Jul. 10: Relay for Life 2012

This past weekend, finally, was Relay for Life. During the months of planning leading up to July 7 and 8, I was eager to participate. Friends and family motivated me further as they registered for our team and asked how they could help with fundraising. My spirits were high; Relay is an event I've really come to enjoy.

If you’ve been involved with Relay before, you know that much of its 24-hour length is a roller coaster of emotions, topped with an exceedingly powerful reminder of the hope we have to find a cure for that asshole of a disease, cancer. It’s exciting to honor the survivors at Relay, and the event planners give us lots of opportunities to celebrate that we’re still here. Caregivers are also given special recognition. The Luminaria ceremony is a touching and solemn time to honor everyone who's ever heard the words "You have cancer," and a time to remember loved ones who lost their fight. Relay truly honors everyone.

I expected that Relay would be as emotional an experience as it’s been in the past two years. But when Relay day actually arrived, I felt detached from the celebration part of it. I mean, I participated in all of the survivor activities and fundraised my ass off, but I could tell I wasn’t all in. It was as though part of my brain had shut off—the part that would have let me break down into a crumpled mess of snotty tears on the track. And I say that it was my brain, not my heart, because my heart is a big idiot that doesn't know when too much is too much.

Apparently this was too much.

I can't share the specifics of WHY it was too much (I'm not even sure what they are), but here's what I know:
  • I'm fine, health-wise. Ish. Actually, today I had an 18-month post-treatment scan and it looked good, so there is little to worry about there.
  • I'm exhausted from staying up too late for too many nights, stressing over silly stuff, and trying to make everything be perfect. 
  • I've slept at least 18 hours a day for the past three days.
  • My mom is fabtaculous.
  • The part of my brain that shut off was apparently the part that knew when to apply sunscreen. I am very, very ouchy.
The good news is that our little event raised $60,000 for American Cancer Society, and our team was responsible for nearly $4,000 of that. Cancer can sooooo suck it.

P.S. Please ignore the straight quotes and apostrophes. I have NOT the energy to fix them.

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