Thriving after cancer: Open to life, expecting to love and prepared to serve. My journey to Nepal with Above and Beyond Cancer

I’m a two-time cancer survivor: non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and breast, 2010 and 2011, respectively.  However, my cancer survivor status doesn’t define me.  It has helped shape my life, but it’s a drop in the bucket compared to other events of my life.

On a beautiful spring day, April 28, 1986, one of my very best friends died in a car accident when I was seventeen, she was sixteen.  She and two of my other friends were coming back from buying prom shoes. It hit me hard, I mourned for at least a year-maybe more.  I learned about death then, about the fragility of life and how temporary our time on earth can be. I learned that sometimes you don’t get any warning that it’s all going to change. I learned about the stages of grief-how they’re not linear, and everyone moves through them differently and at their own pace.  So six years later, when my 48-year old father died suddenly from acute arrhythmia, I knew what struggles lay ahead.   I was only 23 years old when he died.  I was a daddy’s girl and I was devastated.  However, and this might sound strange to some…I had learned so much from my friend’s death, that the process of grieving that I went through for my friend, taught me how to not lose my mind when grieving for my father. Oh, I grieved.  How could he be taken from me so early? Well, the main reason is because he was a heavy smoker.  I was smoking at the time too.  I knew I needed to quit.  It’s pretty impactful when your father’s coroner tells you to your face the last thing his kids should be doing is smoking.  It only took me four years to actually quit, but I haven’t touched the nasty things in almost twenty years. The third event was my true personal brush with death.  The grim reaper had his hand on my hand and was tugging pretty hard.  I didn’t want to go.  I was almost 35 years old and trying to birth the child, a son, my husband and I had worked so very hard to create.  I had suffered four miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy before finally bringing a healthy baby to term.  I’ll spare you the gory details, but what happened was that after an emergency C-section, I hemorrhaged for about 12 hours before they could figure out what was happening to me. I was in the ICU for 4 days and the regular maternity floor for another three.  My beautiful newborn son was brought to me every four hours for those four days in the ICU to nurse so that we wouldn’t miss the window for us to bond in that way. The recovery from that event was long, painful and hard.  I was bedridden for weeks.  I couldn’t even give my son a bath for three weeks.

But, eventually, I did recover.  The next six years were full of all of the busyness that being a young parent brings as well as the adoption of a beautiful boy from Guatemala (the birth of my first son left me incapable of carrying another baby). Unfortunately, my husband and I did not take care of our relationship during this time, and it fell apart, seemingly suddenly in 2010.  We had been divorced for three weeks when I ended up in the emergency room, with a cancer diagnosis, on Father’s Day that year.

Getting my haircut in 2010 before it all fell out.

Ironically, I was in the best shape of my life at that time.  I was running, kickboxing, and doing yoga on a regular basis. I had a full marathon under my belt and was geared up to do some other local races. It was what was keeping me sane. Honestly, I think it was what got me through the rough chemo treatments the next 5 months.  I responded extremely well to treatments and was in remission in no time.  I decided to train for a full marathon in Savannah, Georgia the next fall for Team-in-Training. Team-in-Training is part of the Leukemia Lymphoma Society and I wanted to give back.  I was in full-on fundraising and training mode when in August of 2011 I felt a lump in my breast.  No!! This could not be happening! How could I possibly find the strength to go through cancer again?? Within a few days I learned that I had early stage breast cancer and endured a lumpectomy.  A couple weeks later I started radiation (no chemo this time-yay! I could keep my hair this time). And…I thought about quitting my training for the full marathon.  What a stupid distance anyway-26.2 miles! Crazy! But, I couldn’t.  I had raised too much money and come too far.  I kept going.  I had the support of several friends who ran with me on the long runs and checked in with me every day to see how I was doing.   After twelve weeks of training, and six and half weeks of daily radiation, I flew to Georgia by myself.  I moved my last radiation appointment to the morning so I could catch my flight that afternoon.  Though it wasn’t pretty, I finished the race, and I kept it under 5-hours.  Not my goal, but oh, well. The point is, I showed up.  I kept going.  Truly, it was not easy and I really wanted to quit at times.

But, what having cancer twice finally, finally, finally, really hammered into my head is that you only live once.  That’s it. And, you have no clue how long that will be.  And, you must embrace it. It-being life! Do things that make you feel ALIVE. Love. Let yourself be loved.  Give back.  Listen to live music-outside if at all possible. Get out of your ‘comfort zone’.

Me trying to stay positive in 2010!

And, if I can’t convince you of this, let me share three quotes that remind me to be ALIVE.

You don’t get to choose how you are going to die. Or when. You can only decide how you are going to live. Now.~Joan Baez

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that’s all.~ Oscar Wilde

The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive. ~ Thich Nhat Han

Or, you can adopt what the Unitarian Universalists say when leaving a service to head out into the day and the world: I am “open to life, expecting to love, and prepared to serve”. Which brings me to my mission trip to Nepal with Dr. Richard Deming and Above & Beyond Cancer. A group of 23 of us, half cancer survivors, half care-givers, leave tomorrow night for Kathmandu, Nepal.  We will travel half way around the world to spend time at three cancer hospitals, one of which is pediatric. We are bringing very few personal items so that we can pack our suitcases with quilts and medical supplies.  This trip certainly qualifies as helping me feel alive! There is nothing like seeing new sights, experiencing new smells, and most of all meeting new people to make one feel alive.  I look forward to knowing, and giving my love, to the others on the trip as well as those we will meet in Nepal. We will all have the beautiful opportunity to serve and provide hope to the earthquake survivors and cancer patients in Nepal.  According to Dr. Deming, the survival rate for cancer in Nepal pales in comparison to the United States. 

My trip, and that of my caregiver and rock, Justin Hyde, is graciously being sponsored by Suku Radia, CEO of Banker’s Trust. I am beyond grateful and honored to have been chosen for the trip and to have this generous sponsorship from one of Des Moines’ greatest philanthropists.

And, in the spirit of giving back…I have committed to raising money for the YMCA’s cancer survivorship program.  The program started in August and the needs range from meditation pillows to 12-week scholarships for cancer survivors. As a two-time cancer survivor, I am thrilled with the Above + Beyond Cancer survivorship programming. It has already changed the lives of cancer survivors and caregivers, and I am proud to be a part of this new effort. This new program will be incredible and will give more people than ever access to a much-needed, quality survivorship programming. Please consider a donation to this incredible program:  

https://www.crowdrise.com/hollyjohanson

And...in the words of Harold Whitman, “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” 

Two Days ago, Dr. Demming and I celebrating after the Des Moines Triathlon and looking forward to Nepal!

Trauma and Physical Health: My application to Above & Beyond Cancer

I wrote this this morning and wanted to share with those of you interested in my last blog as well as those who have supported me so beautifully through this journey.  My gratitude is deep and wide.  I hope that you'll stay with me on this new chapter.  As always, please feel free to be generous with comments, critique, suggestions.  Also, please share with your networks my message of destigmatization  of mental health issues, trauma, and certain health issues (e.g.HIV).

Summer 2010

My name is Holly Hanson.  I am 46 years old and live in Des Moines, Iowa.  I have two sons, ages 11 and 8.  I was born in Ames, Iowa, moved to Boone, Iowa when I was five, and then went to college in Iowa City.  My undergraduate degree is in Social Work.  Not being able to live off the wages of an entry level social worker, I became a travel agent and moved to Denver, Colorado in 1995.  After about three years as a travel agent and waitress, I began my Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology Counselor Education at the University of Colorado at Denver.

I’m also a 2-time cancer survivor.  I think that the “athlete profile” written in the October 2014 Momentum Magazine for the Des Moines Marathon packets, tells my “cancer story” the most succinctly:

“At 41, Holly was in the best shape of her life.  She was running 20 miles a week, doing yoga and kickboxing. She had a fully marathon under her belt.  And then, in 2010, she learned she had non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  Her first thought was of her sons, then 3 and 6.  Her second thought: “After realizing that I probably wasn’t going to die, but that I had a hell of a fight ahead of me, I said, ‘$^%&^’, now I’m going to have to run another full marathon’ because I knew about Team in Training,” which raises money for blood cancer research.  Six months of treatment sent Holly’s cancer into remission, but in [August] 2011 she got a new diagnosis: early stage breast cancer. Still, she ran a marathon with Team in Training in November of that year.  “I didn’t go inside myself,” Holly says. “I fought off depression and anxiety through fitness (specifically running), and most importantly, I didn’t quit.”  Her goal now is to run a full, half or tri in all 50 states, and she’s 12 states in. [now 13]  “ I think what I would say to anybody facing ANY challenge, including cancer, is to face it head-on,” she says. “Be honest about your hopes and fears…Life is so beautiful, yet fragile and temporary.  Be present for it.”

While I was getting my masters in Colorado, the Columbine High School shootings occurred (April 20,1999).  I was working as a graduate assistant in the program’s campus counseling center at the time.  My supervisor there left to direct the agency that was created to assist in healing of the Columbine High School community in Littleton, Colorado (Columbine Connections).  She recruited me to assist.  Thus, began two of the most amazing years of my life.  My boss ensured that we were all trained in the most up-to-date trauma therapies as well as ensured there were ample opportunities for self-care in the face of being helpers in a traumatized community.  

When the grant for the agency was drawing to a close a couple of years later, I needed to start looking for other work.  I ended up coming back to Iowa in 2001 to manage the federally funded Ryan White Part B program (a program that provides medications and support services for low-income people living with HIV) for the state health department.  I have been there ever since.  When I first started almost fourteen years ago, it was blatantly clear to me the direct correlation between trauma and the acquisition of HIV as well as the ability for those living with HIV to adhere to their medication (an extremely critical component of remaining healthy as well as eliminating the transmission risk).  At that time, I didn’t have the support or the wherewithal to get traction on this concept. 

Fast forward 14 years.  Today there is a lot more evidence, specifically the 2012 analysis and subsequent report of Iowa Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE’s) study, about the direct correlation between trauma and the susceptibility to disease and infection, as well as health outcomes. This includes cancer.

Read a summary of ACE’s here: 

http://www.idph.state.ia.us/hpcdp/common/pdf/family_health/2011_aces_data.pdf

As a result of a few public speaking opportunities surrounding the 2014 Des Moines Marathon and also attending the Above and Beyond Cancer’s (ABC) An Evening of Inspiration, I have finally determined and articulated how I should be using my voice and the generous gift of survival.  

Briefly, it is to work toward a greater public awareness, and associated policies and programming, to acknowledge and address the stigmatizing effects surrounding mental illness and trauma.  Inherently associated with these concepts are social determinants of health, but I believe it goes deeper-it’s more of a root cause.

My recent blog entry goes into this a little deeper.  You can find it here: 

http://www.solsticeowl.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-best-thing-about-having-cancer.html

Recently at the state health department, I have formed a group of managers from HIV, childhood health, cancer, tobacco, domestic violence, obesity, minority health, substance abuse and mental health to coordinate a response to recent studies confirming the relationship between trauma and physical health.  It’s probably the most exciting thing I’ve done in my entire life-combining almost all of my past professional and personal experiences into one vision and mission. From my understanding, my vision and mission for my life work beautifully aligns with ABC’s vision and mission. As such, I feel that I would greatly benefit from being a part of ABC’s organization and that ABC would likewise benefit from my participation.  

I hope that you’ll consider my application and choose to have me participate in your 2015 excursion… 

…and Beyond. 

The Best Thing About Having Cancer

Yet another example of how running can bring clarity and purpose to one’s life: While running the Des Moines half-marathon in October, I had an epiphany. The epiphany began to formulate at about mile four and by mile eleven, I finally knew what it means-to me-to be a “cancer survivor”, and what I need to do with that gift.

Those of you who know me, know that running another half-marathon is not, in and of itself, an earth shattering endeavor.  This time was a little different.  First of all, my “athlete profile” was in a local activity and the souvenir guide for the marathon.  It was a very well-written piece that talked about my two bouts with cancer and how running helped me get through the trials and tribulations of that time of my life.  The next momentous event was attending Above & Beyond Cancer’s “Evening of Inspiration” the Friday before the race.  The evening included a recap of the group’s trip earlier that month to Macchu Pichu in Peru.  It also included a small panel of cancer survivors.  They shared their stories. How cancer came into their lives and how it has impacted their lives.  They talked about their struggles, how they overcame them, and life-lessons learned.  All the while I’m thinking about wanting to go with this group on their next endeavor.  I was trying to figure out why I want to go to an exotic location with this group (could it be Nepal!?!?) and what I would say if I was on a panel of cancer survivors in 2015.  Is it just that I fancy myself a world traveler and athlete and that I just happened to have had cancer? Seems to be it should be a better reason than that.  I continued to imagine myself on next year’s panel.  Sure, I could share my story and lessons learned.  I’ve been told that it’s “inspirational”.  I love the idea and the possibility of helping and inspiring other people in difficult situations.  However, I also feel a little uncomfortable with it all.  I feel a little bit like, “hey, I had a couple nasty health issues, look at me, look at me”. That is to say, it feels a little narcissistic to go around touting my survivorship.  Lots of people don’t survive cancer.  Lots of people that I know personally don’t survive cancer. It was mostly luck of the draw that I found both my cancers early, had access to excellent health care, and am now cured of lymphoma and in remission from breast cancer.  I could feel that there must be an additional reason the universe is hurling me towards opportunities for my voice to be heard.  Speaking of opportunities for speaking about my experience; next, MediaCom’s channel 22 wanted to do an interview at the Expo the day before the race.  I agreed and had a lot of fun doing it. However, a lot of their questions stumped me.  Questions like: “How has cancer changed your life? What lessons have you learned by having cancer?” And, so on.  These questions are hard for me because cancer didn’t particularly change my life.  The lesson I learned about being present, of being mindful in everything you do, embracing life and those you love because everything could be gone in a moment’s notice (or lack thereof) started when one of my best high school friends was killed in a car accident when I was seventeen.  This knowledge and conviction to live a meaningful, heartfelt life grew when my dad dropped dead at 48 years old in the bathroom in the middle of the night five years later.   And, let me tell you, to have these things really hit home, there’s nothing like your own near death experience to add to it.  It wasn’t cancer that almost killed me.  It was child birth-over eleven years ago.  I’ll spare the details for this blog, but suffice it to say…I truly was knock knock knocking on heaven’s door.  I have never been so scared.  Not even when six years later, I was diagnosed with cancer. Twice.

But cancer is what people want to know about, and what I get to talk about.  So during the Des Moines half-marathon, I decided I needed to figure out what message I need to share since I have been given the gift of not only cancer survivorship, but the ears of others.  A hard run on a beautiful Iowa fall day did not disappoint. 

Now to the epiphany.

The Best Thing About Having Cancer is that there is little to no stigma attached to a cancer diagnosis anymore.  If you have family and friends, if you are part of a community, you will have support.  When I was first diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in June of 2010 and was in the hospital for five days, the plants and flowers that I received filled the room.  Cards of support showed up in my mailbox regularly from distant relatives, long lost friends, and high school classmates. My Facebook page was on fire with supportive, loving, and caring messages.  For the next three summer months, my neighbor mowed my lawn without being asked.  Four girlfriends came to thoroughly clean my house every two weeks.  A dear friend from church brought me homemade chicken noodle soup several times during the course of my chemotherapy.  When one of my best friends came over to bring me flowers, she caught me in the depths of sorrow as my hair was falling out in clumps.  She was there to support me by doing my hair for the last time in a long time.  I even had a hair-chopping party at my salon, attended by 20 of my closest friends, family, and supporters.  They bought me scarves, wigs, big earrings and wine.  They gave me their love, their hugs, their tears. 

The next summer when I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, the outpouring wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, but I most certainly felt supported. Many close friends and family checked in on my physical and mental health almost daily. The donations for my fundraising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society via Team-in-Training poured in.

During the same time, one of my best friends of over 20 years was suffering from severe depression.  The effect on her daily life was similar to mine.  We both suffered from extreme fatigue and spent a lot of time sleeping.  We both spent a fair share of time crying and scared of the future.  But, you guessed it…nobody sent her flowers, or cleaned her house, or mowed her lawn, or threw a support party to help her get through the dark days ahead.  She confided to a couple very close friends that she was struggling, but even that was exponentially more difficult for her to do than for me due to feelings of shame and a general stigmatized view of depression and other mental illnesses held by the society we live in.

Thanks to genetics and a pretty decent “Adverse Childhood Experiences” score (more on this indicator of trauma in a future blog), I’ve dabbled in both depression and anxiety.  Consequently, I feel qualified to draw a few conclusions having also had cancer twice. 

Here’s the punch line:  Major depression is a treatable illness that affects the way a person thinks, feels, behaves, and functions. At any point in time, 3 to 5 percent of people suffer from major depression; the lifetime risk is about 17 percent.

Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illness in the U.S., affecting 40 million adults in the United States age 18 and older (18% of U.S. population).

Anxiety and depression affects your friends, family, coworkers and neighbors. It affects you. It affects me.  It can easily lead to other ailments such as heart disease, as well as the abuse of tobacco, food, alcohol, and other drugs.  The great news is that treatment is available and effective.  The bad news is that only about 1/3 of those who suffer from anxiety and/or depression get the help they need.  The most common reason for not accessing treatment? Stigma. An outdated and harmful idea that we should use our willpower to get ourselves out of the predicament we’re in.  That asking for help is weak. 

Which brings me to my epiphany in October of 2014 during the Des Moines Half-Marathon.  I will use the opportunities presented to me as a two-time cancer survivor who likes to run to talk about the impact of trauma, depression, and anxiety on the public’s health and well-being.  I will fight to reduce the stigma and shame associated with these illnesses. 

I will urge you to reach out to your friends, your family, your co-workers who you suspect are suffering the aftermath of any trauma, anxiety, depression (or any mental illness)-anyone you would help if you found out they had cancer- and send them cards, make them dinners, clean their houses, and mow their lawns. 

42 Hours in the Woods

 

What can 17 people with over 160 years of collective experience in their field accomplish in 42 hours?

Seemingly, quite a lot.

In mid-September, 17 HIV-professionals came together.  They escaped their clinics, offices, and cubicles.  They flew and drove between 1 ½ to 4 hours to get to the woods in southern Iowa.  They came together to be inspired by prairie grasses, flowers, spider webs, grasshoppers, slugs, deer, bunny rabbits, one lost kitten, and an expansive night sky with no light pollution to interfere with star and galaxy gazing.

Click here to see a beautiful slide show by Jordan Selha of the event

It is in this setting that each of these 17 individuals unzipped from their dogma and destabilized fragmented and stagnant protocols that are no longer quite as useful in the fight against AIDS as they used to be.  They did this through a sort of “gestalt”; a being able to view the whole as other than the sum of its parts.   The first morning walk set the stage with an immeasurable number of beautiful, strongly woven, dew-kissed spider webs.  The metaphor was too blatant to miss.  Nature was screaming to notice the strong web of interconnectivity between the participants from all over Iowa-Sioux City, Des Moines, Urbandale, West Des Moines, Ankeny, Jamaica (the town), Waukee, Iowa City, Washington (the town), and even Washington DC (the Capitol)(of the United States). 

But the metaphor goes beyond interconnectivity. There is interdependency in a spider web-an infinite beginning and infinite end. And, of strength. This group came to know and understand that respecting the interdependent web is an effective response to the dangers of both individualism and oppression.  That it can be our solution to the seeming conflict between the individual and the group.
That evening, sitting around the fire, this group didn’t just think “outside the box”. They BURNED the box.  Thus, “the box” was destroyed and the group escaped.  They took the unencumbered and open road of understanding and hope and created a new tribe with a new language without the confines and walls of "the box".

Most impressively, these 17 individuals set aside insecurities (in some cases slayed their insecurities) and removed the blinders that they had imposed.  They faced, head on, difficult conversations and challenging relationships.  They faced them with openness, respect, and even innovative ways. 
Whether this group was in a conference room or a cabin, on the hiking path or around the fire-pit, there was an engagement in open dialogue, complete with authentic listening, a lot of passion, and even more laughter.  Oh, boy, did this group laugh! The kind where your belly hurts, the muscles in your happy face ache from such a workout, and laughing tears creep out of the sides of your eyes. 

Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes. -Unknown

There were shaky and cracking voices too.  There was the dilemma of succumbing to public tears. Or not.  Why? Well, when you’re sitting around a campfire, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, engaging in a refreshing, yet slightly scary, interchange of ideas pertaining to your professional life, many realizations, and remembrances, that fighting for the underserved, the stigmatized, the traumatized, is, has always been, or has become…your life’s work.  And…in this setting…it is impossible to ignore the ferocity of responsibility associated with your life’s work. 

Push…gently…respectfully push…beyond your comfort zone…where lessons await…to move you forward…to move your colleagues forward.

To burn, baby, burn that box.

Thus, 42 hours after they met for a Wednesday night barbeque, they left with a renewed passion and energy, a reinvigoration of spirit and hope, to meaningfully, collectively, contribute to an AIDS-free generation - and to the best health outcomes for Iowans living with HIV.

And, some SMART goals to get there.

Why Grandma's?

Why Grandma’s?

A Short Tale of Cancer, Divorce, Solstices, and Family.
And, Running. 
Of course.

I swore I’d never do it again.  No need to tax your body that much.  No need to take that much time out of your life to train.  Half-marathons.  Now that’s where it’s at!! Long enough to really be a challenge but short enough to not consume your life and wreak havoc on your body.

I’ve done two full marathons in my life. 

The first was Chicago in 1999. Trained for it while planning my wedding, getting married, and honeymooning. Ran it all wrong, finished in 4:47 and then didn’t run again for ten years.  I ran a 10k in 2010 and was surprised how fast I did it, was all set to do some more 10k’s (the other perfect distance), and then BOOM. Pow.  “You have cancer.”  This was shortly (3-weeks “shortly”) after Boom. Pow. You’re divorced.  Blech.

After finding out I had non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma on the summer solstice in 2010, the first thing I said (after hyperventilating because I thought I was going to die at 41 and leave two boys, six and three, motherless) was, “Damn it, if I survive this, I’m going to have to run another marathon.”  Because I knew of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) and Team in Training (TNT). 

Sure enough…Summer 2011, I started training for the full marathon in Savannah, GA with TNT.  Raising money for an organization that most certainly had significant impact on the success of my cancer treatment.  In the midst of my training two things happened.  First, my grandpa died exactly 92 years after he was born-of lymphoma.  His memorial contributions were directed to the LLS, via me and TNT.  No going back now! I had to, had to, had to, finish this race.  Even if, and this is the second thing that happened, a month later I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, underwent two lumpectomies one week apart, and 6 ½ weeks of radiation.  I had my last radiation on a Thursday morning and then got on a plane to Savannah that afternoon.  I finished the race in 4:50. Twenty minutes slower than my goal.  I hated every step from mile 15 to the end.  Pain in my knees, my hip, and cursing for 11 miles.  Sometimes I can’t even believe I finished it. I was swearing for 11 miles that I would never, ever run a full marathon again.

But I AM running another full marathon.  Less than three years after Savannah.  It’s a popular race called “Grandma’s Marathon” that takes place along Lake Superior, near Duluth, MN.  This time is different though.  Just one reason is that I have run several (a lot actually) 10k’s and half marathons since Savannah.  When the Grandma’s Marathon’s race director sent an email asking for stories about why participants are running Grandma’s, I couldn’t resist submitting mine.  I love stories.  Here’s a passage I love from a novel I read a few months ago:

“Stories are people.  I’m a story, you’re a story…your father is a story.  Our stories go in every direction, but sometimes, if we’re lucky, our stories join into one, and for a while,

we’re less alone.”

From Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter

 

I was restricted to 300 words to describe why I’m running Grandma’s Marathon.  Here is what I submitted:

 June 21, 2014 will be exactly four years since being diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  To celebrate surviving and thriving not only that cancer, but also breast cancer the following year, is not the only reason I’m running my third full marathon on the summer solstice.  It’s also because I was born on the winter solstice and I believe that the solstices are a powerful affirmation of life.  The dichotomy, the extreme, and the balance between darkness and light make me feel alive.  Running a “medal-producing race” in each state does too.  By the time I finish Grandma’s, it will be the 11^th state I’ve run a half or full marathon in, seven in 2014. 

But, probably the most important reason I’m running Grandma’s this year is for my brother.  The only time I have ever been in Duluth was with him and my dad for Father’s Day 1991.  Twenty-three years ago in June, my dad, brother and I road-tripped to Duluth from Ames, Iowa, spent the night in a hotel, and then meandered all the way north to Ely.  It was the only trip we ever really took with my dad.  He was elated to share with us the beauty he saw in the region.  The region him and my mother honeymooned in 1967.  My dad, then 48, died suddenly the next summer while I was backpacking in Europe. 

After a very difficult year, my brother is (re)learning about the significant healing power of running.  The power of having a goal.  And, the power of long runs with his sister.  Long, bonding runs in below zero temperatures with ice and snow, in the pouring down rain, and in the relative heat.  Culminating in a bonding summer vacation in a cabin by a lake.

 Oh, and 26.2 miles.

Post Cancer Cloud

A cloud of fatigue floats above my head, threatening to descend. It’s morning.  I slept 9-hours last night.  I should be at my best. Is the fatigue health related? Stress related? Activity related? Let’s think it through……Health related, I do have some weird things going on.  Unexplained gastro intestinal issues like churning, cramping, bloating, and other unmentionables.  How long has this been going on, you ask? Since mid-May.  Several tests by my primary doc yielded nothing.  I thought it was giardia, I thought it was cyclospora.  Nope. A review of a PET Scan on Friday yielded an unexplained abnormality in my abdomen area (NOT lymphoma) and now I am on deck for an endoscopy and a colonoscopy within the next 10 days.  Ah, well….by themselves these procedures are cake.  Especially compared to what I’ve been through before.  (miscarriages, c-section followed by hemorrhage and another emergency abdominal operation, unsuccessful IVF, chemotherapy, and radiation covers the “biggies”) An endoscopy and colonoscopy will not make this list. In fact, I just noticed that I left the two outpatient surgeries that it took to have one lumpectomy off the “pain-in-the-ass-health-problem” list.  I also left off a malignant mole I got scorched off last October, two bouts of shingles over the last two years, and oh, did I mention I woke up covered in itchy, like on fire itchy, hives on Monday? My point is, this gastro problem is not in isolation and I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.  It’s a cliché saying.  It’s a cliché saying that I’m sick and tired of saying.  So, maybe my fatigue is related to some weird gastro intestinal issue yet to be diagnosed.

Or, maybe it’s stress.  Did you read the previous paragraph?  I suppose one could say all of that might be a little stressful.  In addition, I work full-time, have my boys 50% of the time as a single mom, and try to keep my house a place that my boys will thrive.  I’m a mother, daughter, girlfriend, sister, ex-wife, friend, colleague and more.  But these things I love.  All of them. My job is the best it’s ever been, I’m happy in my romantic relationship, and I’m feeling balance and control at home.  I don’t buy that this fatigue could be solely stress related.

So, maybe I exercise too much.  I did complete my first triathlon on Sunday morning. It took a lot out of me, but I don’t think enough to take three days to recover from.  Though I wasn’t prepared enough to place in the top half of my age group, I think I had a respectable time without killing myself.  In other words, I think I was adequately prepared. I don’t know.  I guess I’m saying I don’t buy this “too active” theory either.

I think I want to share my thoughts and feelings right now because many of you have been so supportive for me through many difficult times.  I’ve heard you say, “wow, Holly, you’re an inspiration, I don’t know how you do it!”  I often don’t know what to say back.  I guess I don’t really know how I do it either, or really what I’m doing. Or, if I’m really doing “it”.  I think there’s something to be said for the saying that life isn’t about the number of breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away.  I have learned this lesson to my very core.  I’m trying to live my life to the fullest.  With Energy and Light. With balance.  With passion. With soul. With love. 

It’s difficult to accomplish when fatigued. And scared.

But, maybe this is the new normal.  Maybe this is what being a cancer survivor x 2 means.  Yearly physical obstacles.  Just to be reminded to not take health for granted and to stay awake to life.