Looks like I have cancer, again. My response?  Training for a half-marathon. I’m shooting for the Steamboat Half-Marathon which is June 4th. I’m well aware that I’m setting the bar high given the fact a PET Scan revealed that I have a suspicious lymph node near my left clavicle. My consult with a breast surgeon to explore removing it is not until March 28th. The surgery will follow. Chemo? Radiation? Probably on the horizon. Just not sure of the timing of treatment. In the me

4 months post surgery scar. Two years ago today, I endured a 7 plus hour long surgery to remove ovarian cancer. At that time, I had no idea the extent to which it had engulfed by innards. I still have the scar, though two years later, it has faded with the passage of time. I spent Christmas in the hospital. So, this time of year brings up a flood of emotions and not all bad. While I am beyond grateful to have survived the surgery and 16 months of chemotherapy, I also struggle

It was February in Colorado, a cold and snowy month, when I last posted about my “Cancer Journey”. And, now, the sun is setting on this 5th of July. I spent the Holiday weekend being as physically busy as possible. Here I am with Ginger practicing our paddle board techniques. It’s been 10 weeks since my last chemotherapy infusion and in that time I’ve worked hard to get ready for the next phase of this thing called “my life”. Tomorrow I’m having a prophylactic double mastecto

It’s been quite the year. As 2014 comes to a close, I’ve decided to practice celebrating more of what I “can do” and focusing less on “what I can no longer do”. As I’m slowly regaining my physical strength and testing my new limits, I notice that I often say things like, “I used to be able to run six miles with ease.” Or, “I miss riding my bike.”  And, “I miss feeling strong.” As a matter of fact, if you have been reading my blog, you, too, have noticed this theme. Yes, I mou

A year ago today, I was on my way to Denver for my “debulking” surgery for ovarian cancer. I was told the operation could take anywhere from four hours to eight hours. It took seven-plus hours. I was told I might wake up to a colostomy. I woke up to a drain protruding from my lower left belly region as a result of removing part of my colon. Yet, no colostomy. One year ago today, I was a surgery “virgin”. Today, I am a surgery veteran. One year ago today, the good people of th

Today marks exactly 11 months since I had the 7 hour debulking surgery to remove the ovarian cancer that had engulfed my abdominal cavity. Eleven months. Because I’m heading towards that one year anniversary, I have constant reminders flooding my senses about last year at this time. Anniversaries do that. We mark them, celebrate them, reflect upon them. I’ve been reflecting on the year that has passed and the life I have lived. And, as much as I have grown to appreciate my li

It’s been almost 10 months since my debulking surgery and roughly 4 months since I finished frontline chemotherapy for my December diagnosis of Stage III Ovarian Cancer. I’ve been declared N.E.D. which means No Evidence of Disease. My hair is growing although I still don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror. I’ve gained my weight back and then some. I’m exercising regularly though my stamina is 10% of what it was pre cancer treatment. I’m back to work full time. I’m a

Run for Hope Cancer Support Fundraiser Dear Cancer, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now. I just needed some time to gather my thoughts. I think we are drifting apart and it might be time for us to take a break. Over this past month I’ve noticed that I don’t think of you as often as I used to and I don’t give you as much time and attention as I once had. Instead, I’m filling my days with work and play. And, as I make room for health in my life, there is less room

Dear Leah, How are you? No, really. How are you? Last year at this time, you were about to turn 47 and feeling on top of the world. You had made some big decisions; decided to sell your business that you had worked so hard to create and sell your house to move in with your boyfriend. This was a new chapter. A conscious decision to simplify your life, to carve out time to enjoy as well as look to the future for that next adventure. The summer before I was diagnosed. I had no i

Someone once told me that the most commonly experienced side effect of cancer is living with the fear that it might come back. Yep. I have that side effect. I’ve joined the world of the living again (figure of speech). I’m going back to work (slowly). I’m seeing friends and colleagues that I haven’t seen since being diagnosed. I find myself telling my story, repeatedly. And, as I hear myself telling my story (repeatedly), I can’t quite believe it happened to me. And, as a mat

When you are diagnosed with cancer or any other chronic illness that affects your ability to eat, the definition of eating well changes.  But before I launch into today’s blog, I want to remind you that have an undergraduate and graduate degree in Nutritional Sciences and have been counseling a diverse population in both illness and wellness for over 20 years. Defining what it means to “eat well” has always been controversial since I’ve been in the field. It’s not my intentio

It’s been just over four weeks since my last frontline chemotherapy treatment and just over six months since my surgery. I am grateful to have come this far. Yet, I am struggling. As I try to find the core of the struggle I have reluctantly come to realize it’s about vanity. I have some shame about admitting this openly. And, I cannot deny this experience as it’s a part of my journey. So, to stay in step with the metaphor, I am about to stand in front of you naked. I’ve come

I’m a trained psychotherapist. I’ve worked with a diverse set of clients in a wide variety of settings. Most of my clients at some point in their lives have experienced trauma. It’s important for me to take this into consideration as I help them find a balanced place in life. Much research in this field speaks to making meaning of the trauma as a way to heal and move through it. I won’t spend time in this blog going into the details of how trauma affects our brains and how ma

Hitting the wall after last frontline chemo treatment I used to be an athlete. Well, let me rephrase that. I used to be athletic. I’ve run my fair share of marathons, half-marathons, and adventure races. I’ve ridden my road bike across the state of Colorado among other places.  I’ve pushed my boundaries testing my strength and endurance limits. I did these things for me, never for the competition. I chose these experiences. I enjoyed them. Getting a cancer diagnosis and going

It’s Day 5 post final frontline chemotherapy. I’m sitting at the oncology clinic receiving IV fluids to help me lessen the side effects of the treatment. I went into surgery December 16th, 2013. It’s May 19th, 2014. There were so many moments over the past 6 months that I wanted to bail. I wanted out of the moment of suffering. I couldn’t imagine enduring what I knew lay ahead of me. I didn’t think I had the strength to prevail. I quickly found out that I didn’t have to rely

Brian and I doing what we love. This is Brian. Obviously, I’m with him as we ride the Santa Fe Century a couple of springs ago. Nothing like a cancer diagnosis to throw a detour into life and our illusion of control of our lives. Cancer changes relationships. Notice how I didn’t say for the good or the bad. It depends. And, I’ve seen it all as a practicing psychotherapist as well as having been married 18 years ago to a man diagnosed with cancer 4 months after we were married

Me – 1 month before diagnosis As I count down the days until I receive my last “front-line” chemo, I’ve been reflecting on this entire process from day of diagnosis up until present moment. One emotion I haven’t experienced is anger. Not saying I won’t feel angry in the future. I just haven’t felt any anger yet. Now, every other emotion humans claim to experience I have felt: shock, denial, fear, terror, deep sadness, anxiety, hopeless, and helplessness. Honestly, I wish I co

Dear Mom, As Mother’s Day approaches, I wanted to take the opportunity to tell you how much I’ve appreciated your support through my personal hell of late. I know I thank you numerous times every day and you tell me to “quit it” because it’s what a mother does for a child. So, if I write you this letter, you won’t be able to interrupt me. Thank you for taking me into your and Lee’s home on those days when I don’t feel like being alone. Thank you for coming to sit with me whil

Battling cancer. I hear this all the time. My fight against cancer. You don’t really hear this “war” analogy with other life-threatening diseases, such as heart disease or diabetes. A cancer diagnosis brings urgency and intensity. There’s a call to arms. I’m called a Warrior. The thing is: I don’t feel like I’m fighting. I feel like I’m enduring. I feel more like a prisoner of war waiting to be released than a warrior battling cancer. I do feel like the chemotherapy is tortur

I love this line from The Shawshank Redemption. Andy says in a letter to Red, “Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” The Shawshank Redemption also gave us this great line; “Get busy living, or get busy dying.” Let’s talk about hope first. I’ve always considered myself one of the most hopeful people I’ve ever met. I don’t think I would have gotten into the field of helping people change if I didn’t think they had a shot at