August 27, 2009
Sheila here...
Oliver and I were at Fred Meyer this morning buying school supplies when the following conversation occurred:
Cashier: I like your haircut!
Me: Thank you.
Oliver: It’s not a haircut.
Cashier: Oh, is your mom sick?
Oliver: My mom had breast cancer and her hair fell out.
(Way to cut to the chase, O!)
Me: I’m OK now. My hair’s just growing back after chemo.
Cashier: My good friend lived in Virginia. She had breast cancer and had a mastectomy and a couple years later it came back in the other breast and it killed her! I told her she should have had the other one removed. I really wish she had. Now her auntie has it too. She’s not doing so good.
OK, hello! Time out! My son is standing right here! And so am I! And unless your friend later rose from the dead, I really don’t need to know of her demise.
It’s hard to be mad at people when they share their stories like this – she was just being friendly, but I really wish she would have thought twice before telling me breast cancer killed her friend.
I’ve had conversations similar to this one a few times over the past several months. I am not sure if people just have a temporary lapse in judgment, or if they don’t realize that hearing about things like this is scary for someone in my position. I actually think that they just don’t immediately sense the reality of the situation. They just start talking as if they just discovered we both live in Green Lake, or our kids go to the same school. They find a commonality and run with it.
Luckily I am able to take this with a grain of salt. I’m not naive enough to think that there aren’t people who die from breast cancer. But, I also know the facts – mine was caught early, I have great doctors, my MRI scans are clear, I am exercising and eating right, and I’m being watched carefully.
Just a random observation!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Moms in Maui
August 24, 2009
Sheila here...
We’ve been back from Maui for a week now, and it’s been difficult to get the images of that paradise vacation out of my mind: the waves crashing ashore at Kapalua Bay Beach, the sound of the waterfall at the hotel pool, the smell of the plumeria flowers in the air.
And the woman at the dive shop.
One morning Jason and I got up early and headed into Lahaina to rent scuba gear before heading to the island’s South Beach area for some snorkeling. We popped into Snorkel Bob’s and headed over to the display of dive masks when I saw her.
A cancer mom.
As one myself, I know how to spot them a mile away. No hair, usually a cap of some kind, no eyebrows, no eyelashes. Jason’s getting good at this game too: he noticed her port-a-cath scar. She also had three young kids with her, and they were with an older man – likely the woman’s father. I guessed they were on a family vacation of some sort. The older man’s gaze lingered on me and I could tell exactly what he was thinking: “She doesn’t have hair or eyelashes either.”
I kept stealing glances at the mom until our eyes met from across the store. Mask in my hand, flippers in hers, we looked at other for a few seconds. We both smiled at each other. She winked at me. I winked back.
Then I went out to the car and cried.
There was another woman facing the same thing I was facing. And I knew just how she felt. I knew she was mustering up all the energy she had to make sure her kids were having fun. I knew she would be sitting at the pool, laughing with her family, even though she knew in the back of her head that she had a disease that wasn’t the least bit funny. She’d get tired and turn in early while the rest of her friends and family were raising glasses on the lanai. And when she got a moment, she’d close her eyes and listen to the sound of the crashing waves and her kids and her husband playing in the sand and hold that moment close, knowing that what is happening RIGHT NOW is what matters the most.
I cried because that woman is me. And there are millions more of them out there. And sadly, there will be millions more to come. We are busy women. Active women. Women who work, have children, raise children, volunteer at co-ops, pack our kids’ lunches, set up playdates, make dinner, pay bills, return library books on time, discover the perfect coffee shop, plan vacations and clean out the litter box. We are the generation that is raising the next one. It’s an important job. We don’t have time to put our lives on hold for 10 months while we face surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, scans and doctors’ appointments.
But there she was. The cancer mom. She still packed her bags, got someone to watch the pets, cancelled the newspaper delivery, asked the neighbor girl to take in the mail, threw some fruit leather and Highlights into her carry-on and flew to Maui. She celebrated her family, the warm breeze, the clean pathology report and her luggage that arrived on time.
That wink said it all.
In other news…
My second MRI – the one of my brain – came back all clear. I am officially cancer-free! I had a six-month check-up with my surgeon last Thursday and everything looks good. Friday I went in for my radiation “mapping” procedure, during which I was measured and scanned in preparation for radiation treatment to start Sept. 1. My standing appointment each weekday is 2:30 p.m., and it is expected that it will only take about 30 minutes each time start to finish. My last day will be sometime around Oct. 16 (happy birthday Jason!).
Maui was unbelievable. Oliver stayed with Grandma and Grandpa and Jason and I had a great time at the pool, walking on beaches, running trails, hiking to blowholes, watching luaus, and especially attending the beach wedding of friends Jason and Kendra! It was an incredibly relaxing vacation filled with warm weather, good food and better company. We were both disappointed to leave, but are finding comfort in the fact that we get to go back to the islands for our wedding re-do in January/February!
The end of summer is near, with Oliver in gymnastics camp this week and Labor Day just around the corner. Jason and I will say goodbye to summer with a trip to the Gorge on Sept. 5 to see the Dave Matthews Band. School starts Sept. 9 and the much-anticipated 3-Day walk is Sept. 11-13.
Sheila here...
We’ve been back from Maui for a week now, and it’s been difficult to get the images of that paradise vacation out of my mind: the waves crashing ashore at Kapalua Bay Beach, the sound of the waterfall at the hotel pool, the smell of the plumeria flowers in the air.
And the woman at the dive shop.
One morning Jason and I got up early and headed into Lahaina to rent scuba gear before heading to the island’s South Beach area for some snorkeling. We popped into Snorkel Bob’s and headed over to the display of dive masks when I saw her.
A cancer mom.
As one myself, I know how to spot them a mile away. No hair, usually a cap of some kind, no eyebrows, no eyelashes. Jason’s getting good at this game too: he noticed her port-a-cath scar. She also had three young kids with her, and they were with an older man – likely the woman’s father. I guessed they were on a family vacation of some sort. The older man’s gaze lingered on me and I could tell exactly what he was thinking: “She doesn’t have hair or eyelashes either.”
I kept stealing glances at the mom until our eyes met from across the store. Mask in my hand, flippers in hers, we looked at other for a few seconds. We both smiled at each other. She winked at me. I winked back.
Then I went out to the car and cried.
There was another woman facing the same thing I was facing. And I knew just how she felt. I knew she was mustering up all the energy she had to make sure her kids were having fun. I knew she would be sitting at the pool, laughing with her family, even though she knew in the back of her head that she had a disease that wasn’t the least bit funny. She’d get tired and turn in early while the rest of her friends and family were raising glasses on the lanai. And when she got a moment, she’d close her eyes and listen to the sound of the crashing waves and her kids and her husband playing in the sand and hold that moment close, knowing that what is happening RIGHT NOW is what matters the most.
I cried because that woman is me. And there are millions more of them out there. And sadly, there will be millions more to come. We are busy women. Active women. Women who work, have children, raise children, volunteer at co-ops, pack our kids’ lunches, set up playdates, make dinner, pay bills, return library books on time, discover the perfect coffee shop, plan vacations and clean out the litter box. We are the generation that is raising the next one. It’s an important job. We don’t have time to put our lives on hold for 10 months while we face surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, scans and doctors’ appointments.
But there she was. The cancer mom. She still packed her bags, got someone to watch the pets, cancelled the newspaper delivery, asked the neighbor girl to take in the mail, threw some fruit leather and Highlights into her carry-on and flew to Maui. She celebrated her family, the warm breeze, the clean pathology report and her luggage that arrived on time.
That wink said it all.
In other news…
My second MRI – the one of my brain – came back all clear. I am officially cancer-free! I had a six-month check-up with my surgeon last Thursday and everything looks good. Friday I went in for my radiation “mapping” procedure, during which I was measured and scanned in preparation for radiation treatment to start Sept. 1. My standing appointment each weekday is 2:30 p.m., and it is expected that it will only take about 30 minutes each time start to finish. My last day will be sometime around Oct. 16 (happy birthday Jason!).
Maui was unbelievable. Oliver stayed with Grandma and Grandpa and Jason and I had a great time at the pool, walking on beaches, running trails, hiking to blowholes, watching luaus, and especially attending the beach wedding of friends Jason and Kendra! It was an incredibly relaxing vacation filled with warm weather, good food and better company. We were both disappointed to leave, but are finding comfort in the fact that we get to go back to the islands for our wedding re-do in January/February!
The end of summer is near, with Oliver in gymnastics camp this week and Labor Day just around the corner. Jason and I will say goodbye to summer with a trip to the Gorge on Sept. 5 to see the Dave Matthews Band. School starts Sept. 9 and the much-anticipated 3-Day walk is Sept. 11-13.
Friday, August 7, 2009
All clear!
August 7, 2009
Sheila here...
I had my post-chemo MRI yesterday and a follow-up appointment with my oncologist this morning to go over the results: all clear! No evidence of tumor growth in any organs or bone. A scheduling mishap meant I did not get my brain scan (which is not typical protocol, but something I insisted on), but we’ve scheduled that for August 19. I’m not thrilled to go back in “The Tube,” but I do want to make sure I am 100 percent cancer-free.
Heading back into the MRI machine was not as difficult as it was the first time, when I nearly panicked and needed some serious reassuring to get me through it. Knowing that I tend to feel claustrophobic in such situations, I was prescribed something to calm my nerves. The Ativan – a medication described by the nurse as an “attitude adjuster” – that I took an hour before the scan helped make the whole thing manageable. Even so, I had my friend Rebecca standing by (just as I did at my first MRI) just in case I needed her! This time I didn’t need her hand on my ankle to make me feel better. I got to wear a pair of nifty glasses that, with the use of mirrors, makes it seem like you are looking out the end of the tube instead of at the ceiling of the tube about three inches above you. That kept me entertained for about five minutes; then I just closed my eyes and amazingly dozed off and on. When I got home I took a three-and-a-half hour nap – wow, was that nice!
I expected the good news from the scan would feel like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but I still feel a bit uneasy. I have become very cynical throughout this whole ordeal and am somewhat mistrusting of scans, procedures and doctors’ reassurances. There’s a part of me that thinks there’s some cancer still lurking around that wasn’t picked up by the machines. I am hoping that will pass with time.
In the meantime, I am getting back to real life: I had a fantastic spin class at the gym this morning and a good meeting with one of my favorite clients in Bellevue this afternoon. Lab results from my blood draw this morning showed my white counts quite low, but I am told they will continue to rise in the absence of the infusions. My red counts are normal and my energy level is good.
A celebratory dinner is in order tonight, then another night out with Jason’s cousin who is in town from Denver. And Maui…six days and counting!
And…I know I’ve said this before, but my mom reminded me that repeating myself would be a good idea in this case: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to all my friends, family, neighbors and colleagues who have helped me in so many ways: rides to treatments, uplifting cards in the mail, words of comfort, movie nights, dinner nights, lunches, donations to the 3-Day walk….I could go on and on. True friends rise to the top in situations such as these, and I feel so very lucky to have so many!
Sheila here...
I had my post-chemo MRI yesterday and a follow-up appointment with my oncologist this morning to go over the results: all clear! No evidence of tumor growth in any organs or bone. A scheduling mishap meant I did not get my brain scan (which is not typical protocol, but something I insisted on), but we’ve scheduled that for August 19. I’m not thrilled to go back in “The Tube,” but I do want to make sure I am 100 percent cancer-free.
Heading back into the MRI machine was not as difficult as it was the first time, when I nearly panicked and needed some serious reassuring to get me through it. Knowing that I tend to feel claustrophobic in such situations, I was prescribed something to calm my nerves. The Ativan – a medication described by the nurse as an “attitude adjuster” – that I took an hour before the scan helped make the whole thing manageable. Even so, I had my friend Rebecca standing by (just as I did at my first MRI) just in case I needed her! This time I didn’t need her hand on my ankle to make me feel better. I got to wear a pair of nifty glasses that, with the use of mirrors, makes it seem like you are looking out the end of the tube instead of at the ceiling of the tube about three inches above you. That kept me entertained for about five minutes; then I just closed my eyes and amazingly dozed off and on. When I got home I took a three-and-a-half hour nap – wow, was that nice!
I expected the good news from the scan would feel like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but I still feel a bit uneasy. I have become very cynical throughout this whole ordeal and am somewhat mistrusting of scans, procedures and doctors’ reassurances. There’s a part of me that thinks there’s some cancer still lurking around that wasn’t picked up by the machines. I am hoping that will pass with time.
In the meantime, I am getting back to real life: I had a fantastic spin class at the gym this morning and a good meeting with one of my favorite clients in Bellevue this afternoon. Lab results from my blood draw this morning showed my white counts quite low, but I am told they will continue to rise in the absence of the infusions. My red counts are normal and my energy level is good.
A celebratory dinner is in order tonight, then another night out with Jason’s cousin who is in town from Denver. And Maui…six days and counting!
And…I know I’ve said this before, but my mom reminded me that repeating myself would be a good idea in this case: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to all my friends, family, neighbors and colleagues who have helped me in so many ways: rides to treatments, uplifting cards in the mail, words of comfort, movie nights, dinner nights, lunches, donations to the 3-Day walk….I could go on and on. True friends rise to the top in situations such as these, and I feel so very lucky to have so many!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Last chemo and other tidbits
July 29, 2009
As Katie posted on Tuesday, my blood counts were phenomenal and I was able to complete my last infusion as scheduled. The day was somewhat anti-climactic: I didn’t feel the giddiness I thought I would feel, although that will probably come next Tuesday when I DON’T have to go back! I thought I might feel a bit of nostalgia as I took the elevator down from the third floor, but NOPE! Not going to miss that place one bit. The nurses were fantastic, but I won’t miss them either. The fish tanks were cool…nope – won’t miss them. Bye bye nice lab people who have seen me no fewer than 20 times but still ask, “Arm? Or port?” every time I’m there. See ya later Billy, the well-meaning lab tech who, when he asks me to confirm my birth date, says every time, “Oh! My birthday is one day before yours!” Toodle loo, sweet cancer patient with the fantabulous real-hair wig whose infusions are also Tuesday mornings. It was nice visiting with you and your nice husband in the waiting room, but I won’t be seeing you anymore. Adios, Dr. Kaplan’s nurses, whose names I purposely never learned. Sayonara to the barista at the Swedish Starbucks who twice made me a short raspberry mocha instead of a short ristretto shot mocha. And good riddance to the insanely tight parking stalls in the garage. By some crazy stroke of luck my car made it through five months of visits with nary a scratch.
While I won’t be seeing these folks on a regular basis anymore, I’ll probably run into them from time to time. My visits to Swedish are going to continue, since I’ll be visiting the first floor of the Cancer Institute for daily radiation treatments for six weeks starting August 31. I also have a “staging MRI” next Thursday – a head to toe post-chemo scan to make sure there aren’t any tumors lurking anywhere. Throw in a few mapping visits to the radiologist to get that course of treatment all squared away and my August is filling up quickly.
My visits to the oncologist will slow significantly from here on out. After a visit next Friday to go over the MRI results, I’ll only see him once every few months for the next two years, then every six months for two years after that. I’ll have MRIs and mammograms on a regular basis during that time as well.
I’m considering a preventative treatment using a drug called Zomeda. It is a drug that has been used for the past 10 years to treat osteoporosis in post-menopausal women. More recently, it has been used in patients whose cancer has metastasized – or spread – to the bone. And even more recently, it has been used proactively on women who have finished breast cancer treatment and face some risk of recurrence. When cancer returns, it often returns to the bone. This drug may inhibit the production of osteoclasts, which break down bone and emit hormones that create tumors. The drug would be administered via IV once every six months for two years. There’s a tiny risk of kidney damage or jaw problems associated with the use of Zomeda, but this has only been seen in people who take it weekly. My dose would be significantly lower, and my risk of these side effects “miniscule,” according to my oncologist. There is actually a trial study going on that uses this drug, along with two oral drugs. I am eligible for the study, but I am leaning toward just using the Zomeda. I am all for furthering scientific study, but when it comes right down to it, I think I’d rather go with a drug that is known to help, rather than take the risk of being assigned to a study group that administers one of the lesser-known drugs. I’m hoping to study up more on Zomeda before I decide to do this. If I choose to, I would start once radiation is complete.
Other than recovering from my final infusion I, along with the rest of the Pacific Northwest, have been trying to stay cool in our 100 degree-plus weather. As I write this, four fans are whirring about me, doing little more than blowing 90 degree air around. Uncomfortable, but hey – it’s SUMMER. This is what I have been waiting for!
The countdown to Maui is on and I’m on track to finish my last two work assignments by Friday. I’m taking it easy in August thanks to a hard-working hubby.
Lunch anyone?
As Katie posted on Tuesday, my blood counts were phenomenal and I was able to complete my last infusion as scheduled. The day was somewhat anti-climactic: I didn’t feel the giddiness I thought I would feel, although that will probably come next Tuesday when I DON’T have to go back! I thought I might feel a bit of nostalgia as I took the elevator down from the third floor, but NOPE! Not going to miss that place one bit. The nurses were fantastic, but I won’t miss them either. The fish tanks were cool…nope – won’t miss them. Bye bye nice lab people who have seen me no fewer than 20 times but still ask, “Arm? Or port?” every time I’m there. See ya later Billy, the well-meaning lab tech who, when he asks me to confirm my birth date, says every time, “Oh! My birthday is one day before yours!” Toodle loo, sweet cancer patient with the fantabulous real-hair wig whose infusions are also Tuesday mornings. It was nice visiting with you and your nice husband in the waiting room, but I won’t be seeing you anymore. Adios, Dr. Kaplan’s nurses, whose names I purposely never learned. Sayonara to the barista at the Swedish Starbucks who twice made me a short raspberry mocha instead of a short ristretto shot mocha. And good riddance to the insanely tight parking stalls in the garage. By some crazy stroke of luck my car made it through five months of visits with nary a scratch.
While I won’t be seeing these folks on a regular basis anymore, I’ll probably run into them from time to time. My visits to Swedish are going to continue, since I’ll be visiting the first floor of the Cancer Institute for daily radiation treatments for six weeks starting August 31. I also have a “staging MRI” next Thursday – a head to toe post-chemo scan to make sure there aren’t any tumors lurking anywhere. Throw in a few mapping visits to the radiologist to get that course of treatment all squared away and my August is filling up quickly.
My visits to the oncologist will slow significantly from here on out. After a visit next Friday to go over the MRI results, I’ll only see him once every few months for the next two years, then every six months for two years after that. I’ll have MRIs and mammograms on a regular basis during that time as well.
I’m considering a preventative treatment using a drug called Zomeda. It is a drug that has been used for the past 10 years to treat osteoporosis in post-menopausal women. More recently, it has been used in patients whose cancer has metastasized – or spread – to the bone. And even more recently, it has been used proactively on women who have finished breast cancer treatment and face some risk of recurrence. When cancer returns, it often returns to the bone. This drug may inhibit the production of osteoclasts, which break down bone and emit hormones that create tumors. The drug would be administered via IV once every six months for two years. There’s a tiny risk of kidney damage or jaw problems associated with the use of Zomeda, but this has only been seen in people who take it weekly. My dose would be significantly lower, and my risk of these side effects “miniscule,” according to my oncologist. There is actually a trial study going on that uses this drug, along with two oral drugs. I am eligible for the study, but I am leaning toward just using the Zomeda. I am all for furthering scientific study, but when it comes right down to it, I think I’d rather go with a drug that is known to help, rather than take the risk of being assigned to a study group that administers one of the lesser-known drugs. I’m hoping to study up more on Zomeda before I decide to do this. If I choose to, I would start once radiation is complete.
Other than recovering from my final infusion I, along with the rest of the Pacific Northwest, have been trying to stay cool in our 100 degree-plus weather. As I write this, four fans are whirring about me, doing little more than blowing 90 degree air around. Uncomfortable, but hey – it’s SUMMER. This is what I have been waiting for!
The countdown to Maui is on and I’m on track to finish my last two work assignments by Friday. I’m taking it easy in August thanks to a hard-working hubby.
Lunch anyone?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Green Light
This just in~
Sheila's white blood cell count was at 14.6 WAY up from 2.6 last week.
As she said, "we're ready to roll!"
Stay tuned!
Sheila's white blood cell count was at 14.6 WAY up from 2.6 last week.
As she said, "we're ready to roll!"
Stay tuned!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Message to white blood cells: RALLY!
July 22, 2009
At my Tuesday appointment my labwork indicated that my white cell count dropped again - this, after the promising numbers a week earlier. Frustrating! My dosage Tuesday was reduced by 25 percent and I am giving myself two doses of Neupogen (similar to Neulasta) via injection this coming Sunday and Monday morning. Hopefully this will boost me up so I can complete my last infusion next Tuesday. I really don't want this delayed, so cross your fingers the shots do their job!
I'm off to the support group at Gilda's Club this evening, mostly because they are serving Vietnamese sandwiches. ;)
Oliver is enjoying his summer camp at Kids Inc. - the go on lots of fieldtrips. Monday they rode the Duck and today they visited the Center for Wooden Boats.
Nice hot weather, eh?
At my Tuesday appointment my labwork indicated that my white cell count dropped again - this, after the promising numbers a week earlier. Frustrating! My dosage Tuesday was reduced by 25 percent and I am giving myself two doses of Neupogen (similar to Neulasta) via injection this coming Sunday and Monday morning. Hopefully this will boost me up so I can complete my last infusion next Tuesday. I really don't want this delayed, so cross your fingers the shots do their job!
I'm off to the support group at Gilda's Club this evening, mostly because they are serving Vietnamese sandwiches. ;)
Oliver is enjoying his summer camp at Kids Inc. - the go on lots of fieldtrips. Monday they rode the Duck and today they visited the Center for Wooden Boats.
Nice hot weather, eh?
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Blood Counts: A+
July 19, 2009
I received good news at my last chemo treatment last Tuesday: both my white and red blood cell counts were well within normal range. The shot of Neulasta and a week off seemed to do the trick. My oncologist was very pleased, and suspects those high counts will hold me through my final infusions. I am down to just two more now – one this Tuesday and one on the 28th.
On Friday, my 3-Day teammate Carol and I co-hosted our much-anticipated Drink Pink Happy Hour at my house to raise money for the 3-Day walk. We were both blown away by the generosity of our friends and family. You guys are phenomenal! The weather was perfect (if not just a bit too hot!) and the company was terrific. We drank pink drinks: cosmos (thanks, Anne S.!), pink champagne, vodka cranberries and pink lemonade. We snacked on fruit (great job, Mom!), veggies, cheese, crackers, chili cheese biscuits (again, thanks Anne S.!) and mini pink cupcakes (kudos, Tina!). The kids cooled off in the inflatable pool out front while the adults socialized and helped us raise money for a worthy cause. Thank you to everyone who attended!
This weekend we are heading over to Spokane for my friend Chelsey’s wedding. We’re looking forward to helping Chels and Santavorn celebrate and showing Oliver around the Gonzaga campus. We’re excited about the hotel pool – it has a slide!
Last night Jason and I corralled our friend Chris and headed off to join friends Kate and Bill (and about 20 others) to sing karaoke at a Ballard dive bar called the Wagon Wheel. We had a blast and had a hard time leaving! I had to get home and get some sleep, though, to prepare me for a 15-mile training walk with Carol this morning. I cut the walk a bit short (probably 11 miles or so?), but Carol kept going. We’re contemplating a couple laps around Green Lake early tomorrow morning. We’re feeling more and more confident that we’ll be able to tackle those 60 miles in September with minimal pain!
The 3-Day organizers have promised to let us know the exact walking route as the event nears. We’d love to have cheerleaders meet us along the way! If you’d like to be on our email list when the route map is released, let me know in a comment or send me an email.
Also, friends and family members are encouraged to write letters or send cards to 3-Day participants. They must be received by Sept. 1 to be delivered during the event. (Envelopes only – no care packages!) If you’d like to send a letter to me (or anyone else on the walk), mail them to:
Breast Cancer 3-Day Camp Post Office
PO Box 78646
Seattle WA 98178
We’re having some great weather in Seattle this summer. I hope those of you here are enjoying it!
I received good news at my last chemo treatment last Tuesday: both my white and red blood cell counts were well within normal range. The shot of Neulasta and a week off seemed to do the trick. My oncologist was very pleased, and suspects those high counts will hold me through my final infusions. I am down to just two more now – one this Tuesday and one on the 28th.
On Friday, my 3-Day teammate Carol and I co-hosted our much-anticipated Drink Pink Happy Hour at my house to raise money for the 3-Day walk. We were both blown away by the generosity of our friends and family. You guys are phenomenal! The weather was perfect (if not just a bit too hot!) and the company was terrific. We drank pink drinks: cosmos (thanks, Anne S.!), pink champagne, vodka cranberries and pink lemonade. We snacked on fruit (great job, Mom!), veggies, cheese, crackers, chili cheese biscuits (again, thanks Anne S.!) and mini pink cupcakes (kudos, Tina!). The kids cooled off in the inflatable pool out front while the adults socialized and helped us raise money for a worthy cause. Thank you to everyone who attended!
This weekend we are heading over to Spokane for my friend Chelsey’s wedding. We’re looking forward to helping Chels and Santavorn celebrate and showing Oliver around the Gonzaga campus. We’re excited about the hotel pool – it has a slide!
Last night Jason and I corralled our friend Chris and headed off to join friends Kate and Bill (and about 20 others) to sing karaoke at a Ballard dive bar called the Wagon Wheel. We had a blast and had a hard time leaving! I had to get home and get some sleep, though, to prepare me for a 15-mile training walk with Carol this morning. I cut the walk a bit short (probably 11 miles or so?), but Carol kept going. We’re contemplating a couple laps around Green Lake early tomorrow morning. We’re feeling more and more confident that we’ll be able to tackle those 60 miles in September with minimal pain!
The 3-Day organizers have promised to let us know the exact walking route as the event nears. We’d love to have cheerleaders meet us along the way! If you’d like to be on our email list when the route map is released, let me know in a comment or send me an email.
Also, friends and family members are encouraged to write letters or send cards to 3-Day participants. They must be received by Sept. 1 to be delivered during the event. (Envelopes only – no care packages!) If you’d like to send a letter to me (or anyone else on the walk), mail them to:
Breast Cancer 3-Day Camp Post Office
PO Box 78646
Seattle WA 98178
We’re having some great weather in Seattle this summer. I hope those of you here are enjoying it!
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