Is this your first colonoscopy?

Cancer isn’t something you get to be done with. People are always asking, “are you better yet?”. The answer, regardless of where you are with this disease, the answer is no. I am never going to be “better”. Whatever happens this will always be something following me around, whether it’s hoping for a clear CT scan, or heading into more rounds of treatment. 

And that’s where I am now, heading into more rounds of treatment. While I never considered it done with, and didn’t think this impossible, I never thought it would hit me again so soon. But my CT scans have come back with bad news, and the biopsy has confirmed it. 

So great, here we go, again. 

Was round one not enough for you?
Please say goodbye again to your home, your job and your life. Looking forward to a summer that you can enjoy and kick back with your friends in the sun and enjoy a drink on the patio? Well, not this summer either. In two weeks, I’ll be in chemo. 

One of the scariest parts about coming out of chemo last November and starting to put together my life was taking a job that I loved. Finally something that I was interested in doing, and a place I loved being. If you know me well, I define myself heavily by my work and it becomes so incredibly important to me. I remember starting work and couldn’t believe how happy it made me to just get up every morning like a regular person, get to enjoy a cup of coffee (without wanting to throw up), and to go to work. I craved normal, and my job brought me that and a whole new crazy family who I love so much. About two weeks into work, I realized what this job was going to mean to me, because it was so much more than just a job already. And as great as that was, I also realized that I actually had something to lose. 

This is going to be tough, and I’m not having an easy time of it. Your love and support is appreciated, but I can’t respond and reach out to every message, email or text. But knowing your thoughts are with me is helpful.

The two things I have really learned this past year are that if you think you have hit rock bottom, oh believe me, it can always get worse. Never assume that this is as bad as it gets. That said, you don’t get to choose most of what happens to you in life. Most things just come at you, and all you really have is how you take it. I’m trying to hang onto that. 

I haven’t felt this anxious in a while. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus and I’m really starting to freak out. 

Cancer is like being hit by a truck. I use this one a lot, but its because it works. You’ve been looking down the street thinking that you always knew more or less where your life was going. You couldn’t see the end, but you saw the direction it was in. But then you’re diagnosed; you didn’t see that truck coming, and it really hurts. And eventually you’ll get over how much it hurts, and you’ll recover, but you’ll never stop telling people how you really didn’t see it. 

So now when you cross the street, you’re at first a bit more cautious. You look both ways, you check for cars. But then, you get lazy, and you stop thinking about things. That truck was a distant memory, and you just glance the other way. But when you’re not ready for it, that truck is going to come back and hit you.

Waiting for a CT scan is not bad. CTs are relatively non-intrusive (just lie down on this bed, we’re going to inject contrast fluid into your veins and pull you back and forth through this doughnut shaped device while you hold your breath). Painless. 

Waiting for CT RESULTS, this is a whole different story. Now you know that truck might come around the corner any second, but you’re stuck in the middle of the street and  you’re bracing for it. The worst part is, you know how much it’ll hurt. You remember what you have to lose. 

Well, this is it. Round twelve, the final round of chemo (for now).

This means, I’m pretty cancer free (for now).

And, possibly best of all, I don’t have to see my oncologist (for now).

My life is a series of statements followed by (for now). Am I so happy to be done twelve rounds of chemo I could cry? Absolutely. But nothing is ever for certain. But, of course this moment in my life comes with some big-girl reflections. Today was incredibly bittersweet for me, because just as I am coming to a monumental moment in my cancer-life, my oncologist also deals the blow that I can’t be vaccinated in the next few months, and can’t go to Kenya with my new work. It was kind of a long shot, and I knew it. I mean, I just went twelve rounds with chemo…the kicker is that I’m cleared for all travel that doesn’t involve being vaccinated. He gave me a very “you did good kid” pat on the back that was somehow supposed to make me feel better. I just really don’t like him. He has a genius way of making you feel like your questions are dumb and crazy. Also commented on how much weight I’ve gained. You can tell bed-side manner and sensitivity are foreign things to him. While I will be seeing him semi-regularly for CT scans and checkups, I fortunately won’t be seeing him on a very regular basis as I have been. Thank GOD. If I do have to remove the (for now) disclaimer on chemo and (*fingers crossed*) go down that road again, I will be searching out a doctor I like working with. 

So, today was kind of also a bummer. Thanks to everyone who told me there would be a “next time”, but it doesn’t really make me feel better. Something I’ve learned through all of this is just to let things suck sometimes. Disappointed? Things didn’t work out exactly how you envisioned? Shitty. That sucks. And just let it suck for a little while. Don’t get dragged down by the shitty-ness of it, but recognize that this is the reality of it and it’s not great. And you know what it really is? Not fair. It’s not fair that every other staff member got to sign up for this trip, but I had a massive checklist of people I had to consult and other things that I had to worry about first. 

I may be “better now”, but the quote: “Forget normal, because normal is gone” resonates very strongly with me. The innocence and assumptions that most people get to walk around with (especially young people) that we will live a long, healthy and happy life, and today won’t be the last day. I don’t think I’m going to die tomorrow, but the reality that I could has recently become very real. Its scary! And its hard. And its important to remember that it’ll never be over, because this experience has fundamentally changed who I am and where my life is going. I have a great new job. I love it, and I feel like my life is slowly coming back on track, where I envisioned it going. But, I’m also terrified of the bracket statements that follow everything in my life. I have a great job (for now). Hopefully, for a while, but having cancer means constantly bracing yourself for the very worst. 

Do I wish that this never happened to me? Not totally. Hard to admit to myself, but this really hasn’t been all bad. In fact, there have been a lot of good things. I’ve really struggled of course, and its been hard, but I learned a lot about LIFE. We all say it, but it’s short (it is however the longest period of time you know, so that statement also makes no sense at all). But I learned to appreciate the small things. Getting a cup of coffee in the morning; being able to hold down a job; having a glass of wine after work; basically anything that involves me not wanting to throw up. I also learned that people are amazing, and I have amazing people in my corner (not my oncologist), and people do extraordinary things in times of crisis. There is so much love, community and support and although we deeply appreciate everything that has been done for us, we should all try and do a little bit more of these small gestures that can make such a huge difference in other peoples’ lives. Above all though, I learned that there isn’t anything I can’t manage. I can’t really think of any other experience that will force me to make the choices and deal with the massive difficulties, struggles and surprises (mostly bad ones, but damn I love having my hair) that cancer has thrown at me. 

Thanks cancer, but I can do anything now! Bye! (for now anyways).

Woman: “Is that your mom? It’s so great that you come with her.”

Me: “Actually, it’s more like she comes with me.”

Finally got my second colonoscopy (I know, we were all waiting in anticipation for this moment). Not going to say one bit of it was fun, but I did have a good bum buddy! My sister was coincidentally scheduled for one pretty much at the exact same time at Mt. Sinai. Great coincidence? Kind of. We shared some good bathroom jokes, made jello all in prep for a whole lot of great discomfort. I’ll spare you the intimate details, but be glad that early screening for this disease starts at 50. You probably have a significant number of years before you have to deal with this (unless we’re related…sorry!) 

Also, completed round eight of chemo today…slowly, but surely, here we go. Starting to really lose some of the fine motor skills in my hands as they become increasingly numb from one of my drugs. The great thing (I guess) is that if it becomes worse (since it could be permanent), they can just cut the one drug that affects that. And I can continue with the rest of the drug regime. Looks like I’ll be doing a full twelve rounds at this rate! (Which…is good…I just secretly kind of hoped I’d only do ten. But all in the spirit of beating this!) After I’m done, the plan is some CT scans (keep your fingers crossed, because my colon is looking good, so its my lungs and liver and other surrounding area that will be up for the test to make sure things haven’t spread). Then…CT scans every six months with fingers continually crossed. That’s the plan so far!

Also discovered this great site, check it out if you have time: http://www.letsfcancer.com/get-involved/ A great charity aimed at getting people screened early (since stage one cancer is peanuts next to my stage three), and keeping the cancer experience authentic. I’m all about it! 

Plus, F—- Cancer party as post chemo party. Someone please get me a t-shirt for my last day of chemo? I’m definitely wanting to rock one! 

Hey yeah, I have cancer, and I’m getting pretty comfortable with the idea. To you, maybe it’s still weird, or overwhelming. I know you probably don’t know what to say to me. 

What can you do?
Just tell me that you’re thinking of me. That is often enough.
Please don’t always ask me how I’m doing, that is the HARDEST question to answer. The answer is either: crap, or completely normal feeling. I appreciate it once and a while, but do you have to explain every detail of your life several times a day? It is EXHAUSTING, and often emotionally draining. 
Hugs are good, and I’m not religious, but I’ll take your prayers. 
That postcard, package, small token gift are appreciated.
Like that facebook status!
Cancer jokes are generally appreciated.
Keep reading my blog. I’ll try to keep it more updated.

Mostly, I just want to keep feeling like my normal 24 year old self. I know that self is gone in reality, I’m never not going to be “cancer girl”. I get it. The normal is gone, but I want to hang onto it as much as I can, for now anyways. If you don’t know what to say, don’t sympathize. I don’t want your pity or sandess. The best responses are, “wow, that really, really sucks”. The worst are, “I’m sorry”. That’s what we need to hear, that this blows, there’s nothing really great about it, but I’m doing my best to keep on top of things, and show you all what it really means to have cancer. Just bringing you the most authentic, real cancer experience you can find, and working on redefining a bit what your average cancer survivor is saying.