An improvised life

As most of you know, Alder and I relocated to Arlington, Massachusetts at the end of the summer to join Rosie for her last years of high school. After 23 years in Alaska – and frankly never having resonated with this place – it’s a big transition. I decided to combat my sense of dislocation by running the Boston Marathon. Brilliant, I know! It accomplished all kinds of good: (1) help others – check! – by running as a fundraiser for The Children’s Room; [1] (2) reclaim my health and confidence and kick cancers’ ass(es?) – check!; and (3) do something epic that’s endemic to the area – Boston Marathon totally checks that box! Finally, I figured I would model grit and perseverance for my children. Instead I am modeling hospital gowns. I am modeling defeat. I am modeling fatigue and despair. I am modeling Becoming One With The Couch. Training was going ok. I wasn’t feeling my strength flooding back as I used to when I would ramp up my running, but I was able to push through an

As most of you have heard, in April I was diagnosed with choroidal melanoma – eyeball cancer. The diagnosis set off several weeks of travel, treatment, and decisions. And of course, another overwhelming round of generosity and kindness from my friends, family and community. I know many people have questions, so I invite you to peruse the FAQ below. 1.        Eyeball cancer? Seriously? Yeah, who even knew? Ocular melanoma is a rare form of skin cancer diagnosed in approximately 6 in 1 million Americans annually. Risk factors include having fair skin and light eyes, and a history of welding or sun/snow burn. Almost 20 years ago an optometrist found a nevus – basically a freckle – in my right eye. Apparently an estimated 1 in 500 such freckles become cancerous over ten years. [1] 2.        Is it related to your breast cancer? Fortunately this is not a breast metastasis but a whole new cancer. It’s way better to have two unrelated local cancers than one cancer that’s metastasized,

In June 2013, on an uncharacteristically warm night, I was lying in bed wearing a tank top. My right arm over my head, I flung my left arm across my chest, and my fingers landed on a lump. It turned out to be a knot of cancerous lymph nodes. I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer, and my life quickly turned upside down, with a rapidly executed relocation to the Seattle area for treatment. We moved to Bainbridge Island, which in some ways is less of an island than Juneau. You can drive off it, for one thing – a short bridge on the north end takes you to the Olympic Peninsula. Or you can take a 35-minute boat ride to downtown Seattle. The Washington State  Ferry offers departures about every 50 minutes from 4:45am until 1am. My treatment started with chemotherapy. A typical chemo day began on the second floor of my cancer institute. After the inevitable wait, I’d be called back and a nurse would access my port. A “portacath” is basically a titanium button with a r

Friends, It’s been a year since I last posted, and I’ve missed it. Writing for others seems to help me crystallize my thoughts and stay positive so ultimately, this exercise is for myself. With that, here is today’s offering… I was making pancakes this morning for Alder and his friend, idly breaking an egg when my mind wandered back to a sixth-grade field trip to the Beth Israel Hospital in Boston. The tour included the hospital kitchen. I vividly remember a guy standing in front of a vat, or rather, I picture the vat itself – an elongated rectangular trough that was apparently some kind of cooking apparatus. In my mind it was gigantic, and was filled with gallons and gallons of yellowish liquid. A man in a paper hat stood before it, dragging a large metal spatula back and forth through the trough of what turned out to be eggs.   As he sloshed around the yellowy ocean of congealing egg, the cook told us a story. He told us ships’ cooks had to use powdered eggs on long