Sometimes We Surprise Ourselves

When I first started blog-athl-ing almost 8 years ago, it was to explore my love of writing and chronicle what I hoped would be my noteworthy transition from Average Jill to Ironman.  I had imagined that a recurring theme of my blog would be the triumph of the human spirit over extraordinary circumstances.  (Ok, even I just gagged a little, but remember that I can be extremely corny and idealistic.)

But sometimes we surprise ourselves.

Sometimes we fail.

When we do fail (which is inevitable), what's important to remember is not the failure but what we did with it.  Did we hold ourselves accountable for what we did control?  At the same time, did we let go of the things that were obviously out of our control? What happened over the first few years of my Ironman journey was a mix of me (bad priorities, misunderstandings, poor planning) and chance (illnesses, personal and professional losses) both going to shit at the same time.  It was a time in my life where I was so overwhelmed by everything going on in and around me that that "competing," let alone at Ironman, should have been my last priority.

Nonetheless, I learned a lot from it. And I eventually decided that I didn't want to be a coach OR an Ironman as originally intended.

Earlier this year,  I and several of my family members either became severely ill or found out that we might have serious illnesses. This all happened while I was starting my second semester of grad school and while things were changing rapidly in one of the most demanding roles I've had at work in ages (sometimes I can't answer a single personal email or text all day because I'm too busy.) And I'd just had several big changes with some people who'd been key parts of my life for a very long time.

It was, once again, the perfect storm of chance.

I am my own worst critic. I found myself wondering if I could hold it all together. I found myself questioning everything I learned during those first few years of my Ironman aspirations.  I thought, there's no way I can train regularly during this, let alone PR.  There's no way I can finish the semester when I'm travelling every 6-8 weeks to see my parents and dealing with all this.  There's no way I can be successful at work while I'm dealing with all of this.  Something is going to have to give.

But sometimes we surprise ourselves.

Sometimes we succeed.

I managed to complete a 3rd century and one of the highest-ranking, best-feeling sprints I've ever done.  I scored a 5k PR.  It looks like I'll be completing the semester - completing, not withdrawing or taking an incomplete -  with straight A's again.  I started fundraising for the American Cancer Society again. I have a wonderful group of close, supportive friends who have stepped up for me in ways I'd never imagined.  And I just received recognition at work for exceeding my goal on a key deliverable by 130%.

The point of saying this AFTER re-hashing my old difficulties is that I don't just sit down and decide to blog about what what's good in my life.  I know that it won't always be good, because I've seen how it can go bad.  The point is that, while it's harder to be positive when things go very wrong, everything goes better when I choose to be happy and optimistic no matter how bad it gets.  And it's more a reminder for me that doing this all while the illnesses and stress were going on wasn't (as I like to say) rainbows shooting out of a unicorn's ass.  It was a lot of hard work.  It was a lot of later nights than I like.  It was a lot of me throwing my computer mouse across the room.  It was a lot of crying.  It was a lot of earlier mornings than I thought my body could handle. 

But in the end, I made it happen.

So, although I failed at the "becoming Ironman" part, this blog has ended up being more about the triumph of the human spirit over extraordinary circumstances than anything else.  As corny and idealistic as that sounds.

Sometimes we surprise ourselves.

On Pollyannas, Sore Asses, Illnesses, and IronMAJ

It was the Best of Times; it was the Worst of Times.

OK, Dickens references are admittedly played-out. Let's just say it's been a Good News/Bad News kinda week.

Good News: I rounded out the highest-volume training week of my life last week with 12+ miles of running, 5500 yards of swimming, and 140 miles of cycling - and, best of all, because I'd been increasing volume gradually, eating enough protein, recovering and sleeping, and cutting back on booze and caffeine (almost completely), I ended the week without mishap.

Or so I thought.

Bad News: Sunday night through Tuesday morning my temperature skyrocketed and my body ached. TMFI alert: the area where two lumpy bruises had sprouted (presumably saddle sores, because they seemed merely ingrown hairs a few weeks ago) was now red and swollen all over like a baboon's bottom. On Monday, the doctor declared them infected saddle sores and I laid home two days with antibiotics trying to break the fever.

Wednesday rolled around, and Good News: the swollen area was "softer" and the fever was gone. Bad News: now there was a new, sore, red, swollen spot on the front of my left thigh near my hip and a weird rash on my right arm that the doc hasn't even seen. She put me on a different antibiotic, told me she didn't have to drain it (good news), but then scrunched up her face (bad news), explained that this is progressing very "strangely," added something about cellulitis, shook her head and sent me for bloodwork.

Bad News: I forgot my insurance card. Good(?) News: they have it on file because I'm there getting blood drawn so often.

So here I sit, on my new antibiotic, contemplating one of my prescription painkillers, preparing for another Epsom salts soak, and it is impossible not to think something I have promised not to think as much, or blog about anymore: What next?, Why me?, and, When will it stop?   I mean, I can't get just a few bumps that go away with new shorts, time off, and antibiotic ointment.  No, I have to be the one who gets the weird shit that keeps me home from work, bottomless, for days - and may derail IronMAJ altogether. 

Plain and simple, I am tired.  I am tired of being the sick person, tired of going on and off prescriptions, tired of getting stuck with needles, tired of feeling sick. (And this is just the physical stuff. Forget financial, emotional, professional.)   So part of me asks, Meggan, why do you even try at all? It would be so much easier to simply throw in the towel.  After all, things MAY not get better. There's an equal chance they may actually get worse.  

I know what you're probably thinking right now. You're thinking, that's not a very good attitude, or don't act like a victim, or (most commonly) you need to think positive thoughts.

But being positive is much more than just being a Pollyanna, going around blowing sunshine up everyone's ass all the time about if you think it, it will happen (don't get me wrong, I believe that, too).  Being positive is knowing that the best may happen, but that the worst also might.  It's understanding that it's not how we deal with the best of times that shows our strength, it's how we handle the worst.

No, things might not get better.  But that's exactly why you can't give up.  You can't give up, because then it wins. And if it wins - it being the universe, luck, the illness, whatever - then instead of a 50% chance things won't improve - there is no chance.

So what do you do? 

You ask why me, what next, when will it stop, and why don't I just give up?

And then you fight even harder.

So, what's the best that could happen?  A week or so off the bike and possibly out of the water (no way in hell am I wearing a swimsuit bottom around that poor sore lump right now!)  And the worst that could happen?  I have to give up the century and possibly the 5k swim.  But even that doesn't mean I can't run (reasonably, once the infection clears a bit).  I've already completed most of the swim and most of the cycling portion of the IronMAJ.  I've already gone almost 100 miles.  I have almost swam almost 3.  I've already gone farther than I've ever gone in my life.

And there is still a Rock'n'Roll Marathon in Savannah in November.  (As I love to say . . . that 26.2 miles ain't gonna run itself.)

Things may get better.

They may get worse.

Either way, I'm going to come out swinging.

Rock'n'Roll.

There's No More Cancer in Me OR My Blog

The past two weeks have been a blur.  Drive here, take this pill, try to work, run there, get this shot, grade that, ride here, focus, don’t get stressed, swim there, hope the nosebleed stops, bonk, try not to feel queasy, sleep, wake up feeling like I didn’t . . . . all with a mild case of thymentia.  (Thymentia is the term used by many thyroid patients for the foggy-headed, absentminded, forgetful feeling we all experience thanks to not having a thyroid, or having a poorly-functioning thyroid.)

On Wednesday, I got the results of my whole body scan. (Side note: mega-super-uber-huge BONK on Wednesday night. Tried to cram way too much into that day.  Topic for another entry.)

 After what seemed like an eternity of waiting for answers, the visit itself concluded at breakneck speed.  The oncologist (who I love) basically sat down with us, opened my folder, and said, “Your scan was stone cold normal.”

I’m sure he saw the relieved/happy/confused look on my face (well, you couldn't miss the raising-my-arms-in-victory-over-my-head part), so he added, “Which is what you wanted, right?” -rhetorical question-

Of course, I agreed, and I asked my questions about when to get bloodwork, let him know about the nosebleed, etc.  He said, “So just go back to your endocrinologist and follow up with me as needed.”

I blinked.

“You’re done!” he said with a smile. 

Thinking about all the people I know who have scans every year or two, I stuttered, “Like . . .done?  Like, I don’t have to have any more of these?”

“Yep,” he responded.  “I mean, obviously, your endocrinologist will monitor your labs, but you only have to come back and see me if something looks wrong.”   Then he glanced down at something in my bloodwork and frowned.  “Hmmm, that’s weird,” he said.

I got this comic from a web friend -
I guess one of the authors’
wives is a breast cancer
survivor/patient.
It was an explanation
I could really identify with.

My heart stopped.  “What’s weird?”

“Well, your thryglobulin antibodies are up to 4.5.”

“What does that mean?”

“They’re supposed to be zero.  Do you remember what they usually are?”

“Yeah, negative-something?”

“Well, they can’t be negative, but they can be less than 1.”   (Flipping through my chart quickly) “Yeah, yours look like they’ve always been less than 1.”

“So what does that mean?”

“You’ll just have to have your endocrinologist monitor your bloodwork.”

I left feeling a lot more . . . blank than I expected.  I guess my emotional outpouring was long done.  Don’t get me wrong, celebrations will ensue.  But I realized, as the day ended, that there is a lot more to being a cancer survivor than just surviving cancer.  No wonder so many people get so wrapped up in worrying about when/if it will "return."

Trying to explain the steps from patient to recovery to remission is often tricky.  Sometimes people assume that remission happens as soon as the cancer is "cured."    Trying to understand that yourself can also be tricky.  Thyca is even more complicated, because not only do we rarely have chemo or traditional radiation like other cancer patients (which can often lead to insensitive comments like one I got this week "better than having the kind that so-and-so had!") we have bloodwork every 3-6 months regardless of whether we're "out of the woods" or not. I always say I'm going to stop blogging about how different life is after cancer, but I don't think now that I'll ever be able to stop.  It is something that will affect me forever.

The reality is that you cannot dwell on it daily, although it may change and affect you daily.  Becoming too wrapped up in your "status"  (patient, survivor, recovery, remission, treatment, etc.) will create a never-ending circle of stress.  The cancer can always, "come back," and if we spend our lives worrying about whether it does, we significantly damage the quality of the life we have left.

I have identified who I am, although I don't have a label for it yet. I have chosen to step forward.  I have decided to view everything resulting from my cancer as positive and to see my cancer as a gift that enabled me to appreciate and understand so much more about myself and the world around me.  I have chosen to continue training, even on the bad weeks, because exercise  keeps me otherwise healthy and (as) sane (as possible).

And that, after all, is why this blog even exists.

As a final note, I've changed the theme and the tagline on my blog.  I decided I'm just an "athlete," not a "triathlete," for one.  And I figured calling it Finishing Races, Beating Cancer, and Living Life gave too much power to the cancer.  Yep, still going to have times when I talk about it - but that doesn't mean it makes me who I is.

We now return you to your (new and improved) regularly scheduled programming.