66*

Today, my dad celebrates his 66th birthday.  I'm sure that he will spend it being harassed by various friends and family calling to razz him about his age, enjoying a good burger and cocktail, and getting a special birthday wish from his favorite (ok, FINE - only) granddaughter.

Except (and if you are familiar with this blog, you already knew this) none of this is true.

My absolute favorite snap of my dad

October, as you probably know, is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but I will never think of it as anything but the month that my dad both entered and left this world.  He died 15 days shy of his 52nd birthday, on October 1, 1999, from complications stemming from his five year battle with colon cancer.

There is not a day that goes by that my heart doesn't continue to ache, and days like today are still, 14 years later, often difficult to bear.  While nothing I will ever do can bring my dad back, I continue to do my best to prevent other fathers from being diagnosed with colon cancer in order that other daughters don't have to tell this same story.

For the fourth year, then, I am participating in the Colon Cancer Alliance's annual Undy 5000 next month in downtown Phoenix. Our race (5K and 1-mile fun run) is the last of the series each year, and each year since I have become a part of the local CCA chapter, I have been overwhelmed with the number of people under the age of 50 who have been diagnosed.  Many have beaten the disease, but we have also lost wonderful people like Arijit, the force behind Poop Strong (I was fortunate enough to be a part of Arijit's team last fall before he lost his battle this March).

The money raised by the Undy 5000 goes directly to local colon cancer treatment.  Those in the Phoenix area who are battling colon cancer can find assistance, both for payment of treatments not covered by insurance (although with the advent of the Affordable Care Act, fewer people WILL be turned away from getting the treatment they need, regardless of their stage of cancer or their status of having a "pre-existing condition") and for other necessities like counseling for patients and family members.  Cancer affects all family members, and the CCA is there to step in and be a support system for patient AND family.

I'm so proud that my daughter, who is nearly 5, has asked to be in this year's race with me, so she and Husband will be running (yes, running) the 1-mile fun run while I take on the 5K again.  I'm hoping to coordinate our finishes so that I can cross the finish line with her.

If you are so inclined, please consider making a donation to this incredible cause.  Colon cancer doesn't discriminate, but when appropriate measures are set into place, it is nearly 100% preventable and beatable.  You can check out my personal page here.  And please check back after November 16 for a full recap of race day.  This was my first race I ever ran four years ago, and its significance continues to overwhelm me.  This race is not about time for me, unless we count the time that I hope my efforts will add to someone else's life.

Happy birthday, Dad.  I love you.

Take My Blood - PLEASE!

I've mentioned a few times on this blog that blood donation is important to me.  Before I really get into this post (it's probably going to be long), I want to rewind for a moment and explain why.

I was never a blood donor when I was younger, although my mom went (and still do go) regularly.  My high school held an annual blood drive, but I always managed to get out of it, since the drive was always during track season and always right before a meet.  Even after my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer during the spring of my junior year, my dread of needles superseded the "do a good thing" aspect of blood donation.
I started to get the picture when I came to ASU.  My dad had to fly out to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota for a new radiation treatment in the fall of my freshman year, and it began to dawn on me that he had needed blood during all of his previous surgeries (that I didn't realize that this is what a great deal of the blood supply before this point goes to shows my naiveté and perhaps even how much my parents sheltered me from the reality of my dad's illness).  At one point, I remember talking with my dorm neighbor, and in the course of our discussion, he told me that his parents had donated blood before their own surgeries, in essence pre-donating to themselves.  At the time, this neighbor, who had admitted to me that his parents had their share of health problems, was one of the few people on my floor who knew how sick my dad had been.  Later that semester, we attempted to go give blood at the annual ASU-UofA blood drive competition, which I believe is now part of the Duel in the Desert series, but by the time we got there, the drive had ended (it took me a week to get up the courage to even go).
After that, I kind of brushed it off until the summer before my final semester.  The radiation that my dad had gone through had necessitated stents be placed from his kidneys to... I'm not sure.  Wherever the kidneys drain to or something.  These stents were temporary and had to be replaced fairly often.  But then one of them caused a hemorrhage.  And the doctors couldn't stanch the bleeding for a really long time.  In fact, because of the intensity of the hemorrhage, it took them some time to be able to locate the source of the bleeding.  Later in the summer, he was transferred to the University of Washington Medical Center because his condition, caused by his bleeding, continued to worsen.  I had recently come back from a summer abroad program in Germany, and I flew up to be with my parents.
While he was in the ICU at UW, I finally managed to give my first pint of blood.  It was not easy.  Spending the majority of my days in the dry hospital meant that I was fairly dehydrated, so it took me a looooooong time to get that pint out.  But I did, finally.  And the nurses who were working the blood drive expressed such amazing gratitude over a substance I had truly taken for granted.

In the last weeks of his life, my dad needed over 100 units (pints) of blood.  This was enough to replace his entire body's store of blood more than ten times.  Because of 100 anonymous O+ donors, I was able to spend some more time with him, and most importantly, I was able, one week before he left this world, to tell him that I loved him.  And he was able, even in his heavily sedated state, to tell me the same.
And then he was gone.

Donating blood will never bring my dad back to me.  No matter how many pints I give, he is gone.  But those pints can perhaps help someone else express their feelings to a loved one, may afford a person see a parent one last time, or they can even save someone's life so that it isn't that one last time.
Since my dad died, I have realized that donating blood is something so simple but that can also do so much good, and I have made donating part of who I am.  One of my proudest accomplishments is establishing a blood drive at one of the schools where I used to work, which continues to be successful and collect much-needed blood each year.
As such, I've educated myself on my blood type, how many times a year I'm eligible to donate, and through which type of donation my blood will be best utilized.
So when I was asked earlier this year if I could donate platelets rather than whole blood, I agreed.  It's a longer process, but my blood type, A+, best served that need, so I willingly sat down for the ninety-minutes, knowing that I was doing the most good at that time.
You can imagine my disappointment, then, when I received a letter not too long after my donation informing me that my platelets could not be used due to the presence of an antibody to Human Leukocyte Antigen (HLA) that was found during the testing that is done to blood after the donation.  According to the letter, pregnancy can cause the antibody, which isn't harmful to me, but it can cause reactions in transplant patients.  However, the letter assured me that I was still able to donate whole blood, so while I was disappointed, I wasn't overly distraught knowing that I could still do something good every few months.
I'm not going to go into how frustrating it was to make an appointment after that letter; since I now have a "block" on one or more donation types, I can no longer make an appointment to donate blood online, which is honestly the most convenient method for me.  I'd hope that someone could figure out a simple filter so that I could continue to make my online appointments.
Instead, I'm going to go into how frustrating the wording of the most recent letter I received after finally managing to make an appointment to go in and donate whole blood.
If you've never donated blood before, you need to know that there are a series of interview questions and then a handful of tests before you're even allowed on the donation floor.  The interview asks about health, family history, and lifestyle, all of which could affect the viability of one's blood.  That's how they knew to run my blood through an extra test - women are always asked if they have been pregnant before (or if they are now pregnant).  People with family history of certain known diseases (such as Creutzfeld-Jakob disease) or those who have traveled to different parts of the world for a certain amount of time or more are rendered ineligible.  I was also once deferred because the tech working with me determined that I had an irregular heartbeat, something my actual doctor wasn't able to also determine.  It was my only non-iron related deferment.
One of the other tests that are conducted is the "finger prick" test to ensure that potential donors have enough iron in their blood to donate without risking anemia.  There is a range of acceptable iron levels. I've always fallen in the lower end of the range; there have been occasions when my count was too low and was deferred.  This is not uncommon for many women; due to menstruation and lower testosterone levels, women tend to have lower iron levels than men and sometimes have markedly lower levels if they try to donate during specific parts of their cycles.  When I've been deferred, I've always managed to bring it back up by the next attempt, usually through diet if not also careful timing of my appointments.
At my most recent appointment, my iron levels were once again in the lower range, but they were still within the margin of "normal" or "acceptable."  My pulse, blood pressure, and temperature were also normal, and I still have not spent enough time in Europe or the United Kingdom to be refused.  I was good to go, and a short time later, I was snacking on popcorn and cookies during the mandatory 15-minute post-donation waiting period, during which they fill you up with water and tasty (and often salty) snacks.
Not a week later, I received another letter.
Another f***ing letter.
Here is what the letter stated (in part):

"Thank you for your recent donation.  At that time your hemoglobin level was at the low end of the normal range, so we did an additional test on your blood for ferritin (a protein that stores iron).  The result of this test for iron deficiency show a low value; we're notifying you because this may be important to your health."
The letter went on to tell me exactly what my ferritin level was.
"What does this test result mean?  A ferritin level less than 12 is significant and may mean that you are at high risk for developing iron deficiency anemia.
If you are a whole blood or red cell donor, you must wait 24 weeks...before your next donation to rebuild your iron stores."

And then I was given a toll-free number to call if I had any questions.
I'm not sure I can express how truly upset I was to receive this letter.
I need to clarify that I fully comprehend the need to test blood for viability.  There is no substitute for human blood, but that which is donated must be free of illness because it is always given to someone whose immune system is in some way compromised, be it shock (accident victims), chemotherapy, or even surgery.  The risk for contamination is ridiculously high, which is why every time a disease like sickle cell anemia, AIDS, and bovine spongiform encephalopathy (commonly called mad cow disease) becomes a true danger, people whose risk is considered higher for being exposed to them are taken off the eligible list (for basically forever).
Likewise, I understand that donors need to keep themselves healthy.  Because only about 10% of the donor-eligible population (which makes up less than 40% of the actual populace of the US) actually do donate blood at some point in their lives, the need for blood is always great, and the health community wants to keep donors on the donating end rather than on the receiving end.  I take care to consume foods that are rich in iron and also those which help my body absorb that iron as much as possible.  I also try to take a multi-vitamin, but I really kind of suck at doing that every day.

Here is why I was so upset and what I don't understand.  My hemoglobin levels were lower, yes, but as the letter indicated, they were still within the "normal range."  So.... my hemoglobin was still within the acceptable range, but it still necessitated an additional test, which resulted in benching me for the next six months.
Here is how I heard this: you are earning a D in the class.  This is still passing, but you're going to be placed on an individualized education plan (IEP) and given special education services because you're not performing at an acceptable level.   Oh, and you're also going to be held back a semester.
Anyone who is in education knows that sometimes, students earn Ds.  Sometimes, it's for lack of effort.  Sometimes, students do need IEPs because their performance in some areas is held back due to many possible learning disabilities.  Sometimes, it's for extenuating circumstances that children just shouldn't have to deal with.
But sometimes, it's just a weak area.
That doesn't mean a student is "stupid" or "incapable," and it certainly doesn't mean that every child who is performing below "average" needs an IEP or needs to take a class over.  It just means that sometimes, someone might bust his butt every day and earn that D with as much pride as the person who earned the A with ease.
Sometimes, my hemoglobin levels are a little lower.  But they're still in the normal range.  And I'm feeling like the kid who was called stupid and got held back because I didn't have an A.

What further frustrates me is that this test is only one isolated piece of data.  Now, I am not asking United Blood Services (UBS) to consider every single one-off situation that might arise with hemoglobin, ferritin, and whatever else levels in every single person's blood stream.  But certainly, if there is a test that can ascertain that I have the HLA antibody and then another test that can look for ferritin, there must be one to measure other hormones that ebb and flow for women.  And, based on my own cycle, I know that both my hemoglobin and ferritin were likely low because my hormone levels dropped like a sack of potatoes that weekend.  If I had been paying better attention to where I was in my cycle, I probably would have made my appointment for a different date

Testing is expensive; I know this.  Putting blood samples through an extra litany of tests, multiplied by the number of blood samples that must be tested means that more money is spent on tests than on other areas that might help the blood banks like UBS.
But I am part of that 10% of that 38% of the population who wants to give blood.  Repeatedly.  For no pay save the Corn Nuts and popcorn that are available at the donation center.  I do it because I don't want to be the pint of blood that creates an "if only" situation for a family.  I am right here, United Blood Services, willing to endure extreme "discomfort" as the anticoagulant on the needle hits my skin, in order that someone else doesn't have to extreme endure pain elsewhere.  I walk through those doors ready to donate a pint.  And now I am turned away for half a year.  In that time I could donate three times.  I could help save nine lives.

While I am going to call that toll free number I was given and try to fight this as I choke down an extra helping of kale, I have a request for my readers who are also eligible donors.  Even if you have never donated before, even if you wince at the thought of asking to be poked with a needle, please consider making an appointment in the next 24 weeks.  Please go donate in my stead so that the blood supply does not go without even a single pint for that time.  Every day, 44,000 blood donations are needed.  Every two seconds, someone needs a transfusion.  That's 1800 people in the last hour.  What did you do in that hour?   If you're scared, know that many people in there are scared.  I can't even look at the needle.  EVER.  But imagine how much scarier it is for that child who is watching a parent slip away.  It tends to put everything into perspective.
Please, if you can, won't you step up and donate while I can't?
And then, maybe, you'll want to donate again once you realize how much good sitting still can do.

Workout Wednesday - Back in Training

For a while, I've been toying with the idea of finding a full marathon to complete.  I never thought I'd actually WANT to do one.  But then again, I never thought I'd want to do a 10K, either, so there's that.
But with the 15-year marker of my dad's passing coming up in 2014, I kind of wanted to honor him in a way that I hadn't before, and I thought that running a marathon, by which I could also raise money for the Colon Cancer Alliance in my efforts to eradicate this cancer that took my dad from me, would be a perfect gesture.
There are just two things wrong with my plan.
The first one is that I don't really like the idea of marking how long it's been since he died.  I began running to honor the memory of his wonderful, albeit too short, life, so it would be almost hypocritical of me to make the jump to the full marathon in memory of when that beautiful life ceased.  And even my dad both joined this world and left it during the same month - October - I think that I'd be better off focusing my efforts elsewhere.  I'm thinking about something in 2017, which would mark his 70th birthday, instead.
The second issue is that I'm starting my masters, and I don't want to commit to any marathon until I'm done with that.  Being a full time parent, wife, teacher, and student will take up enough of my time, I'm sure.
But I haven't had anything on my calendar since Pat's Run in April except the CCA's Undy 5000, which is always on my schedule, and I wanted to push myself further again.  I've already decided to do the Lost Dutchman half marathon in February, even though my masters start date is (hopefully) January.  But that left my fall literally empty.
When I was looking for a 26.2 for next year, I was steered to the Peoria Halloween Marathon, which takes place the weekend right before Halloween.  It's really the only full marathon I was able to find in Arizona in the month of October, so it would have been perfect for my original plan.  But it also works extremely well THIS year for a half marathon, so I'm signing up for it, and training has begun.
I loved using the Marathoning for Mortals book (by John "The Penguin Bingham and Jenny Hadfield) for my first half marathon.   It made the distance completely obtainable, mentally, and I felt extremely well prepared to run the distance on the morning of the race.  But this time, I've opted to use Hal Higdon's Novice 2 plan.  This one was created for the runner who has run a race (or two, maybe) but isn't quite ready to make the jump to the super serious training expected in his Intermediate plan.  Basically, it's perfect for me.  I'd like to do better than my first time, but I also just want to finish and have fun while I train, too.
Of course, being able to follow a calendar is a skill that, apparently, is completely beyond my comprehension.  I thought, ALL of last week, that I was ready to start training this week with Week 1.
Then, all of a sudden, I looked at the calendar and realized I was thinking a week behind.  Technically, I should have started the week of the 4th.
Last week.  Not this week.
So, oops.
I jumped in to the plan on Saturday, running the 4 miles that were on the calendar, and it was fine.  Even though I took a week off running, those miles felt really great.  Since it's still ridiculously hot, I ran two miles with Zooey, and then dropped her off at home before doing two more.  I'll likely be doing something of that nature until it either cools down or forever, depending on her energy levels (I hate to admit that she's almost middle aged).  I was crazy tired that night, but I felt better Sunday, and I'm looking forward to seeing how this plan, which has me running three days in a row during the week, will be on my legs and body.
Even with these two races added in, I'm pretty sure I won't meet my mileage goal for this year, but I'm OK with that.  Considering that the first four months of this year, which are prime running weather months here in Arizona, I was sidelined by plenty of injury and illness, I'm going to plan on calling 2013 a win in the mileage column anyway.
I'm really looking forward to hitting longer runs soon, even if I have to leave Zooey at home for them (she didn't like being left home, by the way - she was barking at me as I left as if to say, "Hey! You forgot me!"), and now that I know what I'm capable of for the half marathon, I'm excited at the prospect of working on my pacing, etc., so help me become a better runner.  Hopefully I'll see everything come to fruition at the finish line.

So Easy a Caveman Can Do It - But I Can't

Over the last few months, I've realized that I've kind of plateaued in my attempt to get rid of some of that "stubborn belly fat" that all those commercials for wonder supplements and crazy workout DVDs love to talk about.  It's not stubborn.  It's an unwelcome guest, and I'm kind of tired of it having way overstayed its welcome.  

So I've been looking at how I can step it up.  Not just so I can more easily slip into a pair of pants, but also so that I know I'm healthier.

For a long while, I've really reduced my meat consumption.  I really really really don't care for chicken. When I was pregnant with HRH, it was a huge aversion to me, so much that when I tried to buy some of those pre-cooked strips for the Husband at the store one day, my knees buckled and I thought I was going to pass out.  Ever since, I can only handle it if it's REALLY well made, and I have to REALLY want it.  I also have tried to cut down on red meat, especially because of the many links between red meat consumption and a greater risk of colon cancer (among others).  

And I like most vegetarian protein sources.  I love beans.  I really like tofu.  Quinoa is great.  Tempeh - meh (see what I did there?); that's really the one thing that I've had that I didn't really care for.

But nothing seemed to be working.

I decided, then, to take a week and try a modified paleo plan.  I say modified because I did use a "paleo for runners" approved foods list, which includes more starchy veggies like sweet potatoes and squash.  Apparently a non-runners paleo diet doesn't allow for them.

Basically, the paleo diet is, from what I understand, supposed to mimic the ingredients that our very ancient, probably much hairier forefathers would have eaten.  Of course, this means no processed foods, but it also nixes all grains, dairy, and sugars (although some sites allowed maple syrup and honey because those were natural sugars, and I can totally imagine an early Homo sapiens risking life and limb for a handful of honey like he were some Ice Age Winnie the Pooh).  Probably the most restrictive aspect for me, though was that it didn't allow for legumes or beans.  Even though I love me some rice and white breads, rarely a week goes by that I don't have beans with at least two meals.  But I was determined to try this to rev up my body's vacationing fat burning abilities.

I created a meal plan for the week and headed to the grocery store.

First of all, holy sticker shock, Batman!  I haven't actually bought meat that wasn't turkey necks for Zooey or bacon in a really long time, apparently, because when I picked up a small package of ground beef, I thought I was going to have to take a second mortgage out on the house.  Yikes.

I admit that on top of my mandate that I would still be enjoying my morning coffee with half-and-half and cinnamon sugar, I did "cheat" during one meal.  One of my friends and I had lunch, and I had a beer.  Beer, as you know, is made from grains - gluten-y grains - so it's waaaaaaaay up on the Verboten Items List.  But I also don't want to be that person who puts the kibosh on every restaurant suggestion because it doesn't work for my super restrictive diet plan.  "Oh, no, that place doesn't work for me.  I can't eat anything that casts a shadow past 1:00 in the afternoon on Tuesdays."  

Interestingly enough, that evening, I felt TERRIBLE.  Like you might right before you get sick.  Achy, tired, tempting fate by trying to NOT get a headache.  Just...blah.  And then I got cranky because I didn't feel well, so it wasn't the most pleasant evening.

I can't say with absolute certainty that this was all caused by the grains.  But it was interesting nonetheless.  

At the end of the week, I knew that this plan isn't for me.  That isn't to say it's a terrible idea.  I really like certain aspects of it.  But I think that it's more of a diet than a lifestyle for me at this point in my life, and restrictive diets never work.

What I DO think I can take out of this experience is that I don't necessarily need to embrace the red meat again, but I can bid a fond farewell to grains more easily than I thought.  And that's where I think I can improve my eating habits.  While I'll be welcoming beans back to my diet very soon (hello, Cuban dinner plans), I'm not sure that I'll be so quick to nab a loaf of bread to go along with them.  I'd love to experiment with gluten-free grains and work to reduce the amount of corn-based products I consume.  While I didn't weigh myself at all this week, I do feel less full around the middle, even though I've felt like I've eaten a lot more than I usually did.

One big success is that I was able to stick to my meal plan.  I made it a lot more simple and relied a great deal more on leftovers for lunch and dinner repeats, and I think that's where I've gone off the rails before.  I'm hoping to be more consistent with that as well.

Where have you been successful in modifying your food lifestyle to make healthy changes?  What are you willing to "give up"?  What are non-negotiables for you?

I Knew I Was a Runner When

This weekend, I bought Body Glide.

It was something I never though I'd need to do.  I'm still confused by the concept of chafed, bleeding nipples; it's one of the running myths that are apparently actually true, which makes it all the more terrifying, and I REALLY don't want to talk about chafed, bleeding nipples from personal experience on this blog, ever.

But, apparently, nipples are not the only things that chafe, and this weekend, I needed to buy Body Glide before I had another run.

For the record, there isn't as much daylight between my thighs when I run as perhaps I'd like, especially when it's hot and humid, like it is now.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are fine; thanks for your concern.

Anyway, when I had the realization that this was going to be a part of my running arsenal, I had an "this must mean I'm a 'real' runner" moment.  Because I never thought I was enough of a "real" runner to need something such as anti-chafing...stuff.

I've had several of those moments since I began running nearly three years ago, and I'm sure I'll have more.  

I can rationally tell you that I am a runner.  I run.  Several times a week.  I've participated in several races and events since I decided to participate in that first Undy 5000.  But sometimes, I don't necessarily feel like a "real" runner.

Of course, running master, Bart Yasso, has spoken to this notion directly:

"I often hear people say 'I'm not a real runner.'  We are all runners; some just run faster than others.  I never met a fake runner."

I KNOW I'm not a fake runner.  But sometimes, when I realize that my monthly mileage is what some people run in a week, I don't necessarily feel like a "real" runner.  I'm not exactly sure what I'd define a "real" runner to be, but I don't run fast, and I don't run that far, so sometimes, I'm not sure where I fit into the cadre, and because of that, I sometimes feel like I'm not completely part of it, like unless I hit a certain mileage or a certain pace per mile, everyone else will look down on me as if to say, "no, you're not one of us, but you can keep trying."  

Kind of like I'm Chester, and the everyone else is Spike:

But there are those moments when I've said to myself, "NOW, I'm a runner."

And since I just had one of those moments, I thought I'd take a walk down Memory Lane at all those moments I've had thus far to help remind me that I've always been a runner, ever since I decided to run on an evening walk with Zooey.

I knew I was a runner when...

• I picked up my first race bib;
• I finished my first race;
• I went to a running store to be fitted for shoes;
• I retired that pair of shoes;
• I decided to try a 10K;
• I completed a 10K;
• I set a PR;
• I beat that PR;
• I decided to try a half marathon;
• I obtained a training plan for a half marathon;
• I picked up my race bib for my half marathon
• I finished a half marathon;
• I started keeping track of my mileage;
• I got obsessed with my mileage and heart rate and everything else;
• I stopped keeping track of my mileage and heart rate and everything else for a bit;
• I altered my training plan;
• I said, "I think I'll try trail running";
• I loved trail running;
• I made trail running a part of my regular training plan;
• I had a regular training plan;
• I signed up for a trail race;
• I couldn't do that trail race because I was diagnosed with tendinitis;
• I found "the shoe" I loved;
• I mourned when "the shoe" was retired;
• I started playing with the idea of a full marathon someday;
• I was asked for running advice by a friend (that one felt REALLY awesome, by the way);
• I felt confident enough in my experience to give that friend some advice;
• I had to buy Body Glide.

John "The Penguin" Bingham, whose book (along with Jenny Hadfield) got me through my first half marathon, said this on the topic:

"If you run, you are a runner.  It doesn't matter how fast or how far.  It doesn't matter if today is your first day, or if you've been running twenty years.  There is no test to pass, no license to earn, no membership card to get.  You just run."
Well, I just run.  And sometimes, I think I run far, even if it's not as far as someone else.  I never think I run fast.  But I run, so I am a runner, and I'm glad to have become one, even if I don't always feel like a "real" one.

When did you feel like a "real" runner?

The Mouse Project

Earlier this month, 12 blogging friends and I surprised our friend Jeanne with a virtual birthday party.  It was a blast, especially because Jeanne was so not clued in to what we were doing that Kirsten, our fearless leader in this endeavor, had to text her to tell her to get her arse on the computer after an entire morning of radio silence (the full story can be found here).
But since it was her 50th birthday, and 50th birthdays only come along once in a lifetime, we decided to Go Big or Go Home.
And thus, The Mouse Project was born.
It started rather innocently.  Jeanne posted this tutorial of how to make cute little felt mice and told a funny story about how she and one of her sisters left an entire army of mice at another sister's house.  Once our own birthday shenanigans got started, all of a sudden, we decided that we needed 50 mice.
And then things got crazy.
We upped the ante and starting sending out cryptic tweets under the hashtag #TMPWatch2013 (which, for some reason, I can't pull up on the Twitterverse).  For a while, Jeanne didn't notice, but when she did, it got even more fun when Kat ran interference with a gem of a red herring, posting a picture of some embroidery that she allegedly did.  We told Jeanne that it was a virtual "stitch n' bitch," that the "TMP" in #TMPWatch2013 stood for "The March Project," and we were able to continue all of our shenanigans under the guise of both successful and failed crafting attempts.
These mice are super fun to make, and since they go relatively fast, they're darn addictive, too.  I had started with Mousadora, who arrived in February with the OKMH package that I sent to Jeanne at that time.  She had no idea that this was just the beginning.  Forty-nine mice later (one horrible cat-related tragedy led to the demise of #50), we were off to the post office.
During the week of her birthday, it literally rained packages at the NanaBread house.  And to make sure that she didn't open any of them until all packages had been received, we added a few embellishments to the boxes.

I had so much fun making mine that I had to name each of them and give them a bit of a back story.  I'd wanted to post this earlier, but then real life got in the way.  But now I have some more time, so I'd like to introduce you to the crew.  To see the entire army of felt rodents that invaded Texas, click here.

Arisa, Purveyor of Potted Mouse Plants
There actually is a plant called the mouse plant, so named because the flowers look like the have little mice tails.  The scientific name: Arisarum proboscideum, hence the name Arisa for this little sweetie.  Her thumb is as green as her fur, and she likes nothing more than puttering around in her garden, which has both gorgeous blooms and an abundance of all things mouse-edible.  Rain doesn't bother her, but heaven forbid she find an aphid among her beauties.

Mouse-a-Bunga
A total beach bum, this dude just came from the ocean, sporting his own towel and a pail full of shells he picked up for his collection.    When he's not ripping killer waves or sculpting amazing sand castles, he's noshing on a lobster roll or a big bowl of chowdah.
Gnarly, dude!

Mousy Gras
Don't even ask where she got those beads.  She's a party girl if I've ever met one, and she had a bit of fun on Fat Tuesday, if you know what I mean.  It's likely she spent the first day of Lent nursing a hangover with some coffee at Cafe Du Monde.  She loves costume parties and always comes with her own mask, just in case.

Dr. Pellet, Mouse-troenterologist
Age 50 is the AMA guideline to begin colon cancer screenings (except in the case of family history, like me), so I wanted to send Jeanne someone who would be a good reminder that this is an important milestone.  Who better than her own personal physician?  The good doctor comes with an awareness bracelet and pin, so once Jeanne gets herself screened, she can pass along the message to others.  Someday, we will make the need for raising awareness a thing of the past, and someday, our actions will bring an end to this terrible disease.

Harvarti Marti
She's the life of the party!  My husband hates the fact that every single time we have havarti cheese in the house, I can't help but say, "It's a party with havarti."  The last time I did it, he seriously considered leaving me at the grocery store.  Yet he continues to buy the stuff.  Havarti Marti makes that saying ring true - she comes bearing gifts and never goes anywhere without an awesome party hat.

Duchess Emouseka
This is my favorite mouse that I've made thus far.  Walking through Hobby Lobby, I saw, thanks to HRH's keen eyes, a small patch of fake zebra fur, and I knew that I needed to do something with it.  I can't even sew a sarong for myself, so the Duchess got a cape and a hat to keep her warm during those cold Mousecow nights.  As a Duchess, she's used to the finer things in life, and she makes sure that she's always wearing a 20-carrot diamond somewhere prominent.




This was such a fun project, and the best part was being able to surprise a friend.  Bonus points that we were able to pleasantly surprise her, as you never know how someone will react to being suddenly beset with 49 felt critters.  I talk a great deal on here about how I run for me and that I am healthy for me, and blah blah blah, but at the end of the day, if I can do something for me by doing something for someone else, then, well, that's the Perfect Thing, isn't it?
What have you done recently that was a pleasant surprise for someone else?  What have you been inspired to do by someone else's generosity or kindness?

Disappointed

Paroneal tendinitis is the medical term for "my arch really f***ing hurts whenever I take a step!"
It sucks, and after almost a week of not being able to run, I'm getting grouchy about it.
In my more compassionate moments, I smack Angry Allison and remind her that in this last week, while I was kvetching about having to wear a brace, one woman I know lost her beloved dog (a beautiful coonhound) suddenly, and two people in my local colon cancer community lost their battle with that horrible disease.  So a lame foot for (hopefully) a few weeks really is nothing, so STFU, right?
But still, I'm disappointed.
I'm disappointed that I can't take some time out of the house (more important of late, since I work from home and spend way too much time here, honestly) just for myself.
I'm disappointed that I just got my shins healthy and then met this.
I'm disappointed that I had to defer my registration for my first trail race, which was scheduled for this weekend.
I'm disappointed that this is another way that my plan to achieve more miles this year is getting sidelined.
I'm disappointed that even though I started running to help others, I can't seem to help myself heal.
I'm just disappointed.

I have my fingers crossed that rest and a super sexy food brace will be all I need, and in lieu of running the trail race this weekend, I have signed up to be a volunteer.
I have a follow-up appointment in ten days, and if I don't go stark raving mad between now and then, I'll see you on the road and the trails very soon.

Running on Empty (A Book Review)

In my attempt to read more books intended for grown ups (instead of those directed at 4-year-olds), I recently signed up for the online book club hosted by Jamie over at Couch to Ironwoman.  I'm not sure I'll be able to get in a book every month, but I'll do my best.
This is my first month participating, the book that Jamie assigned us (yes, I look at it like a school assignment, which, truly, I revel in) was Running on Empty, by ultramarathoner Marshall Ulrich.
I am not an ultramarathoner, as you know.  Heck, I'm not even a marathoner (yet?).  So at the outset, I was a little intimidated.  After all, this book is about Ulrich's 3063-mile trek across the country, from California to New York.
Today I ran 3.06 miles, so... there's the connection?

First, a bit of vital information.

From Ulrich's website, the book is described as:

• Filled with mind-blowing stories from the road and Marshall Ulrich's sensational athletic career, this is an incredible read with a universal message for athletes and non-athletes alike: face the toughest challenges, overcome debilitating setbacks, and find deep fulfillment in something greater than achievement.

Book ISBN: 978-1-58333-490-4 (paperback - $16.00)
Available on e-reader as well (I downloaded a copy for my iPad)

All right, now, what did I gain from reading a book about a man who runs distances I'm not sure I even want to think about?

The aspect of this book that jumped off the page to me was how Ulrich began running.  In the wake of the battle and subsequent passing of his first wife, Jean, to breast cancer, he took up running.  He ran to cope with the pain, and he ran away from that pain, too.  This first chapter, which details their marriage and Jean's decline, tore my heart apart.  I wasn't sure that I was going to get through the rest of the book, to be honest with you.

Because I started running in memory of my dad, who died from complications related to colon cancer.  Running - any distance that I've gone, from one mile to 13.1 - helps me cope with the sadness that I still have, over 13 years later.  Running gives me an outlet, helps offer me time to put things into perspective, and offers me a way to channel that grief into something positive (I try to focus on participating in race events that are charity-related).

Of course, Ulrich's admission that he allowed himself to use running to run away from pain and grief more than a way to balance that pain tore me up, too.  I grieved for the time he didn't spend with his (now adult) children and the marriages that ended in divorce.  While the candid nature of these descriptions was honorable, and hopefully, for Ulrich, cathartic, it frustrated me, too, that he allowed himself to follow that path for so many years.  The main reason I haven't pursued a full marathon is because of the time commitment.  My daughter is still young, and she still depends on me for so much.  And yes, I have a husband who loves his child more than anything, but his job often requires late nights at meetings, so I am often the parent who gets her up in the morning and who puts her to bed at night, with a full time job (two, if we're counting the parenting that I do while I work) in between.  I am not willing to sacrifice the time I have with her at this young age.  God (and joints) willing, there will be time.  Now is not the time.

Now, we English teachers love looking for metaphors in everything.  See that billboard?  It's a metaphor.  See that roadkill?  Metaphor.  Cat puke on your kid's favorite shoes?  Yep, metaphor.  It's like a sickness.  So it was in that vein that I read Ulrich's tale of running across the country.  For me, it really did give a small sampling as to the metaphor that is the human spirit.  Ulrich literally was able to run down Memory Lane.  His family and friends who were able ran parts of the way with him, and he was able to spend other times contemplating his relationships with others (at times coming closer and at others diverging paths).  While I can't imagine running that far in such a short amount of time (I admit that I have ruminated on an Arizona to Washington trek, though), I can see the draw.  The run changed Ulrich, and it's apparent that he had many epiphanies and "a-ha!" moments along the way that allowed him to come out of the trans-con a better parent, husband, and man (not that he was truly horrible before, I need to note; there is just always room for us to improve ourselves, even without running across the country).

That this amelioration was the end result, to me, makes the blisters, the injuries, the fallouts, and everything else worth it.

And the metaphor I can apply to my life?  If Marshall Ulrich can run across the length of the United States (he has actually criss-crossed the country, going west-east and north-south) and come out the other side having made himself better, then any of us can make similar improvements upon ourselves and our souls by dragging ourselves out of bed in the mornings and giving thanks that we can lace up while we do.  And we can do it in spite of injuries, small or large, as long as we are able to deal with them properly, just like we need to deal with the pain that is part of the human experience (we can't know joy if we can't know pain).

Thanks for the read, Jamie!  Next month's book is Chrissie Wellington's A Life Without Limits.  I'm hoping to be able to catch this one, and I'm looking forward to what April and May have in store as well.  In the meantime, I'm hoping to be able to find and watch the documentary Running America, which details Ulrich's transcontinental run.
If you are a reader and a runner and would like to hop aboard this online book club train, click here for all the details and to see what books the group has already read.

• What books have you read about running that have inspired you (and maybe scared you a little, too)?
• What have you learned from reading about running?
• Would you run an ultra-marathon or participate in another feat of athleticism?

Bake Sale for Beka

The Internet is a crazy thing.  Not only can you find a corgi version of "Call Me Maybe" (Corgi Rae Jepsen?), but you can also meet the most amazing and wonderful people.
Megan is one of those amazing and wonderful people I've met thanks to The Internet.  She is funny and sharp as a tack.  She is a devoted lover of labra-dork retrievers.  She has a recipe for coconut curd that makes me weak at the knees.  But more most importantly, she has worked tirelessly to put together a bake sale to benefit her best friend, Beka.

Beka has Crohns disease.
You can click on the link there to get more information about what Crohns is, but here is what you really need to know: a chronic condition, Crohns currently has no cure.  Medications can help - some people can be in remission for years, but other people go through much more regular cycles of flare-ups.  It's not a fake disease, and it can have a huge impact on a person's personal and professional life.
But Beka, whom I've also gotten to know via that crazy Internet, doesn't appear to be letting something like Crohns affect her humor, vivacity, or really anything else.
Which is exactly how I would hope to deal with anything like Crohns, cancer, etc.  The less she allows it to boss her around, the less it will be the "one thing" that defines her.

What Beka IS doing is planning her first half marathon after realizing, during training for a 5K, that running seemed to quell some of the symptoms.  Her efforts in this will benefit the Crohns and Colitis Foundation of America, specifically the Foundation's Camp Oasis, a camp for children diagnoses with Crohns and Colitis.  Camp Oasis allows these kids to be, well, KIDS, despite their conditions, which many times, other children don't understand.

Y'all know I am definitely on board with my sisters who run for their causes.  Beka and I have kind of bonded over the whole Crohns-colon cancer thing, finding 12-year-old humor in two diseases that are in all actuality NOT funny.

Good thing this bake sale is ANYTHING but funny.  It's simply full of Awesome.

Don't believe me?  Check it out - bid on the goods and goodies from 25 food bloggers (including yours truly) as well as some wonderfully generous companies to help Beka meet her goal for the CCFA and make a huge difference for the kids!  You can bid until 8PM Pacific Daylight Time tonight on some amazing treats - just by clicking here.

Just keep your grubby mitts off the double dark chocolate merlot cookies.  Those babies are MINE.

Not Strong Enough

I found myself having what I've come to call a "Dad moment" in the car as I took HRH to school this morning.  I managed to pull myself together so I didn't drive Ursula smack into the construction cones for all the tears, but it was touch and go for a bit.
It was the sudden realization that my dad would be turning 65 this October if he were still alive.  He'd be eligible for retirement, and he'd be able to take it easy and probably drive my mom up the wall if actually DID decide to retire, although I suspect that he'd have a tough go at not pestering people chewing the fat working all day.
And I can only imagine the fun of the retirement party.
What would be more fitting, then, than to have a sort of retirement party for Dad's birthday, right?  Such a great idea, although I'm not really sure what happens at retirement parties.  I suspect gifts like sock garters, sandal-sock combos, and velour track suits are given.
Celebrating my dad's birthday is something that I've always tried to focus on, rather than the day he died after a four-year battle with colon cancer.  The difficulty is that both happened in October.  As was my parents' wedding anniversary.  It's nearly impossible, then, to separate the days.  Death Day is far too close to Birth Day.  I've re-christened October as Sucky McSucksalot Month, as my heart is truly heavy during this month - in the span of 16 days, I mourn the loss of a beautiful life, I mourn a marriage that was torn asunder by that treacherous third party, and I mourn a birthday I can't truly celebrate anymore.
During a "Dad moment," I don't just cry.  My heart tightens up and tries to claw its way up my throat, which start burning like I just swallowed fire.  If I don't have something like controlling a moving vehicle to distract me, the rolling tears will turn into ugly girl crying - red, puffy eyes, snotty, running nose, and ragged breathing that can lead to hyperventilating if I'm not careful.  The grief that washes over me is powerful enough to knock me to my knees, where you'll still find me asking "WHY?"
I would love to honor my dad and the amazing work that he did in his 51 years.  I'd love to raise my glass and toast his accomplishments and tell him, even in just a symbolic gesture, that he can finally take a break and just relax for a bit.  Maybe he could finally finish the house remodeling project that he started when I was about HRH's age.
I'm just not sure I'm strong enough.
Yet.

A Father's Day Letter

Dad, I just want you to know that even though I am still so pissed at how you didn't take care of yourself, resulting in you not being there to see me graduate, marry, and have your granddaughter, I love you and miss you so much every day.  You would have loved HRH and probably spoiled her beyond measure, and you and The Husband would probably have had a lot of fun ganging up on me to make fun of me for for something... anything (like the compression sleeves I am still currently wearing after having slept in them last night).

I hope that I can be as monumental a parent as you were.  You taught me to give of oneself not for any glorification but because it's the right thing to do.  You taught me that sometimes it's OK to have some "slow" food and that the house doesn't have to be spotless to have a great time as a family (hence the state of our front room right now).  You taught me that some days need to be reserved for lounging and lazing.  You taught me to love to experiment in the kitchen and to enjoy every second of life.  You taught me that learning is vital and for everyone, no matter what some stupid high school counselor might have told YOU.
My only wish is that you had taken better care of yourself so that you didn't miss all those milestones in my life.  A piece of iceberg lettuce and slice of tomato on a burger does NOT count as a salad, and not all clear liquids adequately hydrate the body (I'm talking to you, vodka on the rocks).  Cigarettes... do I eve need to start?  And of course, there is more to physical activity than watching golf on TV.
I know you felt that since your dad died too soon that you, too, were going to have too short a life.  You kind of wrote your own book there, didn't you?
As much as I want to follow in your footsteps as a parent and kind, loving individual, I have to write my own ending.  I want to be there for HRH's milestones.  I'm kind of selfish like that.
So I am eating better, I am watching my own body move, and I am doing my best to give of myself to those who need someone to be compassionate.
I miss you, Dad.  And I hope that all of the lessons you taught me help make me a role model for my own daughter.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.  I love you.

Ask My Why I'm Blue

If you read this blog with any regularity, you probably know my devotion to the fight against colon cancer, the insidious malignancy that took my father from me in 1999.  In the past two years, I have raised approximately $2000 in this crusade, and I would not have been able to do it without the help of my close friends and family.  It is my hope that treatments and preventive measures will continue to improve as we search for a cure for all cancers.  Colon cancer is extremely treatable - and even preventable - when proper precautions, such as proper diet and exercise as well as regular screenings, are taken.
I had hoped that during this National Colon Cancer Awareness Month, I might feel that there needs to be less awareness and more action.  But the other day, I caught an episode of The Dr. Oz Show, and a woman who was participating in the show told America's favorite cardiac surgeon that she didn't worry about colon cancer because it was a man's disease.
I honest to goodness started crying at her words.  I'm not sure if it was disbelief or what, but my heart ached that this woman probably represents more Americans than I would like to think.
For the record, anyone who has a colon can get colon cancer; it isn't gender biased.

Another misconception about colon cancer is that it's an "old person" cancer.  Regular screenings aren't recommended until a person hits 50 (unless in the case of family history, like I have), which may help propagate that notion.
But just like it doesn't discriminate on the basis of gender, cancer doesn't really care how old a person is. I've already talked about Dylan Reboer, the high school football player who passed away just hours before his team took to the field in the state championship game.  Cases like Dylan's are certainly rare, but more and more I am reading stories about people in their 30s and 40s being diagnosed as well.
One of those diagnosed in his 30s is my second cousin, Greg.  In 2002, he was diagnosed with hereditary nonpolyposis colon cancer (HNPCC), a cancer that is derived from a genetic mutation.  His mom, Vicki, is my dad's first cousin.  She battles non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  This week, she sent me a package that not only contained some wonderful family pictures but also some important family health information:

• My paternal grandmother had both breast and ovarian cancer (I already knew this; the information I was sent verified it)
• Her sister, Vicki's mom - my great-aunt, died of a bone cancer that spread to her brain.
• Their mother, my great-grandmother, had stomach cancer that cut her life short at age 68.
• Her husband, my great-grandfather, had gallbladder cancer in his 80's.

Clearly, we're pretty sure from which part of the family our cancer history comes.
The most vital information that Vicki sent me, however, is the fact that Greg had the HNPCC (which is also known as Lynch Syndrome).  This type of colon cancer is derived from a genetic mutation for which there is a test, and hopefully I can now have insurance cover that test for me.  I actually tried to get it last year, but my insurance at the time denied the claim, stating that I needed to show that another relative already had the gene.  Hard to do when the two people who might have qualified me - my father and my grandmother - had both passed away.  While a second cousin once removed having a positive test result is something of a longshot, I am hoping that my new insurance company is more willing to cover the test so that I can be even more proactive about preventing cancer in the first place.
It's important to note that if a person does test positive for the genetic mutation behind HNPCC, he or she isn't guaranteed to get cancer.  But there is an increased risk, especially for colon cancer (the risk is actually up to 80% greater than people without the risk by the time a person hits age 70).
I am so grateful to have received this information.  It helps put more pieces of the family medical history puzzle into place, and I can go forward with more preventive actions because of my knowledge.  Today, March 2, 2012, is National Dress in Blue Day.  It is part of this month's campaign to raise awareness about colon cancer and how preventable and treatable it can be.  It is my hope that everyone and anyone who reads this post will take some time to collect his or her own family medical history and to start looking into routine screening in order to prevent becoming another colon cancer statistic.

In the spirit of colon cancer awareness, which is signified by the blue ribbon, I wanted to embed this video.  My dad was a huge fan of Patsy Cline, and the song "Blue" was originally written for her before her own untimely passing.  When my dad heard LeAnn Rimes sing it, he was enthralled.

A (Decadent) Year in Review

This morning, I bid 2011 a farewell by running 8 miles, 5 of which were with Zooey (I had to drop her off at home, as she pretty much taps out at mile marker 5).  It was a glorious morning - a sunny Arizona "winter" day, which started off at about 46° at 9:00-ish; by the time I finished, it was at least in the 60s.
When the year began, I had never run more than about 4 miles, and I was gearing up for my first 10K (a scary 6.2 miles).
Now that the year is ending, I am getting ready to run my first half marathon, twice as far as a 10K - and then a little bit more - a feat that I never dreamed I would entertain, much less aspire to, when 2011 dawned.  I can't lie - it was due mostly to my friend Katie, who told me about the Disney Princess Half Marathon (hello, tiaras!) and to my friend Veronica, who just laid on the guilt/pressure.  I also have to credit my friend Allison as well (no, not me - I don't talk in the third person.  Usually.).  She started running marathons just a few years ago, qualifying for the New York marathon basically immediately.  While she encouraged me in my baby steps of running, I flat out told her she was crazy.  I really hope I don't decide to do a full marathon, as then I'll have to eat my words, and I'm more comfortable being right in my diagnosis of her.

Be a Good Cookie Week - My Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I'm sure you already know those things that I want for Christmas - an iPhone 4S, a heart rate monitor for my workouts, stuff for the house, a pair of Christian Louboutins, but I've been remiss in sending you the wish list of what I really need.

So here it is.

Santa, I need you to find a cure for cancer.  It's more than just a terrible disease; it's a malevolent fiend who purports to be altruistic and without bias, never discriminating.  What a bastard.  Cancer took my dad from me, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish desperately that he had lived to see his granddaughter.  There are days that the pain and grief and anger I feel because my daughter will never get to meet her grandfather is so raw I can hardly breathe.

Then I look at that little girl, who is my entire world.  I would move Heaven and Earth for her.

And I can't help but remember that there are some moms who can't look at their daughters and sons without a constant worry, fear, and pain that an uninvited guest will be more powerful than their children.

Moms like my friend Alicia, whose daughter Lily is, thankfully, in remission after battling alveolar rhabdomysarcoma for nearly a year.

And then I remember those moms who can only look at pictures of their children because cancer crept in, unseen and unwanted, and stole those beautiful lives away.

Moms like Heather Solomon, who said goodbye to her 7-year-old daughter London, her baby girl, after London's 7-month battle with acute myeloid leukemia.

Moms like Heather Rebeor, whose 16-year-old song Dylan lost his fight with colon cancer hours before his football team won the state championship.

Santa, it isn't right.

Moms should draw countless pumpkin patches with their children.  They should pretend to eat pizza fresh from their children's play kitchen (and imagination).  They should help their children learn how to brush all their teeth, not just the front ones.  They should roll their eyes at the umpteenth viewing of Dora the Explorer.  They should snuggle with and read a story to their children before kissing them goodnight, every night.

Moms like Gretchen Holt-Witt should never have to bake 96,000 cookies to help raise money for their child's cancer treatment instead of doing all those other things that I take for granted.

Oh, but Santa, I'm so grateful that Gretchen did.  And I'm grateful that people have taken up her battle cry to fund the fight against childhood cancer, to stop it in its tracks and force it to beat a hasty retreat like so many other cowardly menaces who threaten those we love.

And, Santa, I am also grateful that I have been given the wonderful opportunity to make friends like Kirsten at Comfortably Domestic, Jeanne at Inside NanaBread's Head, Megan at Wanna Be a Country Cleaver, Kat at Tenaciously Yours, and Mads at La Petite Pancake - these ladies who have a similar desire to do good and so have come together for a second time in as many months for Be a Good Cookie Week, just so we can help lay the groundwork for you.  Kirsten, who stands at the front lines of this battle in memory of her sister, and Jeanne are both offering giveaways during this week to help spread the message that pediatric cancer isn't something to be feared; it's something to be quashed.  Make sure you, the missus, and all the elves take a few minutes out of your busy schedules to enter - and help fuel the fire against pediatric cancer.

So, Santa, I've left these cookies out for you, on my grandmother's china - my grandmother whom ovarian cancer took before I was born - along with this message, in the hope that you can help deliver this gift that is so needed this year - and each year until cancer, that elusive phantom who robs people of their joy and light, throws up his hands in ultimate surrender.  I know it's a tall order, but my dear friends and I are ready to help you meet it, head on.

In case you were curious, the recipe for these cranberry-walnut-white-&-dark-chocolate cookies is from the Best Bake Sale Cookbook, a cookbook that raises money for Gretchen's organization, Cookies for Kids' Cancer.  The book would make a great Christmas gift for the person who loves baking.  It's chock-full of fantastic recipes and wonderful stories of how people are making a difference in the fight against pediatric cancer.

I hope you like the cookies, Santa, and I hope you can at least put a few elves to work to help deliver this Christmas wish.

Sincerely,

Allison

My First Colonoscopy

You know you're a parent of a pre-school age child when you look at getting a colonoscopy as an appropriate excuse to take a nap.

That is exactly how I approached Thursday.

I've documented before that I have a family history of cancer.  My dad lost his battle with colon cancer in 1999, and his sister (his only sibling) fought breast cancer before passing earlier this year.  My paternal grandmother beat breast cancer only to be taken by ovarian cancer before I was born.  My dad's cousin continues to battle non-Hodgkin's lymphoma while her son fought AND BEAT colon cancer when he was in his 30s.  And that's the ones I specifically know; I remember one instance of my dad telling me that family members on his side had also had kidney, stomach, and liver cancers, just to name a few.  Apparently, if it's in the mid-section of the body, our family can -and does - get cancer there.

The fact that my dad had colon cancer and my grandmother ovarian cancer is not something to ignore.  Studies are showing, more and more, a relation between the two when there is a genetic disposition toward cancer (I am currently working to have the genetic test done, but this is something that insurance companies don't like to cover, so it's been a struggle, to say the least, and it is an extremely expensive test that I cannot afford out of pocket right now).  So when I went in for my consultation last month, the PA was highly interested in this fact, and even though I have other family history, it was the one that, to her, was the most important in determining that I was indeed a candidate for a colonoscopy at age 33.

Saving the World - In my Undies

The adult in me wants to start this post with a memory of my dad and something about how exciting it was to participate in my second Colon Cancer Alliance's Undy 5000 5K Run.
The 12-year-old in me wants to start this post with a completely inappropriate joke.
Choices, choices...

The good news is that I can compromise.
My dad, who subscribed to "laughter is the best medicine" policy, named his colostomy so he could discuss it a little more easily.
He named it Sparky.
The mascot of my beloved Arizona State Sun Devils is named Sparky.
I'm convinced that my dad named his colostomy as such just to drive me insane.
Haha, Dad - I got you this time.
(this is where I could put in a close-up of my rear end in the ASU undies I bought for the event, but you did not come here to see a close up of my rear end)

I Iz Gunna Get Mee Mai Morsel, O Yes I Iz!

I once saw a documentary about dogs and how they differ from wolves.  Part of the show argued that because dogs have become dependent on humans, they give up on fairly simple tasks, while wolves would rather chew off a leg than ask for help.

Clearly, no one has informed Zooey of this canid helplessness.

Build Your Own Pizza (so you can just turn your nose up at it later) Bar

Studies are showing more and more that diet has a huge influence on one's risk of colon cancer.  Focusing on a more plant-based diet and cutting down on or eliminating meat is one of many modifications, so I have worked to eat less meat and obtain my proteins from other sources.  We're also trying to model good eating habits for HRH.
When I was pregnant, I could not even look at a piece of lettuce (or any proper veggie) without turning green myself.  Three days after I found out that I done got myself knocked up was Easter Sunday, and I had brought a lovely salad, replete with blueberries, corn, carrots, strawberries, and more (oh, it was a vision of loveliness, I tell you) as my part of the family pot luck.  When dinner came around, I took one look at that bowl of greens and veggies and fruit, all packed with nutrients, and had to back very quickly away in order to avoid 1) ruining Easter dinner for everyone and 2) prematurely announcing that we were expecting.
I honestly did try to eat well.  I knew that what I ate during pregnancy would inform what my child ate post-womb emergence.
Well, you know what they say.... the best laid plans o' mice and men.... blah, blah, blah.
My diet consisted mostly of chilled grapes, whole milk by the gallon, Nestle Drumsticks, and lots of buttery, cheesy pasta.  There were also about two weeks that I had to eat a salami sandwich with iceberg lettuce, provolone cheese, mustard, and a ton of pepperoncinis on a toasted white bun.

Hence giving birth to Picky Picky.

Dear Little Red-Haired Girl

I'm writing this post on what would have been my father's 64th birthday (October 16), but I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to make it through without sobbing uncontrollably, so it's likely that by the time I finally hit "Publish Post," the new work week will have dawned.

My dad is a complete stranger to all but a handful of those who follow or happen upon this blog, a picture of a past life who doesn't necessarily have any real significance.  And while I'm sure I could regale you with stories of his antics (like the time he put plastic dog poop on my pillow and then put the cat right next to it... and my subsequent reaction), he's still an anonymous someone who happened to have colon cancer.
A great many people have had colon cancer, many of them in relative anonymity to the greater public.
But many famous people, names you may know and even adore, have also battled colon cancer, although some fought their battle with less fanfare and publicity than even my dad.  Some of this was their desire for privacy, but some, sadly, because of the lack of awareness at the time of their diagnosis and the taboo nature of talking publicly about "that" part of one's body.
Perhaps you've heard of these individuals.  They each shaped the world in their own way, some larger than others.  But they each fought colon cancer.

Wordless Wednesday - ROAR!!!!!

(For more examples of how colon cancer has affected families, please check out the Colon Cancer Alliance's Personal Stories page)