Rebecca Robinson

Rebecca was one of the first women I met who had the same diagnosis as me. I told her husband the other day that when I went in for my first infusion, the chemo nurse calmed my nerves by telling me about another woman who had just received the same regiment and went off the next day to sheer sheep at Old Sturbridge Village. Being part of such an exclusive group of people in the era of social networking, I knew immediately that she was talking about Rebecca. The mental image of her at work out in the sun totally unaffected by what was dripping into my veins gave me a tremendous amount of relief, probably the first respite since my diagnosis.
I feel extremely fortunate to have had her friendship over the past few years. Regardless of the heartbreak of knowing she's gone from this world, I'll keep those first images of her with her beautiful long red hair and her gentle spirit at the forefront of my memories.

Brooke Ramsdell

Your last words to me were that you loved me. Mine to you are the same, I love you Brooke.

From Bedside to Bench

Two years ago, I was recovering from my second surgery while trying to find space in my brain to host my new identity..cancer victim. I never went through the "why me" phase of acceptance, I just decided to move forward and make the most of whatever time I was alloted. I've talked often about the progress that we've made as a group with Angiosarcoma Awareness, I can't help but feel extremely lucky for being able to play a role, however small, in the lives of others going through this catastrophic event. Two years ago, I became empowered in a way that would never have been revealed to me without the diagnosis of angiosarcoma. I'm about to begin a new phase of my life, I'm going to the bench to conduct cancer research. Wish me luck!

Happy *insert blank here* Day

I think my kids are the best, we cart them all over the place in order to accommodate our theory of doing stuff = fun, and they keep the whining to a minimum. This weekend, we went in one direction to play in the Berkshires and than in the opposite direction to fulfill Ted's year long dream of seeing Plymouth Plantation for father's day. The kids laughed, smiled, neighed (Maddy is a unicorn of course), cuddled, and sang. Oh the singing. At one point, we were out on the dock enjoying 75 degrees of lake side warmth watching the girls catch fish with nets while they sang oh what a beautiful morning. It was a hollywood fake family moment that was really unfolding before us. Ted and I looked at each other confused and happy..but really with a "how did we do this" expression that we often pass to each other when our kids show us what it's like to be truly happy. They could never have guessed it, but their joy at being alive was the most priceless fathers day gift ever. I don't think it hurts that they are the cutest humans to have ever lived..I'm not biased either, just ask Ted.

7 years of Charly Painter

When Charly was 2 weeks old, I held her over my shoulder after nursing her to sleep. As we rocked together I burned us into that moment. The feel of her soft downy hair under my palms as I stroked her hair, the milky baby smell that newborns possess, the feel of her little head nuzzling in my neck, the sound of her heart beat, the rhythm we were in, the exact lighting in the room, the direction the chair was facing, the colors of the clothes hanging from the newly placed hooks on the wall, the details, every single one of them that could be collected in the flash of a second..all burned so deeply into that moment, that I never left. We talk about it often, usually when I tell her how big she is and how unbelievable it is to watch someone grow into the world. She's 7 years old today. I am so proud of who she is. She is a happy, talented, beautiful soul who teaches me every day how to keep the magic that adults usually toss out in favor of "reality". What a gift she is, happy birthday beauty!

Oh Worcester, why are you not any other town?

Just got back from a trip to the pacific northwest followed by a quick trip up to Vermont to watch Ted run another marathon. My friend mentioned that it must be tiring and I agreed, especially regarding the stress of sitting on a blanket in a park waiting for Ted to run by. If only he could slow down a little, I wouldn't have to constantly pick up my blankie and move the kids to another play ground. Some people are just self absorbed I guess.
I love Portland, Seattle and Burlington. I want to move to each of those towns simultaneously and sell used books, throw fish and make cheese for a living. Is there a way to combine them? Maybe I can just accept that I live in Worcester and throw books about cheese eating fish at the Mass Pike toll collectors.

Guilt

From the day of my diagnosis, I have been filled with an unshakable sense of guilt. My rational analytical mind can not overcome the overwhelming thought, "it's my fault that my children will suffer". People say that time fades all wounds. They lie. I have the exact same feelings right this moment that I did the day of my diagnosis. The only thing that has changed for me is the frequency and duration of my collapses into the abyss of guilt. I'll be walking down the hall thinking of anything but cancer when out of nowhere I envision my children at my stagnant bedside. What a drag! I almost wish I was scared of this disease. I think fear would be easier to manage than guilt. I would rather cry for myself than for my children. So there it is, after two years, I may go days instead of minutes without the undercurrent of guilt pulling me out of the moment, but it doesn't mean I can breath easier just because I spend less time under water. I just want to get them to a place where they want me but don't need me.