Grin and Bear it

You know the saying "grin and bear it"? Well that has become my motto since being diagnosed with a tumor on my pituitary.

I keep hearing "but you look fine!". I wonder what people are expecting me to look like? Drooling on myself? Depressed? Angry? Weeping? Because I am all those things (I try to keep the drooling to a minimum), but only at home where I can hide it. When I am in public, I grin and bear it.

At this point I can slap on a smile, joke and laugh for a few hours, max... on a good day. When I get home, much like the way I use to crash after a long Marathon training run, I am wasted from the effort. The effort not to vomit while choking down food. The effort to smile and say "everything's fine". The effort to pretend that I'm OK with my body being completely hijacked. The effort to not start drinking wine in the morning.

During this experience I have gained 25 lbs in a rapid, out of control manner. This is a typical part of Cushing's Disease. It is also typical for the weight to focus on the face and belly...like I'm 6 months pregnant. It is also typical that I now have facial hair yet I'm loosing it off the top of my head, really not a fair trade in my book. It's typical to have horrible acne, it's typical to have difficulty sleeping, memory loss and burred peripheral vision and nausea and headaches and pain. I look like a grumpy, balding, bearded pregnant lady. And at the end of all this, the only out is brain surgery. There isn't anything I can do to help the symptoms or quell the fear, all I can do is grin and bear it.

People want me to "think positive". I can't help but think that is either because they don't know what to say (believe me I get it, what do you say?) or is it because people are incredibly uncomfortable with mortality? I am actually a big believer in the idea that you can make your own hell or happiness all based on your thinking, but there is also the truth of what I am dealing with. This is unlike anything you or I have ever imagined. Until you have actually been faced with a brain tumor and eminent surgery (no one wants to think about having their brain poked at), you really don't know what it is like and thinking positive isn't always possible. The illness is with me constantly and the surgery hangs over me, and those I love most, every moment of every day. This isn't like when my gallbladder up and died and needed immediate removal. This isn't like when they placed my organs in bowls to pull my baby out via c-section. This is my brain. The risk factors are real. No amount of "positive thinking" is going to help as I set up a will or write the suggested 'goodbye' letters to loved ones. This is different.

It isn't that I don't love everyone's letters and messages that are meant to cheer me up, they really do help, but it is the reality that the game of "what if you only had a few months to live..." never resonated, really resonated until it became a true possibility. Now here is where you are all thinking 'no, don't think that way!' right? Believe me I am planning to be on being around to make inappropriate jokes and be an annoyingly affectionate mom to my son for a very long time...but again, the risks are real and until you live it in the vivid technicolor way I am, you just won't understand.

It feels like I'm at mile 22 of a Marathon, the strain about to break me. The end is in sight, yet each step, each moment feels like an eternity. And like being at mile 22, I just want to escape...so I don't leave the house much anymore. Menial tasks of cleaning or laundry are daunting much less trying to act normal, which isn't working out very well by-the-way, my memory loss makes me a total asshat, but sometimes it is a necessary evil. Yesterday I had a big day, I had to fake it literally all day in order to work. I swallowed a handful of pills and focused on being bright and cheery. By 8:30pm, I suddenly felt like I'd been hit by a Mac truck.  My ability to 'grin and bear it' is fading fast.

It seems to be getting more intense week by week. Symptoms worsen and I try to feel good enough to get out of bed and make my son breakfast. Someone said that my fear was contributing to my son's anxiety. My son just turned 10. While I do have fear, intense panic attacks in fact (another fun side effect of the abnormally high cortisol levels), I have never been a person that lived my life in a place of fear, in fact I usually use that feeling to launch myself into something wild and new, I use it to my benefit. So is my fear adding to my son's anxiety, maybe. Or maybe he is a young boy who rightful has fears over the possibility of losing his mom. I don't know about you, but I never had to tackle such a scary subject when I was 10. Even as a 38 year old woman, I crumple at the idea of losing my mom. Maybe it would make people more comfortable if my son would just grin and bear it.

This post feels a little like a Debbie Downer, but just as there is the ugly, snot crusted, sweaty side to running, so too does this experience and since I never shied away from sharing the good the bad and the ugly of my running exploits, why start now?

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com

A Whole New Marathon

There are lots of Marathons we run during our lives. There is the Marathon of getting through school, there is the Marathon of making a relationship last or the Marathon of raising children. Some know the Marathon of sticking out a job you hate or the Marathon of surviving loss. You don't have to be literally running in order to "run" a Marathon.

Over the last couple of years, all of you have read as I attempted to train for an actual Marathon...and failed. Over and over again I failed. Each time seemed harder than the last, more of a hit to my endurance to stop and then start over. This past year, it got much much worse and the ability to even try to train became ridiculous. The only time I could post was to tell you of how ashamed I was that I wasn't 'doing my job'. My body simply would not cooperate.

As I attempted to medicate all the insane symptoms that plagued me, I lost my ability to think positive. I lost a great number of things over this time and running was one of the 1st to go. As the months ticked away, what started as annoying became worrisome, I started spending more time at the Doctor's and the hospital than at home (OK maybe that is a slight exaggeration, I never did loose my ability to be dramatic, but it really felt that way). Then severe symptoms gave way to specialists, blinding headaches, crushing bone pain, constant and horrible nausea and blurring in my peripheral vision...on top of a long long list of other things that made life unbearable.

I started to feel like a crazy person as test after test came back to say YES there is a problem (hypercortisolism) but we can't find where it is coming from. Evidently, other than my 2 page list of ailments and a unrelenting cortisol issue, I was healthy as a freakin horse!

Finally, the tests of all mega tests, the MRI. The MRI is scary for lots of reasons, 1) Doctor's don't really seem to want to go there unless there seems a good cause (I'd LOVE to see what I've racked up in cost for my insurance company), 2) They shoot you up with a contrast liquid that is decidedly NOT good for your body, 3) the machine is so damn loud that you could actually go deaf, 4) they put a cage like thing over your head, shove you in a claustrophobic tiny tunnel and tell you not to move. I got to do this for a full hour, lucky girl. OH and the mother of all reasons this test sucks...the big #5...something could be wrong with your brain.

Over the years of my life, I have been prone to strange occurrences and happenings, perhaps I will share these in a blog some other time, but when they say "rare" I prepare myself for "you've got it". So, as they did all these tests, in the back of my head (ha! have to stop to give respect to this pun) I wondered if they would find it in my head. My husband the entire time was thinking the whole thing was in my head so...there is that.

You know what sucks about always being right? When you wish you weren't. The results of my MRI show a tumor on my pituitary. The pituitary is located at the front of the skull, essentially behind the nose (not at the back of the head, but that pun was still hilarious). Many tumors on the pituitary are "non-functioning", but guess what kind I got? With all the other tests, symptoms and Doctor visits, it seems brain surgery is the best plan of action. If I wasn't so damn miserable ALL THE TIME, perhaps I would have pooped my pants at this news, as things are, I simply breathed a sign of relief.

I'm excited to have a solution. Am I terrified of the risks? Uhhhhh YES! Have I tried to push the nagging questions of what will happen if I leave my young son in this world without me, my sweet boy that I have advocated for, protected and nurtured, what will happen to him if I am not here...have I tried to not think that thought? Ya, every moment of every day and most hours of every night. He is my heart and soul and there is no way I have had enough time with this incredible little person. And then I think of my husband, the man that even now tries to be my rock, always protecting me, always there to buoy me, be it an incredibly difficult run...or this. He is truly the love of my life and I'm so lucky to have had him holding my hand all this time. Even the thought of saying goodbye to him makes my heart sear with white hot pain.

Amazingly I don't have any regrets, should I go now. I feel I have lived a wonderful full life. Except I probably should have had MORE wine, why was I saving that "special" bottle? And clearly I could have nagged my husband more, he'd love that.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com

Stop! Ahead...it's a Bear/ Dog!

I have always been afraid of being attacked by a bear while out running. Some people are more worry-warts than others. I am freaked out about my child being abducted or abused, I am panicked by unseen health issues and I am sure that my loathing for snakes means I will absolutely be bit by a rattlesnake at some point. But I digress, back to the bear... I have pictured my mauling in many different scenarios ranging from surprise attack, to the confrontation where I try to fight the bear head on, to the almost-got-away-oops-no-I-didn't death. I have a vivid imagination and clearly I have used most of my talent for planning how to handle the vast array of bear attacks (along with all the horrific things I mentioned above) I would face in my life as a runner. My husband has always responded with a roll of his eyes. It isn't that he doesn't believe that a bear attack could happen, it's that he thinks tweaking about the very rare occurrence of one maybe possibly happening as a waste of time. Well one of us will be prepared and the other...well, the other will be saying his wife was right as he inhales the putrid smell of a bear's breath and bleeds to death on a trail.

After all these years of running, I have never seen a bear. I hear stories of them coming down into our sleepy little mountain town, others have had actual encounters, but me? No, my defense skills continue to go untested. I started to think my husband might be right and I could stop clenching the bear spray in my fist as I jogged, I could relax a bit and simply enjoy my surroundings, but then last fall a friend was walking near her house and was charged by a bear! She was left shaken and deeply grateful to her dogs who jumped between her and the ragging bear. She now has PTSD from this experience. Then a few weeks ago as my parents were hiking in the woods, my mom saw a bear cut across the path. My mom's sighting sent her sprinting to the car. My dad on the other hand curiously looked for the bear and then determined that it must have been a dog...as if my mom was daft enough not to be able to tell the difference between a bear and a dog. Clearly that saying "a daughter will grow up to marry a man like her father" is true, these two men obviously don't take bear attacks seriously enough.

Then it happened. A runner running a Marathon in an area we know well, where my husband and his brother ran their 1st Marathon, was attacked by a bear. Luckily she is OK. The runner is OK, the mother bear who was protecting her cubs is decidedly NOT OK.

Life is no joke. We run through it blissfully unaware until we are attacked by the unimaginable. Maybe it's better that way, maybe it's better to have a plan of defense, both could be argued. But I feel validated for having been freaked out over bear attacks because they do happen! So you can roll your eyes along with my husband or act like the fears are as benign as someone's pet dog like my dad, but I am going to go buy more bear spray, encourage my friend with PTSD to venture out again, applaud my mom for her sprinting skills and raise a glass in cheers to the runner that survived a bear attack.

I wonder if this runner who was attacked had a defense plan. Is this why she survived? I think I may need to call her and ask for advice.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com

Green With Envy

You know what is interesting? The feeling of jealousy that comes with NOT working out.  Watching/ hearing about other people working out makes me sick. It doesn't help that Facebook has memory notifications that alert me to the fact that I haven't always been a lazy ass, it highlights the deliciously cruel workouts that pushed me to be in better shape, get the PR at the next race, be in a good mood...only now it all makes me mad.

I haven't been able to run or workout due to some health issues (that is a whole different story) and now I feel trapped in the inability to do so. Trapped in a body that refuses to do what I want. And then, adding insult to injury, we sponsored the Taos Marathon and watched toned, athletic forms strut into the Tasting Room and trade in the prizes we'd showered on winners with obnoxious glee. A jealous twitch took over my right eyelid and seems to be permanent. The usual enthusiasm for fellow runners was traded for a sour sarcastic statement of how I'd be getting back at it soon. But the truth is that I don't know when that is going to be.

We take simple things for granted, the ability to get up and go to our jobs, our ability to go workout or for a run, the ability just to feel good. The deep irritation at the realization of how much I have taken for granted feels as if it is tinting my skin green.

Clearly all I can do is to pour a glass of wine and ponder how I will be different when I am feeling better.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com

Unmanageable

Fueled by Vivác use to mean something much different. Four years ago I ran my first full Marathon in Napa, it was Fueled by so much more than just Vivác... it was Fueled by the whole Napa Valley; I love me some Napa wines! But now my Fueling looks so different. 

Getting up in the morning chasing after the kiddo, work work work and more work only to finish, come home and have to clean, do laundry and cook dinner oh yes and be a wife and mom! That's when I really need to start Fueling. There's no way to possibly Fuel enough at the end of a day. I realized that I'm running on fumes. But now I'm too tired and I need to just go to bed. The next day it starts all over again. I am being Fueled by irritability and coffee and my precious wine has (gasp) become a once in a while treat. Clearly I will be going to Hell for this. 

That's when I hit bottom. I realized my life was unmanageable without proper Fueling. Why are we living lives that are so out of balance? Where is the time to stop and smell the Rosé (FYI Rosé is different than blush, it is a pink wine that gets its color from the grape skins, maintains great acidity with fuller fruit notes than many white wines)? How is it that when we were on food stamps and starting our winery, starting our family, we were LESS stressed? Was it that we made sure to Fuel more? Those late nights spent at the kitchen table, talking for hours with my husband have been swapped for lists of errands the other can do the next day. Somehow the shift happened and left us in the dust... parched. 

But life is not over...despite the fact that we have been shoved into our 40's (ok actually only my husband is 40, but I'm close), we don't have to let the world of "To Do's" knock us off course. We can regain our will to properly Fuel once again and save our souls from the depths of a wineless world. 

I'll just need a gallon of water, 6 Ibuprofen and 3 days to recover.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.vivacwinery.com

Top 10...For The Lazy

TOP 10 SPRING TIME EXCUSES FOR RUNNING

allergies are horrible

it is deceptively cold out

the wind is horrible

the mud has made all trails a disaster

I might be catching a cold

I just got over a cold

my warm running clothes don't fit

oops I planned another meeting during running time

I think I hear my phone ringing

there is wine I need to be drinking


I'm pretty sure I used all of these this past week...but the last one is my fave.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com

The Dark Side

It has been an intense month or so since I last blogged...and published it. I lost someone who I loved and admired. I had, since I was a child, felt a part of his family as I grew up with his kids. I'd spent holidays laughing with him and his family, weddings, babies and everyday happenings filled the years...and then suddenly he was gone. It was crushing for me, but down right demolishing for my pseudo siblings. The experience was very difficult to say the least. I will spare you a long drawn out explanation of the weeks that have passed and get into the present and the reason you actually read this thing (thank you so much for doing so)...FUELING!

During hard times, working out seems like a complete joke. Yet, with time and distance, the distraction and exertion becomes welcome. Even for a self proclaimed lazy person such as myself, a workout of some sort needed to happen.

OK, let's clarify, obviously I never stopped "Fueling" because...we own a winery for one, wine is mourning's best friend, and lastly...my body might shut down if I did something so rash as to stop drinking.

Now back to my story. A few short runs in, I decided I might be part sloth. My running just gets slower each time I return to it! Since I am easily discouraged, and with my hormones raging (because it seems I am also going through very early menopause...or hell, I can't tell which) I decided a softer approach was needed. Yoga, yes yoga is going to be better.

Some of you may remember a somewhat recent blog about my experience with stinky yoga, so let me explain to you guys...I am SO lazy that returning to the packed room full of smelly people seemed like more of a possibility than running. See? Part sloth.

When you are unmotivated, depressed and have hormones raging, it is no surprise that your clothes may start shrinking on you. My workout clothes seem to have decided that they belong to my child because they gripped my fat in ways most unpleasant. As I wiggled into various yoga contortions, the said clothing rolled into rubber bands of pain. Various parts of my body became sausaged into bulging sections with each new position. I tried to quietly tug at the various scraps of cloth, hoping they would stretch to encompass the embarrassing naked skin now revealed to the world, but the more I tugged, the more I brought attention to myself and distracted the very serious yogis around me.

To add insult to injury (literally), the old lady in-front of me started farting. Not once, but every few minutes she just let it rip. I'm sure you are thinking to yourself that I should have simply moved my mat out of the current of her ass, but these classes are literally packed with extreme garlic eaters and do gooders so my only option would have been going to the front and center of the room...in my new rubber band fat revealing fun suit. I decided face full of fart was better than THAT misery.

All I can say is that that one hour yoga glass deserved a full dose of Fueling.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com