There are few pictures of me without some sort of sports gear. One of my earliest photos of little me is in front of our big bay window next to our kitchen table with a baseball in one hand and a bat in the other. Sports came easy to me. I was always in the cul-de-sac over playing with the boys: roller hockey, football, basketball, wiffle ball. In organized sports, I started playing softball but my love was basketball. I began playing AAU basketball around 10. My mom or dad would drive me to the South Side of Chicago for practices twice a week which was about 45 minutes away. It was the first time I was taught drills that are so common: three-man weave, sliding passing drills, dribbling around cones, you get the drift. But to me, they were new. To the other girls, these drills were commonplace. I very much felt I was entering their world and not up to speed on various things basketball and South side Catholicism. The club then took some of the best players to compete at the state level then the national level. I was selected for the Windy City Red team (talk about a fierce name). But Red was the top team in the club. I had no idea I was that good. Coach Federici was my first coach who helped me understand my potential. I was just a small town non-Catholic girl who liked to play basketball on the neighbors basketball hoop in the back of the house. Windy City was a basketball program machine of molding (mostly) Catholic school girls to better skills and more experiences. At the state level, our team came in second place at the Illinois AAU tournament. (I only came in second. Never could get that last win.) The club chose to continue on to the national level and that decision would cost a lot of money. So I walked my legs off going around the neighborhood selling candy bars, magazines and free throw shooting to raise money to travel to New Orleans for the AAU national tournament. I hated canvassing the neighborhood. However, it was that or stay home. I walked. Everywhere. Then, we drove the 12+ hours from our home in Frankfort, Illinois to New Orleans. It was cheaper than flying. Duh. Nationals was an amazing experience and I’m sure my eyes were bugging out of my head with all the attractions and people in New Orleans. During the open ceremony party, teams can exchange pins or other small items that represent your state. I traded with girls from New York, Minnesota. Florida. All over. I remember TLC’s song “Waterfalls” came on and all my teammates started dancing and singing along. There was a moment when they all looked at me because I had never heard of the song before. And I shocked them all with my lack of popular music knowledge. Apparently, I lived under a rock. My face was red with embarrassment and shame and I was thankful for the lights being dimmed for the “party” atmosphere vibes. This embarrassment lasted several seconds but it’s what I remember most. I couldn’t tell you how we did basketball-wise. I think we went 2-1 or 1-2 in pool play. But after this experience, I learned several things. 1. My parents rarely listened to music. 2. I had no clue what was hip. And 3. Sports can unlock opportunities. This was the first trip/ vacation where there was no antiquing and no museums. A miracle! An experience came about through my athleticism and hard work and that’s pretty cool.

I have shared how hard the physical limitations have been on this cancer journey. So much of my identity has been in my athletic ability or in my body’s ability to move. I am almost getting to a point with Babs where working out can be more than just walking. Light squatting and other CrossFit movements are do-able while still being mindful of my limitations. My mind still wants to get back to what I know I can do: heavier weights, more intensity, longer workouts. But my reality is not that. I’m strengthening my body for another surgery. A surgery that will put my not-bestie Babs back where she belongs. Another recovery. Another time off work. Another slow building back of my body. While I am thrilled to get rid of Babs, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my fear of the pain or my true concern for how my bum will work. I know from a friend who just had a ostomy reversal, while this surgery is not as invasive, it will still be a couple weeks of recovery. I remember thinking with my first surgery when they said it would be a 4-6 week recovery that I would be ok in 2 weeks. My hubris was strong. And I was quickly humbled by the reality that it did take a solid 4 weeks for me AND I still got stuck on the laundry room floor. My body was not bouncing back and defying the odds like I had expected it to do. I felt weak and helpless and the idea of re-doing this (albeit not as extreme) is creating an unwanted anxiety. I can hear many encourage me that my body is strong. But my response is that it is not strong enough. While I may not be your average cancer patient, I’m not comparing myself to others. I’m comparing myself to a healthy me. And the reality of that comparison is unfair. I know it is. My body has been through so much and the idea of asking it to do more has tears running down my cheeks. Ironically, this surgery is what I want. It is the best opportunity for me to get back to living life how I want. The “last” hurdle on my road to perfect health because after this surgery, we move to maintenance mode. Scans every six months for 5 years. Bloodwork every three months for 2 years. So friends, my head is lowered from exhaustion but we will continue to walk into this storm. One. Last. Time.
Liz