Erika, I’m still crazy about you, though I may forget to show it from time to time.
Looking forward to our walk together on October 4th, and for the rest of our lives.
Posts Tagged ‘breast cancer’
E
Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009C
Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009
“C is for Cookie”, and that’s good enough for me.
I think we all could agree with Cookie Monster. Let’s just stop there.
But sometimes it does not work out that way.
C is for Cancer
This year, the “big C” hit home pretty hard. Erika endured 18 weeks of chemotherapy after a bilateral mastectomy, and we’re looking forward to more surgery in November. And we count ourselves lucky. Erika knew what she was looking for, and she knew how serious it could be—her sister Inga died of breast cancer in 2000. So we moved quickly to fight the C monster.
Now, we’re joining thousands to Race for the Cure in just a couple of weeks. We’re raising money for the Denver Metropolitan Affiliate of Susan G. Komen for the Cure (I’ll just call them ‘Komen’).
C is for Cure
Komen has developed a fantastic model to raise funds to fight cancer on many fronts.
One important part of the Komen model is keeping it local – 75% of the net income we raise from our Race stays in the Denver Metropolitan Affiliate’s 12 county service area to fund breast health education, breast cancer screening and treatment projects.
The remaining 25% of the net income raised from our Race goes to fund national breast cancer research programs.
A
Monday, September 21st, 2009
A is for Anna,
who will be walking with us Sunday Morning, October 4th, surrounded by more people than she’s ever seen.
We’d love your company, too.
Can’t make it? We’d love your support: Run, Walk, or Sleep In For The Cure.
R
Monday, September 21st, 2009
, Anna keeps asking when spelling her letters. And we answer, 
chemo #5
Friday, July 3rd, 2009I should be feeling so gung-ho – after all it is my next to last treatment. but instead I feel depressed. Not this again, my body seems to be saying. At the Oncologist’s office I made a joke about how, while waiting for my appt, I went out to the ladies room in the hall by the elevators. but my body turned towards the elevators and was about to push the button. I could chalk it up to the so-called “chemo brain”, that I was just feeling spacey. This phenomenon was also responsible for me not remenbering how old I am, I mean really not remembering, not even able to do the math from 1974.
But I think it was more like an escape mechanism. Evey part of my being didn’t want to go through the nausea, the pain, the exhaustion again, only to feel better for a short time (maybe a week if I’m lucky) and then do it all over again. Messages of support welcome.
