I really needed that.

Success. Pride. Joy. Confidence. Those are the words that describe how I felt after my 6 mile training run today. I am officially one week away from my 1/2 marathon and I can go into it with more confidence than I was feeling before today's run. After last week's not-so-awesome 11.5 miles I really needed a boost of confidence. Not only did we do 6 miles on the actual course in the "hilly" part of the course but we did it fast! Our overall pace was 9:40 and our last mile split was 9:14.  We wanted to see this park that everyone talks about being so hilly. Well, maybe we missed a big hill by accident or didn't go on the right loop but neither of the hills we saw today are scaring us! Whew. What a relief. Now I can get a few shorter training runs in this week and go into Saturday's race with excitement. Excitement to accomplish something that I honestly never thought I could accomplish. Excitement to prove how strong my body and mind are. Excitement to cross that finish line as a half-marathon runner.

Guest Blogger: Renee

Renee at: stayingpositivebrca.blogspot.com wrote:

I met Erin as we both sought out support and advice from other BRCA positive women over the last year.  The more we shared, the more we realized how much we have in common in addition to our BRCA positive status--our profession, our young children, and our hobbies.  So as Erin moves toward two ambitious goals—running a half marathon and having a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy, I am happy to help her as a guest blogger and answer the question, “Why do I run?”

I run because it’s one of the things in my life that I can control.  Being BRCA positive means that genetically I’ve been dealt a tough hand.  There are so many things that are completely out of my control—the risks, the surveillance, the waiting for appointments and test results, and what’s going on in my own body.  With running, I am in control.  It’s nothing but me, my shoes, and my ipod.  I can run at my own pace and whatever route I choose; I am in control.  

I run for my health.  I know this is an obvious one, but it’s a huge factor for me. Research shows that those with lower BMI have a lower occurrence of cancer.  The reason being estrogen is stored in fat cells; most breast cancers are fed by estrogen, so let’s get all the fat possible off of me.  Lower BMI (and fitting into my skinny jeans) is just the one of many reasons to exercise.  Additional research is showing that the total number of minutes of exercise per week also contributes to lower cancer risks.  Cancer is an overgrowth of unhealthy cells.  Exercise gets your heart pumping, oxygenating your blood.  Cells need this healthy oxygenated blood to grow properly. Striving for 150, 175, or 200 minutes or more of exercise per week can promote healthy cell growth and provide even more cancer protection.  

I run for my sanity.  Through the ups and downs of increase surveillance and the anxiety of decision making that comes with being BRCA positive, running has been my way of coping.  I just crank up the music and go.  Most days it will clear my mind completely.  However, there are those long runs in training when you have miles of quiet time left to nothing but your own thoughts.  Those are the days that I find myself tearing up during a middle of a run.  The pressure, the conflicting opinions, or sometimes just the thought of everything that we’ve been through is overwhelming.  Running is my much needed “me time” and whether I am smiling through the run or crying I always feel much better after. 

I run because I can.  Yes, running is painful, tedious, and exhausting.  But making the decision to have a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy 8 months ago was worse.  It required a mental and physical strength before, during, and after surgery, that I didn’t know I had.  So this leaves me feeling that there is nothing I cannot accomplish now once I set my mind to it.  I feel such a sense of pride accomplishing a race now especially when I think back to how I felt 6 months ago struggling during physical therapy.    

I run a lot, but I don’t run from cancer and neither does Erin.  I wish you the best of luck in your half marathon, Erin, and I am praying for you to have a successful surgery and speedy recovery.  You are well prepared for both of these big events and you have the strength to accomplish anything you set your mind to!  

I get by with the help of my friends.

I have 3 special friends who I will be featuring in the coming week as guest bloggers. Granted, two of them I have never met but I feel very close to them as we are all BRCA positive. I have decided to do this as I approach my 1/2 marathon race date of Nov. 10 and the topic I have chosen is "Why I Run?" which is a topic that is near and dear to many of my fellow bloggers heart's. If you want to join in and also be a guest blogger, leave me a comment and we'll go from there!

Thanks in advance to my 3 special friends-Renee, Kristy, & Krysten!

True mental and physical test.

Today was my 12 mile training run. It is actually the farthest that you ever run before race day so it is a good predictor of how you will react to 13.1 miles. It was not my finest hour(s). Firstly, my hectic schedule prevented me from my two weekly training runs this week. I ran 7 miles last week and loved every second and didn't lace up my sneakers one time since. That was a bad idea and I paid the price for that today. Second, the weather turn a turn for the worst. When you are a runner, 60's and humid is not the setting you would prefer when you run 12 miles. It is late October so it was just a coincidence that the heat wave hit Richmond before today's run. Third, I haven't been eating before my training runs, maybe a bite of two of banana is all I can get down. Today I ate a half of a PBJ this morning about an hour before I ran. Not sure that sat real well as I cramped at mile two. When I heard that second beep signaling another mile had passed I thought, ten more of this?!?! Lastly, I tried some power goo stuff and that did not sit well either. It was chocolate flavored and so about 10 minutes after digesting it I started to feel some heartburn growing in my chest. Add all of that up and it was not fun for me. I did eventually finish 11.5 miles though admittedly, I ran/walked the last 2 miles. I could have stopped at mile 9.5, I was in fact back at my car but I didn't. I kept going. My legs hurt. My cramp hurt. My body hurt. I could have given up but I knew I had to prove that I could do the 12. I eventually stopped at 11.5 when I was back again at my car but I'll take that over 9.5.

During one of my walks to re-gain my strength I started to feel the tears well up inside of me. I started to feel defeat. I started to listen to the girl inside my head that is doubting my ability to run 13.1 miles. Somehow I managed to push her back down to the ground and run over top of her. I re-gained my composure and I just said over and over in my head, I have to finish the 12. I have to finish the 12. Since I had walked and stopped my watch I knew that my watch didn't need to say 12 for me to be closer to 12. So, I made a bargain with myself. I picked a point in the neighborhood and I said I will go to that point and back. Run or walk. I was not going to stop until I was at least around the 11.5 mark. Luckily, I saw my awesome buddy finishing up her 12 on the way. It gave me that push that I knew I needed to finish strong.

Today's run wasn't about marking off 12 miles off my list, or an overall pace or anything like that. It was about proving to myself that even when things get hard, I won't give up. I could have given up so many times and I didn't. I didn't enjoy the run, had cramps, my legs were in pain and I kept going. and going. and going. So instead of feeling defeat and sad I am going to be proud that I was strong enough to overcome all of the unfortunate circumstances that led to a not-so-awesome 11.5 miles.

I will not miss another training run during the week. Come rain or wind (or hurricane-heading our way) I will follow the plan. I will be strong and I will be ready. 13.1 I am coming for you and I am leaving the girl with doubts at home.

Monster Boobs, part 3.

Over the past 10 months I’ve immersed myself in the culture of hereditary breast cancer and I’ve read about a lot of women who grew up around breast cancer. They watched their mother, aunts, cousins, grandmothers all battle this disease. The grew up knowing that it would always be a part of their life. I did not have this experience. My mom had a lot of lumps and biopsies but some how I stayed sheltered from that. Yes, we have the BRCA gene in our family but my grandmother is one of the lucky ones who avoided cancer and is alive and well at 72. Some of my mom’s aunts have cancer but it is stomach, or other kinds not breast cancer, plus they live in NY and we rarely see them. My mom has all brothers. So really, my mom is the only one I’ve ever been close to that has had BC. I lived a normal life not knowing my fate until January 2012.


January 2012 is when I knew I truly did have monster boobs that were out to get me. They have let me down time and time again. And now it is time for them to go! I want to be done with these monster boobs. I want to live a life without fear of what they’ll do to me next. I’ve carried the burden of these monster boobs for long enough and I am finally ready to let them go....for good.

So, Monster boobs, your time has come, the end is near. Nov 28th is your last day to bring me down and then I'll be done with you forever!

Monster Boobs, Part 2

Sean Michael was born on May  14th, 2008.  I had a pretty normal pregnancy and a wonderful labor and birth experience. During pregnancy, I had decided that I did, in fact, want to breast feed Sean. I did a lot of research and found out that it is possible after a reduction. The issues that arise can often have to do with milk supply so I went into the experience fully knowing and understanding that it might not work. Like I said, the idea of breastfeeding always kind of wierded me out so I went into with an open mind.

The first attempt to breastfeed Sean was great. He latched on pretty well (with some coaching the first couple times) and he was doing great. I was sore but overall I was handling the feedings just fine. When we got home we anxiously waited and wondered to see if I did in fact have a milk supply. The first time I pumped and milk came out I was so excited. YES! I did have milk and I can breastfeed! Or….so I thought. Supply was an issue but we were able to supplement with formula and I was fine with that. The first time I gave him formula I had a little breakdown but what mom doesn’t have those moments during your post partum hormone rush. So, I pumped out what I could and added formula to it to make up the difference. I didn’t love pumping but it was the best way for me to handle adding the formula to each bottle. He was getting 75% breast milk and I was ok with that.

About 2 weeks went by with this system and we were going along nicely, my supply was slowly increasing which I was happy about. My Mom and Dad had just left the day before and I woke up in the middle of the night with a fever, chills, and severe breast pain. I had no idea what was going on so I called the Dr. around 5:30 am. She explained that I had mastitis and called in some antibiotics. I felt horrible. It was like the flu plus severe breast pain. I couldn’t pick up Sean, I could get out of bed, I was miserable. About 24 hours worth of medicine later and I was back to feeling myself again. Dan was scheduled to go back to work in a few days so I would be on my own for the first time. Unfortunately, I woke up the day that Dan was heading back to work with the same issue on the other side! What? I am already taking antibiotics, how can I possible have another infection on the other side? Ahh, so into the Dr.’s office we go. She examined me and gave me some stronger medicine. She said if it happened again I’d have to see a breast specialist. And it did, about 4 more times.

 I actually visited the breast surgeon's office of the surgeon doing my surgery in Nov. I had no idea that years ago I would be heading back to that very office for a very different reason. You are probably wondering why I didn’t stop sooner and I cannot even explain why I didn’t. It was irrational. I had a need to continue to feed my child so I went through it again and again and again. Finally, I couldn't handle it anymore and the Dr. flat out said, that if I didn’t stop I would continue to get infection after infection after infection. So, I weaned myself off of pumping and we switched to formula. I cried and cried, and cried some more. Why would my monster boobs fail me again?

 

Fast forward 3.5 years and my daughter Carter was born. I knew going into breastfeeding that my experience would probably be similar but the optimist in me gave it a shot anyway. My milk came in super fast and I was just nursing Carter and she was getting enough. I had a bigger supply this time! I was so happy! She ate a lot during the day but then went 5 hours at night. It was a small price to pay for some sleep! But oh wait, 3 days later I was back in the breast dr.’s office again with mastitis. I got it 3 more times before I actually quit. It came on a lot faster this time and the drugs I was given were simply not getting rid of it. It was about 2 weeks of non stop infections and new medicine. I was on the last oral antibiotic available and the next stop would be IV antibiotics. I realized that I had to stop. The dr. explained that during the reduction it seems some of the "tubing" connected to my nipple was severed. So I was making milk and it had no way to come out. So, it sat there and became infected. There was no other solution than to stop.  It was a sad moment when I nursed Carter for the last time. I still think about it and it makes me sad that I wasn’t table to provide for my child. Both of my kids did fine with formula and I know it was the right decision for my health, but a tough one nonetheless. Once I stopped I haven’t had single problem with infections since then.

I thought I was in the clear but 6 months later and my monster boobs are back. . . .to be continued.

The story of my Monster Boobs, Part 1.

Yes, it is true. I have monster boobs that are trying to get me!  Thanks to my bestfriend from JMU to allowing me to display them so appropriately with a monster bra. She mailed me a whole monster themed package. Monster books for the kids and a monster bra for me. In keeping with the Halloween spirit, I’ll share my 3 part story of my monster boobs. So, back to the beginning. . .

No chance I am modeling this but you can at least get the idea from the picture!

I wasn’t an exceptionally early developer but about mid high school I was one of the larger chested girls in my school. I definitely didn’t want to draw any attention to myself so I avoided low cut shirts and tight fitting clothing and I even wore a one piece bathing suite. I noticed friends were jealous of the attention that guys often gave me because of this but I resented it more than anything. I didn’t want extra attention because I was large chested. Shopping for a prom dress was extremely difficult. Tube top for me? No way! I longed to wear a spaghetti strapped shirt. I had a steady boyfriend and he confessed to me one day that some of the football players had been joking with him about the size of my chest. I won’t share the details as it is quite embarrassing but nonetheless….I began to hate the way I looked.

It seems my chest began to grow even more when I went to college and I gained a few pounds. I was a size 2 and wore large shirts because of my chest and I looked much heavier than I actually was. I still tried  to hide my chest size. As time went on, my back began to hurt and I could feel the burden on my body of my over sized chest. My mom and I made an appointment with the breast surgeon to explore the options of a reduction. I was miserable and my posture was horrible. The breast surgeon was one my mom had used for her biopsies and breast issues (not knowing that years later she would actually develop breast cancer) and I sat in the waiting room with a lot of ladies with no hair with breast cancer. It didn’t really phase me then but I know my mom hated going to that office.

Anyway, the first time we got denied by insurance so I followed the protocol, went to physical therapy for my back and re-submitted my claim. The second time, I was approved. I scheduled my surgery for Christmas break of my junior year of college at JMU. I had the surgery the day after I returned home and by Christmas I was up and about and functioning pretty well. I even remember going shopping on Christmas Eve with my mom wearing a much smaller shirt and being proud to be “small” chested for once! The healing process took a month or so before I was back to normal and boy was I a happy girl! I could wear all the kinds of clothes that I never could before. I looked like I lost about 10 lbs and I was getting compliments on how I looked and I didn’t resent them. I was proud to walk into a room and hold my chest high. It was the best decision I have ever made. The actual surgery wasn’t too bad and the recovery was quick and the payoff was amazing and I was able to get rid of my monster boobs.

So for the next few years I happily enjoyed my “normal” sized chest that matched the proportions of my body size. I knew that there was a risk that breast feeding would be difficult with the reduction but at 20 years old it wasn’t a huge consideration. The idea of breastfeeding kind of always grossed me out anyway so I didn’t think twice about it. Then, my son Sean was born and my monster boobs returned. To be continued. . .

If you would like to have a monster bra to display your monster boobs proudly check out the website:
 http://www.shessopretty.com/