A Little Setback

Oy vey! What a week!

This will be a short post as I am typing with one hand. As I was riding my 35 miles last Friday I started to experience some numbness and shooting pain in my right hand/elbow. I powered through it and decided to take Saturday off to give my arms a little break. Well, Sunday came and went and I was still having quite some pain in my elbow so I decided I'd go see the doctor Monday morning. I was a bit concerned as I had been training for five weeks and hadn't experienced any pain so I wanted to get on top of whatever it was that was going on. 

Here is what happened:  A couple of weeks ago I brought my road bike home and decided to use the seat measurements to fit my spin bike so I would be used to the saddle position when it was time to get outside. Not such a great idea because I didn't adjust my handle bar position and the impact ended up causing me to strain my elbows. Long story short:  I had a build up of fluid on my right elbow which put me in a brace. No riding for 48 hours, I was told. To make matters worse, silly stubborn me decides I'm feeling much better Tuesday so I attempt to ride and after mile #5 I am in terrible pain. Back to the doc on Wednesday morning and because of my unwillingness to follow direction I had to have a huge needle stuck in my elbow to remove the fluid. Back in the brace I go. Lovely!

So I have been banned from the bike until Monday - a few more days of rest and I should be good to go. I have refitted my seat position back to where it was weeks 1 through 5 and will happily await my road bike fit until I'm actually on my road bike!

My apologies to those of you who were looking for my post yesterday. My fingers will be flying again next week so I hope you'll come back then.

Why Me? Because.......

If you are joining me for the first time, please take a few minutes to read my archived blog posts.

When people would ask me how I was dealing so optimistically with cancer, I never hesitated to answer. From the minute I was told my cancer had returned I truly felt that I was going to survive. I was completely resolute about that fact. I had a peace about me and although my faith had been challenged many times throughout my life, I knew that there was a reason I was dealing with this disease yet again. For those of us who believe in something more you will certainly find an understanding in what I say next. And for those of you who don't necessarily believe in more, you can still have faith. Faith is what we as individuals feel, not what we are taught. Think about your faith, whatever it may be, and you too will understand.

For me the reason that my cancer returned was clear: somewhere out there in this huge world there was another person who was supposed to have the cancer that was inside of me. Someone who doubted their faith, someone who possibly had no support, no hope to find. My "more" that I believe in knew my strength, knew that I had the support. My "more" believed that I am a survivor and that I could handle what this other person possibly could not. And so my "more" allowed me to carry the burden for someone who wouldn't have survived. I still believe this deep in my heart to this day. With that said, there was a darkness that tried it's very best to shatter my will. And it almost did.

Timing was everything. Had this blood infection, this nasty Aplastic Anemia been diagnosed any earlier my chemotherapy would have been halted and I possibly wouldn't have been given the unbelievable news that I was once again in complete clinical remission after seven months of aggressive chemo. Yes, I wrote that correctly - on November 2, 2010 I was officially back in remission - cancer free - able to breathe easy ....... not quite. We wanted so badly to celebrate such an awe inspiring event, yet we knew that what lied ahead of us could possibly take it all away.

After being diagnosed with Aplastic Anemia, everything in our lives changed once again. My doctors went into overdrive, trying to come to an agreement on the best possible way to proceed to save my life without surgery as I wasn't strong enough to endure being put under. The first step taken was a blood transfusion. This blood transfusion was done one week after my last chemo session. Imagine how relieved we were when my body started to respond to the transfusion. My energy was slowly coming back, I could walk more than 10 feet without resting. I still couldn't pick Emi up but she could finally sit on my lap again without pain shooting all over. I was going to be ok, at least that's what we thought.

Two weeks after the transfusion my oncologist decided to proceed with the radiation as my body seemed to be rebounding nicely. I was to have radiation five days a week for five weeks. I made it through three days when my body crashed. Every vital level in my system had tanked. We weren't just talking blood levels now but also sodium, potassium, etc. The radiation was immediately stopped and craziness started. I literally had no immune system left. I spent nearly every day, four hours a day at the hospital receiving an influx of fluids of every kind. It was like my body was being infused with a rainbow. I was given the option of being admitted to the hospital for seclusion or Darin could prepare our house as close to hospital grade as possible and I could be at home. There was no question in his mind, he wanted me in the hospital if that was the safest place for me. I had other ideas, of course. Being a strong-willed person has it's downfalls and I generally run with these downfalls. I refused to be admitted because in my mind there was no better place for me to get well, both emotionally and physically, than at home. So Darin double timed it and sterilized the house, purchased the materials the doctors said we needed no matter the cost and our home became my safe haven. Visitors weren't allowed for several weeks. Masks were worn, hands were washed a thousand plus times. When Darin and the kids came home each day they would strip down and immediately put their clothes in the washer and sanitize their hands and faces, all so they could stand five feet away from me. For nearly a month I couldn't look at any of the kids' school papers or hold any of their art projects for fear of germ transfer. I couldn't have kisses or hugs, I couldn't be touched at all. I cried myself to sleep more often than not just because I craved affection so badly.

About three weeks into all of this, after yet another transfusion, seven blood infusions and far too many white blood cell boosters to count, I rebelled in a big way. I was being told to stay in seclusion, yet I would go out during the day to the store, the post office - anywhere I possibly could just to get out. I had had enough and all I wanted was some freedom. I started slacking on the "five feet away" rule and began hugging and kissing my babies again. I refused to wipe down everything I was going to touch. I allowed people to come and visit, cold, coughs, running noses and all. I simply was done. And then of course I went down hard.

I had become selfish in a way that I never imagined I would. I put my weakness in front of my family in that I was refusing to treat myself in the way I needed to in order to become well again. I have always said that my children are my existence and here I was doing everything I could to buck the powers that be, even when I knew the final outcome wasn't going to be good for my family. I allowed myself to feel pity, to actually believe that I should be felt sorry for. I had become desperate for normalcy and I turned my back on everything that made me who I was, who I am. And when I had gotten more weak and far sicker, Darin did what he never thought he'd have to do - he had to encourage me to live.

It's time to break off for now. Telling my story has been incredibly healing for me, but even now, months later, it still has quite the bite. I'll pick it up again next week.

***Please remember my mission: The Hartford Breast Cancer Ride***

Fundraising Goal:  $1500.00

Donations Received:  $885.87

(Donations can be made online by following the link on this page or by mailing a check made payable to “Breast Cancer Ride”, Charity “CJ” Bartels, P.O. Box 425, Cambridge, MN 55008)

PLEASE remember: even if you can't donate, spread the word and make people aware - cancer is still killing adults and children at an alarming rate. We all CAN make a difference!

***Training Miles***

Week One:  85 miles – DONE!

Week Two:  90 miles – DONE!

Week Three:  95 miles -  DONE!
Week Four:  100 miles - DONE! 

Week Five:  105 miles | 45 biked as of 3/23/2011

Fighting Two Diseases At Once

If you are joining me for the first time, please take a minute to read my archived blog posts which can be found

by choosing an entry in the archived items at the right of this post. Thank you for visiting!

            

The most accurate statement regarding my treatment for the reoccurrence of my breast cancer would be this:  chemo and radiation nearly killed me. Because the larger tumor wasn't cleared through the first four months of chemo, my treatment sessions were extended by two months. I had to take an eight week break before continuing the chemo to allow my body to regroup. Boy did we enjoy those two months! I resumed my sessions in late September. As if I wasn't sick enough already, around the middle of October I began experiencing a few new side effects of the chemo, or what I thought were side effects. I was having migraines nearly every day, I couldn't control my body temperature at all - going from way low to extremely high in a matter of minutes. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep (although I was completely and totally exhausted all of the time) and I couldn't sit completely upright because I didn't have enough strength to hold myself up. I couldn't walk up the stairs without stopping three or four times to rest, I was dizzy most of the day and my heart would race so fast I swore it was going to burst through my chest. I couldn't open my eyes at times because they were on fire, I couldn't close them at times because they were so dry it felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper over them.  And for the first time since beginning chemo, I had no will to get out of bed. After two weeks of this my doctors conferred and decided it was time for a spinal tap. Something was going terribly wrong.

That something was a blood infection, a rare one at that. I still laugh at myself when I think about my reaction to their diagnosis. "CJ, you have Aplastic Anemia", said Dr. K. "Oh, that's all?! Thank God, I thought I was going to die!", said me, chuckling. "Well CJ, to be completely forthcoming with you, this disease is not an easy one to fight and as your body is already compromised, we have some grave concerns.", said Dr. K with a daunting look on her face. All the while she was talking I just kept thinking - what's the big deal? I mean come on! Millions of people have anemia; I'll just up my iron intake. I had dealt with this when I was pregnant with Dawson, it wasn't a big deal. But it was a big deal, actually was even a bigger deal than the cancer at that point. The reality sank in as Dr. K explained to me what Aplastic Anemia was and what it meant for me. All of my doctors agreed that I was in this predicament because of the prolonged chemo. To keep it simple, Aplastic Anemia means that your bone marrow is caput - not producing the platelets, white blood cells, etc. - those vital microscopic bubbles that allow us to live. 

The good: a bone marrow or stem cell transplant would surely reverse the blood infection. The bad: I was no where near strong enough to live through the surgery.

Here's the thing: I had NEVER allowed myself to even come anywhere close to thinking that breast cancer would kill me. It just wasn't an option and I knew in the deepest part of me that I was going to be just fine; that cancer would NOT take me away from my wonderful life, my beautiful family and all of the fantastic moments that were yet to come. And now someone was telling me that yet another disease may steal everything that I had been fighting all year long to keep, to protect. And for the first time in my entire battle with cancer, I looked up and I said, "Why me?"

To be continued....

********************

A side note (AWARENESS):

Every time I sit down to write a new post, I find that I am blank. I stare at the screen with my fingers poised to start typing but nothing comes. So I'll walk away, do a few chores, run a few errands and then come back to the computer later the same day, sure that a little break would have relieved my clouded mind. Not so much. So I'll leave it be and come back the next day to start the process all over again. I continue to do this until Tuesday comes and I realize that I really need to have something to put on the blog the very next morning. So as I sat at my desk yesterday staring at a blank screen, I wondered why. It's obvious that once something comes to mind I'm able to let it all go, so why is it so hard to figure out how to start? Maybe it's that there is so much to tell and I want to tell it in the most open and truthful manner, but all the while I'm afraid that I won't convey what I'm trying to say well enough or that my story won't be powerful enough for people to want to stay connected. After all, my purpose for this blog is to spread awareness and if I'm not doing a good enough job at writing it then my goal of getting people connected enough to want to share or become involved is failing and this cause is something I can't fail. My personal experiences with breast cancer is all I have to share as it is all I can honestly speak to. I don't share the pain that this disease caused my family and myself to get attention for us, I share the pain because I pray it will get attention for the cause. Please know that I don't judge others for not being involved or staying involved, alas I was one of those people before being struck with cancer. I would participate in the annual Relay for Life but that is where my involvement began and ended. It wasn't until I was dealing first hand with cancer that I realized the enormous impact it has on this world. And so here I am again, continuing my blog, merely hoping and praying that sharing my story will influence others to want to learn more about someone else's story.

***Please remember my mission: The Hartford Breast Cancer Ride***

Fundraising Goal:  $1500.00

Donations Received:  850.87

57% of goal

(Donations can be made online by following the link on this page or by mailing a check made payable to “Breast Cancer Ride”, Charity “CJ” Bartels, P.O. Box 425, Cambridge, MN 55008)

PLEASE remember: even if you can't donate, spread the word and make people aware - cancer is still killing adults and children at an alarming rate. We all CAN make a difference!

***Training miles***

Week One:  85 miles – DONE!

Week Two:  90 miles – DONE!

Week Three:  95 miles - DONE!

Week Four:  100 miles | 41 done as of 3/16/2011



Not Again - Part 3

If you are joining me for the first time, please take a minute to read my archived blog posts which can be found
by choosing an entry in the archived items at the right of this post. Thank you for visiting!

Thanks for coming back. I realize I got a tad bit in-depth last week and I pray it wasn’t too much information. I’m in this first and foremost to spread awareness and I honestly feel that people will listen more and will share our stories more if we are open and totally forthcoming about our individual battles and how we dealt with the battle(s) inside us. So again, thank you for taking this trip with me – you are all so very important to this cause – and to me of course!

Hopefully we are getting close to the conclusion of “Not Again” but I won’t cut short what wants to come out so no promises! ;0)

So once the decision was made as to what treatment plan we’d follow, everything moved forward at warp speed. It seemed like overnight our lives went from blissful to chaotic. The support system we valued so very much during my first cancer fight was no longer at arm’s length. You see, in August 2007 Darin was called by a manufacturing company in Cambridge, Minnesota. They were interested in visiting with him about an inside sales position. During a trip to Cambridge for Darin to meet with the owners of the company, I took the opportunity to visit the schools, the chamber office and toured the town. The more we learned about the area and the company, the more evident it was that a move from Nebraska to Minnesota would be beneficial in more ways than one. So in October, Darin started his new job at Schlagel, Inc. The kids and I followed in November after our house in Norfolk sold. We were prepared for a life away from family and friends, confident that we’d form new relationships in our new town quickly. We were excited to be building a new home in a beautiful subdivision with a lake and a park. Dawson settled into his new school mid-year and immediately made friends. I was pre-schooling Emi at home, enjoying my new role as a homemaker so very much. Everything seemed to just fall into place so perfectly and it just kept getting better over the next two years. We were floating!

This brings us to early 2010 when everything “perfect” came to a halt. The cancer was back and we had a HUGE decision to make. Do we proceed with invasive chemo in hopes of keeping my breasts or do we remove them and still have chemo, just a less intense form? There were advantages and disadvantages to both and neither one was less scary than the other.

And so on April 6, 2010 I started the aggressive chemo cocktail, the treatment plan that I told you about in my last blog. The cocktail itself wasn’t experimental; however the plan itself was very unconventional. No surgery, four months of chemo, re-evaluation, and additional rounds as needed. And with all hope there would be clear scans in the end which would then be followed by five weeks of radiation daily, Monday through Friday. We dug in and began truly taking our lives one day at a time.

To this day I can close my eyes and it’s as if I am floating above the IV lab, watching myself – seeing other men and women hooked up to IV pumps – nurses milling around – docs in and out. The side effects started almost immediately, very unlike my first experience with chemo. My oncologist warned me it was going to be far more intense than the first time but I do believe I had a super woman complex going into it. Let’s just say my pretty red cape came slamming to the ground within 72 hours after receiving my first chemo round. I lost 11 pounds in my first five days because I couldn’t keep even water down. I was pumped full of anti-nausea meds only to find that I was even sicker than without them. On day eight, my oncologist told me I was clearly allergic to the anti-nausea meds so we’d have to try and beat the vomiting and heaving in another way. This was accomplished by receiving IV fluids, steroids and anti-anxiety meds on day 9 and every time thereafter before the cocktail. By day 10 the effects of the steroids started kicking my butt, both mentally and physically. I was swelling all over my body; my appetite was so out of whack. The 11 pounds I had lost was replaced by 13 pounds gained during week two. And the yo-yo of a cancer patients diet began and loomed for the next seven months. I’d lose 10 pounds, gain 12, lose 5, gain 10.

On day 11 post first chemo, my scalp began to itch. So I did what you normally do with an itch, I scratched it. And when I pulled my hand away from my head there were several strands of hair hanging from my fingers. Darin was sitting at the breakfast bar and could see the hair in my hand. He was up and around the bar faster than I could process what had just happened. He just stood beside me, waiting for my reaction. With tears welling up I walked over and threw the hair in the trash, turned to him and said – get the clippers. There was no way I could repeat the slow loss of the first time around. I wanted it off and I wanted it off immediately. And this time, I wanted to do it myself. So a few days later, after taking a step back to really think things through, I leaned over my bathroom sink and with Darin and the kids beside me I took the clippers in my hand and made the first swipe. I remember it was hard to breathe and for a few seconds I thought I may pass out but I didn’t. I steadied myself and as the reality of what was happening inside my body came to the forefront, I finished taking my hair off before the poison could. It’s amazing what a person will do to find control in an uncontrollable situation.

Before

After

With that, I better close up for tonight. My daughter needs to get into the shower (and that always takes encouragement from mom), I need to check in with my son to see how his studies are coming along and my husband has been waiting very patiently to hold my hand while watching TV. Thank God I am alive……

Parting thought: When you feel it’s just too damn hard, dig deep – there’s always strength to find, it just may take some soul searching.

***Please remember my mission: The Hartford Breast Cancer Ride***

Fundraising Goal:  $1500.00

Donations Received:  $795.87

(Donations can be made online by following the link on this page or by mailing a check made payable to “Breast Cancer Ride”, Charity “CJ” Bartels, P.O. Box 425, Cambridge, MN 55008)

PLEASE remember: even if you can't donate, spread the word and make people aware - cancer is still killing adults and children at an alarming rate. We all CAN make a difference!

***Training miles***

Week One:  85 miles – DONE!

Week Two:  90 miles – DONE!

Week Three:  95 miles | 34 biked as of 3/9/2011

Not Again - Part 2

If you are joining me for the first time, please take a minute to read my archived blog posts which can be found
by choosing an entry in the archived items at the right of this post. Thank you for visiting!

As I’ve come to realize in the last two days, the story of my fall from remission goes hand in hand with the loss of my breasts, so I’ll pick up where I left off on Wednesday. When I began this blog, I had a list of topics that I wanted to write about and mastectomy was on the top of this list, however I didn’t feel I was prepared to talk about it right from the get-go. I did a great job of deflecting its presence when I wrote about my first go around, but as I started to tell you about my reoccurrence – well I guess I just went with what was in my heart and it was pounding so hard that it couldn’t be ignored. As you’ll soon find out, I have a good reason why the subject of mastectomy haunts me to this day.

I’m just going to put it out there to wave off the suspense:  I did not have a double mastectomy after my cancer returned. I did not have a single mastectomy after my cancer returned. I didn’t even have a lumpectomy after my cancer returned. Oh boy, I can see the heads shaking! Now before the “good Lord, their only boobs” statements begin, let me explain…..

I’d like to try and put into words why my breasts are so important to me. I know there will be some of you that may not understand, even after I try to explain, but I’m putting everything I have into this blog and I can’t back up now. If writing this blog thus far has shown me anything, it’s that the more open and honest I am the more closure I feel. So here goes it…..

From a very young age, I was “shown” that my body was my worth. I was hurt by someone very close to me for far too long. The problem with that pain is that when someone you love inflicts it, as a child the comprehension isn’t there. And when clarity finally does come to you, there is so much damage that is left behind. I found that as I got older, I still felt as if my body was the only part of me that a man would want. I took far too many risks as a teenager, rebelling against the memories all the while using the memories as an excuse for my behavior. I’ve learned over the years, thankfully, that I am worth so much more than what my body can give to a man. But even as I know that, even as Darin does everything to show me he loves me for all that I am, first and foremost on the inside, the idea that to lose my womanhood would be losing my worth has remained front and center throughout my fight. When Darin and I were seriously considering removing both of my breasts, I started having nightmares about my childhood. I shut down. I refused to talk about removal if it meant having to deal, yet again, with the terror.  So for two weeks, I walked around acting as if there wasn’t an enormous elephant in the room. Darin gave me the space I needed (I can’t say enough how lucky I am to have someone who knows exactly what I need) and just when I dug deep enough to find the strength to move forward with planning the surgery, everything changed.

Darin and I spent hours, so many long draining hours discussing what moving forward with the double mastectomy would mean. We were deep in research, watching videos, looking through pictures and the like when I received a call from my oncologist. The scan results and staging were back and as with the first time, my lymph nodes had not been involved. Unlike the first time, there were two tumors – one just under 2cm and the other right at 4cm – which placed me at stage 2b. If there is such a thing as a person who could be lucky with cancer, I am it. I am ER positive, HER2 negative, which means my hormones don’t necessarily dictate that my cancer cells spread and my body responds well to medications that stunt/stop the growth of cancer cells. My oncologist proceeded to tell me that he knew how reluctant I was to losing my breasts, so he set out on his own mission and conferred with an oncology research panel that had been running a study group that focused on breast cancer patients with reoccurrence of contained cells. I’m going to stop there with the details as it still gets over my head sometimes, but what it comes down to is this:  my oncologist felt that due to my previous positive response to chemo, I would be a great candidate for the research panels’ course of treatment. What this meant for me was that I would start an intense chemo regimen, much more aggressive than in my past experience. I would be far sicker than I had been before and for a much longer time. There were implications of other diseases that could manifest due to the long exposure to chemo. Heck, there was a laundry list of nastiness to consider. (Insert warning from TV medication commercial here).

So holy crap – I was being told that I had a good chance of keeping my breasts should I choose to undergo this particular treatment. Now what? I had finally wrapped my head around the idea of having them removed and now here I’m being told that I have a choice. And what if it doesn’t work and I go through months of disabling treatment only to be told they have to come off anyway? And what if I am unfortunate enough to encounter one of the “side” diseases that on their own could kill me? And what if keeping them proves successful only to have the cancer return a third time? And what if keeping them gives the cancer enough time to spread to other areas of my body? What if, what if, what if………….

I think that’s about enough for today. I just so happened to have caught myself some good old fashioned bronchitis and it’s time for this body to rest. So the story of “Not Again” will continue on next week with Part 3. I look forward to sharing more with you.

***Please remember my mission: The Hartford Breast Cancer Ride***

Fundraising Goal:  $1500.00

Donations Received:  $315.87

(Donations can be made online by following the link on this page or by mailing a check made payable to “Breast Cancer Ride” , Charity “CJ” Bartels, P.O. Box 425, Cambridge, MN 55008)

***Training miles***

Week One:  85 miles – DONE!

Week Two:  90 miles | 58 rode as of 3/4/2011

PLEASE remember: even if you can't donate, spread the word and make people aware - cancer is still killing adults and children at an alarming rate. We all CAN make a difference!

Not Again - Part 1

If you are joining me for the first time, please take a minute to read my archived blog posts which can be found
by choosing an entry in the archived items at the right of this post. Thank you for visiting!

The moment I felt it my first thought was - Oh God, not again. I was in the shower, washing with my hands versus a loofah because I had forgotten to replace the one I had thrown out. Being too lazy to get out of a running shower, I opted for body wash and my palm. Thank God for chance encounters - and laziness.

I finished my shower in a daze. After pulling myself together, I took Darin into our bedroom and had him tell me that I wasn't imagining things, that there really was something there. With terrified eyes, he confirmed what I had felt.  I just knew what this meant for me, for all of us. After all, my oncologist had warned me that my choice to forgo surgery increased my chances of reoccurrence within five years. I was one month shy of my 3rd year remission anniversary when I found that lump and as irony would have it, I was told my cancer had returned three years to the day of being placed in complete clinical remission. Here we go again................

So the process started again. I met with my oncologist and an oncology surgeon to discuss the option of a double mastectomy. As you read in my blog post "First Time Around", I had opted to go against the norm and refused to have my breast removed during my first cancer fight. At that time, it just made sense to me. The cancer was contained with no lymph node involvement and after doing days and days of research, I made the choice to fight the fight without radical surgery. That proved to be a wise choice when on March 16, 2007 I was in remission. However, on March 16, 2010 that choice was possibly coming back to haunt me.

I can hear you - "Why didn't you just have the breast removed the first time, maybe this wouldn't be happening?" Don't think I didn't hear that question a hundred plus times when I told people the cancer was back. But here's the blunt truth that I still firmly believe today:  unless you have had someone look you in the eye and tell you that they want to remove your breasts, you have NO idea how you would respond. I can still hear you - "Of course I'd remove them, there's always reconstructive surgery." And again I say to you:  unless you have watched the videos of the actual surgery of removal, seen the pictures of a woman with a sunken chest and skin stretched so tight – wrinkled – swollen – red or met a woman who is in deep depression because where once a clear indication of womanhood was is now a hollow shell, you have no idea how you would respond. I don't mean to offend anyone with my bluntness, but having people question me constantly about why I did what I did and why I wasn't doing what they would do was probably one of the hardest parts of having cancer. If I could give you any advice when dealing with a cancer patient it would be to educate yourself. There is so much a person who hasn't been touched personally by cancer doesn't realize. It is one thing to have a loved one with cancer and to watch them through the ups and downs. It's a completely different story when you are the one going through the ups and downs, all the while trying to put your best face forward to spare your loved ones from the real agony that is going on inside your body and mind. Now please don’t take this as I’m down-playing the pain that a husband, child, mother, father, sister, brother or best friend feels when they have to watch cancer consume their loved one. I know all too well and still have nightmares about the hurt I saw in my husband and children’s eyes, day after day, as I faded in and out during treatment. If I sugar-coated any of my experience with cancer, this blog would be pointless. I’m simply trying to be the most open I can be about the feelings that I had during my battles as I know there are thousands of women out there that no longer have their voices.

So as I can tell that this blog post has taken on a life of its own and doesn’t want to slow down (okay, so it’s really my mind that won’t shut off), I will be posting in two parts. My mind tends to run my fingers and often I find myself branching off, but have faith - I will come back to tell you the rest of the story about the return of my cancer. Heck – it may end up in three parts the way I ramble!

To conclude Part 1, I want to share a few key points I figured out far too late in my first journey. It is ok to NOT explain why you are doing what you are doing to those that feel it necessary to question you in a negative way. It is ok to expect your support team to actually support you, with no strings attached. It is ok to be selfish, if being selfish means you will finally take the time to focus on yourself, to muster all your strength and point it inward. It is ok to live in the only way YOU know how to live during YOUR battle.

Part 2 will be posted by Friday – I hope you return.

***Please remember my mission: The Hartford Breast Cancer Ride***

Fundraising Goal:  $1500.00

Donations Received:  $300.00

(Donations can be made online by following the link on this page or by mailing a check made payable to “Breast Cancer Ride” , Charity “CJ” Bartels, P.O. Box 425, Cambridge, MN 55008)

***Training miles***

Week One:  85 miles – DONE!

Week Two:  90 miles | 38 rode as of 3/2/2011

PLEASE remember: even if you can't donate, spread the word and make people aware - cancer is still killing adults and children at an alarming rate. We all CAN make a difference!