Moving

Just a quick technical note:

My Little Blog asked me to let you know that she has moved. She wanted to try a few new things and decided that it was time for her to become her own Web site. Please visit her at www.katethaxton.com/survivingpc - as always, she appreciates all of your thoughtful comments.

Warm hug,
Kate
(on behalf of My Little Blog)

The Receptionist

I was sitting at a stoplight and she walked right in front of my bumper. She looked tired and drained, relieved that Monday was finally over. I tried to envision her job and pictured her as a receptionist (I was a receptionist for about three months and hated every minute of it). I thought about her sitting at her desk for eight hours, transferring calls, pointing people to the bathroom, and signing for packages. I wondered if she liked her job or if she too had nightmares of ringing telephones.

I’ve never claimed to be a very observant person, and it took some time before I realized I was sitting by the entrance to the National Institutes of Health. Perhaps this woman was a receptionist for NIH, the powerhouse of cancer research.

Was this woman the receptionist who pleasantly answered the phone when I called looking for nutritional information? Or was she the person who snapped at me when I was inquiring about the labyrinth in their Clinical Research Center (very cool…check it out)?

I wondered if the receptionist understood how important she is to me. For that matter, do any of the NIH workers know how much influence they have on my life? Do they understand that when they take a sick day to play golf, my life is potentially shortened by a day? My survival is dependent upon their work ethic and I just hope they don’t procrastinate as much as I do.

She may think she’s just a receptionist, but she’s not. She’s the voice of help and hope…and I think I now I understand why she looks so tired.

My Ugly Shoes

A humble and heartfelt hi to everyone. Humble because, as you will quickly learn, this is my shameless plea for money. Heartfelt because that’s how I seem to be living my life these days.

This story is divided into two parts: the first half is me begging for money for PanCAN’s Annual TeamHOPE Walk, the second half is me begging for help spreading awareness of pancreatic cancer.

I probably would have stopped reading by now, so I don’t blame you if don’t read any further. I also don’t want you to feel guilty for not donating - I’m walking regardless of whether or not I get that awesome cooler on wheels. If nothing else, I would be so grateful if you would delete the first half of this story, and send the second half to your family and friends.

First half: A Crumby Commercial?
I bought new running shoes about two weeks before I was diagnosed. Words cannot begin to describe just how ugly these shoes are, but that’s what happens when you have big flat feet - you get big ugly shoes. I bought the shoes because I missed running and thought that the shoes, along with an unbelievably complicated strength training regime, would help boost my energy level. Little did I know that my energy level was a symptom of the cancer that was invading my body.

My ugly shoes, still wrapped in tissue paper, have been sitting patiently in the deepest recesses of my closet. They have never felt the concrete below them and are starting to feel very neglected, but luckily, they have my spinning shoes keep them company.

When I first heard about this walk I thought it would be nice if someone would walk in my honor, but then realized it’s out in BFE Maryland (my apologies to anyone living in Bel Air, but I think you’d probably agree with me) and that was simply too much to ask of anyone. But on October 7th, after nine months of chemo, I'm going to put on my ugly shoes and participate in the walk myself. That fact alone fills me with such joy and happiness.

Well, if I’m going to actually wear my ugly shoes, I figured I might as well try to make it worth someone’s while. The walk is only two miles long, but it might as well be a marathon as I get worn out just walking from my car to DSW. I know I’ll finish the walk - I would just like to finish it in time for the closing ceremonies! Please visit my fundraising page and support me and my ugly shoes.

Second half: Purple and Proud
The Pancreatic Cancer Action Network (PanCAN) is the national organization dedicated to helping people like me. They spend their time spreading awareness about pancreatic cancer, lobbying for more cancer research, and connecting patients and caregivers with other people affected by pancreatic cancer. They are the purple bracelet people who have been there when I needed information, guidance, or reassurance. Their site is a tremendous resource, but this is the most important page: About Pancreatic Cancer.

I won’t go into the statistics because, to be brutally honest, they scare the flip out of me. It goes without saying that early detection is of utmost importance when it comes to increasing survivorship percentages. Please visit PanCAN’s site, learn about pancreatic cancer, and pass this information along to someone else.

As I wrote in my blog: The purple community is small, stubborn, and ever hopeful. We’re that proverbial junkyard dog, scrappy and feisty, not going down without a fight.

Help me spread the word about pancreatic cancer. We may not be pink, but we’re just as proud.

Nine Words

(Okay, so I'm recycling something I wrote for PanCAN's Web site. I'm just so tickled to see it on their site.)


Devastating.
One word to describe the overwhelming realization that PanCAN's Survivor and Caregiver Network did not contain any volunteers who had metastases in all the same locations as I. I spent hours reading and rereading the inspirational stories for someone with a similar story. I checked daily, hoping to find that one person. I was, however, thrilled to talk to two incredible stage IV survivors in the Survivor and Caregiver Network and maintained the hope that I would one day be able to serve a resource for others.

Partial Remission.
Two words to describe my current status after eight months of treatment. The tumors, once ‘too numerous to count,' are retreating. My liver and lymph nodes, clean. The tumors on my lungs and pancreas, shrinking. I allow myself to take comfort in this victory, knowing and understanding how fortunate I am to be alive.

Owning my Life.
Three words that describe me. I quickly realized it's not about ‘finding a balance' between my life and the tumors. It's about throwing everything I love, everything wonderful in life, at cancer. Recognizing my fear and anger, and still finding the strength within to seek out my dreams. Squeezing as much life as possible in between blood work, appointments, treatment, and scans. Trying to live, laugh and love more than lament.

I am strong. I am fighting. I am surviving.
Nine words that have kept me alive.

My story isn't about pancreatic cancer. It's about living.