2010, here I come, full of hope.

Dear All,

A short note, as I am feeling the full effects of chemo, having only been discharged from the hospital a few hours ago. But I just wanted to wish you all the Happiest of New Years, on this eve of saying goodbye to 2009 and welcoming in 2010.

Growing up, I was always told, "Don't get your hopes up", as I would characteristically always think of the good or expect good of others, strive for the best or expect that effort would be reciprocated, and would often get disappointed. I would find that I had asked for too much, or had set my expectations too high.

I am all grown up now, and still haven't changed. On the eve of 2010, true to form, I continue to keep my hopes way up. In my opinion, there is no such thing as hoping too hard. I continue to set my expectations high, for I still believe that anything and everything is possible. My emotions are raw right now and I remain frequently overwhelmed by the strength and resilience that this marathon asks of me. But I see 2010 as the year where that finish line awaits, and where I will breathe that sigh of relief to have crossed it, at last, to the sound of your cheers. Yes, my hopes are up, and I am keeping them there.

I have attached a picture of James taken this Christmas. He is my biggest hope. And as I continue to seek silver linings, hidden as they may be in the darkest of times, seeing him grow up and thrive and be the happiest of little boys, has been the biggest gift that 2009 has given me.

Happy New Year, my wonderful troops. Hugs, huge huge hugs, to all.

We're pulling out all the stops here ....

Dear Alessandra,

Just a quick note to keep your spirits up on the eve of the next round, and last round of chemo this year. We're with you, girl, and there's a brand new decade just over the top of this hill, full of wonderful days for you and your men. Love and xxxx

sending love

Hi, Alex -
I just wanted to say hello and let you know I am thinking of you, as always. We had a lovely Christmas in snowy Vermont, and we're making the most of the kids' vacation. Lots of skiing, cross-country skiing, sledding, and potluck dinners with saunas and hot tubs with friends in the evenings. Around here, winter has the opposite effect of hibernation -- it's the most social time of the year! I wish I could fly you out here to share in the festivities and show you off to my friends, here. We head to Maine with my family for a few days tomorrow, returning in time for the weekend fun around here. I'll try to get some photos of the girls skiing to post, soon. I hope you are finding some moments of winter peace, and that you are wrapped in the love of family and friends. More soon. I love you and I miss you - Lindsay

Into the Path of Peace

Dearest Danda,

It has been much too long since I've posted due to travels and a long, very sick fall for little Lucas. But you have not been far from my thoughts (nor has Chiara! A shout-out to you, my bestest friend!), and I have been following your adventures faithfully, grieving with you over your uncle and laughing out loud at your being able to go for a run (wOo-HoOo!). And I'm so glad that your sternum is again feeling better, even as you feel weakened by this latest round in your epic boxing match. What a year indeed!

It is no longer December 25, but as I've been reflecting on the season this week, I've been giving a lot of thought to the original Christmas story. Regardless of one's beliefs and background, what is beautiful about this narrative is all the hope and promise it represents: the reason that angels sing, shepherds watch in awe, and magi trek from a world away is because they believe that this one little baby will restore all that is broken in the world.

So as you celebrate with Julian, James, your family, your friends, your troops . . . as you drink your green tea in these days of treatment and aftershocks . . . as you ponder the wild ride of a year that you've had . . . consider too the Christmas story and its unwavering idea of restoration and hope. For that is what you have to look forward to! Dear Danda, may your spirit feel renewed in these days, and may your body be restored to its fullest and best in this coming year.

I leave you with some of the words from that original account, spoken by a Jewish priest as he contemplated his hope to come. May 2010 be like that rising sun that disperses every shadow, and may these days bring you a deep and confident sense of peace.

"Because of the tender mercy of our God,
By which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
To shine on those living in darkness
And in the shadow of death,
To guide our feet into the path of peace."

All my love,
Katie

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Here's our latest Christmas blessing, Cecilia. Don't have time to download the family pics from the last 24 hours but this will suffice for now as she sums up our joy. As you know, it's all about the children and the lights and the magic and the music and the miracles. We hope your Christmas has been jolly and happy so far and the week just continues to be celebratory. Hugs and love to you and Julian, your angelic James, Vicki and Marco, and Chiara and Anthony and the Murdochs

Merry Christmas!

Dear Alessandra and Family,

Merry Christmas! We hope you enjoy all your family festivities over the next few days. We think of you every day and continue to keep all of you in our thoughts and prayers. Alessandra, I hope you are faring all right given the changes in your treatment. We hope that 2010 brings a year of peace and health for you and all your loved ones.

Enjoy the holidays - and please post pictures of James enjoying Christmas. I'm sure he will be tons of fun!

Love to all,
Karen (David, Samantha and Caroline, too!)

Merry Christmas

Hi Panda,

I didn't write for a while, but I followed your adventures as always and thought of you very very often. I am glad that the radiation got rid of the flare up in the sternum. I am sorry though that these days before Christmas have to be tainted by the anniversary of your diagnose... this too shall pass, but I guess that the memory of that day will always be with you.

I wanted to wish you and everyone else a merry Christmas and a happy new year. As you said, Panda, 2010 is your year. I have seen your determination and strength throughout this whole year and I know that when you say that 2010 is your year, you mean it.

I'm posting one of my favorite images of Christmas, by Julian Beever, a chalk artist who draws amazing optical illusions on sidewalks.

A big big hug.

Never, never give up!!!

Cara, carissima Danda,

We've finally managed to connect to the Internet at my grandmother's in Rome and my only mission now is to check your blog and finally write you a few words. Until three days ago I was permanently glued to the computer finishing a consultancy report in Madrid, so the only thing that could motivate me to have my eyes meet the computer screen again whilst on holidays was your beautifully touching blog! I missed hearing from you and feeling the warmth and unwaivering trust of your faithful troops. I missed your heart-rendering accounts, your beautiful spirit rising through your words and surfacing from your tears.

Yes, it's been a year and how we all wish you could have the Christmas gift you so deserve! We all hoped to have witnessed your complete recovery by now...but as your uncle said: it is as it is. Or as I was told by a wise man a few years ago, meet life as it meets you. We are still with you, Danda, as the battle continues and your marathon becomes longer. No matter how long the marathon or how difficult the battle there will be an end and we, with you, believe the end will be what you wish for, what you fight for, what you believe in. I often wonder how many of the amazing discoveries of this world would not have taken place if a certain someone had not believed, had not gone beyond the reality of circumstances and brought on a new reality that few dared to dream. Things that seem so obvious and banal to us were revolutionary when they were first introduced as concepts and later proven as facts: the earth being round, planes being able to fly, steel boats being able to float, the force of gravity, man landing on the moon and reaching the depths of the ocean, buses where black people can sit with white people...the list goes on and on.

So, beautiful Danda, may you be imbued with Christmas's gifts of peace, love and hope. May you be wrapped in all your family's warmth, and see the promise of your bright future in their loving eyes. May you rediscover your amazing inner and outer strength through every Christmas note you listen to and every crisp scent of winter air you breathe. Above all...be gentle with yourself (I know I've said this before so forgive the "nagging nanny":)!). No matter how much love we can give you as your troops, friends and family, the most important source of love and strength is that deep within you. Keep finding the strength you've so courageously brought out to overcome this gigantic obstacle (no matter how enormous it still remains an obstacle, and as such has a way around it, over it, under it or through it!). Find the strength and also find the love and compassion towards yourself that you so deserve and that will ultimately take you to the victory line. Believe, fight, trust...and love yourself immensely, deeply, caringly.

Your troops are always pushing from behind believing, fighting, trusting and loving in our own limited ways. We each add a little drop to your immense ocean of courage, perseverance and positivity. Remember that although you have not reached the finish line yet, you have already overcome many, many, maaaaany obstacles and come out victorious of numerous battles. So I guess your biggest Christmas gift to yourself should be a huge, heartfelt and loving pat on the back!!!

Merry Christmas to you and your family!

Love from Sally, Linda and Gin (and Gin Papa from his other home)

love from Boston

Dear Alex,

Thinking of you on the day after your anniversary, and wishing for you a happy and healthy new year. I know that you hoped that your illness would be a memory by now, and the fact that it is not gone, is excruciatingly painful. But, I hope that you know that you have beaten it down multiple times, and inevitably, you will win this fight.
While the ###$% attacked your body, it could never attack your resolve, and you have become mentally much stronger this year. In some ways, it has been your year of strength and of overcoming impossible challenges. You have prevailed.
Your troops love you very much. xoxoxo,
Julie

Merry Christmas and 2010 here we come!

Dearest Alessandra,
I wish you a wonderful NEW year, in all aspects of the word. May your Christmas a la Brit/Italian/American, with family and friends increase your already admirable strength, joy and peace. I feel blessed to be your friend, and participant in this journey towards health and happiness. From a snowy (really) Philadelphia, remember that I am holding you all in the light for as long as it takes us to win, and beyond that point in time.
Much love and xxxx

A Year.

Dear All,

It has been a year since I was diagnosed.

I had planned to write at length, envisioning this day and the need to put it all into words and, in so doing, put it to rest. But now that I am here, I realise that I cannot begin to capture in a single blog posting what this past year has been like for me. I cannot convey in a few paragraphs what it has felt like to have your life turned upside down and to find yourself thrust into the fight of your life. The fight for your life.

And then I realise that I have the most beautiful patchwork quilt of single blog postings to capture my journey so far. One need only to read this blog, from its very first entry to this one, to begin to understand the emotions that I have and continue to experience, the physical battles that I face and continue to encounter, the mental goals that I seek and continue to strive for... This blog is my voice, my narrative, my story. But it is also my comfort, my booster, my connection. It is the home of my troops, housing the love and support of so many wonderful, wonderful people. So, I believe that my "year in review" cannot be expressed in a more genuine, honest and open fashion than in the very entries that make up this blog.

I have cried a lot today. But I want you all to know that despite the tears and all the reasons for which I cry, I am happy and grateful about so much, and consider myself lucky in ways that, a year ago, eluded me. While I hope that you all will never ever have to experience the heartache of this marathon of mine, I hope that you will have the chance to feel what it is like to have people support you in ways that surprise you, touch you, move you... and that allow you to believe, even in the hardest of times, that anything is possible.

Hugs to all.

Over a Cup of Green Tea.

Dear All,

It is the eve of the anniversary of my diagnosis, and I know that I will need and want to write tomorrow - to share, to reflect, and to feel the power of connection that has carried me so far. But in the meantime, as I sip my green tea in a moment of rest, I thought I'd give some updates, as I know that many of you have been asking how the past week has been.

I had my five scheduled sessions of radiotherapy - yet another notch in my belt of experiences. I started each day with an early morning trip to the hospital, where I would be asked to strip down to my waist, lie on my back on a table, and be still as they marked my chest with pointers to guide the rays. Then they would take a series of lead plates and lie them on the outskirts of the area to be radiated, my "protective armour" shielding me from treatment to unnecessary regions. The plates were ice cold, and yet I had to lie very still so as not to throw anything off kilter... The radiotherapy machine would then be carefully lowered to press down hard on my chest, pinning me to the table. And then I would be left there, for 5 minutes or so, alone in the room, and no sound but the quiet beeping of the machine doing its work, and the loud beating of my heart trying to take all of this in. In those five minutes, I visualised, I wished, I dreamed, I hoped. I wavered back and forth from being in the moment, to being somewhere else - healthy, calm, whole. And then the session would be over, I would get dressed, and my "normal" day would officially begin. Surreal. The pain in my sternum dissipated very quickly, and by the end of session five, it was all but gone. My chest looks sunburned, and I still feel little twinges sometimes in that area, but as Dr. Plowman shared, it is hard to differentiate between healing bone and diseased bone and the side effects of radiation. Again, it is the unknown, the "limbo" that is so hard for me. I have battled tears and fear this week, in their usual waves. But at least I am more physically comfortable, and my body is back on a firmer footing to recovery than it was a week ago. I am just very fatigued, a tiredness that is exacerbated by the fact that my blood count is in its characteristic mid-cycle low which leaves me feeling generally depleted.

I am now scheduled for my next chemo on Wednesday December 30th, when I will stay overnight at the hospital, and be discharged New Year's Eve. I see it as a final blast to the f&*#er before I wrap up 2009. And then, it is literally a new year.

With last-minute work commitments and treatment appointments, I have not had time to think about or prepare for Christmas. I hope to spend the next few days getting into the spirit of things. Christmas Eve will be spent at my home, where my parents and Chiara and Anthony will join Julian, James and I. Christmas Day will be spent at Julian's aunt and uncle's home, together with many of the Murdochs, and the Priorelli + Anthony crowd, having Xmas a-la-British. Boxing Day (26th) will be spent at Chiara and Anthony's new home in Wimbledon, having Xmas a-la-American. So, three days of festivity with family, which will be lovely.

We had snow here in London on Wednesday, and then again today. Big snow flakes which were bizarre to see in the city and which lasted only briefly. I smiled as the news warned of "emergency measures" having to be taken, of tons of sand and salt being distributed... I still have some Bostonian in me, and really.... the fuss was ludicrous! But I have also learned that everything is relative, and so I have come to appreciate how atypical this all is when all you expect is rain, rain, rain.

Speak to you all tomorrow, and hope that as this working week draws to a close, you are all getting ready for a happy holiday season around the corner.

Hugs to all.

pink gloves

Hi, there -
Has everyone seen the Pink Glove Dance on YouTube? Worth a watch -- good for a smile. And a nice way to spread awareness of breast cancer.
Alex, I'm sending you love and light and strength and rest and peace and tears and fear and friendship and then some more love. Whatever is happening over there, you are not alone.
- Lindsay

Of roses and birthdays and positive thinking

Robert Frost wrote a poem called "The Rose Family." It goes:

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose-
But were always a rose.
(I think Frost had fun with this one, but he admired the constancy in "You.")
About four weeks ago I received a single rose combined with some white pine. For some reason when I put it in a bud vase by the kitchen window, I thought of you, Danda, and I watched it grow and grow ever so slightly each day, a perfectly formed, beautiful creation, pure deep red, and soft to the touch. The day that it began to look a little less vibrant was the day that apparently you experienced the pain in your sternum and things began to unravel just a bit. However, unaware as I was of that at the time, I allowed the rose to wilt just a little longer and then marched down to the florist and bought a new one, its head tightly closed but destined to bloom as its predecessor had. And it has, and it is going strong, nestled in its white pine needles, and it is a gorgeous statement!! And I CARE about how it's doing each day. And while this rose may be eclipsed, another one and another after that will take its place and I will nurture each one and "talk" to them and admire what is strong and true and patient and bold about them, just as I admire those very qualities in you that have always been there.
You've been to Hell and back and still you persist, dear Danda. You're the toughest gal I know. We know you will prevail, even when something sets you back temporarily. Remember back on September 23, there was lots of psychic energy coming your way from the troops because of shared birthdays, I think. And it turned out that the news was great! If you are still scheduled for chemo on December 23, know this: that is my dad's (your mom's Uncle Hank) birthday, and I feel certain that he's going to be sending you all the most powerful, positive vibes to help make you well and whole again. Me too, and all your troops. So maybe Christmas isn't going to be the day for kicking up your heels but hopefully soon after, and in the meantime snuggles and giggles with James and vicarious delight in whatever makes his face light up this Christmas. Your best Christmas present.
Will send our Christmas card with the next post. We love you. We hope things are getting better.

The One Constant

I know I haven't weighed in lately in the blogesphere, but my world has been circling elsewhere, and distractions, though I try to keep them under control and in order, are many and appear out of the blue - rather like clouds. At one moment the sky is bright and full of sunshine, the ultimate perfection. Then, dropping down from the stratosphere, a whisp of a cloud comes into the picture. Then the wind comes up, and there are clouds everywhere, layers of them, some moving west to east at great speed, others nearer our earth scud north to south, building up huge, heavy mountains of gray. They pour rain upon me, and they are full of sound and fury. "Signifying nothing" as Shakespeare would say, because they are transient. Eventually the blue sky and hot sun return, bathing everything in the beauty of being. But, guess what is the one constant?

LOVE, that wonder of wonders, bubbles up and smoothes the water, quiets the storms, makes the sun shine in heart and mind. You really don't have to look for it under rocks and bushes. You don't have to self-flagellate to find it, as it is always there in the air we breathe. Sometimes we can even taste it, as in tears, because surely tears are an expression of LOVE held so tightly within us that, eventually, it erupts and spills over our eyelids. Why are we crying? Because we are overwhelmed with LOVE and by LOVE as in LOVE of life, LOVE of husband, LOVE of child, sibling, mother, father friend, LOVE of all God's creatures, and I might add, LOVE of self. This is natural, OK, good. LOVE in all its forms will see you through the darkest of nights like a shining star in the east. I believe there is divinity in LOVE. Can you feel it?

I tried to count all the times the word LOVE has been posted in this blog since its conception. I gave up! It was just too large in scope. It is the ultimate LOVEfest! You are awash in LOVE!

Sending My Love!

Alex,

I am so sorry that I have been absent from the blog for a bit. It is with a heavy heart that I come back and read your latest posts. I am so sorry to hear that another mountain has been shoved in your path. I sincerely wish that I could take this burden from you and carry it over the next mountain and help give your body a rest. However, I also know that inside of you is the heart of a lioness who is not going to let any obstacle get in her way. The cancer is trying to make you think that its impossible. But don't listen to it. Great heroes have made history by making the impossible possible and you can do the same. So, today, I leave you with all my love (gosh I wish I could do more) and the words of Shel Silverstein:

Listen to the Mustn'ts child,

listen to the don'ts-

listen to the shouldn'ts,

the impossible, the won'ts-

listen to the never haves,

Then listen close to me.

Anything can happen child.

Anything can be.

~Shel Silverstein

keep your sunny side up!

Dearest Danda,

I have a story for you. Not so long ago mum sent me a metal sign-it was made to look like an old rusty sign from the 40's or 50's and it read "Keep your sunny side up." There are four sections of this sign that are held together by some metal chain. Mum sent it to me when I was having a rough time at work. I hung it in my closet over a stack of clothes and would read it in the morning before dressing. It was a great reminder of how to live my life.

Well, then I moved in with Jeff and had to find a new home for my little sign. With wall space at a premium we decided to hang our most prized paintings in lieu of rusty reminders of how to live life. I couldn't very well throw it in a box so I hung it on the edge of a shelving unit in our basement. I can't say that I was very strategic about the placement of said sign, but I thought it got the job done. It was up and visible!

Now space is tight with all our gear scattered about and five bicycles to navigate by in the basement hall...five?! really, you would think we were Tour de France champions! (I will tackle that obsession in the new year)! With narrow hall ways it seem inevitable that this sign hanging by a chain on the edge of shelving unit was bound to be knocked off. And sure enough it was...by Jeff....frequently. The first couple of times it happened I would hear a crash downstairs and not a peep would come from Jeff who was learning to live within my web of collected "things."

After some time I would be able to bear witness to the falling of the sign where upon Jeff would mutter expletives and pick the sign up in a bit of a fury and say why, why does this stupid sign have to be here. I would say in jest, "keep your sunny side up." There just wasn't room for the sign anywhere else so that was its home.

One day I found a hook on our deck where I thought it would be the perfect new home for my "sunny side" sign. I happily grabbed the sign and hung it up to show Jeff. I think we was as excited as I was that the sign would now be a peaceful reminder in our lives to "keep our sunny side up."

A few nights after hanging the sign up I heard a raucous and thought perhaps someone was breaking into our apartment or our neighbor was moving boxes out of her house in the middle of the night. I cautiously jumped up from bed to investigate (Jeff all the while sound asleep). I walked out to the living room--nothing. I got back into bed. The sounds came again....and again What could it be? Finally it dawned on me. It was a pretty windy night and our beloved reminder to keep our sunny side up was flapping around in the wind and scraping against the side of the house making all the noise. Exasperated (mom, that's for you) I took the sign down and lay it on the ground. I laughed out loud thinking this must be how Jeff felt every time that sign came crashing down.

Sometimes when things don't go your way you have to remember to "keep your sunny side up," despite the interruptions to life.

I love you and your sunny side!

Lex

sailing

Ahhh!!! Alex, it must be so hard to keep the balloon full of air when these holes keep getting pricked in it! Your news is deflating. I feel the energy of your troops blowing and blowing and blowing to fill the balloon back up. I think a sailboat is actually a better analogy. It's not so much a deflating balloon, it's more like a sailboat that has lost its wind, lost its momentum, and is sitting still in the water. The wind will come back, the sail will fill, and you will start cutting smoothly and sharply through the water, again. Blow, troops, blow! And Alex, breath, breath, breath -- it's the perfect source of wind. And laughter -- man it's powerful. I was feeling pretty dead in the water, myself, from your news, and then I read Jane's and Jess' entries, and I was laughing. Laughing!! May you find solace in stillness, wait patiently for your wind, and choose your own tack once that wind starts to blow. I LOVE YOU - Lindsay

I THINK IT'S TIME FOR "SMELBORP"

A LONG TIME AGO, IN A LAND FAR, FAR AWAY THERE WAS AN AMAZING WOMAN NAMED ALEX, WHO HAD AN AMAZING SISTER NAMED CHIARA. NOW CHIARA BEING THE NAME OF LIGHT WAS SO APPROPRIATELY NAMED BECAUSE SHE SPREAD LIGHT, LAUGHTER AND POSITIVE ENERGY EVERYWHERE SHE WENT.

ONE DAY CHIARA SENSED A PROBLEM BREWING AND THIS IS WHAT SHE WROTE:

TAKE MY ADVICE: PROBLEMS DO NOT EXIST!!!!!

IF YOU INSIST THAT PROBLEMS (IN WHATEVER ABSTRACT, VAGUE OR RELATED FORM) DO EXIST...

DON'T FEEL OVERWHELMED BY THEM.

CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE.

INVERT "PROBLEMS." WHAT DO YOU GET?..."SMELBORP." MUCH LESS INTIMIDATING. IF YOU ARE STILL NOT CONVINCED, WE MUST ATTEMPT TO DEAL WITH THE PROBLEMS. VERY SIMPLE.

ONCE AGAIN, WE INVERT THE PERSPECTIVE: SMELBORP. THUS WE THEORETICALLY AND PSYCHOLOGICALLY FIND OURSELVES AT THE END OF THE PROBLEMS RATHER THAN AT THE BEGINNING OF THEM...SO MUCH MORE APPEALING.

THEN WE LOOK AT FACTORS THAT CONSTITUTE THE PROBLEMS, OR RATHER THE SMELBORP. WE HAVE "SMEL" AND "BORP." WITHIN PROBLEMS YOU ALWAYS FIND THE SOLUTIONS. BEAR WITH ME...

IN THIS CASE WE HAVE SMEL AND BORP.

ALTERNATIVELY SMEL(L) AND B(U)RP.

SMELLING AND BURPING ARE TWO WAYS OF INHALING AND EXHALING.

INHALING AND EXHALING ARE CONSTITUTE THE ACT OF BREATHING.

BY BREATHING YOU ARE, BY DEFINITION, LIVING.

THUS, BY SIMPLY LIVING, YOU ARE NATURALLY AND SUBCONSCIOUSLY ELIMINATING ALL PROBLEMS. HENCE, THE REALITY IS THAT IF YOU ARE ALIVE, THEN PROBLEMS DO NOT EXIST. SO BASICALLY, IF YOU ARE NOT DEAD, YOU ARE PROBLEM-FREE.

IT IS THE NATURAL STATE OF THINGS.

BEING STRESSED, FOR EXAMPLE, SUGGESTS THAT THERE IS A PROBLEM (IN SOME FORM OR ANOTHER). AND THAT, THEREFORE, GOES AGAINST NATURE. BUT IT IS A KNOWN FACT THAT EVENTUALLY NATURE ALWAYS CONQUERS MAN, SO YOU WILL END UP NOT BEING STRESSED AT SOME POINT ANYWAY.

THEREFORE, IT MIGHT AS WELL BE NOW.

WHICH BRINGS ME BACK TO MY FIRST PIECE OF ADVICE: PROBLEMS DO NOT EXIST.

SEE, MY ADVICE WASN'T SO STUPID AFTER ALL. I GUESS I JUST HAD TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU.

AND SO WAS THE STORY CHIARA TOLD IN A LAND FAR, FAR AWAY. AND IT IS THE WISDOM AND LIGHT THAT SURROUND HER DEAR SISTER TODAY. MAY HER WORDS BRING TRUTH, COMFORT AND BREATH TO HER DEAR DANDA.............FOR THE CALMING OF STRESS AND THE VANISHING OF PROBLEMS.

LOVE AND HUGS, JANE

you will prevail!

Danda,

That news is not what you or we, your troops, wanted to hear. It is difficult to think you are doing everything right and yet still the cancer can rear its ugly head unexpectedly. I know it is hard to not have any way to predict what will happen next with each new treatment let alone each day you are fighting and that is unsettling. I cannot think of the words that will make you think this is all ok, and in time things will get better....but....

I can say that this is your body and you can agree to disagree with it. You can commit to making strides despite setbacks. You can up hold your end of the deal by fighting the good fight. You are doing right by your body, eating well, keeping healthy, taking your treatments. Know that what you are doing is good and in time I think you will prevail. We love you. Your family loves you. And Dad I am sure is looking out for you from above with Gran by his side saying, "Danda, keep fighting, you are a fighter."

Get this radiation and chemo out of the way and you will be able to look forward to Christmas which with James will give new meaning to this holiday season. I love you immensely and am fighting on this side for you!

Lex

Mission Possible!

Oh dear, Alex. I'm so sorry you're having such a bad time right now. Enough is enough, for heaven's sake! You know in action movies, the big moment, when bad meets good, good meets bad and they are fighting and good is winning and you're like, "Yeah!", but then all of a sudden bad gets up and starts punching Tom Cruise in the face over and over and over and you're like, "Noooooo! Good must win! Good must prevail!" And then Tom Cruise gets up and kicks bad's ass and you feel like cheering. This is that moment for you. You must channel your inner Tom Cruise and kick bad's ass! And you will. I know you will. And we are all here to help you. I hope that you can find some time to do things that you enjoy in an attempt to take your mind off of this recent hurdle. I love you, Alex. Try to relax those shoulders and breathe.

Lots of gentle hugs and kisses,

Jess

Chalking it up to a very bad day.

Dear All,

Well, yesterday was one of those days where the hill turned into a mountain, and where the marathon seemed to extend itself beyond the 26.2 miles originally charted...

My sternum pain shifted from being excruciatingly painful in the central area to becoming only a dull pain when touched. Great. But as the day progressed, the lower part of my sternum, where it connects to my bottom ribs, grew more and more painful, and by lunch time, I could barely move without feeling shooting pain in my lower chest. Just sitting still and breathing was painful, as my rib cage expanded in and out. Crazy as it sounds, the beating of my heart hurt that area - I found myself asking, could it not beat less strongly, please? So, I called the hospital, and was asked to come in... next thing I know, I am having a chest x-ray (all clear, no visible infection), and then I found myself in Dr. Plowman's office, as he carefully examined me...

Verdict: I may possibly have a tiny fracture in my sternum, which occurred through motion (i.e., picking up James?) or a strain on bone that is weak or still battling cancer traces. More likely, I have had a "flare up" of cancer on my sternum... So, I was told that we needed to target that area right away, and next thing I know I am lying on the examination table, with my top off, and Dr. Plowman and a radiologist measuring and marking me up for radiotherapy. I will have a week's worth of radiation sessions, starting today, and we'll re-assess to see if to continue with more or not at this point. Chemo proceeds as normal, 8 hours' worth scheduled for tomorrow, in addition to the radiotherapy treatment first thing in the morning. Overnight hospital stay as orginally planned. I asked Dr. Plowman, "If this is in fact some new cancer, is it not likely that my liver may also not be responding well to this new chemo regimen?" To which he responded, "No, Alessandra, you must not jump to those conclusions at all. It doesn't work that way".

I just don't understand how it works. There is no pattern, there is no predictability, there is no reason... I find it so frustrating, so scary, so overwhelming. Needless to say, I was a tearful mess yesterday afternoon. Angry, fearful, disappointed, upset. And deeply saddened by the news. When is all this going to end? Have I not paid my dues?

All I can do is chalk it up to it being a very bad day. All I can do is look at that mountain, and equip myself with my mental climbing gear. All I can do is tell myself that as I fighter I simply have one more big dent in my armour, but the fight is still mine for the winning. All I can do is re-focus and never, not for a second, take my eye off that finish line.

And remind myself that I have my troops, that I am not alone in this, and that I can do this. 2010 is my year. I need you all more than ever.

Hugs to all.

I Agree - It Is What It Is

Hello Alex,

As always, I like your honesty and ability to describe in such detail where you are at at any given moment. We all know that there are lots of moments in your day and it is only reasonable to assume that some are more difficult than others. I like what your uncle says "it is what it is" and this will be one day at a time. I am sending an extra big hug your way for those moments in the day that feel more up hill - heck, feel more like an enormous cliff with pigeon poop each step of the way. You are getting through the shit and the top of that cliff will be breathtaking! Lots and lots of love...
Lisa

melting walls

Hi, Alex -
I'm so sorry to hear about the pain in your sternum. Of course it threw you into a panic, and of course it has narrowed your lens and reignited fear, albeit temporarily. And the anniversary of the diagnosis -- the return of the weather, the smells, the state of earthen hibernation that surrounds you, which is now associated in your body with the diagnosis, with feeling sick, with feeling scared, with feeling sad -- should not be underestimated. Powerful powerful powerful. Yes, it is what it is; that's true of your feelings, too. And I wish it could be something different.

I want to tell you about another inspiring woman in my life who is in pain, and is in hope. I find myself thinking about the two of you so often that I almost imagine you know one another. Of course you don't, but you can know each other's stories. Her name is Eleanor. She is one of my close friends here in Vermont, and we met because our daughters, now almost 7, became best of friends when they were 3. Ever since then, Eleanor and her husband have been trying to have another baby. She got pregnant, and had a miscarriage. That happened again. She saw doctors, saw naturopaths, changed her diet, started supplements. Go pregant again, and had another miscarriage. And another. More doctors, more alternative treatments. And one more miscarriage. Five. Her daughter so wants to be a big sister. She so wants another baby. The struggle is daily for them, it's always in their consciousness. They started trying to adopt. They were given the chance to choose a baby in Guatemala, which they did. They chose the little boy who looked just like her husband's father, who had just been killed, along with his mother, by a drunken driver. Yes, in the midst of 5 miscarriages, they also lost two parents. So, they choose this baby, and then right before it is finalized, Guatemala closed their doors to US adoptions. They started over, had a couple other near misses, including one where they were at the hotel, waiting for the baby to be delivered to them -- it will be tomorrow, it will be tomorrow, it will be tomorrow, they were told, until finally they were told, no, the baby has gone to family members, instead. They flew home empty handed. So, two weeks ago, they get a call. There was a woman in Arizona in labor, and she wanted to give her baby to an adoptive family. Did they want the baby? Ten hours later they were on a plane to Arizona. They took the baby from the hospital back to their hotel and waited to the 72 hours that are required by AZ law to pass before the birth mother couldsign the final papers. It was a grueling 72 hours. Eleanor desperately wanted to love this baby, wanted to feel hope, wanted to feel joy. All she felt was scared. The walls had grown so thick from loss, from pain, from fear. It was nearly impossible to feel free to love and to hope. But over the course of a few days, she was racked with emotion. She grieved and grieved and grieved all her previous losses. She felt her fear, she felt her heartache, and then she also was able to feel her love and her hope, again. But she realized that she couldn't get to one without the other. After a few days, although she continued to sob in her sleep and dream that the baby would be taken away, she loved her. She even started to lactate. But...they did, in fact, take that baby away. The birth mom could never bring herself tosign the papers, she changed her mind, and the social worker came to the hotel and took the baby away. I am sure I will never forget the sound of Eleanor's cries on the phone telling me, "They just took her away. They were here, and they took her away." Of course, the sadness the sadness the sadness. But I also felt so afraid for her, Alex. I was so afraid that the wall was going to come back up, and be impenetrable. I was afraid she would never open up to the love and the hope again after the torture of more loss and more pain and more fear.

But I saw her today. She is home. We stood and hugged and cried in front of the elementary school where we were picking up our best friend daughters (who came out of the schoolside byside with easy smiles and about an inch between them a few minutes later). She told me that her daughter had asked her last night whether they were really going to get a baby someday. I held my breath to hear her response. She said, "Yes! I am more sure of it now than ever before! This was such an important part of this porcess. we had to go through this, this was part of the journey, and we are more ready than ever, now."

She has your fortitude, your persistence, your power, your strength. And she really took in the learning, the lesson, that you can't feel the love and the hope without accepting and feeling the fear and the pain and the loss. One opens the door to the other. Your emotionally fragile times are not your flaw, and they are not your weakness. They are part of the journey, and you can't feel the love and the hope without them.

I love you - Lindsay

It is what it is.

Dear All,

Thank you for all your messages and virtual hugs. And yes, Alexis, your post made me smile. :-)

I continue, however, to be in a bit of a mood rut. Very tearful, and feeling that the sadness is just below the surface, threatening to overflow in the most unexpected of moments. I give myself pep talks, and am reaching the point where I just need to give myself a kick in the ass and get that bounce back in my step. Feeling sorry for myself will get me nowhere. Damn December! I need to get into the Christmas mode, to be a participant in the "cheer" , not just be an observer. It's not about pretending that "all is well" when it isn't, I tell myself. It's about focusing on what is good, what is happy, what is well. Don't let the cancer narrow your perspective, don't let it define the lens through which you view your life, I tell myself. Easier said then done, but still doable. So, I allow myself a period every day when I can vent, bitch, sob, and let the "taps flow"... and then I pick myself up and regroup. This too shall pass. Or as my Uncle Geoffrey would say, it is what it is. One day at a time.

What has made things harder is that I developed a terrible pain in my sternum over the weekend, and it threw me into a panic. The pain was awful - just resting a finger on the area made me wince. The thought of the bone mets returning, spreading, was overwhleming, and for a couple of days, I struggled to push that thought away. The pain has subsided, and I will see what Dr. Plowman thinks. It could be a flare up of the cancer site, it could be something less ominous. It is the unknown and the possibility of another hill to climb which makes it difficult to not worry. But if it is a cancer flare up, then heck, I'm just going to have to fight harder.

I will not be getting chemo tomorrow as my platelet counts came back today too low. Not surprising as my nose continues to bleed. So I am scheduled for Friday, with the typical overnight stay.

Wanting to end on a humorous note.... I was at work today, where I met with a 10 year old little girl who has cerebral palsy and epilepsy. She has significant developmental delays, amongst which her speech is near unintelligible, which makes it so challenging to understand her. I was trying to gauge both her receptive and expressive language skills for the purpose of the assessment, and it was proving to be quite an ordeal, requiring creativity and perseverance. However, in the middle of a task, I see her eyes grow wide and out of her mouth come out the crystal clear words, "Blood out of your nose!!!!!" Poor child, true enough, my nose was bleeding and I had not even been aware of it! I grabbed a Kleenex, wiped my nose, and asked, "Does that look better?", to which she again, articulated clearly, "Noooooo! There's more!!!" Suffice to say that we eventually got through the session with my being able to record a string of very clear language samples.... and hopefully with my having managed not to traumatise her too much! Oh dear!

Hugs to all.

bringing you some sunshine

Dear Danda,

You never know if what you post will be taken lightly or will hit heavily as words over a computer cannot see the face they are speaking to. I only hope that my words helped give you a laugh and did not in any way diminish what you are feeling in recounting the year gone by. I guess these days to smile feels better than to cry so that is what I try to project whenever possible.

I will say it was an honor the other day to attend yoga for the first time in over a year. I was intimidates as always wondering what balancing act I was going to have to perform in front of the yogies who surrounded me. But instead I was greeted by a woman who was much older, but looked fit. Her mat was next to mine. I coughed a few times before class as a reaction to a shortness of breath issue I was fending off (glad to report it is gone now). She asked that I cover my mouth when I cough since she had Leukemia. "I am so sorry," I said. "I didn't even realize I was not covering my mouth. I am not sick," and then went on to explain what I was suffering from. We both laughed- we agreed that it just seemed so wrong that an antibiotic that was supposed to make me better, made me worse. She said that given her illness she should not even be in a class like yoga with all the germs. And I thought she is the one person who should be here, I should be the one thinking of covering my mouth!

Anyhow, she finished the hour and a half long class and at the end I complimented her on her overwhelming strength and fitness given her disease. She told me that she felt great despite her cancer not being curable she was thankful for every day of remission. She was a beautiful person. I just thought I would share that. I guess for me, if I met you one day and had never met you before I would probably say the same thing to you. You are strong and you are beautiful Alessandra!

Love
Lex

rewind

Hiya sweetie -
It's intense to hear you rememeber the moment of diagnosis, the moment this fight began in a way you were cognitively conscious of (of course, the battle had already begun at that point, but in a different way). I was imagining that moment just a few days ago. I had a weird and what turned out to be not a big deal medical moment -- the vision in my left eye went all bizarro on me, and I was wondering whether something major was happening to my eye, my vision, or my brain. For the most part it was all pretty mellow and I wasn't deeply concerned. But there was one intense moment that made me think of you, and you have been extra present for me ever since. It was the moment, about three seconds long, when the doctor said, "I believe this is the onset of..." The end of the sentence was not dramatic. It was called an occular migraine. A bummer if migraines progress, but not a big deal, really. But I was intensely aware of the feelings that surged through me for the few seconds while I heard the words "onset of" and for the second or two after that while I processed what he was saying and understood it to not be a big deal. Really not trying to play upmy own experience here. What I connected with, quite deeply, was the realization of what you must have gone through in that moment when you heard your own diagnosis. When that fear surges through your body, and instead of taking in calming words that help you re-regulate your body, your feelings, your thoughts, you hear words that change everything, and your body, your feelings, your thoughts have to settle into a new, long-term temporary reality. I imagine that the anniversary brings that all back to life. And that really, you have sort of been stuck in that moment, some days more than others, ever since. I wish I could wish that moment away. It's like the ultimate moment you wish to rewind. But of course, even when this battle is won, that moment will always be with you, I suppose. But won't it be great when this anniversary brings backs a distant memory, and a memory of a fight fought and won. I can't wait to toast that day with you. I love you - Lindsay

healthy and happy

Oh and I forgot to comment on the picture. Danda, you look so chic with that short hair. It is so becoming and let's your face shine. You are one beautiful woman! I love you! You look well.

taking it in

Danda,

If you can believe I can relate! I let the tears fall for different reasons. I want life to be back as it was. I want to go back to the hospital and give it another go with Dad, to do more, tell him more and look into his eyes and hear his voice one more time. I let these emotions take hold when I look back and not forward.

Now I know these two things are not nearly the same, but bear with me and I will try my darnedest to draw a correlation. I cry, I weep, and then I heavily sob. All very cathartic if you do them in small doses and tell yourself while in the middle of a tear, "Ok you've had your cry. Are you going to keep going on like this? For how long? Are you feeling better crying or are you just continuing because if you are crying you might as well keep going until your eye ducts dry up?" By the time I have gone through all these questions in my head I stop crying because I realize the release I needed was over and I am losing energy continuing on. And then I stop. Oh, and now I have digressed. But trust me the crying is good and gets it all out so your head and heart can relieve some of their burden.

Now on to the part about looking back instead of looking forward. The part that leads me to tears is the looking back part. The part where I want to go back to the hospital and I picture how things could have gone. This is the part that is most frustrating because I cannot change it. It is there for me to dwell on and think about. Now, when I think of Dad before that I am fine; I am happy. I think of all our time together, the good times, the happy times and the times where life was full and untainted for the most part. When I think about Dad in the future, he is not there, but his spirit is so I think of all that lays ahead of me. All that he wanted to for me...all the living he knew I still had to do. This again makes me happy knowing that there are better days ahead.

How does this all tie back to you? Well, I am never quite certain if what I have written makes any sense or the parallels only exist in my mind, but here is what I think. If you think back to last year in December and try to make sense of all you have accomplished and all that has happened it is overwhelming. It was a long and trying year. You experienced more emotions than many people experience in decades. Trying looking back to a time before that. The time when you graduated from your PhD program. The time you and Julian lived together in Boston. The day you got married to your life long love. The day James was born. Those are days that make you smile.

Now look ahead. Not the what if ahead. The ahead that you have turned into a year of living. Think of the years ahead with Julian, with James, with your family and friends and with all the possibilities ahead. Your business you have created and the families you help. The run in the park that you will take again with your mum. The picnics in the park that you will have in the Spring. The trip to St. Thomas that you will make where you will board the incredible yacht that bears your name.

So I guess what I am trying to say is that the immediate past, the emotional and tumultuous past is too hard to grasp and make sense of, but the past before the roller coaster and the future when the roller coaster slows down is the time that you can look at and smile because those are the times that are easier to take hold of.

Well, cousin, I am never quite sure if these entries are more for you or me, but there you have it from a girl with no masters of PhD in psychology!

Now to get completely off the subject as my mind just took some complete left turn, Jeff, my fiance, and I will be honeymooning in France-tickets have not been bought so if anyone has a better idea let me know! But does anyone have any suggestions for must see towns or cities. I really want to go to cooking school, but it seems Italy has a far greater bounty of choices than France. We are planning to fly to Paris, spend some time, and then head south to the South of France for a couple of days to stay at a B&B we found about an hour north of Avignon. Any and all recommendations are welcome! We thought Lake Como for a moment, but is May really a good time to visit or will it still be chilly? Sally, Giovanna, Vicki, Chiara--I enlist your sense of adventure on this one!

Love to all,
Alexis

Letting the Tears "Be".

Dear All,

It is hard to believe that we are now in December...

I have had a tearful patch of late. The need to let the tears fall and simply "be" in that release. Not fight it, not deny it, not try to plug it up. I know that the tears stem, in part, from the side effects of chemo, which this cycle hit me in a "delayed effect" several days after my night in hospital. Great fatigue, a "foggy/fuzzy" head, a general feeling of being "off". I have had frequent nose bleeds as my platelets are rock bottom, so I walk around with a drippy nose and blood-stained tissues that do little for the morale. I know that the tears also stem, in part, from the weariness that comes from fighting the f~*&er 24/7. I am unrelenting - this f~*&er does not deserve an inch of me or of a reprieve. I hit it from all sides, all of the time: chemo, nutrition, mind, while showing it that I am living my life, that I am owning my life, that it is my life. I know that the tears also stem, in part, from my wishing that the finish line was closer, that I was no longer in this marathon, that my worries were more mundane.

But I know that the tears mostly stem from the fact that I am fast approaching the anniversary of my diagnosis. And the emotion of that day is as vivid and visceral to me now as if it were yesterday. I cry because of what I have gone through and because of what I have accomplished. I cry because I want to wake up from this nightmare and because I dream, with such conviction, about my tomorrows. I cry because the hills feel so steep at times and because I have stood at the top of them still strong and victorious. I cry because I have never wanted health so badly and because I envision the day when the words "all clear" will be mine once again.

So, I let the tears fall. I let the tears "be". And then I breathe and count my blessings. And tell the cancer f~&er to go f~*k itself.

And I hold my wonderful James, and tell him that his mama is one tough cookie, and that even when the tears fall, she is strong, she is hopeful, she is determined, and she believes.

Hugs to all.

Video was great!!

Hello,
Karen, the video was really cute! It's so great seeing all those wonderful nurses, doctors and hospital personell taking it one step further for all the patients, families and friends to have a moment of fun.
I'm sure Alex can appreciate it as I'm sure she has had some wonderful people helping her through this tough time.
Not much to say today but the whole Conant Rd. clan says hello and sends their best.
We Love you!!!
Eve

Hope this UTube video brings a smile

Hi Alessandra,

Hope you are continuing to feel well. I was amazed to see your post about going for a run - you truly continue to inspire all of us who are so blessed to know you.

I just got to work, but had to put a quick note out. Unfortunately, in our evening craziness I rarely see the world news, but last night I caught the last few minutes of the ABC telecast. If you haven't yet heard or seen the following UTube clip, please watch. I laughed and cried while watching it, and couldn't help but think of you. The link to the clip is below and the story follows. Hope this gives you a smile.

Love,
Karen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEdVfyt-mLw


Pink Glove Dance Video Spreads Breast Cancer Awareness
Video Featuring Hospital Staff in Pink Gloves Has Over 1.6 Million Hits on YouTube

By JOHN MCKENZIE
Nov 30, 2009—

It all started when a medical supply created a new line of hospital gloves -- in pink.
"We thought that seeing health care workers wear pink gloves would remind people to talk about breast cancer and that some of the money from the gloves could be used to pay for mammograms for women that couldn't afford it," said Sue MacInnes of Medline Industries Inc., the company that created the gloves.

But what was the best way to promote the pink gloves -- and the cause that inspired them?
Providence St. Vincent Medical Center in Portland, Ore., decided to help by making a video and posting it on YouTube. Medline Industries Inc. says it will donate a portion of the profits from the pink gloves to fund mammograms for women who otherwise would not get them.
"We had so many people who said, 'You know, this disease has touched my life. I want to be a part of it,'" said Martie Moore, the nursing manager at Providence St. Vincent.
The result? More than 200 hospital staff volunteered to wear the pink gloves in a video, set to Jay Sean's song, "Down." From lab technicians and the kitchen help to surgical teams, they all let loose in the video, dancing from place to place in the hospital.

Click Here to view the Pink Glove Video

"All of us had our own anxiety but we were so committed to what we were doing that we got over it," said Moore. "We did talk about the fact that we weren't dancers& we're not professional dancers, but we had great heart and great spirit." It took two days of shooting in the hospital.
"We just had fun," Moore told ABC News. "I don't know if we're going to be on "Dancing with the Stars" soon."

Much to their surprise, the video has inspired and energized people around the globe. Since it was posted on Nov. 13, it's been viewed more than 1.6 million times.
"When a video shows the joy, and the camaraderie, and the commitment
that makes a difference," said breast cancer patient Ann Soul.
"They say laughter is the best medicine. You got it," said Lily Melvin, who is also battling breast cancer.

Thousands have posted inspiring comments -- even singer Sean responded by posting a link to the video on his website. On his Facebook page he wrote, "The vid is awesome&medicine will always be close to my heart and this is such a worthy and important cause. So maybe I could have been a doctor and a singer at the same time after all then? Just brilliant."

On the YouTube page with the video, one person wrote, "That was GREAT! I loved it  and the fact that it was starring the people who helped save my mother's life makes it personal for me. Thanks to them all!!"

Family tidings

My mom and sister wanted me to pass on their love and let you know they are thinking about you. The love is juzt oozing out of this little house in Vermont for you! :-) - Lindsay

Gobble

Just wanted to say Happy Thanksgiving. I am so thankful for you. I love you and I miss you. More soon...not much time but needed a touchpoint.
Gobblee gobble - Lindsay

Gobble, Gobble.

Good evening Danda,

I write this on one side of the world where the sun is rising realizing that the sun is already almost setting on your side of the world. It reminds me there is a cycle and a changing of things in this world. What goes up must come down. Where there is suffering there is joy. Where there is death there is birth (or in the case of Dad, twins on the day he died because it takes two to replace him). I try to remember that there are always positives and negatives and ups and downs and that is the cycle of life.

I am thankful today for being able to appreciate that life is ever changing and that by way of being put here on Earth we must embrace all that happens because that is living. We are blessed to be here...living. Danda, I am thankful for you and your ability to embrace life despite how unfair and difficult it can be. You are the embodiment of life. I am in awe daily of your resolve to not bow down and surrender to the unknown, but to hold your chin up and march forward each day giving no mind to the cancer you have killed along the way that day. I imagine you marching across England through this battlefield and some time in the near future hitting the coastline with nowhere else to go and arriving at the end of the fight victorious; looking out to a vast horizon of possibility. YOU are what I am thankful for today along with all the family and friends who support you becuase in my eyes WE are family and for that I feel a part of something special.

gobble, gobble,
Alexis

Happy Thanksgiving to My Troops

Dear All,

A quick note to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving - if I could, I would call each and every one of you... as you can see, James has a knack with the phone! I am in hospital, having spent the night here due to my marathon chemo session yesterday, that finished at 9:30pm. I have one more drug treatment this morning and then hopefully I can head home this afternoon. I can't wait. I am feeling a bit "fuzzy" from chemo, a bit "off", but otherwise I am doing alright.... at least for now! I am hoping to squeeze in a good walk tomorrow before the downpours that are forecast for the weekend.

In the spirit of this day, I am thankful for my wonderful family, for my truly amazing troops, for my great team of doctors and nurses, for the powerful love and support that shower me, without fail, every single day. I am thankful for the pep talks and cheers, for the hugs and understanding, for the many messages, thoughts and good vibes. I am thankful for the laughs that pick me up, for the comfort when tears fall, and for the visualisations of a better tomorrow. I am thankful for hope, for determination, for belief, for dreams. I am thankful for James, for everything about him, and for the pure boundless joy that he fills my life with.

And I am thankful for my body, which has withstood 17 cycles of chemo, and is still marching strong, one foot ahead of the other. My body continues to show me that I can be unrelenting in this fight, that I will not give the cancer an inch, that however long this healing will take I can outpace, outlast and outwit the f%#~er.

Happy Thanksgiving and the most loving of hugs to all.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Hi!

Just wanted to join the choir wishing Happy Thanksgiving to everyone on this blog. It's a great celebration and one of the things I miss the most from the US. Panda, I know today you're in the hospital and are not looking forward to tomorrow's chemo's side-effects. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you. Perhaps this time they will be milder...

A hug.

Giving Thanks

As we begin Thanksgiving week, I am thinking a lot about what I am thankful for this year. Family, friends, work, I am thankful for all of these. However, I want to send a special message to all of you here on this blog. I have truly grown thankful for this group. I feel like we have become a bit of a Blog Family. Of course the circumstances through which we were brought together I would change if I could, but here we are none the less, brought together by our dear Alessandra. So Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. May you and yours have a happy beginning to this holiday season and find more to be thankful for than you could ever imagine possible.

Lots of love to all,

Mary

Rome awaits!!!

Dear Danda, it´s true you never cease to amaze!!! And 45 minutes running/power walking is no small feat...it is BIG, VERY BIG!!! Enhorabuena to you and your faithful running "companion"!! I follow Giovanna´s creative idea to change colours (and add colour!) in honour of your untiring, fighting and admirable spirit! Orange is the colour of joy and creativity, and promotes wellbeing and enthusiasm. Somewhere I read that it helps one "handle the ups and downs of life with finesse"...sounds very familiar:)

So...I was in Rome at my Nonna´s when I read about you having to skip your planned trip to "la città eterna" to see your own Nonna after so long. I was soooooo sad to hear that, and I would have done anything to have you be there instead of me!!! It was so disappointing and unfair...But, as dwelling on what could have been and isn´t takes us nowhere in life, I decided to think positive again. It´s the least I could do for a friend I pray for every night before I fall asleep, and whom I trust is heading towards her dreams no matter how much she is having to fight for them. So, as I walked through Rome´s pine-lined cobble streets I smiled and pictured you walking along those same streets, admiring the intensity of the city´s colours, smelling the mouth-watering scent of fresh-baked pizza, tasting the delicious froth of a true cappuccino. And then, I asked the gentle autumn breeze to send you a taste all the way to London as a sign that one day you would be doing exactly that!

I remember last year I couldn´t be with my father on his birthday as it coincided with the most intense days of the event I was organizing in Barcelona. It was an emotional day for I knew it was my father´s last "terrestrial birthday". Luckily, there was no time to dwell on the sadness of missing such an important occasion, and it was only later I got to understand that Life had a much more important gift to offer in return: I was able to spend my father´s last night with him, holding his hand and whispering in his ear. There are no words to describe the meaning of those last earthly moments with him. All I know is that it´s true that sometimes a door closes and then, unexpectedly, a beautiful window opens. Keep believing, Danda, fighting and believing as you have until now. There are those crazy moments in life when we wonder if we´ll ever make it out of the maze your Uncle Geoffrey so wisely spoke about, when we cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel or the sun behind the clouds. But in the end they are "just" clouds, it´s just a tunnel and it´s just a maze! Easier said than done, of course, but perspective is vital if we are to keep our direction and steer as well as you have until now. Yours are victories that go way beyond what appears on the scans, and I am sure that one day the scans will finally align with all the healing that you´ve managed to trigger in these long and difficult months filled with millions of "silver linings".

Un abbraccio fortissimo!!! Love, Sally

Happy Thanksgiving

Hello Alessandra!
Great to hear you so on top of the world in the last blog, and that the fighting spirit is unabated. Not that I'm surprised, just so happy you've reached yet another level of strength and tranquility in this 'camino' towards victory. Anyway, a student sent me this video link and I liked it so much I thought of sharing it with you. Nothing to do with anything in particular, just a wonderful story to enjoy. Or maybe there is some subtle message in there, about caring, misjudging, and learning, always learning. Lots of love, and in thanksgiving for your continued upward climb,
Here you are http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zxa6P73Awcg

a runner's high!

Danda,

What can I say, I am overjoyed, smiling ear to hear and just plain so happy for you! Your words tell me you are in a good place mind and body. 45 minutes of activity. That is no joke for people who are not battling disease. I am most impressed with you and your mother for getting out there and doing what one might thought could not be done.

To move ones body freely is a glorious feeling. To pick ones feet up one after the other and move forward is invigorating. YOU ARE STEPPING OUT!

I went for a run tonight to try and shake the nerves of wedding planning off. And without fail it worked. I came back feeling like I could take it on and actually possibly enjoy the task at hand. I am looking for photographers right now and with a limited selection I am feeling like I am giving in to something simply because it is all there is. But then on the run I paused and thought-it is the people who make the pictures, not the photographer. If the people are fun and happy the pictures will exude the same. I am dwelling on the details instead of the big picture-please tell me you can relate. But as of late it seems you are reaching deep into yourself and finding the big picture. I can learn a lot from you!

The time with my mother was nothing short of fantastic. One on one with mom is something every daughter craves and I got it. She walked with me, hiked with me and even rode a bike with me. We found a wedding dress together, just the two of us- the power of a mother and daughter is a force to be reckoned with. Go fill your lungs with fresh air as we did here in California!

I attached a video of a moment on the top of Mount Tam looking out to the Pacific. I am working on my video skills, but I think you get the essence of the calm we were experiencing!

I love you. Keep doing what you are doing because it seems to be working-you are going to beat this thing whole hog! 2010 watch out!

xoxo,
Lex

run baby run (a Cheryl Crow song)

Dear Alex,

Your blog brought tears to my eyes this morning. And, yes, I am pregnant and hormonal, but mainly I am just so happy that you feel so well. I can picture you running with your mother and allowing the health that you have fought for to fill your lungs and body. YAY!!!!! You are so awesome!! Congratulations.

Hang on to this feeling and remember this run for times when you are in the hospital feeling low. Your body can and will do miraculous things, you just need to remember and believe. Much love and many hugs to you!! xoxoxoxo,
Julie

That's My Girl!!!

All I can say is you go girl!!!

So happy to hear my person is getting out and about and moving on through this crap with your head held high, loads of hope and happiness to look forward to.

I'll see you in the New Year and you won't know what to do with all your free time!

Love to you all and have a very happy day!!

Miss you!!

Eve

P.S. A rainbow for you with a pot of gold at the end. Do you know where this is?????

YES!

Hi Panda,

Your news is so great that it calls for a change of color! I'll go for red, the color of energy, fire, anger, passion, courage... all the best things that mark this fight of yours against this obnoxious disease. It was wonderful to read you could run! Even better to read that you feel great! What a blessing! This will give you so much energy to fight even harder during these two-week cycles, and boost platelets and white cells growth. You can have your Christmas a couple of days later, or earlier, I'm sure nobody will mind a little shift! Who knows? Perhaps, after all, you will feel well enough to enjoy a full Christmas on the 25th.

A big hug.

(And congratulations!!)

WOWWWEEEE!!!

Holy cow, Alex!!! What an incredible story! I can feel the lift, the hope, the freedom, the strength, the relief, and the normalcy from here, like a big shiny wave. I wish MY run had felt that good, today!! (I was on that beautiful road where we walked, you, me and our men). It even sounds like there is energy a nd strength behind your new chemo plan. Yes, it sounds daunting, and yes, being who you are, it is doable. I'm thinking of you every day and sending you huge love across the pond. Rock on - Lindsay