As soon as the temperature rises over 40°F, everyone at the boat house gears up to go out on the river. A long winter of weight lifting, low cardio erg (rowing machine) days, threshold erg days, more weight lifting and back to the erg has got boring. Neon green jackets, hats and pogies appear again and by 7am, rowers are in a pack around the coach waiting for boat assignments. It's too cold for singles - the water temperature is still really low and flipping into the water is more likely in a single scull - so it's doubles and quads.
I'd been training regularly all winter, at least five days a week, and was eager to get back in a boat. The regattas were already listed in my calendar, including the Fisa Masters Worlds regatta which would be in Canada this year, and easy for us to get to. Being an international competition, this annual regatta moves around, like the Olympics, so getting to places like Latvia or Austria isn't easy.
My first low point when I learned about the cancer and the length of the treatment, was that I'd miss the rowing season. I couldn't believe it, after all the hard work this winter! I was really, really angry.........and sad. Sometimes, when faced with traumatic events, we cling to the routines in our life that make sense. Rowing at the crack of dawn, chatting to my friends and complaining about the coffee at our local diner was what I did every morning. This cancer thing was going to impact my schedule in a huge way, especially since I'd be able to see everyone out on the river, hear the coaches yelling from their launch, which I watched from my kitchen window.
People think of grief as something you only feel when a loved one dies, but I think we go through the same stages of grieving when something major happens and changes our life as we knew it. When I was 30 I had knee surgery and was told I'd never be able to run or jump again. I remember feeling totally miserable. Life would never be the same. Slowly, I got used to the new knee - and life resumed. I think this breast cancer challenge will be the same. I hope so.
Showing posts with label rowing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rowing. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thank goodness for girlfriends!
March 9, 2010
Women are absolutely the best! There's an understanding between women that is impossible to put into words. Like an underground river, deep and powerful, connecting feelings, dramas, joy and sadness. Even if you have only one woman friend, you are never alone!
One of the best things about my rowing club is the women. (Any male members reading this..... I love you too!!). We come in a range of shapes, ages and sizes, different backgrounds, professions and interests, united by our common bond as oarswomen. We train together, compete against each other and spend happy days on riverbanks cheering our teams at regattas.
It didn't take long for word to get out that things weren't 100% in my breast department, and I was buoyed by a huge wave of positive thought for my surgery. My good friend L, also a cancer warrior, asked if people could come to see me for breakfast one day. I was thrilled, of course I wanted to see everyone! And thank goodness for the warning - gave me time to vacuum the floors!
The energy from a roomful of women is almost tangible. I was too sore to hug anyone, but there was a lot of mental hugging and healing coming my way. Girlfriends are the best!! Thank you to all my wonderful friends. You are sending me fantastic vibes. Don't stop!!
Women are absolutely the best! There's an understanding between women that is impossible to put into words. Like an underground river, deep and powerful, connecting feelings, dramas, joy and sadness. Even if you have only one woman friend, you are never alone!
One of the best things about my rowing club is the women. (Any male members reading this..... I love you too!!). We come in a range of shapes, ages and sizes, different backgrounds, professions and interests, united by our common bond as oarswomen. We train together, compete against each other and spend happy days on riverbanks cheering our teams at regattas.
It didn't take long for word to get out that things weren't 100% in my breast department, and I was buoyed by a huge wave of positive thought for my surgery. My good friend L, also a cancer warrior, asked if people could come to see me for breakfast one day. I was thrilled, of course I wanted to see everyone! And thank goodness for the warning - gave me time to vacuum the floors!
The energy from a roomful of women is almost tangible. I was too sore to hug anyone, but there was a lot of mental hugging and healing coming my way. Girlfriends are the best!! Thank you to all my wonderful friends. You are sending me fantastic vibes. Don't stop!!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Where's Dr House when you need him??
February 23.
Not content with the breast drill and nail gun biopsy routine, She Who Knows Best, i.e. my wonderful Dr Ward decided that more investigation was needed. "Into the MRI machine with you," she declared, so my pal M. volunteered to spend the morning at the hospital while I was subjected to yet another horrendously expensive torture.
MRIs are those machines that all Dr House's patients end up in sooner or later, while the doctors have meaningful conversations about their love lives as the patient has a seizure. Let me just tell you first of all that not everyone goes into the MRI machine lying comfortably on their back to have a mid-morning snooze. The MRI room looks like something in a nuclear bunker..... DANGER. DO NOT CROSS THE LINE. Yellow tape and buzzers. All high security so you feel a bit weird standing there in your underwear.
I'm not quite sure why I found it so irritating to be called "honey" and "sweetie" by someone by daughters' age as I lay face down, clad only in white knickers, boobs hanging through holes in the table, arms stretched above my head like a diver, but I did. I'm sorry. She was really very nice. I'm not one for too much formality, but I think in the circumstances I would have liked a bit more respect. "Are you all right, Mrs.....?" as the machine hammered and clattered, ear-splittingly, for 45 minutes.
When it was finally over and she came to help me up, I said "Wow, how do older people keep still in that position for so long?". She looked at me oddly. If ever there was a disconnect, this was it. She obviously couldn't fathom why I, an older person, would ask such a dumb question. I, on the other hand, am no way an older person.... I was talking about seriously older people, like my mother, for goodness sakes. Oh my. Treacherous territory.....
Not content with the breast drill and nail gun biopsy routine, She Who Knows Best, i.e. my wonderful Dr Ward decided that more investigation was needed. "Into the MRI machine with you," she declared, so my pal M. volunteered to spend the morning at the hospital while I was subjected to yet another horrendously expensive torture.
MRIs are those machines that all Dr House's patients end up in sooner or later, while the doctors have meaningful conversations about their love lives as the patient has a seizure. Let me just tell you first of all that not everyone goes into the MRI machine lying comfortably on their back to have a mid-morning snooze. The MRI room looks like something in a nuclear bunker..... DANGER. DO NOT CROSS THE LINE. Yellow tape and buzzers. All high security so you feel a bit weird standing there in your underwear.
I'm not quite sure why I found it so irritating to be called "honey" and "sweetie" by someone by daughters' age as I lay face down, clad only in white knickers, boobs hanging through holes in the table, arms stretched above my head like a diver, but I did. I'm sorry. She was really very nice. I'm not one for too much formality, but I think in the circumstances I would have liked a bit more respect. "Are you all right, Mrs.....?" as the machine hammered and clattered, ear-splittingly, for 45 minutes.
When it was finally over and she came to help me up, I said "Wow, how do older people keep still in that position for so long?". She looked at me oddly. If ever there was a disconnect, this was it. She obviously couldn't fathom why I, an older person, would ask such a dumb question. I, on the other hand, am no way an older person.... I was talking about seriously older people, like my mother, for goodness sakes. Oh my. Treacherous territory.....
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Cheerleaders
February 15, 2010
Never one to keep this sort of thing to myself, I told all my close friends that I had to have a breast biopsy. Good friends have trodden this path before me so I figured that harnessing their energy to help me along was the best way to face the challenge.
It is a sad state of affairs that every woman I know has friends who've had breast cancer. I hope that by the time my daughters are my age someone will have figured out how to turn cancer cells to a permanent OFF position. In the meantime, this Adventurer has set off on the path to healing, with a veritable army of friends, cheerleaders and well-wishers to carry her along and keep her spirits up!!
My lovely friend S, who's recently been down this same path and is now fit as the proverbial fiddle, came with me and was a huge comfort. I must say that biopsies have come a long way in the last fifteen years. Now you get to lie on a soft bed with a warm blanket instead of face down on a hard plank with your boob hanging through a hole. They use an ultrasound and Arlene, my nurse, was very sweet, explaining that they were going to position me comfortably and then numb my breast and I would hear loud noises but no pain. Sounded pretty easy. "You might be uncomfortable because you have to keep your arm up above your head without moving". Now that was one thing that didn't worry me. I'm a rower. If there's one part of me that can stand stress it's my shoulders. Anyone who's carried a boat to a regatta knows all about arms above your head. Arlene stood behind me stroking my hair and admiring on my curls.
"Little pinch". Ouch. "Does this hurt?" No. "Close your eyes." OK. (Sound of a drill followed by a nail gun. In my breast!). Times seven. Good grief! I felt that last one.
Never one to keep this sort of thing to myself, I told all my close friends that I had to have a breast biopsy. Good friends have trodden this path before me so I figured that harnessing their energy to help me along was the best way to face the challenge.
It is a sad state of affairs that every woman I know has friends who've had breast cancer. I hope that by the time my daughters are my age someone will have figured out how to turn cancer cells to a permanent OFF position. In the meantime, this Adventurer has set off on the path to healing, with a veritable army of friends, cheerleaders and well-wishers to carry her along and keep her spirits up!!
My lovely friend S, who's recently been down this same path and is now fit as the proverbial fiddle, came with me and was a huge comfort. I must say that biopsies have come a long way in the last fifteen years. Now you get to lie on a soft bed with a warm blanket instead of face down on a hard plank with your boob hanging through a hole. They use an ultrasound and Arlene, my nurse, was very sweet, explaining that they were going to position me comfortably and then numb my breast and I would hear loud noises but no pain. Sounded pretty easy. "You might be uncomfortable because you have to keep your arm up above your head without moving". Now that was one thing that didn't worry me. I'm a rower. If there's one part of me that can stand stress it's my shoulders. Anyone who's carried a boat to a regatta knows all about arms above your head. Arlene stood behind me stroking my hair and admiring on my curls.
"Little pinch". Ouch. "Does this hurt?" No. "Close your eyes." OK. (Sound of a drill followed by a nail gun. In my breast!). Times seven. Good grief! I felt that last one.
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