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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!

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An Extraordinary Weekend

August 7, 2009 by francesbarrie

 

Babson Before the RideWhen we arrived at Babson College at 5:30 am for the start of the PMC, Susan and I were a wreck.  After splitting a muffin and 5 or 6 trips to the bathroom we took our place in the crowd at the start line with 1000 other riders. The crowd was an issue with Susan since she had never even done a 5k race and was not used to being in such a large number of people at the beginning.  It took us a while to get moving as we inched our way to the end of the driveway and out onto the street.  Even then it was slow going for the first 10 miles. We witnessed our first accident before even leaving the campus as someone fell off their bike in the crowd of starters, probably trying to actually get on the bike too soon.

Although we promised to stay together I immediately lost Susan in the crowd.  As I assumed she was ahead of me so I was cranking up my speed trying to push  past the crowds on the uphills.  She was actually a little behind me and finally caught up around mile 17. What I didn’t know is that Susan was so nervous she never put her foot into the clips on her pedals until about mile 12.  We were happy to see the first water stop where I had some of the best cut up peaches in my life and it was here I decided to start putting ice into my sock to quell the burning pain in my Achilles heel.  This turned out to be a very smart move as my ankle was kept cold throughout the ride and barely bothered me after that.1st-stop-wrentham-5Onward to our second stop which would be lunch in Rehobeth — a town I have never been in–after we merged with the Sturbridge riders on a huge uphill.  The only thing that got me up that hill was the sound of the bagpipes being played at the top –perfect placement.

I had always heard about the people on the side of the roads and how uplifting they were but it is truly hard to explain the feeling of riding by people on their lawns with signs of loved one’s lost or yelling that they are survivors and Thank you!  There were kids and parents with their hands out to high five you as you passed.  They sprayed water pistols and hoses (one got me right in the gut), offered water and oranges, played music and dressed up as leprechauns and cheerleaders.  I get choked up now as I write this, thinking about how amazing this event is.  One man sat alone in Walpole blowing a whistle with a lifesize poster of his wife who had died in 2007.  That was a tough one to get by, as well as all the pictures of the children along the fence at one of the stops. The thought that I too, am here, because of a drug called Herceptin which was experimental at one point and funded by events like the PMC — well, it’s hard to ride and cry so I tried not to think about that too much.  

My sisters Karen and Maureen met us at the lunch stop in Rehobeth/Dighton– where I had the best tuna sandwich of my life. We had arrived earlier than expected as the crowds of bikers made us ride faster than usual.  We almost missed  Karen and Moe but got to see them right before we pulled out again. 2nd Stop Dighton 5My family met us at the 2nd to last stop in Wareham for a quick visit.  We were anxious to get on our way as this stop is only 7 miles from the end.DSCN0936

 

 

 

 

Our arrival into Bourne was exhilarating.  We weaved through traffic of vacationers trying desperately to get to their cottages.  Some less than pleased to be waylaid by a bunch of sweaty bikers.  Others gave us the ‘thumbs-up’ from their overly stuffed cars.  The campus at Mass Maritime was beautiful.  We racked our bike among the 5000 bikes, found our tiny tent, grabbed a shower in the shower-truck (a first for Susan and I) and looked for the Harpoon tent.  After food and beer and our free 15 minute massage (heaven) it seemed everyone was winding down.  But we were not tired.  So we walked a few miles to the store to get Sourpatch and realized when we walked back on campus –everyone was asleep.  But it was only 8:30! 

Bourne Tents

Our weekend home

I got to be a part of The LIving Proof photo! I am way in back

I got to be a part of The LIving Proof photo! I am way in back

 

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So many bikes!
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We couldn't have asked for better weather.

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After a fitful sleep, we heard people starting to rise at 4 am and we knew then why everyone was asleep so early.  Not realizing that we had to drag our luggage to the far end of campus by the canal or that many people didn’t bother to break down their tents as we did, Susan and I found ourselves 20 minutes late to the start, missing breakfast and riding the first 25 miles through the cranberry bogs of Carver alone.  It was a little creepy for me, although I believe Susan was relieved to be out of the riding crowds of bikers and traffic.  At the first water stop 27 miles in, we finally caught up to some riders.  The 2nd day was far quieter than the first.  A few people were outside to cheer us but not as many as day 1, and I believe if we had continued to P-Town instead of heading back to Wellesley, it would have been more festive.  Next time we will do the P-Town leg.

The last 10 miles to Wellesley were tough.  Long arduous uphills that were lovely down-hills the day before.  We were pushing it, anxious to get done.  Susan and my families were waiting at the end and getting a little nervous because it took us a little longer than expected.DSCN0947DSCN0946Wellesley Finish #7aWellesley Finish #8a

 

 

 

 

During the long training days, some in the rain,some in pain, I swore to myself that this would be the one and only time I did the Pan Mass Challenge.  It amazed me that everyone I met over the summer who was riding the PMC had already done it numerous times, over and over again.  Well, as Susan and I peddled our way across the state we discussed the things we would do differently next time…the next time we do the PMC. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’ we would do it, just ‘when.  You see this was an incredibly fun and uplifting experience for us.  It would be painful for me NOT to do it again.  I totally understand now how people fight for their contributions, throw parties and golf tournaments all in the name of raising money for this incredibly well organized and beautiful event.  Thank you to all of you who contributed to my ride both financially and spiritually…this would not have been possible without all of you, and you should all feel proud to now be a part of the cure.

Here is the outline Susan wrote which I thought was awesome!

Here are some hi-lights from our PMC Adventure:

 

            Towns Visited:

Wellesley, Needham, Dover, Medfield, Norfolk, Wrentham, Foxborough, Mansfield, Norton, Rehoboth, Dighton, Berkley, Freetown, Lakeville, Rochester, Wareham, Bourne, Carver, Middleborough, Bridgewater, West Bridgewater, Easton, Mansfield, Sharon, Walpole, Westwood, Dover, Needham

(Who even knew that some of these towns existed?)

 

            Cyclists: approx. 5000

Cyclists who shouldn’t be wearing tight cycling shorts: about 2500; number that we are glad that they did: about 100

Cyclists Texting: 1

Cyclists w/Music attached to their helmets: 2

Cyclists w/”obscene” objects attached to their helmets: about 5

One-Legged Cyclist: 1 Jothy Rosenberg – 2 time cancer survivor

 

 

            Volunteer Cyclist Ratio:  .6 to 1 (doctors, nurses, cycling technicians, photographers, policemen, cooks, massage therapists ….)

            Massage Therapists:      90

Port-a-Potties Visited:    approx 20 each; Clean Port-a-Potties: 1

            Port-a-Showers:             1         

            Hours of Sleep Friday:    4

            Hours of Sleep Saturday: 4 – 5; in a teenie weenie tent

            (The Mass Maritime Academy in Bourne was a Ghost Town by 7:30 pm; Cyclists were in bed; we went in search of Sour Patch Kids)

 

            Mile Point when Susan engaged clips: – 12; Mile Point when Fran engaged clips: -1/4

Supporters “tagged” by Fran while cycling: at least 20; Supporters “tagged” by Susan while cycling: 0; too afraid she would take them down

            Falls by Fran & Susan: 0; unbelievable

Falls Witnessed by Fran & Susan w/in the first 1/16 of a mile: 1

Falls Witnessed by Kolenik’s & Coccoluto’s w/in the last 1/16 mile: 4

Flat Tires by Fran & Susan: 0; we were the lucky ones; there were too many to count

Last Water on Campus found by Susan

 

Safety shouts by Susan:            approx 1000

            Safety shouts by Fran:               maybe 8

Riders Passed: about 50%

Supporters en route: 1000’s

Supporters en route in PJs: too many to count

Women in Teenie Weenie Bathrobes – 1

Bagpipe Players:           3

Leprechauns:                 2

Horses: approx 10

Dogs:    approx. 75-100; Bulldogs: 1 – SumoJ

Patient Drivers: 100’s; In-Patient Drivers: 100’s

Supporters w/Hoses to cool us off: approx. 25; Supporters who got Fran hard in the belly: 1

           

            Susan’s 1st time successfully drinking watered down Gatorade

            Beers Consumed: 2 each; tent closed @ 630 – what’s w/that?

            Massages by Man w/Ponytail: 1

            Bags of Ice that Fran sat on – 1; Susan – 0

                                   

            Cyclists who laundered their shirts in the shower – 2

            Cyclists up past 8:30 pm: maybe 10

            Cyclists taking a “late” night walk to downtown Bourne – 2

            Cyclists consuming Sour Patch Kids – 2

            Cyclists late for Sunday start due to “logistic” challenges – 2

 

Loving Husband’s Giving Flowers to Wives: 1 out of approx. 2500 women; Hint: it wasn’t Frank

Cyclists’ w/Tears: 5000; Supporters w/Tears: everyone

Smiles: thousands

PMC Virgins: minus 2

Fears conquered: @ least 10

Dreams Fulfilled: @ least 2

 

            PMC ’09 $ Raised passes $20 million and growing (2/3 of goal)

            Future members of the “PMC Living Proof Club” …………… TBD

           

Thanks again…you all rock! Susan Rocks!  Cancer Sucks! 

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Less than 2 Days to the PMC

July 30, 2009 by francesbarrie

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To say I am nervous about riding in my first PMC this weekend may well be an understatement.

 During the last few months of our training, Susan and I have been out on rides that last 5-6 hours long leaving  a lot of free time to contemplate the unknown;  and so often when our minds are left to their own devices, they settle on the worst case scenarios. I worry about so many things like my gears which have not been working correctly since the triathlon.  I worry that Susan and I haven’t trained long enough or hard enough.  I worry that Susan will be so far ahead of me that I won’t find her at the water stops or she will make new better, faster, biking friends to ride with because I will be so slow.  I worry that my Achilles tendinitis will act up and my left ankle will burn so badly that I will not be able to pedal.

When I look at pictures of past PMC’s the sheer number of riders terrifies me.  I fear claustrophobia and the great possibility of tumbling head over handlebars into the bike mere centimeters in front of me.  I can only hope everyone will eventually pass me, leaving me to chug along at my own pace.  I imagine riding into Bourne at nightfall, the last biker to finish, everyone else fast asleep.

I worry that I will not be able to get up after sleeping in a tent and pedal 65 miles home on Sunday. Or that I will drink too many celebratory beers on Saturday night and miss the 4:40 am wake-up call.

All this worry is of course irrational. Realistically I know that this will be the most amazing journey.  I know that it will be fun and exhilarating and everything will work out.  I know that if it rains –I have a raincoat, and if I get a flat — someone will be there to change it. I just have to keep reminding myself why I am doing this.

 I am doing this because after battling cancer and treatment this past year,  I needed a greater challenge to prove that my body was strong enough to endure a 153 mile bike ride and at the same time raise a boatload of money for the institute that saved my life as well as my spirit.

The money that all my amazing friends and family have given to me to make this ride will go to fund future research and targeted therapies for children and adults with cancer.  This money actually is used to fund experimental research that might otherwise not be funded by government agencies.  And it is these out-of-the-box thinkers that have come up with some of our most needed and helpful treatments.

There is no single cure for cancer.  Instead there are various forms of cancer and within each type of cancer there are many sub-sets –each needing it’s own treatment.  Finding the cure(s) for cancer is an on-going battle that needs on-going funds.  The Pan Mass challenge supplies those on-going funds every year.  This is why I am riding in the PMC.  I am proud to be a part of something so very important and I will remember that this weekend when fear and worry begin to creep into my psyche.  I will remember those we have lost but I will also remember how many are now being saved, myself included, because of the amazing and powerful work being done at Dana-Farber — work that is fueled by the PMC.

 Thank you all for your donations and wish me luck!

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