Parts Whole

 

I started playing organized hockey again.  I played a couple of times last year, pick up, but not organized, not like I was when I played in California in Burbank and Pasadena.    There they would have an actual draft, where they would make you do drills and try to set up the teams evenly so there wasn't one team that was loaded with great players and the rest with average players like me. 

Hockey means a lot to me.  Its hard to explain why.  Some things are just your passion, they get into your blood.  I started playing in my mid 30s, wanted to exercise and didn't think I would go to the gym that much, so I used my tax refund to buy hockey gear at a store in Woodland Hills, CA.  Out of all places to get into hockey, go figure I get into it in California.  Never been one to follow the norm.

2007 was a hard year for me hockey wise.  Not only did I find out my diagnosis on the last day of Red Wings Training camp but I had to tell my team that I had cancer and I couldn't play that year.  That was hard.  We had a beginning of the season party and I didn't tell anyone until then.  Everyone was shocked.

I was hoping that I could play that year.  That hope was dashed when I had my port put in.  No contact sports. I would have that port in until 2009.

Two frickin years.

Two years of not playing hockey.

That was hard. Obviously going through chemo, radiation, surgeries and all the crap that went with it was hard, but not playing was hard. 

Hockey is cathartic for me. 

It is zen for me. 

There is something about the stillness about getting on a freshly zambonied sheet of ice.  Hearing your skate blades hit the ice for the first time.  Skating a few times around the rink.   Doing some stretches.  Then getting into the game.

If everything is going crazy in the world the ice is the one place where everything makes sense.  I think everyone has one of those places.  For me it just happens to be a rink.  

Not being able to skate and to play made me feel less like me.  Trying other sports or activities to fill the void just didn't cut it. 

Something was missing. 

Something that was a part of me.

As I got dressed in the locker room with some of the ladies that I have played with before I felt a sense of peace that I haven't felt in a while.  

Stepping out onto the ice I felt shaky.  But skating is like riding a bike you never forget.

We did drills and did a draft for teams and then we scrimmaged.  There were players on the ice that were better than me and some that were not.

As I sat on the bench between plays all I kept thinking was this:

I beat cancer I can do anything on the ice.

 

I'll keep you posted when I net my first hat trick.

Mel is the producer/co~host of The Vic McCarty Show. Listen Live Monday~Friday 10am-noon eastern time on wmktthetalkstation.com


Check out my podcast The Cancer Warrior on Empoweradio.com Available on demand and also available on Itunes

This is my first published article from 2008

THE ULTIMATE FACE OFF
Reprinted by permission from the Grand Traverse Womans Magazine Oct 08 issue

I have always had a wicked sense of humor. I get that from my dad. On Sept 18, 2007, when I was told, "It's cancer," I didn't know how my sense of humor and my favorite game, hockey, would get me through perhaps the greatest challenge of my life. Immediately I saw the irony in my breast cancer. I had just participated in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life a couple of months before and now I was a cancer survivor. My primary care physician broke the news and, since I had basically just met her, it was dubious at best. I remember she told me and then her voice sounded like the adults in the Peanuts cartoon. After that she made an appointment for me to see a surgeon, Dr. Brown. I immediately pictured Doc Brown from Back to the Future. If he starts talking flux capacitors and screams 1.21 jigawatts I am so out of there, I thought. Fortunately he is nothing like that. We discussed my options and decided I would get a lumpectomy. "You could get a mastectomy so you can be sure the cancer doesn't go into the other breast" he said. Well I am all for preventative medicine but let's not get carried away. To quote one of my favorite TV shows, Seinfeld: "They are real and they are spectacular." I decided to keep both of them. Dr. Brown did two surgeries, one to remove the lump and one for the port. He told me the surgery would only take about a half hour. I got to the hospital around 10 a.m. Surgery was scheduled for around noon. I couldn't have anything to eat or to drink after midnight. I was waiting in a private room, watching the video about my port. The time ticked by and soon it was 2 o'clock and I was still waiting. I happened to spy the doc walking by my room and yelled out, "So what did you do, forget about me?" He had some kind of cardiac emergency to take care of and told me I was next in line. He said "You must be pretty hungry, huh?" I was and said, "Yeah you owe me a pizza." He said OK. As I was being wheeled into the OR the surgical nurse said, "OK now the doctor will be right in. He is just ordering your pizza." "Haha," I thought, "Funny joke to play on someone who is just about to be put under." Sure enough when I woke up from surgery a Jet's pizza was waiting for me. Having cancer is not easy, and telling people is just as difficult. Some people I could tell right away, while others would have to wait. It is exhausting enough just having the disease, let alone rewinding and replaying the story for my friends and family. So how do you tell people? "Hey!! Haven't seen you in a while, how ya doin'? I have cancer. How are the kids?" I never thought I wouldn't be OK, even after I lost weight. People who didn't know that I had cancer said, "Wow, you look great!!" "Yeah," I said. "That cancer is the best diet ever!" Even after my first chemo treatment made me so dizzy and nauseous for three hours, I still knew I was going to be OK. No wonder I don't drink. Chemo gave me the worst hangover I ever had. Even after I had my stylist shave my head because the chemo was making my hair fall out I had to laugh. My mom wanted a current picture of me and, as it turned out, I got my head shaved on her birthday. Happy Birthday Mom!! My hair is growing back, and she is still waiting for that picture. I really didn't have the side-effects that many people do, with the exception of the first chemo hangover bedspins. I am convinced that working out to get ready to hit the ice really helped me battle this disease. All this was going on around the beginning of hockey season, something I look forward to. I am the captain of the Petoskey women's hockey team and I always work out my hardest to get ready for that, and, because of my job at WMKT, I was able to go to the Red Wings Training Camp. I was diagnosed on the last day of training camp. The Wings save their best game for the last day. Unfortunately I did not make it to that game. Since I am a huge hockey fan, it really meant something special to me when the Red Wings won the Stanley Cup. The Wings will hoist the Stanley Cup banner on Oct. 9. One year to the day of my lumpectomy surgery.

I use hockey as an analogy to fighting cancer. If you are on the ice and someone knocks you down, you don't stay down. You get up and keep skating. That is what I will do. I will keep skating.

Red Wings Training camp photo copyright 2007 by Melinda Majoros taken during the 2007 training camp, that's right, a few days before my diagnosis.

Mel is the producer of The Vic McCarty show. Listen live Monday-Friday 10am-Noon eastern time on wmktthetalkstation.com.

Mel also produces The Maria Shaw show on Empoweradio.com. Listen Live Monday-Friday Noon-3pm.