A Note of Thanks

I wanted to write a special note to all of you who have, so generously and unselfishly, donated to the OMG! Cancer Summit for Young Adults (http://www.crowdrise.com/omg2012/fundraiser/colleenoneill).

Most of you know that much of my working life has been spent raising money and putting on hundreds of events for various causes and nonprofit organizations, all of which have been amazing and important and a part of my life in some way.  I am sure, to some of you, it's like "what now?" :)

I could never have guessed that I would be diagnosed with cancer, much less, in the prime of my life.  When I was, I had NO idea how that would impact my life - forever.  I thought I would have surgery, whatever treatment was necessary, get better and NEVER look back.  I didn't know anyone my age with cancer and I don't think I wanted to. Almost all of my grandparents had passed from cancer in an ugly, unfortunate way, and way too young, which to me, meant far older than I am.  My mom had cancer, but she never talks about it, so its almost as if it didn't happen.  I wasn't born yet and then I was and that was that.  She raised two kids as a single mom and did it all - mom and dad.  Certainly, that would be how I was and my own daughter would know little of the story that was "my" cancer.  This cancer was supposed to be "easy" and, back then, I trusted words like that.

The truth is, I was on the road to another child and, possibly, children - who was to say?  Back then, I thought it was MY choice. I had a fun, flexible, happy, stress-free marriage filled with adventures and parties and no self-imposed limits. We worked hard, we loved hard and we played hard. Who knew the next "adventure" would impact ALL of that?  We sure didn't.  But, we did learn, albeit the hard way, that we are a much stronger team than we could have ever imagined.

I wanted a life where a cold was a cold, the lumps and bumps we ALL have just go unnoticed and I didn't have to wake up planning out each step of my day, because I was suddenly living with an "energy bank."  That is exhausting, in an of itself.  I never anticipated having 25 doctors in my cellphone - so many that I can't remember who is who, sometimes.  I never anticipated "secondary" illnesses.  That's a really raw deal, by the way.  You get through cancer and then you get to live with a chronic illness like Lupus (in my case) or another cancer or multiple hits to any number of organ systems?  It's unfair and I would be lying if I said I didn't want to shout that from the rooftops every day.  I wanted to continue on my path of being a workout warrior with a life that allowed me to just go, go, go. I finally did stumble upon a person my age that had gone through "my" cancer and my first question was "when can I go back to the gym?"  I am sure she thought I was crazy!  I have since had conversations with so many newly-diagnosed others who asked me the exact same question.  I always answer without judgement.  There was no reason to think beyond that in that moment and I get it.

I slowly realized, over the course of the last 5 years that no cancer is easy - that is total bullshit and doctors should REALLY stop saying it.  If they had cancer - any cancer - they would never use those words again.  I also realized that I needed a community of survivors and fighters in my life.  I was needed in this community.  I wasn't sure exactly how I was needed, exactly, but I knew that it was a place that I belonged.  I knew that the other young adult survivors and thrivers who had become some of my best friends were a true gift and have saved me, in so many ways, in a short period of time.  I knew I wanted to be that for others.  I stumbled upon a group a crazy, passionate, supportive people who "got it" and got me.  I suddenly didn't have to tip-toe around the word cancer in fear that I would be looked at as unreliable.  They knew, as I did, that cancer survivors and fighters are some of the most reliable, resilient, dedicated and efficient additions to the team.  We work faster, we learn quicker and we have something to prove - we are still here and we are still amazing.  I watch so many other survivors & fighters work from hospital rooms, during chemo sessions, in between surgeries... it's insane! Who does that?  We do.  We don't take it for granted, like maybe we once did.  I know I did.  A hangover is not a sick day and, sometimes, neither is a biopsy.  As an actor and in a world that can be fickle, I was terrified someone would find out that I had cancer.  Even today, I worry that just the history is a black mark.  I was afraid I would quickly slide down the "good actor" ladder, not because I was no longer good, but because I might no longer look good.  I have my days, but who doesn't?  I am better for it.  I want it more.

I no longer have to think twice about talking about a doctor's appointment or scan or scary test.  No one looks at me funny or scared or brushes over it.  They ask questions and share information or just send me texts that says "how are you?" or "you got this!" or "wanna meet at the Au Bon Pain in the lobby?" That one always makes me smile even if they aren't anywhere near the Au Bon Pain.  They encouraged me stop trying to ignore the path I had travelled, but face it, so that I can use it to keep going.  They introduced me to a world full of people who are fighting every day - a fight so much harder than you'd think even the strongest could fathom - and they are running marathons, repelling buildings, climbing mountains, starring in films, traveling the world, using their voices to make a difference, having babies and the list goes on.

So, yes, as corny as it may seem to some, Stupid Cancer (www.stupidcancer.com) changed my life.

This is a letter that was sent to Stupid Cancer by a survivor's sister that I thought I would share with you to show you that your donation isn't just about me... it is about so much more.

"So I am sure that you guys get a ton of praise for all of the hard work and long hours that you put in changing the face of cancer for young adults, but I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate what you do. My sister is a cancer survivor and I am sending her to Las Vegas for her second OMG. We attended last years in NYC and it truly changed our lives. She was told about your organization just as the walls started to cave in and her diagnosis, treatments and constant pain seemed to be too much. All that you two do has continued to impact her on a daily basis. Just last night we were running together and she informed me, again, of how few days were left until Vegas and how excited she was to be around so many people who would "get it." She will be rooming with two other survivors, whom we met at last years OMG, and it brings me to tears to hear her talk about how excited she is to see them and how badly they need this summit as well. Please know, as I am sure that you already do, that you are not only a ray of hope for those that are battling cancer but you also offer a moment of breath for those that are caretakers. I know that my sister will be surrounded by incredible people while in Las Vegas; she will learn a tremendous amount of new information and be armed with the most up to date knowledge. But more importantly she will come home with a smile and a sense of belonging after being with people who "get it," which means more than anything, because it has seemed so hard for her to feel that since diagnosis.  And it is that feeling, and the memories that she will make, that will bolster her through tough check-ups, painful days and people that will never get it, until she can attend the next OMG Summit. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for what you do and the acts that you carry out. Both of you, and your organization, are making the biggest difference in so many lives. Have an incredible time in Las Vegas!"

Thank you so much to all of you who are supporting me... you are supporting thousands!

Much love,
Colleen

Nightmare on the Bleachers: The View From a Hip, Haute Mama

The woman sitting next to me as I am forced to sit here on these cold, uncomfortable bleachers in a cold, noisy gymnastics gymnasium will not stop talking.  All I keep thinking is “she most certainly must be hopped up on Adderall.”  Probably an unfair assumption, but the only thing that is causing me any pleasure at all in this situation.  This is my end of the parental extracurricular deal.  I get gymnastics.  Ashton gets soccer.  We’ll split swimming. In this moment and every Friday afternoon, I think I made the wrong choice.  If this were an improv scene, I would spend the entire hour screaming “new choice!” I started to record her with the handy dandy recorder on my phone, but then realized that is might be an illegal practice. Well, maybe only if I post it? Damn it!  I am not sure if I can do it justice, but I will try.

I suppose I should set the scene in that I am usually immediately hit with a rush of anxiety the minute we hit the door.  Too many ill-mannered kids whose parents are too busy gossiping and cackling with each other to even notice, let alone address it.  It’s as if they don’t exist.  They are figures of children that perhaps only I can see? The banging on the metal bleachers.  The incessant tugs on their parent’s pants accompanied by “Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” that are never answered with more than a simple hair tossle or slight nudge in a direction – any direction - other than their parent’s personal space. I won’t even mention the smell.  Ok, maybe I will.  I like to call it blood, sweat and tears, but it is really patchouli, dirty diapers, dirty hands, sweat and, yes, tears.  Then, the teenage girls arrive and the random wafts of the latest Britney Spears perfume sprayed on a bit too heavy begins. These parents have no respect for personal space, so therefore their children have even less.  Why must you sit on top of me, lady?  Sir, there are four other bleachers that are wide open.  Kid, I would advise you to stop quacking like a duck in my face, because I know how to whisper “back off” in such a way that your mom will not hear me, but you will never quack like a duck again.

Needless to say, I am a raw nerve.  I don’t have patience for overstimulation in general, but when I am dealing with unbridled amounts of stress, it is even more difficult to handle.  I have been spoiled with a child who does not quack in your face, invade you personal space, pick her nose, spend much of the day with her hands in places they shouldn’t be, scream in public.  I don’t know how these parents do not hear this.  Any of them? Not one?  I have come to accept that it is, most definitely, my problem, until… wait. What is this?  She’s new.  She’s NOT wearing clogs, mom jeans OR a handmade sweatshirt that says “Reagan’s Mom” on it.  She’s reading.  I notice she is pretending to read the paper, but hiding this week’s copy of US Weekly inside it.  I start to laugh inside, as I look down at my flagged copy of Lucky with brightly colored tags and post-its, as I am hiding it in Parenting Magazine that I nabbed from the Magazine rack. 

She just gave the duck quacker’s brother who is stomping up and down the bleachers chomping on gum like he is missing teeth a look that would cut glass.  I like her. At that very moment, we looked at each other and she said “please tell me that is bothering you, too.”  Now, I am not looking to make friends here, but a little solidarity is nice.  Or, let’s just say it like it is.  Not being the only mom with no tolerance for abhorrent behavior in the place feels good.  I simply say, “Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes! Thank you. I was about to snap.”  She says “this is going to sound sad, but this is the only bit of time that I get to myself and I just want to read about Lindsay Lohan’s latest tragedy.”  Me too!  Me too!  Ugh. Maybe we should be friends.  Wait. Let’s not move to quickly.  A relationship is a relationship.  Just because she looks cool, doesn’t mean she isn’t ape shit crazy and hiding her old gymnastic medals in her purse. Breath. OH, is that Zac Posen? Where are my hot pink post-its?