Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the
quiet voice at the end of the day saying,
“I will try again tomorrow.”

- Mary Anne Radmacher

On outside meetings...

(This is the entry in which she comments on her feelings about outside-the-office meetings... these days.)

I hate 'em. I know hate is a strong word, but this borders on abhorrence. Seriously. I know it's a phase, and I know where it stems from. I know once I have hair again, once I'm feeling more myself again (which is slowly returning), and once I feel more confident again, outside meetings will return to the status of "meh, whatever." Right now? I detest them.

You see, working for a construction company, even though I'm not exactly turning dirt, I have the luxury of wearing jeans and a baseball cap most of the time. I'm not claiming to look like I could work in the field, and the jeans and lid are typically paired with a nice top and some sandals, but nobody bats an eye with regards to thinking I'm under-dressed. Hell, I'm overdressed in that type of outfit some days.

It's not even so much the outside meetings at the client's office, who are mainly municipalities. Granted, the City project managers are typically dressed nicely, and the design engineers are dressed nicely, but I don't think I've ever been in a project progress meeting without at least two people wearing jeans. So, while I typically dress a bit nicer, I can get away with the usual.

It's the business development meetings I despise. Or the association luncheons. Looking like I feel that I look, and not really wanting to be consumed with having to tell people how I'm feeling, why I don't have hair, no I'm not taking chemo, yes I'm still alive... (I know, I know they only ask because they care... I know) I tend to clam up, turn my eyes downward, and avoid conversation like the plague. Inevitably, it doesn't work. So, I suck it up, smile, and make nice. Nobody is any the wiser. Except me.

Today? The bossman and I have a lunch meeting that was rescheduled from a coffee meeting from last week, to discuss teaming opportunities with another firm on some projects. Not bad, right? Well, we're meeting with the Pretty People. Yargh. I actually like these two women - one better than the other - but they are always, ALWAYS impeccably dressed, hair perfect, and makeup looking like they just stepped away from the Clinique counter. Enter, me.

My dress pants are all too big (no matter how many sandwiches I eat), so I chose the lesser of the evils today - the tan pair. The first belt I had on never lay right in the first place, and really should be thrown out the window. The one I am currently wearing is slightly threadbare by the buckle and really should be worn with jeans. But, god forbid I sit down and my ass hangs out. I think I'll stick with the questionable belt. The top is OK, sort of whatever-ness, and my shoes are fine. I always feel like I have too much makeup on, but if I don't, I feel like I look tired even if I'm not. Then there's the hat. The tan conductor-style hat that matches the pants well enough, but really - I'm sick of them. My nails look fine from a distance, thankfully, and my toes even match, but don't come too close or you might notice the hint of bare nail peeking from the top of the polish. Nearly imperceptible, it is, except to me. Maybe I'll sit on my hands at lunch. Sigh. Anyhow, this meeting too shall pass. (NEWSFLASH 10:42am: The Pretty People cancelled... again! Maybe there is something to this 'luck o' the Irish' or maybe bitching about business development in my blog is similar to wishing upon a star. Either way, lunch is OFF.)

Just in time for a blood draw, in preparation for which I have already started my water consumption. Followed by yet another outside meeting. But this one is at a City. And across from a pub. I just might have to pop in for a Guinness afterwards...

Meanwhile, the bird fuzz hiding beneath the various and sundry hats I sport isn't nearly ready to be shown to the world. Again, sigh. It's getting there... but damn, the process is slow this time around. And every now and then the nagging fear creeps into my mind... what if I have to go on chemo again, and I'll NEVER have hair. I know, I know. Hair, schmair. Life is the important part.
And it is.

The good news? (Because there HAS to be good news, right?) The weather is beautiful, my husband says he thinks I'm cute, and I get to see two of my best friends in three days.

So, on this St. Patrick's Day (on which I am not wearing a speck of green, unfortunately) send a bit of the luck o' the Irish in Spud's general direction. I'm not entirely certain that she's Irish, but I do know that she's having surgery today. So, even though it's simply NOT up for discussion that it will be anything but fine, good vibes never hurt.

Irish proverb of the day: If God sends you down a stony path, may he give you strong shoes.

Not quite sure

I was going to title it "progress", but since in the cancer world, progress (or its variant, progression) isn't always a positive thing, I figured I had better not. Anyhow, back to the random thoughts.

The other night Greg and I went to have dinner with someone (a new friend, now) we had met through a mutual friend. She and our friend became friends in their college days and have stayed close, since. We first met her in last year's Team THRIVR golf tournament, and have since run into her on a couple of occasions while she was working. I'm not going to use her name here, mainly because I haven't asked her and she has a fairly public persona and probably doesn't want to be Googled. Particularly now.

We recently found out that she was diagnosed with breast cancer - she had her first mammogram after she turned 40, and there it was. WTF. Ironically, the last time we saw her before this week was mid-December, the day before she had to go in for a 2nd (diagnostic) mammogram. Prior to that, it had been quite a few months. Anyhow, our mutual friend let us know, and also told her that I (we) would be a good resource if she ever needed one. The expert on everything I've never wanted to know...

Long story short, we exchanged a few emails, discovered we had some very similar personality traits, and Greg and I had dinner with she and her husband this week. She has a very sweet, very supportive husband, and two of the cutest, most polite kids I've ever met (3 and 6).

I really enjoyed talking to them, and I think I was able to answer some of their questions. Like us, they are well-versed on what's going on with it all, yet are cautious not to cross the line of OVER-researching. Her pathology is eerily similar to what mine was when I was first diagnosed in 2000. I sometimes still can't believe it will have been nine years at the end of this month. I realize that each situation is so different, yet so many have certain similarities, particularly when they involve similar personalities and how people deal with crises. I'm still in amazement as to how much progress in diagnostic techniques, surgery techniques, and treatment recommendations have been made in the past nine years. Progress. So much progress. It gives me so much hope for the future.

And then, there's me. Anomaly me. Every now and then I get an inkling of doubt about talking to people recently diagnosed and telling them my sequence of events. I know that I probably would have been my own worst nightmare back in 2000 when I was first diagnosed. On paper, my history looks like the person for whom it never should have come back. Stage 1, no nodes, no family history, 7 years clean...but it did. Then again, 28 is very different than 40, or even 37 for that matter. Also, I feel it entirely depends upon how you are equipped to handle these things, and what type of support system you have. In any case, thankfully, the inkling passes and I can't say that I have ever held back from telling people my entire story - even as it continues to unfold. Even when I see the look of terror from the girl in her mid 30s sitting next to me in the shower line at the 3-Day who has just reached her 5 year mark and thinks she is home free. I have to remind them that I am the anomaly. In the big picture, I realize that I have a lot of things to say that people simply need to hear. The positive things.

Our new friend? She rocks. She's strong and talented and has conviction and faith and love around her and I do believe she is one of the people that will put it behind her as soon as possible. Hell, I did. I do every day, in some ways. In other ways? I'll never have that opportunity again.

There's no putting it behind me because there is no cure. Not yet, at least. Right now, there is also no more NED. Not until they find something that crosses the blood-brain barrier. It's been an interesting transformation, coming to terms that there simply is no putting it behind me, just treatments and scans and waiting and yes... life. That's the important part. The rest are temporary lapses. I suppose that's how I still get to put it behind me at times.

There is, however, stable. Stable is a wonderful thing and I hope to be there for as long as possible. At least until they find that damn elusive cure.

Meanwhile, there's life. And damned if I'm going to miss out on any of it.

(I apparently like to use the word 'damn' when I'm making a point... even to myself. Funny. Never noticed it before...)