It's my turn

The whirlwind continues!

In the midst of three weddings in three cities in three weeks in May, I started training with my Tour de Pink bike, which Sean has named Pink Flash for me!

Pink Flash! Thank you Liv/Giant and the Young Survival Coalition!

It’s been phenomenal. We’ve done a few short rides, but with traveling the past few weekends, we really haven’t had time to do another 30-miler. I completed my best ever 5K two weekends ago with a time of 25:55, coming in second in my age group and winning a prize! And this past weekend I did my first Dirty Girl Mud Run in Pittsburgh! I distinctly remember WHEN I signed up for the run. My friend Amy, who used to live in State College but now lives in Pittsburgh, asked me, as I was in bed and recovering from my final breast cancer surgery, if I wanted to do the Dirty Girl Mud Run. At that point, pretty much being unable to move my arms, I said to myself I was sick of lying around and YES, I want to do the mud run! That was in September.

Ready for my first Dirty Girl Mud Run!

Since then Amy and I worked hard to put together a team, design shirts and coordinate everything else that needed to be coordinated. And last weekend it was PERFECT! Myself and 11 other ladies took to the 5K, 13-obstacle course at 8 a.m. last Saturday. It was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done in my life! The obstacles were fairly easy for me, and included climbing walls, swimming through a mud pit, and at the end coasting down a large slide into another mud pit, and then being handed a beer at the end! We laughed hysterically the whole time, and there was lots of cheering, singing, dancing and high-fives, and I made so many new friends. And although the course wasn’t too challenging for me, I did accomplish things I hadn’t done before or maybe thought I was too scared to do before. One of the climbing nets WAS really high, and I was nervous ahead of time about scaling a wall knowing at one point I had virtually NO upper body and chest strength. But I did everything – we all did – in an hour, and celebrated afterwards with beer, hair-braiding and pancakes.


Team Stealing Second Base!
Photo by Chris Cendana

And in between all that we’ve been packing and moving! We closed on the new house last Friday (the night we drove to Pittsburgh for the Dirty Girl), and since then have been packing and moving and packing and moving. We hope to be completely moved in by this weekend. And between all that I decided I’m ready for my next running challenge: a 10K!

I mean, you could have seen this coming, right?



Photo by Chris Cendana
(That's me at the very top to the right!)

At this point I’ve done five 5Ks (plus a mud run), and I go running a few times a week, usually around 3-4 miles at a time. A 10K is 6.2 miles. I can already run 5 miles, so if I can just up that over the next two months (the 10K is in August), I should have no problem. And as this will be my first 10K, I’m not going for speed; just to finish. PLUS, running is EXCELLENT cross training for my bike training. Running and cycling go together nicely, and it helps to train for a double century ride by breaking up my cardio a little bit: run a few miles here, bike a few miles there.

PLUS, I’ve reached out to some local cycling and running groups in the area and will be running and cycling with the Women’s Adventure Club and the State College Cycling Club. They each have rides/runs that cater to me, including a beginning bike ride (one hour or so), Thursday nights. I can work my way up to riding in the advanced groups later on. So I feel good. I’ve been doing a lot, but am still nervous about September, because I know I have a long way to go in terms of training. But I am loving every minute, and each week that goes by I am more excited, more nervous, more anxious, more ready, more NOT ready, more emotional, about and for this ride.

I think the fact of the matter is that this ride is very important to me. It’s a big deal. It’s a big challenge. It’s one of the biggest, scariest things I’ve ever (willingly) taken on. So it’s normal to be nervous and it’s normal to never really feel fully prepared. How can you?! Kind of like when I spoke for The Moth last June. It was the first time I told my story out loud without notes, away from Pink and Pearls, in front of an audience, by myself. I prepared for months with The Moth team and with myself, and yes, I was READY. Ready for my monologue in the sense that when you practice you become prepared. But was I really READY? I think sometimes you just jump in.

I was prepared for that 10-minute speech. I had rehearsed my notes, gone over the order. But was I READY? Are we ever really ready?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

I think you just jump in.

So with Tour de Pink I will TRAIN. I will PREAPRE. But will I ever actually be READY for a 200-mile bike ride to reclaim my life, myself, after breast cancer? No. but I’ll do it. And it will be amazing.

You can train and you can rehearse and you can prepare. But the point is we never know what to expect in life. We never know what will be thrown at us or what will be taken away from us, or even HOW we can be ready for something that we DO know is coming. We do our best every day to make the best decisions for us. And if something is a challenge, then it’s a challenge.

This ride will no doubt be a challenge. But I also know, deep in my heart, this will be one of the best things I ever do. Me, myself and Pink Flash. We’ll scream. We’ll cry. But we’ll do it. All 200 miles of it.

I’ve been reminding myself lately of a quote from Nelson Mandela: “It always seems impossible until it gets done.”

Building a new house. Moving into a new house. Training for a double century. Riding a double century.

Even some days I train it seems impossible. Yesterday, for example, I rode 15 miles on an Expresso bike at the gym. 15 miles at the gym is boring. But it was dark and rainy outside and I needed to get a ride in. The beginning is always hard. It seems like it will never end.

Me and Amy!
Photo by Chris Cendana

I used to be that way with running, and sometimes I still am. Just starting out I am tired and feel overwhelmed. And then I get into my groove and I feel good and I remember why I’m doing it in the first place.

Running 1 mile used to be a daunting challenge for me. Now I can run a 5K is under 26 minutes and just registered for a 10K. I’m hoping the same will be true with cycling. Yes, it’s hard at first. But what isn’t? But with time and practice and patience it will not only get easier, it will get done. Just like with running, I push myself to get one more mile in.

On the bike at the gym, sure, I could stop at 13 miles. But if I stop at 13 I’ll never get to 15. If I get to 15 JUST THIS ONCE, I can do it again, and do even more next time. I would have never gotten to running 5 miles if I stopped each time at 3.

It’s the push that gets you there.

I never thought I’d ever finish my breast cancer surgeries. I never thought there would be a day I’m scaling walls and climbing on my stomach in mud pits and moving boxes into a new home. But I healed and I regained and now it’s almost like I’m starting again.

And every day I think of the women who don’t have this yet. And I pray they do one day. I remember what it was like to not be able to open car doors. I remember what it was like to be paralyzed by pain and by surgeries.

I remember when I said yes to the mud run. I wanted out. I didn’t want something else dictating when I could move my arms or my chest, or how.

So that’s one of the millions upon millions of reasons I’ll be riding in September. Because now it’s my turn to steer.

A constant beauty

I think one reason pink roses and pearls were such an important part of my wedding is because their beauty is everlasting.

No matter what you’re going through in life, no matter how heart-wrenching, sad, devastating, confusing … the seasons keep changing and rosebuds always, without fail, spring up out of the ground.

As spring is (kind of) here in Happy Valley and flowers are starting to bloom, including pink rosebuds, I am reminded that life moves on and the seasons change, no matter what happens in life.

When there was so much uncertainty during my breast cancer journey, pink roses were always beautiful and pearls were always perfect and classic.

And my wedding. That was something that was always beautiful, no matter what. The surgeries in between. The scars and the crying and the pain and the waiting and the uncertainty: those were not. They were hard. They hurt. But the wedding was always there. It was always upcoming. And it was always beautiful.

It was beautiful when I only had one breast.

So much in life is reliant upon health and events and what happens to you. So much in life has to be altered by things you can’t control. So much in life is cancelled by the unexpected and devastating.

But pink roses are always beautiful. It’s like they are untouched by life events. They are pretty and they are delicate and they are bright. They have a calming presence.

And pearls are timeless. They are perfect and shiny and precious; a true symbol of femininity and beauty in the past, the present and the everyday.

And my wedding. It was still being planned and it still happened even when I had breast cancer. And like pink roses that grow each spring and pearls that are flawless and timeless, my wedding was untouched. Its beauty, its meaning, its purpose, its spirit, untouched. It was beautiful between it all.

A lot of that had to do with me making the decision to not let anything get in the way of my wedding. But a lot of it had to do with nature. Something that is meant to be beautiful all the time will be beautiful all the time, no matter what happens to it or during it or around it.

Pink roses. Pearls. My wedding.

Our new house, which is scheduled to be ready in only a few weeks, will have a white picket fence and pink rose bushes. Those things will help make our new home always beautiful, no matter what happens in the future. And the rest is natural: our new home will be beautiful because it is meant to be beautiful. Because something that is meant to be beautiful all the time will be beautiful all the time, no matter what happens to it, during it or around it.

On a completely separate note, I received my Tour de Pink bike earlier this week! It is absolutely perfect! I am so lucky, blessed and honored to receive this donation from the Young Survival Coalition/Tour de Pink and Liv/Giant, the bike manufacturer. Now I can start training with the actual bike I’ll be riding Tour de Pink with!

I was also lucky enough to be asked by the YSC to share my story in an email to go out to young breast cancer survivors to encourage them to register for Tour de Pink. A copy of the email here:

Dear Marjorie,

Will you join me and 100 other survivors riding in Tour de Pink®?

In April 2011 at the age of 26, two months after getting engaged, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I planned my wedding, got married and honeymooned in Europe in the midst of six surgeries: a double mastectomy and reconstruction.

Today I am healthy and strong and have made it part of my mission to reach out to women, share my story and challenge myself, both in mind and body.

I know that life brings the unexpected. That's why I believe in living each day to the fullest, and in challenging myself when given the opportunity. I am thankful each day my body is capable of physical activity, and I want to bring out the absolute best in myself.

I’m riding in my first Tour de Pink for other young breast cancer fighters and survivors. I want to make sure young women with breast cancer don’t travel this journey alone. I want to make sure no other young women are turned away from their doctors because they are “too young to get breast cancer.” I want to meet and connect with other survivors like you. It’s women like you who give me strength and inspire me, and I only hope I can do the same for you.

And I’m riding for myself. For the challenge, for the experience, and because I know I can do it. With the unwavering support of my husband Sean, and my amazing family and friends, I can accomplish anything.

I’m ready for the future, and breast cancer will not stand in my way. Join me and register today for Tour de Pink!

• East Coast: 9/27–9/29: Philadelphia, PA to Washington, DC
• West Coast: 10/18–10/20: Thousand Oaks to Huntington Beach, CA

You help change the lives of other young breast cancer survivors everywhere; join me on this incredible adventure.

Sincerely,

Marjorie S. Miller
Survivor, First Time Tour de Pink Rider

I received an email this morning from another young survivor who got the Tour de Pink email and reached out to me. She was also diagnosed in her 20s with DCIS, and was planning her wedding through it all, just like me! She recently started a nonprofit with another young survivor friend of hers, Fighting Pretty, which caters to young women with breast cancer.

After exchanging a few emails with her today I learned we have much more in common than I thought. She, too, believes there’s not a lot of support for young women with breast cancer, since many of the support groups by her in NYC, and by me, mostly have older women. She believes it’s important young women have a place to go for support and for beauty tips, such as wearing red lipstick while going through chemo, or putting on high heels to go to the doctor’s office. She understands the importance of these resources – websites, groups, networks. Young women with breast cancer ARE rare, but through her work and the work of the YSC (and hopefully my work with Pink and Pearls and me speaking in my local community), young women can connect with one another, and awareness can be raised and people can be educated. Because it DOES happen to young women and it needs to be talked about.

At Joel and Ashley's Arizona wedding earlier this month!

I was honored this young woman reached out to me, and honored that she did through an email she received from the YSC. The YSC works hard to share these stories in hopes of inspiring others, and they do, every day. It was the YSC that brought this woman to me – someone I have so much in common with. It warms my heart to know this other young woman not only beat her cancer, but she got married, is planning her honeymoon this July to Europe, AND started advocacy work for a cause she believes in. She took what she knew and loved and made it something that can and will impact others and change their lives.

At the end of my last email to her I responded to what she had said about never being “done” with breast cancer because you’re reminded of it every day when you look in the mirror. And I agreed. You are never really “done” because even though the cancer is gone and the surgeries or treatment is over, you still have your scars and you still have your new body and you still have a lifetime of screenings and tests and you still have fear of recurrence. I told her it is devastating that both of us went through such a scary, shocking and confusing experience at such a young age, especially during such an important times in our lives of planning our weddings.

And it’s true. And then that got me thinking. Yes, it’s true. It’s devastating. The cancer. Having our breasts removed. All during our weddings. And our futures of pregnancy issues and screenings and fear and scars and life will never be the same.

But we have each other.

I don’t KNOW her, but I know her. And we have the YSC. And we have Fighting Pretty. And we have all the other young women who are breast cancer fighters and survivors who share their story every day. We have this whole community. We are small but we have it.

And that beauty is everlasting. That beauty will never go away. Because it’s meant to be forever. The beauty of the human spirit is never faltering. Telling your story of pain and telling your story of triumph and strength. Telling it openly and honestly for millions and millions of reasons. That’s us. I have her and I have the other women.

And that is constant. A constant reminder of life and hope. A constant piece of heart, of soul. A constant beauty.

Like pink roses, like pearls, like my wedding. The beauty in life is always there, untouched. Waiting for you to see it, to use it.

Fighting Pretty

Immersing myself: part 2

I think something very tricky I’ve been doing since my final surgery last September is immersing myself in something larger. Something that’s not running or cycling or public speaking. Something that’s all of that and more: my “new” life.

When I was planning my wedding and having breast cancer surgeries, for the most part I allowed myself to be angry. I allowed myself all of those feelings. It’s true: I focused on the good and did the best I could to push forward and find new and better ways to look at the situation. Ultimately I decided my wedding trumped the breast cancer. I decided to live life that way, while still letting myself be angry.After my final surgery in September I decided I was done with the breast cancer. I knew I was still reshuffling. I knew I still had to find my place in this life, post-breast cancer. I had to find my purpose, my meaning, my balance. But I told myself there was nothing left to be angry about. I was healthy, I was healed, I no longer had breast cancer, and my life was and is phenomenal, more than I could have ever dreamed of. I told myself there was no room for anger. That I had been angry long enough and now I had no reason to be angry.
People with breast cancer, now they could be angry. I wasn’t allowed. Because I was better, because I was stronger, and because I had created this “new” life of Pink and Pearls and public speaking and 5Ks and a double century bike ride and getting involved in the community and sharing my story and building a house and making plans and planning parties and getting more involved with my work and working harder and eating healthier and eating cleaner and coconut oil and kale and yoga. Because I had gotten BETTER. Because I actually overcame the cancer. Because my life had no limits. Because I COULD run, so I should. Because I COULD register for a 200-mile bike ride, so I should. Because I COULD choose what to eat. No restrictions: dietary, physical or otherwise. When for so long there were SO many restrictions. I couldn’t lift my arms, couldn’t lift a gallon of milk, couldn’t walk Campbell, couldn’t sleep on my stomach, couldn’t sleep on my side, couldn’t eat after midnight. And then? None. I had my life back. No, correction: I had a “new” life and I was going to augment it. Make it bigger, make it better; say to the breast cancer: “no, you took nothing from me. Instead, look what you gave me! Strength, in mind and body.”I didn’t get to be angry anymore because I had built this new life.
But there was one problem. I’m still angry.

I think more than anyone, I, myself, forget that feelings don’t have rules. There are no rules on when and where and how you’re “allowed” to be angry. You can be angry for no reason and you can be angry for a million reasons. I think I was so immersed, if you will, in not being angry and in doing better for myself (in my “new” life), I forgot I still had some anger. And I always will. And instead of bottling it away, I need to acknowledge it. I’m allowed to be grateful for my life and I’m allowed to want better for my life and I’m allowed to MAKE better for my life. But I’m also allowed to be angry.And I think I spend so much time expecting so much of myself that I forget this. I still have anger. Probably not every day, but it’s still there.

-When I was getting my survivor picture taken before the Pink Zone basketball game, and the photographer told me to pose with the woman in front of me – because the photographer believed that woman was my mother, the breast cancer survivor. No, I was there for myself. I AM the survivor. Young? Yes. But a survivor.
-When I have to call and plead and call again to doctor’s offices, trying to explain what Li Fraumeni Syndrome is and why I need an MRI and why I can’t have a dental X-ray. Why I need an MRI, yes, again, only six months later or a year later. Why I need, yes another, abdominal ultrasound. Why I can’t have mammograms. I no longer have breasts. Yes, I’m only 28. But I no longer have breasts.
-When people dismiss me because of my age, saying or implying I don’t have any “health issues” because I’m “so young.”
-Trying to explain why my chest hurts when I ride a bike. I have breast implants. No, not in addition to regular breasts; in place of. Why? I had breast cancer.
-When I try to tell doctors this or that needs to be followed up with immediately because I’ve had cancer twice and I have Li Fraumeni Syndrome, and they spell Li Fraumeni Syndrome wrong on me sheet because NOBODY’S HEARD OF IT.
-When I try to think of something smart and (not rude) to say when people try to preach the importance of breastfeeding directly to me. Thanks, but I don’t have breasts. Actually, not all women have breasts.
-When people ask me when I’m having a baby. (Do you want the short, 15,000-word answer, or do you want the long, 900,000,000,000-word answer?)
-When I’m at a new doctor’s office for the first time and I have to fill out the part of the questionnaire that says: “have you had any previous health problems?” And there’s only ONE line to write ONE cancer.

Despite having amazing doctors, people really still don’t understand and often don’t take me seriously when I call to make appointments. Because I’m so young they don’t think I need this or that, or they tell me to “keep an eye on it.” It’s hard to have to explain myself and defend myself and fight for myself all the time at doctor’s offices because I’m the one who knows my body and I’m the one who knows about LFS and I’m the one who found my breast cancer, so you better as hell believe I know what’s going on.

So yes, I guess there still is anger. Those are feelings I maybe don’t address anymore because I’m “done” with the breast cancer, so they don’t have a place anymore. But I need to realize that they do. Anger is natural. If I address it instead of bottling it up, I may actually feel more at peace. I may actually feel I’m being honest with myself.I need to let myself in. I think I got lost in trying so hard to be better. I think I forgot what exactly it is that MAKES me better. And that’s looking deep down and figuring it out. I already know the journey doesn’t stop. I already know life is hard and it will probably be hard again. I already know I live in the moment. But maybe I need to figure out, again, that yes, I’m better, and yes, I’m lucky. But I’m also angry. And because that feeling is genuine and honest, it has a place. Let me put it in its place: a little pocket tucked away. Not bottled. Not hidden.
There, but tucked. It’s not dominant.
But it exists. I need to accept that. 

Immersing myself: part 1

Since I’ve started training for Tour de Pink, there is no doubt my body has gone through, and continues to go through, serious changes. The number on the scale is going up, WHICH I HATE, but my clothes still fit and I’m getting more muscular and more toned. People keep telling me I’m losing inches but gaining muscle. Well, this SHOULD help me feel better, but it doesn’t. At least not that much.

I haven’t changed my eating habits, and it seems the more I exercise the “bigger” I get. It’s actually very frustrating. Trying to control my weight while training for a double century. In addition to riding 30 miles on the weekends, I run 3-5 miles about four or five days a week. And in addition to that I’m still weight training, though not as much since I’ve started biking.



I've raised more than $3,700 for the YSC!



This past Sunday Sean and I had our first real bike race: the 28-mile Linden Loop. We had just done 30 miles the weekend before, so I thought I was pretty ready. After all, when I registered I thought it was a GREAT way to get some competitive training in my regimen. True, true, true: all of those things. But MAN was that ride rough.

Not only was I the slowest with the worst bike (little Pinky is only 7-speed and has huge, short tires), but I was the least trained out of everyone. I got lost and came in last, and my amazing husband Sean actually came back to look for me instead of finishing the race before me like he could have. We finished the last few miles together.

First long training ride with Sean!

The route was extremely hilly; hillier than anything I’d ever ridden before. Rolling hills. Yes, welcome to Central Pennsylvania. Despite that, it was a gorgeous day and the riders were nice and supportive of me, which was especially apparent as I had to walk my bike up some of the steepest hills.

Because we were riding in a group I pushed myself harder than I ever have. I guess I have to remind myself I have only just started training, this was my first real organized bike race, AND my little Pinky is not the best for riding hills and long distances. So it was tough. But I did it. I finished.

It's finally spring in Happy Valley! With Audrey at girls' night last week

There was part of me, during the miles I was truly by myself on the open road, I felt kind of brave. Don’t get me wrong: there was nothing to panic or be worried about. I had my cell phone, people knew I was on the ride, and I had my race bib on. But I felt like I was on an adventure. My own personal adventure. I especially felt this after getting lost and then being pointed in the right direction again. I was miles behind everyone else, the bright sun was beaming down on me (hi Mommy and Grandma, YES, I WAS wearing sunscreen), and it was just me and my little pink bike. I knew I had a long ways to go. I knew I had hills up ahead. I knew everyone else would be waiting for me at the finish line. I knew I could take my time. And I knew I could get there. I pushed and pushed, and Sean came and we got there together. It was hard but I did it.

Lauren and myself at girls' night last Thursday!

I found out last week I qualified, as a survivor, to receive a FREE bike from Liv/Giant to ride on the tour, which I am so excited about! It should come to me in about two weeks, and I can start training with it. Don’t get me wrong, I love Pinky, but I need something a little more serious: a road bike with 10 speeds. I know it will make the hills easier.

Speaking at the Powerful Women Paving the Way conference April 19! Such an amazing experience!

So as I’m immersing myself, if you will, in training, I’m gaining muscle. I’m gaining strength. My thighs are hard as a rock. It feels great to be able to ride 30 miles. It feels great to be able to run 4 miles in the morning before work and feel ENERGIZED afterwards. But maybe what I didn’t expect with all this training was that my body would change. I would actually get muscle. Who knew?! And yes, that means the scale is going up and I want to cry every day because of it.

I’m really only about 1-2 pounds higher than I’d like to be, but I’m trying to remind myself: I’m training for a double century, for goodness sake! I’m pushing my body harder than I EVER have, in my entire life. I guess I should have expected this. But for everyone who knows me, they know I watch very carefully what I eat, and since starting Weight Watchers nearly three years ago, I write down everything I eat every single day, with the exception of my wedding day and the days following surgery. So you can imagine how hard this is for me to watch what I eat, count my points and write it down, only to have the scale go up. Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE being toned and having muscle, and knowing I can probably outrun some people and kick other people’s asses. I love that. I’m strong. But I feel a little out of control. With this new strength comes a new body. And it’s hard. I’m in transition.

Campbell is getting big!

So I tell myself: right now, I am immersed in cycling. I signed up for Tour de Pink, and it’s one of the most important things in my life right now. To get through this ride. To raise money. To do this for myself and for other young women. This is my cause right now. This is my strength, my drive. If I have to gain a few pounds (of muscle!) in the process, I guess I will. I don’t have a choice. I have to train. I can’t be a blob on the couch with this race four months away. I have to be ready to tackle 60-90 miles a day in September. I have to be ready for this for so many reasons. After the ride I can go back to “normal,” although now I don’t know what that is. The feeling I get from running and cycling cannot be matched by anything. And now those things will probably be a part of my life. I’ll never call myself an athlete or a runner or a cyclist. Never. But I can say I run and I cycle. I can say those things make me happy. They make me feel good about myself, they make me strong. They are a part of me now. And I love them.

I always knew I would run after breast cancer. But I never imagined I’d run like this.

Where do my tears go?

I had a meeting yesterday with two of the women coordinating the Powerful Women Paving the Way Conference, and the other breast cancer survivor I’ll be speaking with at the event next Friday. We all talked for more than an hour together: me and the survivor sharing our stories with breast cancer. And although our stories are fairly different when it comes to our ages at diagnosis, the treatment we received, etc., there were many parallels. For example, we were diagnosed within a month of each other, and both had our final surgery in September of last year. We also both went to Paris and Italy within six months of each other. Even our messages are different – what we’ll be sharing at the conference next week. My message centers around planning my wedding while dealing with breast cancer, and using that struggle to come out on the other side to hopefully bring awareness to young women about breast cancer. I used my experiences to talk, to write, to share. And hers is a message, from her own breast cancer journey, about breast density, screenings and MRIs. We were both asked to speak together because we both have a unique story to share, but the conference also focuses on what we are doing now, after our battle, on the other side. How are we raising awareness? How are we making a difference? How our breast cancer fueled what we want to do. How it continues to drive our strength and passion. How we are “paving the way,” if you will, for other women, for other advances, for action.

This other survivor I had the pleasure of meeting yesterday is truly a remarkable woman. Not only is she passionate about her message and her mission, she is strong, secure, sure of herself. She knows what she wants to do with her experiences. She knows where her life is headed. A big difference between us is that she hasn’t spoke as openly about her breast cancer the way I have. She said sometimes she gets emotional talking about her experiences, and asked me if I do, too. I had to pause. I thought back to my first real “speaking debut” last June through The Moth, where I stood in front of an audience of about 200 people and revealed some of my biggest and most personal struggles and feelings without notes, and without a podium to protect me. How my implant became exposed during my bachelorette weekend. How I felt about getting married with only one breast. Completely and utterly vulnerable. In front of both family and friends, and complete strangers. It was empowering. It was one of the single best experiences of my life. But did I get emotional? Did I cry?

I think back to when I spoke at the “Paint it Pink” gymnastics meet, at the Pink Eve dinner, and at the end of the Pink Zone game. All incredibly empowering events. But I didn’t cry.

Those times I spoke stirred up a lot in me, mostly anxiety because speaking in front of people terrifies me. It also stirred up this feeling of penetrating strength. Here I was, sharing my story. Here I was, taking my experiences and telling them to people. Here I was, given this incredible opportunity to pass along a message of great importance to me. Here I was. I got to do this. I did this. I want to do it again. Strength. Power. And so many other feelings I can’t put a name to. But no crying.

As I was telling the women yesterday my story of how I found my lump and the process of my diagnosis, there was one tiny bit of the story that caused me to choke up, potentially marking the very first time I almost got teary-eyed telling someone else what had happened to me. Here I am, talking and writing and talking and writing about these deeply personal events and struggles. All the time. To friends and strangers. Yet, as I told these women about the day I had my fine needle aspiration, something felt tight in my chest.

I told them I had found the lump just a week or so earlier, and before any tests were done, even a mammogram, my doctor scheduled a fine needle aspiration for me, which is when a needle is inserted into the lump and fluid is pulled out and tested. This test, though painful, is fast and pretty conclusive. (This was the test that revealed my cancer: I got the results that following Monday, at 8 a.m., the morning of the first Passover Seder.)

I told the women that through what my doctors had told me, and through some research of my own, I had learned that if a breast lump is benign or filled with only fluid, often it will disappear, or get smaller, once a needle is inserted to it. During my needle aspiration, the doctor actually had to insert the needle in a second time because he couldn’t get enough fluid out the first time. So not only was the lump not a fluid-filled lump, it was hard.

I remember so clearly the doctor pulling out the needle the first time and bringing it over to his slides, and then saying he didn’t get enough of a sample and had to put it in again. I knew right then and there something was really, really wrong. I tried to ignore it. After all, what did I know about breast lumps? Just because I think something doesn’t make it true or untrue. I thought my lump was solid.

As I told the women that story something deep inside hurt. It was the feeling I had that day, knowing the lump was probably cancer. It was a feeling of despair, me thinking back to that day and knowing what it probably meant.

That was the first time, I can remember at least, I felt like I was going to cry when sharing my story.

Now, of course this is aside from all the crying I did, and still do, to family and friends throughout the process of my breast cancer journey. I share my emotions pretty regularly. But in telling that part of my story, something hard hit. Like a dark, cloudy, rubber ball laced with thorns. That’s how I felt when the doctor couldn’t get fluid out of my lump. I knew. And when I remember that I knew, it hurt.

It hurt because I was scared. It hurt because it didn’t make sense. It hurt because I was planning my wedding. It hurt because it was me.

Yesterday got me thinking. It’s true that speaking in public about my experiences do draw out a wide range of pretty powerful feelings, none of them are the crying type. Not that that’s a bad or good thing. For me, it’s how I deal. It’s my power-through-it. I compose myself and buckle down and speak because it is so important to me.

And my tears? They are everywhere else. They are when I read about or meet another breast cancer patient or survivor. They are when I see a cute puppy. They are during movies, TV shows and commercials. They are in my car during a song that evokes memories. They are during a bike ride. They are while I’m running. They are while I’m blogging. They are when I’m talking to friends and family. They are during a beautiful sunset. They are when I hear bad news. They are when something bad happens to someone else – a friend or stranger. They are when something good happens. They are when my wildest dreams come true.

Yes, it’s part of my personality. I’m emotional. I cry a lot. But those tears are also from my breast cancer. And they go everywhere, all the time. They are all around me.

I distribute them everywhere. They are a part of my life. They are a part of my past. They are a part of my healing.

There's a lot on my plate, yet I'm hungry for more

These past few weeks have been interesting: busy, good and hard. All rolled into one.

I began tapering off the Zoloft a few weeks ago, and took my last dosage the morning of the first day of Passover, March 25. Since then I’ve been agitated, crying a lot, having mood swings, and feeling just plain annoyed/mad, yet at the same time energized and happy.

Since my last post, a lot has happened. We celebrated Passover with our families, celebrated our first wedding anniversary March 31, I got asked to do another speaking engagement, I signed up for more races (28-mile bike ride + another 5K), and ran my fifth 5K on March 30 in my best time yet, in 27:52, coming in fifth in my age group! I also joined the committee for the second Pink Zone Little Black Dress Goes Pink event. (If you remember I helped promote, and then modeled as a breast cancer survivor in the first event last October.)

Passover 2013!

And, to date, I’ve raised $3,389 for my Tour de Pink ride! I’m holding strong in second place for fundraising for the entire East Coast ride. Phenomenal. And I’ve connected to some of the other riders through Facebook.

And, just to remind you, I’m doing the Dirty Girl Mud Run June 8 in Pittsburgh, and we’ve got a team of 11 amazing ladies so far! I’m on T-shirt duty, which I love.

So, needless to say, I’ve been busy. I’ve been taking on a lot. I’ve put a lot on my plate. I think I’ve been continuously putting more on my plate since my last surgery in September.

With Julie, Passover 2013 :)

The event I’m speaking at this month is Penn State’s Smeal College Women in Business “Powerful Women Paving the Way” conference April 19. I am one of five keynote speakers, and I couldn’t be more excited and honored. I will be sharing my experiences of dealing with breast cancer while planning my wedding; Pink and Pearls and where it has taken me; and my work in the community of speaking out and sharing my story.

My bio is posted here, taken from the event website, http://www.smeal.psu.edu/powerfulwomen:

Marjorie Stromberg Miller

On April 19, 2013 the Powerful Women Paving the Way Conference PINK Lunch Benefitting the American Cancer Society will feature keynote speaker Marjorie Stromberg Miller.

Marjorie Stromberg Miller is a staff writer for The Centre County Gazette, and is a two-year breast cancer survivor. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer in April 2011 at the age of 26, she had gotten engaged only two months earlier. She started a blog, Pink and Pearls, to document her journey of planning a wedding while coping with breast cancer.

Pink and Pearls got Marjorie recognition with the Lifetime Movie Network for its promotion of the movie “Five” for Breast Cancer Awareness Month in fall 2011, as well as with the PA Breast Cancer Coalition, in which she was featured in a “survivor spotlight” story. Since her diagnosis Marjorie has volunteered with and spoke at events for numerous breast cancer organizations, including the PA Breast Cancer Coalition and the Pennsylvania Pink Zone.

In June 2012 Marjorie told her story, along with two other breast cancer survivors, at the Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company in Washington, D.C. as part of The Moth and Phillips Ultrasound’s “Getting it off our chests: stories from breast cancer survivors.” This past winter she spoke at the Penn State Men and Women’s gymnastics “Paint it Pink” meet, as well as at the Pennsylvania Pink Zone Lady Lions Basketball game. This September, she plans to ride her bike 200 miles for the Young Survival Coalition’s Tour de Pink, a three-day trek from Philadelphia to Washington, D.C.

Marjorie graduated from West Virginia University in 2008 with a bachelor’s degree in news-editorial journalism. Prior to working for The Centre County Gazette, she was a health, business and social services reporter for The Lewistown Sentinel from 2008 to 2012, and while attending West Virginia University, she was a freelance reporter for various newspapers, magazines and other publications.

Marjorie and her husband Sean live in State College.

There’s no doubt I’ve been doing a lot of reshuffling since the final surgery. I’ve been finding my new normal, my place in the world. I started, and am currently in my “organic” phase (which may or may not end up being a phase, but rather a way of life), of eating algae and seaweed and hempseeds, bathing in honey and apple cider vinegar, using coconut oil on my skin and hair instead of lotion and conditioner, avoiding GMOs when possible, etc.

I had been finding something else, someplace else to put all of my energy. So I turned to researching natural remedies, herbs, vitamins/minerals, etc. My eating changed. Not dramatically, but I think twice about a lot of things I put in my mouth now.

3rd annual April Fool's 5K on March 30!

However, I think that really has settled down over the past few months. I don’t feel I need an “outlet” for my energy now. Yes, it’s true I do focus a lot of my time and, I guess, energy, on finding healthy/organic products and solutions, exercising (running and yoga), and now more events, speaking engagements and athletic events. And on top of that, selling our house, building a new one, keeping up with our social plans and family life, taking care of Campbell, and working 35 hours a week. But the thing is, I’m not tired. Not only do I love it, I thrive off of it. I feel I am healthy and capable now, so I’m going to do this now.

I will admit, there’s always the LFS in the back of my head, kind of pushing me towards doing the things I want to do NOW, (in very miniscule words) in case I get cancer again. But like I’ve said in previous posts, if I live like I’m going to get cancer again, I’m not really living.

Eating the top of our wedding cake a year later! Surprsingly, it was AMAZING!

So maybe part of the reason I’m taking on so much is because of the simple, blatant, obvious reason: I had another life-threatening experience and now I want to live life to the fullest.

Or maybe it’s just my personality. Yes, I am easily stressed. Easily tired. But also easily excited and energized. (my dosha IS a Vata, after all).

As I was out running this morning before work, it kind of occurred to me that I don’t really fully understand the breast cancer. I know that may sound silly coming from someone who writes about it, talks about it, and now, more than anything, is trying to make a better life after it and because of it.

The sun setting behind our new house

Enter, another phase of life after breast cancer.

I start my “life after breast cancer” phases after my final surgery which was in September, because although the breast cancer was gone before then, it wasn’t until my six surgeries were over that I felt I could really gather myself and move on.

First there was the “reshuffling” phase. I was always looking for something. I felt caught between my “before” life of easy answers (Ativan, Vicodin) and my “now” life of getting back to work and social plans and LIFE without the burden, pain and agony of surgeries. My body was fixed (as best it could be, with my new boobs), my scars had healed. I didn’t need pain medication. I could exercise. Lift weights. No more drains and waiting and steri-strips and surgery prep and pre-op and post-op. DONE. Then: where did I fit in? What did this all mean? I was done, and supposed to get back to my life? How? I wanted to be delicate again, yet I wanted to become stronger. I didn’t want the weight of the surgeries dictating how I was going to feel or what I was going to do, or not do, and when. I wanted my freedom back. I didn’t want to live in pain anymore. And I didn’t want to wait anymore. Reshuffle. What do I do now? I felt anxious, and I looked and looked. And finally … I settled into my new me and my new life.

Anniversary flowers from Sean: red roses and tulips!

I filled it with things I love: family, friends, organic products, running, yoga, taking on speaking engagements and challenging myself to once-in-a-lifetime athletic opportunities.

The next phase I don’t have a name for, but I feel I may be in it now. You’ve probably heard of “survivors’ guilt.” There are many phases to cancer survivorship. This one is when the person who has survived cancer feels guilty that he/she survived, but others didn’t. This can also be found in people who survive terrible accidents, like plane or car crashes, yet others with them did not.

I’m not sure if I have survivors’ guilt, but I may have something close to it. I have met a lot, and I mean A LOT of breast cancer fighters and survivors through my volunteer and advocacy work. Heck, I’ll be riding my bike 200 miles with hundreds of them this fall. I’ve met a lot of women, learned of their stories, connected with them. I also read a lot of breast cancer stories online, through both regular news sites and the sites I regularly visit: the Young Survival Coalition, the PA Breast Cancer Coalition, the Pink Zone, Kay Yow, Breast Cancer Research Fund, etc. Lately, whenever learning about or reading about or even communicating with another breast cancer patient or survivor, I burst into tears. Every time. Like, I want to cry now.

I know, and I’ve said this, time and time again, that NO two cancer stories are alike. Like a snowflake. Each one is unique. Each one has its own challenges. So I never compare. But lately I feel so terrible. That my heart is breaking, more than it has in the past when meeting or hearing about other patients. There are no words that go as deep as I feel, so take the next sentence I write, and multiply it by infinity: I FEEL SO BAD FOR THEM.

I ask, for them, the same thing I asked myself in the beginning: why them? Why now? Especially the younger women, and I’ve met a lot of them. A lot. Women under 30. With young babies. WHY THEM? They don’t deserve this.

My heart feels heavy. There’s nothing else to it. I just feel bad, and I just feel sad. Not for me, anymore. For them.

But, I don’t feel guilty. My experience is a separate one. But I do feel I have conquered this, as I’m coming up on the two-year mark April 18. But I also know that doesn’t mean much. Cancer can and does come back, 1 month later, 20 years later. You’re never “in the clear.” You can be cured, but you’re on alert, literally the rest of your life. I’ll never let that go. I’ll never stop being terrified.

But I am living and TODAY I am healthy. And these women aren’t. And I don’t know if they ever will be.

They’re not reshuffling. They’re still in it. And it breaks my heart.

So maybe that means I AM finding my place, after all. That I really am living this life after breast cancer, a life I didn’t know how to navigate until now. I think I’ve figured it out. It’s not so much what I’m doing; it’s that I’m no longer searching. That’s how I know.

It terrifies me to build a house, just like it terrified me to set a wedding date a year away. It also terrifies me that I’ve committed to a 200-mile bike ride in six months. Future plans terrify me. Not because I don’t think I’ll be here, but because I don’t know if I’ll get cancer again. Because I don’t know if I’ll be ABLE. Capable. I don’t know what crazy force out there is going to stop me from doing what I want.

I don’t know if there will be another cancer forming inside me, despite the running and the lifting and the organic, healthy lifestyle. With LFS none of that matters. LFS doesn’t care. Cancer doesn’t care. It just starts and doesn’t ask you first. It doesn’t ask you if you’re planning a wedding. It doesn’t ask you: “is this a bad time, should I come back later?”

That’s what’s terrifying. The future. I feel confident I’ll BE HERE. I just don’t know HOW.

But I decided, and I think it’s pretty obvious by now, I don’t live like that. I DON’T LIVE THAT WAY. I live MY way.

And all the while my heart is breaking.

Life after breast cancer? This is it.

I won’t say my “reshuffling” phase is completely over. I’m not sure it ever really will be. But I have found peace. In so many ways.

Last week I made the decision, under the direction of my psychiatrist, to go off the Zoloft, which I have been on for about nine months for anxiety. It was causing some stomach issues and I was ready to try to be without it. I know myself before Zoloft, and it wasn’t pretty. A lot of anxiety, agitation, etc. But during the time I went on the Zoloft I was still in the midst of my surgeries. I had two more to go and was living a life with only one breast. I still faced another mastectomy and two more expansions.

Today my surgeries are over. The wedding planning is over. I’m healthy. We’re building a house and I’m training for a 200-mile bike ride in September. I’m ready to try to cope with my anxiety through yoga, exercise and meditation.



Dining with the cast and crew of "Hitler's Daughter."



While running at the gym a few days ago something hit me. During my “reshuffling” phase of me trying to find life, normalcy, whatever, post-breast cancer, I was always looking for something. I felt caught in between. There were parts of my “old life” I missed, like being able to take a pill when I needed to. A Vicodin, Ativan. But my surgeries were over and I didn’t have expanders anymore so I didn’t need those things. I wanted some of my “old life” back of being able to curl into bed when I was sad or in pain. But I also wanted my “new life” of actually being able to do things and live life and be active without debilitating pain. I was caught between the breast cancer and now. Yesterday and today. I wanted pills and easy answers. Yet I wanted the life you live without those pills, a life free of excruciating pain. I was reshuffling. I didn’t know where I fit in. I knew I had to work. I knew I had to find new “answers.”

So I started yoga. And I started running more, now doing 4 miles at a time. And those things relieved anxiety and stress and pain. And I started my “organic binge” as I like to call it, of using coconut oil and apple cider vinegar and wheatgrass and hempseed and elderberry and ginseng and flaxseed. And detoxing and cleansing. And a lot more fruits and vegetables. A lot more home cooked meals. And I felt, and still feel, those things give me not only peace, but control of my life and my body.

It’s all about regaining control. It’s all about getting my life back and my BODY back. The breast cancer took away my breasts. It took away some of my femininity. It took away from my body things I will never get back and things I never want back and things I am so glad I decided to remove. I can’t erase that. I can’t erase the fact that I had breast cancer and now both of my breasts are silicone. They are awesome, but they’re silicone. I love them, but they’re not real. And I can say I love them a million times, and actually mean it, but the truth will always be the same: they are fake. They’re fake because something happened in my body I couldn’t control.

I want control. I want to choose what goes into my body. I felt the Zoloft no longer fit. I want to choose WHAT my body does. Yoga, running, bike riding.

For the first time in my life I feel like I am at peace with my body. I feel like I am in control of it. I am not a victim to the knives and stitches and expanders.

And with that peace, comes peace with my life. I no longer want the Vicodin and Ativan. (sure, sometimes I still wish I had them, but that feeling lessens over time). And I no longer want a reason to crawl into bed. I don’t want that pain. I don’t miss that pain. I want, for the rest of my life, to be able to run and do yoga and lift weights. I never, ever, ever want to be hindered again.

Meeting Mary Robinson, former president of Ireland, who came to Penn State last week!

So why am I taking on this bike ride (in which I have raised more than $2,700 now, by the way!)? I am taking it on for a few reasons:

1.       For the Young Survival Coalition: young women and their families and friends who have been affected by breast cancer. And all the pain that comes with it. The survivors and those who have died. The chopping off breasts and the fertility problems and the surgery and the treatment.

2.       For the pull: whenever I feel strongly about something I do it. I don’t care what it involves, I do it. When I saw the Tour de Pink was going to be in the East Coast I knew I had to do it. I knew it was 200 miles and I knew I was a little crazy and I knew it was going to be tough, but the pull was too strong to deny. Something was telling me now was the time and this was the challenge and I am ready.

3.       For myself: I decided a long time ago that breast cancer was going to make me better. It was going to drive me to challenge myself in mind and body. It was going to push me to do things that were and are scary: telling my story for The Moth, speaking openly about my experiences at local Pink Zone and other breast cancer events, and now this ride. It’s going to be HARD. I’m going to cry. I’m going to want to give up. I’m going to scream, probably. But you know what else? I’m going to do it.

4.       Because I can. I thank G-d every day that I am healthy and strong, and my body is in good physical condition. Today I am young and capable. Just like running after breast cancer, there’s no reason I can’t.

5.       For the experience. To take all that life has to offer and jump on every opportunity. To live with no regrets. To remember this ride always, and how it changed my life. Because it will.

As much as I plan life (vacations, plans with friends, etc.), planning is still scary for me. Making a commitment to something that’s six months away is terrifying. Because I was diagnosed with Leukemia three months before I was supposed to have my Bat Mitzvah and never had it. Because I was diagnosed with breast cancer two months after I got engaged. We DID have the wedding and it was the best day of my life. But with LFS I am always afraid of another cancer. Always, always, always. It could happen at any time in any part of my body. Or, it couldn’t. In my life I have received devastating diagnoses before big events. But I keep telling myself: If I live like I’m going to get cancer again, I’m not really living.

So today I have found peace. I am so happy and content with my life. I’ve never been this happy. I know my “reshuffling” has changed courses because I no longer want the “old me.” I love the new me and I want to continue to build the new me. I want to evolve. And to do that I must constantly challenge myself. I must be aware of myself and my body. Today I have found my balance.

What is life after breast cancer? I wondered if I would ever figure it out. I wondered how I would move on. I wondered how I was supposed to live my life with this new life. I wondered if I would ever find comfort in a life post-breast cancer. I wondered how the “new me” would navigate.

OUR NEW HOUSE!

Life after breast cancer. I’m in it. I knew it would come one day. And all of a sudden, as I was running on the treadmill, I knew it had. I knew because I wanted so badly for nothing to come between, or get in the way, of this life, right here, right now. That’s how I knew. Because I like this life more than any other life. I like this day, and each day that follows, better than the previous days. And that’s how I know. Because I like the future more than the past. I look forward to the future more than I miss the past. I don’t want to go back. I’m afraid of falling back. I’m afraid of cancer again. I always will be. But now, I’ve found this place where fear doesn’t get in the way. And it’s such an amazing place.