I've known I've had cancer for just over a year now. I think I wrote a post several months ago on the 5 stages of grief that, really, applies to anyone in ANY kind of traumatic situation.
Stage one: Denial. I went through that, but it lasted about 2 minutes considering there were about ten different doctors/radiologists/neurologists telling me there was a large mass on my brain that they believed to be malignant due to the way it lit up when x-rayed with contrast. My only "denial" was the "why me?, this can't be happening, nooooo" I was screaming into Matt's chest or into the phone at Jess through tears.
Stage Two: Anger. Yep. Felt that too. Not angry at Heavenly Father, I promise, but I felt angry that I have to deal with this. I felt angry at myself. It might sound weird, but I feel like we chose our trials in the preexistence and this is just typical me. I always take on too much. Say yes to everyone. Such an over-achiever. So lame.
Stage Three: Bargaining. Praying to Heavenly Father and telling Him that "I promise I will never miss another day of church again (or something like that) if He will take my cancer away." Not going to happen. It just doesn't work that way.
Stage Four: Depression. This is the stage where I got a lot of work done. I wouldn't say I was in your classic depression mode. I was more panicked and anxious than anything else, but those two words fall under the umbrella of depression. The bulk of my depression was during radiation. If you are close to me and talk to me often, you know, radiation is a 4 letter word. The worst, most horrific time of my life by far.
It was bad, but it fueled a lot of where I am today and for that I am thankful. Since I was so weak, I spent most of my time in bed and did research. I read websites, articles, books, blogs, emails, basically anything I could get my eyes on to find out as much as I could about my cancer and, more importantly, what I was going to do AFTER I was done with the standard traditional treatment (surgery, radiation and 1 year of chemo.)
One big change that happened, right off the bat, during my research was that I became a vegan. I am unsure if it was psychological or that meat, dairy and eggs were, in fact, contributing to the cancer in my body (many people argue that they do cause cancer), but I do know, I don't like the taste of those products anymore, do not miss them, dropped 20 pounds quickly and have kept it off and feel better not eating any of that stuff. Am I telling you to stop eating animal products? No, but it has worked for me.
The first change was food and that was only the beginning. I have opened the door to all natural (we are talking homemade, not products that say "all natural" on the bottle) as I venture into this new lifestyle. It is slow and hard. This world has changed so much and it is almost impossible to find anything at a grocery store that is 100% safe to go inside your body.
Okay, I have cancer, is it too late to even try and change anything? Maybe, but I can't think like that. Cancer is like an epidemic these days. Everyone is getting it, no one is immune. Hopefully a cure will come soon. Hopefully a cure will save my life. In the meantime, I have to do something.
Matt and I have spent a lot of time on our knees asking our Heavenly Father what to do next and feel really good about "round 2" of operation beat brain cancer. I'm going the natural route. I have, basically, exhausted my resources with traditional medicine. I did everything they told me too. I believe in everything I've done. My doctor still looked me in the face and told me I have 3-5 years to live. I don't believe this, I won't believe this, but it makes me sad that he didn't add in: "but we know you'll make it longer." Nothing. My other 2 doctors did say they thought I'd live longer, but nothing from my neuro-surgeon.
I spoke to my neuro-oncologist and told her we wanted to go the naturopathic route in addition to traditional medicine and she was very receptive. She even referred me to a doctor she highly recommended certified in natural medicine.
My appointment went really well. He wants exactly what I want--the best of both medicines! He said there should be no reason why someone shouldn't use both to compliment each other. He also guaranteed me he would shrink my tumor more than it already is. We are thrilled! Anyone familiar with natural cancer protocols will know about "vitamin c infusions." I will be getting my first infusion on October 1. I'm nervous/excited. Bring it on. My doc said these infusions do amazing things for my immune system. Should be cool.
Finally Stage 5: Acceptance. Trying to get there. To put this in perspective, if you were to lose a spouse, they say it takes, on average, 5-10 years to fully get over the loss. I accept that I have cancer. I do not accept that I am going to die soon. I do accept that God has a plan for me and my family. That is a massive pill to swallow and is so painful because I have been that child looking at my mother lying in a casket.
I cannot imagine my children having that pain. I hate being the mom with cancer that might leave them behind. It's messy and hard. I'm trying to accept this all because, as you know, it DID work out for me. I'm happy. I'm in love with my husband and our 5 children and we have built a successful life together. I did it without a mom. I will be with her again because of the Gospel. My children will be with me again.
SO, nature vs. medicine? I say both and hopefully that will keep me around a long time.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Friday, August 16, 2013
August 12, 2013
Has it really been a year? Could a year feel like a blink of an eye on one hand yet 100 years on another? My emotions have been running on overdrive the past few weeks...this brain tumor diagnosis did not choose a good time of year to happen ;). My birthday is July 29, so I feel like there has been a lot of attention on me. Usually this isn't something I mind a whole lot, but when I feel like I could slump over into a ball and ugly cry for hours at any given moment...attention is the last thing I need or want.
My family and I decided to release balloons each year on my birthday. One balloon per family member, per year. This year I am one (I guess there are some perks to getting cancer!) Next year each family member will have 2 balloons and since I plan to live a long time, that sky is going to be covered before we know it (Matt and I might have to rethink it then!) Before we released the balloons each member of my family made a wish for me:
Wade: "I hope that the medicine will work and mom will live until she is elderly and die because of that and not because of cancer."
Seth: "I wish that the medicine will work and mom will feel better."
Trent: "I wish that mom will feel better and Taylor (our nanny) can work more days at the Sno Shack."
Rylee: "I wish those kids need to stop laughing." [mean brothers!!]
Matt: "I wish for a cure for cancer."
...and then we let those wishes fly.
The next day I had a MRI and the results came back fantastic! My neuro-oncologist says the tumor is still showing no growth at all and even little shrinkage which is completely unexpected and wonderful. It is the greatest news we could get! Everything is going so well so why do my eyes well up with tears when I type these words?
Everything is going so well, BUT I have cancer. I've said it before...the first year is the worst year of anything. I'll never forget August 11th or August 12, 2012. How could I? The details of those days are cemented into my mind. I've made it through the first year--brain surgery, radiation, most of chemo therapy--the rest should be a walk in the park, right? I don't mind standing up, brushing myself off and fixing a problem when I have nowhere to go but up, but cancer doesn't have an up. Just a "plateau for awhile" until you go back down. I think that is why I tear up every time I think, write or talk about my cancer.
My prayers have changed a lot this past year. I have always been thankful for what I have, but didn't realize what I had until it was gone and now it is gone...kind of. I am still here, in a sicker version of myself, but mostly normal, with this prognosis hanging over my head, like a dark cloud, all of the time. I keep trying to be okay with whatever is supposed to happen, but how can you be okay with leaving this Earth when your baby is 5 years old? I spend a lot of my prayers asking my Heavenly Father to help me to be okay with His plan. As painful and hard as it may seem, I do believe it will be what is best for my family. It's hard though.
I'm a pretty black or white person. I don't do grey area--which is not a good thing and is something I need to change. Here is where my faith comes bounding in...it will all work out...it has to. My incredible, talented, amazing, neuro-surgeon looked me in the eye and told me I have 3-5 years to live and I cannot forget that, but I cannot believe that either. I have to take that information and combine it with everything else I have to make a stronger, better me. Use my new perspective to make the most of every moment I have with my children and husband on this Earth because it can change very quickly.
I still cry in every prayer to my Heavenly Father. I thought that would stop or slow down by now, but it hasn't. I'm still very vulnerable and raw, just a girl trying to grab onto something to feel some sort of control. Which, actually, I have started to feel a little of. It's nice to know that I have a brain tumor. Supposedly it has been growing for 7 or more years before I had the first seizure. I like to know I'm doing something to fix a problem and we are definitely doing something ;). I have grown and changed so much as a person and that is a huge blessing as well.
Life is hard. It isn't meant to be easy, but the love and support I continue to receive is incredible. I am very blessed and thankful for it.
My family and I decided to release balloons each year on my birthday. One balloon per family member, per year. This year I am one (I guess there are some perks to getting cancer!) Next year each family member will have 2 balloons and since I plan to live a long time, that sky is going to be covered before we know it (Matt and I might have to rethink it then!) Before we released the balloons each member of my family made a wish for me:
Wade: "I hope that the medicine will work and mom will live until she is elderly and die because of that and not because of cancer."
Seth: "I wish that the medicine will work and mom will feel better."
Trent: "I wish that mom will feel better and Taylor (our nanny) can work more days at the Sno Shack."
Rylee: "I wish those kids need to stop laughing." [mean brothers!!]
Matt: "I wish for a cure for cancer."
...and then we let those wishes fly.
The next day I had a MRI and the results came back fantastic! My neuro-oncologist says the tumor is still showing no growth at all and even little shrinkage which is completely unexpected and wonderful. It is the greatest news we could get! Everything is going so well so why do my eyes well up with tears when I type these words?
Everything is going so well, BUT I have cancer. I've said it before...the first year is the worst year of anything. I'll never forget August 11th or August 12, 2012. How could I? The details of those days are cemented into my mind. I've made it through the first year--brain surgery, radiation, most of chemo therapy--the rest should be a walk in the park, right? I don't mind standing up, brushing myself off and fixing a problem when I have nowhere to go but up, but cancer doesn't have an up. Just a "plateau for awhile" until you go back down. I think that is why I tear up every time I think, write or talk about my cancer.
My prayers have changed a lot this past year. I have always been thankful for what I have, but didn't realize what I had until it was gone and now it is gone...kind of. I am still here, in a sicker version of myself, but mostly normal, with this prognosis hanging over my head, like a dark cloud, all of the time. I keep trying to be okay with whatever is supposed to happen, but how can you be okay with leaving this Earth when your baby is 5 years old? I spend a lot of my prayers asking my Heavenly Father to help me to be okay with His plan. As painful and hard as it may seem, I do believe it will be what is best for my family. It's hard though.
I'm a pretty black or white person. I don't do grey area--which is not a good thing and is something I need to change. Here is where my faith comes bounding in...it will all work out...it has to. My incredible, talented, amazing, neuro-surgeon looked me in the eye and told me I have 3-5 years to live and I cannot forget that, but I cannot believe that either. I have to take that information and combine it with everything else I have to make a stronger, better me. Use my new perspective to make the most of every moment I have with my children and husband on this Earth because it can change very quickly.
I still cry in every prayer to my Heavenly Father. I thought that would stop or slow down by now, but it hasn't. I'm still very vulnerable and raw, just a girl trying to grab onto something to feel some sort of control. Which, actually, I have started to feel a little of. It's nice to know that I have a brain tumor. Supposedly it has been growing for 7 or more years before I had the first seizure. I like to know I'm doing something to fix a problem and we are definitely doing something ;). I have grown and changed so much as a person and that is a huge blessing as well.
Life is hard. It isn't meant to be easy, but the love and support I continue to receive is incredible. I am very blessed and thankful for it.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Scared
Summer is finally here! School is out, there are no schedules, no practices to attend, nothing really to do other than swelter in the Phoenix heat :). This is the part of the year where I usually take advantage of our non-scheduled life and schedule it up with vacations, activities and fun. Instead of feeling excited, though, I find myself feeling an immense amount of anxiety for the summer.
The memories of last summer came flooding back as I was preparing the "end of year" teacher gifts. I can remember so many details of last summer, it feels like only yesterday. I remember what we did, how I felt, what I wore, what my kids wore, what we did on this day, what we did on that day, what we ate, where we ate. Last summer flew by and it ended with the worst possible news I could ever imagine.
I am, surprisingly, still very raw and unsettled from the news of my diagnosis. You would think after a year it would have sunk in a little more, but I think of the doctor coming into my hospital room and telling me I have a brain tumor and tears immediately stream down my face. I think of screaming and looking over Matt. I think of holding onto to him. I think of calling Jess and crying and saying "no, no, no" over and over again with her. I remember like it was yesterday. I am surprised at how much it still emotionally affects me today.
I know with any tragedy, time makes it better and a year certainly isn't long enough to make much of a difference. The first year is a tester. You get to try everything out the first time with your circumstance. With my mom, it was obviously going through everything without her being there and each time it was easier not have her there. Unfortunately it doesn't work that way with cancer.
Time is a double edged sword. I want to time to raise my children. I want time to give doctors and scientists a chance to create a cure for cancer or another drug that will slow the tumor growth even more. The other edge of the sword is, I am told, with time my tumor will grow back and eventually become uncontrollable. It is hard to imagine or even comprehend this happening to me, BUT we have a lot of faith and will keep hoping that it won't be anytime soon. For now the worst is definitely behind me.
Each month when I'm on my chemo I feel sick for about 5 days and I'm all around sick--physically and mentally. Chemo is strong stuff. It definitely reminds me I have cancer. The rest of the month I am building back to my normal self and by the time I'm about to take chemo again, I hardly know I have cancer UNTIL I am harshly reminded. I just finished chemo which may have triggered the need for this blog entry.
Next summer I want to read this post and wonder how on Earth I could have been scared to start summer break :).
The memories of last summer came flooding back as I was preparing the "end of year" teacher gifts. I can remember so many details of last summer, it feels like only yesterday. I remember what we did, how I felt, what I wore, what my kids wore, what we did on this day, what we did on that day, what we ate, where we ate. Last summer flew by and it ended with the worst possible news I could ever imagine.
I am, surprisingly, still very raw and unsettled from the news of my diagnosis. You would think after a year it would have sunk in a little more, but I think of the doctor coming into my hospital room and telling me I have a brain tumor and tears immediately stream down my face. I think of screaming and looking over Matt. I think of holding onto to him. I think of calling Jess and crying and saying "no, no, no" over and over again with her. I remember like it was yesterday. I am surprised at how much it still emotionally affects me today.
I know with any tragedy, time makes it better and a year certainly isn't long enough to make much of a difference. The first year is a tester. You get to try everything out the first time with your circumstance. With my mom, it was obviously going through everything without her being there and each time it was easier not have her there. Unfortunately it doesn't work that way with cancer.
Time is a double edged sword. I want to time to raise my children. I want time to give doctors and scientists a chance to create a cure for cancer or another drug that will slow the tumor growth even more. The other edge of the sword is, I am told, with time my tumor will grow back and eventually become uncontrollable. It is hard to imagine or even comprehend this happening to me, BUT we have a lot of faith and will keep hoping that it won't be anytime soon. For now the worst is definitely behind me.
Each month when I'm on my chemo I feel sick for about 5 days and I'm all around sick--physically and mentally. Chemo is strong stuff. It definitely reminds me I have cancer. The rest of the month I am building back to my normal self and by the time I'm about to take chemo again, I hardly know I have cancer UNTIL I am harshly reminded. I just finished chemo which may have triggered the need for this blog entry.
Next summer I want to read this post and wonder how on Earth I could have been scared to start summer break :).
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Brain's Still Doing Well
The good ole thinker was x-rayed last week and my doc says it was the best MRI yet! I think we finally have this thing figured out! They know JENNIFER ROPER at the MRI department and haven't made a mistake in months. I've only had one seizure in over 90 days so it's time to start weening my meds down and the tumor is showing signs of small shrinkage.
You'll have to remember that a lot of tumor shrinkage is unexpected and unlikely, BUT can happen and we are always in the department of MIRACLES over here, right? With prayers and all that important stuff, anything can happen.
We are cautiously optimistic as we veer forward into the second half of the year of my monthly chemo. WOW! That has flown by! Hopefully my white blood cells will cooperate and we can get a full 6 more months out of me. I think I can do it. Thank you for the thoughts and prayers, I appreciate and need them.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
My Claim to Fame
I was interviewed by a KSL news reporter several weeks ago for a story regarding the large amount of brain tumors diagnosed in the neighborhood I grew up in. The story aired last night on the 10pm news in Utah. Watch out Kim Kardashian ;).
Friday, May 10, 2013
Honoring the Survivor
I've been talking a lot about the fundraisers I've been participating in and it is truly fitting since May is "National Brain Tumor Awareness" month. The more people aware, the better. In every fundraiser I have been to, they always "honor the survivor." In theory it sounds like a wonderful opportunity to honor those who have survived cancer. In my reality, it was--for lack of better words--one of the saddest things I have ever done.
The first (and last time--at least for a while) I would participate in this, I was asked, along with the other brain cancer survivors, to come to the front and stand while the entire audience stood and clapped in our honor. The first 30 seconds were fine and after a minute, I could not hold it together anymore. I started to cry. I cried so hard, it was embarrassing. I wanted to run and hide and I was trapped in front of hundreds of people clapping that I was alive. Clapping because I was alive.
I guess there's a part of me that hasn't fully grasped what is really going on with me (maybe in order to get through the last 9 months?) In my opinion, a person needs to grieve a tragedy in a reasonable amount of time according to its severity and that is what I am doing. I am grieving the "loss" of my old life. I am grieving the possibility of losing my life and everything that goes a long with it. 9 months is not long enough. Not for me.
I get the idea of honoring a survivor, but I picture a "survivor" much older than me…at least 20 years older than me. The plan is for me to be that "53 year old survivor" (at least) and I won't go down without a fight ;).
The first (and last time--at least for a while) I would participate in this, I was asked, along with the other brain cancer survivors, to come to the front and stand while the entire audience stood and clapped in our honor. The first 30 seconds were fine and after a minute, I could not hold it together anymore. I started to cry. I cried so hard, it was embarrassing. I wanted to run and hide and I was trapped in front of hundreds of people clapping that I was alive. Clapping because I was alive.
I guess there's a part of me that hasn't fully grasped what is really going on with me (maybe in order to get through the last 9 months?) In my opinion, a person needs to grieve a tragedy in a reasonable amount of time according to its severity and that is what I am doing. I am grieving the "loss" of my old life. I am grieving the possibility of losing my life and everything that goes a long with it. 9 months is not long enough. Not for me.
I get the idea of honoring a survivor, but I picture a "survivor" much older than me…at least 20 years older than me. The plan is for me to be that "53 year old survivor" (at least) and I won't go down without a fight ;).
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Relay for Life
Can you feel the love? I surely can!! The fundraising has continued and is going at a wonderful time. It is National Brain Tumor Awareness Month and although we are always aware around here ;), it is important that many others are too. My sister-in-law, Marie and her daughter, Jocelyn (and many of her friends), signed "Team Jen" up for the Relay for Life that stopped in Cedar City on April 19-20.
The Relay for Life is an amazing organization raising money for every kind of cancer. The relay takes place on a school track (in this case it was SUU) and there must be at least one member of your team walking on the track during the entire event which lasts through the night.
Talk about an amazing event!! SO much love, dedication and donation of time, money and effort were spent on this! Once again, the support I felt by friends and family, both near and far, was incredible!
Cedar City is my home away from home, Matt's hometown, our alma mater and favorite place to be…it doesn't take a lot for us to hop in the car and drive up North, but this event made it even more sweet.
Marie's husband, Chris, is the local Ryan Seacrest ;) and even featured me on the radio which made me feel like a local celebrity.
We had a ball seeing family and friends and raised $1700 dollars that went straight to cancer research!
We'll take as much of that as we can get! Thank you to all who helped, walked, donated talents and efforts, traveled and made a difference in my life and many others lives as well.
The Relay for Life is another traveling fundraiser and came to Phoenix a few weeks after Cedar City. Wade and Seth's school put together a team and raised over $2900 dollars for the cause!! Amazing!
In addition to Phoenix, Washington DC had their own Bain Tumor Research Run in which my cousin, Mattie, and her cute husband, Erich, ran in! Just love them to pieces!! I'm telling you...how could I not feel the love?! ;)
The Relay for Life is an amazing organization raising money for every kind of cancer. The relay takes place on a school track (in this case it was SUU) and there must be at least one member of your team walking on the track during the entire event which lasts through the night.
Talk about an amazing event!! SO much love, dedication and donation of time, money and effort were spent on this! Once again, the support I felt by friends and family, both near and far, was incredible!
Marie's husband, Chris, is the local Ryan Seacrest ;) and even featured me on the radio which made me feel like a local celebrity.
We had a ball seeing family and friends and raised $1700 dollars that went straight to cancer research!
We'll take as much of that as we can get! Thank you to all who helped, walked, donated talents and efforts, traveled and made a difference in my life and many others lives as well.
The Relay for Life is another traveling fundraiser and came to Phoenix a few weeks after Cedar City. Wade and Seth's school put together a team and raised over $2900 dollars for the cause!! Amazing!
In addition to Phoenix, Washington DC had their own Bain Tumor Research Run in which my cousin, Mattie, and her cute husband, Erich, ran in! Just love them to pieces!! I'm telling you...how could I not feel the love?! ;)
Friday, April 12, 2013
Latest MRI
The MRI results are in and I am reporting "no change" again. This has been a long process in which I have evolved a great deal as a person both inside and out. I have written about my new perspective enough where it is pretty clear where I stand on that subject, but the MRI's have taken me a LONG time to grasp.
I don't know what I wanted when I was told my MRI results…well, actually that isn't true. I wanted to get brain surgery, get radiation, take the chemo and go into each MRI and have them tell me the remaining tumor is shrinking more and more as time went on. What is wrong with that? It doesn't work that way.
I think it has taken me a long time to grasp my MRI results for 2 reasons: 1. I don't like the results. 2. It means I have to accept there is no cure for my disease.
How can there be no cure? How can I have brain cancer? It still feels so unreal. This is not me, this is a dream, I will wake up and be fine.
My last MRI was at the end of March and I saw my neuro oncologist and my radiation oncologist (he's my 26+ years to live guy) and both said they were thrilled with the results of my MRI. My radiation oncologist said he was "ecstatic" with the results. Really? Why?
Why? Because people with my disease die within months of their diagnosis. The best recorded prognosis any doctor can give me with complete confidence is 3-5 years. 3-5 years still sends chills down my spine.
My doctors are "ecstatic" with my MRI results because I am living a normal life. Not only am I living a normal life, I am running half marathons, raising money for myself and other people with cancer so research can be done and cures can be found, vacationing with my family, making plans for the future and being me. THAT is news that would make anyone ecstatic.
I can "say" all of this which means I "know" it, but NOW I have to work on BELIEVING it. I'm as stubborn as they come and love to be right :), but I also love to prove others WRONG even more than being right initially :). I'm coming around and will start with small goals. I have to get over that this cancer is going to go away. My focus will have to be on hoping the cancer does not grow back at least until there is a cure.
I don't know what I wanted when I was told my MRI results…well, actually that isn't true. I wanted to get brain surgery, get radiation, take the chemo and go into each MRI and have them tell me the remaining tumor is shrinking more and more as time went on. What is wrong with that? It doesn't work that way.
I think it has taken me a long time to grasp my MRI results for 2 reasons: 1. I don't like the results. 2. It means I have to accept there is no cure for my disease.
How can there be no cure? How can I have brain cancer? It still feels so unreal. This is not me, this is a dream, I will wake up and be fine.
My last MRI was at the end of March and I saw my neuro oncologist and my radiation oncologist (he's my 26+ years to live guy) and both said they were thrilled with the results of my MRI. My radiation oncologist said he was "ecstatic" with the results. Really? Why?
Why? Because people with my disease die within months of their diagnosis. The best recorded prognosis any doctor can give me with complete confidence is 3-5 years. 3-5 years still sends chills down my spine.
My doctors are "ecstatic" with my MRI results because I am living a normal life. Not only am I living a normal life, I am running half marathons, raising money for myself and other people with cancer so research can be done and cures can be found, vacationing with my family, making plans for the future and being me. THAT is news that would make anyone ecstatic.
I can "say" all of this which means I "know" it, but NOW I have to work on BELIEVING it. I'm as stubborn as they come and love to be right :), but I also love to prove others WRONG even more than being right initially :). I'm coming around and will start with small goals. I have to get over that this cancer is going to go away. My focus will have to be on hoping the cancer does not grow back at least until there is a cure.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Hawaii
The only thing I can think of when I hear the word "Hawaii" is paradise. We were very blessed by one of my oldest and dearest friends, Jeni, with a week stay at an amazing condo in Kauai, Hawaii! It was an incredible vacation! The Ropers and the Bryners whisked away to an Island paradise.
I knew I wanted to do things I have never done before on this trip so I was ready to try it all and many adventures were had!! We started by hiking near our resort and saw many gigantic sea turtles and sea lion.
The whales and dolphins were also rampant which was seriously amazing!
The kids wanted to spend as much time as they could at the beach so we did. The beaches on Kauai are amazing…some are perfect for boogie boarding while others are good for surfing, still others are good for snorkeling, etc. We boogie boarded,
body surfed, snorkeled and I surfed…yes, SURFED on the best beaches in the world!
I knew I wanted to surf and talked about it leading up to the trip. I signed up for a lesson, met Ziggy (yes, his name was Ziggy), learned the basics and paddled out into the waves. Ziggy helped me to know when to turn around and get ready to go, but I was the one who stood up and rode the waves ;). I got up 3 times and surfed to shore!! The beach is a "surfing" beach because the waves are pretty close to shore and you can surf right onto the sand. Jess watched me the whole time like a proud mama…she took at least 100 pictures…I loved it!
Surfing is super hard, but so fun! Standing up is such a wonderful feeling…like no other I can explain. My poor body took a beating, but I wore my black and blue bruises up and down my legs, bruised ribs, sore muscles and shaky arms like badges of honor :). I felt on top of the world! I surfed and it was hard, but I can do hard things and it was SO worth it!
We did so much more, but the highlights of the trip were the helicopter ride Matt took me on of the Na Pali Coast,
our adventurous canoe ride/hike/rain storm to the secret water falls and back,
drive to the north side of the island, luau where Wade caught the fire dancer's head dress,
Spouting Horn,
endless beach days
and priceless family memories. It was paradise and so much more!
I knew I wanted to do things I have never done before on this trip so I was ready to try it all and many adventures were had!! We started by hiking near our resort and saw many gigantic sea turtles and sea lion.
The whales and dolphins were also rampant which was seriously amazing!
The kids wanted to spend as much time as they could at the beach so we did. The beaches on Kauai are amazing…some are perfect for boogie boarding while others are good for surfing, still others are good for snorkeling, etc. We boogie boarded,
body surfed, snorkeled and I surfed…yes, SURFED on the best beaches in the world!
I knew I wanted to surf and talked about it leading up to the trip. I signed up for a lesson, met Ziggy (yes, his name was Ziggy), learned the basics and paddled out into the waves. Ziggy helped me to know when to turn around and get ready to go, but I was the one who stood up and rode the waves ;). I got up 3 times and surfed to shore!! The beach is a "surfing" beach because the waves are pretty close to shore and you can surf right onto the sand. Jess watched me the whole time like a proud mama…she took at least 100 pictures…I loved it!
Surfing is super hard, but so fun! Standing up is such a wonderful feeling…like no other I can explain. My poor body took a beating, but I wore my black and blue bruises up and down my legs, bruised ribs, sore muscles and shaky arms like badges of honor :). I felt on top of the world! I surfed and it was hard, but I can do hard things and it was SO worth it!
We did so much more, but the highlights of the trip were the helicopter ride Matt took me on of the Na Pali Coast,
Spouting Horn,
endless beach days
and priceless family memories. It was paradise and so much more!
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Brain Tumor Research Walk
I know I've said it before, but the love and support I've received since I have been diagnosed is unimaginable. I could not feel more loved! The only downside to it all, is what is causing all of the love to be shed upon me ;).
I'm learning about many great organizations I knew little, if any, about. The first organization and official fundraiser "Team Jen" participated in this year is the "National Brain Tumor Society" walk.
This is a national traveling fundraiser that reaches out to several communities. When the organization comes to your city, your team has the opportunity to participate in a morning of events including a "walk"for brain tumor research aid and activities such as games, raffles and food for the cause.
Several weeks before the walk, your team works to raise money to donate. Jess headed up "Team Jen" and we were able to raise over $3500 dollars...can you believe it!?!?
I'm beyond thrilled!! What's even more exciting is we placed 11th of the 94 teams participating from the Phoenix Valley. Over $94,000 dollars went to the organization on March 16th, 2013!
I am honored and proud to be a part of saving others lives! Thank you to all the family and friends who donated their love, time and money to "Team Jen." I am very blessed. This was the first of many fundraisers to come.
I'm learning about many great organizations I knew little, if any, about. The first organization and official fundraiser "Team Jen" participated in this year is the "National Brain Tumor Society" walk.
This is a national traveling fundraiser that reaches out to several communities. When the organization comes to your city, your team has the opportunity to participate in a morning of events including a "walk"for brain tumor research aid and activities such as games, raffles and food for the cause.
Several weeks before the walk, your team works to raise money to donate. Jess headed up "Team Jen" and we were able to raise over $3500 dollars...can you believe it!?!?
I'm beyond thrilled!! What's even more exciting is we placed 11th of the 94 teams participating from the Phoenix Valley. Over $94,000 dollars went to the organization on March 16th, 2013!
I am honored and proud to be a part of saving others lives! Thank you to all the family and friends who donated their love, time and money to "Team Jen." I am very blessed. This was the first of many fundraisers to come.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Phoenix Half Marathon
I struggled with the title of this post because the half marathon, I ran 2 weeks ago, was so much more than a "half marathon"....it was proof that "I can do hard things", "be comforted and take courage", the collaboration of "Team Jen" and more. I have run, literally, thousands of miles in my life, but have never felt the way I did during the 13.1 on March 2, 2013.
After completing radiation in November 2012, I had little hope of ever running again. I could barely walk down my hall, let alone run 13. It was another reality I felt slipping through my fingers with my diagnosis last fall. I prayed for strength every night and each time a song came on the radio from my playlist I would, still, feel that electric current charge through my veins and could think of nothing but running again. When I was weak and healing, I told some of my friends that it was ridiculous I had signed up for this race, I would never be trained in time. I couldn't shake the desire to try to run and to "be comforted to take courage."
From the beginning, my doctors were excited I was a runner--especially a marathon runner..."We like runners, you know what it takes to push through and work for something even when it's hard." I laughed it off back then, clueless as to what was in store for me after all, "I can do hard things." My definition of "hard" has drastically changed since then.
I truly never believed I'd have quite the mountain to climb like I did in order to train for the half marathon. The training sessions started very slow. One slow walk around my block. Two times a week. Three times a week. Two times around my block. Three times a week. Running 1 min, walking 4 min, 3 times a week. "I can do hard things." I am strong. I have the courage to do this. I have to do this. No one can do this for me. Days turned into weeks, blocks turned into miles. I was alive again!
When I run, I feel like I do not have a brain tumor. I do not have cancer. I have an entire life ahead of me. My new perspective on life makes running even better then before. The air, the sights, the feelings. The very idea that I am alive to run. I have this incredible body given to me to experience this life. My body can heal and be strong enough to do these things that many thought would be impossible for me to do again. I can do whatever I set my mind to.
Running is infectious. Its tangible and its an incredible way to support those in need. My niece created "Team Jen" based upon my love for running. T-shirts, a loving family and friends and a whole lot of support has humbled and astounded me. I think it would take days to tell you all the incredible acts of love and kindness that have been shown to my family and I through all of this. It is incredible.
One thing I know for sure is that I am loved. My Heavenly Father knows me. He knows what I am doing and knows when I am hurting. He wraps His arms around me and carries me whenever I need it. Have the courage to ask Him for help. He is there.
I knew I was ready for the race. Matt and I went to the EXPO to pick up our numbers. I love the EXPO. The energy and excitement you feel rumbling there cannot be matched. We felt it and I relished in it. The race would soon be here.
Race day. We had to wake up at 3:45 am and I, like I do every race day, promised myself that this would be the last time I EVER wake up this early again (until the next race ;).) Matt's crazy driving skills, nervous energy and a little pre-running warm up got us to the starting line with more than enough time to take pictures, chat and decide when we would strip our sweats down to our running attire.
6:30 am race begins. I felt at peace. The many supporters I had on and off the course allowed me to drift into my own thoughts. I ran the best race of my life. I barely listened to my music...just watched other runners, spectators, the landscape and just ran. I was doing it. 3 days shy from the 6 month anniversary of my brain surgery, I was running a half marathon.
Many other runners commented on the shirt I (and the rest of "Team Jen") ran in. The front read "Team Jen" and "No One Fights Alone" while the back read "I Can Do Hard Things."
My goal was to run the race in less then 2 hours and 30 min. I was hoping to get closer to 2 hours and 15 min. I completed the Phoenix Half Marathon in 2 hours and 11 min! I ran into the loving arms of many and was followed in by many more. It was the perfect day. "I can do hard things" and I can do them well.
After completing radiation in November 2012, I had little hope of ever running again. I could barely walk down my hall, let alone run 13. It was another reality I felt slipping through my fingers with my diagnosis last fall. I prayed for strength every night and each time a song came on the radio from my playlist I would, still, feel that electric current charge through my veins and could think of nothing but running again. When I was weak and healing, I told some of my friends that it was ridiculous I had signed up for this race, I would never be trained in time. I couldn't shake the desire to try to run and to "be comforted to take courage."
From the beginning, my doctors were excited I was a runner--especially a marathon runner..."We like runners, you know what it takes to push through and work for something even when it's hard." I laughed it off back then, clueless as to what was in store for me after all, "I can do hard things." My definition of "hard" has drastically changed since then.
I truly never believed I'd have quite the mountain to climb like I did in order to train for the half marathon. The training sessions started very slow. One slow walk around my block. Two times a week. Three times a week. Two times around my block. Three times a week. Running 1 min, walking 4 min, 3 times a week. "I can do hard things." I am strong. I have the courage to do this. I have to do this. No one can do this for me. Days turned into weeks, blocks turned into miles. I was alive again!
When I run, I feel like I do not have a brain tumor. I do not have cancer. I have an entire life ahead of me. My new perspective on life makes running even better then before. The air, the sights, the feelings. The very idea that I am alive to run. I have this incredible body given to me to experience this life. My body can heal and be strong enough to do these things that many thought would be impossible for me to do again. I can do whatever I set my mind to.
Running is infectious. Its tangible and its an incredible way to support those in need. My niece created "Team Jen" based upon my love for running. T-shirts, a loving family and friends and a whole lot of support has humbled and astounded me. I think it would take days to tell you all the incredible acts of love and kindness that have been shown to my family and I through all of this. It is incredible.
One thing I know for sure is that I am loved. My Heavenly Father knows me. He knows what I am doing and knows when I am hurting. He wraps His arms around me and carries me whenever I need it. Have the courage to ask Him for help. He is there.
I knew I was ready for the race. Matt and I went to the EXPO to pick up our numbers. I love the EXPO. The energy and excitement you feel rumbling there cannot be matched. We felt it and I relished in it. The race would soon be here.
Race day. We had to wake up at 3:45 am and I, like I do every race day, promised myself that this would be the last time I EVER wake up this early again (until the next race ;).) Matt's crazy driving skills, nervous energy and a little pre-running warm up got us to the starting line with more than enough time to take pictures, chat and decide when we would strip our sweats down to our running attire.
6:30 am race begins. I felt at peace. The many supporters I had on and off the course allowed me to drift into my own thoughts. I ran the best race of my life. I barely listened to my music...just watched other runners, spectators, the landscape and just ran. I was doing it. 3 days shy from the 6 month anniversary of my brain surgery, I was running a half marathon.
Many other runners commented on the shirt I (and the rest of "Team Jen") ran in. The front read "Team Jen" and "No One Fights Alone" while the back read "I Can Do Hard Things."
My goal was to run the race in less then 2 hours and 30 min. I was hoping to get closer to 2 hours and 15 min. I completed the Phoenix Half Marathon in 2 hours and 11 min! I ran into the loving arms of many and was followed in by many more. It was the perfect day. "I can do hard things" and I can do them well.
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