Tuesday evening, I found out a friend of mine died. It was rather unexpected. It was very upsetting.
It’s not like we were very close. I had really only known her for a short while. Lisa is a part of my Team In Training (TNT) friends and teammates. She died Tuesday morning, October 29, 2013, and it is assumed it was her cancer that killed her. We all knew she had cancer. That was how she and I became friends. We emailed support, motivation, and questions about running while going through chemo. I promise you, it is one of the most physically difficult things I have ever done. The fatigue is too often literally overwhelming, making you trail off the instant you sit down.
Some days, standing in the living room and feeling the weight of fatigue coming on, knowing there is nothing I can do to fight it, I just gave in. I would lie down right there on the floor and be out for an hour before I could pull myself back to reality. I could have walked upstairs to my bed. I could have walked over to the couch. I didn't care. That kind of exhaustion makes it really difficult to go run. Difficult to feel like you are alive instead of in a half reality, stuck between worlds. Between the living and the dead. Neither completely taking you, neither giving in to the other. Maybe the exhaustion is what finally got Lisa. I don’t know or need to know the actual cause of death. I don’t care. It was cancer.
In the last two weeks of her life, amidst her normal motherly obligations and life, Lisa continued to fight cancer. In her own battle she had visits to the doctor or hospital. In a more public facing effort, she continued with Team In Training. She had been raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society by preparing to run the San Francisco Nike Women [Half] Marathon with at least one of her daughters.
As she flew to California for the race weekend fun, she doubted herself. Not sure if she could perform well. I reminded her that a finish time was not important. The amount of time she spent in training, the efforts she made to raise money to fight cancer, that she can cross the finish line, these were the victories. She only had 13.1 miles to run or walk until someone gave her a medal to celebrate her accomplishments over such insurmountable obstacles. I told her of all the many people I knew there, some have become my favorite people, I was cheering her on more than any of them. I told her I was thinking about her. I cheered her on because I know what it is like to finish a race while going through chemo. And she did it. She is a hero. That is not diminished by her passing.
How many people can say with their last two weeks of mortality, emotionally wiped and struggling through incredulous physical pain, they ran a half marathon and raised money to fight cancer? To fight the very thing killing her? When I ran the Vancouver BC BMO Marathon earlier this year, in a room or 300+ people, there were four of us that stood when they asked for those currently fighting cancer to stand. Four that were enduring chemo and still going to run the next day. Lisa was that kind of person.
With her sudden passing, many of us were and are grief struck. She seemed to be doing well. She smiled her fantastic, enveloping smile and those around could not help but do the same. As TNT folks, the thing we know best in dealing with frustration and confusion towards cancer is running together. It is, after all, how we all came together to begin with. We gather unshowered in the early morning, share an emotional message, I try to make people laugh because I think that's the best way, we get in real close to each other, put one hand in for a team cheer of "goooOOO TEAM!!" and we run.
Tuesday night, after the kids were down and I was lost in emotion, I put on my purple TEAM shirts. I kept choking back tears as I put on my shoes. I kissed my wife. And I ran. It's the only thing I think we know to do. It's the only tribute that means anything to us.
The purple shirts are our race shirts. On which we write or screen or pin the names of those for whom we run. Some in honor of, some in memory of. They are the uniform of our efforts, motivation, drive, and loved ones.
Lisa, before you ran the Nike Women's, I shared with you a most appropriate quote. “A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” (Christopher Reeves). I echo that again with the sorrow of your passing. Maybe unintentionally, you have held your light high for all to see and follow. You have endured so much, with pain, with agony, and to those of us that knew your struggles, you did so with such admirable strength. You are and always will be a hero.
Tuesday night, I put on my purple shirt. I cried while running. I ran for Lisa.
Well I certainly HOPE so. Brooks has a number of charity organizations with who they have worked in the past, donating either a percentage of sales or products and things. I have reached out to them in an effort to strike up a similar partnership for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
The real nitty gritty of the proposal is that they make a limited edition purple shoe of one of their lines of shoes, and donate a portion of the sales to Team In Training. What would be the coolest ever is if they did one whole month of purple products, shoes, shirts, hats and jacket, and donate from that month's sales. That way customers could buy whatever model shoe they run in (the Ghost for me), or a jacket or something if they prefer a different shoe for running. Everyone can show their TEAM spirit that way.
Well the idea has been officially proposed and I should hear back by mid January. I will post an update about it then.
...Fingers crossed!
I didn't say anything about this after my last dose of chemo. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get my hopes up by saying it out loud, or even typing it. Where I thought I had one more dose of chemo before I could hope to be done, I was informed that this last one was in fact, my LAST one. ...no way.
Pending test results of the CT which I had this morning, and the result came back the same as the last one, "Shows no signs of lymphoma," I am done. I am done.
I can't say it enough for it to sink in. I am done.
It's been three and a half years of chemo. It has become the way life is. I have no choice but to take another hit and let the fog roll in. Am I really done? In six months are they going to say they made a mistake? Am I going to get my port taken out of my chest only to need it put back in?
AM I REALLY DONE???
...oh please let it be so. Please just let me be done.
The doctor said I am done. We can take the port out.
I am done.
If you know this picture, you know exactly how I feel. I make no apologies for the language. I feel like I "crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side."
A week ago tomorrow, I sat down for what I thought would be the second to last dose of chemo ...ever! Well, not forever. I know that there is no complete cure for Lymphoma yet so at best I could hope for a maintenance drug like Gleevec to come out before the eventual return of my cancer. But Dr. Oncologist told me this was my last dose!! HOW COOL IS THAT?!?! I thought I had one more dose coming in November. The blood work showed all signs were "normal," which is as normal as my blood gets for now. I am still a bit anemic and have low white blood counts though not low enough to worry about neutropenia or anything. Instead of coming back in for another dose of poison in two months, I will go in for a blood test is all. Yes, there will be a complete CT scan between now and then to measure and analyze everything. Pending those results and if everything is still good, I am done!
To be brutally honest, that scares the bejeebers out of me. It means another wait-and-see period. This one is supposed to be final and last for at least a few years. But so far, all wait-and-see periods have ended with going into heavier rounds of chemo, more nausea, hair loss, unbelievable fatigue, and all the emotional distress. While I have been on this maintenance dose of chemo for the last who knows how many months (10? 11?), I was not quite as worried because I knew I was at least getting something to keep cancer at bay. Now...? I am left to the strengths of my own immune system to fight it's epic saga.
I don't know. Which is to say, I do not know what to do, say or think, so I shrug my shoulders and sluff off the burden of unquieted anxieties. ...I don't know.
I ran last night. It was the first time since that dose a week ago. It usually takes a week to a week and a half to start feeling the fatigue subside. I wanted to start the week off strong. Running or doing Insanity on Monday but knew I was not yet up to it. If I held still, I felt well enough. If I moved around, like walking to the bathroom at work, I felt all sorts of weird. My head was dizzy, my legs unsure. Walking home from the train after work I did not trust my legs for a run unless it was at home on the treadmill because if needed, I could stop and just walk inside. If I were out running, I would have had to cover the distance to get back home. I have done that once before and do not want to repeat it. I decided to wait at least another day. Yesterday, the mental anguish was too much. I needed to run to clear my head more than anything but knew my legs would benefit as well. I ran six miles and felt really good. My head was not too dizzy. My legs kept me going. My lungs burned enough but not too much. I was not trying for any speed records, just go.
That is the beauty of running for me. I can do hard workouts, speed workouts like Yazzos or Fartleks, hills, whatever, pushing myself to make me stronger and faster. But I find the best workouts are when I let go of time and pace as much as I can and just go run. I think of the mileage I want to hit and a route that roughly gets the distance. Then I go. By the time I am back, all the intellectual backwash is cleared. Concerns are lessened, patience restored and I feel better. That is what I needed last night. I intended to run five miles last night to be a little easier on my body for the first post chemo run. I usually try to take it a little easier after a dose. I didn't realize I turned for the extra mile until I was halfway through that extra loop. Too late to turn back and have it make any difference, my legs held up and my mind was grateful for the extra mile.
Now we wait. We wait for the scheduling at Imaging to call and set up the CT. Maybe next week I will get results. Maybe another week. It depends on when I can get in for the scan. ...Wait and see. My least favorite time.
That sucks.
I don't know. I'll go run again tomorrow, building up more miles again.
Today is one of those days that hurts to get out of bed in the morning. I set my alarm for early enough to go run before work. That did not happen. I almost cried getting out of bed in time to make it to work.
Truth be told, I have been so tired for a while now. It is not just tired like I need a nap during the day, but it is the kind of tired that comes with chemo and fatigue. Chemo tired is not pacified by taking a nap. You wake just as tired as before. It is heavy. My arms feel like they are pulling me down.
Yesterday after making dinner for my family, a cheese and chicken ravioli (store bought) in a pesto olive oil sauce I made with garlic bread and sweet potatoes with caramelized onion and crumbled bacon, I just had to sit down. I did not know I was asleep until all of a sudden I realized my wife was finishing up reading to our children and I had no idea how long they had read. Sure, I mention the food because I think the meal itself had a little to do with it as a card/starch filled meal could have had a little help towards a food coma, but the heavy tired has been going on for a while. ...And because I wanted to brag a little about how the food was good. That is was fatigue does. It makes staying awake, especially if you sit down, a near impossibility.
In addition to the heavy tired that has plagued me for too long, I ache. Both in the bones and joints, as well as in the muscles. The aches and pains that commonly come with running and keeping up with replacing your shoes when mileage dictates the need, those aches I accept. Those aches I earn. Ankles and shins and hips, they voice their dislike for my pushing myself. Aside from those which are the acceptable payment for the emotional sanctity of physical exertion, when your bones hurt, when your muscles feel bruised, the hypochondriac in me raises his ugly mottled head.
Am I relapsing? Is it spreading? Is it mutating? Why does my bicep hurt like I curled too much weight? Why do my radius and ulna ache?
...Grumble, grumble. My next appointment is in a couple weeks. I don't know if I am just being paranoid or if these are legitimate issues.
I have been thinking about that appointment for a few days. The nurses always ask if I am in any pain. Usually I have earned any pain by running or something. But not this time. I do not understand it. I do not know how to answer their next question, either. "On a scale of 1-10, how bad is it?" Well that's just stupid. Pain is relative. Is this pain more painful than... a root canal with not enough novocain? No. Is this pain more painful than stubbing your toe? Yes. Is this pain painful enough to take pain blockers? Everyday, and it still hurts. Then I ask myself if this pain is worse for me than the cause of the anguished look on the old lady's face in the chair next to me in the infusion room. With a sigh comes my answer, I would be the biggest sissy if that were the case. I ache. I am very tired of the ache. But I should be able to endure this pain far more than those around me. So what do I tell the nurses? I would really like the pain to go away, but if there is not much more advice than can be given than take some Tylenol, then "Thank you, Sir. May I have another?" And I will be on my way.
"Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?"
The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene 2
I don't know.
...Who is John Gault?
Maybe two weeks ago, I had another dose of chemo. This was another maintenance dose and a checked off round, edging ever closer to the end of it all. ...I hope.
In my head I keep singing Another One Bites the Dust. But I am a bit concerned. I ran a couple times this last week, not as many runs as I would have liked but all things considered, I did pretty well. One of my runs was just over six miles and I kept an average 10:23 pace per mile. Not my best but not bad for an old man. The problem is, and why I have been concerned is that I do not feel like I am recovering. Recovery has many parts to it. The first part is energy level, how quickly you regain a "normal" level of energy after your run. On longer runs, sometimes a nap after you shower and stuff is needed. After the energy level comes the muscle soreness. That's what more people think of when thinking about recovery. Are you sore the next day? Can you walk? Can you go back out and run again? I can go out and run up to ten miles without having to really even think about soreness. But this time, I cannot recover the energy level.
This goes beyond the immediate need for a nap. For me, it has been maybe four days and I am still exhausted. It goes beyond that too. I have been super tired for a few weeks now. The last time I felt like this was a year ago when I was training for Hood To Coast, a relay race running in legs from Mt Hood to Seaside in Oregon. In training for that, I had one run where I did 13.1 miles and thought I was going to die. Not as in a whiny sort of way where you are just not fit enough to complete a run without really sucking wind, but I was afraid I might not make it home. I was literally hallucinating on that run. When I could not recover, I called my oncologist who ran some blood test to find out that I was almost two liters low on red blood. Understandably, that was my worst run ever.
Feeling the same or similar now, I called oncology today. When I went in a couple weeks ago, I mentioned how tired I have been lately. The CBC (Complete Blood Count) showed everything as fairly normal for my levels, though. So I went ahead with the chemo dose as that gets me one step closer to being done with everything. Doctor Oncologist told me to keep an eye on it though and see if we need to look at something else as to the cause of the fatigue. So I called. Usually, it takes me about a week to overcome the normal fatigue from a round of treatment. The last round was unusually difficult on me, and this round is not seeming to be any easier.
I do not know what it could be, but it has me a bit worried. What if- You know?
With the call to oncology, I am waiting for the call back to see what the doctor wants to do. I want to run tests and try to rule everything out or find something so it can be addressed and fixed. Maybe that is part of the problem. Insurance got cancelled, and we cannot pay for more tests or treatment. It worries me.
I keep saying I am just old. Is that it? Is this what being old is like? Because this sucks.
The Helvetia Half is one of the largest in Oregon. This year there was over 17,000 people (I think) that ran or walked the event. I was one of them. Remember back to Vancouver BC? Scroll down to see the summaries I did for that run, but it did not go well. I wasn't to worried. Yes, you are always disappointed if you feel you did not run well. But I knew I was going to run the Helvetia a month later and I have run enough to know one bad race does not define me.
Maybe a week or so after I got back from Canada (eh), I had another round of chemo. For whatever reason, this round was particularly hard on me. I was wiped out from this round. Usually, lately anyway, I have recovered and been fine after about a week. This time the fatigue was almost overwhelming and lasted way longer than normal. That part is always frustrating. This directly affected my running this time. I just could not pull it together enough to go for a run.
Finally, after too long and knowing I needed to get a few runs in before Helvetia, I went out for a good run. I think I may have done 10 miles that day. I planned on getting a few more shorter runs in still but I got sick. When someone gets sick, they can often modify their workout and still keep going. I am doing that now. But I was so sick then I could not do anything. Race day was fast approaching and I was underprepared even if just mentally.
With race day at the Helvetia Half upon me, and knowing there are some good hills on this course, I had some mental prep to do. I had one of my good friends Jeff and my sister in law Amy joining me for their first halfs ever. Part of me was just trying to play it cool for them and tell them the basic things, relax, take it easy, don't worry about your finish time, make sure you drink, try to stay more in the middle of the road to stay as level as you can, don't worry about the "fast" runners because anyone that matters has already finished... You know, first timer stuff. At the same time I was trying to tell myself similar things. You are sick. Don't worry about finish time this time. Just relax and have fun. It's fine to pull over and cough a lung out when you have to... Which I only did twice. Good thing too since we only have two lungs.
I actually did really well. As I came into the last mile stretch, I was relaxed and smiling. I saw my wife, children and one our BFFs waiting for me just before the finish chute. They cheered me on and I felt great. As I past, they asked where Amy was to cheer her on too. She was not far behind. For me, I had a decent finish time though it was not my best. And I am fine with that. I ran better than in my last race and really that is all I ever hope to accomplish with each race. Jeff ran like a rock star and finished ahead of me with his family there to cheer him on. He then waited for me to finish as well.
Post race, I had to take another week off to try and stop being sick. For as little running prep as I did the month prior to the race, I was not very sore at all. My hips were a little tight where I had been having some troubles in preparing for Canada (eh), but really, I felt good in the muscles. Helvetia was June 8th this year. It's been however many days since (12?) and I am running again. I cannot get rid of the muck in my chest but it is not really slowing me down. I am running 6 miles or so every couple days and holding a 10 minute mile average. I am happy with that for now.
I am happy to still be running. Not sure when my next dose of chemo is but I will still be running then too. I just hope I don't have to take as much time off for recovery from that this time.
"If you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward."
-MLK Jr.
