Warrior's Dash Overview!

I thought it might be helpful to debrief my Warrior's Dash experience so anyone out there curious about fundraising for St. Jude could follow these hints in the future.

If everyone who donated to my campaign was able to go out and run their own course, we could all raise $4,500 for St. Jude!

(I should also say that this post will be a preview for my upcoming reveal of the winners of the promised baked goods! I plan to send them out in time for the Holidays)

In terms of training, I knew I was already comfortable running a 5K so I really had to focus on my upper body strength and ability to alternate between jogging and other feats of strength (to put it in more epic terms). The community park outside my house was perfect for that kind of practice. I would jog halfway around the block, run up the bleachers or do jumping jacks, and then run over the picnic tables after completing the whole cycle. It actually prepared me pretty well so I felt strong and confident heading to the race.

For a race this complicated, everything was really well organized. We drove far out into the country, parked, and took a muddy school bus to the starting line.  Because I had fundraised enough money, I was able to drop my things off at the St. Jude tent and get situated. 

If possible, I would *fully* recommend doing this race with other people. Not only would it be incredibly fun with a little gang of comrades (dressed as ninja turtles or where's waldo as some examples), it would be difficult to manage the many bags of extra clothes, cell phones, etc without a helper. My mother was such a champion coming with me so that worked out perfectly. It's still perfectly feasible to run the race alone but I would get to the fairground earlier to really figure out the system for checking bags etc.

I got situated at the starting line and then balked when the announcer said the following:

OKAY Warriors! Usually our courses take 45 minutes to complete on average. This one is running at about an hour of EXTRA INTENSITY! I've been told it's a rough one so lets get pumped up.

At that moment I lost all the confidence I had earned by hopping over bleachers for the past few months. I wasn't sure I could complete every single obstacle, not to mention a race that was even tougher than the norm. Luckily I didn't have too long to think about it because the buzzer sounded, flames rose into the air, and we were off to the races.

Now I immediately realized that if I were able, I would have done a ton more trail and hill training. Unfortunately/ fortunately I live in one of the flattest places imaginable so the biggest hill available is a slight bump that forms a pedestrian bridge over the highway....

That meant that the unstable footing made my ankles feel a little precarious and the huge hills tightened my lungs to a rather uncomfortable level. My face turned bright red under the hot sun and I focused all of my energy on keeping up a forward momentum. My fellow warriors were in the fight with me - complaining about the ridiculous hills while gasping for breath. These were fit people! They wore tank tops advertising the boot camps they attended or marathons they had conquered. I was shocked to see some of them lying on the side of a hill moaning after trying to sprint... but my slow and steady method seemed to be working.

I ran every single downhill as exhausted and hot as I might be which placed me in front of the pack - facing some of the first obstacles alone. I tore through the wire trenches and saw horse obstacles with joy since it now seemed like most of the course would wind through the golden hills on a downhill (or relatively flat) course.  Then I saw an obstacle at the top of a huge hill... like a tower of doom.

It looks even taller on the top of a hill

The warrior wall is a vertical climb where you pull yourself over using a rope and very thin footholds. I was hoping it wouldn't be included in the Norcal circuit since I have a secret fear of somehow letting go and falling back on my back. At the same time, there was no way I was giving up after conquering the rocky uphills in the first third.  I tired not to stop and think, grabbing a rope and hauling myself up a few feet and scrambling to get a foothold; the strips of wood were too thin to rest there for more than a few seconds so I found myself at the top pretty quickly. That was the most difficult transition. My arms and legs were shaking (maybe a tad from fatigue but mostly from fear as I had to swing my leg over to the other side). 

At that moment a volunteer at the bottom loudly told all of us "No one has fallen off today!" Maybe it was a cavalier and silly comment, but it was exactly what I needed to hear to find my balance and maneuver my way down. After defeating the obstacle I most feared - nothing could stop me. I made it over multiple walls and hills - even an enormous cargo net. I started smiling when I could see the smoke closer and closer - knowing that the big challenge would come at the end.

Reaching the mud pit

The first few moments in the muck - realizing there was no bottom!

From what I can tell, not all Warrior Dashes have mud pits this thick and impossible. The mud was so deep that there was nothing to hold onto to pull yourself forward and if you stood up you would sink deeper and deeper - the only hope would be wrenching your foot up before it got "too far"

Even after 10 minutes wading through muck worthy of the Inferno, I have no idea how I made any progress. It was a combination of wriggling and dog paddling with only a modicum of progress every minute.

My big hint would then be to pick up some tennis shoes from a thrift store (mine were on the way to Goodwill already) so you can donate them to charity at the finish line. I think each shoe weighed almost 10 pounds by the end. Although my one goal was to finish strong (aka running) my pants were so weighed down that I knew that anything over a light waddle would have found me flashing the spectators.

I also only had one sock

The clean up at the end of the race took a long time - it would behoove everyone to plan for tons of time literally scooping off the mud before you can even contemplate getting back in a vehicle. 

Luckily we posted this picture and were able to spend that time almost DOUBLING our donations by the end of the fundraising period that night.

The St. Jude's tent hosed me down and then I spent another few minutes in the private showers in a state of amazement about the amount of mud it was possible to heap on one body.

I had some extra clothes to pull on, though I could have improved things if I had just worn a swimsuit underneath. Something to remember!  My mom and I had to stop for gas anyway so we picked up some nice salty chips and soda which put a real skip back in my step. 

I took yet ANOTHER shower and then had celebratory burgers with my wonderful mother. That evening had even more in store.

From a warrior....

 To a Halloween reveler a few hours later!

Maybe I've been a little over-eager to commit to absolutely everything recently, but I couldn't be anymore thankful. I wouldn't be able to embrace all of these things with such purpose and conviction without the year o' cancer.

Hard Times Come Again No More

Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears

While we all sup sorrow with the poor

There's a song that will linger forever in our ears

Oh, hard times come again no more

That's right guys. It's a good ole' fashioned lyrics post that should take us all back to high school Livejournal.

But seriously, this is an awesome autumnal song that I basically had on repeat allll last year.

I wanted to take the time to juxtapose this October with the hellish October of 2012. Yesterday I came back from a conference that I really enjoy. It was my third time attending (going for the hat trick) so the event makes for an easy comparison of my Fall quarters past and present.

Before attending the conference last year I had just found out my mother did not have any donor options. As I've frequently said, that news was harder to take than the diagnosis itself and it was very difficult to know how to cope with a conference setting in the midst of such an upending prognosis.

I have vivid memories of sitting in my hotel armchair trying to plan a lesson on the Inferno, proofread my paper, and get my head around the fact that my mother might have to sign up for experimental trials.

A contemplative moment from 2012

This year was so so so much better. Light years away. In fact, the first few weeks of the quarter have been marked by the ease and comfort of teaching WITHOUT the looming shadow of cancer.

I find myself thinking:

"Is this how easy it is to grade papers?"

"If organizing conferences is this relatively relaxed, I should do another!"

"Qualifying exams are going to be a breeze*"

* Disclaimer: I only said this in jest. Qualifying exams are going to be horrifyingly tough.

So this is definitely the best part of the journey towards survivorship!  Everything feels lighter. Everything feels more relaxed.  If only that reaction wasn't complicated by two other factors

A) What will happen if things change? To be clear, my mother had an odd diagnosis and we're not sure what to expect. I think we're all a little worried about being "caught" while we feel so cancer-free, making any potential come down even worse. I remember my first reaction to the news that my mother would NOT get a BMT was.... "well don't get too comfortable because I can't take another hit of bad news" It's a terrible feeling to contrast with such terrific news.

I think my mom also feels many of these emotions, wondering whether to take her port out and embrace the NED status or keep it in and ward off any depression that would come with a complete return to "Cancerland"

No one tells you how to deal with this, but I can't imagine that focusing on the present and the good luck we've had could be the wrong answer, so that's what I'm clinging to.

Enjoying what we have!

B) We're not the only ones.

My family might have gotten a ticket to leave "Cancerland" but so many other people are still coping with all the tragedies and tribulations involved with being there. I don't feel like I can look away and I don't feel like I can shut myself off and not talk about it. In fact, I think that because I've been open about my own reactions to grief, I've become a resource for other people to come and talk (at least that's what I hope).

It's a reality check to go to UCSF and see people beginning treatment. The cycle continues and the need for new research is always a pressing problems for thousands of patients and an exponential number of people they love. It's truly mind-bending to think that two children passed away this summer who were diagnosed AFTER my mother was. 

So, in honor of Julianna and Jayson, continue donating to St. Jude's or continuing the amazing awareness campaign that so many friends of mine have contributed to.

https://waystohelp.stjude.org/sjVPortal/public/displayUserPage.do?userId=994555&programId=2252&eventId=349830

For example, Kelsey told me about Headbands of Hope and when I got this adorable headband, I was also donating $1 to childhood cancer research and another headband to a young girl going through treatment.

http://www.headbandsofhope.org

Just a coincidence that I'm wearing the same cardigan...
go gold!

I'm praying the Hard Times won't be in the future for my family and I'm doing my best to ward them away from other communities in the future! 

5 Reasons Why you Should Stalk my Facebook Profile: The Most Important Post I Will Ever Write

So... you might have noticed that I have been posting like crazy about childhood cancer. You're probably thinking "Oh my God Megan, shut up. If you post one more depressing picture of a bald child or video featuring a gold ribbon, I will scream"

More realistically, it's probably just been easier to ignore me.

Fully aware of this, I started an experiment. For the last few weeks I have been alternating posts about childhood cancer with posts about the boring minutiae of my life.  Now if you go ahead and stalk my Facebook profile...


... no seriously. I'm inviting you to do it! It takes some of the sneaky fun out of the game, but I promise it will be worth it.

You can find this sad proof of Brian Wilson's new allegiances

Raising Awareness... of what?

During a particularly stressful semester in college my roommates and I picked up a habit of hoarding large amounts of candy and marathoning episodes of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. It was a very effective way to become a sobbing mess almost instantly, thus making upcoming midterms feel petty and insignificant.

We also had to deal with the stress of living in a triple
overcrowd. Wouldn't trade it for the world!

Sometimes we would self-parody those little reality checks by saying the saddest thing we could ever think of - KIDS WITH CANCER! It is truly the most devastating idea in the world to imagine children in massive amounts of pain for *months* without the certainty of achieving milestones like awkwardly dancing at middle school formals, graduating from high school, learning to drive, and falling in love.

So when I saw commercials for St. Jude on TV or people wearing ribbons to raise awareness I was sort of confident that I was part of the choir they were preaching to. Sure, I was anti-cancer. I definitely had strong positive feelings for cancer charities and if I were not a poor starving college student I would inevitably do something to contribute... when I got around to it.

1 Year Cancer-versary, A Personal Take

I've put together my thoughts about this year of cancer in a little voice/ picture/ movie combo

https://voicethread.com/share/4559159/

I feel so emotional and personal about this whole business, that words didn't feel sufficient. Still.. there's a transcription below of my basic message for anyone who prefers the written word!

SO!  Here we are. 365 days after my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 Displaced large blood cell lymphoma with possible central nervous system involvement... It's difficult to even begin to express my gratitude and bewilderment with the events of this past year, but I'm going to try.

My motivation comes from the memories of my first few days coping with the diagnosis. I dived into the black hole of despair that is internet research and tried to emerge with some tangible pieces of advice. It was useful to see graphs on the effectiveness of the drug Rituxin and hear anecdotes about average hospital stays, but I also yearned for something more empathetic and emotional.

What do you do when your mother is diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease? How do you cope with that stress while continuing to start a career? In what way can you serve as a caregiver when you live across the country. Hopefully, by sharing my experiences, I can give some comfort to someone out there dealing with the same crisis or I can help my own community of support understand where we our on this path to a cure and how they can participate.

Twenty-something cancer chronicles: Nobody likes you when you're 23!

I wanted to quickly draw attention to an overall theme of my experiences in the cancer community: being a twenty-something is HARD.

We all know the drill. Young adults get to experience the joys of existential crises. We try to figure out the great mysteries of life: what is my purpose, who should I love, how am I ever going to find a job in this economy etc etc etc. The early twenties are a time for messy experimentations, for trial and error, for successes and failures. They are not, ideally, a period in which you should worry about life and death!

Nonetheless, no matter how much it hurts to think about it, many men and women have an up close and personal experience with their own mortality at a far too early age. Being a young adult with cancer is a particularly difficult battle. Everything is up in the air (including health insurance for many) and it is not an ideal time to be trapped in a hospital bed. Bloggers like Suleika Jaouad and Ethan Zohn have done a fabulous job drawing attention to an age group of cancer patients who can be overlooked both in terms of 1) societal attention and  2) research.

I'd like to add onto that conversation with the benefit of my own point of view:  Being a young adult "caregiver" is another unacknowledged challenge that completely and utterly sucks.

Be the Match #2: THE CURE FOR CANCER!

How can you avoid clicking on a link claiming it will talk about a cure for cancer? Sure, if you've googled cancer and trolled the internet for information before, you might be worried that I'm going to proselytize about the value of witch-doctor remedies.

"Drink a carton of cannabis oil a day and your cancer will be cured!!"

"What the pharmaceutical companies don't want you to know: As long as you never come into contact with any sort of plastic, you will never get cancer."

"A woman in Portugal ate 17 gallons of juice a day and her stage four cancer was cured"


But regardless, as human beings we will go on hoping that someone will discover a mythical cure for cancer tomorrow. Heck coming from my nutty high school, I can even hope that I'll *know* the genius who finds a way to end this disease.

If building a low frequency radio dipole telescope
could somehow cure cancer, I'd contribute my findings
from senior tech lab!

The fantastic thing about a number of blood disorders (including cancer, MDS, sickle cell) etc etc is that there already IS a cure!  That's right. Let's get out the trumpets and ticker tape and start forming a band!!



Unfortunately that cure is in the form of a bone marrow transplant- meaning it is limited to people who have a perfect match from a sibling. Anyone who is a single child, adopted (yup! That's my mom), or comes from a genetically diverse background that is underrepresented on the registry (particularly Asian, Latino, or African America) is up a creek without a paddle.

I'm lucky to have a brother whose genetic similarity to me is
confirmed by the fact that NEITHER of us can ever open our eyes
wide enough to take a decent picture.

Even worse, patients without a match on the registry KNOW that the paddle they need is out there somewhere. A match exists, it's just a matter of finding that person and asking them for an enormous favor.


What does this mean?

It means that if you add your name to the national bone marrow registry, you could cure someone's cancer!  Your high school biology teacher was *so* wrong about you! You're going places. All of those scientists in research labs can't even come close to the difference you can make by volunteering a few hours of your time.

It means that if you donate to Be the Match at the link below, you can help perfect this cure. You make sure that there are more people registered so a patient can pick a 10 for 10 match. You are giving the gift of stable housing during the most stressful period of someone's life so they can focus on their health. Even giving 5 or 10 dollars is an act of generosity that I promise will make you feel good all day.

http://www.bethematchfoundation.org/site/TR/WalkRun/BetheOneRun?px=2327005&pg=personal&fr_id=2010

Be the Match Facts #1: Show Me the Money!

I'm starting out my posts on my Be the Match fundraising efforts with the basics. 

Where does the money go?

•$25 covers a clinic co-pay for a patient. Clinic co-pays can add up to $300 a month.

•$50 covers two days of meals for a patient and their caregiver during outpatient recovery. 

•$100 covers the cost to add one potential marrow donor to the Be The Match Registry.

•$500 provides two weeks of temporary housing during recovery. If patients live more than an hour away from the transplant center they are required to relocate and live nearby for the three to six months of recovery. Many families spend $800 to $1,500 a month on temporary housing, while also covering a mortgage back home. 

Why is this money important? 

The long and short of it is: cancer is a costly, costly disease to treat. I've read blogs where patients have been deciding which procedures they can afford to skip or which weeks they can risk getting infections so they can go to work and earn money.

Be the Match is such an important organization because it removes financial considerations as much as possible.

Neither the donors nor the recipients should have to worry that considering health is going to ruin their futures.

SO  if you've heard enough and can afford to contribute anything then please click HERE!! (It's a link I promise) and donate to my campaign

I'm a Details Person. Can you give me more info?

Just to put things in perspective, my family is extremely fortunate given the stability of my father's job and the federal health insurance he provides.

However, cancer treatment has still be an enormous drain on our resources. I think it would be for any family regardless of how much financial planning they had done or how many resources they had.

I thought it would help give people perspective by explaining what cancer treatment actually looks like even in a situation that is close to ideal. Family members flew in from all over the country to cook us meals and to care for my mother in the hospital. We also had relatively little financial stress because of our insurance. Still, the toll and commitment was enormous. 

I'm a Survivor?

Hello everyone!  What does one do with a cancer blog when a patient no longer has cancer?

Actually, this is an appropriate questions since anyone who has had close contact with cancer struggles with the journey afterwards.  

First of all, undergoing tests every few months (as well as withstanding additional chemo in my mother's case) is terrifying enough, but the fact that five years  + of uncertainty lie in the future makes you want to order up a test every week. 

Even the distant future feels delicate. No life plans will ever be certain, but cancer throws a wrench in everything for years. I have a nightmare in which I take a year-long fellowship in China and then have to come straight home.

Apparently, our strategy for survivorship involves Settlers of Catan

I felt myself dealing with questions of "survivorship" almost immediately after I found out that my mother was not going to be getting a bone marrow transplant. We went from a position of taking immediate action to a position of no longer having to do anything within an hour. Talk about whiplash (of the best variety!)

Even as I write months later, questions about cancer follow me like a shadow.

What does it mean to be cured? When do you feel safe? When are you no longer a patient? Will "cancer" feel like a personal and intimate issue for the next year? How about the next five to ten?

Well, I have decided that cancer has changed my life in a profound way. It's not going back to the way it was... and that's not necessarily a bad thing. 

I have made a few resolutions about what I'm going to do with that new perspective.

1) Now that I have been this close to cancer treatment, I want to always make myself available for anyone experiencing it themselves.

Mostly I've been reflecting on the experience of trying to "live openly" with the fact that I was thinking about cancer treatment on a daily basis. Thinking back on it, it almost sounds like I had to come out of the closet... but I'm going to stick to that analogy.


It made people. That. awkward.



Upon consideration, I think this hesitancy comes from the status of THE BIG C itself. Cancer conversations happen quietly and almost covertly.

I understand that the people who I have these conversations with can be paralyzed with questions:
Is it okay if I ask how your mom is doing? Should I comment on the length of her hair? Is she tired walking up those stairs?

On my end:
Should I say my mom "has cancer" or "had cancer"? (She chooses the former and I choose the latter) Should I say she "had cancer" or "she was sick"? Should I tell this story given the fact that it involves a visit to my mom's hospital room?

If you would like to hear another account of this our societal reactions to cancer, please read  Once, Twice, Three Times Malady: My Love Affair With Cancer and Why I Decided to Tell the World

It finally reaffirmed what I had been feeling

I hope that just by talking about cancer and making a resolution to listen to other people who want to do the same will make a difference.

2) I really want to make a contribution to the Be the Match Bone Marrow Registry.

5 minutes and 4 cheek swabs can save a life

My family felt the pain of not finding a match through the registry. It left us with some pretty scary options.

However researching bone marrow donation also gave me the gift of hearing stories that (to risk sounding cheesy) really restored my faith in humanity. Thousands and thousands of strangers have volunteered to save the lives of children, parents, siblings, and significant others, sometimes without any assurance that they would ever know what would come of it.  I've been so impressed by the organization itself and motivated to participate in what I believe is a valuable cause.

SO I will be running 5 k (3.1 miles) in the San Jose Be the Match run.

Please consider contributing to my fundraising efforts

I promise you will be hearing a TON from me on this subject.