I'm Walking For Donna A.

I'm lucky to have a friend, Jason, who has been a colleague at work and a good friend for four years now.  I've changed positions in my job a couple times since we worked in the same office, but we've kept in touch every now and then via email or a quick catch-up meeting.

Jason is married to a great woman, Donna. They are very much in love.  In fact, Jason and Donna are the longest married "newlyweds" I've ever met!  When I first met them both, I really thought they had just recently found each other and fallen in love -  they were giddy around each other, they called each other all the time just to check in, they had the sweetest aura around them, like a bubble that the outside world couldn't burst.   But then I learned that they'd been married for quite a few years.  They just treated each other with such love, all the time, every day.  It was amazing to me!

I asked Jason how they could keep up such a sweet "newness" to their romance.  He said that he took time every day to be thankful for Donna, for the love she brought him and the love they shared together.  He said that he'd waited a long time to get it "right", and so had she.  They both had some not-so-great relationships in their pasts. And so when they finally found each other, it was something neither of them wanted to take for granted.  I've always been so impressed by that, and I try to take a lesson from them in my own marriage to my great husband, Dave.

A couple days ago, I sent Jason an email to check in and see how his summer is going.  My note went something like:  "Hey Jason, how's it going?  Haven't seen you in a while, hope things are good at work and at home.  Give me a call, maybe we can get together to catch up."

This morning his response came in my inbox.  I expected to read something like "Hey Jenny, thanks for the note... yes, let's meet for lunch."  Instead, my eyes scanned the long-ish message and caught some words I did not expect or want to see.

Donna... doctor... lump... mammogram... surgery... biopsy... chemo... radiation.

I couldn't believe it!  As I tried to read the message, I had to go back and start over multiple times before I really understood.

I immediately picked up the phone and talked to Jason to find out more.  I learned that Donna found a lump during a self exam. Her mammogram earlier this year had not caught it.  She's had three lumpectomies, and they're currently awaiting results from the third one to see if she will need any further surgery or not.  As of now, they think she won't need chemo, but will need radiation and hormone therapy.  I didn't catch all of the information Jason gave me - there were lots of medical details that I don't really understand... I suppose these are things you learn in the crash course on oncology that you have to take when you are diagnosed.

As Jason was talking, I couldn't think of anything to say.  I couldn't think of anything to offer, anything to do.  I felt so useless.  What exactly are you supposed to say in a moment like this?  What are you supposed to do?  How do you help a friend face something so scary?

I'm really glad to hear that Donna's prognosis is good.  I don't really understand all of the details, but what I took away from the conversation is that while it's bad, it could have been much worse.

So now I will add Donna to my list of cancer patients that I'm walking for.  I want Donna to be completely cured.  I want Donna and Jason to enjoy a long, happy life of love together, to fulfill their dreams, and continue to show the world how marriage should be done.

Won't you please contribute to the cause?

I'm walking to make a difference

Do you ever wonder what you're doing in life? Why you bother? Who even notices?

Do you ever feel like you're just treading water in your life? Like every day is the same as the one that came before? Like you're using up more than you're creating? That you're not making any progress?

I feel that way a lot. That's one big reason why I'm doing this 3-day, 60-mile walk. I want to make a difference. I want to contribute. I want to help. I want to be part of something important.

Breast cancer sucks. It sneaks into our lives, uninvited and unwelcomed. It ravages our bodies, and all too often it takes away our precious loved ones. It really sucks.

But I am going to make a difference. I am going to raise critical funding that will go directly toward finding a cure. I will provide money that will improve treatment options for women and men affected by this disease. I will make it possible for vulnerable and hurting women to find comfort and care.

By taking part in this awesome event, I will be contributing. I will be helping. I will be part of something really important. I will be saying "I was here." And the world will be better for it.

Would you like to join me? Please donate.

I'm walking for Donna H.

Donna H. is a very special person. She is a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, an aunt, a friend. She is kind, smart, funny, giving, caring, and supportive. She is a great cook, gardener, home decorator, and crafter. She is sharp-witted and has a great mind for business. She's great with people, and makes everyone feel comfortable and at home.

Donna grew up in small town Oklahoma in the 1940's and 50's. She was the oldest girl in a family of nine children, and lived on a farm. This meant that she very quickly became her mother's helper, taking care of the younger children, and helping with household chores at a very early age. She learned early to be caring and kind, and to take wonderful care of her family.

Donna married her high school sweetheart and raised three sons. She and her husband started out with not much to call their own, but over time, they built a home and a life togther that was full of love.

In the mid 1970's, when Donna was only in her mid-30's, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Back then, the treatments for breast cancer were not very advanced, and the prognosis was not as good then as it can be now. It must have been a very scary, uncertain time for Donna and her family. To make matters worse, breast cancer was not something that people talked about back then. It was pretty hush-hush, and women with this diagnosis didn't have the openly supportive environment that we can find today. What could it possibly have been like for her to go through that?

Donna had a mastectomy to treat her cancer, but other than that, I don't know much about it. I've known Donna for 28 years, but she has never discussed her cancer with me. She's not one to talk about herself in the first place - she's pretty unassuming and she deflects attention. And especially for health-related issues, she's a pretty private person. I've learned about her cancer only through her son - my husband.

Yep, Donna is my mother in law. And I love her very much.

I wonder what life would have been like had the cancer taken her away. How could my husband, just a young boy, possibly have lived without her? How could my father in law, my brothers in law, my extended family, have possibly gone on? What must it be like for families to lose their mothers to this disease? What must it be like to face this harsh reality, to fight through it, to emerge victorious?

I'm walking for Donna. I'm walking to honor her victory over cancer. I'm walking to pay back the medical community a debt that can never truly be repaid. I'm walking so that none of Donna's granddaughters will have to face the same diagnosis that she did. I'm walking to show her that I love her and I'm so thankful to have her in my life. Happy Mother's Day, Donna!

A World Full of Sisters

My Sisters

I am so lucky in life to have three sisters, Suzie, Kathy and Vicky. Growing up, we played together and fought together, as all sisters do. We stuck together when we moved to a new town. We borrowed clothes (sometimes without asking first, which doesn't truly count as borrowing so much as sneaking). We shared bedrooms. We shared a single bathroom (which was fine until those teenaged years when it became quite a challenge!) We annoyed each other. We helped each other. We loved each other. With the exception of living together, we still do all these things. It's what sisters do!

Now, we've all grown into women. We've created our own new families, our own new lives. We live far apart from each other, spread across the country from the Pacific to the Atlantic and the heartland in between. We don't see each other very often at all, and very rarely all at once. But we are still sisters. We are bound together by a family thread that won't be broken no matter what life throws our way.

My Lustre Sisters

I am also blessed to have three "sisters" of a different sort. I am lucky enough to sing in a barbershop quartet called Lustre. For the past five years, we have met weekly to rehearse and perfect our songs, and have had the opportunity to give performances together all throughout each year. We have gone through highs and lows together, and have celebrated so many wonderful moments together, and supported each other through life's challenges. Lori, Lori and Laura are like adopted sisters to me.

My Sweet Adelines Sisters

I am so fortunate to not only have the sisters mentioned above, but also to have 60 other "sisters" in my Sweet Adelines chorus, the Harbor City Music Company (HCMC). There is nothing quite like belonging to an organization of women - the sharing, the caring is like no other experience. We gather weekly for chorus rehearsal where we learn to sing and perform. But during those rehearsals, over the course of the weeks, months, years, we form bonds. We work together toward a goal. We share the workload of running a large volunteer organization. We share creativity and inspiration. We get to know each other, and we include each other in our circle of care, becoming "sisters" and forging lifelong friendships.

It is through HCMC that I met some of the women who are inspiring me to do the 3-day walk: Nancy D., Eve S., and Alta P. Through HCMC, I met the sisters and teammates for the Harbor City Titty Committee. HCMC has become my extended family, with as many substitute mothers, aunts, and sisters as as girl could imagine.

Beyond HCMC, there are all the other women in the Region 19 Sweet Adelines organization with whom I share these bonds. I just returned from the annual Region 19 convention, where the overwhelming feeling was one of sharing and sisterhood. I am so lucky that I have a hobby that brings me close to thousands of women, in spirit and in song.

With all of these amazing sisters in my life, the urge to contribute to the fight against breast cancer is too strong to ignore. All of these women matter to me. Every one. Each and every one of these women deserve to have a full lifetime. And so I'm walking to help find a cure for this disease. So that we can change the statistics, to go from 1 in 8 women, to 1 in 800, then 1 in 8,000,000, then finally, eradicate the disease forever. So that we can find better treatments, provide better support systems for our cancer warrior sisters, and find a cure.

Won't you please join the fight against breast cancer? Please donate today.

I'm walking for Alta P.

Alta P. is a singer in the Harbor City Music Company. She is a somewhat quiet person, someone who does not seek the limelight. She contributes to the chorus, and the Sweet Adelines Region 19, with steady, dedicated and very effective service in a variety of ways. In addition, she sings in Joint Venture Quartet (JVQ), and shares her gift of harmony with audiences throughout Maryland. She is friendly, smart, funny, and talented.

And she is a breast cancer patient.

Alta tends to shy away from attention, so when she was diagnosed with cancer, she kept it to herself for a while, only letting the chorus know when she was due to have her treatment procedures. She has been quiet, answering inquiries about her progress, but not seeking attention. She says that she has been participating in some experimental treatments. She is having radiation therapy, but no chemo. She says that her case was caught early, thanks to a regular mammogram.

I hope that Alta is going to be ok. I hope her treatments are working, eradicating the ugly cancer from her body forever. I hope she is healed, in body, heart and soul, and has a long, happy life.

I hope that no more of our HCMC sisters are ever diagnosed with breast cancer. We've had enough, thank you very much. But the statistics say that 1 of every 8 women will have breast cancer. We have 64 women in our chorus. So, figure the odds. I'm guessing Alta won't be the last of our chorus sisters who have to face this horrible diagnosis.

This is why I'm walking.

So that we can find a cure.

So that we can save lives.

So that everyone can have a lifetime.

Won't you please donate to the cause?

I'm walking for Eve S.

Eve S. and I both sing in HCMC, and have known each other casually for about 6 or 7 years. While we haven't really socialized outside of the chorus, we have had regular interaction as acquaintances who share the same hobby and the same goals for success on a large team of women. I can't say we know each other very closely, but Eve has been an inspiration to me in ways she probably doesn't know. Until this post. ;-)

Eve was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago. I remember that she announced her diagnosis at the end of a chorus rehearsal, and I remember being so surprised at her upbeat, positive-minded attitude. I mean, she had just been given the big, bad news of Cancer with a capital C, and she was smiling and laughing.

In fact, smiling is the only expression I can ever recall seeing on Eve's face. She's just that way. She is so fun and light hearted and happy all the time. Really. All the time! So to hear her talking about this cancer in this way was true to her personality, but it seemed so unreal to me!

As time went on, Eve had various treatments and would miss rehearsals for a while, then come back tired but still smiling. I don't know the details of her treatment, don't know what she went through, don't know if she had rough times or not. I do know that she had chemotherapy as part of her treatment, and she lost her hair.

But when this happened, she had the most amazing reaction. She sent out a status email to the HCMC members, and in that note she said that she was outside enjoying the beautiful day on her patio. She was combing her fingers through her hair, and it would gently float out of her hand on the breeze. She said that she was happy thinking that her hair would serve as the material for birds to build their nests and begin a new cycle of life in nature. It brought her joy to give the gift of her hair to her world around her.

Reading that note just captured my heart. It struck me that I spend too much time focusing on the negative, feeling sorry for myself. I don't take enough time to look for the positive, to find the silver lining in every storm cloud. I was in awe of Eve. (I still am!)

Eve is now going strong. She is a survivor! Her hair has grown back, and her optimism and cheerfulness never left. She continues to give a thousand percent effort to our chorus. I am very thankful that I have Eve in my life. I hope her cancer is gone forever.

And so I'm walking to honor her.

Thank you, Eve!

I'm walking for Nancy D.

Nancy D. is the inspiration behind our 3-Day team, and the reason that I signed up to walk. She is a current breast cancer warrior. She was diagnosed the day before her 42nd birthday, which was a few days before Christmas. Just in time for her wedding anniversary and right before Valentine's Day, she had a mastectomy and reconstruction surgery. And now for Easter she is sporting a new "chrome dome" as she says due to her chemotherapy. The last few months of her life have brought challenges that I would never, ever want to go through in my life - yet Nancy says she is lucky.

Lucky is not exactly the word that comes to mind. But that is her reaction to this mess of a disease. (Read her story in her own words here.)

Nancy is such an amazing woman. She is an incredibly talented singer in Capri and HCMC. She is one of the funniest people I know, with a razor-sharp wit that keeps everyone rolling with laughter. She lights up a room with her sparkling presence. She has friends all over the world, and she's just one of those people that everyone wants to know because she's so approachable, so honestly down-to-earth and just so alive.

Many of us in HCMC (and I'm sure other parts of her life) have watched her in amazement as she has tackled these last few months. She is handling her diagnosis, treatment and recovery one day at a time. She is not freaking out. She is laughing, and loving, and looking ahead. She's exhibiting a strength that I think we all hope we have, but secretly fear that we don't. She is showing us that it's possible to face this diagnosis with grace and with strength. She gives us all hope that we might be that strong too.

And so I walk to honor Nancy. And to thank her for showing us all how it's done.

Thanks, Nancy.