Happy Anniversary

Today is my anniversary. Actually, my "multiversary"...

Eight years ago today, I wed the only love of my life, Pooh.

We dated for almost four years before getting married, mostly because she kept turning me down (maybe I'll blog on those events sometime). For now, it's sufficient to say that the last eight years have been the greatest years of my life, thanks entirely to this wonderful woman. She is my stability, my rock, my comfort, my confidant, my true love. Happy anniversary, Pooh!

We haven't always been able to truly "celebrate" our anniversaries. Just a few weeks after proposing, after a freak accident on the basketball court, doctors discovered my brain cancer. We went through with the marriage, quite uncertain about what the future may hold. It wasn't long before we knew...and on April 29th, 2001, I spent our first wedding anniversary in pre-op, getting ready for my first brain surgery.

The surgery was done at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center's Maxine Dunitz Neurosurgical Institute, by a genius named Dr. Keith Black. It was successful -- and really, how many newlywed couples with our income get to spend their anniversary in Beverly Hills? The accommodations weren't impressive and I had just a little headache, but the company was perfect...and, I was cancer-free.

For a while, anyway. April 29th, 2005 -- four years later, almost to the day -- we were back in Beverly Hills, but we weren't on vacation. My cancer had returned with a vengeance, larger and more aggressive, and I had my second major brain surgery (by the way, is there such a thing as "minor" brain surgery? Anyway...) on April 28th, 2005, the day before my fifth wedding anniversary. Like my turban?

54 Staples and feeling fine!

Six months later, I ran my first marathon...and Pooh ran the second half with me. Nothing impressive -- 4:47 -- but not bad, just six months after a lobotomy!

Here we are, April 29th, 2008. Through eight anniversaries, I've spent half of them either in surgery or on chemotherapy. It's been eight years since marrying the love of my life. Seven years since my first brain surgery. Three years since my second brain surgery. The cancer is back, and I'm going through another twelve rounds of chemotherapy. Pooh is still by my side, and we have a new reason to run -- our little Monkey:

Like my Pooh, she's just gorgeous. Happy Anniversary, Pooh...you are my love and my life. Thank you for the last eight years. Thank you for modeling truly unconditional love to me. Thank you for our little Monkey. And thank you for running with me -- we have many miles yet to go, side by side.

Running WITH Cancer

I am the son of a linguist.  

I know that sounds like an expletive or an insult, but it's true.  My mother married my father while she was finishing her Ph.D. in Romance Languages at the University of Washington, and to this day she speaks six or seven languages fluently.  She even still writes to me in French sometimes...good thing I held on to my Petite Larousse...but I digress.

So, on my long run today (only 8.5 miles), I thought about my blog title, "Running With Cancer."  The little preposition "with" can be interpreted two different ways -- first, it can mean you're running with something that is a part of you, your body -- like running with a headache, or running with a cold.  Second, it can mean you're running with something outside of yourself -- like running with a friend, or running with your dog, or running with your local club.  So, when I say "Running With Cancer," which is it?

If you talk to many cancer patients or survivors, you'll start to notice a fascinating trend.  Most refer to their disease in the third person -- not something that is a part of their body or a part of them, but something that is independent of them.  "The cancer is back," spoken of almost like an unwelcome relative.  "Doctors are treating the cancer with radiation."  "The cancer isn't responding well to chemotherapy."  In almost ten years of fighting this disease, raising funds for cancer awareness and research, speaking publicly, and sharing with various support groups and fellow fighters and survivors, I very rarely hear any of them speak of their disease as something inside them...it is a foe, a hostile intruder, an unwelcome relative.  

So there it is.  I'm Running With Cancer -- but doing so in the sense that it is running alongside me.  It does not define me.  It is not me.  This is a race like any other -- and I will win.  I've sprinted ahead twice, and it has caught up both times...but I'm watching Cancer's pace, saving my energy, biding my time, and I'm making my move...leaving Cancer behind, this time for good.  

Welcome!

Greeting, and welcome to the first post in Running With Cancer.

Runners know that long road miles have a way of making your mind wander.  It's truly bizarre the things you think of to keep your mind occupied after two or three hours, just you and the road.  For a runner who has survived two bouts with cancer and is fighting round three, the thoughts can be even more sobering -- or liberating.  This blog is simply a catalog of those thoughts.  They may cover everything from how chemotherapy feels to the experiences of a first-time father.  Again, welcome to the blog -- I'm glad you've decided to run alongside me, for one mile or for 20.