June 11, 2008
Leave My Nodes Out of It
I'm not a secret-keeper. My life is with its up and downs is mostly an open-book. But, I must confess that I have been not so forthcoming with the behind the scenes look at my life as of late. I've spent the last 6 weeks plagued with an odd-assortment of symptoms - relentless fatigue being the biggest. So after some crafty dodging of isolated symptoms with just-plausible rational, I finally had to pick up the phone and call my oncologist. In a style that would make Freud proud, I did so the day before I left for Michigan to do the Wine, Women and Wheels event. I knew, and was even willing to admit that I called that day precisely because I knew nothing could be done about my reported issues for at least a week because I would be out of town. That's the tricky game of emotional hide and seek that cancer and I like to play.
Aggravated at having to answer "yes" to the many questions about symptoms, I artfully left town for Michigan and a place called Denial-ville. When I returned it was to the request of my oncologist for a meet and greet with my blood and lymph nodes. For some reason, my brain had remained in denial-ville and thought the answer would easily reveal itself in the bloodwork. I was willing - begging, in fact, for a problem with my thyroid - it nicely fit with my symptoms and was NOT cancer - the key part of the puzzle. WRONG. After one feel of my neck lymph nodes, my oncologist said she was worried and sent me to be scanned.
I know, I know, you're waiting for the results. . . Think how I felt. Living with, through and beyond cancer is tricky business. I have spent a month now with crushing anxiety - enough to make your chest feel as if you were having a heart attack and can't breathe. A month of guilt for the potential havoc I was bringing on my family. Of anger. Of more anger. Of resentment. Of anger at the complaints of others with a common cold. I would KILL for a common cold. I've cried. I've vacillated between staying positive and utter heart-wrenching despair. I've tried to pacify myself with dessert - for breakfast. I've done all the what -if's.
So, here's the thing. After an injection of radioactive gunk - an injection that held my fate, leaving both a radioactive mark and a bad taste in my mouth, after filling myself to the brim with barium, my scan showed NOTHING. The crushing weight on my chest has lifted. I stood and cried salty tears as it was repeated to me on the phone. Nothing is better than NOT having cancer again. . .
. . except, we don't know what's wrong. Not having cancer is a sweet victory but not knowing what's next is just as complicated. My body has been filled with poisons, over and over, in an effort to defeat an enemy that likes to hide and wait. Doctors don't fully know and can't predict the myriad of health problems that follow cancer treatments and clinical trials. I am 33-years old and have more doctors than most 80 year olds. Am I angry, sad, and psychologically drained? Yes. Oh, and I am still fatigued, plus some other random symptoms too.
Frankly, I wanted to title this blog "Why Cancer Sucks" but I couldn't even do that. It would give too much credit to such a short blog. Cancer sucks over and over again. If someone said cancer sucks and listed only one reason or a short list, I would have to laugh at their ignorance. That's why I train, to grasp only a small part of control in a body that cancer wants to keep punishing. Problem is, the fatigue, the worry, the anxiety and stress all make that hard too.
I continue to put one foot in front of the other because that's what I do. I am seeing more doctors to continue the conversation. Unfortunately it's a lengthy process given the history I bring to the table. I've accepted that right now my training won't meet the standards I've got on paper but sometimes you've got to work with what you've got. And at the very least, for the next 3 months it's not cancer. . .
-Jen
April 22, 2008
Where Rubber Meets the Road
When I was in eighth grade, our social studies class was assigned some type of project. My project was entirely about pollution and the environment. I became insistent that we cut apart each link of the plastic that held 6-packs of soda (then "pop" because I grew up in Colorado) so that fish wouldn't get stuck in them when the plastic got in the ocean. I didn't seem to consider that Colorado was completely landlocked and I couldn't make the connection for anyone of how those plastic rings would get to the ocean. I was clearly green before it was cool to be green.
But, idealism of youth has eventually fallen prey to the conveniences of adulthood and the liberty of a car that will take me where I wish, any time of day, with no forethought. I am still green, don't get me wrong - I choose products wisely, I recycle, I conserve energy and water, but, I am guilty of ignoring my car-crutch. So, when Trek rolled out the 1 World 2 Wheels program encouraging me to "Go by Bike," it stopped me in my four wheeled tracks. What blew me away the most were these facts: 1) 60% of the pollution created by automobile emissions happens in the first few minutes of operation . . . and 2) 25% of all trips are made within a mile of the home, 40% of all trips are within two miles of the home, and 50% of the working population commutes five miles or less to work.
It hit me right where the stay at home mom rubber meets the road. My job starts at home but on any given day could lead to: the bank, the drugstore, the dry cleaner, the grocery store, the post office, Target, Starbucks, a local friends house, the doctor, the dentist. . . The knot of balled up pollution in my stomach comes from the realization that all of those errands are mostly within that 2-5 mile radius of my house. So, while now it has become cool to be green, I don't want to get lost in all the hype. I've realized where I'm mostly likely to make a change that will work for me - use my car less, use my bike more. So, I thought today would be the perfect day to start. Could I do my day-to-day without the car?
The idea started last night with the planning. I had to plan what routes I could use to get from one place to the other and how much time I needed to allow. Here's what the day was:
Stop#1: Physical Therapy - distance 4.3 miles. I left from my kids bus stop once they headed to school. Arrived only 2 minutes later than had I gone by car. I actually had to slow for a school zone. Success! Was able to get people talking. . .
Stop#2: Blue Lotus Salon - distance from PT 8.5 miles. Left PT a bit early to head for a haircut at a new salon. Hoping they understand my helmet head when I arrive. They do and I get to talk "Go by Bike."
Stop #3: Township Building to Vote - distance from salon - 6.0 miles. Left the salon with perfectly coiffed hair and then promptly put a helmet on over it (safety first!). Enjoyed a nice ride along the river and learned exactly which way the wind comes off the river - right at me. Got told I had a nice bike and that one of the polling volunteers would guard it while I voted. Excellent!
Stop #4: Home - distance from voting - 1.0 miles. Back at home! Car is still right where I left it. My car odometer remains unchanged. My bike odometer reads 19.8 miles. I feel victorious, somewhat sweaty but proud that my "regular" plan for the day turned into a decent training session, and RAVENOUS. On to lunch. . . .
Was it pretty? Was it effortless? No, but maybe that's the point. Do I have some learning to do? Definitely yes. But, just because I can't figure out how I would transport a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread home from the grocery store without them ending up looking like freshly dripping battered french toast, shouldn't mean I'm unwilling to consider the change. But, I do know that often I am guilty of that being the case. So, here's my chance to learn. Will this work all the time? - no, but, starting with a small change is better than ignoring the effort. Sometimes a little less convenience can lead to more thought, more appreciation and a little global cooling. I hope you will laugh, maybe learn and join me in my misadventures as I try to "Go By Bike." Happy Earth Day. . . -Jen
March 11, 2008
Lymphoma? What Lymphoma?
As I sat in the small room at my oncologist's today, following some unusually speedy lab work, I felt like I was going to throw up. Then my oncologist breezed by the doorway on the way to see another patient, waved, and said "Lymphoma? What Lymphoma?" I immediately thought I was going to throw up - this time out of relief. My scans are super clear and I now have reached the pinnacle of my lymphoma career (when you're in it for the long haul you have to call it something) - I have now been in remission longer than I ever have before. It has been just shy of one year now (20 more days, but who's counting?) since finishing chemo again. My doctor celebrated by giving me a six month pass. I have been scanning every 3 months - if not more - for three years now and we are making the jump to six months. I see a whole summer of racing, training, vacations and adventure without the inevitable reminder that a scan brings. Hooray. Hooray. Hooray. This is HUGE. . . .
-Jen
PS. Thanks for the huge amount of support from all of you these past few weeks. Your good vibes were felt!
March 10, 2008
Stress Ball
This a squishy little stress ball that I got at a race expo a couple of years ago. I picked it up because a) I love free race expo stuff and b) maybe if you sit and repetitively squeeze it then it will actually do something for stress. Well, let me tell you, that thing is getting a workout right now. I wanted to sit down today and blog about a few ideas that have hit me recently (don't worry, more on saddle-woes and solutions this week) but, I feel I wouldn't be giving you all my full attention. I am monumentally distracted and stressed out about my oncology visit tomorrow. Distraction helps, so this weekend - a full weekend of kid stuff - did help. But today, when I sit here (or attempt to do anything), in the worry creeps. I was able to get out this morning for my longest post-cast run yet - 25 minutes - and that helped - for about 30 minutes. I found myself this weekend subconsciously surfing oncology clinical trials on the Internet - nothing for Freud to interpret there - STRESS, STRESS, STRESS.
So, there it is. I was nervous to put it out there because the more people I tell about my frayed nerves, then the more people I have to report back to if things go well (easy to do) and the more people there are for the difficult job of explaining if it goes poorly. But, since my mind and my fingers won't cooperate with blogging about anything else right now, I had to tell you.
I can't type any more. I have to go back to squishing the stress ball. By tomorrow morning I think it will be re-named Pancake Ball. Think good thoughts. . .
-Jen
March 3, 2008
Return of the Grouchy Girl
The grouchy girl has returned. It's scan time again which always brings out the worst in me. I think I'm concluding that there is no way around what my subconscious does with me while trying to deal with all my feelings about the scan process. Let's go down the list: resentment - check, fear - check, anger - check. Yep, all the players are present and accounted for. Last scan wasn't so bad - I think it was the fact that the cast on my leg distracted me and that it was winter. Right now I know that this scan brings potential for ruin - ruin to my summer, ruin to my racing season. . . .
My scan is on Wednesday morning but today the mess that is my emotional processing has kicked it into high gear. In order to cope, I vacillate. The grouchy lady rears her ugly head when the grocery is out of my favorite whole wheat tortillas - as if the power of a quesadilla can stop cancer in its tracks. The super over the top nice me bears witness to cashiers at all errand stops - part of the never-ending deal making - "if I'm super nice it will help the universe line up in my favor." And then there is 2 AM - the time that somehow haunts me - where every possible scenario of what if's run in an endless loop. Those what if's track me down whether I'm asleep or awake - there is no escape.
So, I stew and vacillate and try to cope - and mostly try to protect my kids. They understand grouchy due to tiredness or sickness but not the deep seated emotional fear that cancer reduces me to. I don't want them to get it. I don't want any one to know this feeling. Mommies must be strong. And so it goes on. . .
-Jen
February 6, 2008
Is 30 the New 70?
Glossy ads in magazines are constantly proclaiming, "40 is the new 30!" Actresses who are much older than my 33 years put me to shame with their youthful looking glow. (They also have the power of stylists, make-up artists, wardrobe consultants and Photo-shop). Everyone seems to be touting that youthfulness is not tied to the number of candles on your birthday cake - everyone that is except my in-laws. Let me first disclaim by saying that I love my in-laws and we agree on many things BUT, ever since I turned 30 (literally like the moment I blew out the candles on the cake) they have adamantly assured me that it's all downhill from here.
Now, I was psyched to get into my thirties originally. Months before my birthday I predicted that the thirties were going to be my decade. I felt it all coming together. Then I was diagnosed with cancer a couple of months after my thirtieth birthday. Okay, so let's exclude the past couple of years. Even excluding cancer, any ache, any pain, even simply the declaration of not a good nights sleep, my in-laws, especially my father-in-law, is quick to point out that it's all because I'm past 30. Seriously, I think their impression is that by next year I will be using a cane to walk to the garage to get my bike out. Example: My recent tendon injury - overuse injury by putting in 100+ miles of run training leading up to the Philly Half-Marathon? Nope. A sad shake of the head because I'm over 30.
I took up swimming, biking, running and a whole host of other adventurous physical activities in my thirties. . . .was I crazy? Am I past my prime?
So, I want to hear from you all out there - Is 30 the new 20 only if you are part of Hollywood? Should I book the OR now for my hip replacement next year? Can biking keep me young? How old do you feel? Please, help me dispel this myth. . .
-Jen
January 29, 2008
Tougher Than You Think
Hey blogosphere, meet Lisa. Lisa gets the honor of being the first person to respond to my post "All About You" and let me know what she has planned for 2008.
Without knowing it, I had "met" Lisa when I spoke to a Team in Training Group at their first group practice this past summer. Lisa undertook walking the Nike Women's Marathon last October (something I would love to do!). Here she is at mile 25 of that hilly course.
Lisa told me, "Nothing could have prepared me for what it felt like to be amongst 20,000 women and a few men at the start of the marathon in San Francisco. My emotions were all over the map that day and the experience is one that I'll never forget. I learned a lot about myself that day. One thing I learned is that I'm tougher than I thought."
While the marathon made Lisa a marathoner, her experience solidified other life goals for her.
"Since the age of three, I've had a camera and used it photograph my surroundings. . . Many people have suggested that I make photography my vocation rather than just an enjoyable hobby. My response has always been that earning money from taking pictures would somehow diminish the joy I experience in being a photographer. What's really going on is that I am afraid of failure. Making photography into a business venture puts it into the public realm. With that comes expectations..."
Lisa, I think, highlights something that is huge for all of us - FEAR. I can't tell you how much fear I have faced in the past three years. The problem with fear and fear of failure is that there is no amount of experiencing the feeling that diminishes it as we enter each new experience. What is more important, and much more easily said than done, is whether we choose to push ahead whether the fear is there or not. We are all tougher than we think.
This year, Lisa has decided to take her love of the camera from hobby to business. She also plans to add hang gliding to her goals for the year. Lisa also tells me that the "whole world of cycling is a bit of a mystery to me." Hmmmm....I now feel challenged to uncover that mystery for Lisa and have her riding with all of us by year's end.
-Jen
PS. Keep those dreams and goals coming, I'm loving hearing from you.
January 22, 2008
"It's All About You"
"It's all about you." That is the phrase that my good friend Amy S. (to distinguish her from my other good friend Amy V.) kept repeating to me as a mantra during this time last year when I was "doing" chemo again. I have that typical woman thing and felt guilt at asking people to help me or my family during that time (as if there was ever a time one should NOT feel guilty that was it). She kept telling me that I needed to basically re-frame my thinking and say "It's all about me - what do I need?" Sometimes the only way I could do that was to write it down or send an e-mail because on paper it felt easier to write everyting without judgement (mostly my own) -the little, the big and the seemingly crazy.
Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the day to day activities, that days, weeks and then months pass with out us being able to stop and see if we are headed down the path on which we want to travel. I know I am guilty of this. Writing down what we want to do, or be or achieve helps us be accountable to ourselves. It's not a contract meant to create feelings of failure if we can't check the items off the list. Rather, it's a place to disclose our hopes and puzzle out how to get there.
I'm about ready to wish myself a Happy New Year and tackle those New Year's goals (which I will also tell you about this week). Note: If you are new to my blog, you may want to consult "Don't Rush My New Year." But, I am still tweaking some of my goals for the year and know that I could use some help exploring new stuff.
So, I am now going to do my darnedest to convince you all out there to get out some paper (or a computer) and say "it's all about ME!". So, the assignment for this week is this:
Tell me your goals for this year. Big, small, outlandish, crazy - I want to hear them all. This truly is about you. What do you want to be/achieve/explore/learn how to do this year? It might be something you already know how to do but want to push to new limits. It might be something you have no idea how to do and need resources. Even if it's one of those things you've only whispered in the back of your mind late at night, let me know. You can explain your reasons in great detail or just jot 'em down.
By the end of the week I want to feature a blog with all of you out there in it!
You can simply post a comment to this entry or, drop me a line at my new Trek e-mail address: Jen_Polo@trekwomenwhoride.com (Note: there's an underscore between my first and last name that's hard to see with the underlining.)
-Jen
January 11, 2008
"Does This Resolution Make Me Look Fat?"
Okay, so now I have your attention. Time for some thought about those pesky "resolutions" that come around each Jan 1. I can't tell you how many people (99% women), I have heard over the past ten days mention "lose weight" in the same sentence with resolution. Aaagghhh. We need a massive do-over here. I have yet to hear anyone say things like, "do a century ride, become stronger, learn to cook healthier, run a 5K, do a triathlon." It's all been about weight loss. Don't get me wrong, it's in the back of my brain too. I have a Santa cookie tummy right now thanks to the forced inactivity of my cast and the yumminess of holiday food. But, I will not bow to the industry.
When I first started tri-training, I always said it was to lose my "chemo-butt." The real truth, the challenge, to take control again of a body that betrayed me, felt too emotional, too raw to explain. So weight loss or fitness associated with that goal were secondary aims. But, surprisingly, when you put in that much work, learn to train and spend that much time with a swim, bike and run, you don't have to think about the fitness gains and inches lost - they take care of themselves. So does the strength and amazement at your will that follow. Let's rethink the goals for the year - I encourage you to pick your challenge, write it down, write the steps in getting there and then we'll all celebrate at the finish.
I'm working on my "plan of action 2008" and will share it soon. While you are working on yours take a look at this Dove ad called "Onslaught." We can do better - let's show other women, daughters, nieces, mothers and grandmothers that the impact is in celebrating what our bodies can do, not how thin they are! -Jen
December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas everyone! Hopefully, you have successfully made it through the day with its wrapping and trimming, some assembly required (isn't it always), insert 12 double-A batteries here, and joyous meltdowns from those who may have gotten up too early to see what Santa left.
At the Polo house, we spent the day in our pajamas with no obligations other than to play, play, play. We enjoyed a pot of soup for dinner and now are packing up the suitcases for our trip to Colorado tomorrow where we will celebrate Christmas with my family. No white Christmas here in Pennsylvania but it's been snowing all day in Colorado. The kids can't wait.
As we continue our tradition of a week long Christmas celebration, I hope that you and yours enjoyed time with family and friends also.
-Jen
December 19, 2007
Because I Can
Being on crutches this holiday season has been an interesting social experiment. Some people are helpful and notice that I struggle to open doors while balancing on one foot. Lots of little kids notice my cast and want to know what is wrong. But, to be honest most people are completely oblivious. I don't blame it on them not wanting to be helpful to someone in need but mostly their focus on their own stress and long to-do lists.
But, needing to rely on others (like those nice baristas at Starbucks who have been providing me some nice car side service with my coffee these past couple of weeks) has taught me some lessons this holiday season.
One of the things our family decided to do this year was to adopt a family for Christmas. Back in November I volunteered one morning at a local food pantry. I was assigned the job of helping families fill out "Adopt-A-Family" forms that would list needs for Christmas. I was particularly taken with one woman with whom I spoke - she has 3 kids, one is a boy who is 7 years old. I knew that would be something my kids could understand. The other was that she reluctantly listed herself and wrote "haircut" as her wished for item. I asked her if there was anything else she wanted and she said, "No, just a haircut - I haven't had one in two years." I knew right away that we would adopt this family. I haven't had a haircut in two years either.
Two years ago, when I was first declared in remission, my hair started to grow back. I gained about 1/2" a month and felt that every month was a new hairstyle. (Not to mention that my hair came back dark, thick and curly whereas it used to be blondish brown, fine and straight). Losing my hair wasn't traumatic at the time but as it grew back, the thought of cutting it and styling it seemed perplexingly difficult. (Maybe it was that Dorothy Hamill bowl haircut I had as a child. . . ) Luckily, almost a year into growing back, I reached pony-tail stage which works perfect with my training/mom-athon lifestyle. But, lately, my hair has been on my mind. It is winter now and drying that much hair was getting a little tedious, not to mention the rat's nest texture the ends were starting to resemble.
When I went out last week to finish shopping for our adopt-a-family, I was really struggling with the cast. I stopped at a local salon to get a gift certificate for the mom, whose only wish was a haircut. On a whim, I asked the stylist if she had time to cut my hair. Shopping for someone who couldn't afford the cost of the haircut gave me the shove I needed to get back in the stylist chair. I lost 3-4" of hair that day - six plus months of growing. But, more than hair has been growing. I have been growing too and I decided it was time to cut my hair - just because I can.
-Jen
December 14, 2007
Cloudy Skies, Clear Scans
The winter storm that brought tons of ice to the Midwest this week, finally made its way to us yesterday. The day started gray and cloudy, as has every day for the past week. The boys were able to get on the bus without getting wet. But soon after, right about the time I had to leave for a very full day, the icy pelting rain started. We live right at a classic storm line, where this time of year you could get rain, ice, snow or some of all of it. Yesterday was ice and rain. Despite, the difficulties of walking on crutches during an icy rain storm, it was as good day.
Yesterday was scan news day. I know, it's hard to believe that another three months has zipped by. I don't even feel I got my full three months out of my three months. I know that's a hard concept to understand but sometimes it just feels like the scan hits you and you were just there. Luckily, all this business with my foot kept me distracted from my scan rage this time around. It was only the few days before that I was really riled up.
My oncologist knows that I don't like it when they beat around the bush. When that happens I start getting suspicious. We've always laughed when at the oncology office, doctors and nurses ask you "How are you?" My answer is always, "I don't know. You tell me how I am." Well, yesterday I was just fine. Better than fine. My oncologist walked in and said "Lymphoma? What lymphoma?" No glowing blobs, spots or specks. A completely clear scan. Merry, Merry Christmas to me.
Now, we just have to do something about this cast. . . .
-Jen
December 6, 2007
Happy Chemo-versary
365 days. That's the time that has passed since I sat in the oncology department and started chemo again. It's my chemo-versary. Today is also my 33rd birthday. Last year I sat attached to an IV pole and had a "surprise" party when my oncologist brought me a piece of birthday cake and sang to me. It was chemo with a personal touch. The funny part was thinking about how surprised some other doctor/nurse or oncology personnel was going to be when they found a piece of their birthday cake missing because my doctor had swiped it. Not so funny was thinking about whether or not I should eat the cake because I knew I didn't want to see it again later on the swells of chemo-induced nausea.
We mark dates in our lives as important for a variety of reasons. Some, like birthdays, are identifiable to all. Other dates are less recognizable to the masses. For me, I will always know when my cancer was diagnosed with certainty - May 2, 2005. I will always know when the first chemo IV made ready for battle with my body - June 23, 2005. First remission - November 1, 2005. Relapse - September 26, 2006. Second "first round" of chemo - December 6, 2006. These aren't dates remembered by even those closest to me. I don't mind they can't remember. Some would argue that to "get past" cancer, I should just try to forget. I don't mind remembering - these dates mark the passage of time and how far I have come. Who wouldn't remember the date their world was cleaved into parts that in the future could best be described as "the time before" and "the time after"?
Having a chemoversary tied to my birthday isn't such a bad thing after all. Each year I celebrate being older is a year I can commemorate distance from chemo and that life rolls on as a survivor. So, raise a glass and have a piece of cake with me. Let's see what 33 brings. . .
-Jen
November 28, 2007
One of Pavlov's Dogs
Long, long ago a man named Ivan Pavlov used dogs, food and a bell to discover that we can develop a conditioned reflex to things. He would ring a bell and then give the dogs food. Pretty soon, just hearing a bell would cause the dogs to salivate because they thought there was food - a classic conditioned response. Well, I am a classic Pavlov dog case.
Today, I went for the bone scan on my foot. This is the type of scan that has to be done at a hospital where they have said scanner. So, I found myself sitting in patient registration this morning at the same hospital where I had the biopsy of my lymph nodes that diagnosed my lymphoma. While a bone scan has nothing to do with surgery or cancer I found myself with a rapid heart beat, sweating and a lot of anxiety while forking over all the necessary items for the scan (none of these said items was related to my foot mind you - mostly prescription, insurance card, various signatures guaranteeing my first born if my insurance didn't pay - the standard stuff). The whole thing was made worse by the fact that the woman registering me was a nun (it's a Catholic hospital). That made it hard for me to rationalize throwing something at her to distract her so I could bolt out the door.
This type of reaction (only much worse) also happened to me after chemo. During my first set of chemo's I always wore the same clothes - I was in the hospital all day and my style had to be dictated by what allowed easy IV access. How bad is it to go to the store and admire things like this, "ooh, this looks comfortable, versatile and can be rolled up or down for easy IV in either arm?" Anyway, for months after chemo ended, I couldn't look at those clothes in my closet without getting severely nauseous because of the association. I finally had to throw them out.
What I'm wondering is how long these reactions will last? Will I forever be hospital scarred/scared? The effects of cancer treatment go well past the IV's and scans. I know that I'm not the only one. How about we do a cancer clinical trial on this and see how long it takes to break the cycle? I'm not sure if Pavlov ever told us.
-Jen
November 28, 2007
The Freak Effect
It's beyond a little strange. It's beyond the odd coincidence. It sometimes defies explanation. In our house it's called The Freak Effect. Let me explain. When I told you about our time down at the beach in SC for Thanksgiving, I neglected to explain why I was forced to be the referee and game photographer in our beach football game. It was not because I dislike football or can't keep up. It was because of the lovely accessory pictured on my foot here. It all started with a ten mile run (I know, in hindsight we might argue that right there was the problem). I came home, took off my shoes, stretched and then went "OW!! Why does my foot hurt?" I knew it right away. It was The Freak Effect. The Freak Effect is a little known mathematical postulate, originally described by Jeff. It goes something like this: If there is anything, ANYTHING, freaky, weird, strange or completely unlikely to happen in the realm of possibility, it will in fact seek me out and happen in a strange confluence of events to me and to me only. (It's that last part that let's the rest of you out there in the normal world breathe a sigh of relief - this formula truly only applies to me - that's why it's not a well known theorem).
I know what you are thinking - "Jen, you must be exaggerating - that can't truly be true of you." Oh contraire my unsuspecting blog readers. Here are just a few fine examples from my life (don't worry this excludes cancer - that's a whole different ball of wax):
1) My local emergency room is probably still laughing about how a mother could possibly be cutting her toddler's fingernails and shoot a fingernail clipping into her eye and scratch her cornea (TRUE STORY).
2) The fine print that comes enclosed with prescriptions where only .0005% people suffer from a side-effect? Me. Had to visit an emergency room in Seattle when I developed the "no one ever gets this but if you develop a rash as a result of this medication do not pass go and go straight to the emergency room" rash.
3) When I was going through chemo the first time and was bald, I somehow fell down in my garage (while tripping over NOTHING) and sprained my ankle so badly I was on crutches for almost a month. I must have scared all the neighbors while I crutched my way down, bald, to the kindergarten bus stop each day.
These are just a few examples of The Freak Effect. So, today it will be a bone scan to determine the difference between a strained tendon or a stress fracture - we're rooting for the tendon thing. The good thing is that, because of The Freak Effect, I have a lot of practice working around these things. I'll keep you posted on the news and how we are going to work the off-season with this little change of plans.
-Jen
November 12, 2007
Gray is So NOT My Color
It happens every year. I know it's coming and there's nothing I can do. You'd think I would learn to prepare, but I haven't ever been ready. It's coming, it's coming. . . and then it hits me -the end of Daylight Savings Time. November. Cold. Dark. Gray.
I moved to the East Coast over 14 years ago from Colorado. There were a ton of cultural adjustments that I had to make, which I did, but the one thing I still have not gotten used to is the endless GRAY that can occur here during the fall and winter. Colorado is the land of sun - seriously - weather data shows that Colorado has more than 300 days of sun a year. Yes, I'm not kidding about this. And while we're on the topic of Colorado weather, let me dispel another myth: Colorado is not blanketed in snow for most of the year. While growing up, I did not ski to and from school (I have actually had someone ask me this). So, the weather I grew up with included sun, sun, and sun. It also included a lot of temperature fluctuation - I had never heard the notion "putting away" your summer clothes. Colorado isn't real big on long, rainy days either - the 20 minute afternoon thunderstorm is really all I know. So, looking to add some fun to your day? Stop by my house on a gray, rainy, windy day and watch me try to use an umbrella - it's a laugh a minute.
Well, now I live here on the East Coast and it seems that each year the end of daylight savings seems to correspond with the plunging temperatures, chilly winds and gray, gray skies that may last a day or may last a week or longer. Pair that with dark mornings and darkness at 5 PM and you've got yourself a recipe for disaster in my book. I feel like I am trapped on the inside of a cardboard box - the sky and the road seem to be the same color and pressing at me from all sides. My body wants to go into hibernation mode, crawl in bed at 5 each evening and eat everything in sight. Here I am trapped in a calendar sandwich between November and March. I'm caught unprepared yet again. I am coping the only way I can - I have some delicious soup on the stove and every light on in the house!
-Jen
November 8, 2007
Confessions of an Unmade Bed
Yes, I have a confession to make. I don't make my bed - ever. Yes, this is truly a picture of my bed, taken just this morning. When Jeff and I took childbirth classes before the birth of Cameron, the teacher gave the class an assignment - Don't make your bed for a week. "Woo-hoo!", I thought, "I have this assignment nailed!" (Note to all of you out there - apparently getting an "A" in childbirth classes does not translate to less pain during the actual childbirth). Anyway, our instructor was trying to illustrate that once you become a parent, life is not all neat and tidy like before being a parent. Duh.
So, there you have it - I am a non-bed maker. It doesn't stop at the bed. I am just not a overall neat and tidy person. A white glove test would fail miserably in my house. Let me say this though - I do know where everything in my house is. I am extremely organized - unfortunately that organization is mostly trapped in my head. But, I digress. Here's what I am trying to illustrate. I've tried making those secret deals with myself before. You know the ones - "I'll get out for a bike ride after I clean the bathrooms/grocery shop/do the laundry/pay the bills etc. . ." They don't work. I would never train for my triathlon goals if I became wrapped up in making sure my house was in perfect order all the time. So, yes, my bed is unmade. But, if you add up all that time I have freed up for myself (along with that other stuff I have decided doesn't really matter in the grand scheme), you'll find that I'm able to fit in some serious fun. So, if you are saying to yourself "I don't have the time to bike", then I'm gonna tell you - "Stop making your bed!" I'll ignore your mess if you ignore mine - let's get out there together!
-Jen
October 29, 2007
Courage for the 5th Grade
So, can any of you out there remember the 5th grade? It's a little murky to me. On Friday, I gave a presentation to some 5th graders at Groveland Elementary. The topic: Courage. Right there it's intimidating, right? A teacher heard me tell my story to a group at the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society about 6 months ago and asked me to come speak to his students on courage. Well, because I can't remember 5th grade at all (except for some bad fashion choices) let me say that I needed some courage to go and speak to them.
My talk was part of a leadership series that their teacher created called Pillars of Leadership. The students had spent time in class thinking about courage. Over the past few years I have had many people tell me that I have been courageous in the way I have handled my cancer. I have always been puzzled by it because I would never apply that label to myself. Then again, I had never thought about how one might define it. Luckily, I had some 5th graders help me with a definition.
Here's what they thought - Courage: "the mastering of fear and the willingness to act in spite of it." They also added this: Things You Need in Order to Be Courageous: 1) Relax 2) Believe in yourself 3) Act according to your beliefs (don't give in to peer pressure) 4) Realize you are not alone. To their definition we discussed whether or not you could master fear or just be willing to acknowledge and accept your fears and then act in spite of them. I also added a couple of things I thought you needed to be courageous - 5) be honest and 6) be open to the unknown and growth.
I had a great time in their class! They asked great, intelligent questions and were great listeners. I can tell there are 22 leaders prepared to face anything they encounter in the 5th grade and beyond. I know that I am richer for the experience and now feel like I will recognize courage in myself and others more readily. (Plus, they thought my Trek posters were cool - I felt a lot cooler than I felt when I was in 5th grade!)
-Jen
PS. Remember Groveland 5th graders: Run Your Own Race and always be honest when someone asks "How are you?" I hope to see some of you as future triathletes!
October 25, 2007
Turning a New Leaf
I do not have an indoor green thumb. Plants (well let's just say one plant that I keep replacing) have consistently died under my care. Yes, even the kind of plants that people like me are not supposed to be able to kill. Dead. Dried up. Kaput. (The good news is that I only seem to do this to indoor plants and not, say, husbands or kids).
There's that saying out there "The only thing constant in life is change." Most of us see that change in nice controllable increments - we try a new restaurant, we say "what the heck" to the newest Starbucks creation. Most of us don't have major, life altering, mind bending change smack us in the face. That's what cancer did for me and it has been an interesting ride. It will be coming up on 3 years of this roller coaster in March 2008.
I had no choice but to change when I was diagnosed but what happened after that required my willingness to take a chance and grow. I was the kid who at 10 had my whole career path mapped out in front of me (I was going to be a doctor - I think organic chem did that one in). So, did I ever imagine that my stay-at-home mom-ness would compete in and fall in love with triathlon? That I would get the opportunity to be a Trek Woman Who Rides? That I would be the woman trying to convince as many women as possible to try a tri? Not in a million years. Not part of the plan. But here I am, changing, growing, stretching. . . Sometimes amazing things happen when you let yourself embrace ideas that sound uncharacteristically NOT like you or even the you that you imagine yourself to be.
Perhaps all this change and growth has improved my indoor gardening skills. I have actually tackled re-potting my plant (they've never made it that far before) and it seems to be thriving. This gave me the courage to take on more plants. . . .we'll see if I actually have to use the one-year plant guarantee that the store promised.
So, now while I still don't love change, I am open to what it might bring. I am starting to think about what new challenges to take on for next year so stay tuned. . . .
-Jen
"You only ever grow as a human being if you're outside your comfort zone." -Percy Cerutty
October 17, 2007
What's Your Everest?
Whew! This past weekend was a busy one. Trek WSD Awareness ride on Saturday and then the Annual Team Survivor Tri-State "Thrive and Survive" Fundraising Brunch on Sunday.
The brunch featured an incredibly moving video/slide presentation of all the survivors over the past two years and what they have accomplished - from gaining fitness and strength through yoga, toning, swimming, spinning and walking all the way through the challenge of a triathlon. I have lived my life through those two years with all its ups and downs and it was incredibly moving for me to see the pictures that recount the story of my past two years and the power of my own body to keep me strong. It also is quite a testament to the 200 other women in Team Survivor who fight their own cancer battles and still have the words to support fellow athletes in their quests.
I also spoke at the brunch and told my story. I remember emphasizing no woman should have to sit on her 32nd birthday (like me), have an oncologist bring her birthday cake and then wonder if eating the cake will make her throw up. I was also able to convey that during my relapse, when I underwent more chemo, all of these amazing women walked with me when I couldn't run and sat with me when I couldn't walk. But, more importantly, they never ever told me that I wouldn't be back training, riding and running and swimming.
The keynote speaker for the day was Sean Swarner who founded the organization CancerClimber. Sean was diagnosed with Stage IV Hodgkin's disease at age 13 and given 3 months to live. He beat Hodgkin's only to be diagnosed with another cancer, Askin's sarcoma two years later. He was given two weeks to live. Fifteen years later, with only one functional lung, Sean summited Mt. Everest as the first cancer survivor. Sean has gone on to summit the highest peaks on each continent, leaving a flag saying "Dedicated to all those affected by cancer in this small world!! Keep climbing!!" and the names of numerous people battling cancer. Sean's message is one of hope and inspiration about the power of achieving things not thought possible, giving strength and courage to those battling cancer. Sean emphasizes living life to it's fullest and encouraging not only cancer survivors, but everyone to find and climb their own "Everests" to overcome their own limitations and mental boundaries.
When I spoke before Sean, in the blink of an unplanned moment, I remember closing, "If I have to outswim, outbike, and outrun to beat my cancer. . . .if I have to complete an Ironman race to beat my cancer, then I will meet you at the finish line." I think I found my Everest. What is yours?
-Jen
October 12, 2007
Ride for a Cure
This Saturday, October 13th, I will join thousands of people across the U.S. who participate in the 2nd annual Trek WSD Breast Cancer Awareness Ride. The ride is a casual 10 mile (or 25 mile option too!) ride designed to raise awareness about breast cancer.
All registration fees for the ride will be donated to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. I will be doing the ride at Bucks County Bicycle Company along with friends who are both breast cancer survivors. You can find out more about the ride, locations near you, and how to register by clicking here. There will be goody bags for each rider and chances to win more prizes!
I hope that I will get a chance to meet some of you as we ride for such a worthy cause.
-Jen
October 8, 2007
Slowing To A Walk
A week ago my pace slowed dramatically. Instead of running, biking, or swimming I was walking - slowly and leisurely. Jeff, the kids and I, his parents, cousins and friends participated in the Light the Night Walk hosted by the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Three years ago I found the Light the Night Walk as I was entering my 5th cycle of chemotherapy. I was discouraged and needed something. Friends and family had been helping us with meals, errands and the kids but by then I was need of a emotional lift. Light the Night fit the bill. Light the Night is a leisurely walk at dusk, between a mile and two miles long, where survivors and supporters come together to help raise funds and awareness about blood cancers. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society sponsors these walks to raise funds for research and patient education. Their mission: cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin's disease and myeloma and improve the quality of life of patients and their families.
During the Walk, survivors carry lighted white balloons and supporters carry lighted red balloons. This is our third year participating in the Walk and it doesn't cease to be emotional for me to watch long snaking lines of people, all ages and sizes, walking at dusk carrying blinking lit balloons. There are seas of red balloons and not nearly enough white balloons.
This year I met the Demsko family at the Walk. Ten-year-old Dana is undergoing treatments for leukemia and is currently in a wheelchair due to the side effects of treatment. She was able to participate, carry her balloon and wear her shirt that boldly proclaims SURVIVOR. I met a young woman who was there walking for her dad. Unfortunately, there were too many people walking in memory of loved ones. 
There are many charity runs and triathlons out there. When I run or race a triathlon I don't have much time for thought or to talk - my breathing and heart rate just won't allow it. Light the Night gives me the opportunity to be with my family who have blood cancer as a part of their lives too. It's a time for us to be thankful for my SURVIVOR shirt, to witness the support and to spend time together. All those balloons represent hope - hope for better treatments, hope for cures. Sometimes hope is fragile, like those balloons. Sometimes hope is hard to grasp and hard to see. The web of red and white balloons is a visible and lifting tribute of hope for all those with blood cancers.
Sometimes it's good to be slowed to a walk.
-Jen
September 21, 2007
Scan-a-rama-ding-dong!
Well, it's been a long couple of days since my scan - my body is still "enjoying" the effects of the barium. But, I am soooooo happy to report that my radiology report was the shortest it has been in almost 3 years. NO CANCER! No glowing spots, no little bits, nothing. My doctor knows that it does not suffice to say "You're fine." I have to lay my eyes on that report (and many times the actual scan films) myself.
So, scan-a-rama-ding-dong! [Insert your own sound effect and crazy dance of joy here].
It's hard to explain to those who haven't been directly through the roller coaster of cancer themselves how much living between these scans changes you. My entire personality changes right before each scan because of the anxiety and the mental preparation you have to go through to deal with whatever may come. Sometimes, okay most times, at least for Jeff and I that mental preparation comes in the form of sarcastic humor. Jeff comes with me to each appointment and so as we are sitting waiting for lab work, his work phone buzzes with incoming e-mail.
Jeff: "Hmmm. . . a rep from a company is coming in to take us to lunch. What time will we be done?" Me: "Do you want my next blog title to be "Honey, how's your steak?. . . I have cancer again." ? Jeff: "Funny. I'll e-mail that back to them." Humor is what gets us through.
I had someone say to me last year, "You have to go every three months - that's so often." Yes, it may seem often to some, but, to me, being granted a three month reprieve from pokes, prods, questions, forms, lab results, chemo - any of it feels - like a lifetime. We rejoiced this summer when I was given the "whole summer" off. I felt free to make plans without reservation and live the summer to its fullest without tempering myself for the "what if" that comes every time you step foot in the oncology door.
I can now live with abandon for the next three months (okay, okay, within the confines of making sure my kids get to school, we all have clean underwear, yada, yada, yada).
Watch out blogoshpere . . . .here I come.
September 18, 2007
Reality Check
If you were hoping to read about the Danskin Women's Triathlon that was this past Sunday, you will have to wait. I have something more pressing on my mind. It's that time. Some measure time with the changing of the seasons, some the school year, others pay no attention. I however, live in three month increments. Today is reality check day. A PET/CT scan in June, right before my kids got out of school, showed no cancer activity, so I got the summer off. But, here I am now at 5ish am, up and cranky. Every three months I report to the Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania to have a full body scan. (The picture is what the scanning machine looks like.)
I become a whole different person when it is scanning time. I am cranky, grouchy, and full of anxiety. It has taken the scanning techs and doctors awhile to get it. I keep trying to explain that I have to get up, fast (which makes me incredibly cranky), drive downtown, fill out paperwork, get injected with a radioactive substance that is encased in a metal tube (so the techs don't get too much radioactivity - never mind the fact that one of these days I am convinced I will turn out the lights and start glowing in the dark), drink cups of barium which messes up my digestive system for a few days, sit for an hour, then get stuck on a narrow metal table with my arms above my head for an hour - all so I can find out if I have cancer again. Would you be in a good mood? I thought not. So, here is the ugly, ugly truth. . . I resent the hell out of this scan. Medical technology has made these incredible strides so I have this super great scan which can help show if my sneak, sneaky, blood cancer is in there doing something and I resent it, resent it, resent it. Every 3 months for God-knows how long I will repeat this ugly task that uses up my whole day and well, quite frankly sucks.
This is my first scan after some distance. It has been three months of oncology-free visits. Three months of freedom. After that scan in June, I got three months of relaxation - no visit that could turn on a dime and ruin my summer plans. At least this time I don't have to wait long. I will see my hematology-oncologist at the end of the week for my ritual blood letting and news.
The kicker to the whole thing (causing further resentment) is that what I really need is a good workout. A bike ride to end all rides to ease my anxiety and reduce my stress. But, no. Can't workout for the 24 hours prior to the scan because the way the muscles react to a good hard workout can mess up the scan. Did I mention that I hate this scan? And so, I become cranky woman without an outlet. It's hard to sit around, knowing what will ease your stress - unfortunately not my mind, although it is a good escape, a NOT be able to do it. So, fair warning to any who may cross my path in the next 9 hours - I could snap at any moment.
Okay, blogo-o-sphere out there - talk to me. I know that I am not the only survivor who feels this way at reality check time.
Deep breath. . .rant done.
September 15, 2007
GO TEAM!
I have had the unique experience of being a Team Hero for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's (Eastern PA) Team in Training (TNT) Program this summer.
When I ran the NJ State half-marathon in April of 2006, just six months after being in remission the first time and only four months into learning to be a runner, I was amazed by the purple and green presence of Team in Training participants. I kept hearing GO TEAM! as I ran. It was very emotional for me. I was able to tell my story to a few of them as I ran. Many of them helped get me through those 13 miles.
The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training® is the world's largest endurance sports training program. They provide coaching and training to run or walk marathons and half marathons or participate in triathlons and century bike rides. In turn, participants help raise money to fund the Society's mission of curing blood cancers. Since 1988, more than $700 million has been raised by over 300,000 participants. If you have ever even considered, in the deep recesses of your mind, trying one of these events, TNT is a great way to learn, get coaching and have friends to train alongside.
I really wanted to share my story with Team in Training participants because they had been inspirational to me. I became a Team Hero with my local chapter. A Team Hero is a patient who can help give participants a personal connection to blood cancer and to why they are training and fundraising.
So, tomorrow, while I am competing in the Danskin, the Team in Training Fall team will be doing the Philadelphia Distance Run. For many, this is the event for which they have trained. For others on the Team, they are using it as a training run for marathons later in the fall. The summer Team has raised over $400,000 and they aren't finished.
I wish I could be there this weekend to cheer them on and let them know that what they have accomplished is amazing, both athletically and for the money that helps fund research for cures to blood cancers. I can't wait to hear their race stories.
If I was there in person, there would only be one thing to say to such an amazing feat. . . .
GO TEAM!
-Jen
September 11, 2007
In memory
Today marks the 6th anniversary of the September 11th attacks. I can remember exactly where I was that day as I'm sure most Americans do. My town and neighboring area lost 18 people. My thoughts and prayers today are with all those who lost someone that day and all those who continue to be affected by this horrific event.
September 9, 2007
We're not in Kansas anymore. . .
Every once in awhile (okay at least once a day) the thought crosses my mind, "How the heck did I get here?" Two years ago I was a stay at home mom trying to juggle two kids who are only 13 months apart and sometimes get a chance to go to the bathroom by myself (all you moms out there know what I'm talking about). And then a lump appeared in my neck out of nowhere. Then I flash to where I am now and I am a mom whose kids know cancer and its ugliness at a really young age, a mom who has lost her hair and grown it back, a mom who decided to take back her body by completing a triathlon, and now a Trek Woman Who Rides. It's all a little surreal to me. Never in my wildest dreams (or nightmares) could I have forecast that this is where I would be in life. But, I am along for the ride, both literally and figuratively. The triathlon-geek part of me I am now used to but this Trek Woman thing is still new. When a friend (thanks Amy S.) forwarded the Trek Women Who Rides contest I casually dismissed it. . .but then I found myself revisiting the page time and time again. So, at the last minute (really - the last day and the last say 15 minutes of business), I called Amy S. (I like to call her my editor) and said, "Can you read something and hopefully not think I'm ridiculous?" She didn't laugh and so I forwarded my essay to Trek. I never thought I would win. I just did it to tell my story. So, when I got a phone message from Krista Rettig, WSD Brand Manager at Trek, my first thought was "What? Are they following up to give me some consolation Rice-a-Roni? Do a survey? Try to get me to buy something?" I was so convinced I would never win that I obviously didn't think through that the Brand Manager was probably not in charge of surveys, consolation Rice-a-Roni or the like. So, we're not in Kansas anymore but I still have that Dorothy-deer-in-the-headlights look (you can't see it as I blog, but trust me, I do) as I talk to all of you in the blog-o-sphere. So, I can't tell you where this is going to take us, we're all just going to take it for the ride it is. I hope you will ride along with me.
Because many of you have asked me privately, here is the essay and pictures I sent to Trek:
I nervously put on my shoes. I walked my bike down to the street and looked both ways for cars. My helmet was clipped. I swung my leg over the top and stood with the bike between my legs. One leg up and the shoe clipped on the pedal. Then the other leg up to the pedal. . . . .then, GRAVITY. I am lying in a heap with my new bike on top of me, my legs and feet still clipped in. My humiliation is burning through my cheeks. Then the voice of my neighbor, "Sure looks like it's good you have a helmet."
I'd like to say this is a story from learning to ride my bike when I was five. But I can't. I'd like to tell you that I climbed on that bike and rode with the wind streaming through my hair. But I can't. Learning to ride, as in living life, does not always go so smoothly.
I am 32, not five.
I have a husband.
I have two boys ages 6 and 5.
I am a woman who is learning to ride and live my life after cancer.
When I was diagnosed with follicular lymphoma at age 30, life came to a halt. Living through chemo was the priority. My body got me through each day, but not anywhere else. When I was declared in remission, my youngest son asked me to take him on a bike ride - I made it four houses. I needed to take control of my body again since cancer had taken that control from me. I joined Team Survivor Tri-State and learned to run in order to complete a triathlon. Then I bought a bike and fell before I even moved an inch. But, after cancer, I knew I could get back up again.
In September of last year, I completed my first triathlon. I pushed myself in ways that I never thought I could and my proudest accomplishment was when I crossed that finish line at the Danskin Women's Triathlon. TAKE THAT CANCER was a good mantra.
Ten days later I was told my cancer had relapsed. I have just finished four more rounds of chemo and a clinical trial. During treatment I kept a blog to keep family and friends up to date. After an "off season" I would rather forget, I have now started training again to help heal my body and show cancer who is boss. I plan to participate in 4 triathlons - the Philly Women's Tri, the NJ Tri, the IronGirl and the Danskin Women's. I also will ride the American Cancer Society Bike-a-thon this year.
I am many things in life and they all will shape what's next. When I ride I don't look behind me, only ahead because that's the only place I want to go.
I am a cancer survivor.
I am a mom.
I am a wife.
I am an athlete.
I am a woman who rides.
August 4, 2007
Let's Take a Step Back
Before we go too far, let's take a step back and review how I got here in the first place. I am Jennifer Polo, age 32. I have a husband Jeff and two boys, Cameron age 7 and Brendan age 6. I am many things - a stay-at-home mom (that pretty much encompasses a little of everything), a wife, mother, athlete and cancer survivor.
Two years ago I was diagnosed with follicular lymphoma, a form of Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I was treated with 6 rounds of chemo and a mouse antibody called Rituxan. November 1, 2005 I was declared in remission. Four days later I joined Team Survivor TriState and began the challenge of recovery and training for the Danskin Women's Triathlon in Sandy Hook, NJ. I met amazing women all with their own cancer stories and learned to train. Cancer treatments and chemo take all control of your body. Accepting the challenge of training for a triathlon felt like a way for me to take control of my body again. I got my road bike just over one year ago.
September 17, 2006 I completed my first tri! As you can see in the picture I was on top of the world!
Ten days later I was told that my cancer was back. In April I finished more rounds of chemo (different kind this time - no hair loss!) and am participating in a clinical trial. So, there you have it. I am now back to recovery and training and am taking all you Trek Women out there along for the ride!
Swim, bike, run, repeat.
-Jen
