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You’re Welcome

November 25, 2009 by francesbarrie

Maeve and I volunteering at the Elliott School in the North End

Now that I am my old self again — well, mostly, except for the plethora of scars that now adorn my body plus the new hair,  and half  a fake rack–  I have become tired of thinking about myself and my ailments, sick of focusing on my body and my health.  Whenever there is upheavel in our lives, be it health issues or the death of a loved one, we immediately turn inward and become self-absorbed.  This is not necessarily a bad thing.  I believe it is necessary for self-preservation. Grieving in any form is very taxing on body and soul and requires many hours of quiet reflection in order to heal.  But once the tragedy has passed or at least moved  to the recesses of our minds it becomes necessary to turn our gaze outward again.

So I joined the organization called Boston Cares.  This organization was started by a few grad students who thought people may not have the time or resources to volunteer at the same time every week so they set up a web site driven system where, after an hour-long orientation, volunteers can go to their site and pick and choose the projects they want to work on at their own convenience.  So I may be able to give 2 hours this month and 20 next month.  The wonderful part of this is that my kids can come with me and they get their hours tracked on-line as community service for things like CCD and high school requirements.  Not to mention it helps my narcissistic darlings  look outward as well.

These opportunities are anywhere from Lowell to Boston and run the gamut from working in soup kitchens to building playgrounds, folding clothes in warehouses to making recess books in the North End (see photo of Maeve and I).  I highly recommend this organization to anyone who is interested.  So many days I think that I am overwhelmed and unable to fit another thing into a 24 hour period, but you would be surprised how much you can help someone in 2 hours –and most of these projects are only that–a small amount of time that you may be wasting on face book or perhaps reading this blog!

Last year at this time I was thanking all of you for your help and support over the previous year.  This year I am hoping to start a new trend where I am available to others in need which will give me the opportunity to say “you are welcome” more often than I say “thank you.”

Happy Thanksgiving!

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One Life

November 17, 2009 by francesbarrie

I haven’t written here in a few weeks as I have been involved in tackling a writing class again, through Grub Street –a wonderful writing collaborative in Boston/Cambridge.

So I decided to write to you all today.  My topic will be, I am sure, one of the top blogged about controversies today.  Have you heard?  The are now recommending woman do not get a mammogram until they are 50 years old and then only be tested every 2 years.Globe Article Here

WHAT?

These scientists concluded that mammograms save relatively few lives in women age 40 to 49, and that this benefit is eclipsed by the risks, including tests that erroneously detect tumors when none exist.  They say that to save only one life  you would have to screen 1,904 woman in their 40’s and they consider that unneccessary testing (mammograms cost about $100).

I was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 44 so this is extremely disconcerting news. Which life do they decide is inconsequential enough to write off.  Mine?  I don’t think my children would agree that my life is not worth $100.  Maybe it’s not mine.  Maybe I would have been fine if I waited until I was 50 –what if it was you, or your sister, or your mother, or your girlfriend or wife.  Is their life the one you want to risk?

So let’s just say I waited until I was 50 to get  my first mammogram. I saved myself the agony of 10 mammograms, 10 half-hour tests, and they discovered that I had breast cancer then.  My cancer would have had 6 full years to grow and spread; 2,190 days to move it’s carcinogenic cells out to my lymph nodes where it would then take off like a wild fire throughout my body. That’s a long time –in 6 years I could get a lot done–and cancer cells can too.  The study showed that in holding off on the mammograms until age 50 we  would save 63 unnecessary biopsies. I am not sure you can call any biopsy unnecessary just because it comes back clean. How many skin lesions are biopsied for melanoma a day that do not turn out to be cancer?  If I am faced with something suspicious then I want to know either way.  I guarantee you wouldn’t find anyone who was disappointed that they had a biopsy come up negative for cancer.  Maybe the answer here is to train our doctors better in knowing which spots to biopsy…maybe this is a problem for the professionals instead of having it passed on –once again–to the consumer.

The U.S Preventative Services Task Force — that’s the puffed up name of this committee –I think I will rename my Family Activities committee that I run at the elementary school to the Family Activities Task Force.  It gives me more power and makes me sound smarter.  Anyway this Task Force has also claimed that self-examination is useless in detecting Breast Cancer at any age.

WHAT?

Come on!  I found my cancer in the shower and I can name 5 other woman I know that found there’s as well.  What do they want us to do?  They won’t give us the test and then say don’t bother checking yourself either..better not to know…wait until it’s really bad and out of control.  Don’t ask, don’t tell.

I did have a slight argument for the other side of when I first heard about this atrocity . That was solely based on the nagging feeling of denial I have –the feeling that maybe, just maybe I never really had cancer and that I went through this ordeal for nothing. I never looked through the micrscope so I never actually SAW that I had cancer, I have trusted the doctors along the way.  But this is not rational thinking, this is emotional bargaining.

As I am writing this I am getting madder and madder as  I realize that the ones who would suffer in this scenario is once again the lower middle class.  Because if the government decides that the guidelines are to get mammograms at age 50 don’t think for a second that woman in their 40’s with some money wouldn’t get the test and pay for it out of their pocket; leaving those without the funds lost in the shadows yet again.  Don’t think for a second that Michelle Obama wouldn’t  be tested.

And there is where our hope lay in this whole situation.  Luckily we have a strong woman as our first-lady, and I can only hope that she would never let this ridiculous recommendation get any further than that.

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Soccer Mom

October 29, 2009 by francesbarrie

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At a recent party, a well dressed gentleman approached me and asked me where I lived.  When I mentioned the name of my North Suburban Community, his reply dripped with condescension.

“Ooooh, my roommate from college lives in that town.  You’re a soccer mom….a yummy mommy”

It took all my reserve not to reach across my friend and strangle this stranger. Instead I immediately denied it, wishing I had a witty reply; which I didn’t, or could think of any reason why I might actually like this person; which I couldn’t. I stood there seething until I finally excused myself from the circle and headed to the ladies room.

Soccer mom. There are few phrases which ignite such ire in me, such loathing and hatred as being called a soccer or a hockey mom. Being accused of this makes my palms sweat and leaves a taste in my mouth like leeching amalgam.  I am not exactly sure why because, the fact is, my kids do play soccer and hockey, and I am a mom so what’s the big deal? The big deal happens when these two words are put together.  Placed together these two harmless words form a phrase that basically connotes you do nothing else but take your kids to games — that you have no other interests or aspirations in life.  I go to my daughter’s soccer games once a week and drop her at practice on Wednesday and Friday.  Same with my son.  If the games conflict I choose one or the other and my husband attends the opposite.  As far as hockey goes I make a few games but most are late at night so I am working or home with the other kids.  That’s it.  I don’t coach, I am not even the team Mother who makes the laminated cheat-sheet with the players names and numbers.

I have friends whose kids play football. As far as I can see, these parents are far more involved than soccer parents.  They have pasta parties the night before games, make sandwiches for the bus ride to out-of-town games, and spend all day Saturday on the Pop Warner fields — yet I have never heard the term football mom.

So soccer and hockey  takes up about 6-7 hours over the course of the week.  What am I doing the other 153 hours? Running, biking, working, scheduling doctors appointments, helping with homework,handling the finances, taking care of the dog,kissing boo-boo’s, making breakfast,lunch and dinner, writing,reading, mowing the lawn,volunteering at Boston Cares,making crafts, finding new bands,going to shows, putting out fires, starting fires, etc.etc. the list is endless.  Why on earth would I be pigeon-holed by a phrase that describes one tiny aspect of my life?  By someone who doesn’t know the first thing about me?  Remember this: Do not ever assume you know anything about anyone –make that your motto and live by it.

Ok, on to the second part of the well dressed gentleman’s insult.  He called me a ‘Yummy Mommy’. You’re kidding, right? Do men realize how pathetic they sound when they utter this preschooler’s rhyme.  ‘OOOH you’re a yummy mommy…aren’t you delicious…aren’t I cute, I can rhyme words,kind of come on to you, and insult you all in one breath…don’t t you want to sleep with me now?’ Come on –grow up!

These terms, invented by men, are made to keep woman down as they have for generations.  Reduce us to our menial tasks and our outward appearance and then we aren’t so scary.  Then maybe no one will notice how much smarter we are or how much we can actually accomplish in a single 24 hour period and look damn good doing it.  Now I am no bra-burning feminist and I appreciate a compliment any day of the week. I would love for you to tell me I am attractive, I have nice eyes, pretty hair, cute feet–whatever–DO NOT shrink me down to a label. If you do, you are an idiot.

Luckily this man did not continue his slow slide into degrading me by using the other term that just  makes the hair on my neck stand on end, the term that actually is thrown around by more 13 year olds than the word ‘fag’–MILF.  For those who don’t know what this means, MILF is an acronym for “Mothers I Want to F*#!#.  This is the mother load of insults and I find it most disturbing since it seems to be passed down from father to son with a slap on the shoulder, a wink, and an ‘atta-boy’.  Look everyone, little Joey is growing up to be as much of a pig as his old man!

So in the spirit of equality in all this suburban woman bashing I have decided to begin turning the tables. The next time I am called soccer mom I will smile and say why yes I do go to my kids soccer games because I like to show them I care about what they are involved in.  I will then politely list the other 90 things I have done that week until they are so bored they walk away. I have also come up with my own names for the dads around town and I plan to start using them…”Oooh,” I’ll say, “aren’t you a fatty daddy?”  Then I will turn to my daughter, pat her on the back, point and say “Look honey it’s a FILTH–’A Father I’d like to Hang’.   Oh the fun we can have!


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Genetically Speaking

October 22, 2009 by francesbarrie

Twisted Sisters

Twisted Sisters

My sisters and I share many traits.  We all inherited light blue eyes and relatively straight teeth.  We share a sick sense of humor and a tendency to cry at the first sign of any form of sentimentality whether it be from within  our own family or from a Hallmark commercial.  We all unfortunately received short heavy legs from my father and a propensity to occasionally overindulge in food and drink, along with an innate sense of knowing when to help someone in need.

One thing we don’t have in common is breast cancer. So far my sisters have sidestepped that train, leaving me, the youngest with the notable position of being the first child in the family to have any kind of cancer.  Today, I took the first step in discovering if my breast cancer  was actually genetically predetermined or if it was mainly environmental.  Today I met with a geneticist who will test my blood to see if I have any alterations in two specific genes which would give me a greater risk of getting breast cancer again or of  getting ovarian cancer.

The two genes they look at are the BRCA1 and the BRCA2  (pronounced bracka one and two).  As you may  remember from biology class, we all receive a full set of genes from both our parents.  In each cell we have a gene from our mom and dad.  If , when they look at the DNA sequencing in the BRCA1 gene, there is an alteration, then I have a 50-85% lifetime chance of getting breast cancer and a 20-40% chance of getting ovarian cancer (the general population has a lifetime chance of 1-2% risk).  If they find an alteration in the BRCA2 gene, I also have a 50-85% chance of  getting breast cancer and a 10-20% chance of developing ovarian cancer.

Before they would actually  do the test, I had to speak with the geneticist and give a family history on both sides to see if the test was even feasible.  My mother did have breast cancer but it was not discovered until she was 60 –post menopausal–although we can’t be sure when she got it since she had NEVER had a mammogram before age 60.  She also had Colon cancer which she ultimately died from after it reached her liver but she was 83 at the time.  My father died of complications due to esophageal cancer and his family had forms of brain and lung cancer as well.  There is no history of breast or ovarian cancer in my cousins on my dad’s side.

This information alone was not tantamount to having the test done but the geneticist thought it would be a good idea in light of what I didn’t know.  My mother’s mother actually died when my mother was an infant and my mother had no sisters so we have no way of knowing the history on that side. It’s a bit of a mystery.

Ultimately the decision was mine to make. I already knew when I walked into Dana-Farber this afternoon that I would have the test done. It’s information I would like to have, for myself, and for my children, who would be at greater risk if they found the altered gene in me and it will dictate their future screenings.  For example my daughter would start having mammograms at age 25 instead of 35-40 since her mother had breast cancer and has a mutated gene.  There is a 50% risk that I would pass this gene to them as well.

For me it is a matter of knowledge and piece of mind.  If the test comes back positive for either of these genes than I may consider a prophylactic mastectomy on the other side or possible having my ovaries removed –which would alleviate many years of taking Tamoxifen since my estrogen would automatically be depleted.  If the test is negative, I sigh a sigh of relief and move on.  There is one other finding which is “inconclusive” — which I think may be the worst of the bunch.  I’d rather know one way or the other as opposed to getting the shoulder shrug from the lab.

It’s all quite amazing that this is even  in our capacity nowadays.  I know it is just the beginning –genetic research will be commonplace in years to come with home test like pregnancy tests that you can take in your bathroom.  For now though it is the insurance companies (again) we have to worry about.  This test cost $3500.00 and if my insurance doesn’t cover it, I am given the option of paying out-of-pocket.  Of course, I won’t.  I will pay a co-pay of up to $300 which is hopefully as high as they will make me pay.  I will know next week when the lab calls to tell me.

By law the insurance companies can not deny you coverage for a pre-existing illness and they can not deny you when they know you are BRCA positive.  Life-Insurance on the other hand can increase their premiums once they get this information, but I will worry about that later.  One worry at a time, here, let’s just see what the test tells us, then I can take it from there.  I will have the results in 2 week.

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And Now, a Darker Side

September 28, 2009 by francesbarrie

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Although it is true that a cancer diagnosis changes a person in many positive and uplifting ways and can give you a larger  appreciation for those around you, making you more philanthropic and positive, there is another, darker side to cancer as well. Having cancer in any form or stage makes you painfully aware of your own mortality.  It makes you conscious of the fact that you will die someday.

The first time I realized  I was going to die  I was about 8 or 9 years old.  I sat in the tiny den of our cape-style home on Mansfield Road. I had pulled our black lacquered rocking chair with its fake oriental markings nose-distance to our TV set with complete disregard to my mother’s warnings of macular ruination. I loved this chair because the mustard colored velour cushions moved with my bottom when I over-emphasized the rocking motion and when I was bored I would see how fast I could rock, secretly trying to rip the cushions away from their ties fastened to the spindles on the back.

I was watching “Gilligan’s Island” –the episode where the voo-doo witch doctors tie up Gilligan like a pig and try to smoke him over the fire. I was watching, and rocking and suddenly it became clear to me, like sand being swept away from an undiscovered fossil, I realized that we all die. I don’t know if Gilligan had anything to do with this realization — this thought had been there, I am sure, but for whatever reason that day, it was moved out front to my conscious level of thought and there it was for my psyche to dwell upon. We die. Everyone dies.  The world goes on when we die, and we are no longer a part of daily activity. It scared the crap out of me because suddenly, I didn’t feel safe.

At that point my mother walked into the room and asked me why I was crying. I didn’t tell her.  I couldn’t verbalize my thoughts at that time and ran from the room to hide upstairs in my bedroom. She didn’t follow me or try to discuss what was bothering me and that was the end of it for that day.  But since then, whenever I think about dying, I become that little girl.  I get very anxious and try to push the thoughts from my head because they seem far too overwhelming for me –even as an adult–to comprehend.

As soon as I was told that I had cancer,  I was once agin visited by those scary thoughts that I had as a child, everything brought to the front of my mind again. I don’t like knowing that some day I will die.  I don’t like that the older I get the closer I feel death’s presence in my life, breathing down my neck, laughing at me, checking his watch, biding his time. Because once again I don’t feel safe.  My body has let me down and it continues to do so. I feel like now it’s a slow slide till the end and I will face a continuing parade of medical issues.  I don’t trust that the cancer will stay away, I don’t trust that my heart will not fail, I don’t trust my body anymore.

I realize that is all a part of the aging process and it’s how most people feel as they become older and closer to the end of life, but I think that having cancer has quickened that process for me. I have been robbed of about 20 years of carefree feelings — because I did do everything I was told to guarantee a long and healthy life.  I ate well, exercised daily, did not drink or smoke to excess, didn’t do drugs, and breast-fed my children.  Yet, I still got cancer.  That’s disconcerting.  Life is safe and comforting when we know the formulas.  A+B =AB…it shouldn’t equal C.

I wonder if we are the only species that recognizes their own mortality. Do dogs know they are going to die?  I honestly don’t think they do–otherwise why would they be stupid enough to run in front of moving cars? Would we be better off not knowing? It’s probably why we fill our lives up with so much junk.  Stay busy — don’t think.

There are days I wish to be that little girl again.  To sit in that rocking chair and rock hard and fast until the world around me blurs and I don’t have to worry any more.  There are many days recently I wish my mother were here again to put her arms around me and tell me that I will be ok, but I remember that she didn’t do it then, and can’t do it now. So I write it all down, and hope that it helps.

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Running Toward the Positive

September 21, 2009 by francesbarrie

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I had been missing my sneakers.

I was told by my sweaty frat-boy surgeon  that I should wait until October 1st  to run after having my appendix removed on September 10th.  Needless to say, I didn’t comply.   He had also told me that I could go back to work last week, which I did, and spent 3 nights running up and down stairs as I waited  on hungry and thirsty patrons.  I decided that If I could do that, then I could run on the streets.  So on Thursday, I wrapped my stomach tightly with an ace bandage and ran 5 miles.   Ironically, I felt great because while I was resting my body from surgery, all my other ailments — like Achilles tendonitis had time to heal.

One of the reasons I needed to run last week was that I was signed up for a 5K yesterday which was a memorial run for a friend’s brother.  It was a beautiful day for a race yesterday, albeit a little warm, and although it was my slowest time -08.35/mile, I still came in 7th in my age group.   I’ll take that.  If I can stay out of the hospital for a little while, I will be working on getting my time back under an 8 min mile.

I realized yesterday that what has helped me recover from setbacks in the last few years is as simple as keeping a positive attitude. If I say that I can do it — then I can. Simple as that. So I have decided that I need to apply that same attitude to the rest of my life, specifically, my relationship with my children.

I ran into my beautiful cousin, Kathy, at the race yesterday, and she asked me about my kids.  My reply, as  is typical when I am asked about my family, tumbled from my lips, quick and snide.

“Well, you know, whatever, they drive me crazy.”

For years, this has been my standard answer to inquiries about my family, but for some reason, yesterday, it felt dirty and ugly and the words seemed to hang in the air between us.  Maybe it’s because Kathy doesn’t have children and doesn’t understand the feelings of frustration that mothers live with on a daily basis.  Or maybe because I hadn’t seen her in a long time and she doesn’t know that I really do love my children. That I really am kidding.The attitude that I have adopted when speaking of my kids has become a terrible habit.  Yes my kids drive me crazy.  Of course I would like to throw my 15-year-old out the window, and yes I wish my 12-year-old were not such a suck-up and by all means I think my 9-year-old daughter can be the biggest bitch on the planet….but do people really want to hear that?  Because on the other side of the coin, I also think that my 15-year-old is one of the funniest people I know, my 12-year-old has a heart of gold, and my little girl is beautiful and talented.  Why don’t I say that?

Well, that’s a blog for another day. That’s a blog about the Irish, and about the fear of sounding pompous like those parents who brag constantly about their children. But it’s ok.  I am starting to believe that a little bragging could go a long way in changing my environment. It’s far easier to be negative and I truly believe that those negative thoughts become a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I continue to say my kids are evil and horrible –even in jest-then they will become evil and horrible. We as humans rise to the level of our expectations, don’t we?

What I will do from now on is take the attitude I have incorporated about my health and my ability to make my body recover and move when I know it doesn’t want to and put that on my kids. I believe that If I stop focussing on the negative about by children and focus on their strengths, then we will all be happier.  Habits are hard to change.  And this habit of mine is 15 years old, so it may take a little time and extra thought.  So when you see me and ask me how my kids are doing don’t be surprised if you see my eyes glaze over as I hesitate for a few minutes.  I will be turning the negative into positive in my own head and hopefully I will get the words out, “They are wonderful –pure joy–I can’t imagine my life without them.”

Because that is the truth.

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Regarding the Children

September 12, 2009 by francesbarrie

Shortly after my breast cancer diagnosis, in the midst of meeting with surgeons and oncologists, I paid  a visit to the family resource room at Dana-Farber.  I was told they offered free books and materials that would help my children deal with the trauma of  having a parent with cancer.  I walked out of there loaded down with paraphernalia, ready to attack any question or fear my kids would face. It’s interesting now, almost two years later, to look back and see exactly how each child handled the turmoil.

The backpacks they gave me for each  of my kids were broken down by age.  My 14 year old son received a different book to read and an older version of the journal that my 11 and 8-year-old were given.  The younger kids got a stuffed animal and some Wikki-Stiks. I understand why they were broken down by age but that is not the only indication of how they will react.  Children not only deal with trauma differently at various ages but it is their sex and personality as well as placement in the family that also go a long way in gauging their reactions. It would be too  easy to say, alright we know for a fact, any 12-14 year old will react this way and all 8-11 year old’s will react that way.

Once I gave the kids their backpacks and showed them the contents, I have to be honest, I kind of dropped the ball.  I do remember sitting with my 8-year-old daughter and seeing what she drew about her fears, but my middle son didn’t pay too much attention to his stuff. I have seen the book they gave my 14-year-old on his desk in his room, in a somewhat prominent position which makes me think he may have read it a few times, but whenever I asked him about it I got the same answer, “I don’t want to talk about it.”  Now I am not stupid enough to actually believe that, I understand that he needed to talk about it but I didn’t quite have the energy to drag it out of him at the time.
Part of me has been thankful for this traumatic event in my kids lives.  I grew up surrounded by turmoil. The youngest of seven in an Irish family left me with a whole host of opportunity at dealing with the tragic.  Suicide, car accidents, prison time, drug addiction ,alcoholism,religious fanaticism,schizophrenia – I saw it all. At the time would I have loved to be a little more sheltered from all of that?  Maybe.  One thing is for sure though;  there is not too many problems you can throw at me now, as an adult, that I can’t handle. Because of this, I probably didn’t coddle my children as much as someone else might have when I found out that I had cancer. I think that kids need to deal with difficulties.  It’s what makes them resilient. It’s what life is about. Shit happens, and unfortunately will continue to happen.  It’s important to teach our kids how to handle scary and disappointing events in our lives.

So what I did, instead of the round table discussions and the open talk of feelings that was highly recommended to me, was that I fought through treatment –I cried a lot, got angry, yelled a little more than usual but also spent time with each of them doing the things they love.  I tried to go out of my way a little more and appreciate their sheer existence in my life. And I showed them by example, that I wasn’t going to lay down and let this take over me. I beat it back a little.  Mostly I tried like hell to keep everything as much as ‘normal’ as I could. There were some tough moments, but we all made it through.

Did  my approach work? How have my kids turned out? Let’s see. My oldest son, after dealing with his own knee surgery this year, is walking around saying that God does not exist.

“What kind of God gives you cancer and then messes up my knee so I can’t play sports?”

Good Question –one I can’t answer, but I do believe that even without my cancer, he would be having the same struggles with God at his age.  This is normal, we all go through it. He is a self-centered teen.

Son #2 — the middle Guy.  Sometimes when things happen to me, like knocking myself out with a rocking chair, falling down at Fenway, or having my appendix out, he cries and hugs me and says “Why does everything bad have to happen to you?”  He seems very protective of me.  Is that because of the cancer?  Maybe.  But his general personality lends itself to over-feeling and since he is the middle child, he is always going to be the most loving. So I would say he also came through with flying colors.

Onto my 9-year-old daughter. Oy. There were times throughout my treatment when I felt like my whole cancer journey affected her the most.  She certainly was the most vocal about it.  She cried and worried about losing me.  She became afraid of things like hospitals and didn’t like it when I was not home. On chemo days she would sometimes cry in school. I was probably the most proactive with her in terms of helping her through the turmoil, as a girl and the youngest I could relate to her more so I did things like taking her to chemo with me so she could see how ‘un-scary’ it was.

How is she now? Last week as I lay on the couch after having my appendectomy, I called for my husband to help me. My daughter, who was waiting for a ride from him to her friend’s house, stood with her arms crossed, and watched me writhe in pain.

“Get…DADDY,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Jeesh Mom, it’s not like you are gonna die or anything,” she callously said and then turned on her heels and yelled,

“Dad, can you drive me to Caitlin’s?”

I know what you are thinking.  What a bitch.  I thought the same thing too.  But now I realize, no, she has come through the trauma of her mom having cancer, just fine.  Of course I am not gonna die.  She gets that now.  She has seen me come through a lot worse than an appendectomy so to her this was no big deal. What was bothering her was the power struggle that was ensuing –we both needed daddy at that moment, and she was damn sure she was going to win. Normal? I think so.

So regarding my children, I would say, they have all managed just fine. I can’t say that I did everything correctly and  I know that these last two years have left as many scars on them as are on my own chest, but I truly believe that to go through this life with any kind of gusto, you must bear some battle scars.  My kids may have been sadder than their fiends last year or a little more worried but hopefully they walk away from my cancer  a little stronger and a lot smarter than they were before — and hopefully much more resilient.  

 

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“There Will Be Other Races”

September 6, 2009 by francesbarrie

Let’s get the good news out of the way first, the positive outlook, glass half- full ,non-stinkin’ thinkin’ way of looking at what happened. At least the appendix didn’t burst.  At least it didn’t happen before the Pan mass Challenge.  At least it didn’t happen during the triathlon.

Ok.  That’s it.  That is all I can think of. Oh yeah, At least it wasn’t Ovarian cancer which I thought it could be while I lay in bed writhing in pain Wednesday night.

Let’s back up a bit for those who don’t know what happened this week. Wednesday night at work I got some seriously intense stomach pains.  Not just a regular stomach ache, this was deep, and seemed to effect my whole body.  I got through work, went home and tried to sleep through the pain.

By 6:30 I was in a fetal position in the ER of Winchester Hospital. After various internal and external ultrasounds they confirmed what I already knew from my early morning web search –appendicitis.  

“Well, I actually have a triathlon next weekend, so maybe we could hold off,” I said to the spiky haired young surgical assistant.

“Yah, no, that’s not a possibility. I am afraid there will be no triathlon for you.”

“You don’t understand.  I have worked really ,really hard …I just went through 2 years of surgeries and chemo to fight back to where I am…no.” I turned by head away so he could not see my eyes well up. 

“I am sure there will be other races,” he said callously.

Of course he didn’t understand. Why should he. 

My oncologist understood though.  When I called her to ask if I should transfer to the Brigham, she totally got it, I could hear the disappointment in her voice.

“I am going to miss the Title 9 triathlon next weekend,” I said.

“That sucks,” she said.

And that’s really about all you can say about it.  It sucks, like  so many things in life. Cancer sucks, death sucks, injury sucks, illness sucks, and disappointment sucks.  But we move on because sometimes we have no choice. 

So I had the open appendectomy since it is easier for the surgeon than the laparoscopy but leaves a lovely scar on my belly.  That brings my scar total this year (including the stitches in my lip from the rocking chair incident last month) to 10 — not bad for someone who used to brag that she lived 40 years without a broken bone or stitch in her body.

 I wasn’t up for an ER transfer to the Brigham so I stayed at Winchester Hospital and they were very good to me. My oncologist talked to the surgeon and made sure that they took pathology and sent her the report.  I guess there is something called cancer of the appendix, although quite rare, but we know my track record with rare, so no one was taking any chances.

I was home less than 24 hours after surgery (which I think is ridiculous) walking around the block. I always find that the faster I get up and moving, the faster I heal. I can’t help thinking that the last blog entry pissed the Gods off somehow.  Maybe they decided I was getting too cocky, too sure of myself, too confident in the ability of my body. Maybe they needed to knock me back a few pegs.  I am sure there is a lesson in here that I am supposed to be getting; right now, I am just not seeing it.

 When I  do figure it out, I will be sure to let you all know.

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Second Chances

August 24, 2009 by francesbarrie

Second chances.  My father, a wise and sagacious man, believed that everyone deserved one.  A second chance  acts like a cooling salve on the burning wound of regret.  Doesn’t it feel wonderful to get one…and even greater to give a second chance?

Las week I decided to give Maeve a second chance. If you recall, last year her hamster, Molly, met its sad demise at the hands of our dog Carly. (Click here in case you forgot (Regarding Hamsters,Taxol, and Regret). At the time I screamed and ranted about how cold and callous she was, how irresponsible for leaving the poor thing in an unprotected pocketbook. I swore that she would never, ever, ever, get another caged pet — no way, no how.

Enter Sugar Cookie — Sugar for short. A quite adorable, sand colored baby hamster that I procurred from my friend Gina.  This gesture served 2 purposes — not only did I help to unload one of seven unwanted and unexpected hamster babies from a friend, but also it gave me an opportunity to let Maeve prove herself worthy enough and responsible enough to try  again.  I already had all the accoutrements, so why not.

To my surprise, Maeve didn’t want the rodent.  She was convinced that she would kill this one too.  I actually had to convince her that she deserved a second chance.  I also admitted that it really wasn’t all her fault, that I too was lax in my hamster-caring ability since I am the adult in the situation and that ultimately much of  the blame should fall on me. Two weeks into this, so far so good.  Sugar is happy and thriving and staying out of pocket-books.

Maeve’s second attempt at hamster-parenting was of course on my mind all week while we vacationed down the Cape. Time spent biking, running and kyacking leave many hours for contemplation.  I started to think about my own second chance, the one I have been given at life and especially health. Before my cancer diagnosis I was invincible.  I trained hard every day, my body was strong. I had no idea what lay ahead of me and felt as if I could go on like that forever.  It never dawned on me that one day I would be unable to run fast or bike hard. But as the year progressed, each surgery and chemo treatment made my body weaker.  There were days and weeks where I was not allowed or capable of exercising.  I remember trying to bike without putting any pressure on my left arm which meant climbing hills was very difficult. A year ago I had to stop running as I was coughing up blood. There were days I thought I would never ever get back into the shape I was pre-diagnosis.

But miraculously it happened.  I realized as I swam last week both the length and width of a lake that my body felt strong again.  With each arm stroke I could feel my muscles working; with each breath my lungs expanded fully.  Although my running has slowed a little I feel strong enough to work on my sprints; and my biking — well, thanks to the awesome training schedule that Susan laid out for us, I’d say that has fully recovered too.

People have said to me throughout this whole ordeal, “Fran, why don’t you relax, just take it easy for a while?”  Some think that I am a little crazy in my dedication, but what I now understand is that, not only does it make me feel great to be in shape, not only do I actually enjoy each and everything I do, but I can never be sure when my second chance is up. I had no idea when this hit me last time that I would have to struggle  back to where I am today –and some days, just walking to the end of the street was a struggle–and I have no idea when it will hit me again.

Some of us get second, third and fourth chances.  Some of us get none.  I am so grateful for my second chance that I don’t plan on wasting one single minute of it. I want to enjoy feeling strong and powerful today because come tomorrow I can’t be sure I will feel that good. And if Sugar happens to buy the farm like Molly did, well, then I will probably give Maeve a 3rd chance.  And if the cancer comes back and I have to fight it again, know that I will fight just as hard and hope and pray that I too get a 3rd chance.

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Team — Kicked by an Angel

August 13, 2009 by francesbarrie

 

PMC2009_Team_Shots_55It was a picture perfect day at the end of our first day of riding in the PMC.  This is our ‘Team Photo” taken at the Canal in Bourne at the Mass Maritime Academy.  The photographer wanted to know when the rest of our team was showing up but we informed him it was just ‘us’, so he agreed to take our photo.  We are so happy to be finished the first day of riding, showered and heading to the beer tent.  What an  awesome day!

PMC2009_Wellesley_On_The_Road008

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