that my lower body can take it, but I don't want to over do it on my chest... give the girls a break!  They've been through hell, right?

I have been pretty un-emotional throughout this whole cancer business.  But, that's typical for my personality type.  I'm more likely to push my way through something, and reflect back and be all melancholy about it afterwards than I am to be an emotional train wreck while dealing with it.  I am getting to that point now.  I'm looking back and saying "Holy hell!  What the heck have I just been through?".  Last night, being able to workout again, after recuperating for 6 weeks, I think that's why I got all weepy.  It just hit me what I had been through!  Between that an the adrenaline, it took me a few minutes to compose myself!  And, at least 15 times in the last 24 hours, I've thought to myself, "I am so blessed to be here!".  It's true, I am lucky to be alive!

Cancer Should Piss Me Off...

So, why hasn't it?  Why have I yet to get angry?  I've been poked, prodded, I've had poison pumped through my entire body, I've had my boobs cut off (and replaced with hard, evil, painful bumps), and I'm about to be radiated.  I've had more blood drawn from my veins in the last 7 months than most people have in their entire life, and spent countless hours sitting in waiting rooms waiting for invasive tests.  I've lost the hair on my head, my eyebrows, my eyelashes, and everywhere else you can imagine (but not having to shave my legs for the last 7 months hasn't been so bad.).  I blew up like a balloon (thank God that's over with!), and had horrific neuropathy in my fingers and toes... and don't even get me started on my finger and toe nails.   My brain was so twisted around for months that I should not have been allowed to attempt even the smallest of tasks, and I definitely should not have been allowed to speak about anything of significance.    The smell and taste of coffee sickened me for 6 straight months... I mean seriously (That alone is enough to make me angry!).  I should be stark raving mad.  I should be ready to kill.  But, it's just not there.  I can't be angry.  What's the matter with me?  Maybe when I'm done with all of this cancer business, I should have my head examined!

Would being pissed off at my circumstances change them?  Nope.  Would it even be productive?  I kind of doubt that it would helpful at all, so maybe I shouldn't even worry about why I'm not angry.  Maybe God feels that I have enough emotions to deal with, without being angry, too!   Since the start of all of this, I've believed that this wasn't about cancer- it was about something else entirely.  

As I sat on the patio this morning (in my wonderful new rocking chair), drinking my coffee,  watching my boxers sunbathe, I thought a lot about all of this.  This didn't just come out of the blue- I had a dream last night that I was seriously anger with cancer- and I do mean seriously.  I was like this big, giant, angry monster- it was scary! I was consumed, in my dream, by my anger at cancer. I didn't even recognize myself in this dream.  It really shook me. Why is it that I'm not angry?  What is wrong with me?

I don't know that any of the reasons that I came up with are anything that a professional would agree with, but here's what I came up with.  

1.  I'm not an angry person.  I never really have been.  Admittedly, I can get mad (I might even throw something- but don't panic- my aim- not that good!).  But, it's not something that I hold onto for long periods of time- heck, it's usually over before it started.  I've always been this way.  My anger blows over as quick as an afternoon humidity shower in Orlando.  When someone wrongs me, I'm more likely to be hurt than mad.  Am I hurt that cancer has touched my life?  Yeah, I guess I am.  Why did it have to pick me?  But looking back over the last 7 months, I have felt more hurt than anything else about this cancer business.  

2.  I really can look at the way cancer has touched my life and think of it as a blessing- it's not just something that I say to make everyone think that I'm okay. It's difficult to be angry about something when you're constantly seeing blessings coming from it.   Frankly, I'm sure that not even all of the blessings from cancer are clear to me yet.  I really have a strong belief that there will be many good things that will come from my struggles and my challenges.  I can honestly say that there have been so many positive things that have already touched my life that probably never would have happened had it not been for cancer.  

3.  While I was scared out of my mind, I really did believe that I was going to kick cancer's ass.  Once I heard that diagnosis, I did not doubt that I could do this.   It's kinda funny, but in the days of waiting for my results to come back from my biopsy, I thought about dying.  But, from the moment that I was told that I had cancer until now, I have not had one single thought about dying.  All of my focus has been aimed towards beating cancer and being healthy again.  There were times when defeatist thoughts would start to creep in- (mostly in the days immediately following chemo when I felt so horrible) but, I didn't want to think that way, I didn't want to be defeated, and I would do whatever I had to do to get those thoughts out of my head.  I discovered just how powerful the mind can be.  When you're so focused in on overcoming something- you can't be angry.   You don't have the time or the energy!

4. I found myself again.  How could I be angry at something that reminded me what's really important in life?  How can I be angry at something that gave me time for the things that I love- time to write, the ability to spend time with family and friends, and time to do the things that matter to me.  Cancer gave "me" back to me and it gave me time; both things that I was sorely missing.  

5.  It showed me just how strong I really am, and it taught me not to doubt myself.  I can't be angry at something that has re-ignited my drive and motivation and made me once again believe that I can do anything that I set my mind to doing.  

So, while admittedly this has not been pretty business, I just can't summon anger.  And I probably never will be able to.  I just need to let it go and stop beating myself up for not feeling an emotion that's negative anyway.  I'm giving myself permission not be angry!

The Memo I Almost Missed....

I met a beautiful young girl on Friday when I went for my treatment, her name was Emily.  18 years old, her whole life ahead of her (she intends to go to medical school and be a doctor), and battling an auto-immune disease; she has been in treatment for 2 years.  We chatted for a long time, and I couldn't help but think that she has the wisdom of someone much older- I guess that having a serious illness will do that to you.  She told me the one thing that her disease has taught her is that she needs to live each day to the fullest, not sweat the small stuff, and pay attention to the things that really matter.  At 39, I typically don't have much in common with an 18 year old, but disease changes that- it's a very common thread among those of us who have battled for our lives.   I told her that she is very blessed to have learned this lesson as such a young age.  Some of us live our whole lives never understanding how important this is.  Others, get a wake up call, or a memo 1/2 way through...  (yours truly....)

I think that there were less official memo's that floated in an out of my life, prior to the one that stopped me dead in my tracks.  My excuse, they were written on post-it notes that got lost in the clutter on my desk.  Just kidding, actually, I think that my "unofficial" was the pain in my lymph nodes back in May.  The pain that I wrote off as a pulled muscle... now that I think about it, when have you ever heard of someone pulling a muscle in their armpit- and if you have, how the heck did they do that?  What in God's name was I smoking?  The point here being, I  missed it.  I wrote the pain in my armpit, along with every other symptom that something wasn't quite right, OFF!

The memo that actually got my attention: a 9CM tumor, with some lymph nodes (both left and right) thrown in for some good measure, that was definitely breast cancer.  The message in the memo that I more than likely would have missed,  if it were not for that tumor, the one I almost didn't get: tomorrow is not guaranteed.  Every day is precious, and every day needs to be lived to the fullest.  We need to get everything possible out of every day!  There are things that matter: things that are really important, and things that don't matter and aren't that important. We have to challenge ourselves, and live our lives to our fullest potential every day- not just on the days when we feel like it, or on the days when we've got nothing better to do.  If we don't, we're going to wake up one day, and realize that we've wasted our lives away.   I'm more focused now on the blessings around me than I've ever been.  Maybe it's the cancer, or maybe it's the fact that I have been forced to slow down and I actually have the time to take notice of all of the beauty around me.  Seems like it's a combination of both.  But, I also want to notice which makes a huge difference- it's important to me!

The irony of all of this is that I was so busy doing everything other than taking care of myself, that I almost missed the one thing that could have killed me.  I was working 6 days a week, taking care of a house and yard, 2 dogs,  myself and my husband.  I was holding myself to some pretty ridiculous standards, like never having more than 1 load of laundry sitting around, running the vacuum every other day, and worrying about the weeds in the garden almost to the point where I couldn't sleep at night.   I didn't have time to go to the doctor- and when I did have the time, the doctor couldn't see me.  So, I put it off longer than I should have.   The lump in my breast that was growing almost daily, should have been a priority, it should have been more important to me than anything else, but it wasn't!  I should not have ignored the intense exhaustion or the fact that no matter what, I just never felt rested, I should have listened to my body!

I'm not sure how I got so derailed.  I'm really  not.  I thought I was a person that had a balanced set of priorities and values, and I did at one point.  I guess that somewhere along the way, I stopped taking care of myself and lost all of my priorities.  How can I expect to take care of someone else, or anything else, if I'm not taking care of myself?   Look at how being sick has affected every other area of my life.  As I near the end of my cancer treatments, it is definitely time to re-plan, re-prioritize, and definitely regroup... And I need to learn that it's okay to breath.  There are plenty of successful people in the world that lead well balanced lives... and I fully intend to be one of them.  After all, who would expect anything less from SuperWoman?

My Dear John Letter to Cancer...

I dedicate this post to my fellow cancer warriors, fight on ladies.  

We have definitely got this!  We are survivors!

Mary, Tricia, Christina and Katy:  

I love you guys and am truly honored to call you "friend".

Dear Cancer,

     I'm sorry to do this to you, but I just can't do this any longer...

     It's the eve of the day when my surgeons will remove the remnants of you from my body, and there are a few things that you need to hear straight from me.  You attempted to kill me, and  I'm sure you thought you could beat me.  You probably even looked at me and thought that I was going to be an easy target.  I'm sure you had no idea that I would attack you with all of the fervor and gusto that one little blonde could muster.  I have to give you credit, you gave it a good shot!  However,  you weren't welcome, and I was not the easy target you had me pegged for; turns out I was stronger and I wanted it more, imagine that.  I wasn't willing to let you ruin me, and I most certainly had no intention of letting you take the breath from my body.  I found resolve and strength that I didn't know I had in me.  You picked the wrong target, you would not beat me.  I need you to know that you have not won, and you are most certainly not welcome back here.

     Oh sure, you temporarily got  to me, I won't deny you that.  You started with my breast, and then raced to invade other parts of my body. But, as I'm sure you know, my spirit was untouchable and probably your worst enemy until the chemo started.  I know you happily would have gone further, you probably had your sight aimed on my liver or my kidneys.  However,  you became a challenge to me, and I had other plans.  I wasn't interested in your intentions or your stupid goals.  You had to be stopped.  You forced me to take the most aggressive action that my doctors could come up with.  I had to fight back with the same force that you invaded my body and life with.  With every day, my resolve to beat you became stronger, and my attitude more positive.  A positive attitude is your worst enemy!

     I always said that I would never put those toxic chemicals in my body.  But you left me with no choice but to do exactly that.  I'm only 39, I've still got a lot of life left to live, I've still got a lot left to do and tons to live for.  You had to be taken down, your evil intentions had to be stopped.  This was one battle that you were not going to be declared the victor of.  There was no way that I could do anything but fight back against you.
     
    The 18 weeks of chemo were no picnic... Chemo sucked.  I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.  I have never felt so awful or so tired in my life, and that's saying a lot.  It would have been so easy to throw in the towel.  It's not easy fighting back when you barely have the energy to stand up, and your body aches like it has never ached before, but I wasn't willing to concede.  I could feel the chemo working on you, breaking you down.  It hurt like hell, and many times the pain was so bad I thought I would pass out, but I didn't care.  Fight on chemo...  I'm sure it ticked you off every time I got back up, dusted myself off and went back for another round with even more fury than I had the time before.  And the smile on my face probably wasn't easy for you to see either.  My smile was my armor against you, and no matter how crappy you and the chemo made me feel, I smiled every day because it made me feel better and stronger and I knew you would hate it.  As crazy as it sounds, I even joked about your being in my world.  I made jokes at your expense as you gave killing me your best shot.  My sense of humor kept me sane.  

    I'm sure you know this, and probably take great delight in it, but your unwelcome presence in my body was so enormous that it could not be ignored, although I did try.  I laid in bed at night unable to sleep from the pain that you were causing me, both physically and mentally.  During the day, I had a hard time focusing because you were so strong.  And I refused pain meds as I wanted to be sharp enough to fight you.   I have never felt anything like it, at times I felt like I had been possessed by something more incredible than my wildest dreams.  You turned my entire world upside down,  you are pure evil.  I will never forgive you for choosing me and my body for your little game.  But, just for the record you have not broken me, actually you have made me stronger, although I know that was not your plan.  I will take my life back, and just as a little "gotcha", I promise you that it will be better than before you and your business.

     I lost my hair, my finger and toe nails are a mess, my brain is cloudy and it's just not as sharp as it was before you chose me.  It drives me absolutely crazy that I struggle to finish sentences and find words.   My sight has gone from bad to worse, and I can't read a darn thing without a pair of glasses.  Driving at night is more challenging than I care to admit.  I am full of weird feelings that were not there before chemo therapy enveloped every last crevice of my weary body. My fingers and toes tingle and my muscles are just now beginning to feel normal 6 weeks after my final chemo treatment.  I have a plastic device implanted in my body above my right breast that is a constant reminder of your existence.   It makes many things very challenging, and some days, causes me a great deal of discomfort.   As if all of that isn't enough, I've got 2 surgeons sharpening their knives to remove my breasts from body, and cut the lymph nodes from both of my arm pits.   But, I'm alive, and at this point all that remains of you in my body is scar tissue, and after tomorrow, that will be gone too!  

     I am confident that my hair and my finger nails will grow back, and just as an added bonus, I'm sure they'll be even better than they were before you.  I can't wait for you to see them!  And just so you know, I don't mind the glasses, they make me look more intelligent.  Those glasses are just one more reminder that even though you've been a part of my life, I have not been defeated.  Where this is a will, there is a way. The tingling and the foggy brain are already getting better, and I'm sure that soon, just like you, they will be distant memories.  You will see, I will accomplish great things.  While the breasts that you found a home in will be gone, I have complete confidence that my new ones are going to be spectacular!  When I look at them, I will not think fondly of you, however, I will rejoice in the fact that I am alive, and I am stronger because of my scars.

     As long as I'm airing my grievances with you, you should also know that I did not appreciate one bit the way that your existence worried and stressed out my husband, my family and my friends.  I will never forget the look on my husbands face when the surgeon told him that you had invaded my body.  He never should have had to worry about me that way, he didn't deserve that and my family and friends didn't deserve it either.  But, I bet you weren't counting on them fighting back too.  They rallied around me and gave me the strength and encouragement that I needed to kick you right to the curb.  We don't quit....  I have never felt more loved than I have in the last 6 months.  I had no idea how many friends I had, everyone was rooting for me!  I'm not the only survivor in this great race, my family and friends are victors against you as well, you have broken none of us- we're stronger than you will ever be.  I'm sure you'll never forget this bunch.  Maybe you'll think twice before you pick your next victim.

     What I have to say to you next is going to sting you even worse than the fact that you didn't kill me.  This business with you has resulted in many beautiful things.  I know that wasn't your agenda, and frankly, it ticks me off to even give you credit for anything wonderful or even anything remotely resembling a blessing.   I can only say that the miracles and the blessings that I am uncovering were in spite of your intentions.  You had no intentions of doing anything wonderful for me.  Your plans were only aimed at destruction.  But, I guess I'm not your typical victim, am I?  You're probably not used to your victims looking for silver linings in your dark, evil clouds, are you?  But that is exactly what I did, and believe me when I say not only did I find them, but I cherish them.

     I am stronger mentally and emotionally than I have ever been.  And as soon as this business with cutting you out is over and done with, and my body has once again had a chance to heel itself,  I intend to be stronger physically than I have ever been.  My body will never again be a place where you or any of your cronies will feel comfortable or confident.  As a matter of fact, it will be damn uncomfortable for you.  Becoming a cancer survivor has been one of the greatest challenges that I have ever faced in my life, and you can bet your last dollar that it has made me tough as nails.  I am a survivor.  I've got some battle scars, and a few remaining scrapes and bruises, but you're not going to be a part of my body anymore.  And while your scars will always be a part of my life and my body, they will never get me down.  They will never make me feel angry, or sad, or bitter, of that you have my promise.   You have already been given way too much attention in my world.  I will bear those scars with great amounts of pride knowing that they made a better person.

     I'm pretty sure by now you've had your fill of me.  You should be tired and weary and thinking it's time to move on, and you couldn't be more right.  I know your influence on my life isn't quite over yet.  I've got several weeks of recovery after they take you out of me, and radiation to make sure that there are no tiny parts of you lingering.  But, that's okay, because I know in my heart that you are almost gone from me, and all of these things are just steps to recovery.  I'm sorry to say that I won't miss you, nor will I be sorry to see you go.   I celebrate you leaving my life and my body, and I hope that I gave you the fight of your life because I certainly put up the fight of mine.

  .