Did I Just Say That Out Loud????

A World Without Jay Saner

2011-03-11T10:02:00.000-08:00

The following is the eulogy that I delivered at my Dad's Memorial Service on Wednesday, March 9, 2011:

It was either 1983 or 1984…the last time I stood in front of a congregation…in this church…in this spot. My Mom came home from choir practice that week with the not so exciting news that she had volunteered me to do a reading in church. I was 13 at the time and not at all thrilled about the prospect of standing in front of the congregation doing anything…much less a reading…by myself! I threw myself into the state of histrionics that only a preteen girl can and it wasn’t until my Dad sat me down and said…”Just look at me. Don’t worry about the rest of them. Just talk to me” that I thought I might actually be able to get through it. So Sunday rolled around. I’d practiced. I was ready. I walked up to the pulpit…looked over and saw my Dad’s smiling face. He gave me the thumbs up and I began. At the end of the first paragraph, I knew I was nailing it, so I decided to throw in the dramatic pause…with congregation glance. I gave the crowd the once over and then locked eyes with my Dad, who by that time had his eyes crossed…his tongue hanging out…and was mimicking my every word. When the giggles started…I couldn’t get them to stop and there he sat, with that Jay Saner smirk that most of you know so well. The only thing I remember about the rest of that reading was the sound of my laughter…trying hard to avoid my Dad’s face…and hearing the “Pst-Pst” sound coming from the choir loft, as my Mom tried to get the two of us to knock it off. My public speaking career at the Wellsville United Methodist Church came to abrupt end that Sunday morning…and, yet here I find myself again…trying to do justice to a life that meant so much to so many…this time, Dad, I’m talking to…and about you. I hope I serve you well.

I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you how difficult the last several months have been for our family, but I must tell you that I feel incredibly blessed to have shared so many special moments with my Dad during that time. I was telling a dear friend of mine about one of these moments and he said, “You know, Susan, being a Dad is the most wonderful thing about my life. I love my kids like nothing else in this world. I know that this morning with your Dad was a sweet one for you, but I know I speak for him when I say…for him, it was magical.”

John was right. It was magical for my Dad…and neither John nor my Dad had to tell me so, because if there is one thing that I have known without question every single day of my life, it’s that Jay Saner loved being my Dad…and I am so blessed to be his daughter.

Dad was born on March 12, 1934 in Kingman, Kansas to John H. and Elsie Saner. By all accounts, his included, he was a “busy” child and it was not a rare occurrence for my Grandma to get phone calls from people asking, “Elsie, do you have any idea where Jay is? The answer: Swinging naked from the trees along the highway…playing Tarzan…or dismantling his best friend’s Mother’s new washing machine, so that they could attempt to make a motorcycle, by attaching the motor to Dad’s bike. He was a good student and star athlete, but had a bit reputation for loving a good time…and more than the occasional beer. During those years, there were often tear laden threats by my Grandmother that he would be sent to Boys Town, yet he managed to remain in the family home until he left for college in 1952. During visits to see my Aunt and cousins, trips to Kingman generally meant that we would run into someone who had a Jay Saner story. One of my favorites was from the woman…one of my Aunt’s best friends… who told the story of being shot in the rear end with a BB gun by my dear Dad when they were all playing as kids. She’s in her 80’s now and still carries that BB in her bum today. During another visit, we ran into one of the girls who graduated from high school with him. She laughed when she found out that I was Jay’s daughter and made the comment that she was thrilled to hear that Jay had not only lived, but stayed out of prison long enough to become a father and a productive member of society.

In 1957, he met a girl. Barbara Booth. He married her on April 6, 1958 in the church just across the street. They shared almost 53 years of marriage, but a total of 54 years together as a couple.

I learned very early on that in our house, my Mom was the practical one…and my Dad while still practical was more of a dreamer. When I had crushes on boys, it was my Dad that I would go to, because he “got it” and would listen to my incessant rambling about how fantastic someone was and why we really would be perfect together…while Mom, on the other hand, would roll her eyes a bit and say, “Susan, you’ve never even talked to him. Now empty the dishwasher.” So, it made complete sense to me that when I got to the age when I became curious about how my parents met, that it was Dad that I would go to, to paint the picture.

When I asked the question the first time, he got a very serious look on his face and said, “I think we better call a family meeting.” My immediate thought was, “UH OH!” A family meeting in our house was serious business and not undertaken lightly. It was made quite clear very early on that business discussed during a family meeting stayed in the house and was not to be shared, so when the family meeting was called to discuss the beginnings of my parent’s relationship, I knew it was a big deal.

When we sat down that day for our family meeting, he took my hand in his and said, “Susie, this may not be easy for you to hear…and it is very important that you respect the code of the family meeting.” I sat there wide-eyed, shaking my head in agreement waiting for the bombshell that he was about to drop. With a straight face, he looked me in the eye and said, “When I was in college, I took a job at a women’s prison to earn extra money. Your Mother was an inmate.”

The real story, I later learned, was that they met through friends while he was working at Cooper Warren Funeral home in Lawrence and Mom was in nursing school at St. Lukes…and that they made each other laugh…that they could talk about anything and everything…and that Dad thought Mom was beautiful…and strong.

YOU ARE.

One of the great traditions that I grew up with was that every Christmas, I would get to go on Christmas shopping date with each of my parents. Neither my Mom nor I are particularly good or willing shoppers, so our trips were usually surgical and precise…with a celebratory Chinese food dinner when we were done. The trip with Dad, on the other hand, was a process of handling…and looking…and talking…and never…and I do mean NEVER settling for less than the perfect gift for “Saint Barbara the Devine” as he used to refer to her. ..or anyone else that he was shopping for, for that matter. You never knew, what he was going to come up with for Christmas, but you always knew that it was going to be special…and I always knew that the trip with him was going to be fun.

One year, he decided that my Mom needed a new nightgown and robe set, so in we trudged to Victoria’s Secret. When the saleswoman approached Dad and I and asked how she could help…Dad announced loudly, “We’re here to pick something out that will inspire me to give this one…a baby brother or sister.” After years of therapy, I no longer drop into a fetal position when I think about that moment…and I know today he has a huge smile on his face remembering that and so many other moments just like it.

Dad and I didn’t get to take our annual trip this year, because our holidays were spent in the hospital, but I have the incredible memory of 2009 when we only visited one store and spent the rest of the evening talking, laughing and crying over a three hour dinner. I’ll cherish that memory for the rest of my life.
I was lucky enough to have a front row seat for 41 of my parents almost 53 years of marriage, sometimes it was a drama…during the health scares and difficult times; sometimes is was like an action film...the moves across country or the home building/remodeling adventures and misadventures; other times, it was comedy…time spent laughing with friends or playing games as a family; still other times, is was a mystery…trying to figure out why exactly they were mad at each other and why my Mom was whistling through her nose; but there is one thing I know for certain…with all it’s good…and it’s bad…it’s the greatest love story that I’ve ever seen and I feel so honored to have been the result of it.

Whether during his career in the funeral business, in sales or as a restaurant owner, his genuine love for people and hard work was always evident. Even as a kid, I realized that he never did anything halfway. There was passion and purpose behind everything he did…and his expectation for those around him was that we would do and be the same. He pushed us all to do…and to be better…because he always believed we could. And, whenever possible, he believed in providing opportunity for those around him who might not otherwise have it. He wasn’t always easy…he could be demanding and difficult, but when someone around him would underperform (me included) and he would lash out…it was done more out of frustration with himself than the other person, because he felt that he had failed to properly motivate. I understand this as an adult, because I am the same way.

Although the P’s only had me, my Dad loved kids…and his capacity for loving them was unending. Whether you were one of my friends…my cousins…the children of my parent’s friends…kids who worked for him…neighborhood kids, if Jay Saner thought you were special, you knew it. And, that didn’t change when we entered adulthood either. To him, we were still “the kids”…and he followed each life with wonder and amazement…celebrating successes and grieving losses. In the final months of his life, I shared many conversations with him about the kids he loved. His memories were long and he shared stories with me that even I didn’t know. To each of you, who allowed him to touch your life, I thank you.

I’ve always believed that one of the greatest gifts that my Dad gave me was the ability to make people laugh…and the ability to laugh at myself. Laughter gets us through our darkest hours and lucky for so many of us, when we think about my Dad, it is so easy to laugh. It has been such a pleasure for Mom and I to hear so many of you share your fantastically, funny Jay moments. My childhood memories of my Dad are filled with laughter, whether it be my own…or that of the people around us. What a gift and legacy he left behind.

The day before Dad passed, a dear friend said to my Mom, “I can’t imagine a world without Jay Saner.” Neither can I. My Dad’s is the voice I hear inside my head when I’m trying to close a big deal…make a big decision or manage my team at work. He was my “go-to” phone call when I had something to celebrate, needed advice or my heart was aching. Sports, for me…especially Kansas Jayhawk Basketball, will never be the same….I will never be the same…the world, will never be the same.
In the last days of his life, I kissed and loved on him constantly…and I told him that if I gave him a million kisses it still wouldn’t be enough. He would always nod his head and when he could, he’d say, “that’s right, Suzie.” Dad took his last breath surrounded by love…and it was only after he passed that my Mom, Aunt Eve and I realized that he had a smile on his face. So fitting of a man, who left so many smiles behind.

Dad had a sage piece of advice that he used to give my Mom and I…my cousins…and our friends…before we would leave to go anywhere. So, in this spirit of this day…I return the advice to you my dear Dad…and say…

I love you beyond measure…I will miss you every single day…and, until we meet again, have a wonderful time in heaven… but, please…don’t embarrass the family.

One...Two...Three...WAKE UP!

2011-01-05T18:08:00.000-08:00

It’s Monday, January 3, and I’ve already had 6 of them. Six of those post holiday work emails that say, “I hope you’ve had a relaxing holiday and are refreshed and ready for the new year. Not sure why, but I’ve felt compelled to answer each out loud with a snort and a “Yeah right, buddy.” Of course most of these people can’t possibly know that my life…and this holiday season…have been anything but relaxing and refreshing. They can’t possibly know that on November 19, my world was turned upside and that life…as I knew it anyway…was forever changed.

That day…a beautiful Friday morning…I was awaiting word from my parents that they were in their new car and in route to my house for the winter. Dad would fill me in on their miniature dachshund’s exploits on the first hours of the ride and Mom would have me adding to the list of things to get at the grocery store for the Thanksgiving feast the following week. Instead, as I worked away in my office that morning, I received the phone call that would change everything: “The P’s had a little trouble.” With these words came the news of a car accident…two hospitals…and injuries.

I’m not sure if every child feels this way or if it is just those of us born with the genetic makeup predisposed for worry (thanks Dad!), but I’m pretty sure I was about five the first time I remember realizing that if something happened to my parents I would be an orphan. At seven, when my worry gene kicked into serious overdrive, I realized that something could happen to them at…GULP…the same time and, as an only child, I would then be totally alone. From that point on, every romantic trip, ”adults only” vacation or road trip became a source of serious angst and had me camped at the window or by the phone until Jay and Babs were safely deposited wherever they were supposed to be. Even as the years passed, this fear never subsided and I have had more than one nightmare in my adult life that they were taken from me. Each time I woke feeling not unlike that scared five year old saying a silent prayer of thanks and relief that it was only a “dream.” Oh what I wouldn’t have given for that day…and most of the days since…to be just that.

I arrived at Kansas City International Airport at 11:54 that evening…steeled myself against the bitter cold and rushed to the Rental Car Facility. As my neon blue Ford Fusion and I passed the clubs of Westport where I spent my 21st birthday and turned at the corner where the little music box shop was that my Mom used to take me to as a child, I realized that the roles that my parents and I had played my entire life no longer fit. No matter what happened in the coming hours, days, weeks, months and, God willing, years, this was the event that would change everything and that they would need me in a way they had never needed me before. When I hit the doors at the St. Luke’s ICU, it was as clear to me as that night’s sky, the “luxury” of being “the kid” was officially over.

It might sound curious that with all the growing up I’ve had to do given my own cancer battle and all that’s come with it that I could even think of myself as “the kid,” but until November 19, I did. Fighting for my own life is quite different than feeling responsible for someone else’s…especially an adult “someone else” who has spent a great portion of his (and her) life teaching, guiding and preparing me to navigate moments just such as this. What if I failed? What if I did these beautiful lives a disservice and didn’t give them the voice they deserved when needed most? What if? What if? What if?

In the days and weeks since my parent’s accident, I’ve had to say…do…and know things that I don’t want to. I’ve had to explore the deep dark reality of what life would have been like if they had been taken from me in an instant on that beautiful November day and I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that someday, they will be. I have often, over the last 11 years of my cancer battle, questioned why I am still alive. I think I now know why. My face was the one my Dad needed to see when his heart was stopped and restarted in an attempt to bring it back into rhythm and my hand was the one my Mom needed to hold when she hurt so badly she couldn’t move.

Jay and Barbara gave me life…and a reason to fight for it. I hope in the dark hours of the last several weeks I’ve been able to return the favor.

On the Countdown to LIVESTRONG 2010

2010-09-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

In October, I’ll be taking the cancer fight to the roads of Austin, Texas (in spandex no less) by riding my in the LIVESTRONG Challenge. As I’ve to come to you over the years for support during my cancer battle, I am reaching out to you now and asking you to consider donating to a cause that means so much to me. I know that each of us has felt the impact of these difficult economic times, but cancer doesn’t sit back and wait for the economy to turn around and neither can we! It is my goal to donate $20,000 to the global cancer campaign in 2010 in memory of those we’ve lost, in honor of those who fight and in support of those who have yet to be diagnosed.

This year I am participating in memory and honor of the following people:

In Memory Of...
Easta "Grandma" Booth
Ben Diffenderfer
Stefan Cleveland
Mike Lovett
Debbie Doty
Barbara Bean
Jennifer Hurcombe
Jim Owens
Eddie May
Bob Sanders
Lisa Garcia
Ron Newhouse
Susi Internicola
Larry Fort
John Nelson
Isabel Moss
Johnny Green
Mike Williams
Gene Mitchell
Bob Thornburg
Janice Breashears
Melody Winfield

In Honor of...
Auntie A (Ardena Yakle)
Katie Schofield
Bridget Halpin
Jim Pullen
Brienne Fisher
Susan Duek
Lesley Breithaupt
Lisa Oswald Miller
Amy Breashears
Erma Craig
Morgan Langdale
Mary Jo Ruff
Reenie Hughes
Roscoe Hodson
Lori Reed
Tanner Flynn
Shawn Gleave
Joan Scott
Judy Wolever
Bryn Truett-Chavez
Nancy Williams
Bob Judge
Rod Brown
Mike Ryan
Ken Nelson
Mike Hiddleson
Anne Bengfort
Joe Judge
Joe Rock
Rich Gallaher
Karen Heck
Keith Rogers
Lynn Vestal
Randy Vestal
Mrs. Adams
Bill Davidson
Jack Cavner
Denis Bengfort
Charlene McAuley
Joanna Wilhite
Carol Granas
Jeff Anderson
Wayne Linder
Marie Linder
Zelma Van Horn
Kathleen Heuter
Lois Molseed
Tim Parker
Debbie McAuley
Vivian Schwabish

The following link will take you to my fundraising page:
http://austin2010.livestrong.org/susancdavenport

The Assignment

2010-08-23T19:47:00.000-07:00

January…I haven’t written since January?! How is it possible that seven months have passed and I haven’t been able to make myself sit down and do the one thing that usually brings me so much joy? Perhaps, more than anything, it has to do with the fact that I’ve been nervous about what I would actually say if I allowed myself to go “there.” Sometimes it’s easier to be silent than to risk saying what is really on one’s mind…and then dealing with the aftermath. But, last week, while sitting with a new friend, I realized that by not being true to my voice, I’m not being true to me…and slowly, but surely, my fire is going out. I can’t have that.

Angry. That seems to be the emotion that resonates with me more than any other right now. I don’t say that lightly…and it certainly isn’t said easily. But, like it or not, my reality is that I am profoundly unhappy and I spend much of my time with a bitter burn raging in the pit of my stomach. This burn makes me sick and sad…and, if I’m honest, scared. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it…and frankly, it’s a bitch.

I’m not an angry person by nature, in fact, quite the opposite, but here I am. Why?

Answer: I’ve lost my balance.

I wouldn’t call this a first for me. I’ve been struggling with balance for as long as I can remember, but right now I seem to be smack in the middle of my own personal storm of the century and my life and I are out of control…and that really pisses me off…at ME! Gut check time for ole’ Sus here, because I’ve spent the last 7 months (at least) telling myself and others how frustrating, screwed up, lazy, blah, blah, blah everyone else is and the naked truth is that I’m the problem. It’s me…just me.

OUCH!

One of the first things that Professor Byrd taught me in Psych 101 at the University of Kansas a few… ahem…years ago was that no one can make “us” feel something without our consent. Well, I’ve been giving almost everyone, and his or her proverbial brother, permission to frustrate me, steal my “happy,” zap my energy and simply wear me out. It’s almost as if I’ve been asking everyone I meet, “Hey, how can I help you or your project suck the life right out of me?”

How in the hell did I let this happen? For Pete sake!! I’ve been dodging death for 10.5 years and yet not even I could see that I needed to trim the sails and get the ship back on course before the storm hit?! After months of doing only things that I felt like I “had to,” instead of creating balance with things that I “need and/or want to,” the royal dung has officially hit the fan and I’m S-P-E-N-T. It took the fresh perspective of a new friend and the wisdom and patience of a few special folks (the P’s included) who really love me to help me realize that without change, I’m headed for disaster.

The happy ending in this tragic tale of woe is that I have a plan…or at least I’m in the process of formulating one. Step One of that plan…writing…and not just the work related proposals that have occupied much of my life for the last several months. Step Two….get back to the business of taking care of me. And, Step Three? Well, you’ll just have to wait and see…

The Letter...

2010-01-14T22:10:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting in the airport in Phoenix waiting to board my flight to Ft. Lauderdale where I will meet up with my lifelong friend Amy and embark the Independence of the Seas for the “Susan Saner Davenport 40th Birthday Cruise.” 40…Wow. Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I never gave turning 40 a bit of thought. Why would I? There wasn’t any reason to worry about getting “old.” And then suddenly, without warning, turning 31 didn’t look good…35 less than a 5% chance and 40…well, that was a pipe dream at best.

And yet here I am.

I don’t know why I have been blessed…and let’s be honest, spared. I’ve watched so many friends and fellow cancer patients lose their battles to this horrible disease and yet here I stand preparing to do what some (and even I at times) thought was impossible. To me, it’s nothing short of a miracle…and further proof that WE are the Captains of our destiny and that so much of our life is dependent on how good the “crew” is that we choose to surround ourselves with. There is no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be here right now if not for the incredible support system that I have, the medical team that has been fighting for me and the fact that I am a stubborn, hard-headed chick who doesn’t like to be told what to do…especially when “what” has anything to do with dying.

I’ve always thought that when you turned 40, you were supposed to have “it” together. I don’t even know what to do with “it,” much less how to get “it” together. What I do know, though, is that while I wouldn’t make any wholesale changes to my life, I sure would love to go back in time and impart some of the wisdom of these years to the girl I used to be. So, in honor of this dubious occasion, I’ve decided to honor the years that I’ve lived…and the years that are still to come with the following letter to…

10 year old me…
Dear Susan,

I know that it hurts to leave your best friend, Amy, on 69th Terrace in Prairie Village and move to Wellsville, but I promise you that it will be ok. You will come to think of Wellsville as your hometown and the people that you meet there as your family. You will cherish the experiences and friendships that you make there, you will respect the work ethic that you learn growing up there and you will be forever grateful for the time that you get to spend with your Grandma Booth. Here’s the best thing though, this move will teach you that distance means nothing with true friendship. Your friendship with Amy will grow as the two of you do and there won’t be a major…or not so major event…in either of your lives that the other one isn’t a part of. You are now…and will always be…best friends. It’s going to be ok. I promise!

15 year old me…
Dear Susan,

I know it seems like the end of the world now, but I promise you that when you are 40, it really won’t matter that “he” doesn’t and didn’t notice you. Someday he will…and by then, you will have moved on. The memory of the time and energy that you put into this one sided love affair will someday make you smile…and, in reality, will provide relief as you realize that if you had gotten what you wanted then, you might not be living the life you have now. Everything happens for a reason, dear girl. Keep your chin up and keep plugging away. Like fine wine, some things really do get better with age. You are one of them!

25 Year Old Me…
Dear Susan,

Someday the friend that you are falling in love with will break your heart. Stay the course. There are great lessons to be learned in this relationship. When all is said and done, you will emerge friends…fiercely loyal to each other…and equally pleased not to be married to each other anymore. I am proud of you…and you should be proud of you, for the way that you will handle yourself during the divorce. Class act, baby!

I’m not going to tell you not to beat yourself up, because you “failed” at marriage, because I know that you will anyway…what I am going to tell you, though, is that the lessons that you learn from that failure will serve you well as you grow older. At 40, you will know exactly what you want and don’t want out of a relationship…and it will be clear that settling will never be an option! “He’s” out there…or he’s not…either way, you’ll be fine!

30 Year Old Me…
Dear Susan,

They’ve told you that you are going to die. It’s true…you will, but not on their terms. Listen to your gut. If it feels right, do it. If it doesn’t, don’t allow yourself to be talked into it. This is YOUR life. Don’t ever forget that.
Research all you can on nutrition and alternative therapies. Tell the people that you love…that you do indeed love them…as often as you can. Cut the dead weight out of your life! Don’t be ashamed of that beautiful bald head. Wear that badge with honor, because you will earn it ten-fold! When someone tells you that something is only going to hurt “a little,” don’t believe them. When someone asks you how you feel, don’t tell most of them the truth. When your best friend asks you, be open and honest…even though it will hurt her, she really wants to know and she can take it. Don’t ever give up your dream of a future…your ability to laugh…and the knowledge of the relief that comes from a really good cry. It’s ok to be afraid, but don’t ever allow yourself to be paralyzed by fear. You are a genuine hard chick with a soft, gooey filling…the best kind of woman.

And, never forget that it’s ok to lose…as long as you didn’t give up!

35 Year Old Me…
Dear Susan,

He’s not worth it. He will only bring heartache and pain…and take years to truly get over. Keep walking…or as the British say, “Keep Calm and Carry On.” This, dear girl, might just be the best piece of advice that I am able to impart. Think about it…smile…and then walk…no RUN…away!

Learn to listen with your head and your heart. Have the guts to make the move. Don’t take it personally, because sometimes it has nothing at all to do with you. Take the opportunity to enjoy your parents while you can. Fill up other people’s buckets, but don’t forget to ration or you won’t have anything left in your own. Don’t ever stop caring as much as you do…it’s one of the things that makes “you” – you. Jealousy and anger are wasted emotions…let them go. It really is “only money.” Don’t let a few sprinkles…or even a downpour…ruin an otherwise perfect day. Be open to the possibility. And, get ready for an amazing ride, because the next five years will be incredible.

40 Year Old Me…
Dear Susan,

You made it! I’ve been waiting for you and so has…

To be continued…

Auld Lang Syne - 2009

2009-12-31T07:05:00.000-08:00

December 31, 1999, I rang in the New Year on the couch at my former in-laws house. Having spent the day at the mall in Capitola, California watching my head of beautiful long red hair become a pixie cut in preparation for chemotherapy that would be starting in the coming weeks, I felt only fear and dread as I watched the clock hit midnight and 2000…the decade of my 30’s…officially begin. January 2000, was a blur and yet I remember so many moments of it like it was yesterday. I associate those days with painful experiences, both physical and mental. Experiences that I wish I could forget, but know I never will.

My 30th birthday was spent at Good Samaritan Hospital in San Jose, in an x-ray room laying flat on my back for several hours having a lymph-angiogram in an attempt to determine what Stage my Lymphoma should be categorized. Birthday dinner that year was a taco and a Diet Coke from Jack in the Box fast food restaurant at 11:00p.m. as my ex-husband and I drove home in silence exhausted by the events of the day. There were more long and painful tests to come, until the final verdict…I was “toast”…could be delivered by my Doc.

During those days, the phone rang and was used incessantly. I simply couldn’t get away from it. There were tests to schedule, people to tell about my cancer diagnosis and its latest developments and insurance companies to fight with. In fact, it might be that time of my life that is most directly responsible for my aversion to talking on the phone now when I’m at home. To this day, when the phone rings during the evening or weekend, my first thought…before I even know who is calling…is, “Sigh…what now?!”

Chemo started and I was bald about two and a half weeks later. A month or so after that, the pretty girl that I remembered being in my 20’s had been replaced by a strange creature that looked suspiciously like Uncle Fester from The Adams Family. This doesn’t do much for one’s self esteem…especially when you know that if you are going to put any sort of string of survival together, you and Fester are going to be “together” for the long haul.

I wonder what you will think when I tell you that there hasn’t been a single day of the last decade…the entire span of my 30’s…when one of the first thoughts of my day and one of the last before I go to sleep doesn’t surround cancer? I wonder what you will think when I tell you that I have lived with an almost constant sense of fear that suddenly the reaper will realize that I snuck out of line…that I haven’t followed protocol…and that I have cheating death longer than I should have been allowed? I wonder if you know what it’s like to try to bargain with a killer for just a few more months…or years? I wonder if you can understand the guilt that I have felt as I have watched friends and loved ones lose their battles, while I still muddle through? And, I wonder if you have any idea what it feels like not have any clue why cancer loves…and hates…me so much?

The last decade has been a fight for my life. With that fight came incredibly beautiful moments, breathtaking experiences, relationships that bolster and inspire…and fear, ugliness and pain. I’ve spent my 30’s trying to stay alive and as much as has been allowed by my situation, trying to have a life. As we welcome a new year…a new decade…and I eagerly await my 40th birthday, I’ve decided that having a life is going to take precedence over simply trying to stay alive. Gone forever is business as usual in my cancer care…I’ve taken the reigns and I’m leading the charge.

For me, pumping my body full of chemicals and radiation to kill…or slow…cancer and a poor diet was no longer working. It was time for me to empower myself to take control of my body and my cancer experience. I stopped all of my traditional cancer treatment, fired the docs that didn’t support my decision and looked for a new path which I happened to find while talking to someone in the CT Scan line.

Through a regimented diet (and I do mean regimented!) and a naturopathic approach to cancer care, I am welcoming 2010 feeling (and looking) better than I have in years. It hasn’t been easy, but as I have repeatedly had to remind myself when I wanted to “cheat”…this isn’t about the perfect pair of jeans…this is about my life. And, for the first time in a decade, I truly believe that there is a LONG life in there to be had!

I wish you a peaceful end to 2009 and with the stroke of midnight…optimism, courage and joy for 2010. No day is promised and nothing is easy, but my wish for you is that you find the strength to make the most of every second you have. YOU (and I) are worth it!

Happy New Year!

December 23, 2009

Being Me...

2009-12-08T14:46:00.000-08:00

I am…Susan Claire Saner Davenport...

I consider California my home. I love music and sports. I like to be challenged. When I set my mind to something…look out. I am a Capricorn. I get angry at people who don’t live up to their potential and try to slide by. Poor grammar makes me nuts. I’m scared of the dark, claustrophobic on airplanes and morally opposed to eating tuna fish under any circumstance. I like to read…and write. I’ve been known to throw a really good fit or two in my day. I hate my butt. I like my eyes. Making people laugh is one of my favorite things and I am naturally drawn to people who can make me laugh, too. I’m a sucker for an English, Scottish, Irish, South African or Australian accent. I hate to lose. I think dogs…especially basset hounds…rock. I negotiate my own big purchases (homes, cars, etc.) and always have. I can…and sometimes do…curse like a sailor. Thinking about the day when my parents are no longer here scares me to death. I don’t believe that you have to sit in church to be spiritual and talk to God. The only tattoos that I have…and will ever have…are the result of radiation. I yelled something at a basketball game when I was 14 that still makes me cringe (and NO, I’m not telling you what it was!). I’ve lived on a sailboat. I’ve been stopped for speeding in Kansas (x2), California (x2) and Arizona. I’m not sure that I believe in marriage. I can lose a whole day watching cheesy 70’s plane crash movies. I love the ocean. I’m not domestic. I’ve never cried at a doctor’s office, but in the car afterwards…buckets. I’d rather have a smokin’ hot, fast car than a huge ostentatious house. I hate the smell of cigarette smoke. I believe in ghosts. I would prefer to live in the city to the country. I can play the flute and French horn…sort of. I’m proud to be from Kansas. I believe that forgiveness is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. Playing in the bell choir at church was one of my most scaring adolescent experiences…at least that’s what I tell my Mother. I’ve been driving since I was nine. I could eat Mexican food every day. I can’t tolerate racism or homophobia. “Erections lasting four or more hours” scare me to death. And, if I were God, cookies and cake with gooey icing would cure cancer.

I am…Susan Claire Saner Davenport…

Imperfect…and perfect
Weak…and strong

Ugly…and beautiful

Tragedy…and comedy

Dying…and living

Surviving…and thriving

Loving…and loved

Realistic…and hopeful

Cancer…and cure

But, above all…I'm just thankful that I AM.

Cancer Smackdown...

2009-09-21T17:09:00.000-07:00

Preface…Sometimes when I know that there is a particularly sensitive part of a Blog that I have written, I call the P’s and read it to them before I post so that they will know that it is coming. They know that I won’t change anything about what I’ve said, because they understand that this Blog is about me…my life…my feelings…and if it is going to be authentic, it has to be in my words. Sometimes those words make the P’s cringe. This post…or one sentence in it…is the perfect example of that. As I told my dear Dad when he raised concern about what I had written, “after ten years, Dad, I think I’ve earned it.” So, with that said…read on if you dare…

The Lance Armstrong Foundation (LAF) unites people through programs and experiences to empower cancer survivors to live life on their own terms and to raise awareness and funds for the fight against cancer. The LAF focuses on cancer prevention, access to screening and care, research and quality of life for cancer survivors. Founded in 1997 by cancer survivor and champion cyclist Lance Armstrong, the LAF has raised more than $250 million for the fight against cancer.

As part of the LIVESTRONG Challenge this year, the Lance Armstrong Foundation posed the question, “If you could challenge…or say anything…to cancer, what would you say?”

After much thought, here’s what I want to say to cancer…

Since June 29, 1998, the day that you took my Grandma Booth, there hasn’t been a day of my life that I haven’t hated you. I will never forgive you for the pain that you caused her. At almost 89 years old, she didn’t deserve you…and at 29 years old, I didn’t deserve you either.

I’m sure I heard you laughing when my vision of what I believed would be a long, healthy and happy life came crashing down around me in a doctor’s office right before I turned 30. I know that you were smug when the doctor attached the word “terminal” to your name and told me that I wouldn’t see 35.

Who’s laughing now??? Not as easy to kill me as you thought it would be, huh?

I wonder how many times over the course of the last 10 years that I have sent you reeling?! I imagine you sitting in a big leather chair in the cancer war room looking at my picture wondering exactly what it will take to get me. I can see you red faced and furious. I know that you don’t like to lose.

Neither do I…especially when the stakes are so high and we are talking about something as precious as my life.

You may win the war, Cancer, but the battles…and how one handles them…are what make up a life. As of this day, I have proven myself stronger in battle and more powerful in the fight than the worst you’ve been able to bring. I’ve taken your blows…emotional, mental and physical…time after time…and I keep getting up. You haven’t beaten me.

That must really piss you off?!

So that you never forget exactly who you are dealing with here, understand this...

Because you’ve tried to break my spirit, but haven’t…I know that I am stronger than you.
Because you’ve tried to take my smile, but haven’t…I know that I am stronger than you.

Even when you make me cry…I know that I am stronger than you.
Even when you whisper doubt and fear in my ear in the middle of the night…I know that I am stronger than you.

Because I still believe in the future…I know that I am stronger than you.
Because I can still laugh in the face of pain…I know that I am stronger than you.

Even when all seems bleak…I know that I am stronger than you.
Even when my heart is broken and I feel weak…I know that I am stronger than you.

This fight…our fight…doesn’t end until I say it does. It is a war that will be waged on every front. I will fight for myself and others…

And, I will never give up.

In other words…

Cancer…

"Fuck YOU!"

Countdown to LIVESTRONG Challenge 2009

2009-08-31T22:05:00.000-07:00

I need your help...

As many of you know, I am participating in the LIVESTRONG Challenge benefiting the Lance Armstrong Foundation in Austin, Texas in October 2009. The fight against cancer is a very personal one for me. Since 1999, I have been engaged in a battle for my life against three different kinds of cancer. I know firsthand the fear that comes from being told that you have cancer…the pain that comes from treatment…the uncertainty that comes with diagnosis…and the power for the fight generated by the love of family and friends.

When I was diagnosed, I was told that I was going to die. Call it will…destiny…or good old fashioned luck, but I’m still here. Unfortunately, many people who I care about…and perhaps many who you care about, as well…haven’t been so fortunate. I realize that in my life “No Day is Promised,” so I do my best to bring energy and passion to everything that I do. Fighting cancer…for myself and others…is one of those things.

As a cycling fan, I have always admired the skill and talent that Lance Armstrong brought to the sport. As someone who proudly wears the moniker “Cancer Survivor,” I believe in the message of the man…that a cancer diagnosis doesn’t always equal a death sentence (even when they tell you that it does) and that you can be better and stronger after cancer than you were before. And, as someone who understands all that a cancer diagnosis entails, I know firsthand the important work being done by the Lance Armstrong Foundation for people around the world who are LIVING with cancer.

The Lance Armstrong Foundation unites people to fight cancer believing that “unity is strength, knowledge is power and attitude is everything.” After a ten year battle, I know how true…and important this phrase is. In honor of the countdown to the 2009 LIVESTRONG Challenge, and in an effort to help me reach my personal goal of $30,000 raised for the Lance Armstrong Foundation, I've decided to get creative...so...

For every $50 you donate between now and September 30, you will receive one chance to win either a Tag Heuer Men’s Link watch like the one seen below (retail value $1500.00+ ) or a $200 Macy’s Gift Card. ($50 = 1 chance, $100 = 2 chances, etc.)

For those of you who can’t spare $50 or more right now, not to worry…there’s something special for you, as well! For every $10 donated under $50, you will receive one chance to win a $50 Macy’s Gift Card. As always, your donation is tax deductible. The drawing will be held on Thursday, October 1. Details on time and location to follow.

I thank you for your support and will have you with me every step and pedal of the way in Austin!

The following link will take you to my LIVESTRONG fundraising page:
http://austin09.livestrong.org/susancdavenport

This year I am participating in memory and honor of the following people:

In Memory Of...
Easta "Grandma" Booth
Ben Diffenderfer
Stefan Cleveland
Mike Lovett
Debbie Doty
Barbara Bean
Jennifer Hurcombe
Jim Owens
Eddie May
Bob Sanders
Lisa Garcia
Ron Newhouse
Larry Fort
John Nelson
Isabel Moss
Johnny Green
Mike Williams

In Honor of...
Auntie A
Katie Schofield
Bridget Halpin
Susan Duek
Lesley Breithaupt
Lisa Oswald
Amy Breashears
Erma CraigJanice Breashears
Morgan Langdale
Mary Jo Ruff
Reenie Hughes
Roscoe Hodson
Lori Reed
Tanner Flynn
Shawn Gleave
Joan Scott
Judy Wolever
Bryn Truett-Chavez
Nancy Williams
Bob Judge
Rod Brown
Mike Ryan
Ken Nelson
Mike Hiddleson
Ann Bengfort
Joe Judge
Joe Rock
Bob Thornburg
Rich Gallaher
Karen Heck
Keith Rogers
Gene Mitchell
Wayne Newson
Randy Vestal
Mrs. Adams
Bill Davidson
Jack Cavner

For more information on the Lance Armstrong Foundation:
http://www.livestrong.org/site/c.khLXK1PxHmF/b.2661055/k.E8CE/Manifesto.htm

The Other Side...

2009-08-23T09:08:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this post from a hospital bed. I'm here getting blood (yep, I'm anemic again) and antibiotics for a bout of Pneumonia that I wasn't even aware that I had. As my friend, Kurt, said to me yesterday, "It really sucks that your body is so screwed up that you can't even tell when you have Pneumonia." He's right...but, that's my reality right now...and realistically probably will be for the rest of it, as well.

My nights in the hospital are never restful. Due to a nasty struggle with claustrophobia that seems to get progressively worse the longer that I fight cancer, I can't stand to have the door closed on my hospital room. As a result, I hear everything that is happening on the Wing. It's amazing what kind of things you hear in a hospital at 2:00a.m.; some funny, some sad and some downright scary, but all part of the PhD I am working on in life as a cancer patient.

Last night was a particularly hard one on our Wing. As soon as I was brought to my room, I knew that "we" were in for a tough go. The tear stained faces that met me in the hall as I made my way to my room made it clear to me that someone wasn't doing well. After a couple of discussions with my nurse and after hearing the whispered conversations of the family outside my door, I learned that my neighbor was in the final stages of his battle with kidney cancer and that he wasn't projected to make it through the night.

He didn't.

It was a man's voice that I heard crack on the phone at 3:30 this morning as he informed the person on the other end of the line that, "Dad's gone." And, although, I didn't know these people at all...I cried with them as I watched them huddled in the corridor trying to navigate those first few moments of realization that "Dad's" battle was officially over...and that theirs was beginning to take on a life of its own.

After the family left the hospital, it was just me...and "Dad" left in the darkness of our rooms. I wondered about him. Who was he? What...and who...did he love? What was the best day that he ever had? What was he doing at this very moment? And....what did it feel like to finally be pain and cancer free?

I will leave the hospital in a few hours and get on with my life...again, but somewhere in Phoenix a family that touched my life on this day will be grieving. My heart hurts for their loss and I wish them peace for their journey.

As for "Dad," I have nothing but joy for you, my friend, because I have faith in what awaits you (and me) on the other side.

Gratitude and Possibility...

2009-08-03T17:19:00.001-07:00

When the opportunity presents itself, one can always find me walking or running along the coast watching the sunrise. I never took for granted this day making experience when I was a California girl, and now that I am a desert dweller, I relish it even more. The fact that this morning found me waking in San Diego meant that it wasn’t a difficult decision to rise and dress before dawn so that I could be out on the trail waking up with this amazing city. As the sun rises on the coast, so too does my spirit. I am renewed by the water. The sights, sounds and smells of the sea speak to me. They always have…and I know that this is the way that it always will be.

This morning’s journey was one filled with gratitude and possibility. What brings me to San Diego is in itself an exciting business opportunity full of potential and possibility. There is much to be seen, done and gained here…and I am optimistic…and realistic at the same time. If “it” is to be won…it won’t be done easily. I love that. Give me the challenge. I will own it and make it mine. I’ve used the same approach to fighting cancer and, at least to this point, it has served me well. I know not that I will win, but instead that no one will ever question the passion and fight in the pursuit.

As I walked this morning, I had a deep level of gratitude for the shape and form of my life. Or maybe instead I should say, it’s sometimes formless…shapeless state. It never ceases to amaze me how I end up in some of the places that I do…or how I end up having some of the experiences that I have. Is it because I am open to the possibility of life, but also understand its fragility? Is it because, like my parents, I’ve never known a stranger? Is it because I am just plain lucky? Or is there something to be said for all three...and perhaps more?

On this beautiful day, my bucket is full and I am grateful…

Grateful for old daydreams whose realities are even better than I could have ever imagined,

Grateful for the people in my life who inspire and give me hope,

Grateful for friends who feel that they can and want to come to me with broken hearts, spirits and bodies,

Grateful that my mind and body have listened to my heart when it said that it wasn’t ready to die,

Grateful to my heart for still believing,

And most of all…

I am grateful for the possibility.

*********************************************************************

http://austin09.livestrong.org/susancdavenport

Darkness

2009-07-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

On July 28, 2007, I pulled out of my driveway in San Jose, California and drove towards my life in Phoenix, Arizona. Duchess, Emma and I arrived at our new house in Scottsdale as the sun was setting. The orange and pink desert sky faded to black as I unloaded the last of the few possessions that had made the trip with us in the car. With the girls quietly settled on their dog beds for the first comfortable slumber of the day, I sat in the middle of my new living room floor and cried.

As much I was looking forward to the new professional challenge that brought me to Arizona, my heart ached for the life I left behind. It wasn’t the first time that I had experienced that sensation. In fact, it was practically déjà vu to a day in August 1991, when I arrived in Capitola, California from Kansas. Because I had “been there,” I knew that as soon as a routine could be established, a sense of normalcy would return to my life. By August, I was deeply immersed in my new project at work and my free time was spent exploring my new town. Tears were the farthest thing from my mind as I awoke invigorated and inspired each morning, anxious to see what my new world had in store. It was an exciting time…a time when cancer wasn’t the foremost thought on the wind.

My “reprieve” was over by that winter when a new tumor had been found and treatment began yet again. With pain…and a bald head…as my constant companion, I settled into the routine of balancing work, life and the fight…something that I have become quite adept at over the years. When Spring turned to Summer, Duchess and I mourned the loss of our beloved Emma and I watched the athletic form that I had been working so hard to achieve begin to show the effects of chemo and the plethora of drugs that come with it. As the days, weeks and months passed, life…as it does if you are lucky…rolled on.

On this, the two year anniversary of my arrival in Arizona, I watch through tear filled eyes as the orange and pink desert sky again fades to black and I find myself wondering what the next two years will bring?

Tonight I can't help but think...

If my head and body continue to hurt like they do right now, maybe it’s best not to know.

NOW!

2009-07-26T04:20:00.000-07:00

Patience is a virtue…

Good things come to those who wait…

Blah…Blah…Blah. Yada…yada…yada.

Patience? Yeah, well, I have none.

I suppose, and I have shared this little nugget with some in the past, that some of my lack of patience has to do with the fact that for the last ten years, I’ve been navigating my life based on the concept of borrowed time. We know by now, that I was supposed to be gone a long time ago, so my desire to “move things along” is probably pretty understandable to most of you. What you might not realize…although I think that many of you who know me well already do…sick or not, I probably wouldn’t be anymore patient that I am right now. I am a pusher…I get things done…and I struggle with anything that requires time to develop, be understood and “play” out.

Here’s the “rub” with this little personality glitch. There are a few things in my life right now that are actually requiring…

come closer…

I can barely say the words…

…my patience.

Jeez, people! I have cancer. You expect me to be patient, too?! Come ON! (Said in my best foot stomping, whining voice!)

Surely by now I should have this system down, right? Tests happen…treatments happen…and then we wait. In theory, the concept doesn’t seem that difficult to grasp. Yet when you are waiting for something as important as word on whether or not a beam shooting lasery goodness into your head has accomplished its desired goal of making a tumor go “bye-bye,” it’s difficult to get onboard with the whole “wait and see” process. I CAN do it though…when forced…and right now, let’s face it…I am forced.

The real saga playing out under the heading of “But, I Want It Nnnn…oooo…wwww!” (Yes, I’m whining again); however, has absolutely nothing to do with cancer…and that, my friends, is sucking the life right out of me. Ok, maybe I’m being a tad melodramatic, but it IS really hhhhaaaard (there I go again!) and try as I might I can’t seem to do anything about it.

Here’s the deal though…I suspect that if I am patient and allow things to play out the way they will, these other non-cancer related “do-dads” will actually be…dare I say it…worth the wait. And, I might actually be pleased that they developed on their own terms and not because I was beating them into submission on mine.

Wow, even though I know that is right…it really is difficult to say. And, in retrospect, I can’t help but wonder how differently things might have turned out in a few key situations from my past if I hadn’t been in such a hurry to make things happen…or to reach resolution and move on.

I realize that I have work to do, but I am certainly not willing to accept that this side of my personality is all bad. On the contrary, my push, drive and, in some cases, lack of patience has served me well both personally and professionally. As with anything though, moderation is the key…

And patience is a virtue…

And good things come to those who wait…

So…

I wait.

Slow Burn...

2009-07-24T20:46:00.000-07:00

I’ve never been the “hot” chick. You know, the girl who makes the tongue of every man hang out when she walks into the room?! The woman capable of a hair toss that can bring men to their knees (first problem…you actually have to have hair for that, which as we know has been a repeat problem over the last ten years). And, I’ve never mastered that cute cooing giggle that summons men from far and wide to help carry packages and open doors. That’s just not me…it never has been.

In high school…well, let’s just not even go there. In college…yes, let’s start there…I had a little bit of something going on…and those of you who were there, know that for about 15 minutes in 1997, I had the “summit of hotness” in sight, until I missed a curve and found myself careening over the side of the cliff back into the valley of “well, she’s not ugly…”

I always thought that I had it in me though. I believed that with a Steve Austin style Six Million Dollar Man type makeover, I could make “hot” happen. I believed it…even in the darkest prednisone and chemo infested days of my early to mid 30’s. In fact, my philosophy on my ability to hit “smokin’ hot” status could have best been likened to the exchange between Mary and Lloyd in “Dumb and Dumber.”

Lloyd: “…what are my chances?”
Mary: “Not good.”
Lloyd: “You mean not good like one out of a hundred?”
Mary: “I’d say more like one out of million.”
Lloyd: “So you’re telling me there’s a chance. *YEAH*”

It wasn’t until a trip to the gym earlier this week that it actually occurred to me…the only “hot” I’ve got going on is the result of an over exposure to radiation. I’ve spent the days since this epiphany coming to terms with the fact that “hot” has never been…nor will it ever be…me. And now, I think I’m actually ok with that…

…sort of.

When you live in the land where the hot chick reigns supreme (a.k.a. Scottsdale), being a chick fighting cancer and all that comes with it is what we in the biz like to call a character builder. Fortunately…or unfortunately…depending on how you look at it, after all these years I have lots and LOTS of character.

My body with all its scars, bruises and misadventures will never be perfect…but, it’s still fighting the fight even after it was told it should have failed long ago. My hair although never perfectly coiffed…is, at least for now, in residence. My lips though not perfectly pouty…are usually active participants in a smile that I’ve been told makes others feel like smiling, too. My laugh…though incapable of making men fawn…is genuine and robust. My eyes…though unable to bat wildly and woo…are bright and full of life. And, my spirit…well, those chicks can’t even touch my spirit.

In the days, months and years (fingers crossed!) to come, I’ll still be out there working on my mind, body and spirit… and while I know I will never be “hot,” you can bet your ass… I’ll always be ON FIRE!

Turn The Page...

2009-07-13T21:08:00.000-07:00

In the next couple of weeks, I have to go to a place that I have never been and have a treatment that I don’t want to have. Doctors will place my head in a cage…insert said cage into a nifty machine…and shoot gamma radiation (192 beams of it…times three… as a matter of fact) at my head in an attempt to kill a brain tumor. I’m not thrilled…and, as a result, many who love me aren’t particularly thrilled with me right now either.

After diagnosis, a cancer patient almost immediately learns that the cancer machine can make a person feel utterly powerless as it slowly but surely ticks along and consumes any semblance one had of a life. Your schedule…and your body…are no longer your own. You go where they want you to go. You do what they want you to do. You sit in waiting and exam rooms in clinics, hospitals, labs and doctor’s offices. You allow yourself to be touched, poked, x-rayed, scanned, examined and biopsied. And, early on in “the game” you have patience for this. Ten years down the road…you don’t.

When this latest “challenge” reared its ugly head, there is no doubt I was devastated. I still am, but I also know that for my own sanity, I can’t give this brain tumor any more power over me than it already has. So, when my parents…and several of my friends…asked if they should rush to my side and be here with me as I face treatment and the aftermath, I said “Thank you, but no.” I understand that they…and most of you…don’t understand that. They don’t have to…and neither do you. What I do ask, however, is that you respect my choices and why I make them.

My Grandma Saner died when I was 12 years old. She was sick for a very long time before she died. I have no memories of her that don’t include her in a nursing home bed, in pain and struggling. I hate that. I want to know the woman who cheated at cards, was a wicked tease and gave wonderful hugs. I don’t want my memories of her to be tied to pain and the profound feeling of sadness that radiated from my Dad as we drove home after visiting her. That’s not fair to her…not the way to honor the essence of who she was…and it’s not fair to me.

I am a very proud person. I want to be thought of as strong and capable…even when perhaps I’m not. Long ago I faced and accepted how my life was probably going to end. I refuse, however, to accept that the disease that will probably take my life will be allowed to dictate how I live it and what memories it leaves of me with the people I love.

When you close the book that is the story of my life, I want my legacy to be a wealth of memories filled with laughter, hope, happiness and fun…not pain, fear and sadness tied to the disease that took my life. I am not a hospital waiting room…or a biopsy…or a chemo treatment. I am a girl who takes belly (and pole) dancing lessons, who decides that she is going to do a Triathlon even though she hasn’t properly trained, who slides down the hill at a party and ends up spread eagle in the middle of the street, who loves with all her might even when she shouldn’t, who throws herself into her work and who hopefully makes the people she loves laugh more than cry.

I can’t control most of my cancer experience…just as I can’t control how much worry my fight has caused the people who love me. What I can control though is how much power I give this disease over the memories my family and friends will have of me when I'm gone. And, the memory of me having gamma radiation shot at my head is not worthy of a chapter in my story.
It's merely a blip on a page.

The...End.

So...So...Single...

2009-06-30T18:27:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I had the unfortunate “pleasure” of spending the night in the hospital. As I lay captive in my hospital bed, my nurse shared the story of her breast cancer diagnosis and treatment several years before. She also shared several stories about how wonderful her husband was during her entire cancer experience and how he worked hard to make sure that she was able to take the time she needed to recover. She talked about how her doctors had told her that she would never be able to have children and that they were now the proud parents of a five year old boy. She mentioned the financial impact of her cancer diagnosis and how it meant that they had to put off buying a bigger house for a couple of years. And finally, she shared some of the treatment side effects that she was still dealing with today. Because I landed in the hospital as a result of the impacts of years of cancer treatment on my heart and digestive system, she apparently felt compelled to say, “See, I’ve been there, too…” and the absolutely abhorred “…I know exactly how you feel.”

I smiled and nodded as she walked out of the room, but while doing so silently said to myself, “Like hell you do.”

Until she has…or you have…been a single person fighting cancer…my cancer(s)..., you will never know “exactly” how I feel. You couldn’t possibly.

Single people fighting cancer are a bit like acrobats operating without a net. We take the same risks and chances to stay alive that married or partnered cancer fighters take, but when we fall we don’t land in the arms of a partner who is there to help shoulder the emotional, mental and financial burdens. When we “fall,” our landings are usually much harder…the aftermath, potentially, much more catastrophic…at least to us.

It makes me smile (or really pisses me off depending on my mood) when my married friends tell me that I can’t make choices on treatment, how much rest I need and pain control based on my job. Really? Did Duchess suddenly get a job with benefits that I am not aware of? Did she learn to drive? Last time I checked, I was the person responsible for keeping the mortgage paid, the lights on and the insurance active. I am also the person responsible for dealing with billing issues, keeping appointments straight and exploring new treatment and lifestyle opportunities that I can implement to combat my cancer and hopefully prolong my life. I am the cook, the grocer, the pain manager, the chore runner, the financial planner and the breadwinner. I am… single.

I think I have almost come to the realization that I will probably be a single person fighting cancer for the rest of my life. As much as I think I have to offer someone special, it seems difficult for “someone special” to accept the reality that is my life for any prolonged period of time. History has shown that as long as I am strong and relatively healthy, dating and relationships are a breeze (OK, that’s total B.S. Dating is never a breeze, but at least it’s much, much easier). But, as soon as I let my guard down and really start to let someone share the experience…and some of the load…off he scurries. Truth be told, I can’t say that I blame them. Most of the time, even I want to run away, but at the end of the day I know that I am so much more than “just” cancer.

The cancer experience is not one size fits all. As cancer fighters, we share a disease. A disease that creates strong bonds and a deep-seeded respect for the journey…and, while many of the joys and concerns that we face are similar, no two people walk exactly the same path. Each of us comes to the “dance” with our own realities and those realities absolutely play a part in how we live our lives and navigate our diagnosis, treatment and survivorship. I hope you’ll think about that the next time you hear about someone fighting cancer…and I hope you’ll take the time to ask yourself what his or her journey might be like.

In the meantime, if you want a good laugh, try to imagine me out here navigating singledom with 10 years, three different kinds of cancer and four different stints as a bald chick under my belt. That, my friends, is where true reality show genius would be made! I’m sure my Dad would love watching me break out the “Wanna Get Naked and Count My Scars” game.

OK, seriously Dad…I just made that up…

but it’s not a bad idea… ;-)

Broken...

2009-06-02T18:08:00.000-07:00

My doc listened patiently as I unloaded my tale of romantic woe. He nodded knowingly at all the right times, handed me Kleenex and even patted my knee as he told me that he was so sorry that I was hurting…

And then he basically told me to get over it.

Actually, what he said was, “I know that you have a broken heart and that you are really hurting. I know that you want to crawl in a hole and let the world pass you by for a while. And, more than both of those things, I know that you aren’t going to want to hear what I am about to say. I need…you need…the fighter. Broken heart or not, you don’t have the luxury of allowing the end of your relationship to get you down. You have to fight through it. The demon that lives in your body thrives on weakness…if you feel weak, you are weak…and you are giving cancer the opportunity to thrive. I know it sounds cold. It isn’t meant to be…the reality is that you have to bring your ‘A’ game every single day…no matter what.”

And then he asked me if I wanted a hug…Uhhh…NO!

It’s not fair, but he’s right. I’ve lived the reality of what can happen when you let your spirit get so depleted that your body follows. In 2003, when I was going through my divorce I developed pneumonia and then meningitis and almost died. I don’t want to tempt fate again…especially since I’ve had six more years of the effects of a cancer fight on my body since then…but, how does one walk the tightrope of “what should be” and “what is?”

Herein lies one of the great challenges facing cancer fighters everywhere…How do we stay strong for our physical fight when everything inside feels broken? As cancer patients, we are conditioned to maintain positive attitudes and take care of ourselves, but we are still human beings…living very human existences. Just because we are facing our own mortality doesn’t mean that our relationships don’t end…or that we don’t lose jobs…or people that we love. It doesn’t mean that we don’t have deadlines…and fights with friends…and fender benders…and all of those things that create stress in a life. Unfortunately, in our lives, these big…and small…stresses can lead to less than ideal outcomes and we have very little power over them when they do.

As for me…I don’t want to fight cancer right now. I just want to be a person with a broken heart who is grieving the loss of something and someone who meant so much to me. I don’t want to worry about getting sick, because my already depleted immune system is being taxed more than normal. I don’t want to listen to people tell me that I need to stay positive and strong when I feel neither. And, I definitely, don’t want to pretend that the end of a relationship as important as the one that I had with Richard will have no effect on my fight.

So, what’s the answer?

You tell me, because right now I have absolutely no idea.

I Believe...

2009-05-13T21:31:00.000-07:00

I’ve never been in remission. I’ve either been a person living with cancer…or someone who didn’t know she had cancer…or someone who didn’t have cancer…never someone in remission. I used to be incredibly envious of my cancer fighting friends who actually heard the words, “You are in remission.” I used to wonder what it would feel like to go out and celebrate the news that I had beaten cancer…that no trace of it could be found in my body. I used to dream about how it would feel not to think that every ache and pain had something to do with cancer cells conspiring against me. I used to practice imaginary conversations about what it would be like to tell people, “Yes, I had cancer…many years ago.”

And yet here I am, my cancer encrusted self who can barely remember a life before the big “C” came to call, thinking that perhaps I have actually had it easier all along. In 10 years, I’ve never been minding my own business and then suddenly gotten the news that my cancer was back. I’ve never been told that at some point while my guard was down cancer decided that it was ready for a repeat performance. I’ve never considered that my lumps and bumps were anything but cancer and been shocked into the realization that something more sinister was at play. And, I’ve never started a conversation with “Yes, I had cancer…” only to have to finish it with, “…and I just found out that it is back.”

Once I was told, “Baring another tragedy out of any of our control, you will die of cancer;” the writing was pretty much on the wall for Old Suz. I have long since given up the dreams of my remission and cure, but I’ve refused to give up those dreams for my friends and fellow cancer fighters. I am the first to celebrate the news of cancer free scans and the first to be shaken to my core by the news that a recurrence has been found.

Last Saturday, after finishing my second Triathlon, I came home floating. I was so incredibly proud of myself. I walked into the house…immediately dropped to the floor and told Duchess all about my morning (she was, of course, very interested and quite supportive)…and then put on some music…L-O-U-D! I was enjoying my success when I heard my Blackberry signal that an email had come through. With the email came the news that a friend had just found out that her cancer had returned. That news literally brought me to my knees.

Why? Why should I be shaken? Shouldn’t I, of all people, know how evil and insidious that this disease can be? Shouldn’t “I” be above the surprise?

Why?

Why does this news shake me so???

Because I want to believe!!

I want to believe that cancer really can be a blip in a life and that there can really be a “happily ever after” for children and adults who have gone head to head with the force that is likely going to take my life.

I want to believe that the fear that comes with a cancer diagnosis really does go away in time.

I want to believe that not every family will be forced to endure what mine has and that other parents won’t have to spend most of their days wondering and worrying about how much time they have left with their child…or wife with her husband…or children with their father.

I want to believe that there can really be a time in a survivor’s life when conversations don’t include words like scans, hospitals, pain, chemo, radiation and prognosis.

And, most of all, I guess I want to believe that my cancer experience served a purpose and that long after I am gone this fight will have meant something.

In the days and weeks to come, my friend will begin the next stage of her battle and I will carry on with mine. Every night as I give thanks for that day and ask for just one more …I will also be asking for many, many more days for my friend.

Why?

Because I will always believe.

Anger

2009-04-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

I’ve started this post at least 10 times in the last month, but each time I’ve gotten into it I’ve walked away because I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want “it” out there. I wasn’t ready to admit that I – the perceived Mary Tyler Moore of cancer patients…the girl who can take cancer on with a smile – was struggling…really struggling…and that for the first time in my nearing 10 year cancer “career”…was really, really…REALLY pissed off most of the time.

The last several weeks have been hard. Truth be told, they’ve been an absolute bitch…and, if I am being honest, I have been an absolute bitch some of the time, as well. Without a doubt they have been rough physically. I think that goes without saying when you are trying to kill a demon…who is trying equally hard to kill you. What I wasn’t prepared for, however, was the anger that has practically consumed me in that time. Sure I’ve been angry at my situation before, but the desire to go absolutely “ape shit” was usually a fleeting thought. Right now, I feel like I’m about 2 degrees from ape shit most of the time…and that’s not a place that I want or like to be. So, what’s the problem???

As far as I can tell, the crux of my anger stems from this…

Cancer didn’t live up to its end of the bargain. That’s right…you heard me. Cancer didn’t play fair. I thought we had a deal…and then I turned around...BAM…right between the eyes…literally. You see, cancer and I began our negotiations immediately following my diagnosis. We sat down and we pre-negotiated our war (or so I thought). Cancer was going to give me everything that it had…and I was going to fight it with everything I had…and we would “go” until one of us couldn’t go anymore. And, I must say, we’ve both done that…within the “acceptable” boundaries of warfare…until now. For my part, our original negotiation requested…no, begged…for only two things: 1) Stay away from my face…and, 2) Stay away from my brain. In other words, stay away from the two things that make me…me. That seemed fair, right?! But, then the headaches started…and my eyes got blurry…and I couldn’t remember words…and I knew that our “deal” was dead…and that cancer had moved into my brain. I was beyond scared…beyond upset…I was PISSED. Ape shit…tip over tables…punch folks in the mouth…pissed…and I’ve been living “there” most of the time since.

Was I just naïve to assume that the sacrifice of my lymph system…my blood stream…and my bones was more than fair in an attempt to keep my brain intact? I guess so.

The truth of the matter is that I only have one spot in my brain...it’s very small and the biopsy removed most of it, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I hate it…and, even more than that, I hate that I feel so much anger about it. I hate the amount of knowledge that I have and the fact that I have known too many wonderful people who have fought brain tumors, but lost so much of themselves along the way. I hate thinking about…and knowing…how ugly this could get…not just for me, but for everyone who loves me.

I know those of you who have followed my story and walked this journey with me probably agree that I have every right to be angry right now. But here’s the thing…having the “right” to be angry, doesn’t necessarily make anger “right.” The energy that I am and have wasted on this anger is counterproductive to everything I want my life to be about, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am eating a big ole’ anger sandwich right now and even though I know I need to push my plate away I just keep stuffing myself with it.

I’ve finally stopped trying to talk myself out of being angry. I’m letting it wash over me with the hope that allowing myself to feel the full force of it will finally set me free. I don’t know if it is going to work, but I know that I need to try and in the meantime…I need your help. Yes, people, hell has frozen over and Susan Davenport is actually admitting that she needs help.

Let’s take a moment to regroup and compose ourselves…

Deep breaths...

Ok, here’s what I need from you…

Don’t try to fix it. You can’t…and that’s ok.

Don’t tell me you know how I feel. Seriously, that’s the quickest way to an ass kickin’ right now…followed closely by “You never know…I could get hit by a bus/car/train tomorrow.” Say it to each other…just not to me. PLEASE!

Understand that it is hard for me to admit when I am struggling. My purpose and hope for this post though is that someone who may feel something similar will know that he or she isn’t alone.

Do talk to me about how YOU feel. I want to know. It’s important to me. I care very much.

and…

Know that if I look like I’m going to start swinging, I probably am...so…TAKE COVER!

The Bitch is Back...or Why I Love California...

2009-02-17T17:02:00.000-08:00

The blessing of this blog is that I can keep you all informed on exactly what’s going on in the life of Susan Saner Davenport, cancer fighter. The curse, however, is that when I want to go “underground” and hide out for a while, I can’t do so without scaring you all. I’m sorry for that…I truly am.

I’m still here…still fighting…still tired…still frustrated…and still trying to live the life of a “normal” thirty something someone. I know…I know, who am I kidding?! The ship carrying anything close to normal sailed from this harbor years ago…but, a girl can dream, can’t she?

So, here’s the deal…I haven’t written because I haven’t had anything nice to say. Yep, that’s right. The scoop…in a nutshell…is that I’ve had a bad…Bad…BAD attitude since my birthday. Why? Well, simply put…

I am sick to death of cancer. I’m sick of having it…living with it…and thinking about it. I am sick of chemo protocols and radiation treatments. I’m sick of biopsies…x-rays…CT Scans…PET Scans and blood work. I’m sick of talking about…hearing about…and reading about clinical trials and new treatments. I’m sick of the smell of hospitals…looking at white lab coats…and at the stupid designs on scrubs. I am sick of hearing the woman at Mayo say “We’ll be right with you,” when she knows as well as I do that, that isn’t even close to being true. I’m sick of bills from hospitals…labs…and doctors. I’m sick of hearing, “You should”…”You shouldn’t”…”You Can’t” and “If I were you.” And…I’m sick to death of knowing that all of these things are going to be a part of my life for however long…or short…it may be.

None of this should be news to you. You’ve heard it from me before. What it does demonstrate though is just how much of this fight is mental…and how easy it is for doubt and frustration to take over. Once is does, it’s really…really…hard to break the cycle.

But…there I was last Thursday in San Diego on business. After a busy day, I decided to go for a run around the harbor. As the sun set and my shirt soaked up the cool ocean air, my mood lifted and I felt better than I had in a really long time. With Elton John singing “The Bitch is Back” in my ears, I knew with great certainty that the “Bitch” was indeed back…

...at least for a while.

The Ten Year Plan...

2009-01-11T16:33:00.000-08:00

Ten years ago, when I was a third year Project Manager, I had a fresh faced Project Engineer named Josh working for me. Josh was 22 years old...right out of school...newly engaged...and firmly convinced that he had the world by the tail. At the time, I was barely 29 years old...newly married...and I KNEW that I had the world by the tail.

During one of my "coaching moments" with Josh, I went into a diatribe about the importance of a Ten Year Plan (or a TYP as I so coolly liked to call it back then) and I'm sure that I even subjected the poor kid to several of the "anticipated milestones" of my personal plan...

And then the "bomb" went off and suddenly my TYP became a six month plan with one agenda item...

STAY ALIVE...

And I did...and I brazenly survived another 6 months after that...and then another...and now here I am on the eve of what was supposed to have been the deadline of the original TYP...and I can't even remember a damn thing that was on it. My life...trying to live it...and preserve it...just got in the way.

Last Spring before I started chemo again, Richard and I were walking around Boulder and I stumbled upon a quote by Gilda Radner. When I read it, I knew exactly what she meant:

"Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity..."

So, as I embark on my 39th year tomorrow, here's to the only item on my next TYP...

Delicious Ambiguity.

The Anniversary...

2008-12-20T06:17:00.000-08:00

December 20...

Nine years ago today…at 1:30a.m…in the Emergency Room of Good Samaritan Hospital in San Jose, California, Dr. Emma Watson told me that I had cancer. Actually what she said, as she held my hand tightly in hers, was “the good news is that we’ve come so far with research and treatment and that if this had to happen…”

I was the one who actually said the word…asked the question…

“Do I have cancer?”

“Yes,” she said quietly and squeezed my hand.

And then she handed me a prescription for Ambien…to which I said, “Am I supposed to take one…or all…of these at a time? I mean how bad are we talking here? What are you telling me?!”

Although my attempt at humor definitely lightened the mood, I surmised that things probably didn’t look good based on the way that the hospital staff who had spent so much time taking care of me over the last several hours barely made eye contact and only whispered, “I’m so sorry” and “Good luck to you” as I walked by on the way out.

The December sky was full of stars that night and the initial shock of the cool crisp air stung my face….I remember that. There were Christmas lights twinkling on the homes and offices around the hospital….I remember that. An ambulance pulled up to the ER Entrance as we walked out…I remember that. I was wearing black sweatpants, a blue KU sweatshirt and brand new Nikes...I remember that.

My parents were in Kansas and the call to my mother after I got out of the shower earlier that night and found a big lump in my neck and realized that my left arm was purple and cold to the touch was what prompted the trip to the Emergency Room in the first place. So, as I had one test…and answered one question…after another, Chris (my then husband) spent much of the evening back and forth on the phone with them giving them updates on what was happening. He was the one that told them that I had cancer. I couldn’t do it…I definitely remember that.

I didn’t cry. When did I? I don’t know…I don’t remember that.

As any cancer survivor can tell you, there is life before diagnosis…and then there is every day after. The words “You have cancer” shift the paradigm and nothing is ever the same. For my own life I know that hasn’t always been a bad thing. I look at pictures of myself before my diagnosis and I barely remember the girl looking back at me.

I hate cancer, but I like “me” a lot better than I did nine years and one day ago. I “get it” in a way that I couldn’t have before. Yes, I wish that all of the valuable lessons of the last nine years hadn’t come with so much fear, pain and uncertainty, but they did…deal with it and move on.

Cancer has taught me that as tough as I thought I was…I’m actually tougher…as strong as I thought I was…I’m actually stronger. It’s taught me to really laugh…and really cry. It’s coaxed me to believe in miracles, but to plan for the worst. And, above all it reminds me that “No Day is Promised.”

I’m never going to be cured of cancer. I’m either going to live with it…or, it’s going to kill me. I prefer the former. Like it or not, we are in this journey together…

So...

To: Cancer - my formidable opponent and strangely packaged benefactor….

"Happy" Anniversary

The Launch of "Operation Decade - Kicking Cancer's Ass for 10 Glorious Years!"

2008-12-07T14:29:00.000-08:00

2009 marks a big year for me. Not only is it the last year of my 30's (I’m turning 39 on January 12. Take that, Dr. Cohen!!!), but it also marks the 10th anniversary of my battle with cancer…scratch that…it marks my 10th year of survivorship! I’ve chosen to celebrate these milestones in a big way. In honor of the end of my 30th decade and my first of survivorship, I’ve committed to raise $30,000 for the Lance Armstrong Foundation through my participation in the 2009 LIVESTRONG Challenge.

Given the current economic climate, I realize that $30,000 is a lofty goal, but unfortunately those of us who are currently fighting cancer…and those of us who have yet to be diagnosed…don’t have the luxury of putting the battle on hold until the economy improves. We are in the fight of our lives…today!

The Lance Armstrong Foundation unites people to fight cancer, believing that unity is strength, knowledge is power, and attitude is everything. Through the dollars and awareness that we raise, we can inspire and empower individuals, and we can make life better for the millions of people across the globe fighting cancer. In order to reach my goal, I am going to need your help…and the help of your friends, family and colleagues.

When I made the decision to launch “Operation Decade,” I made the commitment that in addition to my regular donations (heck Yeah, I’m donating to the effort!) that I would donate $1.00 in memory of each person who’s obituary in the Arizona Republic referenced that he or she died of cancer from now until October 1, 2009. Today I made an $82 donation for November and the first week of December. In 37 days, 82 people from the Valley of the Sun were lost to cancer...and those are only the ones that I know about. Does that seem ok to you? It certainly doesn't to me...especially when one of those names could be mine...or yours!

So, why the LAF?

Well, simply put, I believe in The Lance Armstrong Foundation. Its message is one of deep meaning for me personally and I would ask you to take a moment to familiarize yourself with it by clicking on the link below and watching the Lance Armstrong Foundation Manifesto video. I think once you do, you will understand why I am committed to this organization and the work that they do. And, I hope that when you are watching it, you will try put yourself into the shoes of someone who has just heard the words " you have cancer"...a cancer survivor (if you aren’t already there) and that it might also remind you of a certain cancer chick that you know?! (Hint-hint: she writes a blog…makes an ass out of herself on a regular basis…lives with a Duchess...any ideas?!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SDBOHpKI6g

In 1999, I was told that I was going to die and although the reality that cancer will probably take my life still remains an ever-present and nagging companion, I know that in the end I will be able to say that I lived with passion, purpose and conviction. My purpose, for the long…or the short…of my life is to fight this disease…for myself and others…in every way I possibly can.

I know that the holidays are among us, so now might not be the best time for you to think about donating to something outside of your normal circle. I understand that. But, if you've decided that this year is going to be about giving to a cause…instead of giving presents…or, maybe you are still looking for an end of the year tax deduction...this might be an option for you. And, if you do decide to make a donation in honor, memory or support of someone for the holidays, please drop me a note at Susancdavenport@msn.com and I would be honored to send a card and personal note on your behalf to the person(s) of your choice.

All I ask of you is this...please consider the cause and give what you can…today, tomorrow, two months or six months from now…and help me kick cancer’s ass for another ten years…or for as long as I can...

Check out my LIVESTRONG Challenge page at http://austin09.livestrong.org/susancdavenport

On behalf of myself and the 12 million people around the world fighting cancer today, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Wishing you health, happiness and prosperity this holiday season!

LIVESTRONG!

P.S. Our team, Friends Fighting Cancer, is currently recruiting and I would love to have you join me/us in Austin in October 2009! Whether you want to run or walk a 5k…ride your bike for 10, 45, 65 or 90 miles…or come be a cheerleader…WE WANT YOU! I can promise you an inspired weekend full of fun! Give me a call or drop me an email with questions!!!

Because You've Asked...

2008-11-29T06:46:00.000-08:00

I've been dodging the questions, I think, quite nicely for the last couple of months, but some of you...alright, most of you...are onto my ploy and have demanded that I cease and desist. In the immortal words of one of my buddies in the UK, "Christ woman, either tell me how you are...really...or I am going to come sit on you until you do..."

So, here's how I "really are"...ahem..."am."

I'm fine. I know...I know...you hate it when I say that, but it's true. I'm still here...still kickin. I'm fine. I go in (most of the time) when they tell me that I need to come have blood...or Iron...or plasma. I take my dose and I leave...most of the time heading straight to work in the morning from the hospital, because it takes so freakin' long. For whatever reason, the Iron has a tendency to give me horrible and intense bone pain, so I usually end up in agony until they drug me up enough to bring my blood pressure down (it spikes during bad bouts with pain).

The fact that I've stopped asking what my counts are and that I've instructed the docs and nurses to frame our conversations in the form of "you need" or "you don't" and not to give me the numbers unless I specifically ask drives my mother crazy. As I've told her, I'm sorry that it bothers her, but frankly I am sick to death of hearing the numbers...writing them down...stewing about them...and then not being able to do a damn thing about it, except come in for what I "need" or to carry on. Cutting out that middle nasty bit makes sense...at least it does to me.

I have my scans and my x-rays when I'm told (again, most of the time). I'm never shocked anymore when there is something new...or when things look the same (my version of a "win"). It is what it is. I hear the words...I process it...I move on.

Of all my cancer tids and bits, what am I most worried about right now? My leg. I'm not a doctor (next life!), but if I had to guess I would say that the tumor on my leg is growing. I still make myself run (OK, it's more of a trot), hike, ride and swim, but I do pay the price for it later. I've started having strange dreams at night in which my leg is gone. Foreshadowing? Maybe. I hope not...but, maybe. In the past, I've said that I wouldn't go down that road, but that ole "Will to Live" is a powerful thing!

So, you want to know how I'm "really" doing?

Well...

I'm scared...some of the time.

I'm mad...less than you might think.

I'm in pain...99% of the time.

I'm tired...all of the time.

And,

I hate cancer...200% of the time.

There you have it! Now you know how I really am. Let's move on....

Did I tell you that I am training for a Triathlon????

Giving Thanks...

2008-11-26T20:08:00.000-08:00

Ok, I admit it. I hate the holidays. Yep, I said it. I hate the holidays. I am one of “those” folks who would rather go to sleep December 1, and wake up on January 2. I think the spirit of the season gets lost in the hustle and bustle. I think that people throw themselves into debt in an attempt to show people how much they care about them. And, I think that it shouldn’t take a Christmas tree and some lights on the house to remind people that they should be a little kinder to each other. Now, with that said…

I’m all about Thanksgiving. That’s a holiday that I can get behind (and that has helped to give me a big behind, but that’s another post altogether!). On Thanksgiving we are reminded to stop and give thanks for all the good in our lives. Personally, I think we should be doing that more often, but in the spirit of the day…here’s what I am especially thankful for this Thanksgiving:

The P’s: I feel so fortunate to have been blessed with such great parents and I am so thankful that we are all still here to celebrate another Thanksgiving together!

My Family: They’re nuts and they’re mine…and I wouldn’t want them any other way!

Rich: Can he really be that great? Yep, he sure is!

My Friends: Old and new…near and far. Oh, the laughs…and the tears…that we’ve shared this year! What a gift you have been to my life. I am not sure that I would have made it through the year without you!

My Job: During a scary time in my life…and then in the marketplace…it has been such a blessing to come to work everyday and know that I will laugh…be challenged…and get to spend my days with some amazing folks.

This crazy blog: What a gift it’s been to be able to just “say it.” I wasn’t prepared for the reaction that it would get and I am humbled by the fact that you take time out of your lives to check on mine. Thank you!

The Duchess: She’s my girl!

Lance Armstrong’s Backside: Now that, my friends, is something to be thankful for. After seeing it in person, my life is changed!

Debbie, Darla, Emma and Michael: Very special people…and one very special pooper-doo…that I lost this year. I am thankful that I got to play a small part in the story of their lives. I’ll never forget them.

And…

I’m thankful that I am alive…that I still get to have good days, bad days, dreadful days and downright amazing days. I’m one of the lucky ones and I never take that for granted.

Wishing you all a very Happy Thanksgiving!

Now let’s eat and watch some football….

Y O U

2008-11-16T17:48:00.000-08:00

I've been procrastinating. I haven't wanted to write the final two posts about the LIVESTRONG Challenge, because that means that it will be time to wrap it up...to file it away as a wonderful memory. I'm not ready to do that yet...so I'm not going to. What I do want to do, before another moment passes, is say an extra special thank you to my friends and family. Because of your kindness and generosity, we raised over $20,000 for the Lance Armstrong Foundation. I thank you from the bottom of my heart...and I dedicate this post to you:

Mom & Dad
Reenie Hughes (Survivor)
Alan Cavallo
Ali Horton
Amy & Brent Lovett
Amy & Kirk Ruffo
Ann Jones
Arlene Ehrlich (Survivor)
Barb & Mike Rock
Belva Hicks
Bev & Mike McAuley
Bill Gould
Charles Higueras
Charles Baldwin
Cheryl & Gordie Butterton
Christina Flyntz
Christine Neely
Christopher Davenport
Dan & Terrie Thornburg
Don Forsberg & Greg Fitzgerald
Doug & Suzanne Williams
Phil Bolton
Gene Ely
Greg & Anne Yakle
Heather Brown
Janet Traylor
Jennifer Scott
Jerry & Leann Yakle
John & Vicki Cimino
Uncle John & Auntie Ardena (Auntie A - Survivor)
Jon & Leatrice Kitchell
Judy Zingg
Karen Heck (Survivor)
Lori & Keith Rogers (Keith - Survivor)
Larry Cable
Denise & Lee Salin
Linda Rivas
Lisa Wilhite
Lynn & Randy Vestal
Marie Otaya
Marilyn Cleveland
Mark Robson
Mary Morris
Mary Jo & Frank Ruff (Mary Jo - Survivor)
Nancy Williams (Survivor)
Pam Kinzie
Patricia Nguyen
Peter Chapman
Phil Henderson
Randy Strawn
Rick Pomeroy
Richard de Lore
Richard Lawrence
Bob Overstreet
Russ Fox
Sandra & Bill Davidson (Bill - Survivor)
Steve Adamo
Sue Angevine
Katie & Scott Schofield (Katie - Survivor)
Susie Lechner
Tom Millman
Tom Herrington
Tina & Scott Mersmann
Todd Walter
Tracy & Alex Morrison
Ty Smith
Yolanda Beatty

Y O U

(a Haiku)

One Worth So Much

To Me, To Us, To Life As Such

A break from LIVESTRONG...thoughts for the day...

2008-11-08T10:21:00.000-08:00

If you are an Oprah fan...or even read her magazine from time to time, you know that she does a segment called "What I know for sure..." After my trip to the bank, pet store, bookstore and grocery store this morning, here's what I know for sure...

Any conversation that begins with a 70 year old woman saying, "Listen, Pal" is not going to end well for our "pal." LIFE LESSON: Do not get in the way of a woman and her special bonus savings on toilet paper.
There are few things more entertaining than listening to a mother who just stepped out of a Bentley and is most obviously a "frequent flyer" at the plastic surgeon's office, tell her 12 year old daughter who is carrying a Coach purse that matches her mothers, a blackberry and an Ipod...that she needs to "get a grip on reality."
Animal people are the best! The pet shop is the happiest place on earth. Wagging tails...smiling faces...kitties going home to new families. The only unhappy creature in the place was The Duchess who knew when we opened the "bad" door that she had just entered the "beauty shop."
It's easy to do the right thing. Sarah Bennet, I may have saved your day today. I found your debit card in the machine at the bank and I turned it in. I'm glad it didn't get into the wrong hands and that someone hadn't started shopping on your dime!
Old men rock! I watched a guy (probably in his mid-80's) get out a huge Cadillac at the grocery store. He was wearing a red hat, Blueblocker sunglasses, a blue and green striped shirt, plaid pants, green socks and tennis shoes. That's right buddy, you earned the right not to give a "F" anymore! And, the best thing that he was wearing??? A big smile!
Jayhawks are everywhere and all we have to say to each other is "Rock Chalk Jayhawk" to have an immediate bond...and 20 minute discussion on "How do you think we're gonna be this year?"
The LIVESTRONG Army is on the move. I saw 4 people besides me wearing their LIVESTRONG bracelets this morning. We need more recruits though! (If you want one drop me a note, I'd be thrilled to send you one!)
The bookstore makes me happy! I love walking into a bookstore. Someday I want to see my book (the one I still have to write when I get someone convinced that I have something to say) in one!
Arizona is beautiful in November! I'm walking around in my short sleeve Mellow Johnny's T-shirt, capris and flip flops. There isn't a cloud in the sky. Love it!
The Duchess is done. Just received the call that her highness is clean and ready for pick up, so off I fly...

Have a great Saturday (or Sunday to my Aussies and Kiwis)!

LIVESTRONG!

LIVESTRONG Chapter Four...Lovey Pie and Goodbyes

2008-11-07T17:35:00.000-08:00

SATURDAY - Post Lance

With the two of us still soaring from our morning with Lance, we commandeered the Schofield rental car…and Jeff…and made a trip to Mellow Johnny’s. MJ’s is Lance’s bike shop in Austin and a very cool place to be sure. The vibe in the store is great and the staff couldn’t be friendlier. The place was teaming with LIVESTRONG people and there was almost a party atmosphere as you moved through the displays (loved all the autographed Tour yellow jerseys on the wall!). As we waited in line to make our souvenir purchases, my “accent sonar” went off and I was immediately sucked into the vortex of the Englishman in front of me. (I know…I know…I love accents. I can’t help it. I’m fascinated by people and their lives…accents mean cool new friends…and one particular accent in my life means a divine Australian boyfriend, too!).

The greatest thing about the entire LIVESTRONG experience was the people. Smiles and warmth abound when people come together for a common cause. Conversations and friendships are easy to develop. The Friends Fighting Cancer Team (of which I am a very proud member) came with friendships intact, but new friendships made along the way brought an even greater depth to my “little” world. As I’ve mentioned before, Jeff immediately fell into the fold and it almost immediately felt like we had known him for years. The same is true of Mr. Chambers (I’m being highbrow here, because he’s an Englishman so a certain formality is, of course, required. ;-)).

Gary Chambers came to the LIVESTRONG Challenge from the United Kingdom and he did so alone (doesn’t he know that crazy Americans might meet him in line at bike shops and suck him into their gang of merry misfits?!) He raised over $10,000 for the Lance Armstrong Foundation in memory of his “Mum,” Susan Champion. Gary is a very private person (who happens to be very proud of his lovely family back in the UK! Greetings Chambers Clan!!!) and I can almost feel him cringing as he has to read something about himself in this post, but I have to say something to and about Gary…

I mentioned to you a little bit about the video that played throughout the weekend honoring survivors and those we’ve lost. On Friday (before we had even met Gary), when I was watching the video I was immediately drawn to a tribute with no photo…just a name…a woman named Susan Champion. I’m not sure why I felt so connected, but I did. Was it the name “Susan?” I don’t know, but something about her resounded with me. When a later tribute flashed with the name Gary Chambers on it (remember we hadn’t met him yet…and I only knew the name because it was on the screen), I saw a picture of a young man sitting beside a woman in a hospital bed. She was wearing bunny ears and they were both wearing the same big smile. In that moment, I knew…even though I had no reason to…that she was Susan Champion. And there we were on Saturday at Mellow Johnny’s…Deb, Jeff and I...and Susan’s son Gary Chambers…4 of the 7,000 people involved with the weekend’s events who gravitated to just the right place at just the right moment. Fate people…Fate!

So, what of this Lovey Pie, business, eh? Well, to me, Gary Chambers will forever be Lovey Pie. Here’s why. My dear Aussie (Rich) and I were having a discussion once about terms of endearment that men call women. We agreed that Englishmen can say things like “Darling,” but that the Aussie and American men can’t quite pull it off. I asked him what Aussie men call women they love and he said “Sweetheart,” which I immediately banished, because American men say that, too. “I want something unique,” I pouted. In only the way he can, he looked into my eyes and said “Alright, here it is for you then…my new term of endearment for you…OY!” (This is why I dig him people!) At some point on Saturday or Sunday I was telling Gary this story and he told me that men in his part of the UK wouldn’t say “Darling,” but probably something more like “Lovey Pie.” That’s it…it stuck…Lovey Pie Chambers it is!
Deb, "Lovey Pie" and I at Mellow Johnny's

SATURDAY NIGHT

On Saturday evening, the LAF held a recognition dinner in honor of the top individual fundraisers and teams. Not only did it focus on fund raising success, but it also kicked off the LIVESTRONG Global Cancer Initiative. Our table consisted of, Scott and Katie Schofield, Jeff Wells, Deb and I, Jim Owens (currently going through treatment for his 6th recurrence of brain cancer), his brother (2x survivor), his son and daughter. Between us we’d fought 12 personal battles with cancer…12!

The lighthearted moment in the evening’s events came during the “Ask Lance” segment when a little boy made his way to the stage to ask Lance, “What is the worstest crash you ever had?’ After Lance’s response, the little boy went on to detail his own “worstest crash” and Lance agreed with all of us that his was “worster!” (Of course, I was sitting there thinking “people I could tell you stories that would make your head spin!” I’m sure the folks who watched me ram full speed into the brick wall at the drugstore in downtown Wellsville would agree. Don’t ask!)

Although to this point the weekend had been an emotional one, I was able to hold it together and only let a few tears escape here and there until the video was shown on the LIVESTRONG Global Cancer Initiative. That pushed me over the edge.

Here are the facts:

· 8 million people around the world die from cancer each year. That’s 22,000 people per day

· More people will die this year from cancer than from malaria, tuberculosis and AIDS combined

· Millions of people around the world suffer from cancer in isolation, victims not only of the disease but of social stigma. For all too many, a diagnosis of cancer can result in ostracism from colleagues, friends and even family, and cancer becomes a shameful condition that must be hidden. This stigma leads to a lack of early detection, failure to seek treatment and an increase in cancer mortality.

Here’s why I care:

· I saw people fighting and dying of cancer isolation. They had been ostracized by EVERYONE in their lives. This wasn’t just happening in underdeveloped countries. It was happening all over the world.

· Had I not been blessed to be born where I was, that might…no, that WOULD have been me…and I know that I would have died a long time ago. Love and support is what gives folks diagnosed with cancer the strength to fight for as long as they can. Without love there is no hope. Without hope…well, you get the picture.

· One Indian man in the video who was very clearly dying said that he had not seen anyone that he loved or even had any physical contact with a person for over 8 months. He was dying…alone…with no one to hold his hand…to tell him that he was valued…and that he was loved. Can you imagine how that would feel? It made me sick…and sad…and angry…and inspired to fight. I thought about him all night that night and have thought about him many times since.

SUNDAY – Ride for the Roses

Up again before dawn, we boarded the buses to take us out to Dripping Springs for the Ride for the Roses. Deb and I had agreed that we would ride 10 miles. The other options were 45, 65 and 90 miles…neither of us felt that we ready for that…besides, we were more than happy to get back before everyone else and take advantage of the hospitality tent (which we did!). When we arrived we were told that we would be leading the riders out with Lance, so we would be starting in the front of the pack. At first I cringed at the thought of heading out on my Trek 7.3 with the “serious” 90 mile cyclists breathing down my neck, but then I thought to myself “if one of those folks takes a look at the sign on my back that says “Survivor x3” and still thinks that I don’t have the “right” to be there and doesn’t give me a break, then so be it.”

I’m not sure how many people passed Deb and me that day, but I can tell you that at least 85% of them either called me by name and said “Hey” or made some sort of acknowledgement of my fight. That felt awesome. There was only one time when Deb and I were trying to tell each other something and were side by side that someone made a comment to us…and he was quickly admonished by the rest of his team.

When we turned off for the 10 mile course, we were all alone. It was so much fun. The countryside was beautiful and we talked and laughed while we pedaled. We were gearing up for our big LIVESTRONG Challenge finish.

Unfortunately…we missed it.

Yep, that’s right people…Deb and I missed the finish. We just kept pedaling. Both of us agreed it quite strange that we were passing the starting point again and re-visiting course that we had already seen, but what did we know?! I would guess that we were about 12 miles in to our 10 mile ride when we finally figured out that something was amiss. When we turned around, we started gathering other “strays” who had missed the finish, as well. Turning the final corner we were in tears, because we were laughing so hard. Crossing the finish line and getting my second yellow rose was great, but I could barely see to grab it because I was still laughing. How fitting that WE could turn the 10 mile ride into the 13 mile LIVESTRONG Challenge!

Because of a wonderful lady at the finish, Deb and I got to be on the finish line when the rest of our crew arrived. When Katie crossed the line, Deb got to give her, her survivor’s rose. It was a very…VERY…special moment. We were still standing there when Lance came through and received his rose from Renee in her shock-pink wig. (Let me just take this opportunity to fill you in on the fact that Deb and I had only been done for a bit over two hours when Lance came in from his 90 mile ride. He averaged over 22 miles an hour. Just think how fast he could have gone if he hadn’t had to go toe to toe with Deb and I the day before?!) Lovey Pie (a.k.a. Gary) was the last of us to finish, because he, too, did the full 90 miles. Stud!

The weekend was starting to wind down and it was almost time to say goodbye.

SUNDAY NIGHT

After an incredible dinner with the team and several of the wonderful folks at the Lance Armstrong Foundation, we made our way back to the hotel. Having said goodbye to Dr. N and family earlier in afternoon, I was already fighting the melancholy that I knew would accompany me for the next several days. Saying goodbye to old friends is never easy. Saying goodbye to new friends was just as hard. This post is dedicated to the wonderful people that were such a part of my life for those incredible days:

Dr. Luke Nordquist: Thank you for going to work everyday and trying your best to save the lives of people just like me…and when you can’t, thank you for treating them dignity and respect. More docs could take a lesson on bedside manner from you! I feel so lucky that our paths crossed and that I had the good fortune of sharing time and many laughs with you. I am sending all the very best to you and your family. Keep clinching, because Deb and I are going to grade you on your progress next year!
Luke and I before the Ride for the Roses

Lovey Pie - Gary Chambers: I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for taking pain and turning in into power. You have a kind heart and an exceptional soul. I feel blessed to have met you and hope that our paths will cross again very soon. My door will always be open to you and your entire family. How about a trip to Arizona, Chambers??? For every day of mine, I will celebrate the life of Susan Champion.
Deb and Gary at the Farewell Dinner

Jeffrey Wells: You fight this fight just because it is the right thing to do. What a gift you are! Although you have absolutely zero taste in college basketball teams, I believe that you can be saved from the depths of despair. Stick with us and we will show you the Jayhawk Promise Land! Thank you for being interested in my life and my story. I hope you bring the crew to the desert at some point. You will all be welcomed with open arms. I appreciate your support…I’m sending you a big hug and I’ll see you in Austin next year!
Jeff and I at the Farewell Dinner

Scott Schofield: My Ambassador of Kwan (Jerry McGuire Reference for those with a keen eye). Thank you for hooking me up with a cool new ride…and for not laughing out loud…or at least to my face…when I said that I thought the size of my bike was 68 inches (yeah…should have said 17.5 there, oops!). You make me smile. You and Katie are such special people and I feel so very lucky to have you in my life. Looking forward to “our” next big purchase…a road bike! Thanks for being my friend! Remember, I’m still available to come be the cat nanny and live in your basement when ever you and Katie say the word!

Scott, Ron K. and I at the Farewell Dinner

Katie Schofield: When Deb spoke of you with such high regard, I knew that you had to be someone special. No doubt…you ARE! You are everything that she said you were and more. Thank you for welcoming me into the fold and for making a dream that I couldn’t even have imagined a few months ago come true. I’ll never forget it…and never be able to thank you and Scott enough. Girl, I’m in - whatever…whenever…say the word and I’m there! 26 years of survivorship and counting…you’re my hero!
My favorite pic of Katie and I so I'm using it again!

Maria…missed you and am sending a virtual hug back to you!! Hope to see you soon.

Debra Diane: There’s a lot of laughter and a lot of tears…and a few cross words…under the bridge that is our friendship. That’s what comes with 30 years of love! In every exchange and every moment of our friendship I’m not sure any of them match up to the moment on the hill on Sunday when you looked me in the eye and said “Suz, I get it” and gave me a hug. After sharing this weekend together, I know that you do. We are the same…yet different, you and I…and together we are an unstoppable force. Let’s move forward in our lives with promise, passion and purpose. We deserve that! You are loved and don’t you ever forget it! LIVESTRONG my friend!
US!

************************************************************************************
Up next…the final LIVESTRONG installment...

LIVESTRONG Chapter Three...Lance

2008-11-06T19:28:00.000-08:00

When last we met, our heroines were looking especially spiffy in their new cycling duds and preparing to board the bus to the “secret” location for the ride with Lance Armstrong. Jeff Wells was also going on the ride, so he had been tasked by The Schofields with the unenviable job of “keeping an eye on us.” As most people who know how Deb and I are when we get together have come to realize…and Jeff would come to learn, “you can’t stop them…you can only hope to contain ‘em.”

We parked ourselves at the front of the bus with the hope that this would help me avoid the embarrassment of losing my very weak stomach all over Lance…or all over Deb before we got there (she does, in fact, owe me for an unfortunate incident on New Year’s Eve 1990, so I might have had a free pass, but best to save that for another day!). So, there we were…on the bus…Jeff, Deb and I…when I, of course, felt compelled to “know my neighbors” and start chatting with the folks around us. First let me say, Amy – the LAF Volunteer with us - was awesome. She does business development for a law firm in Austin and took the absolute best care of us all weekend. I actually got teary when we said goodbye on Sunday. (I know…I know…not hard for me to do. I’m a crier…what can I say?!). Besides Deb and Jeff…my other favorite person on the bus quickly became Dr. Luke Nordquist. For all my peeps in the Midwest, if you must get cancer and are anywhere near Omaha, Nebraska…go see Dr. N! Not only is he a nice guy, but…come closer…shhhh…closer…he’s really cute, too! (And, for the record, he has a really neat wife – who is just as cute – and four great kids) Look, all I’m saying is that if you are put in the position that you need someone to save your life he (or she as the case may be) might as well be ocularly pleasing! (Yes, I realize that I just made up a word)

The bus driver on our little adventure was quite a gal. On the way to the winery…oops, I mean “secret location,” she was very animated about something, but frankly I couldn’t hear her over my knees knocking and my teeth chattering. I was nervous. What?! Susan nervous?! Yes, I admit that this is not something that happens very often to me anymore. I guess when you’ve been through as much as I have, you stop getting nervous the way most folks do, but make no mistake…in this case, I was scared to death! Why? Perhaps this might be a good time to remind you that Susan (worst cyclist in the world) + Lance (best cyclist in the world) = potential shame and horror for Susan!

When we disembarked the bus, Deb and I were quickly pulled away from the rest of the group and introduced to the folks that were about to make us feel like ROCKSTARS. First up, my private doctor and nurse (that’s right people! Actually, as much money as I have spent trying to stay alive these last 8 plus years, I’ve probably earned it!) who would be riding behind us and making sure that I didn’t fall over dead on the ride (that could be scaring for Deb, you know?!). Next, we were introduced to John “College” Korioth and the rest of the guys from Team Six. When “College” introduced himself, I almost wet my pants. I knew him as Lance’s long time (possibly best) friend…Deb, on the other hand, had absolutely no clue who he was until we were able to wiggle away and I did the…”Oh my gosh…Oh my gosh” dance. Brought up to speed, she quickly joined me in a mini spaz before we were able to pull it together and rejoin the group.

We were told by College that we would be the first in the group riding with Lance and that he and the rest of the guys from Team Six would be riding with us. As he put it, “our job is to make sure that no one moves in on your time, that you are doing ok and that you have an incredible ride.” When all was said and done, they had done that and more!

The group was assembled for a Polka Dot Jersey team picture and we were told that Lance would be there shortly. As we gathered for our picture, US Cycling great Davis Phinney came rolling up. Davis has had several challenges of his own in recent years and is still recovering from an experimental brain surgery for the treatment of Parkinson’s disease. Davis and his son, Tyler (who would later arrive with Lance - watch for this kid…word has it that he is the future of US Cycling) joined us on the ride and in our pic (I’ll post it to the blog as soon as I get it). As Jeff, Luke, Deb and I teased and messed about, word started to spread that Lance was on his way. In the distance, four figures on bikes could just be seen coming up long driveway of the winery. There he was.

EDITORIAL COMMENT: Ok, now let me just say this. I have never been attracted to “small” men. I like big strapping, tall guys. Always have. And, I honestly didn’t really have an opinion about Lance’s looks before our ride. After meeting him, though, I can tell you…without hesitation…the dude is HOT! (Not as hot as you, my dear!!! Aussie Sat Com Engineers are the best!!!! :-)) There is a charisma about him that literally takes your breath away. If you don’t believe me…ask Deb! And, for all of you cycling fans hungry for an update on how he looks physically…he’s cut! He looks like a machine. If there was body fat, we didn’t see it…and we looked!

Ok, back to the story…by this point in the experience, Luke, Deb and I had all bonded as members of the “Straight Handlebar Club” so we were all grouped together when Lance walked toward us with a big smile on his face. Before he joined the group, he turned around quickly to say something to Liz (the photographer)…and what happened next would become fodder for the rest of the weekend and beyond. When he turned, Deb and I (and I am sure others) snuck a peek at his posterior. At that exact moment, he clinched his buns. Apparently the look on our faces was too much for Luke, Jeff and some of the other guys, because there were immediate gales of laughter and I got jabbed in the ribs twice (tumors people…tumors!). From then on…and for the rest of the weekend, Deb and I were repeatedly subjected to clinching buns and discussions thereof. Luke’s wife even got in on the fun and we became demi-celebrities for the good fortune created from our gratuitous gawking. When I emailed Dr. N pictures from the weekend, I asked him if he was utilizing his new found clinching technique during his patient rounds. If so, I am sure survivorship in Omaha is on the rise!

After we had our team picture with Lance, we all scurried off to get our bikes. I just knew it…this was it…the moment that I would end the quest for number 8 just by being me. But, guess what?! I didn’t! I was cool as a cucumber. Ok, not really, I was a big dork, but we all survived the ride and that is more than any of us (especially me!) could have hoped for!

The more I think about the ride, my time with Lance and the things we talked about, the more I want to keep those moments private. They belong to me. What I will tell you though is that I doubt that there are many moments in whatever life I have left that will feel as surreal as the moment when I looked over to find my personal hero, Lance Armstrong, riding beside me and smiling as we talked. To this day…almost two weeks later…the thought brings tears to my eyes.

After our turn to ride with Lance was over and we had been “dropped,” Deb and I were immediately “picked up” by the guys of Team Six. As we would later talk and giggle about in our hotel room, those guys made us feel so special. I felt like Maillot jaune (yellow jersey) in the Tour de France being protected by my team. Unreal! Paul and I especially bonded. His girlfriend is in the SF Bay Area fighting Stage IV colorectal cancer right now and is preparing to go San Diego for an experimental treatment…I’m praying for you guys and I would ask any of you reading this post to do the same. As Paul, College and I talked and joked during those miles, I felt every ray of sun on my face and the gentle breeze blowing over my skin…I watched Longhorns stop grazing long enough to catch a glimpse of us as we went by…and I heard the sound of Deb and JB laughing in front of us. It was magic.

I felt sincere gratitude for the moment… and for my life.

I still do.

Dr. N

Jeffrey Wells...the man...the myth...the legend
College, Deb and I

Paul and I
Lance looks winded - I think Deb and I were too much for him!

What a doll! The coolest nurse in Texas!

More pics to follow (all the shots of Lance and I) in later posts.

************************************************************************

Next up...A big helping of Lovey Pie...and more

LIVESTRONG Chapter Two...Laughter and Longhorns

2008-11-04T17:56:00.000-08:00

Day One - FRIDAY

We wake…and after cruising the streets of downtown Austin on foot looking for clothes for Deb (of which we found none) and Diet Coke for me (Success…meltdown avoided!), We made our way to Challenge check-in. When we walked in the door, we were immediately met by a smiling face (Natalie) saying, “Hi, Susan!” (How in the hell do they do that?! They did it all weekend! I swear that the folks at the LAF know who you are, before YOU know who you are!). By the time Deb and I left registration our arms were full to overflowing of swag, swag and more swag. Personal favorites were the Lance autographed – Ride for the Roses poster, the LIVESTRONG and Polka Dot Bike Jerseys and the LIVESTRONG Challenge bag.
SWAG!

Having made plans to meet Scott and Katie at the LIVESTRONG Village, which was in the Austin Convention Center, Deb and I made our way over. Our first order of business was to make sure that we had our honorees covered, so we spent almost 30 minutes writing our “In Honor Of” and “In Memory Of” cards and posting them on the walls. We also took all of our names and added them to the yellow paper chain that had already begun to wrap around the room. It was quite an emotional moment for me, made even more so when the LIVESTRONG Challenge video started playing throughout the Village and I was almost immediately met with pictures that I had submitted of my Grandma Booth, my Auntie A, Ben Diffenderfer, several friends and last, but not least, me and the Emma-roo-pooper-do. One can’t help but be moved by the message of the video and I know that those faces…those of people that I didn’t even know…will stay with me for a very long time.

With Katie and Scott’s arrival to the Village, so to came the introduction to another prominent character in the weekend’s events…Illinois’ own…Jeff Wells. The Schofields and Jeff knew each other from previous Ride for the Roses weekends and since he was in Austin alone, it only made sense that he would be swallowed into the fold of our Friends Fighting Cancer family. Resistance was futile…he was ours. He didn’t put up a fight and although it wasn’t said out loud, I’m quite sure Scott appreciated adding a little more testosterone to the mix. After cocktails and an 80’s music sing-a-long at the sports bar, we all retired to our rooms to prepare for Friday night's festivities.

The Welcome to Texas Dinner

That evening, Katie, Scott, Deb and I arrived at the “world famous” Salt Lick BBQ to sound of bagpipes playing in the distance (I’m a sucker for the bagpipes!) and to the sight of Oreo the Texas Longhorn. If one were so inclined, you could crawl up on Oreo’s back for a photo op. If you gently pulled his reins to the left, his head would swing around and BINGO…the perfect Texas souvenir photo. With that in mind, here’s what I know about the Texas Longhorn…they are the first cattle to set foot on North America and the only breed of cattle to evolve without human management. They also have a gentle disposition and are highly intelligent (thanks Wikipedia!). Here’s what I know about how Susan would react if she were Oreo the Texas Longhorn…"if one more slightly tipsy person gets on my back, makes a cutesy remark and “gently” pulls the reigns so that this giant nose ring that I have pulls so tightly that I am forced to turn my head to avoid excruciating pain…somebody is getting gored.” For this reason, I simply gave Oreo the “I feel ya, brother” solidarity look before I scooted away for fear that I would be standing in front of him when he finally said “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.” By all accounts, there were no Longhorn stampede tragedies during the evening’s events, but come on people…give the guy a break!
Oreo

It was a beautiful night at the Salt Lick and a very fitting way for the Lance Armstrong Foundation to welcome top fundraisers to the weekend’s events. One of my favorite moments of the evening was meeting Ron Kolenic from the LAF. RK and I have exchanged a number of emails over the last several months and it was great to finally meet him in person. Nice to meet a fellow survivor who's thriving and not just surviving!

The BBQ looked amazing…although I didn’t partake (I’m an herbivore now). I had beans, beer and bread…all excellent choices when you are trying to lose weight, right?! Doug Ulman, the President/CEO of the Lance Armstrong Foundation welcomed the group and made a particularly poignant nod to Renee Nicholas, the LIVESTRONG Challenge Director who spent the weekend adorned in a shock-pink wig due to her current battle with breast cancer (the irony of the fact that the Director of the Challenge is currently fighting her own battle shouldn’t be lost on anyone. This disease doesn’t care, people! It doesn’t care who you are or what you do for a living. It could be any one of us. It could be you! Ok, ok...I'm off my soap box).

After Doug it was Evan Handler's turn to speak. Some of you may know Evan as Charlotte's husband, Harry Goldenblatt, on "Sex in the City." Evan is also an author and a fellow survivor of Acute Myeloid Leukemia. His books Time on Fire: My Comedy of Terrors and It's Only Temporary...The Good News and Bad News of Being Alive are both great reads about the cancer experience. He helps you "get it," while also making you laugh. Can't beat that!

Evan Handler and I at the LIVESTRONG Village

Next up...Willie Nelson! So here’s the thing about Willie and I, thanks to many hours spent in the land yacht (a.k.a. the Mercury Grand Marquis) during the summers when I would travel with my Dad, I know all of his songs. My Dad is a Willie fan and there were many hours spent on the open road listening to the Willie Nelson 8-Track. When Willie started singing "Always on my Mind," I was transported back to the big brown Merc...sitting on my Dad's lap "driving" on country roads in Nebraska when I was 8 years old. So cool!

After a few closing comments from Lance we boarded the buses back to the hotel. With everyone on the bus singing Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville at the top of their lungs and me trying desperately not to throw up all over Deb as we navigated the winding roads of the hill country...while still hitting all the notes...I decided it was a fitting end to an incredible evening. In other words...have an awesome time, but never...never...never forget that you are an absolute wreck, Susan Claire!

Day Two - SATURDAY (Part One)

Saturday before dawn the five of us (Scott, Jeff, Katie, Deb and I) were up and on the road to the starting line of the 5K. Deb and I had already started stressing about the ride with Lance, so we were comparatively quiet for “normal” us. There was a buzz in the air when we arrived at the start and after wishing each other well, Jeff made his way to the front of the masses so that he could run. The rest of us, fell in line in the back of the pack and prepared to walk the course (energy conservation was key here…remember in a few short hours we were going to be on a bike with Lance Armstrong!). As we walked, Pedicabs cruised past us filled with children currently in treatment. They were a cruel reminder of the ruthlessness of this disease. One little girl had her Pedicab decorated with pictures of Cinderella and the word “PRINCESS” on the back. She wore a crown that sat awkwardly on her hairless little head and a smile so wide that it brought tears to my eyes.

When we neared the finish, Katie and I…and the rest of the survivors…were routed toward the left. All Survivors were presented with yellow roses as we crossed the finish. I can’t describe the feeling that I had when I looked into the eyes of the person who handed me my rose. Who knew that one yellow rose could make 8 plus years of really lousy stuff a little bit easier to endure…but it sure did!

After the 5K, we hustled back to the hotel so that Deb and I could change in preparation for our ride with the man himself. Standing in our hotel room getting ready, I was reminded of being back in my apartment at the University of Kansas before we would go out on Friday and Saturday nights (after we studied, of course, Dad!). As I would with envy many times over the weekend, I watched Deb brush her long flowing locks…and then looked disgustedly in the mirror at my “feathers” (wait…probably not a good analogy, because feathers actually lay down…something my hair hasn’t yet mastered!). It’s the little things about this disease and the havoc that it creates in a life that can really set you off…not the least of which is the fact that sometimes you don't want the "badge of courage" that everyone reminds you that you should be so proud of...sometimes you just want to be "normal" and...dare to dream...pretty. TANGENT ALERT...TANGENT ALERT...

So, anywhoooo…with Deb sporting her Friends Fighting Cancer garb and me in my LIVESTRONG Challenge gear (yes, that’s my final answer. I only had about three different outfits on!), we made our way down to the bus that would take us to the “secret” location for the ride with Lance. This, my friends, (just call me John McCain) is where classic Deb and Susan moments are made..

Wait for it...wait for it...

Up in the next post…the ride with Lance…Lovey Pie…and Deb and I miss the finish!

LIVESTRONG Chapter One - It's Not About the Bike...Or Is it???

2008-11-02T18:50:00.000-08:00

I was the last (and oldest) kid on 69th Terrace in Prairie Village, Kansas, to lose my training wheels. In an attempt to learn to ride a bike, I burned through the patience of my dear father and pushed poor Babs to the point of yelling, “If you get off that bike I’m going to beat your ass” in the Village Presbyterian Church parking lot on a beautiful Kansas spring day. Later that summer, with most of the residents of 69th Terrace watching, I debuted my new “skills” by plowing full speed into the back of a parked car (a feat I would later repeat at least twice). By the summer of 1982, when I totaled three bikes in a two month span, it became quite clear to most around me that two wheeled objects and I were clearly not meant for each other. In fact, I remember a very frank discussion with my parents about how my life might not achieve its full potential unless I got a moped…and them asking me incredulously on what planet I was from that I actually thought that they would take a two wheeled object and attach a motor to it…and then put it in my very incapable hands?! (Ouch! True…but, OUCH!)

So, imagine the fear in my parent’s eyes when at 38 I decided to get a bike. Although they didn’t say it, I’m sure they stepped up the prayers and thought to themselves…

“Cancer schmancer…it’s going to be death by Trek!”

I tell you this so that you understand that I realize the irony of my involvement in a challenge involving cycling. In my case, the challenge isn’t as much about the number of miles I ride, but more about just staying on the bike and I would be lying if I told you that the flight to Austin wasn’t wrought with thoughts of the carnage that I could single-handily bring to the roads of Texas just by climbing on my groovy new bike and turning the pedals. So as I landed on Thursday night, my thoughts weren’t yet focused on the cause…but more on the goal of not making a complete and total ass of myself. For those who know me, dare to dream, right?!

My cycling “therapist” over these last several months has been Scott Schofield. Scott is a cycling stud and not only did he help me select my bike…he also did the leg work on which bike shop in Scottsdale (of which there are many) I should go to…and he did all of this from Virginia. Although he is a gentleman and would probably never admit it, I am sure that there were times that he wondered how in the world he had gotten involved with such a nut case?! He can blame Deb Roby and his lovely wife (Katie) for that!

When Deb and I met we were in 4th grade at Wellsville Elementary School in Wellsville, Kansas. We’ve been friends ever since. We went off to college together and she was a bridesmaid in my wedding (I am still doing the analysis on whether or not this was the reason the marriage failed.J). She’s galloped all over the U.S. and I’ve galloped all over the world…and sometimes, not as often as we would like, we end up galloping in the same place. For the rest of the time, we thank goodness for phones and email. It was during one of our many phone conversations that the seed for last weekend’s event was planted as I mentioned in my previous post.

Katie Schofield and Deb have been friends for years, as well. Their friendship developed during their years at Sallie Mae (before Deb became my personal legal counsel…watch out LA Fitness!) and they have been blessed to live in the same geographical area for the last several years…although with life the way that it can be, I’m not sure that means that they see each other anymore than Deb and I do. For years I have heard about Deb’s friends, Scott and Katie, and now I have the sincere pleasure of calling them my friends, too! (That brings you up to speed on the players in this post…stay tuned to the next post for more about them and other great folks met along the way.)

Ok Gang, back to the bike…

Two months ago I raised the garage door on the pad The Duchess and I share in Scottsdale and hopped on my tricked out new bike (thanks to S. Schofield and Kelly at Landis Cyclery in Scottsdale – just the best!). I rode out onto the streets of the 85254 and was immediately parched…it was only about 110 degrees that day. No worries, I thought, I have my super-duper insulated water bottle. The cold water went down like a dream…but, when I tried to maintain my balance and slide the water bottle back in its “holster,”…WIPEOUT! As I sniffed my way back home with a tear in my pants and blood running down my elbow, I thought, “I’m in serious trouble here. Clearly my 25 year sabbatical from the bicycle has done nothing to improve my cycling prowess, but I’m committed...”

So, on October 24, when I found myself standing in the “bike room” at the Hilton Hotel with one of the incredible LIVESTRONG volunteers telling me that my bike would be assembled, transported and ready for me...and that it would "appear" whenever and wherever it was needed, I was still secretly hoping that it would magically "disappear" before the ride and that I could react in mock horror at my inability to perform my cycling duties. I even practiced walking around in my new cycling duds saying things like, "I know (insert frown here), I am so bummed" or "This is totally unacceptable."

But as with my bell choir experience in the early 80's (thanks Babs!), I've come to realize that the hype ( or "case" as my family so lovingly likes to refer to it) that I can create in my own mind isn't nearly as bad as the reality. In fact, quite the opposite is true. After the Challenge weekend, my bike and I are in the midst of an intense love affair and we are talking about taking it to the next level by introducing a third party (a road bike) into our relationship in the next year.

For me, the experience of getting back on a bike after 25 years is a bit like my fight with cancer. When I think about it...or look at it too closely...it's down right terrifying, but when I turn myself over to "it" and commit to move forward, I am free. Free to feel the wind on my face, the air in my lungs and the brutal impact of every "parked car" that comes my way. I am also free to make the choice to get up...dust myself off...and to try again.

Or, to just give up.

After my LIVESTRONG Challenge weekend, I say bring on the "parked cars!" Not only I am inspired and protected by a shroud of love from so many wonderful people...

I'm also now wearing spandex!

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Up next...LIVESTRONG Chapter Two..."Laughter, Longhorns and a side of Lovey Pie"

The Preface...

2008-10-29T18:00:00.000-07:00

Although this isn’t a “NEWSFLASH” for those who know me well…I’m a sports fan. Ok, ok…I’m a HUGE sports fan. I love sports…all kinds of sports. If there is a winner…and a loser…I’m in. I get invested easily…I commit…and I’m all about the “thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.” Sporting events have given me some of my highest highs and lowest lows. They inspire…and infuriate. I tell myself that it doesn’t matter when “my team” gets beat…but it does…and everyone who knows me has come to accept that…not necessarily like it…but they accept it. So in 1999, a relatively newly married me sat down on a July day with my then husband to watch this “little bike race” in France. CD was a cycling enthusiast, so where I initially saw a bunch of guys riding their bikes all over France he saw strategy, timing and teamwork. He taught me the sport…and I was hooked…especially when a kid from Texas who had survived cancer actually won it. What a compelling story, I thought…I’ll watch again next year to see what this Lance Armstrong kid can do.

And when the 2000 Tour de France rolled around, I was the kid fighting cancer. The big “C” had come knocking just a few months before and I had no idea what was going to happen and more specifically whether or not I was going to live or die. As I sat there that summer, bald and sick, and watched Lance win number 2, I began to believe that my death sentence (and make no mistake…that’s what I was given)…may not actually be that at all.
By the time Lance had won the Tour de France seven times and I had gone toe to toe with my old pal “C” for several years, I was an inspired Lance fan and a believer in the work being done by the Lance Armstrong Foundation. And, then…

Earlier this year a new cancer came calling at a time when I was feeling (and looking) so good. This time it was different. I was pissed off…and tired…and I didn’t want to fight anymore. I was going through the motions, because I had people counting on me, but I can’t say that I was overly convinced that this was only a chapter in…and not the end of…my life. When my friend, Deb, called and asked me to be a part of Friends Fighting Cancer and to participate in the LIVESTRONG Challenge benefiting the Lance Armstrong Foundation in Austin with the team, I said yes more from the hope that the desired goal of getting there would be enough to pull me through a physically, emotionally and spiritually draining summer than from a real belief that I would make it there. How could I? There have been times over the last several months that things have felt all but hopeless. I masked for everyone…as I have gotten so skilled at doing…but I was beaten…and I knew it.

So, there I sat on my couch this summer sequestered from everyone…feeling isolated and alone (and I was!), because my immune system decided to take an even bigger dump than it had been known for taking over the last several years…when I decided to send my first fundraising letter for the LIVESTRONG Challenge. Within 10 minutes I had my first donation…and from there more and more continued to come from friends, family and complete strangers. Can you imagine what a message that was to me? Even though I was (and had to be) physically alone…I wasn’t really alone in this fight. You believed in the cause…and you believed in me. Because of you, I was renewed.

I survived the summer and made the decision to quit chemo. The chemo wasn’t killing the cancer anymore, but I was convinced that it was killing me. So, I walked away (much to the disappointment of my docs)…and selectively told those in my life that I knew would be supportive of my decision. I revamped the way that I ate and made the commitment to re-evaluate other aspects of my life, as well. I started to feel like “me” again…and, throughout this process, your donations kept coming. I was inspired and excited. In September I was thinking…LIVESTRONG Challenge here I come.

And then I realized that my rib was really, really sore…and when my Mom felt it when Rich and I were in Kansas, I knew by the look on her face that something wasn’t right. When I got home, our fears were confirmed…metastasis to the ribcage…and the hip. SHIT. Hardly anyone knew about that until now…I just didn’t feel like it was relative. I still don’t. It is…what it is…and I’m still here. But, when my stomach started bleeding a few weeks ago, that was a different story…and out came the P’s “just in case.” I was scared and worried…felt like garbage…and had no idea if I was going to be able to pull it together to get to Austin.

So, there I am on Saturday, October 25, 2008, on my bike in the hill country of Texas looking at a smiling Lance Armstrong pedaling beside me when he innocently asks, “How you doing? You doin’ ok?”

How am I doing???

I am FREAKIN' AWESOME…that’s how I’m doing! No one…NO ONE…has a better life than I do! I am blessed! My life ROCKS! I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone else’s in the world! Today or any other day!

Of course what I said was, “I’m great!” (And, I am quite sure there was a giggle…giggle).

But, here’s the greatest part…as utterly amazing as my time with Lance Armstrong was (and I'll share more of that with you later), it wasn’t even the best part of my experience at the LIVESTRONG Challenge! Can you imagine that?!

I can’t wait to share more with you, but it's still difficult to put into words the power of the weekend and to do justice to all of the wonderful people I met. So...until then...

LIVESTRONG!

Stay tuned...

2008-10-21T19:16:00.000-07:00

The last few weeks have been harried to say the least. I am fighting a nasty battle with my stomach (not sure which one of us is winning at this point)...and with LA Fitness (BUYER BEWARE...DO NOT JOIN LA FITNESS! There will be a blog on that experience at another time...my blood pressure and I aren't quite ready to go there yet). Like most, I am worried about the economy and the future...and am sick to death of political ads (Let's vote already!); but, on the flip side....

All will be good on Thursday when I head to Austin to join up with the crew for the LIVESTRONG Challenge! A special thank you to all of you who helped me raise $20,400 for the Lance Armstrong Foundation!

Stay tuned for a full accounting of the weekend...

Off to pack...

I LIVESTRONG...and I hate LA Fitness! (Ahhhh, that feels good to say!)

Fiddley Dee...

2008-10-05T17:25:00.000-07:00

Where is the rain?! I was promised rain this weekend! I read my newspaper and watched every "Weather Center" report and was assured that there would be rain...rain...RAIN! So, where is the FREAKIN' rain?!?! I NEED rain!

Yes, I realize that I live in the desert, but COME ON! Throw a girl a bone for Pete sake! Can't the weather Gods just give me a hand from time to time?! I needed one of those weekends when you look outside and say "Aw shucks...even if I wanted to go out and do something today...the weather just doesn't permit it. I guess I'll just have to hunker down at home this weekend." But, instead...gorgeous. Typical!

So, tomorrow when the dreaded, "How was your weekend?" question gets floated, I won't be able to commiserate with folks about being "trapped indoors," because of the weather and just leave it at that. Instead, my options will be to avoid the subject all together...or to admit that I spent most of a beautiful weekend laying around, because I didn't have the energy to do anything else. This revelation will undoubtedly prompt the question "Why is that?" or "Why didn't you have any energy?"

Here we have the crux of my problem...

If I am honest...and I promised, good or bad, that I would always be honest on this blog...this is where I want to look at the caring soul asking a seemingly innocent question square in the eye and say, "because my body is full of cancer, you moron."

I know...I know...HARSH...very harsh...and totally undeserved, but that doesn't change the fact that sometimes it is what I...no we...want to say to the kind folks who ask us questions like that. Luckily, unless you catch us on a particularly bad day, we can usually hold it together enough to smile and say, "not sure" or "probably treatment side effects."

Just remember though, if you happen to be on the receiving end of one of these tirades, it's not you we are mad at (and, we don't really think you are a moron). The reality is that we are pissed off at a disease that steals our energy and robs us of precious time. That's what I'm mad at anyway...

But, as Scarlett O'Hara and I both know...

Tomorrow is another day.

And, if anyone asks you about my weekend...it was just great!

It's All About The Boob...

2008-09-30T18:57:00.000-07:00

In 1979, when I was 9 years old, my Mom left for the hospital. Normally, this wouldn't have been a big deal in Sanerland, because it was where she went to work every day. This trip was different though, for when she returned home, she did so without her breasts. I don't remember being told not to talk about it...I just know that we didn't. It was a different time and people didn't talk about such things as mastectomy and breast cancer. When I think about that time in my Mom's life and about the women who fought breast cancer during a time when secrecy and discretion was expected...I ache for them. No one should be forced to fight a life threatening illness (ANY life threatening illness) in a cloak of fear and isolation...and thankfully, breast cancer survivors no longer have to. On October 1, we kick off National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, so for the next month (and hopefully every day after)...

IT"S ALL ABOUT THE BOOB!

According to the American Cancer Society, an estimated 249,230 women and 1,990 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2008. In the same time period, 40,480 women and 450 men will die of the disease. Who among us doesn't know someone in one or both of those categories?!

Each cancer diagnosis that has hit my "inner circle" has been difficult to swallow, but breast cancer seems to have been a particularly bitter pill. It doesn't discriminate and doesn't concern itself with the fact that "she is too young" or that "she is so fit and healthy looking" or that "she has small children" or that "he is a man...and men don't get breast cancer." Cancer doesn't care...breast cancer doesn't care.

In the days I'd like to forget, but know I never will category...are the day that my Mom and I sat on the couch...tears streaming down our cheeks...as we listened to my cherished Auntie A on the other end of the phone telling us of her breast cancer diagnosis...or the day that my Mom called to tell me that she had been at her best friend Johnny's side when she succumbed to the disease...or the day I sat in Mrs. B's English class and she told us that she was going to be taking some time off from school, because she was sick...or the days that I found out three key women in my life as a child...and to this day (Ann, Mary Jo and Evonne) had been diagnosed...or the days that I learned that three beautiful young women who I had grown up with (Amy, Lisa and Lesley) were either facing or had faced the disease...or the day that I came home to a note from the mother of my friend and neighbor in Santa Cruz telling me that she had lost her battle at 31 years of age...or the day that Dave told us at my very first ever cancer support group meeting that he was a man living with breast cancer. Enough! I've had enough!

I've walked 120 miles in the name of breast cancer during two Breast Cancer 3-days and on October 12, I will be participating in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I hope you will join me by doing something...anything...in your hometown to promote early detection, screening for all...and ultimately a cure for breast cancer.

I'd like to dedicate this post to the beautiful women (and man) survivors in my life and to those who we've lost to this terrible disease:

Auntie A, Amy, Ann, Arlene, Barbara, Betty, Christine, Dave, Dorothy, Evonne, Janice, Johnny, JoAnn, Joan, Karen, Kathy, Lesley, Lisa, Liza, Lorri, Mary Jo, Mary Anne, Norma, Sandra, Stephanie, Tammy

and to my Mom, who made a gutsy move to dodge a bullet! You've got chutzpa kid!

http://www.komen.org/
http://www.livestrong.org/
http://www.cancer.org/

Beauty Is As Beauty Does...

2008-09-28T21:04:00.000-07:00

If you are lucky, you've had the good fortune...at least once in your life...to see something so beautiful that it made you cry. If you are truly blessed, you've been able to share the experience with someone equally "beautiful."

There is no doubt...I am truly blessed.

After being confined to the heat of Arizona for the entire summer due to treatment for a disease that shall remain nameless, I said goodbye to 106 degree weather on Friday afternoon and made the pilgrimage to the Mile High City to see my Beloved. After circling above the airport for 35 minutes due to storms in the area (and after listening to the guy next to me pop his gum for approximately an hour and forty-five minutes...I figure he had about 7 more minutes before I had to take matters into my own hands and "pop" his head off), we landed in Denver.

Before I met Richard, landing in Denver held about as much charm as a trip to dentist. But, now I can honestly say that there are few things that I look forward to more than the trip up the escalator to the main terminal where I know I will be met with a huge smile, a "Hey Mate," a kiss and a giant bear hug.

To celebrate my return to Colorado, Rich decided we needed to do something special...and so we did. On Saturday morning, we hit the road for Aspen. In general, I am a big fan of the road trip. I love the idea of hitting the road...and I love it even more with Rich. We have a great time. We talk...we laugh...and we take turns listening to each other's music (what propels a 43 year old Australian man toward an affinity for Gangsta rap I will never understand, but hey...equal time!).

We made the trip into Aspen over Independence Pass. Amazing! The fact that it was sleeting on us and my dearest decided that a narrow mountain pass was the perfect opportunity to fight with the navigation system just made it that much more "memorable." I'm kidding (not really).

Aspen is a beautiful mountain town! What a picturesque setting. Although it has all the pretension of Scottsdale (of which there is a limitless supply) there are at least a few "hippies" thrown in for good measure. The very best thing about Aspen, though, (besides the awe inspiring views) is the fact that you can't turn around without running into a dog (a.k.a. "a lovebug"...most of which who happened to be dressed better than my partner in crime and I).

Our accommodation in the "playground of the rich and famous" was so perfectly "us." Opening the door to room 105 at the Molly Gibson Lodge was like stepping into a time machine. Next stop, 1978! The huge jacuzzi tub in the corner of the room was surrounded by smokey mirrors (where was Austin Powers when we needed him?!), the fireplace...tastefully appointed with wood paneling, the bathroom accented with brown tile and the room with a lovely carpet in a dreamy avocado shade. We dug it! And, the coup de gras? The Hispanic gospel music concert that was going on in the park right outside our window. Seriously, the entire experience was awesome. We were loving it! Molly treated us right...and we'll be back! The place was clean...you can't beat the location...it was almost $200 cheaper a night than the surrounding properties and the folks at the front desk were just down right nice.

Speaking of nice...time for a side bar...as we were walking around Aspen, I realized that there is a pressing life question that I need an answer to...

Exactly how much money do you have to have before you forget how to smile? Or, perhaps the question is...exactly how much money do you have to have before you feel compelled to pay a surgeon an absurd amount of money to pull your face so tightly that you become physically incapable of smiling? Someone get back to me on that, will ya?!

Ok, back to the weekend...

So, this morning, I woke early and made my way over to the Molly Gibson Lobby Computer to try to liberate myself from the tyranny of the middle seat on row 21 of flight 587 back to Phoenix. When I returned to the room, the jacuzzi tub was full...the flat panel TV was aimed toward said tub - Sportscenter lovingly playing ("thought you might want to watch some footie, Mate")...and a cold Diet Coke sat resting on the side. I'll tell you...I am a lucky girl. The man knows me...and he clearly loves me. How have I come to this realization you might ask? Well...

Perhaps it was when he didn't run away screaming when I told him that cancer treatment was looming...AGAIN. Or maybe it was the way that he shaved my head when my hair started to fall out. Or, the fact that he cancelled a motorcycle trip to Montana (against my wishes) to come to Arizona in July to help me move. Or, how about when he sat on the floor and held me as I sobbed after Emma's ashes were delivered. Or, when he rubbed my bald head while I heaved after chemo. Or, the fact that he navigated meeting my parents and a couple hundred of our closest friends and family in a span of 6 days...and "had a great time with really good people!" Or maybe it was the fact that he knew that after all the "ugly" I had experienced this summer, that I really needed to see something beautiful and to be ever so gently reminded of my place in the universe?

Mission accomplished.

This morning I stood at the edge of a clear mountain lake surrounded by the majesty of the Maroon Bells capped with snow and Evergreens jutting proudly toward the blue Colorado sky. I watched the Fall kissed gold leaves of the Aspen trees blowing in the cool morning breeze and listened to the birds send messages back and forth to each other. I held the hand of the man who has held my heart so tenderly for the last several months and, I cried at shear power of the moment.

As tears began to spill from my eyes, I heard the voice of my Beloved...

"Aw come on, Mate, take the picture already...my ass is hanging off this rock."

And, that, my friends, is just one of the many reasons that I love him back!

2008-09-17T17:14:00.000-07:00

I’m struggling today. My energy level is…well, let’s just be honest…non-existent. Everything hurts and I can’t get “away” from it. Even more frustrating is the fact that there really isn’t a damn thing that I can do about it. I thought I would feel better if I got my body going this morning, so I drug myself out of bed and went to the gym. I knew I was in trouble when one of the regulars approached me and told me how much she admired my fight on what was obviously a “rough day.” And here I thought I was goin’ all “Master Thespian” and all. I guess my acting skills aren’t what I thought they were.

Days like this piss me off. I’m 38…I shouldn’t feel…and look…this bad. What I want to be writing about today is the absolutely amazing trip that Rich and I had to Kansas and the P’s 50th Anniversary party (what a day!!!), but I don’t have it in me right now. I’m not in the right space, so I’m going to save that for another day. Instead, I’m going to wrap this up, go get the Duchess, crawl into bed, put on some Annie Lennox…and have a pity party of the highest order... until the morphine kicks in that is!
*************************************************************************************

CT scan, x-rays and blood work tomorrow.

How do you say "Which way to the Alp d'Huez" in Francais?

2008-09-09T19:39:00.001-07:00

The 2009 Tour de France...

In the immortal words of Tom Cruise...as Jerry McGuire...in the movie of the same name...

"Who's coming with me?"

Vive le Lance...Livestrong!

Follow the yellow brick road...

2008-09-07T18:11:00.000-07:00

I've been horribly lax in posting...and I've heard about it! So sorry! I'm still here...just harried beyond belief. In fact, it got so bad last week that I completely forgot that I was supposed to have my CT Scan, x-rays and blood work on Thursday. I arrived home Thursday evening exhausted after a very long work day to a nasty-gram from the folks at the doc's office. Oops!

I hit the four week mark at the gym on Friday. If it weren't for my workout buddy, Nancy, there is absolutely no way that I would be dragging my sorry self out of bed at 4:00a.m., so I owe her one...or two...or three! Mike the Marine...my trainer...is kicking my butt in the evenings...I haven't had sugar since July 15, thanks to "The Rock"...and my friends Leatrice, Jon and Chris have been keeping me on track with my newly adopted vegetarian lifestyle (which I am finding much easier than I thought, by the way)...so, I guess that you could say that it really does take a village to raise an idiot. Oh wait...maybe that's not how that saying goes...but you know what I mean!

I hit a milestone last week...I broke the $10,000 mark on my fundraising efforts for the Livestrong Challenge next month in Austin, Texas! A few months ago...during a very down time...my friend, Deb Roby, called and told me about an organization that she was involved with called Friends Fighting Cancer (http://www.friendsfightingcancer.org/). To say that my life was changed by that phone call would be an understatement. Not only did I make the decision/commitment to join her and the Friends Fighting Cancer Team for the Challenge in Austin, I've also made some very special new friends. I'm not sure if she knows it, but Deb may have saved my life with that phone call. When the phone rang that day, I wasn't in a position to look forward, but she gave me a reason to do so anyway. Thank you, my friend!

If you are interested in checking out my Livestrong page click on the following link and enter my name (Susan Davenport) when prompted: http://austin08.livestrong.org/faf/search/searchParticipants.asp?ievent=262612&lis=1&kntae262612=C160FC3B1105479C9D94B15A2F656DC0

As one of the 12 million Americans currently living with cancer, I know first hand the good work done by the Lance Armstrong Foundation. I hope that my involvement in the Livestrong Challenge will encourage you to learn more about who they are and what they do! And, there are still spots available in Austin on October 25-26, 2008...I'd love to see you there!

I've had several of you ask how I'm "really" doing. I guess the most truthful answer is that I'm doing "OK." On one hand, I feel "great" (that's a relative term when you are fighting cancer) and on the other I am struggling. I believe that the exercise and re-vamped diet are helping, but I am still struggling with pain and fatigue. And, as much as I don't want to admit it, the scary cancer guy still comes calling at night sometimes and makes me wonder how much more fight I've got in me...

But...in the meantime...

It's football season...and I am headed back to Kansas for the P's 50th Anniversary Party next Saturday. What can be better than jaw-rattling tackles and surrounding yourself with family and friends?! I'm getting out my ruby slippers (struggling with trying to fit Duchess in a basket though!)...

There's no place like home...there's no place like home...there's no place like home!

P.S. Thank you for all of the cards, emails and phone calls. I love them and you! I apologize for the fact that it is taking me so long to respond, but I promise that you will hear from me!

The "Real" World

2008-08-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

Ok...I admit it. The Olympics make me cry. I can't help it! I'm invested, damn it! I've spent the last two weeks (as I do every two years!) glued to my television watching athletes from all over the world give everything they have at a moment in time. I watched a "Lost Boy" carry the Stars and Stripes during the Opening Ceremonies...a young man from Maryland win 8 gold medals...a 41 year old woman return to the pool after retirement and beat women more than half her age...an amputee from South Africa swim 10km...a leukemia survivor swim for hours and win the Olympics first open water race. I saw speed that I couldn't even have imagined before a 21 year old Jamaican took the track...and meltdowns of epic proportion by U.S. track athletes who are...let's face it...human! I watched the best of sport...and the worst of sport....triumph and tragedy...and I was moved. Again...and again...and again. And, now it's over...and that makes me sad.

I don't want to go back to the "real" world. I don't want the news to be dominated again by hate and violence...cynicism and fear...Barack and John. And, more than anything, I don't want to wonder if I am going to live to see another Olympics.

The 2012 Summer Olympics are in London. Not only is it one of my favorite places, but I also have a connection at the British Olympic Association, so....

Phil, make up the guest room...I'll see you there!

P.S. I am supposed to have a biopsy on my wrist tomorrow. I have a new "lump."

P.P.S. Les and family...I am pulling for you tomorrow!

Invisible

2008-08-20T18:40:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at my desk eating my tofu noodle surprise…which actually isn’t much a surprise given the fact that I made it. I have fresh aloe vera globed all over my face to try to combat the painful red splotches that chemo left behind. My feet are covered in band aids to protect my chemo sensitive skin from further blisters. I am covered in bruises and am sporting a “militant lesbian” hair-do (if you don’t know the one I am referring to, visit Santa Cruz, California. Go ahead…I’ll wait). Quite frankly, I’m a vision of loveliness…the Venus De Milo of Scottsdale. It’s a wonder I’m not flitting around the house ala Maria in West Side Story singing…”I feel pretty…oh so pretty. I feel pretty…and witty…and bright.”

OK, scratch the last two sentences. Let’s be honest, I’m a mess. And, I’m tired of it. I’m also tired of being invisible.

Don’t get me wrong, people notice (a.k.a stare at) me all the time. At this stage in the game my hair is just starting to grow back so I get the perplexed looks from people trying to figure out if there is something wrong with me…or if I shaved my head to make a statement. They stare at me, but they don’t see “me.” I’m a thing…an object...something to be studied. People get so tuned in to trying to “figure me out” that they lose sight of the fact that they are looking straight at me…that we are making eye contact. Instead of smiling and saying hello, as one would normally be expected to do, they look right through me. I know this isn’t a phenomenon reserved especially for me, because I have friends who describe something similar.

My friend Rob was paralyzed in an accident at 32. He told me that before his injury, strangers would usually meet him with a smile…now, he says, he often feels that people often lose sight of the fact that he is flesh and blood and discount him as just a set of wheels. “People look…even stare…and when eye contact is made, they look away.”

I know exactly how he feels.

As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been getting up and going to the gym in the mornings. The other morning, I noticed that I had several “lookie-loos,” so I started paying attention. I counted 15 people who felt compelled to stare at me (come on people…when you stare at someone, the “victim” always knows it!!!!), but when I made eye contact with them and smiled, 14 of them quickly looked away. Only one man looked me straight in eye…held my gaze…and said “Good Morning” with a big smile. That act literally saved my morning. The tears that I had been fighting all hour were gone and I was ready to get on with the rest of my day.

Some of you may read this and think that I am exaggerating. I’m not. Those of you who have faced something that has affected your physical appearance for any period of time will know exactly what I mean. And, as progressive and “enlightened” as many of you seem to think that I am…I still have feelings…and right now I struggle with my confidence every single day…and I know I’m not alone in that.

So, do me a favor…the next time you see someone who looks “different,” look them in the eye, greet them with a smile and say “Hello.” You have no idea what an impact such a simple gesture might have on someone.

Off I go to ride my bike now…and if anyone stares at me, I’m going to ring my bell at them. That’ll show ‘em!

News...We Don't Need No Stinkin News...

2008-08-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

X-rays yesterday meant news today...and the funny thing was that until the Doc called tonight, I had totally forgotten about the fact that "news" was looming. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt like "me" today. My body was sore, but it was the sore that comes from a good hard workout and not chemicals getting pumped into my body. I felt "up" and positive about the choices that I am making for my health...and best of all, I felt nourished by all the wonderful new foods that I have been eating...

And then the phone rang...

"The tumor margins in the leg have not changed since the last x-ray..." (OK, I think to myself...it hasn't shrunk, but it hasn't grown either. I'll go with glass half full on that one.) "...and there is definitely something in your neck that should be looked at." (Shit...I'm like Michael Corleone..."Just when I think I'm out...they pull me back in"...or do they?)

I thanked the Doc for the call and told him that I would not be doing anything about the "something" in my neck at this time and that I would see him in 3 weeks when I am scheduled to have a CT Scan and blood work...then I promptly hopped on my bike for a spin around "the hood" before coming home to make myself a veggie stir fry (yum!). After a shower I am going to feed a bit of my Olympic addiction...snuggle with the Duchess...talk to my beloved...and go to bed so that I can get up bright and early for my 5:00a.m. workout.

Next time the Doctor calls I've instructed The Duchess to "take a message." Effective immediately, Casa de Davenport has initiated a medical issue embargo.

2008-08-10T18:55:00.000-07:00

I'm at a bit of a loss and feeling slightly overwhelmed. I am embarking on the next phase of my cancer fight tomorrow. Out with the conventional approach to the battle...save my Gleevac, I'm keeping that one in my arsenal, because I've had such good luck with it in the past. Instead life is now about making organic, vegetarian and sugar free choices...and getting back into the gym, which I will be doing tomorrow morning at 5:00a.m. with the help of a friend from work.

My final chemo appointment was last Monday and except for the unexpected and unfortunate vomiting incident in my office, it wasn't anything to write home about. The same pain and nastiness as every other week, but I must say that my attitude was demonstrably better, because I knew that my days with the poison cocktail cursing through my veins were over.

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a little bit worried. I am. And, I have a fear about a knot in my throat that is making it increasingly harder to swallow, but I am committed to moving forward and assuming the helm of the ship that is my destiny...whether that destiny is to live...or die.

What happens from here? Who knows. Your guess is as good as mine. I'm going to do what I can...I'm going to ask God to do what he can...and I'm going to get on with the business of living my life...

Which I will start right now, because the Duchess has just "announced" that it is time for our nightly pilgrimage into the neighborhood. Off I go to take her ladyship to mingle with her people.

Have a great week!

Happy Flippin Friday...

2008-08-01T07:30:00.000-07:00

I raised my head off the pillow this morning to get up for work...unfortunately, the majority of my hair decided to stay there. If I weren't so sad, I'd almost have to laugh. It's as if the "Cancer Gods" are saying, "Oh yeah, you think you have any power in this??? You think you are going to make your own choices??? Well, we'll show you!" And, they did...

So, this round to you, my "friends."

I've broken out my Livestrong Doo-Rag and slathered half a bottle of stress relief lotion on my head...neither is working today, but I have to snap out of it, because The Duchess is celebrating her 8th Birthday today and she expects to be treated accordingly!

Just a hint...this isn't funny to me today, so please no bald jokes. Tomorrow is fine...today, my sense of humor about this has "gone fishing."

Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom - Scottsdale

2008-07-29T19:57:00.000-07:00

Since before I moved to Arizona a year ago I've heard people talk about the giant bugs that reside in the desert. I had never seen one...until today...

I came home from work and decided that I needed to do something productive before I gave myself permission to go to bed. It had been a few days since I'd given the garden attention, so out The Duchess and I went. We were soon joined by Magnus Backstedt. Magnus is the neighborhood cat who has decided to adopt us. I'm sure that he has another name, but at my house he is Magnus Backstedt (One of my all time favorite names. Extra credit if you know who the "real" Magnus Backstedt is...NO CHEATING!). So there we were...Duch, Magnus and I watering the plants...watching little lizards run up the wall..

Suddenly something caught my eye in the pool...

One of my favorite movie quotes (When Harry Met Sally) is "Don't Fuck with Mr. Zero." I always wondered who Mr. Zero was...now I know...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Mr. Zero

When I removed his carcase from the pool with the net and did the little dance as I tried to get him into the trash bin, I realized that he was larger than a soda can. That's just wrong!!!

Eat your heart out Marlin Perkins!!!!

The Impasse

2008-07-28T19:03:00.000-07:00

Cancer and I seem to have come to an impasse. I'm not quitting...and it's not going away...

This afternoon during my chemo treatment I met with yet another doctor about the possibility of my participation in a clinical trial. Unfortunately...or fortunately depending on how you look at it...I didn't make the cut. I wasn't sure going into the discussion that I was even going to "throw my hat in the ring" if I did fit into the parameters, so I can't say that I was overly disappointed. I'm tired...and I need a break...sooooo....

After a very frank discussion with my docs this afternoon...and another with the P's...and Rich this evening; I've made the decision that after next week, I am going to go on a treatment sabbatical...

Chemo and I have decided to "see other people." Mentally, physically and emotionally, I just can't do it anymore. I'm convinced that the cancer isn't killing me...the chemo is.

This doesn't mean that I'm giving up. Far from it actually. I am going to work harder than I ever have to fight this disease. In doing so, though, I'm not going to be pumping my body full of any more poison...nor is anyone going to be performing any surgical amputations of my lower extremities (that has been one of the treatment "suggestions" for the tumor on my leg. PASS!).

There you have the plan for the coming months. The plan for the rest of the night is to go lay down and try to get some rest before the side effects from my chemo cocktail decide that it's time to party.

__________________________________________________________________

It's been a while since I shared some pics. Hope you enjoy....

2008-07-23T18:56:00.001-07:00

I hate looking in the mirror right now. I hate it...hate it...HATE it! Even more than I hate looking in the mirror, I hate looking at pictures of myself from just a few months ago. I barely remember the girl with the cute hair and body that was on its way to be in the best shape it had been since before cancer came a callin'. I felt good...and now I feel...and look...like hell. I look at other women my age...especially in Scottsdale...and it really pisses me off. I don't want to have sprouts for hair. I don't want to have acne (a lovely new side effect from chemo). I don't want my body to look like it does right now. I don't want to feel lousy...and tired...ALL the time. I'm sick of "you look better today" being code for "Yesterday?! YIKES!"

I was supposed to have had my last chemo treatment this week, but because of last week's "set back," I have two more. "Only 2 more," everyone says...

Yeah..."ONLY" 2 more (as in, I'm only going to hit you upside the head with this frying pan 2 more times...or you only have 2 more teeth that need root canals, and hey, let's just skip that Novocaine.)

Oh well, it is what it is...and right now there's pressing house business to attend to...The Duchess has the end of the toilet paper roll in her mouth and she is headed down the hall...

No Chemo For You...

2008-07-20T18:59:00.000-07:00

Only a brief post tonight...

I made my "debut" back into society on Saturday. My first extended trip out of the house in a week was spent with friends and it felt good to be with people I care about. Rich was also here this weekend, which makes life a lot more fun. Saturday night was a little rough...which meant I was in bed early and up late on Sunday, but as always...he handled it like a champ and was totally relaxed about the whole thing. The Duchess and I hated putting him back on a plane this evening for his return to Colorado...

The decision was made late last week that I would not be having chemo this week. Everyone is agreement that it would be pushing my body more than it needs to be right now. This week's purpose will be to build my strength and get ready for the last two treatments. I will go in for labs and some x-rays, but other than that, my orders are "rest...rest...rest." So, that's the plan.

Thank you for all the well wishes over the last months...and especially the last week. They've helped so much!

Catch you later this week...

Isolation...

2008-07-14T14:45:00.000-07:00

Today was supposed to be my second to last chemo appointment, however after the conversation with my Onc yesterday, I had a feeling that I knew exactly how today would play out...

I was right.

I started running a fever yesterday and by the time it reached 102, I thought I better touch base with the On-Call Doc. To my delighted surprise, it happened to be my doc, so I didn't have to spend the first 10 minutes of the call giving the Cliffs Notes version of my life. After some quality time together yesterday afternoon, he told me that he was concerned (which in doc lingo means..."Hey, let's run more tests!") and that it would be highly unlikely that I would receive a chemo treatment this week.

So, instead of chemo, I got a blood transfusion (the 2nd in 3 days)...a few more needle pokes...and a stern (and pretty scary) lecture from the doc. Bottom line...my already fragile immune system has taken a dive. I have a kidney infection (among other things) and am at risk of something "disastrous" happening if I'm not "incredibly, incredibly careful." What does that mean? It means that I've been sentenced to solitary confinement. Until further notice, I am in isolation and am supposed to avoid people...especially sick people...at all costs. Since I live alone, I can do "my time" at home...IF I promise to behave. If not...back to the hospital I go straight into one of those fun hospital rooms where no one can come in unless they are draped from head to toe and can do the secret handshake (which, of course, can't be executed, because I'm not supposed to be touching anyone!!!).

I am now "isolating" and working from home.

Physically...I'm not doing well.

Mentally...I'm doing even worse.

Good thoughts and prayers would be very much appreciated right now. I need them.

The Fear Factor

2008-07-10T18:53:00.000-07:00

My goodness…the "Letters to the Editor" regarding my last post were a bit harsh people! Many of you had very strong opinions about what I had to say…but, have you ever heard the saying "Don't judge me until you've walked in my shoes?"

In an effort to try to explain my aversion to painkillers, I offer the following…

There are those who joke about a Vicodin and a glass of wine being the perfect party. They pop the big white pill and suddenly all is right with the world. They are relaxed and comfortable…a little snooze here…a little giggle there. Not me. Give me a painkiller and I become more like one of the gang from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." I get jumpy and agitated. I've been known to have hallucinations (not the "groovy" kind) and even suffer full blown anxiety attacks. If you want proof, just ask Babs and my ex-husband who practically had to sit on me to keep me from walking out my hospital room door to freedom within hours of my hysterectomy. And, if I can get past all of that, there's the fact that they do a serious number on my already weak stomach and give me a pounding headache. Gee, I wonder why I would rather take my chances with the pain?!

As for pain, well, I'm lucky...I have a high tolerance for it. I know that Dr. Doty, one of my surgeons in California (at this point I have a medical entourage, people!), is still blown away about the episode in his office when he removed my mediport (I know this, because he brings it up whenever we have reason to chat). My mediport had been in for five years at that point and we were flirting with trouble, because there is a high risk of infection in and around the heart if they aren't flushed properly...and often enough. (Side bar...a mediport is a lovely little doo-dad that is implanted under your skin. It has a tube that feeds chemotherapy directly into your bloodstream via your heart) So, Dr. D. decides he wants it out...and that the procedure should be done in an operating room on a Friday afternoon. Unfortunately, I had plans to go to a concert that night and I wasn't going to miss it...so, we compromised. He got to take the mediport out...but it was done with me wide awake...in his office. When we agreed to this compromise, neither of us realized that muscle had grown around the mediport and that it was basically buried in my chest wall. After 10 shots to numb the skin around the area, I could still feel the scalpel as he began the procedure...but at this point I just wanted it over with so I stared at the ceiling quietly. At least 10 minutes later, as he was still trying to cut through the muscle, he looked down at me at said, "this has to be hurting you." My response, "Yes, actually, it hurts like hell." He stopped cutting, looked into my eyes and asked me how it was possible that I could be so "stoic." I think my response shocked him. I asked him exactly what would be gained by histrionics? If I cry...or scream...or shout...does it change the fact that this has to be done? Or, is my energy better spent on staying calm so that you can do what you need to do...as efficiently as possible? Then I said...and this is his favorite part of the story..."so get to cutting, Buddy!" Obviously, I survived...and three years later, I have a big hole in my chest complete with a lovely scar as memento of our "special" afternoon together.

So...we've established the fact that painkillers and Susan simply don't agree...and that I can tolerate a lot of pain...but, there's more to it than that...

There's fear.

Why would pain management be scary? I'm not sure that I can articulate this very effectively, but I'm going to try...

The only thing that cuts my pain and that I can semi-tolerate is morphine. That's the real deal people. A hardcore painkiller. When even "Superwoman" here can't handle the pain, I have morphine patches that I can use. So what's scary about that? How about the fact that every person that I have ever known that has died of cancer (and sadly I have known, and loved, many) has died with a morphine patch on his or her body. The regular application of morphine patches to minimize pain is usually a sign that the end is near. Can you understand how it might feel to know that you can't control the pain any longer...and that the patch is the only relief? Can you empathize with my fear that when I make the choice to put on the patch two...or three...or four...nights in a row that my "morphine coma" days may be closer than I think? Days when people that I love will be sitting beside me...holding my hand...wishing that I would just open my eyes...or say that I loved them...one more time.

Probably not, unless you've been there...and I have.

I sat beside, and held the hand of, one of the most important people in my life as she was dying of leukemia in 1998...a good year and a half before the Big "C" and I were personally introduced. I remember knowing that she wasn't in pain, because of the morphine...and being so glad...but also hating that little patch on her chest, because it was steeling the precious moments that I had left with my beloved Grandma Booth. I just wanted one more "I love you Suzikins." I so badly wanted her to acknowledge that she could hear me when I told her how much I loved her and how much she meant to me and our family. A magical life was coming to an end and I wasn't ready. None of us were ready. Just as I'm not ready for it to be me now...and I'm scared that if I can't control the need for "pain management"...it will be.

"And that's all I'm gonna say about that."

"Just The Facts Ma'am"

2008-07-08T18:39:00.000-07:00

It's almost the "Witching Hour" in the Valley of the Sun. At least it is for Duch and I. I always feel a great sense of accomplishment when I've been able to get up...and stay up until 7:00p.m. the night after chemo. Especially when the average sleep schedule on chemo night has been about 2 hours...and last night I didn't even come close that. As bad as the nights can be, though, I think that most would agree that I have held it together pretty well during the work day throughout this "experience." In fact, I would be willing to bet that most of the people who see me everyday have absolutely no idea how bad I really feel...and I'm glad. I try to keep a smile on my face, because not only does it help me...it helps them. When I'm about to "lose it" because of pain or nausea, I sneak away to the restroom or turn my back to my office door so that no one will know. Sometimes I just want to say, "Ok, that's it...I'm out...I have to go home and lay down," but I hold off as much as possible, because in a way that will make no sense to anyone I'm sure, it feels like admitting defeat. If I have to leave work, I feel like I am saying that cancer is stronger than me...and it can't be! I won't let it be!

I had a long conversation with my doc this evening. He knows that I am dealing with some pretty nasty pain and that I hate taking anything for it. He has also learned...in our short time together...that I can be a bit stubborn. After about 15 minutes of back and forth he snapped at me..."Hey Superwoman...I get it...your tough, but why exactly is it that you think you have to suffer? Don't you think you deserve some relief?"

Hmmm...I don't know. Is it true that I feel that I "have to" suffer? Do I not think that I deserve relief from pain? These are the questions that I am left to mull over...but not tonight. Tonight I am going to go crawl in bed...close my eyes...and pray for a peaceful and relatively pain free night...without any help from Dr. Feelgood.

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The latest test results are in...

The spinal tap showed no sign of Leukemia in my spinal or brain fluid...GREAT NEWS!

The number of Leukemia blasts had increased from the last test, so I've lost a little ground there...DISAPPOINTING.

I'm anemic and am waiting to hear when I get to go have some blood...

And, the docs feel that I am fighting an infection "somewhere," so they've put me on antibiotics (yes, I'm taking those drugs!)

Fair Dinkum...

2008-07-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday afternoon. The first Sunday afternoon that the Duchess and I have spent in our new pad. It feels good. I think we are going to be very happy here. We are settled and ready for business (I'm not exactly sure what type of business that Duch and I are going into, but knowing her it will be something illicit, so stay tuned for that!).

The goal for the move was to downsize and I did...with the exception of the new "Barbie" that found it's way to my patio and is now sitting there sadly waiting for its Aussie master to return in two weeks. I've learned over the last 10 days that literally EVERYTHING can be barbecued. Even Duchess started to get the picture after day 4 and kept her distance in the fear that she would be next!

Moving in Arizona in July isn't what most people would consider a good time, but as Rich said last evening when we were hanging out in the pool having a cocktail..."This trip...Bonzer, Mate" and I couldn't agree more. It was great...and things ARE great!

Don't get me wrong, I am quite aware that I am sitting here with sprouts for hair...and an extra 15 pounds that I didn't have a few months ago...and, yes, there have been substantial losses in my life over the last few months...but I woke up this morning...and God willing I will tomorrow, too. For that alone I should be thankful...and I am, but there is so much more to celebrate. My latest CT Scan showed good things...a shrinking tumor! This week's Spinal Tap will, too...I believe it...I feel it...I know it!

After this week's chemo treatment I should have two more standard treatments and one two day treatment...and then a break. For how long remains to be seen, but as I said...I believe...and I hope you will, too!

As for Fair Dinkum...after ten days with an Aussie you start saying things like brekkie (breakfast), cozzie (swimming costume..aka swimming suit. I know?! Isn't that awesome), trolley (shopping cart), but by far my favorite of the visit was "fair dinkum" which means real or genuine. And for the record, I was on my best behavior, because he only said, "Bloody hell, woman...you are stubborn" five times during the entire trip!

Until we meet again...

The Waiting...

2008-06-25T20:00:00.000-07:00

In the immortal words of Tom Petty (in ardent agreement by The Heartbreakers), "The Waiting is the Hardest Part." Truer words were never spoken. Well...perhaps they were...but that's a debate for another time. For the sake of this blog, we're pickin' up what Tom's puttin' down...capiche?!

Admittedly, I'm not a particularly patient person (I hear snickering from those who know me well...be nice!). I want things to happen...I expect things to happen...I make things happen...but I sincerely struggle with "waiting" for things to happen. This is true of most everything...most all of the time. When I say this, though, I'm not referring to the wait for a table at a restaurant on a busy Friday night...or waiting in line at the checkout stand. I'm talking about the milestones of life. The "big" moments.

My older and much wiser friends and mentors...and even the P's...have struggled with my impatience at times. I understand that things "don't happen overnight" and that they happen "in good time," but here's my problem with that argument on its most basic level...

What if I don't have time...good or otherwise?

I've always been a very goal oriented person. I've had a "5-Year Plan" in place since college and every year around my birthday the originally established goals are evaluated to see if they are still in-line with the "current me." Once kept in a three ring binder, the plan has now become a complex excel file with multiple pages broken down by weeks that feed into months that feed into years. So, it should make complete sense to you that until December 21, 1999, I considered my life "plan" something that would evolve over decades...

And then I am laying in a hospital bed in an emergency room in the middle of the night looking into the very scared eyes of my now ex-husband, but still dear friend, "waiting" for all the questions that are being asked and the tests that are being done to make sense. Deep down, I knew it before it was said...CANCER. Suddenly life becomes all about waiting. Waiting IN doctors offices, labs, emergency rooms, pre-op, post-op, hospital rooms...waiting FOR doctors, lab techs, nurses and test results. All the while, painfully aware that the life plan once plotted ala sundial is now being measured via stopwatch...and that the time is passing frighteningly fast. Precious moments are being lost and I'm sitting here...waiting.

I still have some of the same goals that pre-cancer Susan had (now I think I am a rapper or a professional athlete, because I am talking about myself in third person), but most have been replaced by things that are more in sync with who I am today. For example, owning a Rolex now has...hmmm...let me think...yep...ZERO interest. I want more experiences and less loot...more moments that will live on in the heart and mind of the people I love long after I am gone. I hope to make a difference in someones life...I hope to make a difference in YOUR life in some small way.

So, I guess the bottom line is this...I think that we can all agree that while patience is a virtue...it isn't mine...and as long as I have the big guy with the black cape and sickle chasing me (and he is), it never will be. My foot is on the gas...(just ask Officer Chavez of the California Highway Patrol) and when I wreck, it's usually a doozie...but when I don't, it's a hell of a ride!

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On Friday morning my next CT Scan is scheduled. I will have it...and then I will wait.

In Kansas...and in Arizona and Oregon...two families that are very special to me also wait. One for word on a lymph node biopsy and the other on the peaceful passing of a treasured Mother. Please keep them in your thoughts and prayers

Bitter...Party of One...

2008-06-21T16:04:00.001-07:00

With the temperature in Phoenix approaching 111 degrees, it hasn't been a bad day to be "stuck" in an air conditioned house preparing for a move. Today's task has been to tackle several boxes that have been stacked unopened in the guest bedroom closet since the move from California last July. I want to be rid of the "excess" in my life and so much of it is being housed in these boxes, and others like them, sprinkled throughout my Kansas, Arizona and California worlds. Today has been spent wading through history...and, let me just say that the walk down memory lane has been downright exhausting!

It's interesting the things we save, isn't it?! Not long ago I listened to a radio program hosted by a life coach who suggested that there should be nothing occupying space in our homes that didn't provide a feeling of peace and serenity when looked at by the owner. As I emptied boxes today I realized that I have been moving the dead weight in my life from place to place for far too long. I suddenly remembered why the remnants of past heartbreak were buried in the bottom of the boxes. It hurts to look at them...DUH! No peace and serenity there. As of today, they are G-O-N-E! The stash revealed pictures of people I don't even know and places I've never been...SEE YA! The 6 black, 5 brown, 3 blue and 2 red purses that I found were pretty impressive, especially given that I don't even carry a purse! But, by far the best discovery was the three full boxes of old x-rays, blood test results, hospital discharge papers, chemotherapy drug side effect information, DNR orders (Do Not Resuscitate for you folks lucky enough not to be in the "know"), Post-op orders, pamphlets entitled "How to Write a Will," funeral home fliers and hospice information.

I NEED THIS WHY????

Perhaps as a reminder, because there might be one minute of one day right now when I can actually forget that I have cancer?! Sure there is...if I haven't already looked down to see one of my 15 "reminders" (a.k.a. scars), or looked in the mirror to see nugget sans hair...all I have to do is walk outside and enjoy those nice stares and whispers ("I think she has cancer"...to which I always want to say "Ya think?!"...but, I digress). YEP...pretty much think I have this one covered without any help from the boxes. Out they go.

I'm feeling something here though...maybe a future in sales. Keep an eye on the Home Shopping Club or QVC, I just might do for old medical tests what Suzanne Somers did for the ThighMaster...

Today's special value is an x-ray of a chest tumor the size of football with fun "fingers" that wrap around the neck. Just look at the way it squeezes that heart. Comes complete with Radiologist's report that in layman's terms basically says, "Holy SHIT...She's SCREWED!" Act now and we'll throw in a Lymphangiogram report showing cancer EVERYWHERE. That's right folks, you can't beat the value here. Just at all those cancerous lymph nodes! But wait...there's more...

In the immortal words of the T-Shirt that I am wearing right now...

CANCER SUCKS!

Enough railing...I'm goin' swimmin'!

The Legacy of a Love Bug...

2008-06-19T19:27:00.000-07:00

I knew that Emma was sick. I also knew that at some point I would have to face life without her. I knew it…but, I wasn’t prepared for it. I don’t think you can ever be truly prepared to lose something or someone who is loved so dearly…even if the end is obviously and blindingly near. Humans just aren’t made that way…or maybe it’s just that I’m not made that way.

If you’ve never had a pet…or aren’t an animal person, you will never understand the profound feeling of loss…the deep ache that fills your entire body…when you are forced to say goodbye to an animal in your life. Those of you who have been there…and I know that so many of you have, because we’ve shared many a tear filled conversation over the last week…know all too well the void that is created in a family when a cherished pet is called to the Rainbow Bridge.

More than a week has passed since I lost Emma and the tears are now outnumbered by smiles as I recall the many wonderful memories that I have of my sweet girl. She was a treasure from the very beginning. A treasure…and a train wreck (just like her Mom), which made it very clear to me…and most around us…that she was born to be my dog.

In July 2001, Emma experienced the first of her many signature maladies…a sprained tail. The cause…excessive wagging and over-stimulation caused by her march in the Nottingham Way - 4th of July Parade. That was my girl! For a month the poor dear walked around with a droopy tail that still wagged furiously signaling to the world “Hey, I may be screwed up, but it’s all good.” I’ve used that motto myself several times in the last few years!

Emma’s great loves in life were people…food…and trying to hump her sister Duchess’ head. The latter being something that she did every morning precisely at 10:30a.m…seriously, you could set your clock by it! It was Chez Davenport’s version of the noontime whistle that used to blow in Wellsville when I was a kid. Some days Emma would be met with a fight and a growl…and others, by a very patient Duch who, with a look of disgust, seemed to say to herself, “just close your eyes and think of England.”

Her love of food often got her…and me…in trouble. If given the opportunity, she would eat every tomato off my tomato plants and she could do it in warp speed. If you happened to stumble upon the scene, you might liken the experience to watching a Japanese game show. There was hilarity…chaos…and great satisfaction in the end (at least on her part). Emma was the mastermind of some of the great food capers and played the staring role in one of my most embarrassing moments…

First let me just say, the San Jose Fire Department in San Jose, California, has some very nice looking firemen. Several of them used to hang out at the Starbucks by my house. They would sit out in front of the store and “inspire” women of all ages to drink coffee. On one morning, “the one” (you know who he is...the guy who makes your heart skip a beat when you see him, but you’ve never actually said a word to him) was sitting at one of the tables enjoying a piece of coffee cake. Emma, Duchess and I rounded the corner during our walk and Em caught sight of the cake…before I could stop her, she had her front paws buried in his crotch, his coffee cake swallowed and her slobber running down his arm. NICE! Needless to say, we shared a hearty guffaw and instantly fell in love. NOT! If I remember correctly, the exchange went something like, “Jesus lady, get control of that thing.”

When Emma started having health problems…and boy did she have health problems…there was no question that she and I would hang in together until the end. On more than one occasion her Vet made the comment that she was so lucky that I was her “Mom,” because most people would have had a dog like her put to sleep rather than deal with all the issues. Lucky for Em…I am NOT “most people”…and lucky for me…she was NOT just “any dog.”

Emma’s little body was defective, but guess what…so is mine. Her care was expensive and time consuming. ME TOO! She lost an ungodly amount of hair every day. Have you seen my melon lately?! She spent lots of time at the Emergency Vet. Ditto…my version is just called an Emergency “Room.” (By the way…there have been many times when I have compared notes that I know that Em was treated with more dignity and respect than I was during my emergent experience, but that’s a topic for another day.)

Here’s the thing, though…even with all her infirmities (blindness included) she was “all in” all the time. (Sound familiar?) Everything was new and exciting…everything was worth a sniff and a wag…and nothing was better than being with “her people.” Even in the end, when it was obvious that she had finally had “enough,” she lay curled up beside me on the bathroom floor and wagged her tail to show support as I succumbed to the side effects of all the good “juice” that is trying to keep me alive.

I miss the way that she would wonder around the yard bumping into things…her tail wagging happily, new nose prints on the wall as she navigated through the house and the way she smelled when she was curled up on her bed snoring and I snuggled my face into her stomach. I miss the sound of her toenails on the wood floor, the chorus of barking that would accompany the word “breakfast” or my arrival home and the way that she could never get close enough to me. I miss that when I cried, she would come rest her head on my leg and let out a heavy sigh. I miss that when I packed a suitcase she would pull things out and put her “babies” in. I miss the way that her head would cock to one side when I talked to her about my day. I miss HER.

Emma’s ashes are home now with Duch and I just as it should be and we are learning how to be Lucy and Ethel instead of Larry, Curly and Moe. It’s been an adjustment for both of us, but we’re going to be ok. To celebrate the incredible gift of Emma’s life, I decided that there could be no more fitting tribute than to become a “Basset Angel” for a sick basset in need of medical attention. As I looked through the tears at all of the bassets that were waiting to be sponsored on the Arizona Basset Rescue website, I knew immediately when I came to one special girl that something “larger” was at play. One of my nicknames for Em was “Emma Jean Du Pree, if you Please” (don’t ask, because I have absolutely no idea!)...there before me on the computer screen was the sweet face of a basset girl who had been found abandoned in the desert named Imogene. And now, as I will be Imogene's angel...Emma Jean Du Pree will be mine.

The Game...

2008-06-17T18:13:00.000-07:00

I’m going nuts. I’m not quite at full blown mental illness, but I am certainly teetering on the edge. The sharks are circling. I see them…I can feel them. I’ve always had this theory that there is very little that separates the functional member of society from the guy that you meet walking down the street who is yelling at no one…or everyone. In my mind, all it takes is the right sequence of events and you…or I…could be “that guy.” Over the last week, I feared that I was dangerously close to becoming “that guy.”

My recent personal inventory identified the following "areas of concern"...I'm a 38 year old bald chick with an addiction to Baskin-Robbins ice cream who talks to her dead dog’s ashes and is raising a serial killer. I realize that the last statement is quite shocking, but if the bird population suddenly becomes endangered in Scottsdale, Arizona, there can only be one culprit...Duchess Davenport. She’s the one! I’ve had seven dead birds in the backyard in one week. I am waiting for the CNN trucks to roll up in the cul-de-sac and to see my neighbors being interviewed on Anderson Cooper 360…”We had no idea. She seemed so normal…just a mild-mannered fat dog.”

I’ve tried to reason with her, but she just looks at me with “tone” as if to say…”Listen Lard Ass, you have your pajamas and Baskin-Robbins…I have the ability to kill…afterall, isn't it just about making it through the night?!" The answer to this very thought provoking question raised by my canine kid is, of course, "No." No, it isn't JUST about "making it through" the night...or day...or week...or month...or year. It's about being fully present in your life...every moment...being able to walk through the sting that comes with every blow and being ready to rejoice in and celebrate the victories (both large and small) that are sure to follow.

How do you do this when seemingly every time you raise your head to see if the coast is clear...BAM?

Don't ask me! I clearly don't know or I wouldn't have spent the week with my head buried in a carton of ice cream, but I do know that if you are lucky, you have people in your life that swoop in...in any number of ways...when you are standing on the edge...just above the sharks...headed down the path to becoming "that guy"...who are able to pick you up...dust you off...and push you...GENTLY...back into the game.

To Rich, Katie, Mary, Deb, Amy, Boob, Ursula, Patricia, Sandra, Mom, Dad, Pam, Nancy, Larry, Chris, Lori, Bev, Don, Greg, Lynn, Jane, Lesley, Leslie, Jerry, Auntie A, Nicole and the great folks at the Lance Armstrong Foundation...THANKS FOR THE PUSH!!!

Game on....

2008-06-15T14:29:00.000-07:00

It's Father's Day...I wish I was hanging out with my Dad (and Mom) watching the Celtics game...but I'm not...I'm sitting at my desk in my house in Scottsdale amongst a sea of half packed boxes (I'm moving in a couple of weeks) with the basketball game playing in the background instead...and it's Sunday night...the dreaded Sunday night.

I've been sitting here trying to make myself write something that will provide everyone with the reassurance that they need that I'm "ok" given the events of last week. The reality is, though, that I just don't have it in me. I'm not "ok." I'm sad...I'm tired...my body hurts and my spirit is deeply bruised (not broken, but definitely deeply bruised). Mostly, I just ache...especially in my heart.

I put Richard on a plane a few hours ago to go back Colorado. I miss him. It was better when he was here...I was better when he was here. He spoiled Duchess and I this weekend... I was able to really cut loose and laugh for the first time since Tuesday...and he was here to hold me after Emma's ashes were delivered on Saturday. Now he's gone and the house feels very lonely with him...and without Em. I know Duchess would agree if she weren't busy chasing birds in the backyard.

Tomorrow is, of course, chemo day. La-dee-freakin-da. I should also get results of last Thursday's bone marrow biopsy (another high spot to the wonder that was last week) and then have an idea about how we are doing on the Leukemia fightin' front.

I know that "this too shall pass." I also know that I have much to be grateful for...especially the fact that my Mom is doing well after her cardiac "makeover" on Tuesday morning. In addition, I remain blessed and inspired by my incredible family and friends. I truly appreciate your support and for the comments that you post, the emails you send and the calls you make. And, finally, I am thankful for a family reunited on "The Loop" (that's my "hood" in San Jose). Enjoy the time together Rhoads/Nguyen Family! (Cpt. Rhoads has been in Afghanistan for six months and will return after a short visit home with his family - wife, Patricia and daughter, Sydney).

I Am Him...And He Is Me...

2008-06-11T18:32:00.000-07:00

On a hot and humid July day in 1982, a crowd gathered in downtown Kansas City. With each tic of the clock, the crowd grew more restless. The moment was at hand…not just a moment…THE moment…Rick Springfield tickets would soon be on sale. And there… among the throng of screaming teenage girls…stood one man…my Dad.

I can’t speak from first hand experience on what that day was like, because I wasn’t there. I was at home…actually, at the Wellsville Municipal Swimming Pool…totally unaware that my Dad had decided to surprise his 12 year old daughter (and Rick Springfield Fan Club Member) with tickets to her first concert.

That wasn’t the first…nor was it the last…on the list of “Really Cool Things” my dear Dad (Jay Saner) has done for me since I joined the Jay and Babs Show 38 years ago…almost 13 years into what is now a 50 year marriage. And, there was no doubt then…as there is no doubt now…I am my father’s daughter.

I know that there have been times that my Mom has watched in bewildered awe as my Dad and I have shared a post game tear, because of an emotional comeback story…or placed ten phone calls to each other during the course of one KU basketball game…or unnerved fellow shop patrons by performing our own personal song and dance numbers complete with costumes that we found on Aisle 5…or by getting riled up about things that we had absolutely no control over and not being the least bit interested in that fact when she tried to bring it to our attention. That’s just what “we” do…that’s who “we” are.

Now having said that, “we” know that not everything about “us” is champagne and roses…we’ll admit that. We can be moody…we expect a lot out of others (but not more than we expect out of ourselves)…we can throw a good tantrum from time to time…we hate to lose (and hate it even more when “our” teams do…especially those Jayhawks)…and, we are prone to great fits of worry about and over things that MIGHT or MIGHT NOT happen. But, I hope in the end, that others will agree with our assessment that there is more good than bad in the wonderful…and complex…recipe of what makes us…”us.”

My Dad’s is the voice inside my head when I am trying to make a tough decision. His are the arms that always reach out to me, because I know he can never get too many of my hugs. When I call the P’s house and I hear “Hi Suzie” or “Hi Suz” in only the way that he can say it, I know that everything…no matter what “it” is…is ultimately going to be ok. And even though at 38 I now realize that Daddy’s can’t make it “ALL better” the way that we thought they could when we were little girls, I know that MY Daddy makes my world a better place and that I am so lucky that he’s mine.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy-o…and remember, “There’s no substitute for speed!” ;-) I love you!

P.S. Thanks for loving my canine kids as much as I do and for being equally destroyed when we had to say goodbye to one of them. Our phone call right after I lost Emma is one that I will cherish always. You always know just what to say when I have a broken heart and I thank you.

Emma-Roo-Pooper-Doo (10/3/00 – 6/10/08)

Thank you to all of you for your support during this week’s sad events. On Tuesday, my sweet basset girl Emma went into renal failure due to complications from Lymphoma (yes, I am well aware of the irony). I held her in my lap, squeezed her and talked to her…and big sister, Duchess, licked her face….as she took her final breath. It was a gift to be with her when she made the transition from this life to the next, but the void left by her passing is immeasurable right now.

Stay tuned for a future post dedicated to the life and times of one of the world’s greatest ‘basket” hounds.

2-4-6-8...Soy Bacon Tastes So Great...

2008-06-08T13:59:00.001-07:00

Big day at Rancho de Davenport. I've been cooking. Yes, cooking...(that loud "thud" you just heard was my Mother hitting the floor from the sheer shock of it). I've decided that I am going to try to be a good little cancer patient and eat more healthfully. I just finished my third dandy tome that has me convinced that everything that I like to eat and drink is "toxic," so I am poised on the platform of "if you want to live to next Tuesday" preparing to board the last train to "I know it has no taste, but it's good for you so shut up and eat it."

I have no doubt that my cart at the grocery store this morning gave me away as the newest member of the "Scared Shit-less Brigade"...either that or perhaps it was the mob of Scottsdale's finest triathletes who were preparing to riot in the organic food section, because they were stuck behind the puffy bald chick who was trying to figure out the difference between steel cut oats and millet. Either way, it was ugly and not a scene I wish to repeat!

I understand that I have had cancer for a loooonnnnggg time and that I should have had this figured out long before now, but can't we just pretend that all the chemicals in the Diet Coke that I so desperately love may have just kept me alive to this point?! Come on, people...WORK WITH ME HERE! It's really not that much fun thinking about or admitting to myself that the choices that I have made may have led me to a clandestine date with the big C...again.

So, if having a future means that I need to learn to blanch vegetables and rid myself of all things toxic in my life, it seems like a small price to pay. Oh please! Who am I kidding?! It will be anything but "a small price to pay." It's going to be tough and it's going to require focus and dedication, but I dare say that most of you have seen me in action when I want something...I mean REALLY want something...

And I really, really...REALLY want to live.

Chemo Update...

Tomorrow is treatment number two for the AML (Acute Myeloid Leukemia). I can already feel the impact of treatment number one on my lungs, so I am a bit apprehensive about the week ahead.

After last week's chemo I ran a fever all week. It averaged around 101 and at one point got up to 103.7. My temp has been normal today which I attribute to the fact that my day yesterday consisted pretty much of moving from the pool float to the couch to my bed. It sounds like a great day, right? I wish that I could say that it was...it is very frustrating when no matter how hard you try you just can't muster the energy to do anything else...especially when you aren't known for your ability to just kick back and relax. Oh crap...you mean I am going to have to eat soy bacon AND learn how to relax...Jeez, kick a girl when she's down why don't you!!

My Friends...

2008-06-05T17:06:00.000-07:00

“Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends”

W.B. Yeats

Friendship…the divine and magical mystery. It usually begins in the most innocuous of ways…perhaps through a shared experience…or as a word of solidarity between strangers said at just the right time…or maybe as the result of a random act…or sometimes “just because.” The one thing about friendship that is universally true, though, is that once you have made a friend, you are forever changed.

Listen to and watch people…any story that begins with, “My friend….” is usually accompanied by a smile. That smile is the nonverbal clue to the rest of the world that the person you are about to speak about has changed a life. They’ve made a moment richer…or more beautiful…or easier to bear. They’ve been a partner in crime…an instigator…a cheerleader…a pillar of strength…a shoulder to cry on…or a listening ear. They’ve made someone or something better just by sheer fact that they are in the world. Can there be anything more powerful than that?

How blessed am I that I can say “My friend…” and apply that moniker to men and women all over the world?! I have the good fortune to say that my friends come in all shapes and sizes…they transcend age, gender, race and sexual preference…some have been in my life for years and years AND years…and some, just a short time. Each friendship is unique and special, born in a different way and for a different reason…and some friendships have grown out of relationships that originally had another form (i.e. employer/employee…teacher/student…or perhaps someone who was a “grown up” when I was a “kid”). My friendships, including those that I share with my P’s and the rest of my family, are what makes me most proud and bring me the most joy. They are what have made me push on when I didn’t want to…laugh when all I wanted to do is cry…and believe that love (in all it’s forms) does indeed conquer all.

My Friend...

Today…and everyday…I am thankful for the divine and magical mystery that brought you into my life. Thank you for the lessons you’ve taught me and the storms that you’ve helped me weather (there’ve been a few beauties, haven’t there?! :-) ). Thank you for making me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt, for being there when I needed you, for leaving me alone (but never allowing me to feel alone) when you knew that’s what I wanted and for giving me tough love, too. Thank you for letting me do it “my way” and live my life on my terms…and for never saying “I told you so” when it would have been so easy to do. Thank you for opening my heart, my eyes and my mind to all the possibilities in the world.

I am blessed that you have allowed me to be one of the characters in your life story and hope that often one of our memories – past, present or future – will inspire a smile and story that begins, “My friend Susan and I…”

"Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours."- Ludwig van Beethoven

Rest in Peace, My Friends - In loving memory of Debbie Doty and Darla Ellis Dong.

Sunday...Bloody Sunday...

2008-06-01T17:07:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday evening...I hate Sunday evening. I always have...but at this stage in the game Sunday evenings fill me with gut wrenching dread. Tomorrow is chemo day. I hate chemo day even more than I hate Sunday evenings!

Some of you have been surprised by the fact that I hate chemo day even more than the days following. I guess the only explanation that I have is that there's so much pressure on chemo day. That's the day you sit in the comfy leather chair and they fill your veins with the "magic potion" that's going to save your life...and when you feel the burning...and the metallic taste in the back of your throat you try not to think about the fact that you might be going through all of this for nothing...and that it might not work...and that...well, I think you get the picture.

When I went in for my CT Scan, MRI and cardiac tests on Thursday, I saw a fellow chemo patient in the hall with a shirt that said:

"Like I've been hit by a F@#king truck, but thanks for asking"

Classic! It made me laugh out loud. We stopped to talk and exchange a hug. I've also seen a girl with multiple piercings sporting a shirt that says "I'm making cancer my Bitch." That one makes me laugh, too...especially when I think of Babs reaction if I went out into the world in that one! I remember the horror she experienced when I was in college and she spotted me wearing a T-shirt depicting a Jayhawk doing "inappropriate" things to a Missouri Tiger. I recall a speech about being a lady...

The news from the CT scan and MRI wasn't good. No change in the tumor on my leg. It hasn't spread though, which is a good thing! The next round of tests on my leg will be the end of June. In mid-June, I am going to have a bone marrow biopsy and some follow up testing to see if we are making any headway on the Leukemia.

Physically I've actually felt better this week, which is nice. My only complaints are feeling totally wiped out (I was in bed last night at 7:30) and dealing with some pretty nasty pain in my leg, hips and spine. To combat the pain I've been spending as much time as possible in the pool and that helps. I've tried to get the canine kids to join me for a swim...there is NO interest!

As I close, I want to send out a message to my fellow iTunes users. There is a song called "Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow" by Wideawake that I'd like to turn you on to. The song was written by one of the band members as a reaction to a friend's cancer diagnosis and to Lance Armstrong winning his 6th Tour de France. In his words, "This song is dedicated to my friend and the millions of people affected by cancer. Those who we've lost, and those who survive, fight, volunteer, support, research, raise awareness, give and inspire.

Give it a listen...it's my new favorite song! 100% of the proceeds from the sale of the song go to the Lance Armstrong Foundation (livestrong.org)...

LIVESTRONG...and have a great week!

GUILTY! But, she swears she didn't do it?!?! Perhaps she was framed?

2008-05-26T10:01:00.000-07:00

"Why, I say, would I ever have bitterly blamed (my body) for such trifles as I have blamed it for: for having too much flesh in this spot, too little muscle in that, for producing this wrinkle, that sag, that gray hair, or this texture? Dear body! My dear body! It has gone about its incessant business with very little thanks."

Janet Burroway

How many times in the last year...hell, the last 20 years...ok, perhaps it was actually the last 30 years...have I stood in front of the mirror and cursed my body?! Too fat (never, shockingly enough, too thin)...too round...too many scars...too white...too red...too blotchy...too tall...too short (all of which at some point or another has applied to my height, my hair, my nails, my legs, my arms...). How many have I cursed it for "letting me down" and allowing cancer to infiltrate not once...not twice...how many times have I hated it (and I do mean hated it), when in actuality I should have been celebrating the strength and power it has taken to wage war for this long?! I'm ashamed...

And yet, here I am again...bartering with my embattled body for a future...for a few more years...no, strike that, a few more GOOD years...

I'm sick...

I know...I know...NEWSFLASH...but, it's more than we thought. The Leukemia, which had been in check, has decided not to be out done by the new tumor in town and has reared it's very ugly head. We've added a new (old) drug to the chemo protocol, which means any hope that I had of keeping my hair is gone...as is my hair...as you can see.

I'm actually quite relieved to hear about the Leukemia, at least now I am in a battle I know how to fight (Leuk and I have been "frenemies" for the last five years) and I have an explanation other than "you have cancer, dear" for the reason that I am black and blue from head to toe and am so tired all the time.

At this point, I don't know if this latest "blip" will impact the current projected chemo end date (July 21) or not. I should know more this week. I have a CT Scan, MRI and some cardiac function tests scheduled for Thursday.

That's all for now.

I'm fine...

really...

sick, bald and not happy about it...

but fine none the less!

There's No Place Like Home...There's No Place Like Home...

2008-05-21T18:15:00.000-07:00

As we sat together and laughed on a beautiful May afternoon in Kansas, it was difficult for me to imagine that I hadn’t seen many of these people in 20 years. 20 YEARS! How is it possible that when last we were together, we were 17 and 18 year olds thinking about the last summer of freedom before we headed off to college or jobs or both?!

Let’s be honest, 20 years ago I wanted nothing more than to get out of the small Kansas town where I grew up. The start of my freshman year at the University of Kansas couldn’t come fast enough for me. I was ready to get on with it and I knew that my days in Kansas would be numbered…and they were…I haven’t actually been a resident of Kansas since 1991.

In the almost 17 years since I pulled out of Wellsville, Kansas on a hot and muggy August day bound for California, I’ve lived in some amazing places (on a sailboat in two of the most beautiful harbors in the world being two of them)…had some incredible experiences…met some awesome (and not so awesome) people…and created a life that I am, for the most part, very proud of and happy with.

The reality for me is that I lived in California almost as long as I lived in Kansas, but I’ll never be a true Californian…I’m a Kansan and I always will be. Kansas is home…and last Saturday as the Wellsville High School Class of 1988 celebrated our 20th High School Reunion, it sure felt good to be home!

You can’t grow up in a town like Wellsville and not expect it to shape who you are and I don’t think you can truly appreciate the wonderful aspects of it until you are an adult and/or are facing a personal life crisis. When you suddenly start receiving cards of support from people saying things like “you don’t know me, but I was a friend of your Grandma Easta,” you begin to "get it." Small town folks look out for and take care of their own…and once you’ve lived there... or if your P’s still do...you are one of them. There's no better place to be when the chips are down and your back is against the wall…on that, I speak from experience!

This post is dedicated to the WHS Class of 1988, all my peeps from Wellsville and to my fellow Kansans everywhere.

You can take the girl out of Kansas, but you can’t take the Kansas out of the girl…THANK GOD for that!

Health Update…

This week’s treatment was particularly brutal. I am now severely anemic…had one round of blood on Tuesday and am waiting for the next round tomorrow or Friday. I spent the entire day Monday in bed feeling sick and sorry for myself. Tuesday I came to work and spent time with one of my favorite people. He’s a Montana guy and basically told me to “Cowboy Up.” I needed that. Next week we will be doing CT Scans and an MRI to see if we are making any progress. There BETTER be progress!

It’s been over 105 degrees here, so I’ve been spending evenings in the pool. Even at 38 I can still do a mean handstand into forward somersault! The dogs are especially impressed…especially the blind one!

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In the End...

2008-05-13T19:27:00.000-07:00

Everything will be okay in the end.

If it's not okay,

It's not the end...

I found that saying on a card in a little shop in Boulder, Colorado last weekend and I loved it. I am trying desperately to believe it, because things most definitely do not feel okay right now. I've been doing the whole cancer "scene" long enough that all of this should be old hat...not sure what makes this different, I just know that it is.

I've finished three of 12 chemo treatments now. My guts hurt...I'm puffy...my hair is falling out...I'm in pain...blah, blah, blah...bitch...bitch...bitch. I need rest, but I can't sleep and that gets old. If I'm not watching Sportscenter for the 4th time in a row, I'm listening to Basset Hounds snore (an awesome sound by the way...I highly recommend it!). Why not read a book you might ask? Well, one of the great side effects from some of the chemo drugs is that they make your eyes fuzzy and it can be hard to focus. I try to save my eyes for the work day and even then I sometimes struggle to read the computer.

The weekend in Colorado with Rich was, as always, great...he's the real deal. He spent an hour circling buffalo for me so that I could get just the "right" pic. Who does that?! He took me to Lakewood so that I could see the first house that the P's and I lived in after I made my debut in the world 38 years ago. We watched movies and ate bland food (ok, perhaps it was me who ate the bland food). We cruised around on the Harley and discussed the finer points of his dusting prowess...oh wait, he has no dusting prowess...

He makes me laugh...he gets me...and...let's face it...everything just sounds better when said with an Australian accent! But there's one thing even better than the Aussie accent...

He thinks that I'm the real deal, too.

P.S. How about that Buffalo pic?!?! ;-)

Nobody Does It Better...

2008-05-08T18:45:00.001-07:00

You know those Mothers and Daughters that you see walking through the mall? The ones who look alike...and sound alike...and dress alike...and laugh alike...? Know the ones I am talking about? They skip gaily through life talking about boys and TV shows and capri pants and the great little place they just got a mani/pedi (that's a manicure and pedicure for those of you of the male persuasion)... Well, that's not Barbara (or as I like to call her "Babs") and I. Babs and I are the "other" ones.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that we don't have a great time together and get along famously, because we do...or at least now we do...there were a few...ok several...moments during my teen years that I am pretty sure we wanted to kill each other and might have if left unattended by Jay for any extended period of time. Now, however, she is more than my Mom...she's my friend...I dig her, but I've often wondered if there were times that Babs looked at me and thought, "I know I carried the child, but I think DNA testing might be in order."

You see, Babs is everything I'll never be. She can bring home the bacon...and fry it up in a pan. Ok, bad analogy, bacon is actually one of the things that I can cook...one of the few. Not Babs... bacon at her house is something added to another glorious culinary concoction. Bacon at my house? Dinner.

The Saner home is impeccable. Mine is only impeccable when Babs comes to visit...and only then, because she has made it so. The woman could leave for the hospital at 5:00a.m. looking fabulous...be in surgery all day and come home looking equally so...and then manage to make dinner and put order in the lives of my Dad and I. How did she do it? If I can get two basset hounds fed and make it through lunch without some sort of stain on me, I feel like I am having a banner day.

Notoriously calm, Babs hardly ever loses her cool (if she starts whistling through her nose, though, TAKE COVER!). I, on the other hand, have been the star of some pretty sweet meltdowns in my day. She lives in reality, while I spend most of my time thinking about possibilities and "what ifs." She's a talented crafter, gardner, singer and artist. Me? Hmmm...no, no, so-so and definitely no. She's Mary Tyler Moore to my Rhoda...Shirley to my Laverne...Linda Evans to my Joan Collins...

But, the great thing about my Mom and me is that we almost always seem to be able to meet in the middle...and when we can't, we have Designer Shoe Warehouse!

In honor of Mother's Day, I want to dedicate this post to my dear Mom (Barbara Booth Saner...aka Babs). My Dad always told me that girls could do anything...my Mom proved it. I love you Mom!

In other news... ;-)

Two weeks of chemo have already done a number on my stomach. I have two ulcers and an upper GI infection, which means that 95% of what I eat right now comes right back up. I'm struggling!

Headed off to Colorado for the weekend with my divine Aussie (Rich). YEA! This will be one of my last chances to do any traveling before my counts no longer allow it. Fingers crossed that my stomach and the pain that I have been having are managable.

Rich & I - Boulder, Colorado (March 2008)

Fine...

2008-05-06T16:21:00.000-07:00

Well, chemo appointment number 2 is in the books…and I’m irritated. Perhaps my irritation stems from the fact that I haven’t kept any food in my stomach since the end of last week…or perhaps it comes from the fact that I have a pain in my bones that I can’t even begin to describe…or perhaps it’s because I’ve worked out consistently 5 days a week since last September and, yet, was barely able to manage walking for 30 minutes on the treadmill last night before I left the gym disgusted and in tears. Or… perhaps I am just irritated, because I am really, really, REALLY sick of this shit!

So, let’s be honest, we’ve all been there…no matter what we have going in our lives, we all reach a point when we say enough…E-N-O-U-G-H! But then…like the good little peoples we are… we remind ourselves that there is always someone who has it worse than we do…someone who is more sick…or more sad…or more poor…or more tired…or more angry…but, after we do the mental math on what could actually be worse than the situation we currently find myself ourselves in, do we actually feel better?

I understand the premise behind this exercise. It doesn’t hurt, from time to time, to be reminded of the importance of gratitude for all the good in our lives, but today, I am calling “BULLSHIT” on the whole thing and I am going to whine, because dammit, I’ve earned it…

I am sick of having cancer.
I am sick of growing hair…cutting hair…and losing hair.
I am sick of being poked, scanned, x-rayed, biopsied, transfused and treated.
I am sick of throwing up…feeling like I am going to throw up…or wishing that I could throw up.
I am sick of wondering exactly how many times you can “beat” cancer.
I am sick of causing my family and friends so much worry.
I am sick of thinking about wills, funerals, assets and debt.
I am sick of watching my financial livelihood go to hospitals, doctors and labs.
I am sick of worrying about what happens to the people (and animals) that I love if something happens to me.
I am sick of not being able to go or do what I want, because my “counts” won’t allow it.
I am sick of being tired and yet not able to sleep.
I am sick of taking “just one more” medication.
I am sick of PAIN.
I am sick of hearing some asshole who has absolutely no clue (because he has never actually had it done) say “This will only hurt for a second.”
I am sick of hearing “Paging Dr. Brown. Dr. Dan Brown please call 227.” (This is not a joke…Dr. Dan Brown gets paged in every damn hospital that I have ever been to…who the heck is this guy?!)
I am sick of nuking myself and then walking out the hospital doors through the smoking section to get to my car. (Does this seem like a good system to anyone?!)
I am sick of turning the simple task of putting on body lotion into a body inventory that usually ends with “What in the hell is that?”
I am sick of old scars...new scars and knowing that there will be future scars.
And, I am sick…to death…of saying “I’m fine.”

Now, having said all that, what is it that I am going to do about any or all of the above? Answer, not a darn thing. It is what it is…but, today, I don’t have to like it…and I don’t...not one single bit!

What I do like, however…and appreciate more than you will EVER know…is all the wonderful notes and calls of encouragement and support that I have received from my incredible support system. I have an awesome family and amazing friends (all over the world). Please know that I honor and cherish each of you and know that I am here today in large part because of you!

As I close my little rant for the day, you may wonder how I'm doing????

"I'm Fine!"

The Humiliation Factor...

2008-05-04T09:06:00.000-07:00

Here's a little gem that the docs don't tell you when you prepare to do battle with cancer...

"Prepare to be humiliated."

Now what, you say, could possibly be humiliating about battling cancer?! Those of you who have been there know exactly what I am talking about...it's not the cancer that is humiliating, it's the side effects that come with the treatment! Any shred of cool you thought you were going to maintain after the diagnosis...well, let's just kiss it goodbye, shall we, because it's...G-O-N-E!

I had my first chemo treatment last Monday, so in theory this weekend should have been a walk in the park! Not so, my friends! The humiliation factor was out in full force at my house and I found myself thinking on more than one occasion, thank God I live alone! You know it's bad when you have two basset hounds looking at you like..."JE-SUS, what the hell is wrong with you?!" (Well, actually, one of them was looking at me...the other was staring at the wall (she's blind), but I know she was thinking it!).

Today is a better day though. We (my multiple personalities and I) like those! I actually kept pudding down this morning and I am going to throw caution to the wind and meet a friend for lunch. Don't tell me that I don't live on the edge!

But enough about that garbage...lots talk about what's really important...

1. A horse had to be destroyed a horse at the Kentucky Derby yesterday:

I've been sick about this since I read it online last night. It's so sad...and so wrong. I hate horse racing. If I were a horse (keep comments to yourself, please ;-)) I would have been destroyed a long time ago. This really hurts my heart.

2. The rooster who lives behind me is broken:

He cock-a-doodle-doos at 3:30 in the morning! I think he secretly longs to live on a farm in upstate New York or somewhere on the eastern seaboard.

3. Mindy, the missing dog from the neighborhood has returned home...PREGNANT!

Mindy has been gone for a month. She was returned to her owners last Thursday and now they are going to be grandparents. I think Mindy fell in with the wrong crowd, she was always such a good girl before! Spay and neuter your animals!!

4. The Kansas Jayhawks are the National Champs!

I watched the game again last night...and guess what?! THEY STILL WON! I don't care how bad I feel physically, watching that game always feels good! Rock Chalk Jayhawk!

5. Tomorrow is chemo day...

I flippin' HATE chemo day!

Enjoy the rest of your weekend! I'll leave you with this...

"Don't prepare for the worst to happen, prepare for the best to happen!"

-S

In the beginning...ok, not the beginning...just today...

2008-05-03T08:57:00.000-07:00

So here it is, my friends…the long awaited Blog. Ok, maybe not so long awaited, but here it is none the less! This Blog is being created based on the suggestion of many of you who know that I love to write and have enjoyed some of the experiences that I have shared via email writings in the past. I truly hope that you enjoy it…and if you don’t, the great thing about it is that you don’t HAVE to read it. Isn’t freewill a beautiful thing?!

I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t love to write. I have scores of journals in which I poured my heart out…dreamed of exciting adventures that I would take…and professed my love for Rick Springfield…or Simon LeBon of Duran Duran…or Mark Turgeon…or, a few other less famous boys who shall remain nameless. In high school, I wrote a weekly column in the Eagle Cry (my high school newspaper) called Claire’s Corner (news to some of you…my middle name is Claire)…I guess, in a way, this is the same thing…20 years later. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since 1988, but really, the most substantial difference between that person and the one who is writing this today is that I went from being an 18 year old who was eager to live…to a 38 year old who is fighting desperately to stay alive…and, that certainly changes your perspective on things! Lucky for me, to this point, I have been doing a damn good job of it and have been thoroughly enjoying the journey along the way!

So, there’s a taste of the past…we’ll be visiting there again I’m sure. I don’t believe that you fully understand who and where you are now without looking at where you’ve been…but, for the sake of getting this baby started, let’s talk about today.

Today I am 38 and a half…and about to celebrate my first year as a Phoenician after sixteen years in the San Francisco Bay Area. I am forever tied to the wonderful family that I have and the incredible friends that I made there. Most of the major events of my adult life…at least to this point…either happened there or as a result of me being there, so a piece of me will always be in the Bay Area…no matter where I roam.

In fact, it was at about 2:00a.m.eight and a half years ago at Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Gatos, California, when I heard the words that would forever change my life…”You have cancer.” Since that night at Good Sam, I’ve heard a variation of those words three more times, most recently about two months ago. And, now I find myself locked in yet another battle with the big “C”…a battle that has raged on for 8 years and one that I grow increasingly tired of fighting…

But, what’s the alternative? Lie down and die? I don’t think so! I’ve got too much to do…too much to see…too much life left to live. And, although, medical professionals much smarter than I seem to constantly disagree with me…I’M NOT DEAD YET!

So...I think that gets us started for today. I can't promise that this blog will always be upbeat and funny, let's face it, none of us feel that way 100% of the time no matter what is going on in our lives...nor can I say that it will be serious or full of enlightenment (you know me better than that! I'm full of "it" (add your own S-H) most of the time). What I can promise is that I will write from my heart and hope that in some way what comes of this will make you laugh...think...cherish your own life...question why things are the way they are...and realize that this is my life...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Welcome to my world...don't forget to put on a helmet and safety goggles...it's a jungle in here!