Saturday, June 26, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Father's Day
So.
My dad's cancer is back. And it's spread.
I haven't told many people yet, but Les keeps saying I need to talk about it more. Let it out.
And she's right.
I guess by posting it here, I'm telling everyone and no one at once.
It's a start.
The situation isn't great but the doctors are optimistic and the Cernies are fighters. We've beaten cancer before and we'll do it again.
To help in the battle, they've put my dad back on bi-weekly chemo, and we're trying to optimize family time while he fights: his birthday next month, a vacation in August, and Father's Day just this past weekend.
So after Friday's PMC Fundraiser (thank you again to all who came out) I jumped on a train and headed back home.
If you don't know my parents, they have a somewhat unique relationship. As my dad recently put it (and he meant this lovingly, I swear): he's the logical half of the couple to my mom's illogical side. The Jack to her Locke (pre-Smoke Monster), if you will. A constant source of conflict, to be sure, but a much needed balance that's not easy to find.
In keeping with their relationship's constant back and forth, I came home to find my mom - a nurse who has studied Reiki and references her "energy healer" in conversation without batting an eye - trying to convince my dad - a by-the-book doctor - that a complete natural overhaul of his diet was integral to a smooth recovery.
Not surprisingly, my dad was resisting. And I don't blame him- if I was already being subjected to chemo, I wouldn't exactly be in a hurry to give up little pleasures like a beer with my dinner or a steak when I go out. But my mom wasn't giving up, and while he was out running errands, she showed me the spices and oils she'd been slipping in his food based on tips from countless cancer-related books she's read since he was first diagnosed.
She's happy to do this for him, but as we sat down to play Mexican Train Dominoes (a game my dad insisted we try after learning Ashton Kutcher is internationally ranked - "if that guy can do it, anyone can"), I looked at my dad - exhausted from chemo - and my mom - exhausted from worry - and decided that reinforcement was needed.
If my dad's gotta drastically change what he eats, why should he do it alone? Actually, I'm happy to join him in this endeavor. When Les's mom had cancer, she went all natural with incredible success, so I totally believe it's every bit as important as the more mainstream solutions out there. Plus, I'm not gonna lie, our growing family history of cancer incidents has me a little concerned about what lies down the road for myself. There's really nothing to lose, far as I can tell.
Before I rode back to Boston, my mom loaded me up with a sampling of vitamins, herbs and books, and by my dad's birthday next month I am determined to be well on my way to joining him in this lifestlye change.
So as soon as I finish the last fork-fulls of leftover Chinese food that I'm currently savoring, I'm starting a fresh page in our family's medical history.
Like I said earlier, the Cernies are fighters. So listen very carefully, cancer: We're gonna punch you right in the FACE. You hear me? In the face.
My dad's cancer is back. And it's spread.
I haven't told many people yet, but Les keeps saying I need to talk about it more. Let it out.
And she's right.
I guess by posting it here, I'm telling everyone and no one at once.
It's a start.
The situation isn't great but the doctors are optimistic and the Cernies are fighters. We've beaten cancer before and we'll do it again.
To help in the battle, they've put my dad back on bi-weekly chemo, and we're trying to optimize family time while he fights: his birthday next month, a vacation in August, and Father's Day just this past weekend.
So after Friday's PMC Fundraiser (thank you again to all who came out) I jumped on a train and headed back home.
If you don't know my parents, they have a somewhat unique relationship. As my dad recently put it (and he meant this lovingly, I swear): he's the logical half of the couple to my mom's illogical side. The Jack to her Locke (pre-Smoke Monster), if you will. A constant source of conflict, to be sure, but a much needed balance that's not easy to find.
In keeping with their relationship's constant back and forth, I came home to find my mom - a nurse who has studied Reiki and references her "energy healer" in conversation without batting an eye - trying to convince my dad - a by-the-book doctor - that a complete natural overhaul of his diet was integral to a smooth recovery.
Not surprisingly, my dad was resisting. And I don't blame him- if I was already being subjected to chemo, I wouldn't exactly be in a hurry to give up little pleasures like a beer with my dinner or a steak when I go out. But my mom wasn't giving up, and while he was out running errands, she showed me the spices and oils she'd been slipping in his food based on tips from countless cancer-related books she's read since he was first diagnosed.
She's happy to do this for him, but as we sat down to play Mexican Train Dominoes (a game my dad insisted we try after learning Ashton Kutcher is internationally ranked - "if that guy can do it, anyone can"), I looked at my dad - exhausted from chemo - and my mom - exhausted from worry - and decided that reinforcement was needed.
If my dad's gotta drastically change what he eats, why should he do it alone? Actually, I'm happy to join him in this endeavor. When Les's mom had cancer, she went all natural with incredible success, so I totally believe it's every bit as important as the more mainstream solutions out there. Plus, I'm not gonna lie, our growing family history of cancer incidents has me a little concerned about what lies down the road for myself. There's really nothing to lose, far as I can tell.
Before I rode back to Boston, my mom loaded me up with a sampling of vitamins, herbs and books, and by my dad's birthday next month I am determined to be well on my way to joining him in this lifestlye change.
So as soon as I finish the last fork-fulls of leftover Chinese food that I'm currently savoring, I'm starting a fresh page in our family's medical history.
Like I said earlier, the Cernies are fighters. So listen very carefully, cancer: We're gonna punch you right in the FACE. You hear me? In the face.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Before and After - Photos Have Not Been Altered - Results Are Real!
This past Friday, Les and I did something a little crazy- we rejected the prospect of another workday stuck glued to a computer screen, and joined an elite gang of bikers (gang symbol still pending) for an all-day training ride from Kingston to P-Town.
This seemed like a great idea… until I realized the following:
a)The ride was going to be 90 miles!
b)The longest training ride I’ve done so far this season was 55 miles, and that was only cause Les and I got lost!
c)We had to be at South Station by 6:30A.M. to participate!
d)We wouldn’t be “stopping” for lunch until the whole ride was done!
e)And yes, all of these exclamation marks were completely necessary!!! (Though the quotations around stopping are debatable)
I think this Before-Ride photo says it all:
(side note to potential PMC boyfriends: I promise, I clean up nice. Call me.)
But there was no going back once we’d purchased our ferry tickets and told our employers to screw. And since we’d be joined by 14 other hardcore riders - including Michael Augustine of Team Velox Rota and Bally’s fame - how hard could this ride really be?
Umm. Pretty. Effin. Hard.
The group was relatively cohesive for the beginning of the trek, but by 20 miles in we’d split into 3 distinct pacing groups, divided in large part by a slew of grueling hills. It was at about this point that my newly installed iphone mount decided to dislodge from my bike handles, sending both the holder AND iphone flying onto the pavement, where I immediately biked RIGHT OVER THEM.
Kerplunk!
Is that the saddest road kill you’ve ever seen, or what? No time to mourn, though – there were cold beers waiting for us at the end of the route! So after gathering up the pieces and confirming that the phone AMAZINGLY still worked, it was time to get back to pedaling.
Unfortunately, that pedaling remained extremely challenging, and after about 10 more miles, I had to stop and give my aching legs a pep-talk. This is when I discovered that my back tire had sprung a slow leak who-knows-how-long ago and was undoubtedly (at least this is what I like to tell myself) the cause of my struggles.
Thankfully, Ira I’m-Such-An-Intense-Biker-I-Don’t-Own-A-Car Kemp helped me replace my busted tube and gave me a fighting chance at finishing the ride alive. It’s worth noting that Ira used to (okay, still kinda does) scare the crap out of me. I simultaneously love and fear his spin classes because he demands the absolute best from himself and those around him. His approach certainly isn’t for everyone, but after watching him fix my tire and successfully intimidate an aggressive truck driver while on a bicycle – I can tell ya that Ira is a-okay in my book.
Ira – you da man.
The rest of the ride was filled with death-defying bridge crossings and more hills than my butt cared for, but by 4:30p.m. all 16 riders had successfully completed the route, and it was time for the real fun to begin.
$530 of bar tab, 90 minutes of ferry riding, 1 shattered iphone, and countless laughs later, we were back in Boston.
As it turns out, the night wasn’t quite over for me and les, but I’ll save my MBTA protest post for another day…
For now, an experience of Friday’s caliber deserves to end on a high note, and I think this After-Ride photo says it all:
Donate to Danielle
Donate to Les
This seemed like a great idea… until I realized the following:
a)The ride was going to be 90 miles!
b)The longest training ride I’ve done so far this season was 55 miles, and that was only cause Les and I got lost!
c)We had to be at South Station by 6:30A.M. to participate!
d)We wouldn’t be “stopping” for lunch until the whole ride was done!
e)And yes, all of these exclamation marks were completely necessary!!! (Though the quotations around stopping are debatable)
I think this Before-Ride photo says it all:
(side note to potential PMC boyfriends: I promise, I clean up nice. Call me.)
But there was no going back once we’d purchased our ferry tickets and told our employers to screw. And since we’d be joined by 14 other hardcore riders - including Michael Augustine of Team Velox Rota and Bally’s fame - how hard could this ride really be?
Umm. Pretty. Effin. Hard.
The group was relatively cohesive for the beginning of the trek, but by 20 miles in we’d split into 3 distinct pacing groups, divided in large part by a slew of grueling hills. It was at about this point that my newly installed iphone mount decided to dislodge from my bike handles, sending both the holder AND iphone flying onto the pavement, where I immediately biked RIGHT OVER THEM.
Kerplunk!
Is that the saddest road kill you’ve ever seen, or what? No time to mourn, though – there were cold beers waiting for us at the end of the route! So after gathering up the pieces and confirming that the phone AMAZINGLY still worked, it was time to get back to pedaling.
Unfortunately, that pedaling remained extremely challenging, and after about 10 more miles, I had to stop and give my aching legs a pep-talk. This is when I discovered that my back tire had sprung a slow leak who-knows-how-long ago and was undoubtedly (at least this is what I like to tell myself) the cause of my struggles.
Thankfully, Ira I’m-Such-An-Intense-Biker-I-Don’t-Own-A-Car Kemp helped me replace my busted tube and gave me a fighting chance at finishing the ride alive. It’s worth noting that Ira used to (okay, still kinda does) scare the crap out of me. I simultaneously love and fear his spin classes because he demands the absolute best from himself and those around him. His approach certainly isn’t for everyone, but after watching him fix my tire and successfully intimidate an aggressive truck driver while on a bicycle – I can tell ya that Ira is a-okay in my book.
Ira – you da man.
The rest of the ride was filled with death-defying bridge crossings and more hills than my butt cared for, but by 4:30p.m. all 16 riders had successfully completed the route, and it was time for the real fun to begin.
$530 of bar tab, 90 minutes of ferry riding, 1 shattered iphone, and countless laughs later, we were back in Boston.
As it turns out, the night wasn’t quite over for me and les, but I’ll save my MBTA protest post for another day…
For now, an experience of Friday’s caliber deserves to end on a high note, and I think this After-Ride photo says it all:
Donate to Danielle
Donate to Les
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