Running a marathon has always been on my bucket list. This will be my first attempt and I cannot think of a better motivator than my amazing friend Cathy. She has been fighting for her life over two years now against one of the most aggressive and lethal brain cancers around named glioblastoma multiforme. She has really shown that little bastard who is boss.
I met Cathy for the first time in the emergency department. I was her doctor. I soon became her friend. I’ll never forget our introduction. Her nurse came to me and said, “You need to go see this lady. She is either crazy or there is something really wrong with her.” I realized very quickly that there was something really wrong. She just couldn’t get out her words or do simple math, something that would come naturally to this intelligent engineer. Tears rolled down her cheek as she tried to describe to me what had been happening to her. She kept blaming it on menopause of all things.
I got her to CT quickly and it was worse than I had imagined. I reviewed the scan with the neurosurgeon that confirmed it was most likely a glioblastoma and that she’d be lucky to be alive in 15 months. I’ve been an ER doc for a while now. I give people bad news all the time. I rarely cry, maybe a little tear but that’s about it. I sobbed like a child as quietly as I could in my office after I gave her the news.
I really liked this lady. Something had already connected me to her like I had known her all my life. This shouldn’t be happening to such a nice person. And then I got an almost instant peace that came over me. Like something told me, she would be ok and I believed it. It had to be her determined spirit that I was picking up on. Maybe it was the fact that after she had gotten over the initial shock of having brain cancer, she asked me if she could come back the next day for her brain surgery as she had some really important work she needed to get done at her job!?!?!?!?!?!?
I convinced her it was more important to stay and I agreed to come visit her after my shift was over (not something I ever really did for patients at the time). I remember sadly taking the elevator up to her room, thinking how sorry I was for her and her family. As I turned the corner, all I could hear was laughter. I thought, “Who is having a party?” Well, it was Cathy dressed all in monkeys from her PJs to her slippers and most likely even her underwear surrounded by her friends and family.
There was no sadness or melancholy. Just a room filled full of funny, silly, crazy women telling some of the most hilarious stories I had ever heard. They welcomed me into their circle like I was one of them. I stayed for well over an hour almost peeing myself from laughing so hard. I had just given this woman a terminal diagnosis and she had me rolling off the bed hysterically with laughter. Who on earth was she? I thought maybe she was crazy after all.
She confirmed my suspicions of insanity 2 days later when I went to go visit her again a day after she had the actual brain surgery. I had made her a gift basket with little work out weights and trinkets that she could use in bed. I knew she was pretty athletic and she had made it clear she needed to work out or would go stir crazy. She had taken to doing laps around the hospital hallways before surgery just to get some type of exercise. My heart dropped initially when I could not find her in her assigned room. I thought she had died as I frantically looked through our computer system to locate her and couldn’t. I finally found a nurse that knew her. She told me that she had been discharged home earlier that day. I think I looked at her and asked “WTF? The woman just had brain surgery!”
So there I was standing in an empty hospital room with a basket full of goodies. I did what any reasonable stalker would do. I tracked down Cathy’s address and drove to her home. I figured the worst that could happen would be they called the police on me because maybe, in fact, I was the crazy one. But then again, I was in Georgia so the possibility of getting shot did cross my mind.
I knocked really quietly in case Cathy was asleep or resting. I spoke in a whisper to Cathy’s husband Joey and quickly let him know that I came in peace bearing gifts. He was just as kind as Cathy. He let me know that Cathy would have loved to see me but she wasn’t home. I politely asked where the hell a postoperative brain tumor patient who had just been released from the hospital could be? Where else?……The GYM with her personal trainer.
And it was on! This woman has not stopped fighting since the day I met her. But more importantly, she has maintained a brilliant attitude through all her treatments and her ups and downs. She has been grateful for every day that she has been alive, I’d dare say even for every precious second. She understands the beauty of life.
When I first met Cathy, I thought that the universe had brought us together so that I could help a terminal patient in need. How quickly did I discover, as she became my dear friend that she was put in my path to actually help me. Her love and gratitude of life will always be a testament for me to never take a single day for granted. I now know that she will always be more than OK. She will always be Fabulous! Cathy’s life has made me a happier, kinder, more humble and grateful human being. I hope if anything, her story has touched a place in your heart as well. Thanks for reading and donating! I’m counting on Cathy’s spirit of determination and perseverance to carry me across that finish line even if my legs don’t wanna. I love you my Monkey Sister! Charlotte
The Rest of the Story
September 8, 2013
I finally find myself ready to tell the rest of Cathy and Charlotte’s story. I have mourned her loss for the last 4 months. The marathon is getting closer. I would like to share with you all how you lifted Cathy’s spirits and mine as she crossed her finish line.
I had been trying to write down our story for the longest (I think since last December actually). Every time I sat down to type, I couldn’t find the words. And then something just hit me in May and told me it was time to write. I was in front of the computer and just couldn’t stop until our legend was complete. I stayed up until 3 am. I posted it on the American Brain Tumor Team Breakthrough website the next day. Your response was awe-inspiring and just beautiful.
Three days later I was in Greenville, SC working a locums job. I had this overwhelming feeling that I should go see Cathy. It would only take a few hours to get there. I called her husband because I knew even though she was well the last time I had seen her, her speech was keeping her from using the phone. He didn’t answer so I left a message. When he called me back I somehow already knew what he was going to say. “Charlotte, I was going to call you. I had to put Cathy in hospice a few days ago.”
So this was it. I knew this day was coming but I still wasn’t ready. Was she? I jumped in my car as soon as my shift was over and headed straight to Augusta. I drove down unfamiliar dark country roads. My phone had no signal and no GPS. I got to my mother’s house by the grace of God. Even though my Mama wasn’t home, I found comfort in sleeping in my old bed surrounded by my beautiful childhood memories.
I woke up the next morning, ready to see my friend for the last time. I prayed that she had made it through the night. I just wanted to hug her once more. I knocked on her front door and the memory of my first knock that started our friendship flooded back. It was her mom that answered the door this time. She tried to prepare me.
Cathy was in her bed and the hospice nurse, the same one her father had, was giving her a bath. Mama Nett told me that she hadn’t opened her eyes, eaten, drank or taken her meds in two days. She hoped that Cathy would hang on a little longer until her upcoming wedding anniversary. She kept telling her “Cathy, Charlotte’s here. Don’t you want to open your eyes?” But Cathy’s thin body just breathed. No other movement did she make.
And then we were alone. They all left the room and gave us our time together. I just stared at her for the longest. She was so frail but still so stunning. I wept and held her hand. And then I told her I wanted to read her something. I told her I had finally written our story for the marathon to raise money for the American Brain Tumor Association in her honor. And so I read her the story that I posted online. And she slept.
I got to the last paragraph and she stopped breathing.
I thought, oh my God this is really it. And then I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to be there for her final moments.
And then I almost yelled out loud, “Bitch, come back! I’m not done reading our story!”
But I didn’t. I just kept reading, completely in awe. 15 seconds probably passed and she took a thunderous deep breath. She started breathing normally again. I finished reading our story.
I said the last word of the last sentence and she opened her eyes and smiled at me. It was a crooked smile but she was in there! She had heard me.
And that’s when I told her all about the amazing response her story had gotten. All the warm wishes and heartfelt love for this woman was already pouring into donations. I was able to tell her that because of her I had already raised half my goal in just 2 days. She kept looking at me and smiling, trying to speak but couldn’t. Her facial expressions said everything. She was so happy and so grateful for all the love and that her story had touched others.
I had her full attention for almost 45 minutes. I started talking about life and just couldn’t stop. She even laughed at all my silliness, and me especially when I told her I was now a vegan. She took all of her meds from me. Nine pills. I fed her twice. I said everything I needed to say plus some. I left her sleeping peacefully.
She took her last breath in her husband’s arms and crossed her finish line 8 days later. All I could feel and still do is pure love and gratitude.
I went back for her funeral. Her husband Joey immediately hugged my neck and told me to go into a room they had set up in remembrance of Cathy. I found our story blown up on a huge poster board with people gathered around reading it. I overheard Joey’s mother tell someone, “Go read that story Cathy’s doctor wrote about her. You know she would come visit her from time to time.” I looked at her, hugged her neck and told her I was that doctor. And then I saw those crazy friends of hers that had been with her the first night in the hospital. And I felt Cathy. She was all around, imprinted on everyone’s heart. She left a true legacy, one of inspiration and love.
And so I have been training for this marathon for Cathy and me. She has pulled me through most of it. I am up to 18 miles so far. I never thought I could do something like that. But then I just think of her spirit and her determination and it keeps me motivated.
I have tried to carry her lessons into every aspect of my life. I have had some tough times since she has passed. There are too many details to even try to explain (I’ll write a novel someday). But it was Cathy who taught me what a real positive attitude can do. She taught me to live every day to its fullest potential. Fill it with love and gratitude. So when we cross our own finish line, we can look back at the ones we leave behind without any regrets. Just pure bliss for the time we have been given and for those we choose to share our lives.
I am blessed that each and every one of you that read this is or have been a part of my life.
Love,
Charlotte
The Marathon
October 21, 2013
It’s been a week since the Bank of America Chicago marathon and I think I can finally write about it without having to type the entire thing through my tears. People have been asking how it went. Words are difficult to express the experience but I will do my best. It was the hardest and most rewarding encounter I have had since childbirth. Pushing Mia out of my vagina may have actually been a little easier because by then my epidural had finally started to work. No such luck during the race.
My trip started by flying out of Orlando to Chicago with Mia, my Aunt Jan and a god awful amount of luggage. The bellman at the Hilton laughed at us after he found out there was only one more in our party to arrive that clearly did not account for the enormous amounts of baggage. But then again he had never met Jan or me and understood that we definitely shared the same DNA when it came to packing.
The weather was phenomenal and our lunch café was quite tasty. The nice waitress gave Mia a lollypop and then we were off to the expo or so I thought. I needed cash and Jan needed a pit stop before we could get back to the hotel. So Mia and I stood on a street corner with the Sears Tower (now called the Willis Tower, whatever) in the background waiting for Jan as Mia went to town on her candy. And then she made the funniest little face. “Aha! You lost your tooth didn’t you?” I exclaimed. That poor tooth fairy I thought to myself. My kid is always losing her teeth in the most special places, of course, increasing the value of said teeth.
We took the school bus from our hotel to the convention center and I think that was when it really hit me. There was a huge sign as you entered that read “Welcome Runners.” I had more goosebumps and tears. I had been experiencing this every time I ran my trail for the last 3 weeks leading up to the marathon thinking about what I was about to do and why.
I got checked in while Mia did cartwheels. Bib number 51266. Holy wow. At least 53,000 people were running this race. The expo was huge, packed and so much fun. They had a massive video screen playing that showed the course and participants from years past. More tears fell, big alligator ones this time. I even saw Jan wipe off a few. Mia just looked at us both as if we had lost it. I found the American Brain Tumor Association tent and went over to introduce myself. Alisha, the coordinator, teared up herself when she told me how special Cathy’s story was and how much it had touched her and the others of the organization. How did I forget the Kleenex is all I could think?
My great friend, massage therapist, yoga instructor and reiki master Ramona showed up later that evening and after a quick dinner in the hotel, we all turned in rather early. I slept so soundly even if I was sharing a double bed with her. We got up early the next morning, completely rested, and went and scoped out the course and had a little easy run to warm up the legs. In less than 24 hours this empty street with the backdrop of the Chicago skyline would be filled with millions of people.
I was so excited and grateful. And then some more family/friends arrived. My best friend (Japanese Heather, I have two BFF Heathers) had convinced her mother (Maw), eldest sister (Carlene) and niece (Samantha) to come along and show their support. Heather couldn’t be there because well she was in Japan. A little side note here: if it hadn’t been for these amazing people and their beloved Rhonda, I would never have been open enough to have my experience with Cathy, but more about that during my next major marathon. Bottom line: I was surrounded by love and support.
That Saturday evening there was a pasta dinner for the participants and any family and friends that wanted to go on behalf of the American Brain Tumor Association. I arrived early with my entourage. We chatted with the Veterinarian who was a survivor and his wife that had saved his life from drowning when he had his first seizure because of his brain cancer. Amazing people filled this room all with their own special stories. And then one of my most dreaded fears happened (besides being buried alive). I was asked to speak.
Apparently, the speaker for the evening was not able to make it and Alisha asked the Vet and me if we minded sharing our stories. I know it may come as a shock to many of you but I don’t actually like being the center of attention unless I am prepared. I hate public speaking. I have to have had plenty of forewarning and of course practice in front of my mirror in my bedroom alone. I think I hesitated for about 2 seconds and responded with an “Of course I will!” I later remember thinking, “Where the hell did that come from?” All I could ponder was it was Cathy.
I stood up in front of the crowd not quite knowing what I would say with my eyes already moist knowing that the words would be hard to get out. My voice cracked as soon as I started to speak. And then I could not stop. I was speaking of one of the most beloved people I knew and it flowed. She was there helping me touch others with her amazing love and tale of life. I spoke like I was speaking to a close friend. I looked out and saw all the wet eyes and the woman choking back her sobs and I knew I had done well. As far as I was concerned this marathon was already won. I just had to now physically finish this thing.
I went to bed after laying out my bright orange and purple gear and running outfit. I had ironed on monkeys and “for Cathy” and “monkey sister” on my special order running sleeves and team jersey. I was blinged out. I woke up early. Watched some inspiring videos in the bathroom so as not to wake up the others. And then woke up the others. They were all about excited as me.
Ramona walked me down to the team spot. She got me a banana, some peanut butter, and water. She stretched me out, yogasized me and I am sure threw some voodoo on top of me as for some strange reason I was relaxed and excited to do this thing. Then I realized I had left my attachment to my headphones and there would be no Lady Gaga. Oh NONONO!!!! My freak out almost began. But Ramona looked at me calmly and said, “That is why I am here” and quickly ran off to the hotel to retrieve my attachment. I took a deep thankful breath. And then two of the sweetest women introduced themselves to me. One looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “Thank you for sharing your story last night. That was my mother’s story and that is why I am running today.” The other determined that we were destined to start our race together as we were truly in almost the last corral and well we just “clicked.” She was running in memory of her father.
I was pumped! We crossed the bridge into the area where only bibs were allowed. No spectators were permitted at the start or finish because of Boston. I refused the power bars and free food and drinks the volunteers were handing out. “Stick to your plan!” The words of Hector and Emily, my trainers echoed in my ears. I would stick to my plan and I would do this! I was so inspired. I was so ready. I had trained. I had prayed. I had meditated. I had gotten new hair and nails just for this occasion. It was on!
And that is how I started my race. The crowds were awesome. The cheers, the music, and the signs were just awe inspiring. I remember hitting mile 10 and reading a sign that said, “If you haven’t pooped your pants yet, you have already won!” I had the biggest smile on my face and would have even laughed out loud but wanted to conserve my energy. I hit the halfway point and remember thinking, “I’m not sure I should feel tired yet but oh I do. This is just halfway?” My pace had been decent at this point. Actually, it was better than I had expected so I was still full of hope on not only finishing this thing but with a pretty nice beginners time as well. I am often flabbergasted at just how naïve this almost forty-year-old can be.
I knew at mile 14 (the charity mile) I would see my family and friends so I wanted to put on a nice smile and wave but instead, I think I remember shouting at them “Boy this is hard.” I was hopeful at mile 16 that I would see them again, and that I did. This time I stopped running. I didn’t care. I walked up to my daughter and anyone else I could get my arms around and just hugged them. Mia gave me a sip of water. And then Ramona grabbed me by the shoulders and said something about running with me. I don’t think I was quite delirious at this point but I saw her jumping on the course with me. Was she insane? No, I don’t think so. Apparently, she saw a friend in need. She has some great intuitive ability that I will never understand but all I know is that it was exactly what I required at that time.
I waited for 2 miles before I started really bitching and moaning but I am pretty sure I did a very good, thorough job. She says I didn’t really start complaining until around mile 23 but I am sure I was feeling it well before then. You see all that Charlotte positivity was about gone. I didn’t want to admit it to Ramona or myself but I was in real pain. My heart felt fine but my legs, feet, and brain were another story. It felt like a hot poker was twisting in and out of my right knee (my good knee!). Although everything ached from the waist down, my left foot was searing like someone was running a lighter under it slowly back and forth. Someone was trying to roast marsh mellows with my damn legs is all I could think. My mind was pissed. “This was one of the dumbest ideas I have ever had! Who the hell but total nut jobs run marathons and then do it again? I will NEVER do this AGAIN!!!” And then there was Ramona now annoying me with the “remember why you are doing this” comments.
I did not realize it until later exactly why Ramona was with me. Yes, she was motivational and helped keep me going but it was more than that. You see I gave up. At mile 23 I said to Cathy (granted it was in my head), “I can’t do this anymore. You have got to finish this for me.” And she did. And Ramona was there to point it out. You see I had lost track of my surroundings. I did not see the city anymore. I did not see the fans. I just saw and felt pain. I had remembered looking down at the ground for whatever reason a few miles back and had seen one of the thousands of ribbons on the ground that had fallen. The one my eye caught read “In honor of Kathy” just as a woman yelled from the crowd “for Cathy!” Even though she was there with me that whole time, I lost her towards the end. My physical and mental pain was overwhelming. And that is where Ramona came in. She pointed out Cathy everywhere when I could no longer see. We were entering China town and she told me to look to my left. There was a woman holding two monkey balloons in the air (monkey sisters!). It was Cathy. We turned the corner and she pointed out the bank that read “Bank of Cathay.” Two miles later was the huge Chicago sign that Mia and I had signed at the expo sitting right there on the side of the road where I had written “In honor of Cathy” with my daughter’s beautiful words surrounding mine. That was mile 25. I just cried and I limped and I ran a few steps and then walked. Ramona left and it was just Cathy and me. One mile left that we did together.
And then something that a friend once told me when I was beating myself up during training because I was afraid I would not finish this thing because of increasing knee pain came to my mind. The cake was the training. It was the impact that the training had already had on my life and others that was so important. This past year flashed before me. I committed to a marathon because it was on my bucket list and in honor of my dear friend Cathy with brain cancer. I quit my job. I got a raise. My beloved friend died. I bought my dream house. I got divorced. I sold my old house. I moved. I met Lady Gaga’s mother. I went to the VMAs and saw Gaga perform. I got a tattoo. And most importantly I found myself. And I found myself surrounded by so much love and support it was overwhelming, beautiful and just flat out liberating.
That was the training. That was the cake. That was my journey. And yes, the race was just the icing. But damn, I really liked icing. I like to lick the spoon. And so Cathy and I ran that last mile together. I saw the finish line and I saw the city of Chicago for the first time. And yes the tears poured down my face. They didn’t stop even when we crossed that finish line and that medal was hung around my neck and I tasted the icing. Bliss, I felt pure, sweet gratitude and bliss. And I finally understood why lots of crazy people run marathons.
I am apparently one of those nut jobs. I am already signed up for three more races all for charity and I decided that I will run all 6 major world marathons (Chicago, NYC, Boston, Tokyo, London, and Berlin) in my lifetime. It only seems fitting to next start with Tokyo in 2015. It will be in honor of the woman that started this all, Rhonda, in her memory and for ovarian cancer awareness and research. Thank you all for your love and support. I could not have done this without my pit crew, which is all of you.
