It's Like a Sucky Sorority

Last week, I was at my son's basketball practice.  As I was walking in, looking for a seat along the sidelines, I notice a woman about my age.  She's mostly bald.  She's smiling as she's watching her son practice.  A flood of memories come back to me. I remember sitting at the soccer field.  Trying to focus on Mason practice, but at the same time, self conscious around all the mom's with great hair and looking all put together.  For me, it was just a risk success to make it out of the house.

I debate whether or not to say something to her.  It's a risk.  What if she chooses to have her hair like that?  What if I offend her?  Is it really any of my business? Then I come to my senses and think no beautiful, young mother would choose to have her hair like that.  No, it's none of my business, but it's worth the risk to reach out to a fellow survivor.  The worst that could happen is she's annoyed.  I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time I've annoyed someone.

I ask if she's a survivor (I am 95% sure I already know the answer).  She's two weeks out from her surgery.  Upon hearing this, I feel like I've met a sorority sister.  The cancer sisterhood is just like a sorority except:

• Instead of fixing each other's hair, we offer to share hats and scarves.  And biotin (its a supplement that is supposed to help your hair grow).
• Instead of cute, embroidered sweatshirts, we wear ugly surgical bras and pouches that hold our surgical drains.
• Instead of living in a house where there is a house mom, we are the mom.  Trying our hardest to take care of ourselves, as well as our families.  
• Instead of a busy social calendar, our calendars are filled with doctor appointments, scans, chemo treatments, radiation, and phone calls to the insurance company.  
• Instead of learning the mission/creed of the sorority, we learn the meaning of words like oncotype, HER2, ER/PR, Red Devil.  
• We don't have secret handshakes, we just know to greet each other with very gentle hugs. 
• We don't have big dances.  We just have end of chemo celebrations.  
• Instead of choosing a charitable organization to support, we are the ones who need the support.  

But, there is a sisterhood; An instant bond.  I don't need to explain to my new friend Tammy what I've been through.  She knows all too well.  My heart breaks that I've met another young mom who has been through this, but I can't help by be a little excited that I've met another sucky sorority sister.  

Race Day

This past weekend, I ran 13.1 freaking miles on my one year cancer-versary.  It was simply AMAZING.  It's an accomplishment I worked very hard for.  Something that no one can take away from me.  It was the end of a chapter (cancer) and the start of a new one (as a runner).  Believe it or not, I've never considered myself a runner... Until I crossed the finish line and decided I want to do another run.  I feel like I've finally earned the title of runner.

I wanted to share a bit about my race day.  

I set my alarm for 4:30am and hoped to sleep well the night before the race.  Of course, I didn't sleep well... I was wide awake at 3:30.  After trying to go back to sleep, I finally got up around 4am to start my OCD carefully planned out routine.  It wasn't the 13.1 miles that had me stressing out.  {TMI ALERT!!} My finely tuned routine had one goal in mind: a pre-race poo.  For any of you that run, you know how important this can be.  For weeks, I took mental notes about my routines and which activities would increased the chances of reaching my goal.  My routine was on point and 85% of the time, I could predict success.  All I needed was a cup of coffee, a half mile warm up, and indoor plumbing and BOOM! I was in business. 

Here's what my morning looked like Believe it or not, I actually took notes on my phone so I would remember the details of the day:

Pre-Race

4:00 - Up and at 'em.  Make coffee.  Shower and brush my teeth.  Goodness it's early. But, it's going to be a great day! I've trained so hard and it's finally here!

4:20 - Get dressed, eat banana.

4:30 - Write prayer list on my arm.

4:40 - Time to get the shit show on the road!  I decide to run The Link, the indoor tunnel that connects our hotel to the Crown Center.  I run for about a mile and a half, praying my colon body starts to wake-up. 

5:24 - I take coffee back to the room for Richard and go hang out on the toilet a bit.  As a psych major, I know the effects our environment can have on our behavior.  So, I figure it can't hurt to just go sit for awhile.  Still nothing.  

5:30 - It's got to happen soon, right?  I go down to my friend Carrie's room, where we talk about the race.  And poop.  I'm getting worried this isn't going to happen.  1.57 miles in.  Still not happening.  

6:15 - We meet our friend Whitney and Whitney's mom in the lobby.  We are going to do a quick jog to the WWI Memorial (I'd say it was maybe a half mile away).  It was cool and crisp.  Union Station was lit up blue for the Royals and Whitney is telling us about her Grandpa, who has a bench named after him at the memorial.  We get to the bench, say a prayer, and decide it's time to get back down to the start line.  

6:40 - Our hotel is close to the start line, so I run back up to the room to try to go one more time.  At this point I'm panicked!  The race hadn't even started yet and I've logged 3 miles already and still no dice.  

6:45 - I kiss Mase and Richard as they are in bed.  Mase is up and we do our family 'handshake' where we put our hands on top of each others and yell 1...2...3...Moss.  It puts me in a good headspace to hit the course.  

6:50 - Carrie, myself, and 11,000 other runners get in the chute (sort of like a corral for runners).  I feel the urge to pee, but don't have time to go because the race is going to start soon.  I'm nervous, I've worked so hard to poo, I'm positive it's going to hit me sometime during the race.   

The Race

7:10ish - The race starts.  The energy and excitement can be felt in the air.  Holy cow, this is happening.  And I haven't pooped.  Just go with it, Julie.  It's too late to worry about that now.  Enjoy it! You've got this!

Mile 3 - I'm praying for my marriage, per my prayer list.  Richard sends me a quick text of encouragement that I can read on my watch.  Rascal Flatts's song Won't Let Go starts to play on my Beats.  Richard would play this song for me when we were traveling to our doctor appointments.  Tears start to flow.  Dammit.  Stop crying Julie.  Suck it up.  Crying takes energy.  And you need the hydration.  Stop it!   

...You think you're lost.  But you're not lost on your own.  You aren't alone.  I will stand by you.  I will help you through.  When you've done all you can do, you can call.  I will dry your eyes.  I will dry your eyes, I will fight your fight.  I will hold you tight and I won't let go.  It hurts my heart to see you cry.  I know it's dark, this part of life.  It finds us all when we're too small to stop the rain, oh, but when it rains, I will stand by you.  I will help you through...  (Rascal Flatts, Won't Let Go)

Mile 5 - I'm praying for my Gillispie family and I quickly text my sister (thank you Apple watch for enabling me to text while I'm in the middle of a race.  Apple: Feel free to send me a free one for this endorsement).  Jill starts sending me texts of encouragement.  She has been following me the entire time using a tracking app.  She's encouraging me and telling me about water stations coming up.  Even though she was in Florida, it feels like she's running with me.  Another boost.
Mile 8 - I'm getting tired.  I've done a few hills.  The excitement of the start line has worn off.  Still a long way to go.  I round a corner and hear this familiar voice yelling "Go Julie! Go Julie!"  I look around and it is my friend Alicia, who lives about an hour away from KC.  We logged a lot of miles about 3 years ago, navigating motherhood.  Alicia ran a half marathon (I started training with her, but quit).  She knew exactly what I was feeling.  I stopped very briefly to give her a hug and a kiss and she told me to keep running and that she was proud of me.  She's got tears in her eyes and I'm choking back tears again.  She spent a precious morning traveling and fighting the crowds to come cheer me on for all of 3 seconds.  It's just the boost I needed to get over that 8 mile slump.  As I run away, I look back and can see her cheering me on.
Mile 9 - Richard sends me a quick text letting me know that he will be at Mile 11 (with him are my in-laws and Mason).  Another boost... Plus the Sport Beans I ate at mile 5 are starting to hit.  I kick it up a notch.  The motivation that my family is just a mile ahead keeps me going strong.
Mile 10 - I'm praying for all Survivors, especially those I've come to know in a Surviving Together Facebook group.  Praying for those who fought the battle and lost.  Praying for those who signed up for clinical trials so that I could get the best treatment possible.  Again, another boost to keep me going.
Mile 10.5 - I am running hard, okay as hard as you can after running 10 miles, and I'm looking for my crew.  I do this for about 15 minutes, expecting to see them any minute.
Mile 12 - I finally see Richard, Mase on his shoulders and my in-laws.  I quickly stop and give them high fives.  Mase thinks I'm like a super star athlete.  I can hear him ask "Daddy, is mommy winning?" Richard says "Yep, she's winning!"  Talk about a major boost!  I know I'm close to the end.  I've got about 10 minutes of the race left.
Mile 12.5 - I round the home stretch (although a half a mile is still a long ways after you've ran 12) and again, I see Alicia.  She's yelling that she's proud of me and tells me to finish strong.  I'm humbled.
Mile 13 - I see the finish line.  I'm soaking it in.  I'm a bit sad the race is coming to an end.  I feel so strong in that moment.  I'm proud of myself and cannot believe I've done it.  Cannot believe all that has transpired over the past year.  I quietly whisper "I WIN."  And, I'm thankful I didn't have to poop during the race.
After the race, I meet up with Alicia and my family.  Mason is so excited about my medal and decides  he wants to wear it.  Of course, I let him.  I know this was a team effort.  This entire year has been a team effort.

My cheering section!
My friend Alicia who was there to cheer me on in the very moment I needed a cheerleader.
Carrie, Whitney and I celebrating the finish.
My prayer list.
1...2...3...Moss cheer.
My race swag.

Oh, and my story was mentioned on the front page of sports in the KC Star!  You can read the article here: http://www.kansascity.com/sports/other-sports/article39351111.html

Prayer List for Race Day

Today, on my cancerversary, I will be running 13.1 freaking miles.  Lord knows, it will be an emotional day.  Running that long isn't only hard on your body; it can also be hard on your mind.  I plan to keep my mind focused or perhaps distracted, which isn't a bad thing when you are fighting wind, cold, exhaustion and hills by praying for specific people at each mile marker.  I want to make the most of this experience and want to think of as many people as I can who have supported me along the way.

Here's my prayer list (not in order of importance).  Tomorrow morning I will write it on my arm in permanent marker (let's hope it doesn't sweat off!):

Mile 1 - Okay, admittedly, this prayer will be for me and all my fellow runners.  May we all be safe during the race.
Mile 2 - Mason
Mile 3 - My marriage (I am so blessed to be married to an amazing partner!)
Mile 4 - My Gillispie family
Mile 5 - Soldiers, Police Officers, Firemen
Mile 6 - Cancer survivors (shout out to my Surviving Together sisters!)
Mile 7 - My Moss/Snyder family
Mile 8 - My team of doctors, nurses, and their support staff
Mile 9 - Our country
Mile 10 - My amazing friends
Mile 11 - All my supporters who sent notes of encouragement, cooked dinners, sent care packages, and prayed for me and my family.  I know that there were many churches praying and people I've never even met praying.  Thank you.
Mile 12 - All Christians and non-Christians
Mile 13 - Okay, another prayer for me to give me the strength to make it past the finish line

Tomorrow Is My Fight Song

I turned this song up in the car and started belting out the words.  Tears started to stream down my face, which made me sing even louder Just FYI, when I sing, it sounds like a cat is getting violated!  I know many of you know this song.  It's been an anthem for me since the moment I first heard it.  

• All those things I didn't say, Wrecking balls inside my brain: Was cancer going to win?  Can I do this?  I'm going to fight it, but it's going to be tough.  Why me?  
• I will scream them loud tonight, can you hear my voice this time: Dear cancer.  I WIN!
• This is my fight song: My one year cancerversary is tomorrow.  And I will send cancer out by finishing 13.1 miles.  I am stronger than ever.  A hell of a lot stronger than my cancer.
• Take back my life song: I won't let cancer consume me (literally or figuratively).  Will be the best me possible and I will be there for my family.  Again, I WIN! 
• Prove I'm alright song: Doctors are still making me go through lots of tests, but I know I'm alright.  Running 13.1 miles will prove that to a person. 
• My power's turned on: God is my power and has always been turned on.  I've learned I'm powerful, too.  
• Starting right now, I'll be strong: I've been strong.  And will continue to be strong.  
• I'll play my fight song and I don't really care if nobody else believes: Truth is, my amazing support system has always believed in me.  The difference is that now I believe more in myself.  Thank you cancer for allowing me to see that gift.  
• 'Cause I've got a lot of fight left in me: AMEN!  My life isn't over.  In fact, this new chapter is just beginning and I couldn't be more excited about it.  

Fight Song by Rachel Platten

Like a small boat

On the ocean

Sending big waves

Into motion

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

And all those things I didn't say

Wrecking balls inside my brain

I will scream them loud tonight

Can you hear my voice this time?

This is my fight song

Take back my life song

Prove I'm alright song

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Losing friends and I'm chasing sleep

Everybody's worried about me

In too deep

Say I'm in too deep (in too deep)

And it's been two years

I miss my home

But there's a fire burning in my bones

Still believe

Yeah, I still believe

And all those things I didn't say

Wrecking balls inside my brain

I will scream them loud tonight

Can you hear my voice this time?

This is my fight song

Take back my life song

Prove I'm alright song

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

A lot of fight left in me

Like a small boat

On the ocean

Sending big waves

Into motion

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

This is my fight song (Hey!)

Take back my life song (Hey!)

Prove I'm alright song (Hey!)

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong (I'll be strong)

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

No I've still got a lot of fight left in me

My shirt for the race

My running partners, Carrie and Whitney.
These ladies are amazing and I am so thankful for them.  We've logged a lot of miles and have also logged a lot of real, genuine conversations in the process.  So glad I get to do life (and a half marathon) with you ladies! 

A Quick Look Back

Not the best picture of me, but it was actually a great memory...

A year ago today, we checked into the hospital for what we thought was a prophylactic mastectomy.  Little did I know this would be the start to a hard, life changing year.

Richard always has a way of making me laugh when I am stressed.  Here, we are nervously waiting to get called back into surgery.  This is a picture he sent out with the caption "Bye everyone, we are at the airport headed to Cancun!"  Oh, I only wish!  

Honey, I'm still waiting for that trip to Cancun! 

My Feelings About Pink

It's October.  In case you are blind or live in a cave (which would make reading a blog difficult) there is pink everywhere for breast cancer awareness month.  Pink cereal, t-shirts, water bottles, panties, mens boxers, NFL referee whistles.  There are cute, clever saying: Save the Tata's, Saving Second Base, Check Your Rack, Save the Girls, etc.  Breast cancer awareness feels incredible trendy and a great excuse to talk about boobs.  The merchandise is cute, pink, girlie, sparkly.  And I love that awareness is being brought to the cause.

I'm reminded of when I had my mastectomy, Richard showed up wearing a pink t-shirt.  I hadn't been diagnosed with cancer yet, but I remember laying in the hospital and seeing him walk in wearing that bright pink shirt.  He looked incredibly handsome.  It was his way of supporting the difficult decision I made to mutilate my body protect myself.

With that said, I have a bone to pick with all the pink.  Cancer is a bitch.  It's not all pink/sparkly/funny.  I suspect the nice, pink message is helpful because if they showed what breast cancer really looked like it would scare people.  It's lonely.  It mutilates your body.  Weeks after surgery, you literally have tubes hanging off of you like tentacles that collect blood, puss, and something stringy (I never did figure out what that was).  If you are lucky enough to keep your nipples, they turn black.  You new boobs, look perky on the outside, but there are scars and they are constantly cold (there is no body fat or tissue to keep them warm).  Chemo is ridiculously harsh: mouth sores, sweating, diarrhea, thrush, vomiting, nose bleeds, incontinence (that's when you shit yourself), weight gain, nails falling off.  I was lucky enough to not have to have radiation, but I know with that can come serious burns.  Those are just the physical effects of cancer, which are actually much better compared to the emotional and mental effects of cancer.  None of it is a pretty picture ~ and it certainly can't be wrapped up and tied with a pretty pink bow.

Again, I don't at all mean to discount the awareness that all the pink brings.  I love that women are encouraged to do self breast exams and mobile mammography units are parked outside of workplaces.  However, the cynical part of me, wonders how much does do pink merchandise sales actually go towards breast cancer prevention/treatment and how much of it is a marketing ploy to get you to buy something pink so you feel good, thinking you are helping a cause, when in actuality you are just getting duped into buying a pink trinket that you really don't need.  While I am absolutely sure the intentions started out very pure, it irritates me that some companies are likely using pink to promote their supposed support of breast cancer as a cover up to just get you to buy more stuff.

Signed,

Cynical Julie

Note to Self: Get Your Funny Back

I've not been sleeping well.  I'm not sure what is causing my restlessness.  Perhaps its that once I do fall asleep, I wake up 2 hours later and feel the need to make myself a full blown meal (it's called entitlement eating).  Or that our 5 year old, who used to always sleep in his own bed, has started sleeping with us (which for the most part I love) or that before bed my husband takes both of the good pillows for himself.  Any who, I couldn't sleep and started rereading my blog from the start.  A few thoughts:
1.  It's been a hell of a year.
2.  I've forgotten a lot of the stuff I've written about.  Sure there are those things that stick with you, like the time I shit myself after chemo, but I've forgotten a lot of it.  Glad I have it documented (mostly).
3.  I used to be funny...  Note to self: Get your funny back, Julie!

It's My Hyster-versary!

Happy Hyster-varsary to me!  A year ago today, I had a prophylactic hysterectomy after finding out of my BRCA1 status.  There have been a few occasions when I've gotten sad about not having the option to have more children, but for the most part, I still feel really good about my decision.  Having had several friends have babies over the last year has helped; I can get my baby fix any time I want.  And, I can wear white any time I want (yes, I'm even sporting it after Labor Day).  And no more periods. And, since I had my hysterectomy, I'm getting to skip 5 years of hormone suppressing therapy due to my breast cancer.  Bonus!

I'm reminded that His plan is what's best for us, even though it isn't our plan.  Several things aided me in discovering my breast cancer; Of course, at the time, I didn't know how things would line up, but looking back, I can absolutely see His plan.

First I discovered I was BRCA1 positive.  Then, decided to undergo the hysterectomy, as ovarian cancer was what had haunted the women in my family for decades.  After the hysterectomy, I started  hormone replacement therapy.  Even though my cancer was not estrogen fed, the HRT caused my lump to become more prevalent.  Without that lump becoming more prevalent, I likely would have chalked the lump up to hormonal changes.  I would have accepted the erroneously false negative mammogram that said I was in the clear.  I would not have pushed to undergo the prophylactic mastectomy.  The aggressive cancer would have grown.

The take-away:  All these things were tough.  Waiting for the testing result was tough.  The decision to not have more children was tough.  Surgery was tough.  But, WE CAN DO HARD THINGS.  He leads us through hard things to prepare us for something down the road that He can see and that we cannot.

Counting my blessings tonight. As a football is whizzing past my head as I type this.  And the Chief's are blaring on the tv.  I wouldn't want it any other way.

Thoughts During Treatment

Work has started back up for me and I don't have much time to write. But, I did want to quickly write this down, as I keep this blog not only to educate others about the walk, but also to document my own journey.

A few days ago, I had another treatment.  They told me I only have 3 more to go (yay!).  As I'm sitting there hooked up to the IV poll, I look around and get a lump in my throat.  I'm the youngest person on chemo-row (the treatment room is set up with probably 25 recliners all in a row) by about 30 years.  The woman next to me is struggling.  She has a walker and hooked up to an IV poll.  Her obvious wig is all askew. She is trying to get the attention of one of the very busy nurses to help her make her way to the bathroom.  (I so badly want to help, but I'm plugged in and hooked up to my own IV poll, so I know I will just be in the way.)  She appears to be confused.  She's at treatment alone. It's absolutely heartbreaking. 

Another gentleman on chemo-row is getting treatment for a brain tumor. I overheard one of the chemos he is taking and I know it's going to be a rough couple of days for him. His wife says he's been battling this brain tumor for 15 years. 

Another woman, who is in a local Facebook group for women with breast cancer, is struggling.  She says the doctors tell her there is nothing left to do.  How do you wrap your head around that?  Do you admit defeat and vow to enjoy what time you have left? Or, do you keep on fighting, praying for a miracle, even if that means you spend precious hours on chemo-row and recovering from the assault chemo does to your body.  The quality of life for these individuals appear to be dwindling and where are they spending their time?  Getting treatment or worrying about this God awful disease.  

I know of another local mother who has young children.  Her breast cancer metastasized to her brain. How do you explain that to young children? Or even your husband who has to consider what life would be like without you?  You can cut off your breast, but not your brain.  That is a whole new level of Survivor.    

As the tears started to fall, my nurse came over. (God bless cancer nurses! All of mine have been amazing!) She looked into my eyes, handed me a tissue and held my hand.  Tears started to flow even harder.  All I can muster up through my tears and sniffles is "It isn't fair." She could see exactly what I saw and didn't need me to explain.  

I feel so out of place.  I think to myself "I don't belong here" but then I remember I DO belong here. I'm sitting on chemo-row, getting the same kinds of treatment these folks are.    I'm no different from them.  That is a scary thought! We are all trying to be Survivors, some of them are just having to fight harder than I've had to.

And that's where the guilt creeps in. When I leave, my plan is to get home and run, I can literally skip out of there if I want (and I just may after my last treatment).  The folks sitting next to me literally struggle to walk 10 feet to the bathroom.  My fight is almost done. His fight has lasted 15 years and no end in site. Who knows who will help her when she is feeling sick and exhausted from her treatment.  At times, I feel on top of the world, and then there are times where I feel so guilty for being spared with a treatable cancer that was caught relatively early.  

It's All in the Family

Damn it.

Once my sister tested BRCA+, my mom got on the phone and reached out to a lot of family.  She wanted to let them know about the gene and their possible risks.  We were all aware that ovarian cancer preyed on women in our family; now, we were able to put a name to it: BRCA+.

Of course, it's not a given that every person in the family is BRCA+.

Here are some stats:

• Everyone has a BRCA gene.  This genes function is to suppress tumors.  If you have a mutated BRCA gene then your chance of suppressing certain tumors is reduced (hence the increased risk of breast, ovarian, and pancreatic cancers). 
• Because of my twin sister Jill, we knew my mom had to be BRCA(mutation)+.  The mutation doesn't 'skip' generations; It must come from a direct lineage.  From this information, we can also assume my maternal grandmother (she died in her early 40's from ovarian cancer) carried the mutation.  And likely, her mother, who also died of ovarian cancer.    
• Given that Jill and I are identical and have the same genes, I too am BRCA+.  If we were fraternal twins, it would have been a 50-50 chance.  
• My brother has a 50% chance of carrying the mutation.  I'm no geneticist, just ask my high school science teacher Mr. Devore).  The BRCA1 mutation is located on chromosome 17.  It depends which gene Josh inherited.  If he inherited Dad's normal BRCA gene, he is not a carrier.  If he inherited Mom's mutated BRCA gene, then he is a carrier.  
• My son has a 50% chance of carrying the mutation.  Again, if he inherited the gene from me, he is at risk, if he inherited the gene from his dad, Mason (and any offspring) will be in the clear. 
• As a reminder, both men and women can carry the BRCA mutation.  Due to the increased risk of breast and ovarian cancers, it affects women more, however men can definitely be carriers, and affected with increased risk of pancreatic and prostate cancers. 

I was so hoping other women on my mom's side of the family would be spared being BRCA+.  My cousin, Amy (who used to spend hours babysitting me and braiding my long, tangled hair until her fingers were numb) recently took the test.  Her dad (Mom's brother, my uncle) had a 50% chance of having the gene.  If he is positive, then Amy, too, has a 50% chance of having it.  Decent odds of her not having it, right (Note, I'm also no math wiz).  Unfortunately, Amy found out she, too, has the mutated gene.  Just an example of how this gene can definitely be passed down through the male side of the family.  In her words, "that gene is a strong son of a bitch." Nicely, and accurately stated, Amy.  

Amy has some big decisions to make.  There is not set path that you must follow.  And while that is a blessing, it's also a curse.  Since Amy is a Canote, decisions don't necessarily come easily (Grandpa Canote was a notorious worrier).  But, the Canote's are also strong, so I know she's going to be just fine.  Along with being a worrier, Grandpa Canote was also an extremely faithful man.  No doubt he is looking out for us (and probably worried if there is worry in Heaven, which isn't likely) on the other side.  

Love you, Amy.  Can't wait for my hair to be long enough for you to braid again, just for old times sake.  

An Update

Sorry not sorry, I've been horrible at updating my blog this summer.  Honestly, I've just been busy.  Busy at the pool.  Busy running.  Busy in Florida.  Busy going on sno-cone runs with Mason.  I've been busy LIVING and LOVING life.

I'm feeling fantastic.  I still am getting treatments at the cancer center every three weeks, but other than those few hours, and when I put on my swimsuit to see my forever perky boobs I don't think about cancer much.  I didn't realize how much my thoughts were consumed with it until I started feeling better.  Goodness, worrying was basically a full time job.  Proud to say I'm in 'retirement' at least as far as the cancer worrying is concerned.  Feeling blessed!

Oh, and I am loving my little pixie cut!  My husband has always preferred long hair, but I'm thinking I may keep the pixie cut awhile... It's SO easy and I actually get a lot of compliments on it.  And, admittedly a couple of stares when my sister and I were walking down the beach hand in hand.  Let's just say, we no longer were easily identified as sisters...

We took a family trip to Florida and enjoyed a week at the beach with my husband's entire family.  Mase had a blast playing with his cousins.  Thanks Nannie and Poppy Snyder!  

This smile!   

As you can see, the kids didn't like the beach one bit.   

The required family photo on the beach in front of a sunset.  Richard was putting up a bit of a fight, but I pulled the cancer card and he finally submitted. 

This picture makes me smile, big! 

We've spent many hours at the pool with friends this summer. 

These kids ~ We are so blessed with wonderful friends here.  Our kids don't just play together, but our families genuinely care about each other.  Our village here in Lake Ozark is absolutely amazing.  

My friend Kristan went to a treatment with me.  My cheeks hurt from laughing so much that day. 

We told Mason to get dressed and we would go get a son-cone.  He came out in this.  He even kept the mask on as he was eating his sno-cone.  Goodness, I love this kid!  

A Year Ago

My parents had encouraged us to be proactive regarding monitoring our risk of ovarian cancer; We weren't concerned with breast cancer, it didn't run in our family.  Dad, a physician, always said we should have our families early and take care of business (which meant consider a hysterectomy once we didn't need our uterus anymore).  Mom had wanted us to get an expensive genetic test done for years.  She knew all too well the wrecking ball cancer brought upon a family.  She was just 8 when cancer took her mother.  My sister and I, feeling young, healthy and invincible, thought they were crazy.  But, to get them off our backs, Jill decided to take the BRCA genetic test.  I figured since we were twins, I'd just save myself the trouble and go with her results (yes, I know how genetics works, but at the time it seemed like sound logic).

It was year ago, I got a call from my sister.  Her voice was shaky.  She stuttered.  "Um, Julie.  We... we... we have that gene."  I took a deep breath and tried to make sense of it all.  We were healthy (so I thought) and this didn't change that.  We didn't have to do anything.  But, we definitely had some decisions to consider.

Waiting for my results was the longest month of my life.  Yes, I knew we were twins, so I knew my chance of having the BRCA gene was at least 50%.  I loved being a twin, and I would have been slightly heartbroken to find out we were 'less' twin-y if we weren't identical.  I also prayed that I wouldn't have the BRCA gene.  It was a lose, lose situation.  Either way, I'd be heartbroken.

Well, we all know how the story goes...  Thank God my sister took that test.  Without the knowledge of being BRCA+, I would have not found my aggressive cancer near as early as I did.  She saved me (and in a way, she saved my family).

Looking back on this past year, it's undoubtedly been one of the hardest years of my life (admittedly, not the hardest - that award goes to 2007).  I know this will sound crazy, but the past 12 months have been one of the best years of my life.  Yes, you read that right: The year I had cancer was one of the best years of my life.

My family and I fought for my life.  Physically, I endured tests, scans, multiple surgeries, many sleepless nights, hundreds of needle sticks, shots and chemo.  My body was pushed to it's breaking point.  Emotionally, my family faced uncertainty and worry.  We were in constant prayer.

But, we (and when I say we, that includes anyone who has been reading my blog) held strong and we fought together.  That is what matters.  That is what made it one of the best years of my life.  Knowing I wasn't fighting alone.  My family supported me.  My husband was always there for me.  My community prayed and encouraged me.  Our faith grew and carried us through.  Those feelings of support trump all of the yucky stuff.

Thanks to YOU for making the past 12 months one of the best years of my life.

One of the Happiest Places On Earth

My apologies if you get tired of all the Jeep pictures I post...  Truth is that our Jeep is one of my happiest places on Earth.  It reminds me of when Richard and I were dating.  We fell in love on country back roads, just cruising around with the top down, sipping on Starbucks, and belting out some of our favorite songs.

I remember being pregnant with Mason and imagining family Jeep rides, just as my family did when we were kids.

I remember this winter, driving to chemo, when Richard and I decided to trade the Tahoe in for yet another Jeep because we realized life was just too short to not make memories.  Yes, the Tahoe was extremely comfortable, but Jeeps are where memories made.  It took all of one day for Richard to make the switch (as you can see, I really had to twist his arm!! HA!).

And yesterday, as we celebrated Father's Day, I loved feeling the wind in my hair, the sun on my head, our kiddo laughing in the back and seeing my handsome husband lead our family down gravel roads, taking in the moment.  We still fall in love on our Jeep rides.  In love with each other.  In love with our family.  And in love with the life we have been given.

One Step Forward, One Step Back

*Disclaimer* I'm writing this post with full intentions of publishing it in a few days. So by the time any of you read this, it will be old news to me.  I say that because I don't at all want people worrying about me.  I fully believe I am fine, I'll just feel better when the doctors believe the same thing.

6-17-15
So recently a few friends and I have talked about doing a half-marathon.  There is even one on my cancer-versary that we talked about signing up for.  As I was sitting in the waiting room for a follow-up appointment, my friends sent me a text saying there was a discount code available if you signed up for the race today so naturally in all my excitement to save $7.50, I stupidly naively signed up for the Waddell & Reed Kansas City Half Marathon, forgetting that I will actually have to complete 13.1 miles.  Well played Waddell & Reed, this girl loves a bargain and fell right into your trap!  Yes, I got so excited about saving $7.50 that I took the plunge to sign up for a half marathon I am no where near prepared for!

As I was feeling a little nauseous/excited about signing up for this race, I over confidently thought to myself "I'm going to show cancer that she's messed with the wrong lady!  I WIN!" I could feel my swagger coming back.  One step forward in me taking back my life.  

Literally one minute later, my breast surgeon walks in the room.  We do our nice greetings and I take my top off for him (that's how we roll).  He feels around a little bit and becomes concern over a mass.  I had assumed it was nothing, just part of the healing process, but he isn't quite so sure.  I think he's feeling this mass for awhile (admittedly, since I have zero feeling in my breast, I can't say for how long or how aggressively he was feeling around there).  I usually shut my eyes during the exam, you know to keep it less awkward.  He recommends I go for an ultrasound.  

The office folks at both my surgeon's office and the Cox Breast Center bend over backwards to get me in the same day.  I intended this to be a quick 10 minute appointment, and it just turned into a one hour appointment.  No biggie.  Right?

I waited a bit to get called back by the ultrasound tech.  I didn't mind, the waiting area had several tables with jigsaw puzzles on them.  I love puzzles!  (What a genius idea to keep women busy instead of sitting there worried - nice job Cox Breast Center!).  After a 30 minute ultrasound and some chit chat with the tech, she tells me the doctor will review my images and she'll be back shortly.  

2 hours later: I wait.  And then the tech comes back and says the doctor wants to see a mammogram of the mass.  I didn't know you could mammogram an implant, but it turns out you can.  At this point I start to get worried.  What is on that ultrasound that is so worrisome that warrants them risking breaking my new boob?

After the ultrasound, and the mammogram I finally meet with the doctor for yet another ultrasound.  She says something doesn't look right.  She explains that when they do ultrasounds they can often confidently say it's nothing or confidently say it's cancer and in my case she couldn't confidently tell me either way.  

My thoughts: Shit! What do you mean something doesn't look right?  I just signed up for this race.  What if I can't do my race?  Oh my God!  What the f$@# is happening right now?  Am I going to die? It's cancer.  No! It's nothing.  They are just being careful because they don't want to get sued.  I know how this works.  Stop playing games!  I won't sue!  Just tell me what is going on! Oh gosh, Richard has been with Mason in the car for a long time.  They both are probably going crazy.  What if one of them needs to poop?  Can we just hurry this up, please?

3 and a half hours later: The doctor suggests a biopsy is in order.  Or we can just wait and see and I can come back in a few weeks.  F that!  We need to figure this thing out like yesterday.  Luckily, they worked me in for a needle core biopsy... She took 3 samples with this thing that makes a loud, startling clicking noise (sort of like one of Mason's toy guns).  One step back.

And now we wait... Again...  

I'm 94% confident this isn't a big deal.  Perhaps some necrosis (which sounds really bad, but I don't think it's a huge deal) and the other 6% of me is scared shitless.  I've had that "it's not a big deal" feeling before... And I couldn't have been more wrong.  

On the bright side, after we returned home, my friends had left bags of Oreos on my counter to do an Oreo taste test.  They know me SO well!

UPDATE
6-21-15  Richard and I handled the stress of waiting for the results really well this weekend.  Until 9:30 when he went to the bathroom and I went to bed.  We both secretly started looking up information on Google.  Goodness, that's one way to get yourself whipped up into a frenzy fast!  I told Richard that I could handle another surgery.  But that another round of chemo would be devastating.  And the thought of starting all over when we had just arrived at the point where we could see the light at the end of the tunnel felt like too much.  We prayed.  And vowed to stop looking at Google for the night.

At 10:42pm, my phone rang.  It was Dr. Buchner.  Seeing his name come up on my phone brought back a flood of memories the last time I saw his name on my phone.  He said the mass was benign - no cancer!  He also said a bunch of other stuff that I didn't catch because I heard the words we so desperately needed to hear!  What an incredible blessing!

Also a blessing is that I have a surgeon who saw the results at 10:45pm, after a long day, and took the time to call me, knowing I was probably on pins and needles waiting for the outcome.

My Friends Would Walk/Run/Swim 1,000 Miles for Me

Humbled. 

About 25 members of my family (both the Gillispie side and the Moss side) showed up to walk laps at Relay for Life. My sister and her family even flew in from Florida.

My friend, Susan, ran Joplin's Race4Hope in my honor. 

My girlfriends walked in the pouring rain during the TaTa Trot.

 My friends, Grace (age 6) and Alex (age 8), participated in the Splash Out Cancer swim meet. Grace won a medal for the 100 Meter Relay and gave it to me!  Such a sweet gesture from a stunning girl with a beautiful heart! 

And these girls have committed to completing a half-marathon with me by my cancer-versary.  There is actually one that takes place on October 17th, the date I got the call.  Coincidence?  I think not.  

  

Relay for Life 2015

This weekend, we all met up for Branson's Relay for Life.  And when I say 'we all' I mean nearly my entire family ~ both the Gillsipie's and the Snyder/Moss side.  Parts of the event was somber, which quite honestly, was a bit uncomfortable, although cancer can be somber, so it was appropriate.  I have to remind myself, that I'm a lucky one who made it through, relatively unscathed (I lost my breasts and my hair, but many people lose much, much more). 

I was thinking what my Relay for Life would be like if I set it up.  We aren't really the somber type.  We are the loud, crass, laugh, joke, toast-to-life type.  I wasn't sure of the song that was played during the Survivor lap (it was a serious one), but if I would have picked it, it would have been Eye of the Tiger by Survivor (coincidence?  I think not.).  And when I finished my Survivor's lap, my dad would have handed me a stiff run and Coke and my entire family would have clinked glasses and toasted to living life.  And then if things got too mushy, someone, would make an inappropriate joke.  

Cancer has shown me so many things... One of the things I am most grateful for is for the reminder of what an amazing family I have, and what an amazing family I married into.  

My sister Jill and her family flew up all the way from Florida for the weekend.

It's so rare that we are all together.  I just wanted one picture.  And this is the best one I got.  

You can't see Josh, because he is out of frame, but he walked with us, too.  So blessed to be a part of this family! 

Yay!  Sister time!  Isn't Jill's hair gorgeous?! 

Gillispie Girls!  100% real and genuine, although all our boobs are 100% fake.  That's okay because they were trying to get us.  They didn't know they picked the wrong family to mess with!

So blessed to be a Gillispie.  

My dad and his 'goos' as he calls us.
Jill Bean and Julie Bug 

Mase had a blast seeing his cousin Jack.  We hit up Silver Dollar City.

I wanted one good picture and Mase would only give me his tough guy face. 

Shout Out to My Peeps

Today I will be walking in the Relay for Life.  As I prepare for the day, I'm thinking about this past year ~ It's been pretty un-freaking-believable.

I'm thinking about the Survivors lap.  Seems so surreal to call myself a Survivor.  The word is so empowering.  It takes my breath away.  8 months ago, I didn't even know I had cancer.  And today I can say I beat it.  As my friend Carrie so eloquently put it: Gotcha Bitch!

I'm thinking about the Caregivers lap and it brings tear to my eyes. A few shout outs to my peeps:

God: Who gave me strength when I didn't have any more to give.  Who loves me, despite my potty-mouth and the avalanche of sins I commit every day.  Who's presence I felt in my darkest hour.

My sister, Jill: Taking an hour worth of selfies with me in the hospital because she looked better than me (I of course don't remember doing this at all, but I believe her when she tells me the story).  And the time I convinced her that it would make me feel better if she shaved her head, too (of course I was kidding, but I had her going there for about 45 minutes).  Who showed up before and after surgeries even though I know it was hard for her to see me like that.

My mother-in-law, Val: Who was there when I got the cancer call.  She just gave me and Richard a long, silent hug.  It was exactly what we needed in that moment.  She also cheered for me when I had my first post-surgery poo.  For anyone who's had surgery and been on pain meds, you know that's a big deal!  Kept my house together at a time when Richard and I were falling apart.

My mom, Donna: When I called to tell her the news, she was driving.  I told her in the happiest voice I could muster to call me when she got home.  She demanded that I immediately tell her what was wrong.   Drove me to the salon when I had to shave my head.  Held my hand during my sick days, even when I slept.  Woke up with me at 2am to eat ice cream and cereal because I couldn't sleep.  Rubbed my shoulders when the bone aches were just too much.  Supported my crazy ideas when I was on a steroid high. My family for supporting me with thoughts, prayers and phone calls when they couldn't physically be there.

My friends: Who showered me with love, encouragement, prayer, meals, gifts, chemo parties, new boob parties, made me laugh and listened to me cry.  Who walked miles in the rain for me.  My friend Natalie even shaved her head in support of me.  Who does that?

Mason: Who accepted me with my new 'haircut', always gently hugged me, was patient and content sitting around the house when I didn't feel well enough to be a interactive mom, let me nap when needed, made me laugh.  He doesn't know it, but he sacrificed a lot the past 8 months.  He's the reason why I kept fighting when things got tough.  

Richard: Who has been with me every step of the way.  Telling me I was beautiful, even when I didn't feel beautiful.  Made sure I rested and did whatever I needed to take care of myself.  Accompanied me on every single appointment.  Was 'mom' and 'dad' when I didn't have the energy to be Mom.  Assured me everything was going to be okay.  Prayed.  Played worship and rap music before an appointment to pump me up.  Sat through hundreds of hours of chemo and appointments.  Made me laugh and held me when I cried.  Sometimes would even cry with me.  Remind me that all that matters is the little family we created.