Came in from a rainy Thursday
On the avenue
Thought I heard you talking softly
I turned on the lights, the TV
And the radio
Still I can't escape the ghost of you
What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some are saying
Where is the life that I recognize?
Gone away
But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive
Passion or coincidence
Once prompted you to say
"Pride will tear us both apart"
Well now pride's gone out the window
Cross the rooftops
Run away
Left me in the vacuum of my heart
What is happening to me?
Crazy, some'd say
Where is my friend when I need you most?
Gone away
But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive
Papers in the roadside
Tell of suffering and greed
Here today, forgot tomorrow
Ooh, here besides the news
Of holy war and holy need
Ours is just a little sorrowed talk
And I don't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive
Every one
Is my world, I will learn to survive
Any one
Is my world, I will learn to survive
Any one
Is my world
Every one
Is my world
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
"Ordinary World"
~Duran Duran, 1993
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
The Right Decision
For my entire life I have had a hand in animal rescue. I blame my dad. He was constantly bringing home homeless creatures: a skunk, a snake, a jackrabbit and others. After moving to Arizona, the salvation kept going. After my childhood dog, Socks, died, I went o the Humane Society to save another life to companion our other dog, Tara. Tara was heartbroken when she lost Socks. Then there were the sparrows, quail, cottontails and other desert dwellers. Eventually, I was back to cats. Clarabelle was found with her mother and littermates under a dumpster. Bailey was found hiding under the wheel of our truck. Katie Scarlet needed a home. Smokey was abandoned and mine for a few days when his family came back for him. Paul has had 20 some cats in and out of his life of cat rescue. For the last almost five years, it was cats only. When we moved in together there were 7 cats: Casper, Grendel, Pixel, Reece, Zelda, Clarabelle and Katie Scarlet and the two of us. Two years ago I had to place Clarabelle with my mother after Bailey died. She could not take the competition of 7 cats. It broke my heart, but I knew she was in the best hands. This September, the house was upped one cat, Diego and one dog, Daisy Mae. They were only going to stay until their previous owner could place them. Well, they stayed. Seven cats, one dog and two humans are a lot to manage. Then Mina came along. Which brings me to my story…
Monday morning Paul and I ran some errands. Upon our return from the morning errands Paul and I noticed 2 dogs running down our street. We went after them. Paul in one direction to the Brindle Bull Terrier, me after the yellow mutt-type dog. Thankfully, the yellow mutt had only gotten out of her yard and the owner was home. The owner was apologetic, but did not know anything about the terrier.
Who would know? Linda, the cat/dog sitter for the neighborhood. We asked and she was pretty sure the dog belonged to a person on our street.
After calling all the disconnected phone numbers on Spanky’s tag, Paul took him to the house believed to be his, left a note on the door, left him on a leash tied to the door and a bowl of water. Our concern was taking Spanky to the pound could be one extra step for his owner to make. We wanted man and dog to be reunited without so much fuss. Just get him home. If it meant babysitting Spanky for a few hours, what would that hurt us? We went to finish the errands we had on the list. Maybe a half an hour later Paul received call from a woman about Spanky. Spanky was not her dog. Paul told her he would be back in an hour or 2, could she please call animal control to pick him up. OK, fine. We did what we could and it was time to get The Man involved.
Paul and I returned to see the leash was on the ground next to the bowl of water. Great! Spanky was on his way to somewhere! No, the stupid bitch took him off the leash and let him go. LET HIM GO?!?!?!!! He was 2-doors down from her house. I was livid. I wanted to go to her house and tear her a new one. WTF was she thinking? “Not my dog. Not my problem.” People like this making me punching mad. I grabbed Spanky and held him until Paul returned with the leash. I ran into the house, got our dogs inside, so Paul could bring Spanky into the backyard.
Paul and I started searching online and trying to decipher Spanky’s well-worn tags. Nothing. Paul asked me if it was the right thing to take Spanky to Animal Care. I agreed. Spanky had been out for a few hours, he was still in the ‘hood, he was well cared for, well mannered; he just broke out. We loaded Spanky into the backseat of the truck and made our way to Animal Care. He had a record with them, not a bad one, just registration. We had to pass by the kennels to get him to where animals are dropped. Passing those kennels with all those dogs was crippling to me. I was trying so hard to believe this was the right decision. After all, no one was looking for Mina. If Paul had brought her here, there was no guarantee she would find a loving family and home; she would be doomed to die. I will not live with that. We waited in the rain for the door to open. I cried and cried. A volunteer came to us and asked how she could help. Probably thinking I was crying because we were giving up our sweet, handsome dog and I could not live with myself. Paul told her the story of the day and how he recently took in Daisy and Mina and his home for wayward cats. The volunteer was touched and shared if Spanky’s owner didn’t come to claim him in 4 days, he would be put up for adoption. She also shared since he is a pure-breed he will be adopted very quickly. There were two families already in the facility this week looking for a bull terrier. I guess that helped. The door finally opened and we took Spanky in the building. I was so relieved to hear his owner had already been in looking for him a few hours earlier. No matter what, Spanky’s story was a happy one in the end. Then, I had to walk by the kennels again. I was inconsolable and could not breathe by the time we got into the truck.
It was the right decision to keep Mina. It was the right decision to take Spanky to Animal Care. It was, wasn’t it?
In this rough time our country is facing, people are failing to be the least they can be: Human. They are abandoning their homes, leaving their pets inside the home or in the yard with and without food and water. They are opening their gates and letting their pets fend for themselves. Some are even driving their pets to the desert or another part of the city and dumping them. They are callously throwing away the one member of their family who never judged them, always loved them unconditionally and asked for only love and a good home in return. Why not dump your baby in the desert somewhere? That may sound obscene to most, but it is NOP DIFFERENT in my book.
I cannot give every abandoned animal a home with me. But, I can watch over the animal for an hour, a day, a week or a month until he or she can be placed with someone, who will love unwaveringly.
Come on America. Get your shit together. It is the right thing to do.
Monday morning Paul and I ran some errands. Upon our return from the morning errands Paul and I noticed 2 dogs running down our street. We went after them. Paul in one direction to the Brindle Bull Terrier, me after the yellow mutt-type dog. Thankfully, the yellow mutt had only gotten out of her yard and the owner was home. The owner was apologetic, but did not know anything about the terrier.
Who would know? Linda, the cat/dog sitter for the neighborhood. We asked and she was pretty sure the dog belonged to a person on our street.
After calling all the disconnected phone numbers on Spanky’s tag, Paul took him to the house believed to be his, left a note on the door, left him on a leash tied to the door and a bowl of water. Our concern was taking Spanky to the pound could be one extra step for his owner to make. We wanted man and dog to be reunited without so much fuss. Just get him home. If it meant babysitting Spanky for a few hours, what would that hurt us? We went to finish the errands we had on the list. Maybe a half an hour later Paul received call from a woman about Spanky. Spanky was not her dog. Paul told her he would be back in an hour or 2, could she please call animal control to pick him up. OK, fine. We did what we could and it was time to get The Man involved.
Paul and I returned to see the leash was on the ground next to the bowl of water. Great! Spanky was on his way to somewhere! No, the stupid bitch took him off the leash and let him go. LET HIM GO?!?!?!!! He was 2-doors down from her house. I was livid. I wanted to go to her house and tear her a new one. WTF was she thinking? “Not my dog. Not my problem.” People like this making me punching mad. I grabbed Spanky and held him until Paul returned with the leash. I ran into the house, got our dogs inside, so Paul could bring Spanky into the backyard.
Paul and I started searching online and trying to decipher Spanky’s well-worn tags. Nothing. Paul asked me if it was the right thing to take Spanky to Animal Care. I agreed. Spanky had been out for a few hours, he was still in the ‘hood, he was well cared for, well mannered; he just broke out. We loaded Spanky into the backseat of the truck and made our way to Animal Care. He had a record with them, not a bad one, just registration. We had to pass by the kennels to get him to where animals are dropped. Passing those kennels with all those dogs was crippling to me. I was trying so hard to believe this was the right decision. After all, no one was looking for Mina. If Paul had brought her here, there was no guarantee she would find a loving family and home; she would be doomed to die. I will not live with that. We waited in the rain for the door to open. I cried and cried. A volunteer came to us and asked how she could help. Probably thinking I was crying because we were giving up our sweet, handsome dog and I could not live with myself. Paul told her the story of the day and how he recently took in Daisy and Mina and his home for wayward cats. The volunteer was touched and shared if Spanky’s owner didn’t come to claim him in 4 days, he would be put up for adoption. She also shared since he is a pure-breed he will be adopted very quickly. There were two families already in the facility this week looking for a bull terrier. I guess that helped. The door finally opened and we took Spanky in the building. I was so relieved to hear his owner had already been in looking for him a few hours earlier. No matter what, Spanky’s story was a happy one in the end. Then, I had to walk by the kennels again. I was inconsolable and could not breathe by the time we got into the truck.
It was the right decision to keep Mina. It was the right decision to take Spanky to Animal Care. It was, wasn’t it?
In this rough time our country is facing, people are failing to be the least they can be: Human. They are abandoning their homes, leaving their pets inside the home or in the yard with and without food and water. They are opening their gates and letting their pets fend for themselves. Some are even driving their pets to the desert or another part of the city and dumping them. They are callously throwing away the one member of their family who never judged them, always loved them unconditionally and asked for only love and a good home in return. Why not dump your baby in the desert somewhere? That may sound obscene to most, but it is NOP DIFFERENT in my book.
I cannot give every abandoned animal a home with me. But, I can watch over the animal for an hour, a day, a week or a month until he or she can be placed with someone, who will love unwaveringly.
Come on America. Get your shit together. It is the right thing to do.
A New Girl in Paul’s Life
Her name is Mina. She was known as “Yellow Dog” for the first 2 weeks, while Paul tried to find her family and home. Paul was walking Daisy and Bridgette (my 12 year-old dog visiting from Tucson) when he came along a dog with a collar, but no tags. He spent days and days putting up posters in a 2-mile radius of where he found her wandering the canal. He posted her picture on every lost pet website he could find. No takers. Well, there was this one guy who thought claiming she was his dog without any other information about her was a fun, practical joke. Suffice it to say the situation escalated into involving the police and the guy backing off asking “What? You can’t take a joke?” Paul was fit to be tied. He was upset by this jack-hole, he was upset because no one was looking for her. Was she abandoned?
After exhausting his search options, Paul started to grow fond of this yellow dog. She is Daisy sized. She and Daisy romp, play, tussle, nom and nap together. It has been good for Daisy to have a playmate since her old buddy, Grendel, is gone. Paul did not want to name her. Once she was named, she was going to stay. He started thinking through names. I suggested Mina and a few others, but Mina stuck. It felt right and she seemed to like it. How ever much a dog can like her name. Mina has warm, loving eyes that make him turn to a puddle, every time she worms her way on to his lap.
Caught in a love triangle, Paul is thinking it will best to give Mina a home of her own. He has such a strong, special bond with Daisy. Right now, only time will tell if Mina will stay or find a home of her own. If she does find a home of her own, I hope it is close to Paul and Daisy. Close enough for play dates and adventures. A home where she will be top dog and receive the love she deserves and returns ten fold.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Grendel
He was 18 years-old. For the last 2 years of his life he was on medication for a hyperthyroid, he was on IV fluids and special food; he was so skinny. To me, he was my "Old Man". He was sweet and cuddley. He loved to curl up with me to watch a movie, read and sleep. I loved it, too.
Grendel on his blue blankey.Paul would regale me with stories of his more thuglike years. "He took out Nanook's eye." When I met "G-Dog", he was the biggest brute in the house. But, he was a lady's man. My friend, Heather, described him as the "George Clooney of cats". He was. In his later years he acted more like a typical, "Get off my lawn, you damn kids!" old man. He would sit on the floor at the foot of our bed and yell at us to get up and feed him. He eventually he made these subtle, little chirping sounds with a lilt on the end. Aaron nicnamed him "Grenpa". I always imagined him as a Peter Falk type, grumbling and wearing a rumpled suit, one with elbow patches. For a cat who had never lived with a dog, he and Daisy became the house's odd couple. Quite the May-December romance. She watched over him, cleaned him, napped with him.
Grendel and Daisy in their typical nap stance.
He went peacefully in the best way for him. He never gave us "the sign" that he was ready to go. He simply asked to be let out yesterday afternoon for his daily nap in the sun. He curled up in the warmth and went to sleep. Grendel, you will be missed. You had a good life. I am lucky to have been a part of it.
From Grendel to his droves of adoring female fans...
To all the girls I've loved before
Who traveled in and out my door
I'm glad they came along
I dedicate this song
To all the girls I've loved before
Thank you to my friends who have said wonderful things about Grendel. The house wasn't the same without him.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
November 2008
Where to begin? I started the month sick and ended the month even sicker. I started the month employed and ended it unemployed. Once upon a time I had health insurance, now I no longer do. And my stepfather died. It was a long month.
Due to losing my health insurance, a very long and tragic ordeal, I was unable to receive my infusion (the VERY EXPENSIVE) drug, that keeps me in remission for 8 weeks at a time, for 5 weeks. After some paperwork was filled and sent to the drug company I was approved for a program that gives patients the drug at the cost of the time spent in the doctor’s office. Tell me why I did not hear about this program before I started paying through the nose to COBRA? Suffice it to say, the cost of time spent in the doctor’s office is a fraction of the amount I was paying to not have to pay regular retail ($5000/infusion). Yes, $5000; that was no typo. Since Nike I have been sick like it was 1996 all over again, except this time I knew what I was fighting. I lost 15 pounds from malnutrition, vomiting and other nefarious indigestions. Why wouldn’t everyone want to try this diet of losers?
Then I lost my job. I am looking and it is getting harder by the day. I think I have a good lead and it disappears. Did you know 533,000 people lost their jobs in November? At least I am not alone out there in the market already saturated with job seekers. I’m in great company and out numbered.
After a long, defeating and ugly battle with emphysema and COPD my mother’s husband of 25 years finally died November 18th. Mom took a leave of absence to care for him in his final months. She was a real trooper. He was a real SOB. He was only worse as the end dragged on and on. If I believed in it, I would probably go to hell for that ”SOB” comment, but I wouldn’t be alone. We did not see eye to eye and I will leave it at that.
After his death Mom and I spent time with family in CA. Friends and family we had not seen in almost 3 years, because we were unable to leave her husband alone for more than a couple of hours, we got to see.
As this year draws to a close in 21 days, I look back on it. It sucked. I spent most of the year sick, fighting with my changing disease and symptoms. I stood by my family in Tucson and watched death take her sweet time. I lost my job. I couldn’t even run my half-marathon. I lost more than I gained in 2008.
Yes, I am down. I am very down. I hope 2009 is an improvement. I usually fight and put on the face of someone who does not give up or let "it" get me down. I do not have what it takes right now to fight and I am very tired. I ask for permission to be sad and feel defeated.
Due to losing my health insurance, a very long and tragic ordeal, I was unable to receive my infusion (the VERY EXPENSIVE) drug, that keeps me in remission for 8 weeks at a time, for 5 weeks. After some paperwork was filled and sent to the drug company I was approved for a program that gives patients the drug at the cost of the time spent in the doctor’s office. Tell me why I did not hear about this program before I started paying through the nose to COBRA? Suffice it to say, the cost of time spent in the doctor’s office is a fraction of the amount I was paying to not have to pay regular retail ($5000/infusion). Yes, $5000; that was no typo. Since Nike I have been sick like it was 1996 all over again, except this time I knew what I was fighting. I lost 15 pounds from malnutrition, vomiting and other nefarious indigestions. Why wouldn’t everyone want to try this diet of losers?
Then I lost my job. I am looking and it is getting harder by the day. I think I have a good lead and it disappears. Did you know 533,000 people lost their jobs in November? At least I am not alone out there in the market already saturated with job seekers. I’m in great company and out numbered.
After a long, defeating and ugly battle with emphysema and COPD my mother’s husband of 25 years finally died November 18th. Mom took a leave of absence to care for him in his final months. She was a real trooper. He was a real SOB. He was only worse as the end dragged on and on. If I believed in it, I would probably go to hell for that ”SOB” comment, but I wouldn’t be alone. We did not see eye to eye and I will leave it at that.
After his death Mom and I spent time with family in CA. Friends and family we had not seen in almost 3 years, because we were unable to leave her husband alone for more than a couple of hours, we got to see.
As this year draws to a close in 21 days, I look back on it. It sucked. I spent most of the year sick, fighting with my changing disease and symptoms. I stood by my family in Tucson and watched death take her sweet time. I lost my job. I couldn’t even run my half-marathon. I lost more than I gained in 2008.
Yes, I am down. I am very down. I hope 2009 is an improvement. I usually fight and put on the face of someone who does not give up or let "it" get me down. I do not have what it takes right now to fight and I am very tired. I ask for permission to be sad and feel defeated.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Nike Women's Marathon 08: Monday & Wrap-up
I received this email last night after I had posted my recaps. It is from my friend and leukemia survivor, Alice. She says it all with only a few words.
Alice~ You said it. That is what this is all about. Yes, I felt like crap and it took me longer than I had hoped, but I could not have made it through and finished without the love and support of my family and friends. No, they were not there. I had to make the journey on my own. Just like the journeys the patients make. Ultimately, the patient must find the will, strength and survivor instinct from within. My little, urpy walk through San Francisco on a chilly day canNOT hold a candle to the journey the patients make. It does make me appreciate my "good" health more.
Monday! Monday! Monday!
All through Sunday night I would suddenly jerk awake after the sensation of falling. My legs were having a good laugh. Very funny. Ha ha.
I rolled out of bed at the crack of 11am. I could not help but glare out the hotel window at the clear blue skies smiling down on us. I guess we could do nothing but, get out there and under the the blue. (Wasn't it grey just yesterday?) We had just enough time to clean up, pack and check out. OMG, I felt like I had been hit by a garbage truck. It took a full hour to choke down some oatmeal. And then it just sat in my throat. Sat there, mocking me. Luz and I decided to take a little walk downtown. What the crap was I thinking?
Of course when we hit the streets of San Francisco it was lunch time. Every bloody shack, shop and eatery was bulging at its seams. We kept passing this super cool looking restaurant and bar, 40 Cycles of Yesteryear. Luz was hankering for some soup, so we peaked at their menu; but not before falling in love with the red-headed Mr. Higgins napping on his red velvet sofa!
He was HUGE, a real bounder. I had a Coke, while hanging with Mr. Higgins. Luz had some soup. It was so good to see her get her appetite back. Me? The mere thought of food sent me reeling. Mr. Higgins' caretaker and owner of the bar, Norman, sat on his own read velvet sofa across from us. We chatted a bit. Thanked them and headed into the day.
We stopped at Boudin Bakery for a loaf of sourdough to take home to Mom. Some how we ended back at Union Square and meandering through the biggest Macy's for Women I had ever seen. I got to the second floor and crashed onto a couch weaker than ever. I could not move another step. But, I did have a couple of hours to get myself back that 1 mile to the hotel.
By the time we got back to the hotel I was tossing my guts, again. I had nothing left, only bile. That's fun. I had no choice but to take out the big guns: my Crohn's meds. Anti-spasmatics and anti-emetics. This double dose makes me stooopid and sleepy. I was pouring sweat and getting dumber by the minute. I cannot believe I claimed my bags, got to the bus, fell asleep on the bus, check in at the airport, made it through security, found the gate and fell asleep in the waiting area. And might I say the waiting area was so cold you could hang a side of a cow in it? Sweet cracker sandwich, it was cold. Luz loaned me a sweatshirt and a coat to keep warm. We got to the airport 2 hours prior to our flight and then news came: Flight delayed. Bugger. Good thing I had enough drugs in me to tranq an elephant.
We finally boarded the plane and we were on our way home. I slept through the 2 hour flight. When we landed in Phoenix I was coherent enough to call Paul to tell him where we were. When I saw him at baggage claim, I was so relieved. I was home.
I crashed. I could not get out of bed for anything. Paul brought me Gatorade and Matzo ball soup. Here it is 4 days after the Nike Women's Death March and I am starting to feel sub-human again. I happy to be surrounded by my Paul, kitties and puppy.
Would I do it again? Yes. For two reasons: #1 For Alice and Daddy and the fight we must continue to fight. Fight until I attend the Last Pre-Race Pasta Dinner, because the cure is here. And #2 To whip this race! I set out to run in the Nike Women's Marathon and by gum, I will. It has not beaten me. I will see it, match it and beat it. I probably will not win it, but that isn't even in the top50 reasons to do it for me. (I have seen the numbers of the winners. I could not beat them in a car.)
So, yeah... I have a score to settle in my future. I think I will get a few other half marathons under my belt before I go slapping NWM with the white gloves. Who knows, it could be in 2009?
Erica,
You did it under terrible circumstances…. But the point is… you did it and didn’t give up. That’s what beating these diseases is all about huh?!
Great job!
Alice and the boys
Alice~ You said it. That is what this is all about. Yes, I felt like crap and it took me longer than I had hoped, but I could not have made it through and finished without the love and support of my family and friends. No, they were not there. I had to make the journey on my own. Just like the journeys the patients make. Ultimately, the patient must find the will, strength and survivor instinct from within. My little, urpy walk through San Francisco on a chilly day canNOT hold a candle to the journey the patients make. It does make me appreciate my "good" health more.
Monday! Monday! Monday!
All through Sunday night I would suddenly jerk awake after the sensation of falling. My legs were having a good laugh. Very funny. Ha ha.
I rolled out of bed at the crack of 11am. I could not help but glare out the hotel window at the clear blue skies smiling down on us. I guess we could do nothing but, get out there and under the the blue. (Wasn't it grey just yesterday?) We had just enough time to clean up, pack and check out. OMG, I felt like I had been hit by a garbage truck. It took a full hour to choke down some oatmeal. And then it just sat in my throat. Sat there, mocking me. Luz and I decided to take a little walk downtown. What the crap was I thinking?
Of course when we hit the streets of San Francisco it was lunch time. Every bloody shack, shop and eatery was bulging at its seams. We kept passing this super cool looking restaurant and bar, 40 Cycles of Yesteryear. Luz was hankering for some soup, so we peaked at their menu; but not before falling in love with the red-headed Mr. Higgins napping on his red velvet sofa!
He was HUGE, a real bounder. I had a Coke, while hanging with Mr. Higgins. Luz had some soup. It was so good to see her get her appetite back. Me? The mere thought of food sent me reeling. Mr. Higgins' caretaker and owner of the bar, Norman, sat on his own read velvet sofa across from us. We chatted a bit. Thanked them and headed into the day.We stopped at Boudin Bakery for a loaf of sourdough to take home to Mom. Some how we ended back at Union Square and meandering through the biggest Macy's for Women I had ever seen. I got to the second floor and crashed onto a couch weaker than ever. I could not move another step. But, I did have a couple of hours to get myself back that 1 mile to the hotel.
By the time we got back to the hotel I was tossing my guts, again. I had nothing left, only bile. That's fun. I had no choice but to take out the big guns: my Crohn's meds. Anti-spasmatics and anti-emetics. This double dose makes me stooopid and sleepy. I was pouring sweat and getting dumber by the minute. I cannot believe I claimed my bags, got to the bus, fell asleep on the bus, check in at the airport, made it through security, found the gate and fell asleep in the waiting area. And might I say the waiting area was so cold you could hang a side of a cow in it? Sweet cracker sandwich, it was cold. Luz loaned me a sweatshirt and a coat to keep warm. We got to the airport 2 hours prior to our flight and then news came: Flight delayed. Bugger. Good thing I had enough drugs in me to tranq an elephant.
We finally boarded the plane and we were on our way home. I slept through the 2 hour flight. When we landed in Phoenix I was coherent enough to call Paul to tell him where we were. When I saw him at baggage claim, I was so relieved. I was home.
I crashed. I could not get out of bed for anything. Paul brought me Gatorade and Matzo ball soup. Here it is 4 days after the Nike Women's Death March and I am starting to feel sub-human again. I happy to be surrounded by my Paul, kitties and puppy.
Would I do it again? Yes. For two reasons: #1 For Alice and Daddy and the fight we must continue to fight. Fight until I attend the Last Pre-Race Pasta Dinner, because the cure is here. And #2 To whip this race! I set out to run in the Nike Women's Marathon and by gum, I will. It has not beaten me. I will see it, match it and beat it. I probably will not win it, but that isn't even in the top50 reasons to do it for me. (I have seen the numbers of the winners. I could not beat them in a car.)
So, yeah... I have a score to settle in my future. I think I will get a few other half marathons under my belt before I go slapping NWM with the white gloves. Who knows, it could be in 2009?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Nike Women's Marathon 08: Sunday
OMG! I can only report on the pieces I remember and those that were shared with me. I don't remember getting up, showering, eating oatmeal, dressing, donning a garbage bag and getting to the Start Line. I do remember throwing up the oatmeal before leaving the hotel room. Great. I remember staring at the Patron billboard during the National Anthem, unable to find the American Flag. I remember it was cold. Very cold. Something around 57 degrees and wind.
The gun went off at 7am. I started running. I ran slowly to the pier. I ran for a little over 4.5 miles. Then I hit the wall. And threw up on it. I could not run another step. It took every bit of energy I had to put one foot in front of the other. I ran. I walked. I jogged. I barfed. I dragged. I tried to drink water. I stopped three times for water. I drank my Gatorade. I choked down a package of Sharkies.
It was growing colder. The sky was grey. I had to keep moving. When I saw our assistant coach, Sarah, somewhere around mile six. I was trying to keep it together. I had another 7+ miles to go. I could not hear the support crews cheering me on, calling my name. All I could hear was ny stomach pleading with me to quit. My legs were cramping. No fuel. I grabbed a wedge of orange. Mistake. I kept moving forward. Just move forward. It was so cold. I never took off my jacket. I was passed by a chic in flip flops. I was passed by a chic in crocs. Ugh. I was dragging myself every step of the way. I was so relieved to come to mile 10, where it overlooked the finish zone. I knew I had 3+ miles to go. Somewhere on the course I realized: This course is longer than 13.1 miles. My GPS was telling me I had an additional .4 of a mile to get to the finish. (Another runner of the half verified it in passing, as did Paul from info online!)
All I knew was: I must keep moving to the finish. One thing at a time. I saw my coach, Roland, right before the chute and started to cry. I was almost there. Run. Run to the end. I started running and crossed the finish line approximately a week after I started. Kidding! It took a few seconds shy of 4 hours. It was brutal. I started on empty. I ended on less than empty.One thing at a time. Focus on one thing at a time. Get Tiffany's pendant from random fireman. Pick up Finisher's t-shirt. Remove timing chip. Oh, a banana (I might keep that down). Was it colder? Yes. Go to next point. Wrap in Mylar sheet. Check in with TnT. Grab food: sandwich, Cheetos (my fave part, my victory dance), cookies and a COKE (Elaine said it saved her at IronMan08). I could not eat. I sipped the Coke. The thought of food made me want to wretch more. I had nothing left to expel. I was so cold. I had to get warm.
Focus: one thing at a time. Get checked bag. Go to changing tent. Change clothes. More like pile on what ever clothes I had. I couldn't stop shaking. I was trying not to cry. I hurt all over. I wanted so desperately to have Paul there. I needed his support, warmth and help. I had to do with only text messages. Everything was so loud, my ears were ringing. I was turning hypothermic. If I had to do this by myself, I wanted to get back to the hotel as soon as I could.
But, then I thought about Luz. She was out there alone, too. Sure, we had the Team support, but no one close. No one who could hold our hand for an extended period of time, before being called to the next one in need. I made my way to the massage tent. Maybe a quick stretching and massage would give me some juice. The student who worked me over was awesome. He popped every bone in my back. It hurt like mad, but I stayed there and let him help get the toxins out of of muscles. I poured off the table and thanked him.
Something in me made me go back to the TnT tent to look for Luz. It was insanity in there. Everyone was trying to find a inch of space to keep warm. I walked passed a bunch rows and made my way into the crazy. I looked down, there she was, sitting one aisle over. I sat next to her and she went to pieces. My brain turned my body off. I knew I had to take care of her. I didn't have anyone, but she did. She finished the full marathon, but burned all over her sugar, fuel, everything. She wanted to get out of there. It was so cramped and loud.
We went outside and huddled against the wall separating the street from the beach. It was so cold, but it was not crowded and loud. I dug through my stores of every drug I had with me. I took some Vitamin I (Ibuprofen) and Vitamin V (Vicodin). That helped my body forget the pain and burning stomach. After about 30 minutes we noticed we had been sitting behind the First Aid Tent! I went in to see if they had room for 2 more. It was not crowded and it was WARM! I helped her to a cot. I sat in a chair next to her. She started her vomiting. The nurses who watched over us were wonderful. One brought me a Coke, a warm Coke-The BEST! Another got me a PB&J sandwich. I ate slowly, it burned with every bite. We stayed in there until they started to close the event down.
Luz was in really bad shape. She eventually was taken to St. Mary's Hospital for evaluation. She was released a few hours later. She had not fueled enough over the last weeks of training to get her through this event: 26.2 miles of running. She had been burning muscle. She received fluids and returned to the hotel later. I was unable to go with her to the hospital.
I made my way to the TnT buses back to the city. I almost cried when I found my bus. I did not believe and ad to ask a woman with a clipboard. I found a seat and collapsed. I called Paul. I called Mom. I cried. I tried not to get sick. Thankfully the nice people at the massage tent were giving away towels. I wrapped mine over my head and clippied it to my chin to keep warm. I pressed a corner of it over my mouth to keep from sicking up the bus. Our hotel was the second stop. I raced to the room, trying to beat the next wave of my every churning stomach. I made it back to the room. I was "home".
I peeled off all my clothes. Started brewing tea. Finally, opened my Tiffany's package. Took a hot shower (post race ice bath be damned, I was ice cold.) I crawled into my jammies and bed with my tea and fell asleep for an hour. I felt I needed to make it to the Victory Party. Why? Who knows? I walked over by myself, ate mashed potatoes and a cookie. I talked with a few people and returned to the hotel. I was back in the room for 15 minutes when Luz walked back in. She was looking so much better! We had our own Victory Party in the hotel bar with some chicken noodle soup. Team members started to pour into the hotel bar and come by to say, "Hi." Shortly after, we said "Good night".
It was over. We survived it. What a long day. But, we did it. It was 50 degrees when I finished. No wonder I was cold! Oh, there was the fever making dumber than a box of hair.
Nike Women's Marathon 08: Saturday
I made it through the night and broke my fever. I awakened feeling OK. Luz's friends wanted to take us out for breakfast at Lori's Diner. It was so comforting to be with "familia" for a meal. They may not have been my familia, but that did not matter. By the end of breakfast, we were. Nana and her son Ed live in Sonoma, but have a time share in the city. They were wonderful.
After breakfast Luz and I hit the downtown shopping area like mad! We shared many sights, smells and sounds. We ventured back to the Expotique for postcards and visit the mass hysteria that it was Saturday. By the way, the temp dropped 20 degrees, Saturday was 64 degrees.
We hit Lush, H&M, the Westfield Mall, Lady Footlocker (I was so excited my running shoes came in a new color, just released!! I had to have them.) We tromped around downtown most of the day. I was getting really tired by the time we started heading back to get ready for the pasta party. We got back just in time to clean up and head to dinner. We walked to the Mascone Center to receive an amazing reception from our coaches and staff.
Again, I could not eat much. This was making for a very bad pre-race fuel. My stomach just said, "No. We're all done here."
We still needed to get our race gear ready for the 4:30am wake up call!
By the time I got to bed my fever was in full swing again and I was incoherent. Bad. Very bad.
After breakfast Luz and I hit the downtown shopping area like mad! We shared many sights, smells and sounds. We ventured back to the Expotique for postcards and visit the mass hysteria that it was Saturday. By the way, the temp dropped 20 degrees, Saturday was 64 degrees.
Again, I could not eat much. This was making for a very bad pre-race fuel. My stomach just said, "No. We're all done here."We still needed to get our race gear ready for the 4:30am wake up call!
By the time I got to bed my fever was in full swing again and I was incoherent. Bad. Very bad.
Nike Women's Marathon 08: Friday
Nothing like getting up at the crack of 4am to head to the airport starts a day better. Oy vey. Sixty some odd of us Team in Training Desert Mountains Chapter boarded a plane for beautiful San Francisco Friday morning at 6:30am. We arrived in the city to sunny and clear skies and a forecast of the same for the next 3 days. A balmy 86 degrees welcomed us to downtown. Luz and I checked into the hotel and headed out to have lunch, pick up our race packets and experience the Expotique at Union Square. 
As we walked towards the excitement we stopped for lunch at the Toaster Oven sandwich shop. (I should have known something was amiss, when I couldn't finish lunch.) We picked up our bibs and all kinds of swag. We even partook in the chair/foot massages from Kaiser Permanente, gate analysis by Lady Footlocker & Nike, personalized buttons, and smoothies rom Jamba Juice. After a couple hours we crossed the street to experience Niketown.
Niketown is four floors of Nike merchandise. The second floor is dedicated to the marathon paraphenalia. We found our names on the wall outside. All the runners participating in the marathon have their names on the windows covering the first floor outside.
We made our way through the crowds and bought our goodies. Around 2pm we made our way back to the hotel for a respite. I crashed. Luz crashed.
Luz was fortunate to have some old, dear friends come to the city for the evening. She joined them for dinner, while I was left to my own devices. I woke up sometime around 6p, freezing cold in a room of 77.5 degrees. "Uh-oh, that's not good." I could not get warm. I needed to get water and something in my stomach. Soup? Mashed potatoes? Something to deal with this fever. I perused the room service menu. My soup options were French Onion (No Way! Beef stock, yuck!) or Clam Chowder (OMG! Rich, creamy clams, not going to stay down. I "urped" at the thought of it.) "OK, I saw a soup shack down the street earlier. The restaurants along our street touted soups." I needed to go into the wild world alone to forage for soup, bottled water and cold medicine. As I was walking through the lobby I ran into our coach, Roland. He asked if I wanted to join a group heading to Little Italy for dinner. They were walking. I knew it was just up the street from Niketown on the other side of Chinatown. Sure, I'd be with people. We made it to The Stinking Rose a couple miles away.
It was a garlic extravaganza. More garlic than you can imagine. Garlic at the table waiting for us. Our eyes burned from the fine aroma of garlic wafting out and inside. They even made garlic ice-cream. It was a group effort to choke it down. It started with 7 of us and ended with 9 team members, coaches, mentors, and admin. We had the most amazing waiter with 47 years of experience. He was a hoot! Ray, the waiter is 75 years old and had the fortune to carry the Olympic torch through SFO for the last Winter Olympics. Amazing!
After a few hours of ingesting Mother Earth's most powerful cold remedy (I had the mashed potatoes and some bread, again I could not finish.) we strolled back to the hotel via the financial district.
Across the street from the hotel was a bottle shop, that sold water. I loaded my arms and returned to my room. I climbed into bed with a fist full of ibuprofen, water, Emergen-C and hot tea. I curled up with some Boston Legal and hoped for the best. Good night nurse.
As we walked towards the excitement we stopped for lunch at the Toaster Oven sandwich shop. (I should have known something was amiss, when I couldn't finish lunch.) We picked up our bibs and all kinds of swag. We even partook in the chair/foot massages from Kaiser Permanente, gate analysis by Lady Footlocker & Nike, personalized buttons, and smoothies rom Jamba Juice. After a couple hours we crossed the street to experience Niketown.
Niketown is four floors of Nike merchandise. The second floor is dedicated to the marathon paraphenalia. We found our names on the wall outside. All the runners participating in the marathon have their names on the windows covering the first floor outside.
We made our way through the crowds and bought our goodies. Around 2pm we made our way back to the hotel for a respite. I crashed. Luz crashed.
Luz was fortunate to have some old, dear friends come to the city for the evening. She joined them for dinner, while I was left to my own devices. I woke up sometime around 6p, freezing cold in a room of 77.5 degrees. "Uh-oh, that's not good." I could not get warm. I needed to get water and something in my stomach. Soup? Mashed potatoes? Something to deal with this fever. I perused the room service menu. My soup options were French Onion (No Way! Beef stock, yuck!) or Clam Chowder (OMG! Rich, creamy clams, not going to stay down. I "urped" at the thought of it.) "OK, I saw a soup shack down the street earlier. The restaurants along our street touted soups." I needed to go into the wild world alone to forage for soup, bottled water and cold medicine. As I was walking through the lobby I ran into our coach, Roland. He asked if I wanted to join a group heading to Little Italy for dinner. They were walking. I knew it was just up the street from Niketown on the other side of Chinatown. Sure, I'd be with people. We made it to The Stinking Rose a couple miles away.
It was a garlic extravaganza. More garlic than you can imagine. Garlic at the table waiting for us. Our eyes burned from the fine aroma of garlic wafting out and inside. They even made garlic ice-cream. It was a group effort to choke it down. It started with 7 of us and ended with 9 team members, coaches, mentors, and admin. We had the most amazing waiter with 47 years of experience. He was a hoot! Ray, the waiter is 75 years old and had the fortune to carry the Olympic torch through SFO for the last Winter Olympics. Amazing!
After a few hours of ingesting Mother Earth's most powerful cold remedy (I had the mashed potatoes and some bread, again I could not finish.) we strolled back to the hotel via the financial district.Across the street from the hotel was a bottle shop, that sold water. I loaded my arms and returned to my room. I climbed into bed with a fist full of ibuprofen, water, Emergen-C and hot tea. I curled up with some Boston Legal and hoped for the best. Good night nurse.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Results
Full Course
Time: 3:52:29.640
Pace (Min/Mi): 17:44
Overall Rank: 10142
Female Rank: 9612
F35-39 Rank: 1785
I will write more later. Suffice it to say: I graced the course at electrifyingly slow speeds, but high projectile vomit. My stomach made better time ejecting its contents than my feet did. I got a fever Friday night. By Sunday morning I was hurling my guts out. I don't remember getting to the start line. Thankfully, Luz got pictures of me there. I saw them. I was there. I'm going back to bed.
Time: 3:52:29.640
Pace (Min/Mi): 17:44
Overall Rank: 10142
Female Rank: 9612
F35-39 Rank: 1785
I will write more later. Suffice it to say: I graced the course at electrifyingly slow speeds, but high projectile vomit. My stomach made better time ejecting its contents than my feet did. I got a fever Friday night. By Sunday morning I was hurling my guts out. I don't remember getting to the start line. Thankfully, Luz got pictures of me there. I saw them. I was there. I'm going back to bed.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
On the Eve of My Leave
At this time tomorrow, I will be in San Francisco doing who knows what! In 2 days, I had better be long asleep. And in 3 days, I will be celebrating a job well done.
Here's to me. I raised $4536 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society this year!
Here's to me. I'm running in the Nike Women's Marathon on Sunday!
Here's to the survivors, their journeys are a hell of a lot harder than any of that stuff.
Here's to me. I raised $4536 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society this year!
Here's to me. I'm running in the Nike Women's Marathon on Sunday!
Here's to the survivors, their journeys are a hell of a lot harder than any of that stuff.
Monday, October 13, 2008
T Minus 5 Days & Counting
I just got home from the TNT travel meeting. Jersey, itinerary, luggage tags, other bits of group travel paraphernalia. OK, I may have said I would be packing and repacking Thursday? Uh, yeah... NO!! I'm starting now. I have washed almost everything I own, just in case I might need it this weekend. The only thing I cannot take with me this year is the one thing I will need the most out there: Paul. He is staying home and minding the House of Hooligans. Seeing him at Mile 11 and when I crossed the finish line last year was exactly what I needed. Knowing him, I'll receive photo and text messages throughout the race. Egging me on! More like encouraging me. :P
I'm building my play-list. I don't like being one of those goobers on the course who needs tunes to keep moving. Maybe it comes from all those years of dancing? Always moving to music. Geez, I need music to do almost anything! I also run to the beat. So, Pink Floyd is out. With their seven-four rhythm? Forget it. Duran Duran, Cher, 80's hair bands, some club music, disco, too. Songs that remind me of friends and family, songs that make me laugh, songs that will get me from start to finish.
OK, where is my suitcase?
I'm building my play-list. I don't like being one of those goobers on the course who needs tunes to keep moving. Maybe it comes from all those years of dancing? Always moving to music. Geez, I need music to do almost anything! I also run to the beat. So, Pink Floyd is out. With their seven-four rhythm? Forget it. Duran Duran, Cher, 80's hair bands, some club music, disco, too. Songs that remind me of friends and family, songs that make me laugh, songs that will get me from start to finish.
OK, where is my suitcase?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
You are probably ready for the Women's Nike Marathon if:
...you know more about Phoenix canals than you ever wanted to.
...your toenails are black (or missing).
...last month you put more miles on your shoes than your car.
...you have chafing in strange places.
...people say, "You run ten miles...at once?"
...people ask you about your upcoming race "Do you think you'll win?"
...annoying, but people also ask "How far is THAT marathon?"
...at the end of your workout there is more salt on your face than on your potato chips
...you combine phrases like "6 or 10 mile day" and "Light Workout" in the same breath.
...you can eat your weight in spaghetti.
...you can debate the advantages of deodorant vs. Bodyglide
...you feel lost without your water-bottle.
...you have withdrawal if you don't workout everyday.
...you wake up every morning in pain.
...your memory of our first group workout (2 miles) makes you chuckle.
...Gatorade is your drug of choice.
...your Saturdays for the past 3-4 months are a fuzzy but happy memory.
...you crave Power Bars.
...you crave goo....you are always hungry.
...you woke up last night terrified from an "I showed up at the race naked" dream
...you will wake up tonight terrified from an "I got lost on the race course" dream
...your feet are comparable to rawhide.
...you know that no matter what happens Sunday, it will be easier than one minute of cancer treatment for our honored teammates
..."Go Team" can bring a tear to your eyes.
18 days away to San Francisco and Nike!
...your toenails are black (or missing).
...last month you put more miles on your shoes than your car.
...you have chafing in strange places.
...people say, "You run ten miles...at once?"
...people ask you about your upcoming race "Do you think you'll win?"
...annoying, but people also ask "How far is THAT marathon?"
...at the end of your workout there is more salt on your face than on your potato chips
...you combine phrases like "6 or 10 mile day" and "Light Workout" in the same breath.
...you can eat your weight in spaghetti.
...you can debate the advantages of deodorant vs. Bodyglide
...you feel lost without your water-bottle.
...you have withdrawal if you don't workout everyday.
...you wake up every morning in pain.
...your memory of our first group workout (2 miles) makes you chuckle.
...Gatorade is your drug of choice.
...your Saturdays for the past 3-4 months are a fuzzy but happy memory.
...you crave Power Bars.
...you crave goo....you are always hungry.
...you woke up last night terrified from an "I showed up at the race naked" dream
...you will wake up tonight terrified from an "I got lost on the race course" dream
...your feet are comparable to rawhide.
...you know that no matter what happens Sunday, it will be easier than one minute of cancer treatment for our honored teammates
..."Go Team" can bring a tear to your eyes.
18 days away to San Francisco and Nike!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The Final Countdown
No, not the song by Europe... (But, it is in my marathon play-list.)
I have 9 days to raise $974 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. The pressure is in the on position. I need all the support I can get from friends and family. If you have not donated yet, please do so soon. What ever you can spare, it goes to a fantastic cause: Saving lives.
I have 25 days until the Nike Women's (half) Marathon! Last Saturday was the Team's big, long run. I cruised the fine canal system of Phoenix for 11.5 miles. I'm poky, but tenacious. Slogging along, I go. I just might set some sort of record for slowest run. Hey, a girl's gotta have dreams and goals. :) Eleven and a half miles is 1.6 miles from the full effort. Show the love!
I have 9 days to raise $974 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. The pressure is in the on position. I need all the support I can get from friends and family. If you have not donated yet, please do so soon. What ever you can spare, it goes to a fantastic cause: Saving lives.
I have 25 days until the Nike Women's (half) Marathon! Last Saturday was the Team's big, long run. I cruised the fine canal system of Phoenix for 11.5 miles. I'm poky, but tenacious. Slogging along, I go. I just might set some sort of record for slowest run. Hey, a girl's gotta have dreams and goals. :) Eleven and a half miles is 1.6 miles from the full effort. Show the love!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Hello? Is this thing on?
I am out here somewhere. The world has been so upside down and inside out for so long I have had a time getting back on balance. Enough of the metaphors...
I seriously have the best boyfriend! My birthday was weeks away and he gave me my present early. He felt it would benefit me more the sooner I had it. A Garmin Forerunner! I love it. I took it to South Mountain for an 8 mile run last Saturday. The first 4 miles were pretty good. It was somewhere in mile 5 I hit the wall. Well, more like the road, but not literally. Here's the story of great sadness. Not really, but that makes it sound more dramatic and Oscar worthy than admitting, "I am a klutz."
Bear in mind, my last "8 mile" run was a complete bust. You know those shin splints I have had? Well, in the first mile I was in so much pain, I wanted to turn around and go back to bed. I ended my "8 mile" run with 5 miles and trying not to puke my guts out. And walking slower than a turtle. So, this next 8 mile run: I had a score to settle. Oh, I was doing the 8. Alas, it was a bit rougher than working the canal at the Biltmore. My fundraising/training buddy, Luz, and I hit San Juan Road at 5am, me donning a headlamp to keep us from becoming grease spots. Good start. Great middle. The end was a piece of crap. Around mile 5 the knots that attack my feet hit the left foot. I started favoring it. Pulled my sciatica on the right. (Holding on to my right bum cheek was incredibly attractive.) Favoring my right made my left knee go all kooky. I stepped off the asphalt on the right and bent my ankle the incorrect way. By now, I am somewhere in mile 6 and hobbling back to my car. Pathetic. And this wasn't the run that made me cry. (That was a few weeks ago. Different story.) I did the 8 miles. Yes, I did. Now, I have another score to settle: 8 miles and NO injuring myself. What a graceful little swan I have become. Ugh.
On another good note: I have dealt with my shin splint problem. I was wearing my usual summer shoes, mostly non-supportive, in my off time. I started wearing better supporting shoes and viola! No shin pain. Genius, I know.
And on a totally rocking note: I ran a 13:15 mile last Tuesday! My best yet. Wheezing and everything. At this rate I will be throwing down some serious miles at speed. Ha! Let's just hope I don't get all distracted in SFO and forget what I am doing there. No stopping to sniff the sourdough baking at Boudin.
I look forward to the half-marathon this year. The course is awesome. The hills are all or nothing. Straight up.
If you haven't donated yet, please do so soon. In honor of my 35th birthday, which is next week (hint, hint) donate $35 to LLS in my honor. Don't forget my fundraiser party this Saturday at Flicka's in Scottsdale. It will be awesome! I hope to see you there!
I seriously have the best boyfriend! My birthday was weeks away and he gave me my present early. He felt it would benefit me more the sooner I had it. A Garmin Forerunner! I love it. I took it to South Mountain for an 8 mile run last Saturday. The first 4 miles were pretty good. It was somewhere in mile 5 I hit the wall. Well, more like the road, but not literally. Here's the story of great sadness. Not really, but that makes it sound more dramatic and Oscar worthy than admitting, "I am a klutz."
Bear in mind, my last "8 mile" run was a complete bust. You know those shin splints I have had? Well, in the first mile I was in so much pain, I wanted to turn around and go back to bed. I ended my "8 mile" run with 5 miles and trying not to puke my guts out. And walking slower than a turtle. So, this next 8 mile run: I had a score to settle. Oh, I was doing the 8. Alas, it was a bit rougher than working the canal at the Biltmore. My fundraising/training buddy, Luz, and I hit San Juan Road at 5am, me donning a headlamp to keep us from becoming grease spots. Good start. Great middle. The end was a piece of crap. Around mile 5 the knots that attack my feet hit the left foot. I started favoring it. Pulled my sciatica on the right. (Holding on to my right bum cheek was incredibly attractive.) Favoring my right made my left knee go all kooky. I stepped off the asphalt on the right and bent my ankle the incorrect way. By now, I am somewhere in mile 6 and hobbling back to my car. Pathetic. And this wasn't the run that made me cry. (That was a few weeks ago. Different story.) I did the 8 miles. Yes, I did. Now, I have another score to settle: 8 miles and NO injuring myself. What a graceful little swan I have become. Ugh.
On another good note: I have dealt with my shin splint problem. I was wearing my usual summer shoes, mostly non-supportive, in my off time. I started wearing better supporting shoes and viola! No shin pain. Genius, I know.
And on a totally rocking note: I ran a 13:15 mile last Tuesday! My best yet. Wheezing and everything. At this rate I will be throwing down some serious miles at speed. Ha! Let's just hope I don't get all distracted in SFO and forget what I am doing there. No stopping to sniff the sourdough baking at Boudin.
I look forward to the half-marathon this year. The course is awesome. The hills are all or nothing. Straight up.
If you haven't donated yet, please do so soon. In honor of my 35th birthday, which is next week (hint, hint) donate $35 to LLS in my honor. Don't forget my fundraiser party this Saturday at Flicka's in Scottsdale. It will be awesome! I hope to see you there!
Thursday, August 7, 2008
It's been a month. Where have I been?
It has been up and down for us. My step-dad, Jim has been in hospice since mid-March. He was moved into home hospice 9 weeks ago. The vast majority of his care has fallen into my mom's hands. She gets reprieve for about 8 hours a week and that's over 2 days. I have been traveling back and forth to Tucson almost every week. For sure being in Tucson every other week. Last week, I spent the entire thing in Tucson helping Mom.
Dad went into a hospice facility for five days, giving Mom a break. It has been very hard. Dad is on oxygen 24/7, has lost a lot weight, takes more pills than I do (!?!?), and cannot get out of bed. It takes two of us to put him into his electric wheelchair, that gives him a little more "mobility". Mom was planning to retire from teaching (40 years) at the end of this school year. She will be at home caring for him, until he makes his final journey. I will continue to be at her side and his until that time comes.
This was the only photograph taken of us as a family. It was taken in 1990. No wise cracks about my hair. :)
Dad went into a hospice facility for five days, giving Mom a break. It has been very hard. Dad is on oxygen 24/7, has lost a lot weight, takes more pills than I do (!?!?), and cannot get out of bed. It takes two of us to put him into his electric wheelchair, that gives him a little more "mobility". Mom was planning to retire from teaching (40 years) at the end of this school year. She will be at home caring for him, until he makes his final journey. I will continue to be at her side and his until that time comes.
This was the only photograph taken of us as a family. It was taken in 1990. No wise cracks about my hair. :)
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
On the Road Again, Feeling Good
It has been a couple weeks since I posted about my health. It has been a stressful time, but I am here to say, "I am on the mend!" After two tests, a liquid diet, and mounds of pain, we have a diagnosis and a plan. My Crohn's Disease is in the clear, where it had been active for so many years. it moved to another part of my small intestine, where it has taken up residence. I will continue receiving my Remicade infusions every 8 weeks with the addition of the dreaded, doubled edged sword of Prednisone. The Pred will help get the inflammation under control, so the Remicade can do its job.
I hate, yes H-A-T-E taking Pred. I know it is helping me get back on track belly-bone wise, but the side affects are inconvenient to downright evil. I am shaky, agitated, suseptable to violent mood swings (road rage while vacuuming to crying in the fetal position for no reason), feeling invincible or invisible, hot, blurred vision, monster headaches, sleep deprivation and these are some of the minor ones. I was on it for 5 years, causing 30% bone loss and my teeth to start falling out of my head. I may be putting my dentist's kids through graduate school with all the work that needs to be done in my maw. But, hey! I am on the mend! And that is what counts.
I have been so down, because I have not been training for the half marathon. I trained for all of 7 miles over 2 months. The heat is a real killer and this year has been worse. The other killer was living on primarily Ensure. I have been intaking 1000 calories a day of liquid and that is barely enough to get me though the work day. Eating solid food has been painful. I would try and then suffer the consequences of having a little bowl of noodles. So, I had to give it up. I would need to take my other meds to keep the pain, spasms and vomiting under control. Those pills make me stupid and fall asleep. It has been depressing.
Yesterday was my first really good day in weeks, maybe months. I felt good after my morning Tylenol (headaches from Pred every morning). Paul and I headed to the gym for my first workout in forever. I spent 45 minutes on the recumbent bike and 20 minutes on the eliptical (my first time on that thing). And I lived! Here I am a day later and still alive! I ate real food for lunch and had no pain. I had my infusion in the afternoon, no reaction. I had a real dinner, but a minor bit of pain. It wasn't enough pain to need my other pills. A good day all around. I feel like I am on the road back.
I have a lot of catching up to do in my training, but I can and will do it. I think the best training I could have ever had for doing a half marathon is working retail for 15+ years. All those years on concrete in flats to 4 inch heels to sturdy sneakers for 8-10-12 hour days was to my advantage, when training for a 13.1 mile walk through one of America's most beautiful cities. That "walk" was only 3 and some hours long. I could have kept going... Oh, wait~ I did. We walked everywhere after the big event. I even climbed up and down Alcatraz. So, yeah~ I can do it!
But, this year I want to put some speed in my stride. I still plan to run a good portion of that sucker. No, I don't want to tone it back and do what I can. I want to beat my time last year and kick some blood cancer booty. This event and fundraising are far to important to have my "tummy ache" get in the way. Patients don't die from Crohn's, we might feel death marmed over at times, but we are lucky. Patients with leukemia, lymphoma and all blood cancers are at enormous risk of death. While this body of mine can shake it, make it and break it: I will do this half marathon for the patients, for the families for the doctors, for the researchers until my services are no longer needed.
I hate, yes H-A-T-E taking Pred. I know it is helping me get back on track belly-bone wise, but the side affects are inconvenient to downright evil. I am shaky, agitated, suseptable to violent mood swings (road rage while vacuuming to crying in the fetal position for no reason), feeling invincible or invisible, hot, blurred vision, monster headaches, sleep deprivation and these are some of the minor ones. I was on it for 5 years, causing 30% bone loss and my teeth to start falling out of my head. I may be putting my dentist's kids through graduate school with all the work that needs to be done in my maw. But, hey! I am on the mend! And that is what counts.
I have been so down, because I have not been training for the half marathon. I trained for all of 7 miles over 2 months. The heat is a real killer and this year has been worse. The other killer was living on primarily Ensure. I have been intaking 1000 calories a day of liquid and that is barely enough to get me though the work day. Eating solid food has been painful. I would try and then suffer the consequences of having a little bowl of noodles. So, I had to give it up. I would need to take my other meds to keep the pain, spasms and vomiting under control. Those pills make me stupid and fall asleep. It has been depressing.
Yesterday was my first really good day in weeks, maybe months. I felt good after my morning Tylenol (headaches from Pred every morning). Paul and I headed to the gym for my first workout in forever. I spent 45 minutes on the recumbent bike and 20 minutes on the eliptical (my first time on that thing). And I lived! Here I am a day later and still alive! I ate real food for lunch and had no pain. I had my infusion in the afternoon, no reaction. I had a real dinner, but a minor bit of pain. It wasn't enough pain to need my other pills. A good day all around. I feel like I am on the road back.
I have a lot of catching up to do in my training, but I can and will do it. I think the best training I could have ever had for doing a half marathon is working retail for 15+ years. All those years on concrete in flats to 4 inch heels to sturdy sneakers for 8-10-12 hour days was to my advantage, when training for a 13.1 mile walk through one of America's most beautiful cities. That "walk" was only 3 and some hours long. I could have kept going... Oh, wait~ I did. We walked everywhere after the big event. I even climbed up and down Alcatraz. So, yeah~ I can do it!
But, this year I want to put some speed in my stride. I still plan to run a good portion of that sucker. No, I don't want to tone it back and do what I can. I want to beat my time last year and kick some blood cancer booty. This event and fundraising are far to important to have my "tummy ache" get in the way. Patients don't die from Crohn's, we might feel death marmed over at times, but we are lucky. Patients with leukemia, lymphoma and all blood cancers are at enormous risk of death. While this body of mine can shake it, make it and break it: I will do this half marathon for the patients, for the families for the doctors, for the researchers until my services are no longer needed.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Giving Thanks
Thank you to everyone who has donated to my LLS fundraiser. Thanks to those of you who have already donated, we are off to a great start. We have $920 in coffers.
To those who have not yet donated: My goal is to meet and beat last year's total raised: $4761. That leaves $3841 to go. I know with everyone's love and support, I can make it.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
To those who have not yet donated: My goal is to meet and beat last year's total raised: $4761. That leaves $3841 to go. I know with everyone's love and support, I can make it.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Two for Two
I keep having the adventures in Tucson. Actually, I have been there a couple of times in the last 2 weeks and I have saved lives. Yes! I did.
Two weeks ago, I was on my training route with my faithful dogger, Bridgette. We hadn’t even made it to the end of the block, when we heard snuffling in the bushes. Of course I had to investigate. (My Mom’s hood is up against the beautiful Catalina Mountains on the north side of Tucson. We can have all kinds of wildlife roaming the streets: deer, bobcats, javalinas, bunnies, Gila monsters, quail, etc.) This day it was a beagle! Not usually indigenous to the area, but quite adaptable to the climate. Bridgette bee-lined it to her. I promise I am not making this up, I watched Bridge show her the way back to the house and told her we had food and water. Because that’s what she did. She went straight into the garage. She went straight for the water and Bridge’s kibble. She wore a Humane Society tag, so I was able to locate her family promptly and return her to her home.
I rescued Honey, the beagle.
Then, yesterday, I was in Mom's bathroom, feeling ill, when I heard scratching from the ceiling, bathroom vent. My quest to save animals kicked in and left my bellyache and fear of heights in the dust. I donned my sneakers, grabbed the ladder, trucked the ladder to the side of the house, and climbed said ladder to the roof to find I would not be able complete my rescue mission from the above. I descended, returned the ladder, grabbed a Phillip's head screwdriver and ascended to the top of the toity. I unscrewed the cover and fan to find a perfectly preserved lizard. Impressed with my discovery and depressed that I could not reach the critter inside, because of a metal case, I shared the lizard mummy with Mom. That lizard will be on display in her classroom next year. A little while later, Mom and I were at the back of the house and I was walking out of her bedroom, when I spied a fully operational and alive lizard hanging out in the carpet at the foot of her bed! It was a team effort to catch him/her. Mom and I caught him, shared him with Dad and his home health care aide...
...and I set the lizard free.
It was very exciting. Who knows what creature I will save next time! Octopus? Moose? Penguin? There's just no telling. Clearly, I have a calling to save animals.
Two weeks ago, I was on my training route with my faithful dogger, Bridgette. We hadn’t even made it to the end of the block, when we heard snuffling in the bushes. Of course I had to investigate. (My Mom’s hood is up against the beautiful Catalina Mountains on the north side of Tucson. We can have all kinds of wildlife roaming the streets: deer, bobcats, javalinas, bunnies, Gila monsters, quail, etc.) This day it was a beagle! Not usually indigenous to the area, but quite adaptable to the climate. Bridgette bee-lined it to her. I promise I am not making this up, I watched Bridge show her the way back to the house and told her we had food and water. Because that’s what she did. She went straight into the garage. She went straight for the water and Bridge’s kibble. She wore a Humane Society tag, so I was able to locate her family promptly and return her to her home.
I rescued Honey, the beagle.
Then, yesterday, I was in Mom's bathroom, feeling ill, when I heard scratching from the ceiling, bathroom vent. My quest to save animals kicked in and left my bellyache and fear of heights in the dust. I donned my sneakers, grabbed the ladder, trucked the ladder to the side of the house, and climbed said ladder to the roof to find I would not be able complete my rescue mission from the above. I descended, returned the ladder, grabbed a Phillip's head screwdriver and ascended to the top of the toity. I unscrewed the cover and fan to find a perfectly preserved lizard. Impressed with my discovery and depressed that I could not reach the critter inside, because of a metal case, I shared the lizard mummy with Mom. That lizard will be on display in her classroom next year. A little while later, Mom and I were at the back of the house and I was walking out of her bedroom, when I spied a fully operational and alive lizard hanging out in the carpet at the foot of her bed! It was a team effort to catch him/her. Mom and I caught him, shared him with Dad and his home health care aide...
...and I set the lizard free.
It was very exciting. Who knows what creature I will save next time! Octopus? Moose? Penguin? There's just no telling. Clearly, I have a calling to save animals.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
AZ Voters Unite!
Update:
Please Call Your Senator Now on Animal Protection Bill
We have just learned that a bill in the Arizona Legislature that will enable counties to deny kennel permits to people who have been convicted of animal cruelty will be voted on by the entire Senate tomorrow. The following amendment was added to an unrelated bill:
The county shall deny a kennel permit to any person who has been convicted of a violation of section 13-2910 or 13-2910.01 or any other state, county or municipal animal welfare law, except violations of license and leash laws.
WHAT YOU CAN DO
Please contact your senator by tomorrow morning and ask him or her to Vote YES on HB 2701, county graffiti abatement; procedures. Let your senator that you support denying kennel permits to persons convicted of animal cruelty. Be sure to mention that you are a constituent in his or her district.
Senate contact information is at http://www.azleg.gov/MemberRoster.asp?Body=S . All Senators can also be reached toll-free at 1-800-352-8404.
ADLA Legislative Update – June 23, 2008
HB 2701 Passes the Senate Unanimously
Thanks for all your calls to your legislators! HB 2701, which enables counties to deny kennel permits to people who have been convicted of animal cruelty passed the AZ Senate unanimously today.
Please Call Your Senator Now on Animal Protection Bill
We have just learned that a bill in the Arizona Legislature that will enable counties to deny kennel permits to people who have been convicted of animal cruelty will be voted on by the entire Senate tomorrow. The following amendment was added to an unrelated bill:
The county shall deny a kennel permit to any person who has been convicted of a violation of section 13-2910 or 13-2910.01 or any other state, county or municipal animal welfare law, except violations of license and leash laws.
WHAT YOU CAN DO
Please contact your senator by tomorrow morning and ask him or her to Vote YES on HB 2701, county graffiti abatement; procedures. Let your senator that you support denying kennel permits to persons convicted of animal cruelty. Be sure to mention that you are a constituent in his or her district.
Senate contact information is at http://www.azleg.gov/MemberRoster.asp?Body=S . All Senators can also be reached toll-free at 1-800-352-8404.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Colonoscopy According to Dave Barry
In a solid effort to share with you, my fabulous readers, a trip to Erica Town. A friend sent me this...
...I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, ``HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!''I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called ''MoviPrep,'' which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.
I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind -- like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, ''a loose watery bowel movement may result.'' This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.
MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.
After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, ''What if I spurt on Andy?'' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the hell the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was Dancing Queen by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, Dancing Queen has to be the least appropriate.
''You want me to turn it up?'' said Andy, from somewhere behind me.
''Ha ha,'' I said.
And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.
I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, Abba was shrieking ``Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from the tambourine . . .''
. . . and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.
But my point is this: In addition to being a pathetic medical weenie, I was a complete moron. For more than a decade I avoided getting a procedure that was, essentially, nothing. There was no pain and, except for the MoviPrep, no discomfort. I was risking my life for nothing.
I think that pretty much tells the average bear what to expect. My prep was something called CoLyte, pineapple flavor. Ya, right... Pineapple. My gastro thankfully did not play any ABBA, before I went out. My doctor is a real hipster. He came walking in the room, wearing all black, toting his iPod, and taking requests. Groovy, Baby.
Next test is on the 25th and it is my Lex Luthor of tests: the dreaded Small Bowel Follow Through. Sadly, it is not a test for which one is anesthesitised. Ick.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Just around the bend
The good news it: No sign of Crohn's in my colon. A couple items were removed for biopsy. I'll hear back on those later. The not as good news (this does not equal bad news): I have some extra bends and twists in my colon. They may be caused from scar tissue from previous surgery or (this cracks me up) I'm just made this way. {Several years ago I had a small bowel follow-through* to have pretty much the same information. The doctor then said one of the loops in my small intestine twisted in the opposite direction of normal people. Great. Am I twisted or not normal.?} No matter how it comes to pass, it explains why I have pain where I do and the chronic constipation issue. If it gets bad enough, there is surgery to fix it. Alas, surgery causes more scar tissue. What to do. What to do. No matter what, I am one of the lucky ones.
Time for a shout out to a real HERO! Can I get a "Woot-Woot"?
This afternoon, I donned my Got Guts cap and ate my first solid food with Paul at Wildflower Bread Company. I was approached by a mom and her two daughters (I will call them My Wildflower Girls). Mom's youngest daughter has colitis and later this week is having another surgery. This little Wildflower wore a big smile and seemed to take it in stride. She is tough and ready to take on whatever comes. That is awesome. At such a young age to be dealt a pretty rough deck, she has a battle. But she has strength and a family who loves her very much. This Wildflower Girl is a hero.
We all have to deal with what life brings us. You make your choice. Is this going to beat you down, kick you to the curb and let it take your milk money? Feel sorry for yourself? I say, "No." Simple. To the point. NO. Yes, the bad can get to you, but for the love of chocolate, KEEP YOUR MILK MONEY! Feeling down is a step we must go through. Nowhere in the steps does it say: stay down and drag everyone down with you. You are permitted to have 24 hours of "mourning" and them you get up and start the fight. (Thank you, Judith for those words of wisdom.) When your 24 hours are done, you make your game plan. Right now my game plan consists of NOT waiting on pins and needles for the results of my biopsies. I have stuff to do: my life to live, love and be thankful for my man, my family and friends, my cats and dog. I'll get to the dishes and laundry later.
*Small bowel follow through is a kind of set of x-rays. The patient has the pure joy of drinking this noxious, thick liquid (no matter what they tell you, tastes like chalk mixed in wet cement, not strawberry). As this sludge moves through your digestive tract, x-rays are taken tracking the flow. Now, the most important thing is to DRINK DRINK DRINK post procedure. As in have a super-duper big gulp of water with you waiting to be consumed. If you don't that wet cement gets hard in your guts and getting rid of takes an act of congress. When I was in my heyday of diagnosis, I couldn't eat let alone drink without throwing up. I had a SBFT one morning and was in the hospital by the afternoon getting intravenous fluids. I was in so much pain, you would have thought an exorcism was being performed. I punctured the gurney mattress with my talons. Yeah, it hurt a touch. It made appendicitis look like a little gas after having too much curry.
Time for a shout out to a real HERO! Can I get a "Woot-Woot"?
This afternoon, I donned my Got Guts cap and ate my first solid food with Paul at Wildflower Bread Company. I was approached by a mom and her two daughters (I will call them My Wildflower Girls). Mom's youngest daughter has colitis and later this week is having another surgery. This little Wildflower wore a big smile and seemed to take it in stride. She is tough and ready to take on whatever comes. That is awesome. At such a young age to be dealt a pretty rough deck, she has a battle. But she has strength and a family who loves her very much. This Wildflower Girl is a hero.
We all have to deal with what life brings us. You make your choice. Is this going to beat you down, kick you to the curb and let it take your milk money? Feel sorry for yourself? I say, "No." Simple. To the point. NO. Yes, the bad can get to you, but for the love of chocolate, KEEP YOUR MILK MONEY! Feeling down is a step we must go through. Nowhere in the steps does it say: stay down and drag everyone down with you. You are permitted to have 24 hours of "mourning" and them you get up and start the fight. (Thank you, Judith for those words of wisdom.) When your 24 hours are done, you make your game plan. Right now my game plan consists of NOT waiting on pins and needles for the results of my biopsies. I have stuff to do: my life to live, love and be thankful for my man, my family and friends, my cats and dog. I'll get to the dishes and laundry later.
*Small bowel follow through is a kind of set of x-rays. The patient has the pure joy of drinking this noxious, thick liquid (no matter what they tell you, tastes like chalk mixed in wet cement, not strawberry). As this sludge moves through your digestive tract, x-rays are taken tracking the flow. Now, the most important thing is to DRINK DRINK DRINK post procedure. As in have a super-duper big gulp of water with you waiting to be consumed. If you don't that wet cement gets hard in your guts and getting rid of takes an act of congress. When I was in my heyday of diagnosis, I couldn't eat let alone drink without throwing up. I had a SBFT one morning and was in the hospital by the afternoon getting intravenous fluids. I was in so much pain, you would have thought an exorcism was being performed. I punctured the gurney mattress with my talons. Yeah, it hurt a touch. It made appendicitis look like a little gas after having too much curry.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Giving Crohn's a punch in the gut
Addendum 06.03.08: Our new total is $725! Thank you, Susy!Yesterday was a beautiful day to take a walk in Tucson with Mom, Laurie and Monica. It was in honor and support of my guts and butt. Paul, our official Athletic Support, was on the sidelines shooting pictures. All in all my little unofficial team raised $700!
Thank you to my donors:
Mom, who was also a fellow team mate and fundraiser
Vicki
Golondrina
Heather
Scott
Ed
Elaine
Candy
Russ
Helga (who donated to Laurie and Monica on my behalf)
And one anonymous family donor, you know who you are, thank you.
You folks are fabulous!
It was only a 2-mile walk, but everyone broke a sweat. It was 97 and clear skies; absolutely gorgeous. This was a “Noise Making” event. We made tons of it: tooting horns, cheering, maracas and barking dogs. We even got the attention of a passing moving truck, which honked on our behalf down River Road. Since I have been nicknamed The Princess for years (Why? Don’t know!), I donned my court in crowns. Two crowns were mine and Monica’s 3year-old daughter, Katie, begrudgingly donated other two. Thank you, Katie.
The event was small, but very personal. It raised over $31,000. There was even a “doctor” offering free colonoscopies. He was a hoot. He had this rig strapped to his chest that looked like a vacuum hose and some kind of screen.
After our walk around Brandi Fenton Memorial Park we bee-lined it back to Mom’s house, where Paul treated these endurance athletes to a victory dinner of Magpie’s Pizza. So good
!Next year I will form an official team. I already have requests to join the silliness and fun. As a matter of fact, I just might need to do a Phoenix team and a Tucson team!
Thank you to everyone who donated, walked, raised funds, and supported Take Steps for Crohn’s and Colitis.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Game Face
This evening is the Take Steps for Crohn’s and Colitis 2-miler. Thanks to my awesome family and friends I made my fundraising goal and blew right past that sucker, too! I will post what our little, unofficial team raises after the event. We girls are going to have a mess of fun. Laurie, Monica and Mom are too cool for taking steps for my guts and butt. Our official athletic supporter, Paul will be on the sidelines cheering for us.
Gross Out Alert: Crohn’s Disease is an insidious, painful and down right gross at times funfest. For those weak of stomach and those who do not take a shine to the icky talk: skip the next entry. To those who know what I am talking about or are curious as to what its like to be this part of me read on:
Here’s the gross: Speaking of my insides, we are on the outs. The chronic constipation, due to a stricture in my small intestine, has caused me years of misery and trouble. A stricture is a narrowing of the intestinal lining making it very difficult to process food through the tract. I don’t receive the proper nutrients from my foods or vitamins. I am constantly dehydrated, to the point of kidney stones and ER visits for a couple of ringers. Knock on wood; I have not been hospitalized for fluids in over a year. Knock-knock. For weeks now, I have had most of my pain in the left side, the sigmoid colon. Plus: spasms that would make Chuck Norris cry and these spasms aren’t as bad as they can get. At the GI doc this week I was ordered to intake 4, yes~ 4 times the normal, human dosage of Miralax every night and 2 Citrucel after meals. As an extra added bonus: a colonoscopy next Tuesday. I get one of those buggers every 3 years. It is my time. The doctor is going to have a look around to make sure everything is where he left it.
It’s safe now; the gross is over. For those who skipped: I have a colonoscopy on Tuesday.
I will share my results of the scope next week.
Game on! Let’s walk the walk and walk this way!
Gross Out Alert: Crohn’s Disease is an insidious, painful and down right gross at times funfest. For those weak of stomach and those who do not take a shine to the icky talk: skip the next entry. To those who know what I am talking about or are curious as to what its like to be this part of me read on:
Here’s the gross: Speaking of my insides, we are on the outs. The chronic constipation, due to a stricture in my small intestine, has caused me years of misery and trouble. A stricture is a narrowing of the intestinal lining making it very difficult to process food through the tract. I don’t receive the proper nutrients from my foods or vitamins. I am constantly dehydrated, to the point of kidney stones and ER visits for a couple of ringers. Knock on wood; I have not been hospitalized for fluids in over a year. Knock-knock. For weeks now, I have had most of my pain in the left side, the sigmoid colon. Plus: spasms that would make Chuck Norris cry and these spasms aren’t as bad as they can get. At the GI doc this week I was ordered to intake 4, yes~ 4 times the normal, human dosage of Miralax every night and 2 Citrucel after meals. As an extra added bonus: a colonoscopy next Tuesday. I get one of those buggers every 3 years. It is my time. The doctor is going to have a look around to make sure everything is where he left it.
It’s safe now; the gross is over. For those who skipped: I have a colonoscopy on Tuesday.
I will share my results of the scope next week.
Game on! Let’s walk the walk and walk this way!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Fight! Fight! Fight!
It has been almost 12 weeks since I started feeling like poo. My Crohn's is still giving me a run for my money. Nothing like it did in '95 and '96 or like when my sick gallbladder and appendix went sour in '01. I have already lost 10 lbs this time 'round. Its the diet of champions! Feel like crap and lose weight! Be too miserable to wear skinny jeans, because they hurt! Why has this diet not caught on? I ask you. So, it is time for lemonade!
Not that I am going to consume lemonade, that might be a bad scene for my belly bone. I mean the whole lemons to lemonade thing. I will not give up, even though I feel awful. I am keeping my sense of humor, even if I have become something of a hermit. Yes, there are days when I assume the "question mark" position and spasms are worse than any menstrual cramp ever conceived. When the smell of my favorite foods and beverages send me running to the bathroom. It can be down right depressing. Do you know when I had my last cup of coffee? I don't even know! Even the smell of those beautiful, dark roasted beans grinding and pressing through our espresso machine makes me nauseous. So sad. OK, moving on to sunnier thoughts...
I will not give up my fight. I think back to last year's half-marathon training in the fabulous, AZ heat at 5am and how much my health improved. Over the course of the year I was able to widen the gap between Remicade infusions from 6 weeks to 8 weeks to 10 weeks. (My current episode has nothing to do with the frequency of infusions. Stress is the culprit.)
I got involved with TnT/LLS to "give back" for all the support they have provided for patients and families with blood cancers. My father may have lost his fight; but in the 28 years since, HUGE strides have been made. I am pushing myself harder this year and run/walking, not walk/running. That is a part of my bonus to myself: improved well-being and keeping my CD in its corner, where it belongs. I missed the first Team run this morning, due to my "stress factor". This year I am losing my step-dad. He has been in hospice since March 27th.
He is my major stress, it has been long journey for him. I am with him as much as I can be. I am supporting Mom as much as I can. They are 100 miles away and I make that drive almost every week. I hate seeing him this way. He is clear of mind, but his body has had enough. This year is going to be difficult, I know it. I am prepared for it. I acknowledge and embrace it. He is not dying from a blood cancer, but I am losing the man who has been my dad for 25 years. Many emotions are churned, demons are fought and tears are cried.
This year I run for life, life for all.
I dedicate this marathon to Jim, my dad.
I run in memory of Wayne, my daddy.
I run in honor of Alice, my friend and survivor.
Not that I am going to consume lemonade, that might be a bad scene for my belly bone. I mean the whole lemons to lemonade thing. I will not give up, even though I feel awful. I am keeping my sense of humor, even if I have become something of a hermit. Yes, there are days when I assume the "question mark" position and spasms are worse than any menstrual cramp ever conceived. When the smell of my favorite foods and beverages send me running to the bathroom. It can be down right depressing. Do you know when I had my last cup of coffee? I don't even know! Even the smell of those beautiful, dark roasted beans grinding and pressing through our espresso machine makes me nauseous. So sad. OK, moving on to sunnier thoughts...
I will not give up my fight. I think back to last year's half-marathon training in the fabulous, AZ heat at 5am and how much my health improved. Over the course of the year I was able to widen the gap between Remicade infusions from 6 weeks to 8 weeks to 10 weeks. (My current episode has nothing to do with the frequency of infusions. Stress is the culprit.)
I got involved with TnT/LLS to "give back" for all the support they have provided for patients and families with blood cancers. My father may have lost his fight; but in the 28 years since, HUGE strides have been made. I am pushing myself harder this year and run/walking, not walk/running. That is a part of my bonus to myself: improved well-being and keeping my CD in its corner, where it belongs. I missed the first Team run this morning, due to my "stress factor". This year I am losing my step-dad. He has been in hospice since March 27th.
He is my major stress, it has been long journey for him. I am with him as much as I can be. I am supporting Mom as much as I can. They are 100 miles away and I make that drive almost every week. I hate seeing him this way. He is clear of mind, but his body has had enough. This year is going to be difficult, I know it. I am prepared for it. I acknowledge and embrace it. He is not dying from a blood cancer, but I am losing the man who has been my dad for 25 years. Many emotions are churned, demons are fought and tears are cried.
This year I run for life, life for all.
I dedicate this marathon to Jim, my dad.
I run in memory of Wayne, my daddy.
I run in honor of Alice, my friend and survivor.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Cheetah Run from Saturday, April 26, 2008
For most of the participants it was a run. I on the other hand did the Asthma-Attack for the Cheetah or the Hork Up a Lung for the Cheetah, two of the lesser known events, but always favorites. I felt like such a rock star after Nike. Today, not so much, but its ok. This was my kick off to summer training! "So, you feel like crap today, eh? Just you wait!" was something of my mantra today.
Thanks to my love of animals, I was not going to bow out of today's spatz around Papago Park at seven something this morning. It was encouraging parking my car next to a few IronMan competitors. (It reminded me of my friend, Elaine, who just completed IronMan for the first time this year and I quote, "Ironman sucks." As she crossed the finish line! But she made it all day swimming and cycling and running.) I was not going to sleep through the Run for the Cheetah, an itty-bitty-kitty 5K. It was a beautiful morning (minus the crap air) for a jog-walk-jog. I have no idea as to my time, I left before it was posted. And that was never that important. First, it was the cause. Second, I was getting out again. I bet I'll be feeling it tomorrow…
Thanks to my love of animals, I was not going to bow out of today's spatz around Papago Park at seven something this morning. It was encouraging parking my car next to a few IronMan competitors. (It reminded me of my friend, Elaine, who just completed IronMan for the first time this year and I quote, "Ironman sucks." As she crossed the finish line! But she made it all day swimming and cycling and running.) I was not going to sleep through the Run for the Cheetah, an itty-bitty-kitty 5K. It was a beautiful morning (minus the crap air) for a jog-walk-jog. I have no idea as to my time, I left before it was posted. And that was never that important. First, it was the cause. Second, I was getting out again. I bet I'll be feeling it tomorrow…
Crohn's Update from Sunday, April 27, 2008
Not to use this as an excuse for being anti-social, but I have been sick for the last 3 weeks: a cold aggravated by allergies that kicked a Crohn's episode into high gear. Over the last 2 weeks, I have been in the bathroom a lot. Most of my time was spent in and out of there with generally a positive attitude. "This will pass in a few days." "You have been under a crap load of stress for months, more so in the last month. Blah, blah, blah." Whatever it took to keep from falling in and down the nasty self-pity spiral. I figure my immune system has taken a few extra punches in the last few weeks, but I will not take it lying down! Or curled in the fetal position on the bathroom floor. OK, while I was on the clear liquid diet, fighting a fever and internal bleeding again! (Fun!) I did lay low. It's not fun.
Paul is there making me veggie broth and plain noodles, making those famous midnight runs for 7Up and crackers and comforting me as much as he can. Sometimes the spasms get so bad they leave me wracked with pain. Even the slightest, most loving touch can cause excruciating pain. It makes loved ones often feel helpless, just watching and waiting. How many times have I awakened to Paul or Mom lurking, watching me sleep? They crack me up.
As anyone who has known me through the thick and the thin (97 lbs!!), I'll puke anywhere. I won't bother to slow down or pull over anymore. Just reach into the glove box for one of my pilfered airplane barf bags… OK, that may have been more than most can handle. (But those of you who have been at my side though the nastiness of CD, I thank you!) Moving on…
This time around I refused to go to the hospital. I don't see why I need to take up valuable space, when all they can do for me is drug and monitor me. Well, there are those vampire lab techs coming to steal my blood every 6 hours… Yeah, I'll pass on that. I have all the same medications at home, my own pillow and blanky, too.
Next month I am doing the 2 mile Take Steps for Crohn's and Colitis charity walk. I chuckle every time I think we, Crohn's patients, can't go more than 2 miles without a bathroom. I will not be going it alone on the Crohn's walk, either. My friend of 25 years, Laurie, is strutting her stuff with me. Mom is also joining in on the fun. Hell, we might even take the dogs. This fundraiser is small, like the walk. I have promised to raise $250, $130 over the national average. I can do it with the help, support and love of my friends and family.
Paul is there making me veggie broth and plain noodles, making those famous midnight runs for 7Up and crackers and comforting me as much as he can. Sometimes the spasms get so bad they leave me wracked with pain. Even the slightest, most loving touch can cause excruciating pain. It makes loved ones often feel helpless, just watching and waiting. How many times have I awakened to Paul or Mom lurking, watching me sleep? They crack me up.
As anyone who has known me through the thick and the thin (97 lbs!!), I'll puke anywhere. I won't bother to slow down or pull over anymore. Just reach into the glove box for one of my pilfered airplane barf bags… OK, that may have been more than most can handle. (But those of you who have been at my side though the nastiness of CD, I thank you!) Moving on…
This time around I refused to go to the hospital. I don't see why I need to take up valuable space, when all they can do for me is drug and monitor me. Well, there are those vampire lab techs coming to steal my blood every 6 hours… Yeah, I'll pass on that. I have all the same medications at home, my own pillow and blanky, too.
Next month I am doing the 2 mile Take Steps for Crohn's and Colitis charity walk. I chuckle every time I think we, Crohn's patients, can't go more than 2 miles without a bathroom. I will not be going it alone on the Crohn's walk, either. My friend of 25 years, Laurie, is strutting her stuff with me. Mom is also joining in on the fun. Hell, we might even take the dogs. This fundraiser is small, like the walk. I have promised to raise $250, $130 over the national average. I can do it with the help, support and love of my friends and family.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Welcome to my story time!
The year 2008 marks my second year with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training and the Nike Women's Marathon. I ran, but mostly walked in 2007. This year, I am running it! I cannot wait to blaze that trail.
This is my story...
This is my story...
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