This be my (b)log

Just because.

2012-02-03T17:19:00.005-06:00

Hayyy cancer-b-logosphere... I just wanted to stop by because I realized that about one week ago, I reached my five-year "in remission" anniversary. January 25, 2007, my doctor told me there were no traces of leukemia left in my blood and marrow. Five years later, and the cancer is still gone. The past five years have been more than completely ridiculous by so many different standards, but I am still cancer free.

I am training for my second marathon; I am (mostly) self-sufficient; I am beyond blessed for my health and the life I am living. If nothing else, I am grateful that the past five years have led me to where I am today. Thank you all for sticking with me throughout all of it. I hope you've learned something or at least enjoyed reading my frequently ridiculous posts. I won't go on about everything I've learned; you can read below for all of that. Just know that I am thankful to be alive; I am thankful for the wonderful people in my life; I am thankful for five years. Peace.

P.s., check out my newest adventure! I am Running the Boston Marathon for First Descents!! Donate if you can or feel so inclined, but definitely tell everyone you know. :) Love!

In Brief!

2011-11-13T12:12:00.003-06:00

I know, thrice in just over a month? Crazy. But this is important:

I will officially be running in the 116th Boston Marathon this coming April 16, 2012. I am beyond excited and lucky to be running this historic race with First Descents.

Please, join my efforts and follow my progress:

on Twitter - twitter.com/cc_bridges
on blogger - http://thoughtlessrunning.blogspot.com

Most importantly, I have a new fundraising page... So share this link, and with your help, I know I'll be able to cross that finish line in Copley Square with strength and pride. Here we go!

http://www.crowdrise.com/teamfdboston2012/fundraiser/CarolineBridges

The difference a month makes

2011-11-07T20:31:00.003-06:00

I am returning to the b-log, yet again, with some good news! Last post, I had just found out that my facetumor was back and hanging out in my left sinus cavity. For a few days, I felt sorry for myself; I moped around and questioned why on earth I was dealing with this stupid thing Again. Then, like so many times before, I accepted it and moved on. Last week was my first week off, but for the previous four weeks, I received a weekly infusion of Rituxan - the same drug I received three years ago for the FT. My experiences this time around were different from those three years ago. Most importantly, we caught the tumor early enough that I never started getting any of the meddlesome side effects that happened in 2008. No hearing loss or nerve damage, no drastic appetite and weight loss. I did, however, have a constant sinus infection and an epic cough for the past six months.

Since I started the Rituxan treatments, my sinuses have pretty much cleared up, and my cough has all but Completely Disappeared!. Though there will be side effects from the Ritux, the long and short of all of this is that I feel healthier than I have in an extremely long time (we're talking years, here). From here on out, I will receive the Ritux treatments once a month for the next six months. I will continue with the immunoglobulin therapy for as long as necessary... Though we still have no idea how long that will be.

I can't believe how crazy it feels to wake up every day having slept through the night without coughing, to be able to breathe through Both nostrils, to not have to take any Sudafed or Tylenol, to be so thankful for all of these blessings. For all these reasons and a handful of important ones more, I have set a crazy goal for myself. In April of 2012, I will run a marathon. I am doing this for myself, but more importantly, I am running for First Descents, the non-profit here in Denver that provides kayaking and climbing camps for young adult cancer survivors. I've written on here before about my experiences with FD; my gratitude to and for this group is boundless. My experiences with and the people I've met through FD have quite literally changed the path of my life. I can say with some certainty that I would not be living in Denver if it weren't for FD. More pertinently, I don't think I would have believed in myself enough to either sign up for much less actually train for and finish the Chicago Marathon. Yet all of these things happened, and I am tremendously happy with where my life has gone and continues to go. God, I am So Happy in Denver.

Anyway, an opportunity has arisen for me to give back to First Descents in a crazy, impossible way: I can run a marathon next spring and try and raise $7000 for FD. That money would send seven young adult cancer survivors to a camp of their choosing at no cost to them, would allow seven more people to experience the magic that is First Descents. Running 26.2 miles is a crazy challenge in and of itself, but for me, the real challenge will be finding the motivation to train through the Winter. It is going to get cold and snowy! I moved out of Chicago and while Denver winters are (supposedly) milder, I didn't exactly move to Florida. But like I've written before, First Descents has truly taught me that anything is possible. Including running a marathon; including running when it's dark and seriously cold outside; and definitely including raising $7000 for a cause I believe so strongly in.

Thank you so much to everyone who has been following this b-log for the past nearly five years. (Has it truly been almost five years? holy crap.) Your support and comments and e-mails and even just the knowledge that I have friends and family and strangers in the world have cheered me through some dark times and a tremendous amount of uncertainty. Once again, I am asking for your support. If you can and would like to donate, that would be Awesome, but you can also tell your friends about this venture! You can Definitely tell your friends and any survivors you know about First Descents! Or come to an event in Denver that I'll be putting on in the next few months! Or you can just send me positive vibes because I'll need those more than anything. The link to my fundraising page is below, and I'll have a handful of updates as I receive them, especially in regards to what marathon I'll be running.

Again, thank you for reading, for checking in. Life is Great; the future is full of potential and I can't wait to see what happens. I hope you are doing well and enjoying fall and have something awesome to look forward to tomorrow. Happy Tuesday, sad toad. I'll see you at the finish line. Peace.

My FD page:

http://teamfd.firstdescents.org/2011/fd/Fridges2011/thefridge/

A most unusual case

2011-09-29T12:45:00.002-05:00

Right now, doctors across the country are examining scans, slides, tissue samples, cell counts, and countless lab results in an effort to determine what exactly might possibly be going on with my B-cells. Three years ago, I developed a B-cell proliferation (a facetumor) in my right naso-pharynx, a result of nearly 24 months of chemo and in response to the presence of the Epstein-Barr virus. Three years later, and the facetumor has returned but there is no EBV or any other viral activity to explain its reappearance. This tumor is a super-anomaly because there are no B-cells anywhere else in my blood. The drugs I received three years ago to Destroy the Facetumor! did such a good job that they essentially wiped out all of my B-cells as well as my body's ability to regenerate those cells. To recap: my secondary immune system was annihilated three years ago. No more B-cells. Three years later, and somehow (?!) an excess of B-cells have glommed into a mass in my Left sinus cavity. Literally, it is exactly three years later.

Perhaps a life-recap is in order here. The last time I posted here was nearly Seven months ago. Wow. Wow, really, is all I can say. Amazingly, I moved to Denver on April 31, 2011. For two months, I lived in an apartment far away from everything. I was moderately happy because I was finally living on my own, but it wasn't what I wanted. Then, on July 1, 2011, I moved into an apartment in the heart of downtown Denver. It's huge, beautiful, all-wood floors, and exactly where I want to be right now. My roommate, who I found via Craigslist, has turned out to be one of the most interesting and awesome people I've ever met. We are simple people: we have a futon and two mismatched tables in our apartment, complemented by a vintage 1950s record player. That's it. It is home.

I transferred to a Starbucks in Denver, and while it is slowly and inexorably eating away at my soul, I know I am blessed to even have a job right now. I have been sending out lots of job applications, but so far, no bites. Underemployment has created a tightness in my chest, a sickening and occasionally lack of oxygen to my brain. But then I remind myself that, good God, I am Alive right now. I shouldn't be alive. Five years ago, my body was shutting down; my marrow had turned against me and was slowly leaching the life right out of me.

Five years later, here I am, alive and (moderately) well in Denver. I've run a marathon; this past weekend I climbed a 13,700 ft. mountain. The entire way to the top, as I was gasping for air and trying to keep up with my hiking buddy, I kept thinking, "I cannot believe I'm here right now. I can't believe I am asking this of myself, this physical activity, and I am powering through and almost at the summit." All of this was so long coming - happiness with life. And yet, it is all tempered by the reality that I still have to deal with facetumors and immunotherapy and PET scans.

Right before I moved out here, I met with a GI doctor in Chicago who determined that my intestinal issues were most likely a result of low immunoglobulin levels (those pesky B-cells). She wanted me to start receiving immunotherapy right away, but I was actually moving to Denver the very day after I saw her. After a week or two out here, I found a doctor who could administer the IV immunoglobulins, although he is technically a pediatric oncologist. After shocking yet another doctor with my labs and low blood counts and persistence at living, I began receiving IV IgG, the immunoglobulin therapy. My intestinal issues resolved themselves pretty much immediately, and my sinus infections gradually went away. I ran with ten others in a relay race covering 200 miles of Colorado. I spent a gnarly weekend photographing the shenanigans and racing of some crazy single-speed mountain bikers.

I found out the facetumor came back, and I just learned today that my doctor here has been in touch with my doctor back in Boston. Neither has ever seen anything like me before. My doctor here said they'll probably want to write something about my case at some point. Because what if this happens to someone else? I'm setting a precedent here. No one knows why this happened, and no one knows what is going to happen in the upcoming months and years of my life. Possibly, I will never regain my ability to grow my own B-cells, and I'll have to be on immunotherapy for the rest of my life. As of now, they will be giving me the same drug I received three years ago to kill the tumor, only now I'll be on a seven-month protocol as opposed to just the four weeks it took before.

Honestly, this is all just one more stupid thing. Others are in a much worse situation than I am. Every single day, I thank the universe or God or whomever for putting me here, for letting me be here today. Life is Incredible! I love everything so much, and I have so much to be grateful for. So, facetumor, you're going to be a pain for a while, but once again, all we can do is power through.

There's my update. I didn't really want to ever have to update this blawg again, but I feel like this is important. Truly, mine is a most unusual case. I am baffling doctors! Hopefully, someone will one day benefit from my going through this. As it is, I'm turning 25 in three days (October 2!). I didn't think I'd ever get to this point, but here we are. Thanks for stopping in. Enjoy your lives today! Find something to look forward to. I'm looking forward to this weekend, maybe some hiking, and definitely some spending time with good friends. Peace.

Dear Cancer: Suck it.

2011-03-04T12:03:00.003-06:00

My intestines are screwed up. My right inner ear is permanently blocked by scar tissue. My fingers, toes and heels (?) occasionally go numb. Hospital bills, clinic bills, doctors' bills, insurance woes, prescriptions, probiotics, 6-monthly PET scans, an oncologist who is ignoring my phone calls - yeah, you're all still a part of my life. Frustration, anger, insecurity - yes, you too are all still in my life.

But JOY. Hope, excitement, red blood cells taken for granted once more, oxygen, depth, laugh lines, experience, growth, possibility - you Are my life. Fresh fruits and vegetables, way too much caffeine, oh yeah and Running? Oh yeah, running. I no longer just run to the bathroom because the drugs have decided to empty out my stomach (again). I run miles and miles because I can and it's awesome. New, strong friendships with kindred souls, people who understand what I have gone through and with whom I can share the uncertainties of survival. Survival - not of the fittest in the most physical sense, but of the fittest in the sense that We Want To Live. Cancer, in the words of one Cee-Lo Green, F**K You.

I wrote in my previous post that I am ready to move on with my life. After a few disappointing job rejections, I took a week or two to feel sorry for myself, and then I made a decision. I am moving to Denver. In 7 weeks. I have a roommate and apartment lined up, but no job yet. Whatever. I am beyond excited to get going, and now is the time for me to go. I won't miss Chicago; I certainly won't miss these suburbs. There are too many possibilities ahead, too many opportunities for so many crazy adventures out West. So here I go!

I pray that I won't have too much more to add to this here b-log. I love the b-log. It was truly one of the best things for me and hopefully for others during my whole cancer experience. But it too is part of that world which I am mostly moved beyond. Thank you all so much who have followed my words and progression and growth and pain and everything in between. If I need to, I'll update bits and pieces on here, so don't delete this just yet. But nothing too long, nothing too crazy. If you are interested, I have a bit more of a self-indulgent, somewhat running-related blog going that I may segue into my "new life" blog, so feel free to check it out: http://thoughtlessrunning.blogspot.com. It isn't meant to be serious, so don't take it too seriously.

I love you all, whether I know you or not. Thank you for reading. Good luck with everything you are doing. Good luck with your lives. I hope you can find the motivation to push through whatever hardships you've got. I hope you can realize that, my God, life is amazing. Ugh, there is so much awesome all around us. It is overwhelming and mostly beyond description. I'm off to go live my life as a stronger person for having so much more than merely survived cancer. Now it is your turn. Good luck!

Peace.

Feeding my unseen tumors

2011-01-29T17:21:00.003-06:00

Sugar has been scientifically proven to feed cancer cells. Tumors grow; nasty little cancer buggies get all amped up and continue their relentless organ/blood/bone/brain/breast/lymph domination. Yet here I sit, literally pouring Nerds down my throat. So much, then, for that.

But this post isn't about my sugar fixation. This post is about sickness and health. Four years ago, on January 25, 2007, my doctor phoned me at home with the news that I was officially in complete remission. Woah. Four years is the time it takes (generally) a person to start and finish high school. Four years to start and finish their undergraduate college degree. A person will change and grow unimaginably in four years, especially when that person is under 25 and their brains and personalities and priorities are still developing. I am not even close to the same person I was four years ago.

This is also a post about time. One year and 7 months ago, I graduated from Boston University. My life had been barreling up to that point, cancer time-out included. Graduating from college is an idea; it is not a tangible thing. It is an expectation that leaves little room for life's realities. Realities like the class of 2009 graduated in the worst job market for college grads (ever, I think). My personal reality that cancer screwed with my body and my head and left my nascent life-plans in pieces all around me. So I graduated and that was it for me. I had reached an impasse, and, really, all I wanted to do was sit on a rock and watch the sunset. I had no job and no desire to jump into some crazy adult life where my cancer might as well have never happened and welcome to the workforce and the rest of your boring life... Couldn't do it.

I spent 2010 working, yes, but working at Starbucks, living at home. I dated someone for 5 months, my first "boyfriend" since I was a college freshman. I trained for and finished a marathon. I went to two different First Descents camps. I got drunk with my brother in Milwaukee a few times; I didn't go to enough concerts. I did NOT get a cold pretty much the entire year, although my health was tempered by omnipresent gut issues. I made friends with a handful of people who have changed my life for the better, shown me the depth of possibilities for existence. On some levels, near the end of the year, I almost felt that 2010 was a waste of a year: no real job, still living at home. On further reflection though, I realized that I was not ready - not ready to start a job, move on, move my life along its path.

2010 was for growing. All the running; all the sleeping; the guy; working at Starbucks; First Descents: none of it would have been possible had this not been the year it was. Had I not lived at home, I probably wouldn't have run the Chicago Marathon. Had I not had all the FD experiences, I wouldn't have come to the same terms with myself and my cancer. It is all ultimately good, but now it is time to get moving. These past three weeks, I have been battling a cold/sinus infection, my first in really almost a year. It made me realize again just how Grateful I am for my health. Four years later and for whatever reason, I am one of the lucky ones. I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to do, but I have a job interview on Monday. I have an 18-mile race to run in two months. I look great; I feel amazing. Last year was hard, but I do believe it was necessary for me to decompress after college, figure out what cancer means in my life.

So, 2011, what are you going to throw at me? What opportunities will I create for myself? Cancer has had a tremendous influence on who I am turning out to be as a person, but now it is mostly just another piece of my puzzle. Just another thing that won't keep me from consuming highly refined sugars... Today I am thankful to be alive, and this year will be a great adventure that I am more than ready for. Peace.

Awesome survivors doing cool stuff:

2011-01-17T20:49:00.003-06:00

THIS looks absolutely amazing. I love the concept, and I follow this young woman's blog. She is just beyond so cool and so strong, and she is easily another one of the people I admire most - even having never met her or talked to her or anything. Doesn't matter. Power and ferocity are universal.

Holler!

Fair warning: a long and rambling post

2010-12-15T19:13:00.004-06:00

What is it about late fall and early winter that heralds this weird despondency into my life? Why, come mid-November, am I suddenly so lethargic and unmotivated, so willing to give in to self-pity and even a little self-disgust? I blame SADness, even while acknowledging that doing so is a bit of a cop-out. True, this time of year means only about 9 hours of sunlight, leaving 15 hours of darkness behind. True, too, the shortened days and way below freezing temps we've been having mean I am much less inclined to run outside, even though running is one of the few fail-safes I have against total Caroline-shut down. But it is more than seasonal depression, and this year especially, for whatever reason, it is more than something a sun-lamp can fix.

The end of November and December are no longer "the holidays" for me. Four years ago, they became the jump-off point for the rest of my life, the time when I was diagnosed with cancer and every thing changed. A beautiful, wonderful woman I met over a year ago posted on her own blog recently, "maybe tomorrow I’ll be one step closer to the place of true acceptance that I’d mistakenly thought I’d already reached." Maybe I've placed her quote a little out of context because she is one of the few people I truly and deeply admire for her total annihilation of cancer, but it illustrates that we all have these days. I've been trying to figure out just why I've been so down lately. I've realized that I am deeply dissatisfied with myself and my life, but I am at a loss as to how to pick up and organize all the pieces that are right in front of me.

For the most part, I have come to terms with having had cancer. I have accepted it. I am happy with who I have become as a person, the insights I have gained and the perspective I have been granted. It's just that around this time of year, when I'm struggling to balance my lack of running with my excess of eating, I can't help but remember four years ago when I could neither run nor eat nor do anything much besides wait for my hair to fall out and watch my legs shrivel up. Hopefully he won't mind, but I've been conversing a bit over e-mail with a close friend of mine recently, and the other day, I had this really disconcerting realization. He had asked me if my cancer diagnosis caused me to reevaluate my life and live it differently, perhaps more fully, than before. Was I granted some existential clarity that most people only glimpse when reading good literature?

My realization (and response) was that I have been fundamentally changed as a person, much more self-aware and deeper, which I didn't know was possible. But nothing became any clearer. I was diagnosed smack in the middle of college, college, its own, strange, insular world where ephemera like college hockey and GPAs and the grade on your post-modern analysis of a neo-classical Irish poem are important. But I got through cancer and managed to quash my doubt that GPAs held any lasting import and I got through college. But that was it. When I was diagnosed, I didn't know what I wanted, and my life certainly wasn't on any sort of path. Four years later, I still don't know what I want, and whatever path I've found myself on is so twisty and disconcerting because I have No Idea where it is taking me. "True acceptance" is hard to come by because I still harbor resentment towards this disease for what it has taken from me, and because of what it has taken from too many other people. I'm pissed. And lost, which helps no one.

I am putting all this out there on the Internets knowing full well that my issues are selfish and a bit petty. But a personal blog is, by its very nature, a self-serving venture. I guess I'm just struggling because I know a number of cancer survivors whose diagnosis caused this seismic shift in their lives, and now they've changed everything and are happy and successful and blah blah blah (we see what we want to see). I feel mired in a sludge of self-doubt and uncertainty and fear heaped on this belief that no one's ever going to actually hire me for a real job because I'm not qualified for anything.... Like I said, I need to be running more.

So many young adults struggle every day with the direction they want their lives to go. Very few of us know what we truly want to do with ourselves. Or maybe that's just me because I spent the past four years healing myself physically and mentally from cancer and only now am I starting to look forward but all I can do is grasp at darkness. Arghhh, I'm sorry; I'm frustrated. But this is life, and believe me when I say that I am so much in love with living. Not that this resolves anything, but I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and it will all work out eventually. Someone will realize I'm pretty cool and want to pay me to do cool things.... Right. In the meantime, for whatever reason, I'm still here. Four years later, and I'm still here against all the odds. And I sucked it up and went for a run earlier today, and I am going skiing in Colorado in less than three weeks. Life is Spectacular if only for those two things. So thank you for bearing with my silly grumblings today. Tomorrow will bring its own new adventure. Peace.

Pace yourself.

2010-10-25T21:01:00.005-05:00

It has been just over two weeks since the Chicago Marathon. I popped my last, most disgusting blister a few nights ago (so epic). I started physical therapy for my bum knee. And yesterday, for the first time in 14 days, I went for a run. A surprisingly speedy run, albeit a considerably shorter one than recent runs. Life goes on. We continue with our everyday motions because they are what we know and what we are comfortable with. We fold up our yesterdays and past excitements and put them on a shelf with mothballs, air them out every once in a while for nostalgia's sake. Sometimes, though, something - some event or idea or person - comes along and jars our complacency all out of whack. Anyway, that's what happened to me.

Two weeks ago, I finished my first marathon. Finishing, however, was absolutely nothing like I expected it to be - hence the out of whackness. I have honestly spent the past two weeks in a weird post-marathon funk/depression, partly because, well, it's over..., but also because I have been beating myself up a bit about the whole thing, wondering where I go from here and how do I improve? Instead of feeling proud of my accomplishment, satisfaction at having completed a goal I have had for almost 10 years, I feel frustrated. I feel somewhat that I let myself down here. And I also feel strangely unsettled.

The race itself was sensory overload: People Everywhere, smells (I swear there was chocolate somewhere right outside of the Loop), screaming spectators and signs ("Your feet hurt because you're kicking butt!"), bystanders with hoses spraying shockingly cold water on runners dehydrating in the 84 degree heat. My story is that I was doing super well. On pace for the entire first half. I hit the 13-mile clock exactly where I wanted to be. Sadly, that is just about also when the pain in my left knee became nearly unbearable. I started walking. And I did not stop walking until about maybe 100 meters from the finish line, when I started jogging again just so I could cross that stupid line "running."

So my frustration stems from the fact that I walked basically the last 10 miles of the marathon. One of my coaches, to whom I will be forever grateful, joined me at mile 16. I'm sure he saw the look of absolute dejection on my sweat-stained face, noticed my slogging limp as I tried to keep moving forward. He stayed with me to the end. I don't think I would have given up if it hadn't been for his help, but who knows... Around mile 18, I sure as hell wanted to stop. A curb on a Gatorade-cup-strewn street in downtown Chicago had never looked more comfortable. Yet I shoved the "oh God; there are still eight more miles to go?!" thought to the back of my brain and focused, instead, on my breathing. Interestingly, deep, concentrated breaths actually diminished the pain in my leg a bit, added just a little bit more range of motion to my hips. That, or it was just helpful to try and shift my focus off my leg.

Some time later, I trotted across the wide FINISH line, stumbled down to where smiling volunteers were putting medals around finishers' necks, grabbed a HeatSheet for posterity (it was already warm enough outside), walked another quarter mile to the gear check, got my stuff, and flopped onto an empty patch of grass to take off my sneakers and call my friends. And that was it. I found my jubilant friends waiting for me by Buckingham Fountain; they were a huge reason I got myself to the finish. We walked back to the Team in Training tent where I did not have a beer but did have a fantastic cinnamon roll an amazing friend thought to bring me. Seriously. Best post-race snack ever.

And here we are: my world has been shifted because I Finished the Chicago Marathon, but I did not do well. I want to do better; I know I can do better. One year ago, when I decided to train for and run this race, it was for so many different reasons. This marathon because this is the city in which I received the most hellacious parts of my cancer treatment. This race because if I could run 26.2 miles through the streets of Chicago, I could literally and figuratively run down my cancer demons. This year because I was back living in Chicago, and I needed something to work towards. Needed a tangible goal to shoot for because otherwise, I would just be right back home in the suburbs with only a vague plan to get out of here as soon as possible. So I did it! Running has, once again in my life, become one of the most important facets of who I am.

My hitherto unspoken expectation that completing this race would be the absolute end of my relationship with Chicago has proven unrealistic. I am definitely still here, still don't have any definite plan to get out of here. And running certainly did not usher cancer out of my life forever. But I want to do better. I want to run far again, and soon. Instead of being a cap, a tidy end to an extremely untidy past four years, I am confronted with a wide-open path or trail or whatever this race has led me to. This is not the end of anything, really. It is the beginning of an overwhelming desire to keep pushing myself, to actually run the whole 26.2 miles of a marathon, although probably not Chicago again any time soon.

No, I am not satisfied with merely finishing a marathon. I get that it is a big deal; I get that a whole lot of people cannot fathom running any distance anyway. But I also feel that I am more than just finishing and putting my medal in a sock drawer of stories to tell. I am stuck, now, with this running thing, but like I said, it is a question of where to go from here. My world was shaken up when my life-expectations were, per usual, trounced. Nothing ever turns out how we expect it to, apparently.

So what's next? Who will employ me somewhere far away from here? What races will next I run? I've started slowly, haven't yet burnt out. There have been setbacks, injuries and whatnot, but I'm working them out and will not give up. Not yet. There is still too much ahead of me to give up. I turned 24 three weeks ago; I have so much to experience! So much I need to do with my life, not the least of which is run long distances. But anyway, that's my marathon story. Good story, right? I have a 15K race in two weeks and a new Photo Project on the internets. And I can't help but get excited about the possibilities approaching, even if I don't know what they are yet. Like I said, I can only get better. Right on long posts!. Peace.

Self-perception. Or a lack thereof...

2010-10-06T19:35:00.007-05:00

Is it possible to recognize ourselves in the present tense? Can we ever be fully aware of life as it happens to us, cognizant of the changes every single experience forces into our psyches? I don't think so. Awareness is found in retrospect: looking back at major events and being able to acknowledge how we as individuals have changed with respect to the past. Hopefully we can say we have grown and become better people in the ensuing months or years, but it probably does not always happen that way. Sometimes people regress; sometimes people simply stagnate. They become complacent. Or they take where they have come from and stare it down and laugh. They laugh and run and bike and try hard to move on with their beautiful lives.

Five years ago I was a freshman in college with a dopey boyfriend who would break my heart over Christmas break. I was so young, so naive. I suppose we all are, though, as freshmen in college. We are allowed to be innocent and illegally drunk on Friday nights on very, very bad beer and even worse vodka-based questionable cocktails. Five years ago. What were you doing five years ago? Were you such a completely different person that you no longer recognize the shadow you once cast? One year later, finally a sophomore in college, I turned 20 and was ecstatic to officially no longer be a teenager. I celebrated with a couple close friends in my dorm room with a Godiva chocolate cheesecake and a bottle of Southern Comfort. My body was already being overtaken by cancer, but, of course, none of us knew that yet. We were all still cracking jokes about my need for more iron in my diet. That was only four years ago.

And then I was diagnosed with ALL, and I started treatment for it, and, as I wrote in my personal journal, "then they cut my legs off." Hospitals, clinics, drips, pills, catheters. No studying, no drinking, no biking, absolutely no running. No running... I lost weight; I lost my hair; I lost my identity on so many different levels. Medical waiting rooms became their own sort of void: It was a Dali dream world where time melted off the clocks and half-closed ears tried to pick out which bouncing announcement carried their own name so they could float over to a plastic recliner and watch as lines were strung up between their fleshly bodies and sacs of caustic fluids attached to even thinner metal bodies.

It was cancer; these were the treatments. And then it was over, but it wasn't quite over. Just about exactly two years ago, my doctors allowed that the growing pain in my face wasn't actually a sinus infection. The face-tumor! But that was two years ago. It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like it all happened yesterday. That the vice-presidential debates were on my birthday four days ago as opposed to on my birthday two years and four days ago. So time, what, flows? Moves, progresses, doesn't ever stop doing something? "Time" passed, and I quickly grew up and looked back at what I had experienced and decided I was proud of the person I was becoming. I had gone through a hell of sorts and was living a much better, fuller life than I had pre-cancer.

Finally, one year ago, following a bit of an epiphany in Jackson, Wyoming, I started running again seriously. One year ago I promised myself that this next year, this year following my graduation from university, this year that I found myself without options and with little hope and living with my parents again, this year would lead me to the Chicago Marathon. At last - the denouement!

Changes in the present tense. Physically, I hadn't noticed my body morph into that of a semi-athlete's. And yet I look at myself in a mirror and am awed by the muscles I can actually see defined in my body. I have biceps?! What? When did that happen? Emotionally, I haven't really been thinking about this week every single day for the past year. The marathon itself is never far from my mind, but the reality - the actuality that here I am, three days removed from actually running this thing - that was never much a concern. And yet here I am, mentally freaking out, finally, because in three nights I will (ideally) just be getting ready for bed the night before running 26.2 miles. Running a marathon I honestly did not think was possible three, two, almost even one year ago.

Five years after my freshman idealism; four years after cancer; two years after face-tumor; and One Year after promising myself that I will do this. This is happening. My God; I am actually going to do this. Who knows what will happen on race day, on Sunday (will it seriously be 80 degrees...??). Perhaps my knee will decide, as has been its recent wont, to screw me and sideline me and crush me. Or maybe I will reach my physical and emotional breaking points and push through, push through all of the limitations I have allowed to fester over the past four years, the setbacks and letdowns and disappointments that I haven't fully been able to let go of. Run straight through and beyond and away from everything negative the past four years have brought me.

Like I said, who knows what will happen on race day. All I Do know is that I will be standing (or nervously hopping around) squished between 45,000 other runners near the start line when the gun goes off for the Chicago Marathon this Sunday, 10/10/10. I am 24 years old; I am a runner. I am a cancer survivor, and one day soon, I am going to break out of the little stagnant hole I have found myself in, and I am going to summit mountains. I am deliriously happy with who I am today. I love my life and the people in it without reservation, and I am scared out of my mind to run a marathon 84 hours from right now. But this is LIFE. This is me being Alive, and it amazes and frightens and overjoys me every single day, whether I consciously admit it or not; every single day I am beyond thankful to still be alive.

Thank you all so much for being here with me through this. I promise to update post-run. Possibly a few days post... Incidentally, my most recent scans (one month ago) were all clear. Haha. But really, I could not have gotten this far without your support. Thank you. Peace.

Seeing the world through Fridge-colored glasses

2010-09-22T14:26:00.004-05:00

Unless you are a member of an elite group of amazing people, I don't expect you to understand this post's title. Luckily, I explain! Just over one year ago, I participated in an outdoor adventure camp for young adult cancer survivors. First Descents offers cancer fighters and survivors between the ages of 18-40(ish) the opportunity to spend a week kayaking or climbing in any number of different locations in the western states. So in 2009, I opted to go climbing in Jackson, Wyoming, where I was promptly (and questionably...) nicknamed the Fridge. I am a Chicago Bears fan, after all.

My experiences that first week climbing in the Grand Tetons altered my entire perception of myself as a cancer survivor. I met a group of people whose love and support and unconditional acceptance were unlike any type of friendship I had ever experienced. The connections were immediate and lasting. What is it about having had cancer that we were all able to identify with each other, regardless of our general interests? Perhaps we were all searching for a camaraderie that had been lost with the onset of our illnesses. Whether we accepted it or not, cancer took a part of our lives: it took my college years. It took someone else's senior year of high school. It denied yet another woman of her ability to bear children. We lost our identities, and those are difficult ephemera to quickly redefine. So, Jackson introduced to me the idea that we truly are all in this together. That first camp allowed me to step back and allow another person to be there for me, to pick me up when I was feeling the post-cancer blues. Much more powerful than any pill and more effective than any workout, I was blessed with a beautiful, new family.

My winter brought with it a bit of an emotional backslide, but luckily, I was signed up for another FD camp, this one in Moab, Utah at the end of April. Once again, I laid my heart bare to a group of relative strangers, and once again, I was buoyed by their support and love. Not to mention one woman's insistence that every time I look in a mirror, I wink at myself. Self-confidence: a notoriously elusive force in my life. And yet, somehow, perhaps when I was free-rappelling from a 100-foot sandstone arch, I thought, "All of these people can't be that mistaken. Maybe I can do this whole 'life' thing..."

Flash-forward through an oppressive Chicago summer to this past Friday and me getting a little emotional during the final descent into Midway airport on an uneventful flight from Denver after an exhausting and amazing week as staff photographer for an FD climbing camp in Estes Park, Colorado. After I put my personal photographs from Utah online, someone in the First Descents office thought it would be a swell idea to ask me if I would like to attend one of the camps as the official photographer. Well, for me, a no-brainer, although nerve-wracking.

Last week I had yet another amazing experience with FD, but this time, it was for a different reason. While I still have a few of my own cancer-demons lurking, this week was an opportunity for me to give back a small bit to the organization that has already done so much for my personal healing. It was amazing to be able to observe and try to capture each camper's experience on the rocks. The entire time, my goal was to help each person have as amazing a week as I have had at the previous camps. I desperately wanted to shoot fantastic photographs that they would be so happy and proud to have as reminders of their amazing week climbing in Colorado.

This time around, I was present to help facilitate the "FD experience," and I honestly could not have felt more honored. It is one thing to stare down your fears and face your perceived limitations while hanging from a skinny rope, feeling around for a foothold that extends more than two inches from the rock face... It is a different experience altogether to be able to witness the transformations of 13 individuals and the growth of the group as a whole. To witness friendships being made, to truly see the unconditional support I had previously felt. To watch a camper's face as she placed her implicit trust in the person belaying her and stood up on a toehold that by all accounts should not stick... As a photographer, I could not take enough photographs. Someone staring at a rock or laughing at a joke or releasing everything while standing on the literal top of a mountain, 13,000 feet above sea level.

Like I said, I only hope I was able to adequately capture the struggles and emotions and love of the week. (that whole self-confidence thing creeping in...) I really did not want to leave Colorado this time. But I have to thank First Descents with everything that I have for helping me grow and figure out who I am post-cancer. And I am so grateful they asked me to attend camp as the photographer. I hope I did the week justice in my photos, and I cannot wait to see what the next year will bring. So much awesome, and hopefully a lot more rock climbing! Peace.

Insomnia, hormones and survivor's guilt

2010-09-07T23:01:00.003-05:00

And so I find myself unable to sleep and with steel-tipped butterflies filling my stomach. Tomorrow brings my semi-annual PET/CT scan, my six-monthly descent into the underworld, into my personal medical Hades. These scans remind me that I am still embedded in that first circle of hell, still in Limbo. Not yet free of all of this yet no longer defined by my diagnosis: "Lost are we and are only so far punished/ That without hope we live on in desire." Virgil was referring to the unbaptized and "virtuous pagans" who inhabited Limbo in The Inferno, but I feel similarly. Maybe I am being dramatic; perhaps an allusion to a Christian allegorical epic poem is a bit much, but I am freaking out.

I am freaking out because I found out earlier today that an old friend of mine's mother passed away two weeks ago after an ugly fight with cancer. Freaking out because following this news, I was looking at the blogs I follow on blogspot, and I came across this recent post by a woman who had beaten Ewing's sarcoma. She was just diagnosed with a second primary cancer. Now, I don't know her and I am pretty sure she has no idea I follow her blog, but her blog is witty and frank and I respect and appreciate her outlook during her own adventures with cancer. But now she, this absolutely gorgeous and talented young woman, has been diagnosed with cancer all over again. What? Seriously? Why and how and to what ends does this happen? Why does one woman die and another have to stop her young life Again and stare down a cancer diagnosis?

I am struggling with survival. Almost exactly one year ago, I returned home from Jackson, Wyoming, having just met some of the most tremendous and strong and utterly inspiring young adults I will ever meet. I had no meteoric self-revelation after my initial week with First Descents, but it changed me in ways I am still trying to define. Among probably more important things, it at least sparked my running back up. After I came back from my week with FD in Moab this past April, I was affected even more powerfully. For better and for worse, in some respects. The survivors I met in Utah are Exceptional. I am super small potatoes compared with these men and women: leading their own young adult cancer survivor kayaking adventures; running and biking miles and miles and then a few miles more; living life with unimaginable fervor just because they Can, because they are alive to do what makes them happy. Even their daily adventures and activities are awe-inspiring to me. One of them can update her Facebook status that she went to Whole Foods or something equally banal, and I feel a surge of pride that I have had the honor of meeting this person.

And I fear I am not living up to their examples. Every day I wonder if I am living my life as well as I should be. For some reason, I am still here, still kicking and screaming through each day, but I am filled with a tremendous restlessness, a Knowing that I am not meeting my potential but an uncertainty as to what exactly that means. Maybe it is because I am so young... 23 is pretty young (although I will be 24 in a month!). Perhaps it is because I am once more living in the bedroom where I had some of my worst battles with cancer and the effects of treatment (ugh, the suburbs). Maybe it has to do with my lingering and annoying medical issues. Relatively serious immuno-deficiency, anyone?

Ahh, and I know none of this is helpful to anyone. No one wants to read about my own lack of confidence. Self-doubt doesn't make for very good dinner table conversation. So I'll just wrap this rant up and say, I am sure tomorrow's scans will go smashingly. Happy Tuesday, sad toad. Perhaps one day I'll find my way out of this bog of uncertainty and inadequacy. I just hope that day comes sooner rather than later... in the meantime, still searching for

Peace.

Full Circles? What is a "full" circle?

2010-08-04T11:41:00.007-05:00

The two photos above are from August 25, 2006, not quite four years ago. On August 25, 2006, I had decided the time was ripe for a new haircut. I walked to the awesome hair salon in my downtown and told the stylist I was open for anything. We decided to go short, and I decided I wanted to go short enough that I could donate my hair. For no reason in particular other than I figured it was a nice gesture, and why not if I was already going to get a drastic new do? I was about to begin my sophomore year of university and was completely oblivious to the little cancer cells that were gradually taking me over.

I have thought a lot about that haircut over the past four years. The symbolism of innocently donating my hair to Locks of Love; my reluctance to shave my head the first time I lost my hair; my refusal to wear a wig. I actually even blogged about that haircut one year after the fact in August 2007, when I was mostly hairless and going through treatment. In retrospect, it only confirms my belief in the fact that everything happens for a reason.

This here fun photo was taken right now (woo!). Obviously, my hair is all back. Curlier, but otherwise exactly the same. And vain or not, I love it. Short hair was, for me, a constant reminder of the physical side effects of the chemo. As were the intense chemo curls I used to have, but those have mostly grown out as well. These days the hair is long and healthy and, actually, in pretty dire need of a trim.

So full circles: I had an idea a few days ago. Everyone knows (I hope...) that I am training for the 2010 Chicago Marathon with Team in Training. I think about my training and running and the marathon every single day. It is only 2 months away, and it scares me to no end. Anyway, I mentioned to one of my coworkers this crazy idea I had: I am throwing around the notion of holding off on a haircut until October, until the marathon. At that time, I would chop it all off and, once again, donate it. My coworker's response: "That's a great idea. It would be like everything has come full circle for you." Donating the hair; losing it; regrowing it; donating it once more...

Full circle. I don't like that image. In fact, it threatens me: to have gone through so much the past four years, hair being the least of it, only to end up right back where I started... But then I realized it's just an expression; don't take it so literally. I am training for a Marathon, for goodness' sake. Absolutely nothing is the same. I graduated college. I am not the same. Cutting my hair in anticipation of the 26.2 miles I will run for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society would be the end of the past four years, not a return to the beginning.

Maybe I put too much emotional emphasis on symbols in my life. Running this race is a symbol. Donating my hair. Turning 24... If I can do this one thing, I can finally let go of something else. And yet I need these milestones, these tangible reminders of how far I have come in four years. So I probably will wait for my haircut. Anyone want to join me....?! Haha, thanks, as always, for reading and putting up with my silly vanities. I think I'll go for a run now. Happy Wednesday. Pax.

Mind games.

2010-07-17T10:48:00.003-05:00

Also titled: Was Jerry Garcia, perhaps, a runner?

Also titled squared: Am I a runner...?

This week's training run was a "cut back" week. Only 90 minutes. TNT's training schedule sporadically alternates between running set mileages and running for a set time. So for me, today's 90 minutes meant 8 miles and a couple desperate 5-minute walk breaks. Because today, for me, was an Epic Struggle. I say that not in my usual, Oh, it's no big deal, self-deprecating way, but in an honest, this run was forced and ugly, kind of way. I haven't been able to pin down the reason, but I can try and explain what I mean. Perhaps someone can tell me where I went wrong with this...

Usually when I run, my brain turns off. It is my time to totally decompress, to not have to think about or process anything. I zone out in tune to my footfalls and the rhythmic sloshing of my half-full and warm water bottle. Random ideas pop in and out, but nothing sticks, and I literally do not think. Today, however, my brain did not shut down. Thoughts kept popping up; I spent most of my first two miles trying to tell myself to focus on my breathing, clear out the distractions. But two miles in, my legs were leaden, struggling, and my brain was loaded.

Right around 2.5 miles, this thought fired up: "I can't do this." Rarely, very rarely, does that little "c-word" pop up for my consideration. There is not much I can't do, and even less that I am not willing to try. And yet, here I was, 20 minutes into a 90-minute run, thinking I can't do it. Thinking my legs were just going to stop propelling me forward at a mediocre pace. And then I thought, as smiling runner after smiling runner kept passing me, "I am just freaking jogging. Not even running." That thought lasted probably a good 3 or 400 meters before I managed to shut it out and let it go, focusing on the packed gravel trail we were running on.

I did not let myself stop until just over half-way through the run. But stop, I did. Who knows if I would have been able to keep running for another 45 minutes, if I could have forced a way through my mental roadblock... Here is what I think though: this was not entirely mental. As I turned around at about mile 4, I literally felt like I could fall asleep on my feet, right there. My body was completely exhausted, utterly worn down. I had this mental image in my head of my hip joints as rusty, ineffective gears, the type that takes a lot of physical effort to get turning. I think our bodies know what they need, but we have to listen to them. Mine was telling me that as much as my breathing was easy, as much as I mentally wanted to keep running, my legs were just not going to do it. So I adapted to it. I poured some cold Gatorade into me; I walked.

And then I was able to start up running again. Two more miles and another water break, then a mile and a half to finish it off. I think I ultimately ran for about 80 of the 93 total minutes clocked. So, well, it is what it is. To round out this post, my brain successfully quieted down on the second half of my run, thanks in large part to random Grateful Dead lyrics about running and trucking that kept popping up. It was a pretty sweet mash-up actually. But anyway, next week is a "long run," which, apparently, is any run over 10 miles or 90 minutes. I would like to politely disagree with whomever decided that... Pretty sure anything over 3 miles is a long run. Hopefully, though, it will go better than this week. Sleep might help... A better pre-run meal; a better night-before dinner? Sleep will help.

Hope you are staying cool wherever you are this weekend. It is supposed to be 90 degrees with 90% humidity in Chicago today. Movie day, anyone? Thanks again for reading and cheering and laughing at my silliness. Also, I know I am a runner. My brain was just scraping the bottom of the barrel for reasons to get me to stop. It is all good. Pax.

Long-distance runner, what you standing there for?

2010-07-10T12:26:00.006-05:00

The 2010 Bank of America Chicago Marathon is three months from today. From Today. 10/10/10 is just over 90 days away, and, fittingly, my Team in Training group ran 10 miles this morning. Somehow and somewhat surprisingly (at least to me), I actually ran 10 miles this morning. Every Saturday at 7:00 a.m., the whole training team meets up for our weekly "long run." And every Saturday morning I stand around with everyone, waiting, almost shaking in my sneakers with nervousness. Sleep is rubbed from eyes; good mornings are exchanged. We listen to each week's "Mission Moment," where someone shares their story or a friend or family member's story about their experience with a blood cancer. The Mission Moment is basically a few minutes for us to reflect on why we are putting ourselves through this; it is a reminder that, whatever our personal reasons for running are, there is a greater purpose behind all of it. And then we push ourselves out of the parking lot and begin the journey to a set mile-marker and back.

This morning, prior to our running 10 miles, I offered up the Mission Moment. I briefly shared my story, my diagnosis and subsequent remission. I also brought up the importance of running in my life. How the worst part of treatment was being unable to run, sometimes even unable to walk from exhaustion and all the other stuff. And now here I am, three years later, preparing myself to run the longest distance I have ever run. I told my team members that I have trouble finding inspiration from myself; others' stories and accomplishments keep me going. But I realized and tried to express that I am surrounded by inspiring people. Watching my teammates run, knowing why they are running and that they are pushing themselves to their physical and mental limits because they can, That inspires me. That is amazing. People will do amazing things for the causes they believe in.

When we signed up to join the fall Team in Training program, we were all given TNT technical shirts to wear during our runs. They are a bold purple and have TNT in large, block letters on the front. On the back of the shirt, on top of the list of sponsors, is the phrase, "Creating a world without cancer," a pithy summation of the LLS mission to cure blood cancers. I was just about at my eighth mile, and, while I wasn't exactly struggling, my body was wearing down. (8 miles having been, so far, the longest I'd ever run...) Anyway, I passed one of our run/walkers, and, for whatever reason, her shirt's message really struck me. If you'll please excuse my language, basically, my immediate reaction was, "F*** cancer. F*** it for screwing up my life and putting me in this position where I can have such deep-seated anger at something." And then I clenched my fist and gritted my teeth and ran just a little stronger.

Because here I am. I finished the run in about 1 hour and 45 minutes, which is about a 10:30 min/mile. Certainly not fast, but, whatever; I finished strongly. I am proud of myself, and I am proud of my teammates, and who knows... Maybe I will actually be able to run a whole 26.2 miles. You never know what life will offer you in the form of opportunity. Maybe it's a job offer; maybe it is cancer. Either way, I would not be who I am and where I am right now if the events of the past four years never happened. Maybe for better or worse, but here we all are, so I guess it is all about getting up, getting off, and getting out of that door... to finish this post's title. Thanks, Grateful Dead.

So that was this morning. That was my running update. As for everything else, the colonoscopy went well... The biopsies were all negative, so now I just have a wonky colon and no good reason why. It's fine. It is hot in Chicago; I guess it is hotter in Boston. I drink an ungodly amount of coffee, and yet I still desperately want to find a job where I don't get as much free coffee and coffee-based beverages as I want... Oh Starbucks; what would we do without you? Life is life I suppose. I hope you are enjoying your summer, staying cool! Thanks for checking in, and when was the last time you checked out my Training Page??!! Thank you So MUCH if you've donated...!! Happy Saturday; Happy July.

Peace...

Two dinners and Joseph Heller

2010-06-08T21:10:00.005-05:00

In one and a half days, I will be signing in at the gastroenterology department of my local hospital ninety minutes before my first-ever colonoscopy. For the record, this procedure was not on my early-twenties bucket list. Then again, neither were most of the things that have happened to me over the past three years, so I suppose that really doesn't mean much anymore. Regardless, tomorrow I will be taking all kinds of crazy laxatives to empty me out. I guess the doctors need a clear view of whatever it is that they are looking for up there... I really hope they find something. I hope their little scopes, as they check me out from both ends, come across the source of 10 months worth of intestinal drama. Yet I hope they find nothing. Because who knows what they might find. Having already had cancer once and a half (facetumor!), cancer is my knee-jerk reaction to anything wrong with my body. Although if they do find nothing, then we're back to square one, so I hope they find something. My rational mind, though, is fully aware that it is Highly Unlikely this will take the cancer route. Whatever is going on with my gut may be a latent effect of my cancer and treatment a few years ago, but it is probably a totally different type of illness.

So I won't be at a bar cheering on the Blackhawks tomorrow night because I will be scuttling back and forth between my couch and my bathroom. Although, beer is a clear liquid, right? Haha, no, I'm not that dumb. But I did just eat twice, knowing full well that there will be no solid foods in me for the next 36 hours. Woooo hoo.

Anyway, I just wanted to quickly update because I'm a little nervous and a lot frustrated about this whole thing. I hope it all ends soon. And my apologies for not being a bit more positive. There really are only so many good things you can say about some random person sticking a flexible, lit microscope up your bum and down your throat looking for what, we're not even sure. Exactly how I want to spend my Thursday! In all seriousness though, besides this little snafu, life has been pretty awesome lately. Things can only keep getting better; this I know for sure. So hopefully you're enjoying your weeks as well! Happy Tuesday, sad toad. Someone loves you in Chicago. Peace... and Go Hawks!

It's Hump Day!

2010-05-19T09:42:00.004-05:00

When was the last time you checked out my Team in Training homepage?? I am officially Half Way to my goal! Let's make it all the way, yes?

In case you've forgotten, I will be running the 2010 Chicago Marathon with Team in Training, for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I set my fundraising goal at $1500, which is a bit over the $1000 minimum. But together, I'm pretty sure this is an easily achievable goal. If you are in and/or around Chicago, stay tuned for potential fundraisers possibly involving music, possibly involving photography. Who knows; there are so many ways we could go with this. In the meantime, once again, check out my Page. It's pretty interesting... :) Thank you so much to everyone who has already donated. You Are The Best Ever!! Alright, happy hump days. Enjoy yours; I'm intending to. {Pax}

t.m.i. ...

2010-05-10T20:07:00.005-05:00

Once, some time ago, I mentioned to my oncologist some random pain or ache or other that I was currently and inexplicably experiencing. He responded, oh so reassuringly, that everything I was feeling, all the unusual and frequent sicknesses, all the random and probably harmless ailments, were a direct result of either the chemo or having had cancer or both. I posed this question while I was still in relatively active treatment, still receiving some chemo once a month. Now, 20 months after finishing any and all chemos for ALL, I can't help but wonder if I can still pull the "C" card as an excuse for current and inexplicable sicknesses.

Generally, as a rule, I don't like to bitch. Grumbling serves no purpose to anyone and usually only reinforces all the negative energy that seems to run rampant. That said, cancer sucks. Rather, cancer Still sucks. Everything that has been wrong with my body for the past 20 months, barring the one running injury, may or may not be a result of having had cancer. I honestly feel like I haven't been really and truly Healthy since probably months before my diagnosis. Case in point, I have spent the past two weeks alternating between feeling just OK, and feeling like I am dying. Haha, and that is only a bit of an exaggeration. After I returned from Moab, I came down with a gnarly little buggy that destroyed me for about a week. While I know everybody loves bodily fluids, my own body was doing everything in its power to purge every drop of anything from my insides. Pretty sure I'm still somewhat dehydrated. Although I did manage to lose about 5 pounds, so Bonus?

Then, just over a week ago, I went to see a GI doctor regarding the intestinal problems I am still having. (I brought them up in a post a few posts ago...) He thought I might have IBS and prescribed me some anti-spasmodics to help with the irregular bowel spasming. Well, those were a bad idea. The spasms certainly didn't get any better, and, in fact, I'm pretty sure I just became more dehydrated. The tips of all of my fingers actually started peeling, which, while interesting, was probably not a good sign. He had also done a blood test to check my thyroid as well as to check for markers of Crohn's disease. Supposedly, my thyroid is fine, but the Crohn's test came back with funky, unusable data. I guess my blood or something has been affected by my ALL. I'm shocked? The nurse told me this information over the phone, and I didn't understand it, but she didn't need me to come back in, so I hope it's all good. What isn't all good, though, is that following the little plastic-coated blue pills I took for my supposed IBS, my muscle cramps got worse, and Awesome! I've broken out in a sick rash on my buttocks. There's the tmi for ya. Bam. Haha. Buttocks.

So, once more, I have spent my entire day in bed, wondering what I did in a past life to warrant so many random and inexplicable sicknesses that are preventing me from running, from eating, from going to the bathroom like a normal person. The reason I bring this up isn't because I am looking for a sympathetic audience. Nothing like that, because seriously, whatever; all this will pass. What I am more concerned with is that there is no playbook for young-adult ALL survivors two years post-treatment. Can chemo give you IBS two years down the road? Or can it lead to an increased risk of developing shingles? Or will it give you the colon of a 72-year old man? I am 23 years old. My knee shouldn't be busted; there shouldn't be wicked rashes on parts where the sun don't (usually) shine. So who knows. This is all new territory for me, and it is extremely frustrating. I can't help but question whether I will ever feel "healthy" again, for any extended period of time.

In Moab, I had the privilege of rooming with a beautiful and strong woman, Phoenix. Phoenix has chronic myelogenous leukemia (CML), which means she lives with her cancer and its effects on her body and mind every single day. This woman, quite literally, Owned the rocks out in Utah. She was a natural climber, and if she was afraid at all, she certainly didn't show it as she pretty much just scrambled up cracks and over some serious overhangs. By the end of the week, her fingers and her feet were torn apart, blistered and bruising. Yet she persevered, ignoring the pain and proving to all of us that a little pain wasn't going to do Anything to interfere with her FD experience. She has, like all of us, since returned to her "real" life in the city, waking, working, drinking coffee, and heading back home to her apartment at the end of the day. She has also started running since she returned from Moab. At camp, she had talked about how she frequently went to the gym anyway, but she biked more than anything else. Now, though, for whatever reason, she is throwing running into her mix of awesome. This woman's strength of mind and body blows me away. Chronic leukemia be damned, she is going to Live her life. I'm sitting here, feeling angry and sorry for myself, and for what? Because my butt itches? That's stupid. Like I said, I have no precedent for these physical ailments, but if this is what life will be like for a while, I guess I'm going to have to take a page or two from Phoenix's book and get over it.

So those are my mid-May grumbles. Hopefully you're all feeling better than I am, and if not, Feel Better! Sickness stinks. Nobody likes sickness. But thank you for reading, as always. :) Peace.

motivation. (a vaguely self-indulgent running post...)

2010-05-01T17:53:00.004-05:00

But first... V-logs!!! I recently became aware of a huge number of video interviews on the Dana-Farber website that cover pretty much any survivorship topic you can imagine. Check out the link HERE!. Dana-Farber has a Lance Armstrong Young Adult Survivorship Clinic, and they have really been working hard to increase awareness of the clinic as well as offer more support to young adults. I've looked at some of the videos, although not all, and they seem pretty helpful as far as information goes. Obviously the advice and info offered by the interviewees will not apply to everyone, but I think they've got the right idea at least. The nutrition video was super interesting, although the chemo brain video peeved me a bit because my memory still fails me All the time, and I know I get enough sleep and eat well and take anti-depressants, so that wasn't much help. Haha, but I digress. I continue to be amazed by the resources available to young adults and the growth in awareness that has occurred even over the past three years. A lot of this stuff was around three years ago, but there is so much more information now, and there is (I truly hope) a greater willingness from young adults to take charge of their lives in light of cancer diagnoses. Amazing.

Segue to: Motivation. Over the past six or seven months, this concept has been on my mind a lot. Last August, First Descents sparked my running fire, which had been mostly dormant for a while. In Jackson, I met a lot of runners and a few marathoners. I realized these people are no different from me, really. And they're running and accomplishing goals I have, so far, only dreamt up. So I returned home to Chicago and decided I would run in the 2010 Chicago Marathon. My motivation was at an all-time high because I was still riding the First Descents wave of awesome.

Of course, waves crest and fall, and mine fell pretty far beginning about January. Treadmill running, the beginnings of an injury, and general winter-induced malaise all contributed to a gradual reduction in my marathon training. And then in the beginning of March, my IT band pain got completely out of control, and I stopped running altogether. For just about two months. And then (timing being everything), it was time for me to once again meet up with my FD family, this time in Moab, Utah. Once again, I met more of the most amazing people: funny, encouraging, generous, unconditionally accepting. Oh and they run too. In fact, our camp photographer, Bear, who I had the huge good fortune of getting to know a little bit over the week, is actually an Ultra runner. I had a suspicion of this the first day or two we were there, and when I finally gathered my courage to ask if he was a runner, and he told me, Yes! and I run ultras!, my mind seriously exploded a bit.

I've recently been reading a bunch of running-related books, some on marathoners and a few on ultrarunners, and here, out in Moab, Utah, I actually, somehow, had met one. We talked some about running, and I admitted, rather sheepishly, my goal of running the marathon. I also voiced my growing fear that I won't be able to do it because I hadn't run in two months and my knee has been so super wonky. He, like so many of my fellow campers that week, expressed his confidence in me and my ability to overcome the obstacles ahead.

Flash-forward to this past Thursday... Having battled a Nasty stomach virus and come out on the winning side, my body was almost screaming at me to go outside and run. My mind resisted, but my body was all like, "Girl, you can do this; I'm ready! Remember that you seriously can do anything!" So I did. I ran. Haha, I ran two whole miles! But, but but... My knee didn't hurt. I don't really believe in miracles, especially when there is a physiological explanation for the recovery of my IT band (I've been using a foam roller). But if I wanted to follow a mystical tack for a brief moment, whatever happened out in Utah, whatever I learned or realized that I still can't quite define, whatever motivation I found from meeting an ultrarunner who thinks I can run a marathon, any and all of those things combined to heal my leg. It's still twinge-y, and I'm walking a fine line right now between desperately wanting to jump right back into training and not exacerbating the problem, but I still ran on Thursday. I ran again on Friday. And then, this morning, I saw Bear's Facebook status that he had run a "quick 14 miles," and, even though earlier I had talked myself out of going for a run, I quickly threw on my running shoes and went for Another run. 2.5 miles today. And still no pain.

Good things are happening. So many good things. Not just with the running, but that is all I wanted to mention today. There will definitely be more updates soon with other good things going on. Let me just say that while I am talking about literal running, it is also a metaphor for my life over the past year. Buncha waxing and waning, but now I am ready to go. People are my motivation. People's stories, their interests, their insecurities. We are all in this world together, and who is to say that one person can run 14 quick miles before breakfast and I can't? (I can't, but it's only a matter of time.) So what's your motivation? What gets you out of bed and running into your day? I hope it's something good. Peace.

There are no words

2010-04-25T12:05:00.003-05:00

Well, there are many words, but most of them are inadequate; they will fall far short of acceptable enough to describe the past two weeks. How is it that the events of a certain group of 14 days can change everything you feel about yourself, change your entire future?

But first, some context:

One year ago yesterday was my last day of college. I was in Washington, DC, still taking pictures, running through Rock Creek Park and around the National Cathedral. I was 22 and had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life. I was no longer in any sort of active treatment for cancer, and so I thought I was done with it. I thought I could just move on with my life having beat cancer and graduated from college all in four years. But when I graduated on May 17, when I walked onto and across the stage at Agganis Arena at BU with my family watching me on the Jumbotron and all of my best friends sitting on black folding chairs on the arena floor, I had no plan whatsoever for the next day. The funny thing about having no plan is that you will not accomplish anything with it. So I floated through the next few months in Boston, shooting concerts and bartending. And then my mom told me to pack up my life; I was coming back to Chicago. It was either rent or health insurance, and, well, one sort of trumps the other.

And then, at the end of August, 2009, I showed up in Jackson, Wyoming, for a week-long climbing adventure with a bunch of other young adult cancer survivors. First Descents didn't really change my life; it would be unfair of me to take that away from some of the others whose lives it did change. It did, however, change a lot of things about me. I started blogging again; I realized how truly important it was for me to recognize myself as a cancer survivor. I also instantly found a new family, my FD family, and I would be in a much worse place now if it weren't for them.

So. Two weeks ago, I flew to Boston to speak at a young adult cancer conference. I went into the conference tremendously intimidated because the keynote speakers the past few years have been these amazing, successful women who have published books and been on television and pretty much set the cancer-survivor bar pretty high. Me, I am just another person who has struggled with a whole lot of personal issues. But that's what I brought to the table. I am someone you pass on the street and not normally think twice about. I work at Starbucks. Yes, I blog, but there are a lot of better-known or better-worded blogs out there. So I shared my experiences as any other person. I joked about struggling at college parties, and I tried my hardest to say something relatable. And it was a success! The conference was all kinds of amazing. I met other cancer survivors, other young adults who Got what I was saying. If I may be a little immodest, I want to share some of the conference feedback:

"Loved her, really related to her as a college student!"
"She was awesome!"
"Caroline was wonderful! She was a voice for some specific feelings and thoughts that I have had. I truly appreciated her courage to share her experiences and genuinely felt inspired by it, thank you"

This may sound silly, but I don't really have a lot of deep-seated confidence. It's a process; I'm working on it. But to have someone actually Underline that I'm awesome? Haha, that's cool. I can only hope the other young adults left that conference feeling something of the tremendous pride I felt. We are all a pretty amazing group of people.

And then, one week ago today, I hopped on a plane to Grand Junction, Colorado, where I would be meeting 12 other cancer survivors. Once again, I was going to a climbing camp, this time in Moab, Utah, with First Descents. I thought, erroneously, that I had learned everything there was to learn about myself at camp in Jackson. I thought this would just be another opportunity to make new friends and climb and take some stellar photos. All of this ended up being true and then some, but I was also shocked into the realization that 12 people I've only known for a few short days can know more about me than I know about myself. That to actually hear someone tell me they are proud of me and they believe in me means a whole lot to me. That someone pretty much yelling at me that I am "effing awesome," while I blush and shake my head, can actually penetrate my intricate shell.

This time, these people changed my life. I am actually tearing up right now remembering the tremendous amount of love we shared this past week. I am still trying to process everything that happened, everything I learned and came to terms with. So there will probably be another post sometime to try and word-vomit all of that out. But I needed to write something now. This was the beginning of something new for me; I can feel it. I don't yet have a solid plan, but I am so ready to go. It has been a year of waffling, but no more. Things will only get better, and in the meantime, I am just about to explode from all of the emotions I am still feeling.

So that's my update. Sorry it is so wordy... But I figure you only get one of these things every so often; a longer post makes up for it. I hope everyone is enjoying their spring so far. It is almost May! Where is this year going? Best wishes from Chicago, though, and if you're looking for a photographer, give me a holler. Right on. Peace.

photo courtesy of Barry Reese c. 2010

Please leave your shoes (and your modesty) at the door

2010-03-29T15:23:00.004-05:00

Have you remembered your (large) towel? Are you wearing little and lightweight clothing? Have you brought your own water bottle? Oh, no? Well, don't worry; we have a refrigerator chock full of Zico, now in environmentally friendly tetra-packs! It's like yoga's Gatorade. Grab your mat, head into the hot-room, and calm your mind in anticipation of sweating out a few gallons of water.

If any of this sounds vaguely familiar, then perhaps you, too, have experienced the unique experience that is Bikram yoga. My first experience came just a few short hours ago. Recently, I decided to give yoga a second chance, especially since I haven't been able to run and my new bike is still in transit. (I dismissed yoga the first time around as ineffective. That was before I learned how to calm the hell down.) My gym offers a few yoga classes throughout the week, and I have been going to some of the 7 a.m. "gentle" yogas, unsure of where I stood technique-wise or even whether this stretching/breathing/focusing thing could work for me. The early classes have been pretty good as far as getting a handle on the basics, but they were far from challenging for someone who is already fairly flexible.

A few days ago, I was talking with a woman at my gym following a sub-par bike workout, and she mentioned that there is a Bikram yoga studio only a few towns away. Now, I had actually been playing with the idea of looking more into this whole "hot yoga" thing. Learning there was a studio mere miles away provided the impetus I needed to take that first step. So today, I showed up wearing running shorts and an Old Navy tank top and signed my name to their Bikram yoga release form.

I did my homework. I knew the classes take place in rooms heated to around 105 degrees F. I knew to drink plenty of fluids all day, and I hadn't eaten for three hours prior. I was prepared to sweat like a maniac; I was prepared to stretch like a maniac; I was even prepared to breathe deeply. And so for 90 minutes, I did all of those things. But I also completely forgot about everything that wasn't directly related to keeping my balance or remembering to breathe. It was the strangest combination of relaxing and heated hell.

Sweat poured from my, well, pores, I guess. When you first walk into the room, the heat isn't overwhelming. It embraces you while it gradually insinuates itself into your body. Even just lying on your mat waiting for class to start, finding your center, you begin to perspire. When the yoga instructor walked in and directed us to stand to begin, I could feel my sweat beginning to mass. And then possibly ten minutes into our Warm Up (!), I looked down and saw that my thighs were beading sweat that was already letting gravity have its way with it. For a minute, I freaked. While a totally natural and healthy cooling mechanism, sweat is still kind of gross, still slightly embarrassing. Then I slyly glanced around and saw that everyone else was in the exact same boat. Hands clasped together, arms above our heads, chests out, breathing deeply, as deeply as you can and then just a little bit more, we were all already sweating. And this was the warm-up.

Needless to say, the poses became more intense with more complicated names. Standing on one leg in a 105-degree room, trying to hold your other leg at 90 degrees with your clasped hands in front of you ("So your legs look like a perfect 'L'!"), you become acutely aware of your body. You have no choice but to focus on your positioning and breathing if you want to keep your balance and not cramp up. With yoga, it is all about total awareness of your body and your placement in the present. You are in this world, but not of it. As it was though, I know my limitations and with about 20 minutes left of the class, I was starting to bottom out. My heart was pounding furiously from the relentless heat and the sustained poses.

I am proud of doing as much as I did though. I don't know the names of most of the poses, besides the most basic: triangle, tree, sphinx. Like they say too, the best part really is when the class is over. Walking out of that literal sauna into the cool entry room was the best part of my day. I toweled off and drove home, singing along with the radio and feeling all kinds of accomplished. Dare I say, relaxed, even. Hopefully, I can convince my body to go back. It seems like my sort of yoga: intense and athletic but with a big focus on breathing and placement.

So that is my account of my first experience with Bikram yoga. Any other stories out there? Yoga or otherwise... Everyone loves stories! Hopefully I will have a running update soon, but for now, my knee is still not cooperating. Who knows, maybe all of this will help. Either way, enjoy your Tuesdays, and thanks for humoring me once more. Peace.

A confession.

2010-03-19T18:05:00.004-05:00

A few days ago I wrote that I was doing splendidly and moving on with my life, etc., etc. Which is all fine and well and good and mostly true. However, on rereading said post, it occurs to me that A: I come off as super narcissistic and B: there are a lot of things I did not mention that deserve to be mentioned.

In response to qualm A, well, it is my b-log, so I suppose I am entitled to write about my goings on. My problem with the post stems from the fact that, as written, it "tells" rather than "shows" how I feel, which pretty much directly violates the instructions of every writing class I have ever taken. The writing is bland, boring. Some of my posts from bygone days have literally made me laugh out loud or physically cringe when I reread them. Tuesday's post makes me want to cringe too, but not in the good, oh that is some crazy descriptive writing there, way. It is funny because it was all pretty much good news; I just totally dropped the ball with the writing. To my college-sophomore COM 201 writing professor, I apologize. Thanks for passing me.

As to qualm B... Here is the truth: I am going a bit nuts. Don't worry; I haven't started talking to the little men who live under my bed. I have, however, not run in over two weeks. As in, almost Three weeks! Three weeks?? And the shameful reality is there is a small demon voice in my head whispering no way I'll be able to train to actually run 26.2 miles. Two weeks ago my three months of relative health caught up with me, and whatever bug has been zooming around my family and coworkers found its way into my system. Coughing, sneezing, labored breathing, the whole usual bit. And then a few days ago, just as I was feeling better, the sickness resurfaced in my sinuses. It is currently residing in my nose and lungs, but it is also slowly diminishing. So. The point is that I haven't run for the past two weeks with good reason. The problem is that I am too hard on myself. Par for the course.

The broader picture: I find it very interesting to read and hear some of the motivation offered to us runners with Team in Training. Obviously, I support Team in Training and what they do and where they direct their funds. But I would be interested to hear from or talk to other runners who have actually survived their own diagnosis of a blood cancer. I would like to know why they are running, what motivates them. Personally, I am running for me, to prove to myself that this is something I can do. I would assume (possibly incorrectly) that many of those running with Team in Training (who have not had cancer) are running for someone else (who has). Please do not misunderstand me: I chose TNT because of their mission, because I know some amazing people who have been diagnosed with leukemia or lymphoma, and their struggles pretty much tear my heart apart. No One should get cancer, and if I have to run to do my part to help eradicate it, then so be it. I am just struggling with will and motivation. This may sound strange, but other people's running provides me with a lot of motivation. I have been stocking up on different runners' memoirs and crazy accounts and histories of races. The science behind running is my motivation, nutrition, the effects running has on our bodies. Does that make me strange? Probably, a little. Whatever I have though, is it enough to get me out the door every morning when my knee is killing me and I have a Nyquil hangover? Is it selfish to think, "Hey, I've been there, done that cancer thing. I am not running for the cancer"? So much, then, for empathy.

And finally, a few weeks ago, I was flattered and honored to be asked to speak at an annual young-adult cancer conference at Dana-Farber, the "I'm Too Young for This" conference (not associated with the i2y organization; just a funny coincidence of names). Three weeks from tomorrow, I will be standing in front of a crowd of young adults who will probably think I am some kind of nutter and wonder if they can get their money back for this free conference. Self-deprecation will abound! Thinly-veiled requests for a job from the sponsors will fly! And somewhere buried deep in my speech will be a desperation to connect, to make an observation or raise an issue that will resonate with whomever hasn't yet fallen asleep. Surely, with everything I have experienced, I can find something to say that won't be total bollux... But we'll see. I still have to write the speech.

And so that's my real b-log update. Tuesday's post may have been true and all that, but those were just words. This here is good, solid, unresolved conflict in my brain. Happy Spring. Peace.

The mysterious case of the missing blogger...

2010-03-16T13:49:00.002-05:00

Resolved! I apologize for, yet again, dropping off the board for a while. Although, when I don't blog, it is mainly because I don't have anything cancer-related to report. Which means - and this is important - my cancer diagnosis and treatment are rapidly becoming another part of my past. This past is hugely important to me, and it has pretty much defined who I have become, but it also no longer controls my present. My anger at my personal cancer has basically disappeared; my body is back to normal; my energies are focused elsewhere in my life.

I am a year and a half finished with my treatment, and as of one week ago, I am still cancer free (!) and clear for another six months of straight chilling. I do need to note, however, that I have chosen to make cancer a part of my life. Perhaps "chosen" is a strong word, but after everything I have gone through, I have found that I cannot just ignore the fact that I had cancer and move on with my life in some unrelated direction. I volunteer with Imerman Angels; I am looking for a job working at a non-profit; I am running for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society! The social effects of my illness have made me realize that I can use my experiences to help others, and I want to help.

So, cancer, I hope you have enjoyed your day in the sun, because your influence on my day-to-day living has ended. I would like to thank you for everything that you have given me: amazing new friends, countless opportunities to help others, a voice with which to blog, a level of maturity and self-awareness I might not have found for years. For all this and more, I thank you. I know everyone's cancer-story is unique, and many people possibly don't share my sentiments towards this disease. All things considered, I got off pretty easy. A little depression here, some hair loss there, but I've gotten through it and am stronger for having survived. I can only hope that people with a similar situation can one day have a similar response to their cancer. That's the funny thing about this world: it keeps turning, the days keep coming, and all we can do is respond so that hopefully we can enjoy the days we have. Or something.

It has been a super long winter for me, and my words cannot do justice to how happy I am to finally see things growing again. To run outside. To (hopefully) invest in a mountain bike and pedal all over these crazy suburbs. So that's what is up here. Happy Tuesday, sad toad.

Generally ridiculous....

2010-01-22T19:28:00.004-06:00

For a few different reasons, I was recently doing a very small bit of online research on William "The Fridge" Perry. Perry is a former Chicago Bears defensive lineman, well-known not only for his size, but also (and particularly in Chicago) for being a member of the 1985 Super Bowl Bears winning team. As this year's Super Bowl draws ever nearer, Chicago Bears fans are reminded, yet again, that we, yet again, didn't even make the playoffs. But I digress.

This past August, I had the luck and privilege of attending a climbing camp for cancer survivors in Jackson, Wyoming. One of the stipulations of the week-long adventure was that every camper was given or earned themselves a nickname. One of the amazing things about First Descents is that once you arrive, the person you were before camp, all of the pain and uncertainty that marked your life, doesn't matter. You are given a new name; all that matters are the people surrounding you, the friendships you make; the literal mountain to climb. On my first afternoon in Jackson, I mentioned to one of the group leaders that I was a pretty big Chicago Bears fan. (FYI, I don't remember statistics or names or most of the football minutia. I am unable to identify plays and only recently learned what a "pump fake" is. In short, I am a terrible football fan. But I also spent a lot of time in a hospital bed about three years ago with nothing to do and not much to look forward to other than playoff games and a Super Bowl in which my Home Team was playing. Those games got me through a pretty long mid-winter in Chicago and solidified my allegiance to the Chicago Bears).

So I was dubbed "The Fridge," Fridge for short. William Perry and I have very little in common. Sadly, I do not get to run people over for a living. I am also nowhere near 6'2, 382 pounds. I do like to eat though, so I suppose that is something...

This all ties together, I promise. In Jackson, for whatever reason, more than a few of the survivors there were runners. Meeting them, even, once, running with two of them, I realized, hey, maybe I really can do this. These women and men have triumphed over cancer, and now they are running marathons and participating in triathlons. They took their illness and what they learned from it and ran with it. Literally. I couldn't stop thinking about them and their strength once camp was over. I returned to Chicago and on October 11, 2009, the day of the 2009 Chicago Marathon, swore to myself that I would be among those runners in one year.

As of January 20, 2010, I have taken the second step. I, Caroline "Fridge" Bridges am now officially registered to run with Team in Training for the 2010 Chicago Marathon. I know it is official because they have even given me my very own Fundraising Page! I am not soliciting donations (yet), just pointing out that I am Going to do this. Although October and 26.2 miles seems a damn long way away from January and three miles...

Sitting in my bedroom, pushing through some SADness, I know the winter doldrums cannot last forever. It helps to have a long-term, solid goal. It also helps that I am running with Team in Training, and I know that everything I am doing, all the running-pain I will be willingly forcing on myself over the next eight months will (hopefully) help another person with leukemia or lymphoma. I'm all about paying it forward, that is, once I figure out the best way for me to do it. Which in this case, means running like a maniac for an organization I strongly believe in.

So that's what is up. Hopefully you are surviving January.... Go for a run or something! Haha. Alright, happy Saturday. Peace.

True confessions of a shamelessly lazy bum

2010-01-14T20:23:00.005-06:00

I have a health dilemma. Or possibly my body is just confused. Either way, I do not know what to eat. It has now been over a year since I finished all chemos, but I am still having diet issues. Not weight issues, but issues with what I can and should be eating and how those foods are affecting my body's precarious internal balance. This past August, I began having some GI problems: cramping, gassy, mostly unpleasant and definitely not dinner-table-conversation symptoms. I stopped eating meat pretty much altogether because I thought my symptoms might have something to do with eating meat. I also mostly stopped eating dairy (although I have had a lot of trouble dropping cheese...). Neither of those diet changes did much to help my colon conundrum.

Around October, I tried to stop eating wheat/gluten based products, knowing that gluten allergies can affect the bowels. There, however, I came across a huge challenge. I was hungry all the damn time, and frankly, I just couldn't do it. I could not drop three major food groups from my life. Especially when one of my personal dietary staples was (is...) pizza. So I have retained wheat in my life, although primarily the whole and unbleached variety. Honestly, I don't think it was the wheat anyway.

The other thing is that I have always had a dangerously soft spot for sugar and chocolate. Even now, even this afternoon, I would just as soon have a cookie and a Starbucks sugar bombe drink than eat food with any nutritional value. Well, maybe that isn't quite true. If there had been tasty and satisfying food handy, I would have gladly eaten it. As it stood, I was super hungry at work, and, well, I work at Starbucks. Like I said, I am lazy; I also forgot I made some delicious pasta last night and it was just chilling, all alone, in my fridge. It's funny though because I am not ignorant. I know the amount of sugar I consume is Not Good for anyone, much less someone who has already had a slew of sugar-hungry cells take over her body for a little while. In the most basic of layman's terms, from what I understand, sugar stimulates cancer-cell growth. From there it gets a whole lot more technical for my liberal arts majoring self, but I get the gist of it: too much sugar = bad for cancer patients, especially those with tumors. Too much sugar is not healthy, period, but how does it affect former cancer patients, those of us whose tumors have (hopefully) disappeared?

I am sure all of this is somehow connected: my stomach troubles; my low-energy levels throughout the day; my sugar affinity; my lack of motivation to go to the gym. What I am not sure of, however, is how this all connects to my having had cancer. Because, of course, this is all cancer's fault... Haha. I am also not sure where to go from here. Meat? No meat? Wheat? Or not? I'm sure we all can agree that I should get rid of all the sugar... But that is easily the hardest part. Does it all come down to motivation? And, if that is the case, any suggestions on how to stay motivated....?

In all seriousness, I would really like to hear what anyone else has experienced in a similar situation. Did cancer (or illness) force you to change your diet for good? How and to what end? Perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to meet with a sports nutritionist. Or a hypnotist... Either way. I'm sure one day all of these things will straighten themselves out. Or you can help me straighten them out...? Or I will straighten them out. Or, something like that.

also: HAPPY NEW YEAR. Here's hoping 2010 brings only and many wonderful things to everyone. :) Peace.

Getting in the Christmas stomach

2009-12-24T16:35:00.003-06:00

Wait... That doesn't sound quite right. Christmas Spirit?! No, no, definitely the Christmas stomach. So many cookies, breads, cheeses, chocolate covered everythings... I am feeling a wee bit guilty about all of it, especially since I haven't had time to run the past two days, and I won't be running tomorrow either... So, definitely feeling the Christmas stomach.

Haha, but it is all good. I love cookies and chocolate and bread and cheese, so much good cheese. I also love shopping for my family, walking around the malls and boutiques, considering what my little brother might like or find amusing this year, what my mother deserves after another year of putting up with all of our shenanigans, what my dad could use to spruce up our camp in Canada.... And then watching as they open their gifts, their (hopefully, fingers crossed) joy as they slip a finger underneath the tape to reveal that sweet t-shirt or watch or pocket-size multi-tool. Sitting around our living room with a fire going, hot chocolate and coffee, maybe a mimosa or two, everyone together once again; that is Christmas.

Three years ago I was plopped in a hospital bed for Christmas, and that was the only time in my 23 years that I did not spend the day goofing around with my family. They came to the hospital and tried to bring Christmas with them, but it is obviously not the same as actually sitting in that living room in front of the fire and the tree and All of the food. Actually, if I remember correctly, Christmas marked the very beginning of all of my chemo treatments, and I was really not feeling too well that day. Kind of poopy, if you know what I mean...

But now, here I am, once again, on Christmas Eve, sitting at home and laughing at the stupidity and normalcy of my family. I actually had to work earlier today, and as I was sweeping the floor of Starbucks, I had a pretty obvious epiphany. My thought, as another Christmas carol was playing over the speakers, was: "I am so glad I am alive right now." It wasn't brought on by any special moment or event, just the usual mundane life thing. It was a brief thought, but I'm glad it decided to stop into my head.

It is Christmas, and my family is all sorts of awkward and rude and tense, and I love them for it, and I can't imagine not spending these days with them. I wish everyone a Very Merry Christmas or whatever holiday you celebrate. Hopefully you are with people who love you and whom you love as well. And if not, well, there is always cheese... Whatever you need to do, do it so that you can love your life, even just a little bit.

I love you all, and thank you for a wonderful year, and to all a good night! :)

Music makes my world a much better place

2009-12-14T19:58:00.003-06:00

I have a number of important cancer-related updates for those of us who may be curious what, if any, lingering physical effects remain from the nearly two years of chemo I received. Well. Let me tell you, I am still finding little interesting tidbit remainders. For instance: just under 3 years ago, I started this one drug, vincristine. Same 'ol cancer-cell killing chemo drug, one of many. One of the notable side-effects of this drug, however, is "peripheral neuropathy." "Numbness or tingling in the hands and feet" anyone? Basically, the drug damages the nerves in the tips of your fingers and toes. I experienced mild numbness in my fingers, often contributing to comedic ventures involving toast... But I digress. The feeling eventually returned to my fingers and toes, and all is well. I recently learned, however, that the damage is longer-lasting than I had thought. As the temperature continues to drop outside, my hands continue to get cold. One day recently, my hands got Really cold outside. And I found that when the rest of my hands started to warm up, my finger tips continued to tingle. It took a really long time, a lot of frantic hand-shaking, and more than a few minutes under hot water for them to finally get back to feeling. So. In summation: whatever happened to the tips of my fingers seriously affected my cold hand peripheral circulation nearly three years later. Hoorah! Weird feeling to not be able to feel.

Update number dos: As some of you may know from having seen me, when my hair decided it was time to grow back two years ago, it did, in fact, grow back curly. For two years now, I have had a serious love/hate relationship with my hair. When it was super short and curly, it was cute and fun. Then it started growing out some and (I thought) it looked unshapely and awkward. I was hesitant to get it cut though because I am vain and truly enjoy having my hair around. 'S anyway, it kept on growing. Finally, this spring and into summer, it had grown out enough that I liked it. I also didn't like it. I didn't like what the curls stood for, but I had resigned myself to them. A hairdresser had confirmed for me one year ago that I was officially a curly-haired lady. Funny thing though; she was Wrong. I manned up and got myself a much-needed haircut last Tuesday. And the curls? Are gone. Cut off. Caroline - 1. Chemo Curls - 0. My hair is still kind of wavy, but the ringlets of yore are now nothing but memories fraught with emotion. So if you are female and in chemo or recently out of chemo and your hair grew back curly, perhaps it is only a temporary permanent...

And those are my sort of lame cancer-updates. In separate but sort of related news, I love life so hard right now. Maybe it is the haircut. Maybe it is that my jeans are getting consistently baggier. Maybe it is that I have been volunteering more and Finally going out and taking pictures. Perhaps it is because I made a decision to be more proactive with my photography and am working on figuring out how to find myself a job. Or maybe it is that a random guy told me I was "really cute" the other night, which, even if he was some guy I will never see again and is ultimately unimportant in the long-term, it is still nice to hear those sorts of things.

Nothing has really changed except that every day I get a little more comfortable with my current situation and what I can do to make it better for myself. Am I allowed to be happy at stupid things? It is so easy for me to get dragged down by life sometimes. Obviously; I have been complaining all about it on here. But Photos, Music, random guys, chocolate? Rodrigo y Gabriela playing at Barnes and Noble while I'm eating a cookie and drinking tea? Seriously, that is my idea of just about perfect, and I am living it right now. Insurance be damned, I will smile in spite of your attempts to bring me down.

Finally, briefly: a new, serious attempt to put my photography "out there." It is new, in progress, and still being edited, but I am always open to suggestions and comments. Check it out!! HERE. Anyway, so, Happy Tuesday, sad toad.

Hormonal Rantz!

2009-12-07T15:51:00.003-06:00

ummm.... I am sorry for my p.m.s.-induced sob-story of a prior b-log post. I swear and promise I am not usually that blatantly depressing. Somewhat embarrassingly, I am pretty sure that whole thing was a result of some severe p.m.s. I'm not sure if it is the drugs I am still on or if my body is finally figuring itself out after 3 years of birth-control, steroids, weight loss and gain, or what, but recently I have been getting this new and bothersome moodiness the week before my period. Woot! Personal information! But anyway, please do not take me too seriously.

Because here is the thing. If you were given the choice, would you take the past three years and change them? If you could, would you erase all the events and whatever may have happened these last 36 months? I would not. I would not change anything that has happened. Perhaps, in retrospect, I am a bit disappointed with how I may have reacted to some things, but every single event stemming from exactly three years ago tomorrow has shaped me into the person I am so proud to be today.

I was at the Imerman Angels holiday party this past Thursday, and one of the speakers said that cancer is "highs and lows." It isn't always the deep darkness; there are moments of happiness and joy and hope interspersed throughout the whole thing. The lows help us to appreciate the highs that much more, and having gotten through the dark times, I am so, So thankful to be here. I was sitting in Caribou Coffee earlier (don't judge me.), and I realized that in spite of everything, I am freaking glad to be alive right now. Haha, I love me so much, and I love life and my family and my friends and laughing and writing and music and running and just being able to sit at a corner table in a coffee shop watching clouds shift and fly on an almost winter day. How can you not love those things, really?

Having cancer forced me to take a good, solid and long look at myself and figure out who I was and who I wanted to be. Some of the realities that I confronted scared me, and some things I was okay with. Either way, I did a good amount of serious self-examining, which I probably wouldn't have done for years. Now I get to live my life without having to figure out who I am, which is different from trying to figure out what I want to do - also a difficult question, but not nearly as important. Whatever I end up doing with myself, I will do it with confidence and (hopefully) a smile.

Finally, I met an author a few weeks ago at a book reading. He had written a memoir, and I screwed up my courage and went to his reading in some random person's living room in Naperville. The reading itself was relatively uneventful. But I asked Stephen about being honest in a memoir. Basically, he told me that life never ends up neatly and tidily. In reality, the hero doesn't conquer all the demons and ride off into the sunset with no worries, and a memoirist who ends with that theme is lying to the reader. So, as this is something of a memoir, I would like to be honest in that it has been three basically crappy years. My "college years" were wrecked, and now I'm stuck trying to figure it all out, and it is not easy. But, like I said, I wouldn't change it. Life is going to continue to be messy and sticky and probably often unpleasant, but it is All Mine.

So tomorrow, as the saying goes, a very merry UnBirthday to me. It kind of is a birthday, of sorts. Definitely an unbirthday. Haha, feel free to celebrate your unbirthday tomorrow, as well. Why not? You're still here, kicking and screaming and pushing through to the good times, and that is worth some tea and cake, at the very least. Aight, I'm out. Peas.

Okay, whose god did I anger this time?

2009-12-01T22:37:00.003-06:00

And how do I get back in his or her graces?? Shiva - the Hindu god often referred to as "the destroyer?" Athena - Greek goddess of warfare and wisdom? Or even my God, whom I haven't really talked to in a while? Somehow, somewhere in there I must have done something to throw my karma all off track, and I am at a complete loss as to how to fix it or even if I can.

I should be going to sleep right now. I am supposed to get up and run some miles tomorrow morning, but I haven't been able to fall asleep at reasonable hours lately. 12.30 a.m. (for me) is not a reasonable hour. I think there has been so much on my mind lately that I can't quiet it down, but I also cannot distinguish between thoughts. Tonight, for instance, I have spent the past few hours looking at a number of different cancer blogs, and almost all of them have made me realize I have been rattling on in the b-log, whining about the small stuff and the emotional not-really-drama in my life. People - young people, old people, generally beautiful people - are sick; they are dying, and some have already died. And I read those blogs and struggle not to cry because it is not fair that I should be sitting here bitching about a stupid cold while they are savoring life even though they may be struggling to breathe.

How is it so easy to forget what we've learned? After the hard stuff is over, when the life-loving glow of surviving a trauma fades away, which it inevitably will for most of us, we often forget what it means to truly appreciate each and every day for what it is. Why has it been so easy for me to forget? A year ago when I had the face tumor, I was happier than I had been in a very long time. Yes, I was in serious pain for a while and couldn't really eat, but my friends surrounded me and supported me, and I was completely and absolutely in love with life. I was recently perusing some of the b-log archives and my old journal, and I realized why I felt so free. I had, yet again, escaped a death-sentence. Before they finally diagnosed and started treating my tumor, I thought I was going to die again. Not die, again, but face the fear for the second time. And then they told me it was non-cancerous and four weeks of Rituxan and Bam! face-tumor free. The physical effects of the tumor were negligible on my overall mood because I was just so freaking relieved to know what it was and to have a plan of action.

Only one year later, however, and one week away from my three-year anniversary of my diagnosis, and everything seems to be just a bit off with me. Losing important things; breaking things; sniffling. I really don't want to get sick again, and I don't think that I will, but I might. I am only one year out of treatment. It is anyone's game at this point. Looking into my chest full of emotions, I can feel a storm brewing (mixed metaphors, what?). Right now though, the swirling intangible cloud is comparable to when you are in second-grade art class and don't yet fully understand the color wheel and so mix All of the colors together and get... a muddy sort of grey? That's not pretty at all. Nor is it possible to discern one color from another. Nor am I sure what I feel or even what I want to feel.

So I blame the cosmos for messing with my chi (qi). Although in fairness, I have completely lost or am ignoring my inner peace. I know it used to be there... I read other blogs or hear from friends and see their amazing news, their daily stepping out to meet the day head on, and I wonder what I am missing right now. I have accepted and am generally no longer inhibited by the cancer, but the next step is eluding me: the maintaining of the found or acquired peace in daily living, throughout the mundane and the frustrating everyday annoyances. People survive. They get through, somehow. They smile, then laugh, then move on, if they can. If they can't, hopefully they are happy now. I am learning just how much of a challenge life can be, but it is still wonderful. I am still sitting here next to some of my photos, in a sun-yellow wrap, watching a candle flicker on my desk, and it is still beautiful and hopeful. So there's that. There will always be that. Well, that, and my ramblings... In the meantime, hopefully you have your own Peace.

A rant. And a bit of a rave.

2009-11-21T23:11:00.002-06:00

Warning: I am in a bit of a foul mood. I assume no responsibility for transferral of said mood to others who might otherwise be in a good mood. Read at your own risk. Thanks!

Why in the name of all things worth fighting for am I getting sick? Again!? It is not okay, and I am not okay with this. All I want and have wanted for the past three years is to be healthy and to stay healthy. Sure, sure, yeah, yeah, there is no more cancer in me. I am "healthy." But this death-cold is getting ridiculous. It has been a year since I finished any and all cancer therapies, and yet here I am, still battling the Plague almost every other week. According to my doctor, it is possible to still have a lowered resistance to infections maybe three to six months following treatment. (If anyone has any other science to refute this, please, share....) At this point, I should be completely in the clear. I should not be cutting my runs in Half because I cannot breathe and I do not have the energy to push myself. Perhaps it is the running that is doing me in...? But no! Not yet, anyway. According to Runner's World, running can actually boost your immunity, at least until you start running longer than 90 minutes, after which point it inhibits immunity. But I am barely running 30 (40 if I'm lucky and have eaten) minutes. So. Running, out. What else is there? I wash my hands like a maniac; my job pretty much requires constant hand-washing. I usually get at least eight hours of sleep, often more. I drink lots of water and eat generally well. Why, then, am I Still Getting Sick? Gaaaahhh.

And a rave: I have always sort of alluded to this, but now I am going to lay it all out there.

I have not gotten through treatment and post-treatment and after post-treatment by myself. My friends have been there for me. My family has been indescribably amazing. Even though it was often difficult living at home and then dealing with my parents' concerns long-distance, I would not have been able to do anything without my mom and my dad's support. And finally, just about two years ago, I started seeing a psychologist. Once I returned to school after my major treatment, I struggled to assemble some new sense of self, and I felt desperately alone. I needed professional help, and while it was very hard for me to admit I could no longer handle everything alone, it was also a huge step that I sought therapy. I saw my psychologist up until the week I left Boston this past July, and I cannot imagine what would have happened to me if I hadn't started working with her. Friends and family can only offer so much empathy, and I was failing at readjusting. She helped me to flesh out and at least attempt to resolve a lot of cancer-related issues and more than a few issues exacerbated by cancer. One of the major revelations and acceptances was that I was/am depressed, and the cancer was making it worse. So a year and a half ago, I started taking anti-depressants, and they have made such a tremendous difference. I did not want to start taking them; again, I thought I could handle my emotions on my own. The last thing I wanted was to start taking another drug, especially one that would affect my mood. I figured I could bring myself out of my depression on my own. Alas, I really couldn't. So, pills, therapy, family and friends. My survival kit for post-cancer treatment ailments. I am still working through most of my issues, and I am still struggling with depression. Somehow, I don't think that is ever going to go away. Every day requires a concerted effort to push through, to smile at the stupid little stuff.

I am and have always been stubborn. I downplay and even ignore my problems, whether physical or emotional. My stubbornness is why it took me so long to see a doctor when my bones were all stuffed full of cancer, and it is why it took me six years to seek out help for something I have always struggled with, the depression thing. But ultimately, we all reach some sort of breaking point, a point where we can either admit we need help and receive it, or else we can block the pain out and let the potential for healing become exponentially more difficult. I wish I could say I always recognize and ask for help when I need it, but I don't. Especially when I am dealing with myself. Maybe that's why I am still getting colds; maybe my body is really saying, "Caroline, seriously, pay attention to me! Eat more leafy greens!" But who knows, really.

Well, I feel a bit better now, having gotten all of that out. haha, I still have a whole treasure trove of concerns I may or may not get around to addressing at some point on here, but I will hold off for the rest of this evening. (A teaser though: Chemo Brain! Real? Imagined? Am I going completely crazy? Am I already crazy? Why can I not remember that freaking word...??) Otherwise, I hope everyone has wonderful Sundays. It is supposed to maybe snow-ish here on Thursday, so we will see what this coming week brings. Personally, I am hoping for good news of Any kind. Word. Peace.

One down; Four to go.

2009-11-12T22:50:00.002-06:00

I realized today that Tuesday was the one-year anniversary of the last drug infusion I received for any cancer-related evils. According to my doctor, that date, November 10, 2008, is the date from which we begin counting down until five years after treatment finishes. After November 10, 2013, I will be completely and absolutely and totally finished with Everything cancer-related. No more PET scans, no more labs, not nearly as much grief. As I mentioned, I have already (somehow?) survived one year. Fittingly, today was both an awesome and a God-awful day. I wish, wish, wish that I was sharing this time with my friends, but they all seem to have scattered across the globe. Instead, I'll highlight what I do have and what thoughts have been running laps around my mind-track all day.

Awesome: I went for a run today. I have talked enough about how proud I am of myself that I can do this. One year ago, forget it. The resiliency of our bodies will never cease to amaze me. Respect them!

Also awesome: the cute guy at the gym knows my name! Granted, he works at the check-in desk, so I should hope he knows my name, but I will take what I can get. He still said, "Hey, Caroline," with his cute smile, as I walked in. score. Too bad I look like a total scrub at the gym.

God-awful: the Chicago Bears. If you follow football at all, I need not say more. Either way, I won't say more. What a disappointment.

Now the other dingy thoughts...

I think one year ago was the beginning of a bit of an emotional free-fall for me. I ignored and now have had to deal with a lot of post-treatment issues. Identity, body image, self-worth... All problems young adults struggle with, but problems that I could no longer address separately from cancer-specific issues like blood counts and suspicious masses and such. Everything got rolled together into one big "cancer survivor" blob. I stuffed the blob away for a while while I was in Washington, DC, but after that whirlwind semester, I was left with a lot of time on my hands and not too many answers.

I have gradually been able to sort some things out. I am certainly in a better place than one year ago. I probably won't be spending the next three weeks going to bars instead of doing my homework and dating a crazy, hippie Berklee student instead of, well, doing my homework. Haha, immediately after finishing treatment, I tried to cram two-years worth of college-ridiculousness into just about five weeks. For a brief period of time, I was the fearless, feckless college student I secretly wished I always had been. And then it was over, and I was too busy in Washington to have time to feel cheated of anything.

So I have spent the past few months working through some latent psychological issues. I'm nowhere near at peace with myself and my cancer, but it has only been a year. A pretty busy year, but I am in a good place right now to keep moving forward.

This b-log was and is still about the experiences of a 20 year old cancer patient, now survivor (me). I don't really have any more medical updates, since I finished the majority of that business One year ago. Hopefully, I will never, Ever have any more major medical updates. What follows the physical treatment is the hard part though. Dealing with chemo and all of its associated side-effects stinks, but it is pretty straightforward. You get a drug; you get sick from the drug; you feel better, eventually. There are no real precedents for sorting out life as a college graduate/cancer survivor/woman/journalism major/cancer survivor. People have been through similar situations and prevailed, and I look to them for support and guidance, but they can't necessarily tell me where to find the strength to face tomorrow. Only I know that (it's in my toes, actually), but verbalizing my struggles still helps me tremendously. Maybe one day it will help another 20 year-old leukemia patient. I hope this whole narrative is still somewhat (...?) relatable, if not at least mildly engrossing. (Although, actually, if it has ceased to be either, please tell me to keep it all to myself. I'm sure my print journal would appreciate your honesty.)

Otherwise, hooray long post!! That's what's been on my mind. I am cancer clean, baby. Let's keep it that way for a good long while. Happy weekend to all, and to all a happy weekend. Peas.

Hear, hear.

2009-11-10T11:02:00.002-06:00

SPORTS OF THE TIMES

Abdul-Jabbar Goes Public With Leukemia Fight

Every day, so many people receive cancer diagnoses. Very few of us have any sort of widespread public recognition, especially to the extent of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and I thank him for speaking out against the stigmas of cancer, particularly leukemia. We are all fighting those stigmas and doing what we can in our own ways, whether it be blogging or donating to a foundation or speaking at events. We put ourselves out there for others to see that we are OK, normal even. My favorite quote from that article is, "'My first reaction was to deal with it, make that fight for my life.'"

We are all dealing with it, however we can. And by humanizing these diseases, all of us are hopefully making it easier for someone else to deal with it tomorrow. So thank you to everyone who is taking their illness and using their experiences to prove that life does and will continue to go on. It is still scary, but cancer should no longer be the unspeakable, lurking menace that it once was.

And that's today's bit of cancer news. Even basketball stars get cancer. Even basketball stars.

Who or What is my audience? Do I even still have an audience?

2009-11-06T13:15:00.003-06:00

Hooray!! I have officially reached 1,000 profile views! Granted, a few of those are mine, but regardless... I have As Many profile views as Robert Caplin, who is significantly more awesome than me. Seriously. This man is twenty-freaking-six years old, and just look at his body of work, already! How did he get there? That is what I want to know, as I am sitting in my kitchen two hours before I leave for work at Starbucks. How does one find success doing what they love? Talent, definitely. He is clearly talented. And drive, determination, all of that. I know the formula, but I am a little fuzzy (okay, a lot fuzzy) on the execution. Maybe one day I'll figure out what I want to do when I grow up and what I need to do to get there. Or I'll swallow my fear and ask for help... Haha, who knows.

In the meantime, I am slowly figuring out what to do with myself in the present tense. I work; I run every other day; and I am starting to volunteer. With whom, do you ask, am I volunteering? Well. There is a non-profit organization based here in Chicago that I heard about nearly three years ago when I was home and receiving chemo. At the time, I was too stubborn and self-absorbed to think much about the group and how it could help me. Now, however, I have realized, especially after being in Wyoming with other cancer survivors, that this group would have helped me tremendously while I was in treatment, but as it is, it is my turn to help. So what is this fantastic organization? Imerman Angels. It is a cancer support group that pairs current cancer patients with survivors, "Angels." The mission and intent of the organization is that no person should have to feel so isolated and alone while dealing with cancer. Somewhere, someone else has gone through a similar experience, and the Angels aim to match those people - someone to talk to who understands. It was founded by Jonny Imerman who is easily one of the most charismatic and genuinely nice people I have ever met. I have met him twice now, the second time this past Monday at a fundraiser, and both times I have been completely blown away by his attitude and kindness. His commitment to and belief in Imerman Angels is so amazing; it is rare to find someone so truly and completely dedicated to helping others. You meet him and cannot help but want to do everything you possibly can for his cause.

So, I wanted to be a part of this group. After my experience in Wyoming, I realized how important it is to have a support group who understands what you've gone through. Also, the volunteers participate in a bunch of different fun fundraisers all the time, and I figure it is a good way to get out there and meet people with similar interests. It's good, and I am excited to really start helping.

Otherwise, that is about it. I still think about cancer every single day but no longer all the time, every day. I am slowly letting it stop controlling me, although it's tough, sometimes, to just let it go. To learn and move on. I wish I had a firmer plan for my future; it is really disconcerting not having something to work towards, like a graduation. Oh well. Anywhoo, keep on keeping on, and have a spectacular weekend! I certainly will, and let me know if you would like a free pound of Starbucks coffee. Word.

The more things change, the more they Really Do stay the same...

2009-10-15T22:06:00.003-05:00

Remember that one time I blogged about how I was listening to Hambone's Blues Party on my jazz station? Probably not, considering the post was from 27 months ago. 2 and 1/4 years ago, I was sitting in this same papasan chair, listening to this same Blues Party. Weird. And yet 2 and 1/4 years ago, I was right smack in the middle of all things cancer-related and chemo-induced. An interesting point of note. I wrote, on July 12, 2007, this:

"I can't walk (jump...) up six stairs without my heart pounding like a maniac. And when I stand up, I get these super cool black-outs. Oh well. Hopefully I'll get a blood transfusion tomorrow, or Monday at the latest. But either way, I think having blood and not having to worry about it mysteriously disappearing is what I am looking forward to the most when this treatment is finished. I can't wait to be able to run again, to be able to jump out of my chair without needing to grab on to something solid for balance."

It is definitely fair to say that having blood is one of the perks of being healthy. I haven't had a "super cool black-out" in just about two years. Finally, I am able to run again. My old-self would probably be pissed at my now-self because it has taken me so long to get consistent with the running, but hey, me, it's been a long road and full of setbacks. (My old-self was a little harsher and more demanding of itself.)

So here I am on October 15, 2009, in the same place physically but in such an entirely different place mentally, emotionally, and all the other -allys. I still love the blues, still need the blues to satisfy that part of me that craves, well, the blues, I guess. Aside from the music, though, very little is the same. Actually, everything has changed, as well it should have, considering the events of the past three years.

I want to make sure it is clear that while I may be unsatisfied with where my body physically is at this point in my life, namely, living at home, I am happier with myself than I have ever been in my life. I am more in love with living than I have ever been. Part of that is definitely attributable to the anti-depressants I started taking about a year ago, but mostly it is that I have grown into myself. I hope my post from a few posts ago didn't make anyone think I am sitting around moping or depressed or anything like that. If anything, I am frustrated and angry that I haven't pushed myself harder. I am scared out of my mind about the future, but I guess I neglected to mention that I am also So Freaking Excited about the possibilities ahead. We all question our past and our past decisions, to some extent, and for me, that involves wondering if I would be here had I not gotten cancer. But those thoughts are totally useless and, indeed, tend to be super destructive. So I'm trying not to go there. Instead, I am here. I am here, but I am a totally different person from the me who was here 2 and 1/4 years ago, and I am pretty damn happy with who I am now.

So that's what's up on this rainy Thursday night in the suburbs. Life and reality get me down sometimes, but I'm human. It would be strange if they didn't. So I'm sorry if I brought anyone down with me last week. It is what it is, and tomorrow is a new day. Smile and muddle through. Peace, love, and blues riffs all around.

2:05:41

2009-10-11T11:20:00.003-05:00

2 hours, 5 minutes and 41 seconds. That is the time in which Samuel Wanjiru, of Kenya, ran the Chicago Marathon this morning. It was a new course record, smashing the old record by a whopping one second. It is also the fastest marathon anyone has ever run in the US. (All facts according to the Chicago Tribune). Never to be outdone by the men, the Russian Lilliya Shobukhova won in 2:25:56, and this was only her second marathon.

These athletes are Runners. They are my inspiration, the catalysts propelling me out of bed and onto the street on a cloudy Wednesday morning before work. Okay, not these two athletes specifically, but I have been reading a whole lot about marathoners and ultrarunners lately, dreaming and wondering if I could ever reach that level of achievement. So am I a runner? Someone posted that question after my last post (thanks!), and it has been pestering me ever since, hence the long post reply.

I definitely consider myself a runner, lower-case "r". I started running as a junior in high school. When I first started running on my own though, I could only run for five minutes at about a 10-minute mile before I had to take a walk lap. But I kept at it; it got to the point where if I didn't run my 10, then 15, then 30 minutes, I would feel terrible. Unfortunately, when I was running in high school, I was running for the wrong reasons, and I was being stupid about it. Basically, I was running 5 plus miles and then going to the gym for another 20 or 30 minutes on a bike, as well as some basic weight training, but I was only eating maybe 1200 or 1500 calories a day. I was obsessed with counting calories, and I am pretty sure that is the definition of an eating disorder. So senior year, I had a revelation and stopped working out like a maniac. I put on a bunch of weight, and my running went on hold.

For the next two years, it was the same sort of story. I would take long breaks between running, only to have a resurgence of motivation to go back on the treadmill or run along the Charles River. I think I was finally in a good spot, health-wise, the summer of 2006, after freshman year. I ran 3 to 5 miles a few times a week, and I was biking maybe 50 or 60 miles a week. And I was eating! Maybe not as well as I could have, but it was an improvement. After that though, life got in the way, once more. I found out I had cancer, blah blah, and I have spent the past two years after returning to Boston struggling to gain some consistency as a runner. It has been very hard for me though, because I was sick so frequently over the past two years. And then last year's face tumor? Forget it.

But now, finally, after three years of ill-health, I am starting to feel like a normal person again. I am very gradually building miles, very slowly increasing my weekly distance. This time, however, while still partially weight-motivated, I am doing this because I want to. I love running, tying up my shoes and taking off, not thinking about anything besides my breathing for at least a little while. I want to be a Runner, and I think, maybe, possibly I can do it. Maybe not ultras, not yet anyway. Baby steps. S0 here is my goal, out there on the Internet. If anyone wants to help, please, do:

In one year, I want to run in the Chicago Marathon. That is the first part. The second, somewhat loftier goal: I want to qualify for the 2011 Boston Marathon. Qualifying times for the 2010 Boston Marathon are 3 hours and 40 minutes-ish. That means running about an 8 minute, 15 second mile for 26.2 miles. I think I can do it. I figure, since the 2010 Chicago Marathon is in exactly 12 months, if I give myself 6 months to build up my mileage, I can use the last 6 months to work on speed. I want to do it, to say, Screw You, Cancer. All I wanted, the whole time I was in treatment and for the last two years, was to feel healthy, to be able to run again. So here I go; I can run again, and that damn disease ain't got nothing on me. I hope.

How old are we, really?

2009-10-04T22:09:00.003-05:00

I have officially been kicking and screaming and fighting through life for 23 years. I don't know if I will be doing it for another 23 years, but I am nonetheless still here, now. If I do make it to 46 though, who will I have become? How will I remember these years: so close to a cancer diagnosis, a struggling twenty-something in a terrible economy, living at home, trying to start getting serious about running, so unnecessarily self-conscious? Will I still be a commitment-phobe, terrified of allowing myself to be vulnerable? Let it be known and forever out there in the world (read: the Internets) that my biggest fear is that I will grow old as a jobless and achingly alone chubby woman. The first part of the fear is totally unreasonable, and I know that, but it is still there. The second part is slightly, if only very slightly, more realistic. Hopefully this running thing will help combat the very last bit.

It's just that at this exact moment in time, I am so frightened. None of us can foresee the future; no one knows when or how the economy will recover. All the doomsayers of the world are predicting terrible things for the earth unless we make drastic changes. And closer to home, people keep getting cancer diagnoses. All of the negative "what ifs" are enough to make a person just want to disappear, to give in to nothingness.

It's funny (to me) that after everything I have survived already, I am panicking. I feel like I'm drowning back here at home. Dry waterboarding, if you will. There is a little nagging voice in the back of my head reminding me, if I let it, that this was Never the plan; this stagnation is all Cancer's fault. When that squeaky voice starts calling out to me, my future seems so bleak. If I start to let myself give into those thoughts, everything else, all of my walls of strength and purpose, starts to crumble. Every single day I have to tell myself, almost yell at myself, that this is temporary. I am only 23; there are many, many years ahead of me, and the vast majority of them will not be spent living with my parents in suburban hell. I think my difficulty accepting that arises because I feel so much older than I really am. Perhaps that's a selfish and vain thing to say, but I am already just so tired.

My faith, shaky as it is, is enough for me to want to believe that everything happens for a reason and has a purpose. I spent more than a few nights over the past three years struggling with the questions like, "why did I get cancer?" and of course, "what am I supposed to do with this?" Those sorts of queries are important to consider, but they are often unanswerable, especially when the person is still emotionally invested in getting better. Never before have I had so little direction. High school was all about succeeding and getting to college. B.C. (before cancer), college was all about double-majoring and earning money and gaining my total independence. Cancer was all about beating cancer and getting back to school. Then school, once more, was all about reconciling who I was with who I thought I should be, and graduating on time. My goals were short term because I didn't know how to think about the long term. I could only focus on getting through each day as it came to me.

But now, I can't seem to come up with any long-term goals. There is too much uncertainty, too many variables. Currently, I work at Starbucks, which I really do love and am fairly decent at, but I can't stay there forever. I don't know if I will ever be a professional photographer or if that's even what I want. Also, cancer again working its sticky tentacles into my life, I would like to do something in the young-adult cancer world, but it is difficult starting over in Chicago, a city with its own and many cancer celebrities. There is this fun little knot of anxiety pulsing in my chest that had disappeared for a while back when I was in school and focused, but it seems to have returned. I can almost reach down my throat and pull it out. I wish I could throw it away along with the two-year old cake from the freezer I tossed earlier today.

AnyWay. Please excuse my rambling ons. Ramblings on? One of them or both. This is what is on my mind, and this is still my b-log, and everything is connected, somehow, to cancer. Or maybe it's the weather. So. On that note, I hope everyone's weeks are going a bit more smoothly than mine. Thank you so much if you are still reading here. I'll be looking to you guys to buy the book when I write it! haha. You don't have to read it, necessarily, just leave it artfully placed at an angle on your coffee table. :) K, peace.

Eh? What? What's that? Speak up; I can't hear you!

2009-09-24T22:06:00.003-05:00

Or something to that extent... Prior to September 22, this past Tuesday, these are all phrases you would have heard from me at some point. Prior to September 22, I had mild to moderate hearing loss in my right ear as a result of the Face Tumor. Apparently when the tumor melted away (that's the technical term), it caused a bunch of scarring in my sinus area, which in turn closed up whichever ear tube allows for fluid drainage (also the technical term). Basically, there was a large amount of fluid just chilling in my ear because it had nowhere to go, which meant I couldn't really hear out of my right ear.

Whew. So. Finally, after multiple ENT visits and more than a handful of frustrating delays, on September 22, this past Tuesday, I had a tympanoplasty and tube procedure on my right ear. That really is the technical term. For those of us who are not certified otolaryngologists, the doctor went through my ear drum and stuck a tube in my right ear. After some mild sedation that turned out to be some serious general anesthetic and fifteen minutes of blissed out blankness, I can hear! And there hasn't even been any strange ear-discharge. Hooray...? I guess this is the procedure doctors do on a lot of little kids with persistent ear infections. In yet another example of how things come back to haunt you, I can distinctly remember being maybe five years old and freaked out by the other kids my age who had these weird plugs in their ears at the pool. I wasn't a very accepting little person, and now here I am under strict orders not to get Any water in my right ear. Ear plugs, here I come. Apparently, it is very unusual for someone my age to have this procedure done. So said my doctor to my mother. He was a good, nice guy, the doc, but he was kind of oblivious. Yeah, most almost-23-year olds don't have ear tubes put in. Most of us don't get leukemia and face tumors either. Deal.

Regardless, it is so strange to have surround sound in my head again. I was in Target yesterday, and there was noise everywhere. I was freaking out a bit because I didn't know what was coming from where. But I am adjusting, and I am so happy. I can hold my cell phone up to my right ear again. I can stand to the left of someone and carry on a normal conversation without having to move to their right side so I can actually hear what they're saying. I can go to bars again and actually talk to people! The possibilities are endless.

So that's what's good here. Also, I'm pretty sure I haven't mentioned this, and I will only do so briefly now, but I am currently living at home and working at the Starbucks in our little downtown. So I am employed in some fashion, although it is Very weird for me to be living back here again. So many memories that I would prefer to put in a little box for the time being and let them get dusty.... But I'm getting by, saving money, that whole big deal. Life is okay. Hope yours is as well. Peaves.

Disappointment abounds

2009-09-15T11:31:00.011-05:00

In a disappointing, albeit not wholly unexpected, turn of events, I did not set off any detectors when I passed through Logan International Airport yesterday afternoon. As I approached security, I was prepared. My shoes were in a little tub; I had removed all liquids from my bag; my pockets were free of change. And I had grabbed a little paper card and stuck it in my back pocket, hoping I would get to use it. What little card? The little card I had received five hours earlier at my PET scan, stating this: "This patient had a Nuclear Medicine Procedure [sic] and may still have small amounts of radiation capable of being detected by radiation monitoring equipment. The amount of radiation poses no danger to the public and is allowed by NRC Medical use regulations." In short, I was acceptably radioactive, and I had the card to prove it.

Alas, either those detectors do not, in fact, detect any radiation activity, or the amount of the tracer in my system had diminished enough so as to be undetectable. Either way, I was disappointed when I sailed through security and on to my gate. Oh well; maybe next time.

In other news, Cancer-Free!!

Still. No tumor, blood counts are all normal, no questionable levels of anything in my system. I was officially taken off of all cancer-related medications, which is so weird, but such a relief. After two and a half years of so many pills, so many things to remember, I can finally start fully cleansing my system of all those chemicals. From here on out, I get a PET scan every six months for the next two years, then once a year until 2013, which will be the five-year mark of treatment completion. Blood work is thrown in there every once in a while, but I can have that done anywhere. I'll be sticking with Dana-Farber and my doctor in Boston, at least for the time being. I figure since everything else in my life is so up in the air, it is just easier to know I have to be in Boston every six months, instead of moving All of my records and such to someone new every time I move around.

So that's it for now. Check back tomorrow or in a few days because I have an important and Long-overdue update on something very exciting. Hooray! Okay, peace.

Quick update!

2009-09-12T13:13:00.001-05:00

On my way to Boston for my 6-monthly PET/CT scan. Hopefully still all clear... Fingers crossed, and if I'm super lucky, I'll be able to drop down to just one medication! Good luck and happy weekend to everyone. Go Bears!

Hey, remember that time I used to blog about my life as a cancer survivor?

2009-09-07T13:40:00.003-05:00

Yeah, me too. Good times. Good times on the internets. Well, following certain recent events that I will discuss a few lines down, I feel the need to b-log once more. I am and have been struggling quite a bit lately with who I am and what's next for me. Now, I recognize that uncertainty and doubt are pretty much the norm for recent college grads, especially these days when there are so few jobs floating around. Unfortunately, a wrench was thrown into my works three years ago when my body decided it would be cool to go and give itself cancer.

I am, only now, beginning to feel like everything is catching up with me. Basically, from the day I was diagnosed until I graduated on May 17, 2009, I did not stop. I did the treatment thing; then I did the school thing; and then I did the Washington, DC thing. The past three years are a blur. I feel cheated of my college years, in a sense. Sometimes I wish I hadn't been stripped of my innocence and invincible attitude. Sometimes I wish I could have graduated and moved into some tiny apartment somewhere, barely making rent and living on PBRs and Cheerios. But wishing never did anyone any good, nor does dwelling on what isn't.

This past week I went to Jackson, Wyoming, to climb in the Tetons with a bunch of young adult cancer survivors through an organization called First Descents. Initially, I had been more interested in the climbing aspect of the trip than the cancer part. I want to get more involved in climbing, and I figured this would be a good opportunity to climb in some of the most beautiful mountains in the U.S. And, hey, I had cancer, so I was eligible for this program. Bonus. But I wasn't really thinking about the cancer part or what it would mean to spend five days with other young adult survivors. I certainly didn't realize how inadequate and lost I would feel among 13 or so other people who have all had cancer and who all seemed so much more together than myself. Some of the other people there were closer to their treatment than I am, but I was the youngest young adult there. While I didn't feel younger in terms of maturity, I felt like the person with the least direction.

Over the years, I have gotten pretty good at deluding myself into thinking everything is okay. I realized out in Wyoming that while I am pretty comfortable with myself, I am still not okay with this cancer thing. This was the first time I have ever been around a bunch of people my own age who actually understand what cancer really looks like, feels like, smells like, is. What it means to be in your 20s or 30s with cancer. It was extremely painful for me to have it all brought home so quickly. With my friends, I can pretend that I was never sick, that everything is okay. But at camp, it was inescapable. Right at the point when I was desperately trying to pretend that none of this ever happened, I found myself smack in the middle of it again.

And you know what? I needed that so badly. I needed to be with people who understood. I needed to hear from someone who knows what I am going through that things will work out okay. Just talking with them gave me hope and a little bit of peace. The men and women I met out in Wyoming are some of the most amazing, strong people I have ever met. And they are all just living their lives. They have made it past diagnosis and treatment and a few are even a couple years removed from it all. I am so grateful for their shared strength.

Wyoming was one of the best times I have ever had, between the climbing and the spontaneous dance parties in the middle of a road and the juvenile humor and the laughter. So much laughter. I haven't laughed so hard and so truly in a long time. It is amazing how just a few people can change your perceptions, even if only slightly. I am still struggling with this whole cancer thing and how much I want to embrace it right now, but I am not as scared or uncertain. We have all made it this far, and we will just keep on keeping on.

"People call us renegade cause we like living crazy."

Wyoming is pretty much a photographer's dream.

Andre, aka 007

All of us together on Jenny Lake at the foot of the mountain

Just thought I'd drop in...

2009-04-24T09:50:00.003-05:00

Yes, I know, I am technically supposed to be finished with this blog. But I have come to realize that even though the majority of my treatment has ended, cancer is still everywhere in my life. This morning, for example, I opened up the New York Times website, and this was the story that greeted me:

Advances Elusive in the Long Drive to Cure Cancer

I was very impressed with this story. It is honest without being insensitive. Kolata's story echoes what I heard last year at the CALGB conference I spoke at, that foundations and researches are wary of spending money on radical new trials, and progress is being made only incrementally. I had never really thought about, as well, her point that cancer rhetoric focuses on "cures," and "survival rates" and such. It makes sense from both sides though. Of course we focus on the positive aspects of cancer. No one wants to think about dying, and I'm sure no pharmaceutical companies want to advertise their drugs as "only possibly adding a few more months onto your already truncated life." That's just a downer. And yet, it is all a bit delusional, especially the curing cancer pledge. Even I, who had one of the supposedly "curable" cancers, don't believe a cure is possible.

On the other hand, that in no way means we should stop fighting. Last weekend I drove up to Boston for Boston University's first ever Relay for Life. I think eight or nine hundred people showed up, and we raised near $80,000 for the American Cancer Society. The whole premise of Relay is that people spend 12 or 18 hours walking around a track in recognition of the fact that cancer never sleeps. By the end of the weekend, after the all-night event, catching up with my friends, and two eight-hour bus rides to and from Boston, I was exhausted and sick. But I am so glad that I went. It was amazing to me to see so many people all gathered together in support of a single cause. We all want to keep this fight against cancer going.

Like I said, I don't think there is a cure, but there are certainly improvements to be made. If the slightly misleading rhetoric means that more people will change their lifestyles, that's great, but we need to be brave enough to face the reality of death as well. I guess I just hope that we don't lose hope but that we don't get ahead of ourselves either.

And that's my bit. Incidentally, I am healthy and still tumor-free. Follow-up for me now consists of scans and doctor's appointments every three to four months, gradually every six months, then every year or so for however long my doctor feels comfortable. ALSO. Today, TODAY! was my last day of class/work/college. The DC program finished today, which means that I am finished with college. In four years. Who woulda thunk it.

2009-02-13T12:27:00.002-06:00

www.ccbinsight.blogspot.com

A brand new year and you know what that means...

2009-01-02T15:23:00.003-06:00

Or at least, I hope you know what that means and can please tell me because I have no idea what this new year means for me. New places; new experiences; new jobs; new relationships; new fears; new stories to share.

One week from tomorrow will find me excited and probably bewildered in Washington, DC, starting out on whatever adventure the next few months will bring. This will pretty much be my first time (ever) not really knowing what I'm getting myself into. This will not be like beginning a new semester of classes, where, yes, the classes may be new, but I generally know how things will go. I have a vague idea of what I will be doing the next three and a half months: A photography internship where I get to take pictures of and around DC. An element of my program, the "newsroom," has us students acting as the DC correspondents for a number of small, New England newspapers, reporting and filing stories for publication. And then we have a class called political reporting, which is about what it sounds like. This won't be your typical internship/classes study-abroad program. This is journalism in Washington, DC in the first year of a new and historic and exciting presidency. This is kind of the beginning of what I really hope is my life after school.

I am scared. But I am also deliriously excited. And, oh, hey, I'm also leukemia-free. tumor-free. all mass and bad cell-free. As of December 17, 2008, two years and nine days after my first diagnosis and my last Wednesday living in Boston, all scans were clear and all tumors completely disappeared. Haha, of course, the universe has never been and probably never will be truly kind to me, and it turned out I actually had pneumonia. But hey, at least it wasn't cancer...? I went on antibiotics for a few days, and now I should Finally be all set. I have a follow-up scan in March, and then another scan every three months for a while, but that is it. I still have the Fear, but I'm not going to let it run me. I, instead, am going to start running for real this time. I am going to bike. I am going to try and get involved in some sort of outdoors group around DC. I want to hike! and kayak on that river that's right down the street from where I will be living. I will live again without pain or fatigue or the persistent cold that Did Not Go Away. I will live. Maybe not as long as some people, definitely longer than others, but I will be alive to see whatever this new year will bring.

This b-log never really became a "blog," per se, in that it never really connected with other blogs or internet sites or activities or interesting nonsenses. There was very little media, aside from the sporadic photos I put up. But it served its purpose for me. It helped me get through two years of chemotherapy and treatment for leukemia and a subsequent face-tumor. It gave me a channel for my thoughts and hopefully gave everyone reading it some insight into what I've been going through. I hope these posts have helped illuminate what it's like to be 20, 21, 22 and dealing with cancer treatments. I cannot say my experience is necessarily similar to anyone else's, because everything that I have felt and experienced and grown from has been unique to me. That said, I'm sure a lot of what I have gone through is not uncommon for other survivors my age. So, you know, we're not all wimpy, sad, bald kids to be pitied or misunderstood. We're just trying to get through our days, the same as everyone else. It is Hard to be a student and a patient. Good Lord, was that hard. But it's just another thing to deal with. Somehow, I did it. I'm not sure how, really. Well, that's not true. My friends helped a lot. The b-log helped a lot when I wasn't in school. But mostly it was my desire and drive to be healthy once more, to live to see better days. I am positive that that sentiment is something we all possess (or, I hope anyway), and so if you ever find yourself where I was just over two years ago, scared and uncertain and alone with a doctor and a hematologist in some nurse's lounge in some strange and sterile hospital, be strong. (or if you are in a completely different scenario, that's fine too. The point:) Have faith in yourself, because when the shit hits the fan, which it is apt to do, you have to be there for yourself. And you'll make it through. Seriously, the bad days can't last forever. They have to change over at some point. That's what I tell myself, and I think it's generally true. So. Good luck. Good luck with your tomorrows. I'm around if anyone wants to say hey or chat or cry or laugh or whatever. I'm always around. Thank you all for everything. Peace, pax, I'm out.

cbridges86@gmail.com

I feel like there was something important I was going to say here....

2008-12-08T15:18:00.004-06:00

Oh right. Two years. Two years and a whole lot of pain. Two years and a whole lot of anger, frustration, depression, fatigue, drive, motivation, happiness, life. Two years and life. Two years and so much growth I don't think I would recognize the person I was two years ago. Two years and I am still scared.

I found out I had Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia two years ago, yesterday. Two years later and it is almost finished. Two years later and I am sitting in Starbucks, freaking out because I have so much work to do and I don't know how I'm going to get it all done. So, instead of doing it, I am blog-posting... hmm. But no, really. I am tremendously overwhelmed right now. I have been completely and necessarily unproductive pretty much all semester. I just sort of "got by" because I was in too much pain or uncertainty or exhaustion to do anything else. And now I have two essays, a poetry portfolio, a final project, and a website to complete in 48 hours. It's funny how the entire semester has caught up with me in the past week. Last week, too, I spent pretty much all day, every day, working. I know most of my friends are in the same boat. We are all so close to finishing up this semester. It's like we are standing on the edge of a cliff, literally right on the edge, ready to jump and fly, but there is something, a rubber band, a harness, whatever, something is gripping us around our stomachs, squeezing out our air, holding us back. We can see the end of all of this, but we aren't allowed to touch it yet. Frustration-central.

And then my final scan is next Wednesday. I am praying so hard that it is my final scan. I spent yesterday eating way too many cookies and convincing myself that the tumor isn't actually gone and the headache I have been nursing isn't because I'm tired or over-caffeinated but is a result of the tumor growing back. Yesterday kind of sucked, actually. But today is a new day, and I will get all my work finished. We all will get everything done; it just happens, somehow. And in terms of my tumor or leukemia, well, all of this happened for a reason. I don't know what the reason is yet, but I know there is a reason. There is a purpose behind my still being here. Two years ago, I could have not gone into the student health center. I could have finished my semester, gone home thinking I was just tired, could have slept over winter break, could have come back to school, and then who knows what. Died? Yeah, I could have died. I probably would have died. Funny story though. I didn't. I am still here, for better or for worse. I am going to keep on being here, and whatever happens, will happen. Life will happen. Hell, life Is happening. So that's something.

Finally, shameless plug: I actually have mostly kind of finished one of my assignments. My website. I am putting up the link - again, for better or for worse - in case anyone wants to follow my photography past and my photography future. I plan on keeping it up and updated while I'm in DC next semester. Warning: it's still new, so don't judge too hard. I guess that's about it. For all of its completely ridiculous and frustrating complications, life is pretty exciting. I hope everyone can smile about something today. Peace from my new home that is Starbucks.

(p.s., the date says it's yesterday because I started this post yesterday. But today, right now is actually Tuesday. k, thanks.)

people.bu.edu/bridgec

Sometimes the words just can't come out...

2008-11-29T15:21:00.003-06:00

I have been trying to write a new entry for this here b-log for almost two weeks, and I have been unable to put my emotions and abstract thoughts into coherent sentences. So, right now, instead of writing the essay I have due in a few days, I am going to try and get out some cancer-centric verbiage for your enjoyment and information.

As of this coming Monday, it will be three weeks since I had my last treatment for any sort of cancer-related evil lurking in my body (or face). Three weeks ago was my last infusion of Rituxan, which was/is supposed to attack and Destroy! the lymphatic tumor that was growing in my face. So, the good news: I am pretty positive the treatments worked. My face doesn't hurt at all anymore; I can just about speak completely normally now; I can hear out of my right ear. And the best part is that I can actually sing again! My voice is super rusty, and there is still something taking up space in my sinuses prohibiting optimal vocalness, but it is still much better. So, the bad news: I don't have my final PET scan until the middle of December. I won't know for another two and a half weeks whether or not this damn thing has shrunk sufficiently. If the scans show that it has disappeared completely or mostly, then I am good to go. That will be it. Two years and a whole lot of nonsense, but it will be over. On the other side of things, if for some reason the tumor has not disappeared or shrunk enough, then, once again, the proverbial wrench will be thrown in to the machinery of my life. If all is not well, then my doctor and I get to figure out what to do next. More chemo? probably. Radiation? possibly. Washington DC? definitely not. Like I said though, I feel so much better, and I am positive everything is going as it should in my face. The reality is that there is a chance this isn't over yet. Truth. But, and this is a big but, I am confident everything will be fine.

To that end, the past three weeks have been mildly ridiculous by Caroline-standards. I spent the first two weeks after I finished my drugs staying up way too late, partying a little too much, and being just a little reckless. I spent the next few days trying to figure out why on earth I had done the things I did. And now, after some soul-searching and a few epiphanies, I think I have reached a sort of happy medium. I am not going to detail the specifics of my actions for fear of reprimand by my mother, but suffice it to say that I was acting like the thing I have so often maligned: a "normal" college student. I didn't understand for a while why I was acting so seemingly out of character. Even while I was having an awesome time, it was bothering me. And then I realized something: I feel healthy. I haven't felt even vaguely healthy since the middle of July. I had been in pretty much Constant pain since September, and I was mostly nonfunctional for the first two and a half months of my senior year of college. And then it ended. The pain went away. I could speak again; I could hear again. I still have a whole lot of leftover mucus that keeps finding its way out, but other than that, I could be any other person. I started running again. Just like that. I haven't run since July! This past Wednesday, I ran 2.5 miles. It felt fan-freaking-tastic. All of a sudden, I felt how I wish I could have felt for the past two years. I could drink again because I wasn't taking any conflicting drugs. I could stay up late and wake up early because my energy had returned. I could think and contribute to conversations and classes because all of my thoughts were no longer focused on the pain in my face. If you've ever been sick or injured or somehow incapacitated for any length of time, you know how amazing it feels to return to life again. If you haven't ever felt that, you are super lucky, but please take my word that it is pretty wonderful.

This weekend is the Thanksgiving holiday. Thanksgiving has, at least for the past three years, been a sort of Caroline-gauge. My freshman year, I had a really bad cold, and I was struggling with food issues (I didn't want to eat any). Sophomore year, Thanksgiving was awful. Refer to last year's post if you need a refresher. Basically, I was one week away from my cancer diagnosis. I was So sick, and I was still struggling with food (I think I had a Dr. Pepper and a couple of Doritos on Thanksgiving Day). Last year I was in a really strange place. I was back at school; I was eating, thank God. But I was terrifically unhappy, which I say in retrospect because at the time I thought I was doing pretty well. But no, I was lost and lonely and struggling to figure out who I was: college student or patient. So now it is one year later, and once again, Thanksgiving is a pretty good gauge for how far I've come emotionally and all of that. For the first time in three years, I didn't feel ill on Thanksgiving, which is kind of funny, considering. Yes, I was mostly by myself on the day itself, although my friend did stop by and bring me a pie she made me (mmm, pie). I do not, however, feel lonely anymore. I have come to terms with the fact that I am both a cancer survivor and a college student, although I am more than ready to be not a college student. I am more comfortable with myself than I have ever been. Oh, and here's the really strange thing: I actually feel happy. I know I've said that for years, but this feeling isn't one I've really ever felt before. I've never walked down the street smiling just because. For the first time, maybe ever, I am enjoying my present. My present has basically sucked for the past two years. My coping mechanism was to look to the future and ignore the past and present. But now my present isn't that bad.

So I finished chemo, and on the assumption that I am finished forever, I started living in the present and having a grand old time. This whole business isn't quite over yet, and I still have a sore throat, but Monday brings a new month and a new set of possibilities. I have a Ton of work to do before my semester ends, work that I really do not want to do. Somehow, it will get itself done, and I will be finished with class, and life will be pretty much freaking awesome. And right now is pretty damn good, too. Alright, waaay long post, but thanks for reading, and I hope you can enjoy your RightNow because, most of the time, it is worth it. I love you all; thank you for supporting me the past two years. Peace.

Rain in Boston and other seemingly random, but actually not, happenings

2008-10-27T14:47:00.005-05:00

Well, hello b-log world! Have you missed me, thought about me, wondered if I'd died yet? I have not, in fact, kicked the bucket. I have, however, been too busy with school and work and face tumors and more school and have not had the time or the concentration to update the b-log. That being said, I apologize to everyone who has been wondering what happened to me. I certainly did not mean to worry anyone, and although the past almost three months have been an absurd combination of positives and negatives in my life, I have generally been doing splendidly.

Okay, so, the last anyone heard from me, I had just returned to Boston from my vacation in Canada. I was on the radio for a Jimmy Fund fundraiser, and I was getting mentally prepped for the upcoming semester. I was also battling the sickness. You know, sore throat, stuffy nose, headaches, wracking cough. Same old stuff. The school year began, and I was thrown headlong into my senior year of college. I began this year a completely different person from the me who had returned to Boston last year after my semester off. This year, yes, I was still getting some chemo, but I was so much stronger, literally and figuratively. So good, grand, I was ready to go. Unfortunately, I was also still contending with the Sickness. I was actually a sick mess. My doctor put me on antibiotics, and those cleared up my chest congestion and cough, but then my sinuses started giving me grief. So my doctor put me on different antibiotics, and wouldn't you know, my sinuses got worse. And worse. And then pretty much the entire right side of my face started hurting like woah. On September 10, my doctor finally said I should probably get my head scanned. I scheduled a CT scan for the 13th. He called me on the 15th, said there was something a little odd but not worrisome in my scans, and he wanted me to meet with an ear-nose-throat doctor. Okay... So I call the ENT for an appointment, which was scheduled for two weeks later, September 23. In the meantime, I was in an extraordinary amount of pain. Basically, I started shutting down. I could barely sleep; my appetite disappeared; I gave up on being social or even trying; and I was popping Tylenol like it was nobody's business. I was still working at the gym and going to class, but that was just about it. So, okay, September 23 rolls around, and I meet with the ENT. She sticks a lighted camera up my nose and into my face and confirms what the CT scan suggested: there was a fairly large mass in the pharyngeal area of my face (behind my nose ish). The really fun part is that it was sort of coated in mucus (mmm), which is what I had been curiously hacking up for a few weeks. Her suggestion: a biopsy. Woah now. She floated the word lymphoma... She also said it might be some sort of infection or fungus. I hoped it was a fungus.

After that, I really turned off. I had no idea what was wrong with me, and all sorts of worst case scenarios kept running through my head. I finally pretty much stopped thinking about it because I knew there was nothing I could do until after the biopsy when we knew what exactly my face tumor was. On September 30, two days before my 22 birthday, I went in to the hospital for a biopsy of the tumor in my face. I had to wear a hospital gown and blue non-slip socks. I kept the socks. The best part was they knocked me out for the procedure. The anesthesiologist came over with his tray full of various vials of drugs and happy things and was like, So, you're a college student, I assume you drink? me: Yeah, a bit... him: Okay, well, think of this as drinking three of four beers all at once. I was like, oh please. Felt nothing... Felt nothing... And then they started wheeling me off to the operating room, and it hit me. I looked around and everything was sort of shifting and wavy. And then I blacked out. Good times with narcotics. Anyway I'll move on. The biopsy happened, went well I guess, and I went home with bloody snot and a prescription for vicodin.

I didn't go to class that week, and I spent my birthday slightly drugged and sleeping. I canceled the bar-hop I had planned, and some friends came over to my apartment instead with cake and laughter, and we watched the vice-presidential debate. My college experience certainly hasn't been like anyone else's. But we all already knew that. One week later, they scheduled me to meet with the ENT again to go over the biopsy results. I showed up, and wouldn't you know, the results weren't in yet. She once again suggested lymphoma, a little more definitively this time. She also said they were sure it wasn't a fungus. Wasted appointment, although she did prescribe me Tylenol with codeine because the vicodin hadn't been working for my face. Oh, p.s., at this point too, the right half of my face had gone numb, and I couldn't open my jaw much anymore. The ENT doc did explain that though: I guess the tumor in my face was growing through a crack in my skull up towards my brain and was pushing on the nerves that controlled my face. Hooray!

One more week, and I was scheduled for a PET scan, which, I think, scans for lymphoma-type oddities. Finally, on October 15, more than a month after the first CT scan showed the mass in my face, my doctor had an answer for me. It wasn't leukemia, which they had been worried about. It wasn't quite lymphoma either. It was something called Lymphoproliferative Disease, LPD. Apparently, it isn't that uncommon in transplant patients and people with rheumatoid arthritis, but I was the first ALL patient he had seen with it. Basically, it is a proliferation of B-cells in the form of a tumor. The Epstein-Barr virus is related as well. I think the tumor was an inflammatory reaction to the presence of the virus, but I am not quite sure how that works. Something about immunosuppression as well.

In short: it isn't cancer, and it is treatable. The treatment consists of a weekly infusion of an antibody called rituxan, which is commonly used to treat lymphoma, although it isn't chemo. So for the past three weeks I have been getting this infusion. This coming Monday will be my last one. My doctor hopes/thinks that it will only take four infusions to make the tumor go away completely and for good. I hope he's right. I am pretty sure the treatments have been working. I have started functioning again. The feeling is almost completely back in my face (yeah!), and the pain is substantially less than it was. Actually, last night was the first night in a long time that I've slept through the night without taking any of the painkillers. (Oh yeah, my doctor eventually prescribed me oxycodone because the tylenol + codeine wasn't really doing anything either, although it kind of worked when I combined it with the vicodin...) The other thing is that because of all this, my doc decided to stop entirely the rest of my leukemia chemotherapy. So I am technically done with chemo!! Funny how that works out.

This is a ridiculously long post, and maybe you've read the whole thing? A whole lot of other stuff has happened over the past few months, not the least of which is I sued my landlord, went to court, etc. I also applied and was accepted to BU's Washington DC journalism internship program for next spring. Praying all goes well, I will be photographing in DC next semester! I also had my brand new computer stolen a few days ago. I know it sounds like my life has kind of been the pits this year, and I'm not saying it has been amazing. Strangely though, I really am doing pretty well. I am so glad to be in Boston with all my friends who have helped me immensely through this. I love all of my classes, even if I haven't been doing all the work quite on time for them... And I have so much to look forward to. Also, I am just happy to be me, to be here, right now. Face tumor be damned, I am still alive, and I am still doing what I do. I hope everyone out there is keeping on as well, and thanks for reading if you have and thank you to everyone who has expressed their concern as to how I am. I am good. Peace.

p.s., cbridges86@gmail.com. word, yo.

Apparently I have a lisp?

2008-08-14T19:39:00.004-05:00

For all you loyal readers who have ever wondered what I actually sound like in person (and didn't hear the Globe audio), I was on the radio today, and the convo was posted online! Like I mentioned a few days ago, I participated in a Radio/Telethon fundraiser for Dana-Farber earlier today. It is an awesome two day event that raises a ton of money for Dana-Farber and The Jimmy Fund. Sadly, I was not on TV. A few sports bigwigs received that honor this afternoon, but I was still interviewed for the radio. It was pretty exciting even if it was only 7 minutes long.

Anyway, so, I am posting the link for everyone to click on and proceed to laugh at my lisp (gross) as well as my routinely idiotic comments about life. Haha, whatever, I think it's hilarious. That's about it for now. I got chemo yesterday, woke up for work at 5 this morning terrifically nauseous, and wandered around BU most of the afternoon with my camera. So much for resting. I also got antibiotics and an inhaler from my doctor yesterday, so the sickness of death will soon be no more. Have a wonderful Friday and weekend, and, I don't know, enjoy life. K, thanks. Pax.

Caroline on the Radio, online!

oh, hey...

2008-08-12T06:13:00.003-05:00

So... Remember that one time I disappeared for two months and everybody stopped checking the b-log looking for an update? Yeah, me too. There is good news, though, for anyone still maybe somewhat around. I am not done here yet. After last semester ended, I pretty much crashed. I read a whole lot of books, biked a whole lot of miles, started running again. Basically, I did everything I could to try and turn my brain off. I needed a complete mental break, and now I feel much better. Classes resume in three weeks, and I can't wait to begin my (hopefully) final semester in Boston. I have much going on and much to look forward to both academically and extracurricularly (is that a word? it is now). But first:

Cancer. Cancer is a terrible, smelly, mean jerk, and I hate it. I hate that I had cancer, and I hate that people continue to be diagnosed with different types of cancer. Every time I think about it, I get angry. I do not want anybody to have to go through what I and millions of others have gone through. I am thankful for the advances in diagnosing and treating a lot of forms of cancer for a lot of different types and ages of people, but we still have such a long way to go. These past few months, I have met so many wonderful people who are committed to eradicating cancer. I have gotten involved in a few different fundraisers for Dana-Farber, and I have done a number of different things unrelated to Dana-Farber but still raising cancer awareness. Every event that I attend or speak at or even hear about reminds me how much I want to help make this disease go away. Luckily for me, a number of people have invited me to be a part of their events these past few months, and hopefully I can continue to help.

All the way back in June, I spoke at a major conference for a national group of doctors. The group, Cancer and Leukemia Group B (CALGB), basically leads a huge number of national studies and clinical trials that are all helping improve cancer care and quality of life for patients and survivors. The theme of their conference this year was "survivorship," and my doctor from Chicago had asked me a while ago if I would be able to come and give a speech about my experiences as both a patient and a survivor. I said of course and talked about what it's like being a young adult patient/survivor because that's what I know, and it is an important topic. I only spoke for maybe 10 minutes, but I feel it is significant that the doctors even asked me there in the first place. I couldn't speak about any of the technical, medical details. Instead, I offered the reality of what it was like to be 20 and a patient stuck in a hospital room. (The reality is that it bites). At this point, I can only hope that what I said will have some influence even in how the doctors think about their young adult patients. Possibly I'm being idealistic, but it's nice to think that maybe I made some small difference. Baby steps as we young adult survivors become more vocal and more involved in our care.

Which leads me to the next major event where I spoke. The Mark Ungerer Memorial Golf Tournament is an annual event that raises money for Dana-Farber. This year, all of the funds raised will be donated to the Adolescent and Young Adult program at Dana-Farber, which is pretty much amazing as this tournament raises a tremendous amount of money. Once again, I spoke to a large crowd of people with whom I have very little in common aside from our desire to fight cancer. That is enough though. Besides, I managed to get a rise out of the primarily middle-aged male golfer crowd when I cracked some joke about how I used to sit in my hospital room wishing I could just be one of the masses again getting wasted on the weekend. My mind continues to be blown by the realization that my words and my experiences can actually have a positive effect on people. I am also continually amazed by the generosity and support of people. Every once in a while, I hate people, but most of the time I am reminded that we are all pretty generally decent.

So, okay life, let's go. I am yet again at a bit of a crossroads of my life. So many ridiculous things have happened this past year, and I am just trying to take them all in and grow from everything. I am doing an okay job so far, but I am still working on it. I just got back to Boston from a three-week vacation in Canada and Chicago. I was SO thankful to be able to go up to Canada this year since I missed last year. Unfortunately, I also got wicked sick up there, so all is not exactly peachy. The sickness of death is nothing new though, and I know it will eventually (maybe) go away. The good news is that I am mentally ready to attack this upcoming semester and all of the exciting things that are pending. First on the list, the Jimmy Fund Radio/Telethon this Thursday and Friday. Check out NESN or sports radio 850 AM around 1:30 p.m. on Thursday if you want to hear yours truly speaking my bit and urging people to donate to the Jimmy Fund. Woo! I'm sure I'll get to meet some cool people, and at the least, I get to go to the Red Sox game that night. Anyone want to join me?

Alright, so I am set and ready to go. Good luck to everyone this week with any and everything you may be working on or challenging yourself to. My challenge is to go on a date... Seriously. That is all, and check back soon. I promise I'll update. Peace and homefries!

18 months and 200 posts later...

2008-06-08T08:27:00.002-05:00

By sheer coincidence, I am writing my 200th post 18 months after being diagnosed with cancer. That December day seems so long ago. It was long ago, kind of. But it also feels like everything just happened a few days ago. And as I sit here in the Pro Shop, handing out towels and Lysol-ing rock climbing shoes, a small part of me feels like nothing ever happened, nothing changed. I know I have written this before, but the past year and a half feels like some sort of weird time-warp. It still blows my mind that I actually had cancer and that I am still getting chemotherapy.

I was going to write a book about it. I was going to write about how my mind was blown and my life was changed when I was diagnosed with cancer at age 20. I was going to combine my blog posts, journal entries, and personal reflections into some sort of strange memoir. I had a literary agent in New York who was willing to take my story and get it published. I was working on a title; I had my chapters figured out; I had someone to write the foreword; I had even started my text. And then I realized that I do not want to write my memoir-ish right now. I am not ready to try and sort through and explain my experiences and sum them up for a neat and tidy inspirational 250 pages. As much as I have changed and grown, and as much as I have learned about myself throughout all this, I am still weathering this storm. Yes, it has already been 18 months, but I still have six more. I need to be totally free of the drugs and the nausea and the constipation and the drugs for a little bit before I can step back and figure out the moral of all this. I do still want to eventually publish my blog and my story. These past nearly two months of communicating with the agent have reassured me that one day I will be able to publish this. Now would be a great time to do it, I realize that, but I can't commit myself to this project if my heart isn't in it yet. Also, I just finished classes. I need to be deadline-free for a bit. I desperately need to de-stress.

So I have been working at ye olde Pro Shop, doing my awesome internship thang (I'll have photos in the next issue!!), and I have been biking a lot. I am actually even trying to start running again, which is kind of fun. I hopped on the treadmill the other day, and to my surprise, did not die. OH! I almost completely forgot the most ridiculous thing that happened to me since I last blogged.

Nearly two and a half weeks ago, specifically, the night after I last blogged, I found out that my two-person apartment had a few extra occupants. And by a few, I mean a lot. And by occupants, I mean bed bugs. And by found out, I mean freaked out like woah. I had suspected for some time that there were bugs, but I had tried to ignore it and hoped the problem would disappear. Instead, it got worse. In short, I finally bailed on that infested hole of an apartment I lived in. I put up with the smoking neighbors, with the slanted floors, with the mice and the pigeons who roosted directly outside my window. I dealt with the grime and the cigarette burns in the carpet from the previous tenants. I had accepted that the curtains were broken and the landlord was not going to replace the two missing screens. But bed bugs I could not handle. Not when they were eating me and taking over, and especially not when my immune system was about to be knocked down by the chemo devil. To his very small credit, my landlord sent over an exterminator. The exterminator, however, only sprayed my bed and the baseboard in my bedroom, no where else, and he only did it once. Now, I'm not bug expert, but I did my research, and I know that is not enough to get rid of a bed bug problem. So I left. I, somehow, lucked out and found an apartment on craigslist directly below the one I am moving into in September. This place is huge... Hardwood floors, and bed bug-free. The shower is a little gross, but I can clean that. I am so much more comfortable knowing there aren't little brown bugs crawling over me and stealing my precious blood. So that was the unpleasant stressor of my past few weeks. Who knows what is next.

And that is my life. Long post, hooray! I hope everyone is enjoying their June so far and staying cool if you're in the oven that is Boston right now. Thank God for the sun though. Alright, stay happy and, as they say, don't let the bed bugs bite. Pax.

If you give me a pint of lemon sorbet from Trader Joe's, I will eat the Entire Thing.

2008-05-20T17:17:00.002-05:00

I swear, this stuff is like crack. Only cheaper ($1.99!) and much more delicious. I will be on a sugar high for the next 15 minutes before passing out on my couch. I am fine with that.

So I've been sitting here on my couch in my apartment, trying to figure out what to say about Jon Lester's no-hitter yesterday and Senator Kennedy's diagnosis with a brain tumor. There has been a ton of media coverage on both today in Boston, although Lester has been overshadowed by Kennedy. The two stories are nearly diametric opposites, and I am not sure how I feel about the extent and slant of the media coverage of either. Lester is being lauded for his amazing athletic achievements, which are all the more amazing because he is a cancer survivor! And he's only 24! And he beat cancer! The stories about Kennedy, meanwhile, are focusing on life expectancies and the treatability of his tumor. They are more like obituaries, highlighting Kennedy's achievements throughout his lifetime.

The more I think about it, the more I get uncomfortable with the stories about both men. It upsets me to watch and read the reactions to Kennedy's cancer diagnosis being played out by the media on a national scale. These reactions are typical of many people when they find out someone has cancer, and I find it jarring to see it all so publicized. "How long do they have?" is often the first question people want answered. Or, "How bad is it?" How depressing to think that most people automatically assume the worst. I am not saying Kennedy's tumor isn't awful. It is; I am really sorry for the senator and his family. I just hate that it seems like everyone is already preparing for his funeral.

The other side of this, as with Lester's case, is the amazement that people have when someone who had cancer accomplishes something outstanding. Lester pitched a no-hitter. Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France 7 times because he's ridiculous. This woman ran a marathon. That man sailed around the world. I feel as if there is almost an unconscious disbelief that someone can have cancer (gasp!), get over it, and move on with life. Those accomplishments are all amazing, but they are amazing for their own sakes, and not necessarily because the person had previously had cancer. I don't know. My emotions and thoughts are all muddled over this. I didn't mean to get off on such a tangent.

I did mean to talk about a few of the things that have happened in my life these past few weeks, but I fear that might be slightly hypocritical... Oh well, I'll do it anyway. This is still my b-log, after all. First and foremost, I finished school. Oh my God, am I relieved to be finished with this past year. Somehow, I ended up doing (fairly) well in my classes. Ironically, the class in which I had to ask for my first college essay extension was also my first college class in which I received a solid A. I didn't see that one coming. And now, I am a senior. I am a college senior. I still don't believe it, and I still get giddy when I think about it.

I am now also a photo intern at the Improper Bostonian, a fairly large and well-known magazine here in Boston. I actually got a summer internship for photography! That fact also still makes me giddy. I don't know how many other people applied for the internship (3? 50?), but for once my photos made the cut. It isn't hard news photography, but that is fine. I'm going to learn so much working with professionals and learning all about acquiring, editing, and publishing photographs for a magazine. Oh, and my own photos will hopefully even be published! Woooo! I am on my way, baby.

Otherwise, I have had a sore throat for about two weeks now. Oh well. I also go in tomorrow for my drugs. I am more prepared for this next week, so hopefully it won't be too bad. Thank you all again for putting up with my mildly incoherent rants. Hopefully someone's still reading here because I still plan on writing. Anyway, enjoy the rest of the week, and I'll think happy thoughts for you all tomorrow as my nurse shoots me up. Peace and delicious, delicious sorbet.

Is tomorrow really the last day of classes for this semester?

2008-04-30T15:45:00.002-05:00

I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and there will still be six weeks left. I feel like I am just barely getting comfortable in my classes, and I couldn't tell you what I was supposed to have learned over the past three and a half months. I am also sorry I haven't blogged more. I have grown tremendously as a person this past semester, and I'm not sure how well that has come across in my blog posts. I cannot emphasize enough how difficult and rewarding this semester has been. You all have been privy to some of the bigger events and challenges I have faced, but you may not realize that not one day goes by where I don't think about cancer and what it has done/is doing to me.

To illustrate my point, sort of, I got my monthly chemo shot one week ago. When I started my maintenance therapy, I had no idea what it would be like. Last week was my fourth injection, as I only get them every four weeks, and they began in January. Way back in January, I was under the impression that the maintenance therapy was not going to affect me at all. I thought, wrongly, that this semester I could get back to being busy and working too hard. It wasn't until the end of March and beginning of April, when my body essentially mutinied, that I was forced to rethink and reorganize my expectations. Now, you may say, Caroline, in March, you had only had three injections, and even if they are only once a month, you are still getting deadly chemical drugs pumped into your system. It is understandable that you wouldn't know how you would react, and it is absurd that you expect yourself to be able to ignore the fact that you are still getting chemotherapy. And I would agree with you, now. But I was, I still am, so eager to move on from chemo and cancer that I ignored and even completely denied my limitations. All I wanted was to be a student; I didn't want to accept that I was still a patient.

I don't think I have written this yet this semester, but it needs to be noted: I started seeing a psychologist back in January, and we have met maybe six or seven times over the past three months. It was hard for me to enlist the help of a professional in trying to make sense of myself with cancer, but it has been probably the best thing for me. It has taken me a while to get comfortable with my doctor, but she is one of the primary catalysts in my realization that it is necessary and okay to accept my limitations. Haha, I think she was pretty happy when I told her I broke down and asked for that paper's extension. Sort of a, maybe there's hope for me after all, type of deal.

But like I said, I am still learning. I realized (maybe better to say that I accepted) the other day that I am no longer a student. I mean, technically, yes, but not really. The student mentality of invincibility and actions-without-consequences doesn't exist in me anymore. I almost died; I can break. And a few months ago, maybe even a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to admit that. Even this past week I was forced to sigh and accept certain fun and unpleasant bodily reactions to chemo that I had previously tried to ignore. Briefly, I have been having some wicked intestinal issues in response to the drugs. Yes, it's gross, but that's what you get. The injection dehydrates and plugs me up, and yet the steroids I take make me want to eat All the Time. And while I want to eat All the Time, I was strangely craving mostly pizza, All the Time. Now, pizza is wonderful, but greasy cheese is probably not the best thing to eat when your organs could use a roto-rooter. So these past few days I have been trying to find some sort of balance between eating, drinking water and pooping, all while my stomach is contending with gut-wrenching cramps. Haha, it's awesome! And you wonder, I'm sure, how I thought I could just get on with my merry life.

But again, I am slowly learning and accepting and growing up, growing far beyond anyone I thought I would ever be. The best, or worst, part is that it's only (almost!!) May. I still have seven more months of this, but I think I will be able to handle them a little better than I have the past four. Thank you all for reading, and I will try and update with a bit more frequency during the summer because Internship?! Book deal?! Biking?! There are many things to share. Stay tuned, and stay in tune with yourself. Peace.

Boston is a-bloom!

2008-04-19T17:58:00.000-05:00

It has been a while since I've uploaded any of my mediocre nature photographs, so I thought I would brighten everyone's day and share what I've been shooting recently. I do have photos of people, some of which are pretty good, but I think I'll just stick to the pictorial photos on here. As my title suggests, spring has finally come to Boston. I haven't experienced a Boston spring in two years, and I forgot how beautiful the city becomes. There are tulip trees everywhere, and they are all bursting into pink and white flowers. The sun is shining, new grass is finding its way up, and everyone is outside, this weekend especially.

I went for a walk down Newbury Street (a popular street downtown with upscale shops and restaurants) earlier today, and it was jam-packed. I couldn't figure out why there were so many people, but then I started looking around: Most of the people were wearing or carrying Boston Marathon gear. Ah, that's right. The Boston Marathon is this Monday, and there are activities and conventions and conferences all weekend for the thousands of runners, many of whom are not from Boston. They are all wandering around, checking out the city before they have to run through it. There is also a Red Sox home game tonight, so a good half to three-quarters of everyone outside is wearing some peice of Red Sox gear. I saw one girl wearing a Sox jersey, hat and dangling logo earings. That right there is dedication. Oh and also: the Boston Bruins are trying to give the Montreal Canadiens a run for their money, and the sixth playoff game in the seven-game series is tonight in Boston. So there are a few people running around in Bruins gear. I think there is also a Celtics game tomorrow... Baseball, basketball, hockey, running, sun: spring fever has taken over, and I am so thankful to be here experiencing it. Not like a year ago when I wanted to come to Boston for the Marathon and was too sick to make it. Thanks, kidneys.

I have been doing pretty well. The way my schedule works, I only have five actual days of class left - BU finishes classes on May 2. I have a major photo project to do, as well as a big English paper, and then I only have to worry about finals. This year has gone by so quickly. The past eight months are a blur in my memory. Maybe one day someone will be able to explain to me how I did everything I did, but right now, I have no idea how I survived. It isn't over yet, either. My final final is three weeks from today. Once I ace that, then I can breathe. But I am still amazed that I have come this far. I can barely believe it, but I feel almost (knock on wood) healthy. I feel so much better than I did even a week ago. I am trying to start running again, finally, and I am back on my bike. I get my chemo again this coming Wednesday, which will leave me feeling unpleasant for about a week, but I can deal with it.

So that's it. Super busy, feeling good, feeling stressed; it all sounds about right. I hope you all can get out and enjoy the sunshine if you have it. Life, in general, just seems a little bit better when it is 70 degrees and sunny. Oh, and happy Patriot's Day. Peace.

The sagas continue.

2008-03-30T14:38:00.004-05:00

Oh, so many sagas. College student, young adult, cancer survivor, female, motivational speaker, coughing, musician, photographer, hungry... Pick your poison or pleasure. I like to think that no person is truly one-dimensional. We all have different sides, multiple stories and uncommon experiences. I am fortunate to be able to share some of my stories with anyone who cares to click on a link and start reading.

So as I was saying, the sagas. It kind of cracks me up how many different definitions there are of who I am, and yet I am still just one person. Yesterday and last night are great examples of that. I'll begin in the wee small hours of yesterday morning, when I went to bed. Now, I am really not a hardcore partier. I like small, informal gatherings with friends and food. But I am still a crazy college student! and every once in a while, I do stay out past my bedtime. Friday night was one of those nights. It wasn't even that crazy of a night; it was just late. But that's fine. We all need to relax and hang out sometimes. During the day yesterday, I met up with my fellow editors on the Brownstone Journal, BU's undergraduate research publication. We are finalizing our issue for this year, and right now that means editing 10 to 20 page research papers. Worth noting, perhaps, is that I am a bit of a nerd and (kind of...) enjoy copy editing. I will destroy your comma splice, if it kills you and me together. After our editing extravaganza, I had to book it to the Logan Airport Hilton hotel, where I was one of the featured performers/survivors at the Golf Ball, a benefit for brain-tumor research and the Jimmy Fund.

Over the course of about 90 minutes, I went from frazzled college student in frayed jeans, lugging my messenger bag, camera and guitar, to a young professional in a cocktail dress with heels. The Golf Ball itself was great. The auction raised a ton of money for the Jimmy Fund, the food was Amazing! and everyone was there to support the eradication of cancer, which, of course, was the best part of the whole evening. Oh yeah, and I guess I did okay with the whole guitar-sing-say a bit about myself thing. I am going to be a bit immodest right now but only because I think it's funny. I love defying people's expectations of me. I am not a terribly conspicuous person. I carry myself well when I want to, and I can hold an intelligent conversation if I need to. But I am not self-promoting, and I try to keep a low profile. I met a few people before I played, and I'm sure they all thought I was a nice girl, good story, etc. But then I got on stage, did my Caroline-thing and showed them that there is a lot more to me than meets the eye. I love being on stage. I love singing, and I love playing guitar. I also occasionally enjoy dressing up a bit. I was so happy to be able to combine all of those things in support of such a great cause. Yes, I am a cancer survivor, but I am so many other things as well. We all are. Every one of us who is fighting something, it doesn't matter what, cannot be typecast by that one fight. I think, I hope, last night I did my small part in illustrating how we all live our lives our own way, and it is pretty awesome.

I am still battling the cold-demon. I am still procrastinating on my stupid paper. I am still forcing myself to not go to every event in Boston to take photos because I need to focus on getting well right now. I still play guitar; I am still writing songs. And I am still surviving. Last night was one opportunity for me to help others find a way to survive as well, and I can only hope I will have more chances to advocate others' survivals. Life is so ridiculous. No one should have to miss out on any of the sagas that their lives have in store, no matter how difficult some of those sagas may be. So, as I've said before, I am fighting for survivorship now. Last night I guitared a bit and joked a bit and shared my story. This coming week, I am speaking to a women's health class at BU, and I am also going to be on a panel discussing "college and cancer" at a young-adult symposium downtown. Oh yeah, and I might finish my paper, maybe. The sagas continue, and I will continue to chronicle them. Enjoy this week, the last day of March and the beginning of April! Hooray. One month of school left. Peace.

oh, p.s. Once again, if you don't want to comment on the b-log but want to say hi or tell me I need to eat more red meat and less Starbucks iced chai, feel free to drop me an e-mail: cbridges86@gmail.com

Dear Lay's Sour Cream & Onion potato chips:

2008-03-25T17:57:00.004-05:00

You are so bad for me, and yet, you are so delicious. I am not even hungry right now, but I can't help but eat you. Thank you for adding a little bit of hydrogenated sunshine to my otherwise unsaturated world.

In other news, I have had a mostly unpleasant past four weeks. Why is that, you ask? Well, I will tell you. Four weeks ago tomorrow, I received my monthly chemotherapy injection. At the same time, my doctor upped my pill-chemo just a little bit. Two days after my injection, I started to feel a bit under the weather. Six days after my injection, I got a fever and was certain I was going to kick my bucket as I was curled up in the fetal position under all my blankets and two sweaters. One week and two days after my injection, I found out that I tested positive for Influenza A. Hooray! Worth noting is when I was tested for the flu (a nasal flush. not as fun as it sounds), I found out my white cell count had plummeted. I was not neutropenic, but I was immuno-compromised to the point where I was advised to stay away from people and their germies. Also, and this conclusion I drew myself, I could not fight any viruses! I know this chemo stuff is supposed to make me all better for ever and ever, but, I swear, it is only making me sicker.

I have tried to stay away from ranting in my blog. There is nothing constructive about complaining, especially when it is to a general audience that probably doesn't want to hear another person's gripes and moans. That being said, this past month has been terrible, and today was sort of the tipping point. Also, this is my blog, and, snap, I do what I want. So today, I was forced to concede that I cannot do everything, and every once in a while I need to ask for help. Unfortunately, I don't have a whole lot of experience doing that, so I sort of mucked it up, which only made things worse in my mind. You may possibly be wondering what I am talking about. I am talking about how earlier this afternoon I asked one of my professors for an extension on a ten-page paper we have due this Thursday because I haven't been able to finish the damn thing on account of my being so sick and exhausted. I have never asked for an extension on a paper in college (that I know of, and my incompletes don't count). I absolutely did not want to do it now, but I know that if I had tried to finish the paper these past few days, I would have only exhausted and stressed myself out more, which probably would have made me sicker, which would have most likely been not a good idea. The worst part of all of this is that I didn't explain this to my professor. I just sort of walked into his office awkwardly, asked him for an extension, and when asked why, responded, "well... I've been really sick lately... and I'm going to the doctor's tomorrow and will be sicker for the next week or so... I just need until Tuesday." I felt like such an idiot, but I didn't want to explain everything to him. I don't want cancer and chemo to be my fall-back excuse. Chemotherapy is kind of a valid reason, I guess, for an extension, but I am proud. I don't want to admit when my treatment debilitates me. Anyway, who knows if he believed me or not. He granted me a week extension for the paper, which is ample time, but I still feel like an idiot. I seriously left his office and burst into tears, which I then had to wipe away because I needed to work on another assignment, and then I had to go to his class and take notes about shield laws for journalists.

In summation: chemo is the devil because it causes your immune system to crash, which in turn causes your body to pretty much have a constant cold (or flu), which in turn exhausts you, which, when added to the standard pressures of college and mounting pressures of the last six weeks of school, makes for a lot of stress and a long few weeks. Phew. And that is my rant. Thank you all so much for humoring me; I feel much better now. Well, mentally. I am still hacking up pleasant green goo. The good news is that it is almost Spring... It's so close I can taste it. Things can really only get better with the arrival of warmth and flowers and abundant sunshine. To everyone suffering with me through these long, wet and cold days, take heart: you are not alone, and these days are nearing their end. That is never all I have to say, but that is all I will say today. Peace.

How often does one get to blog on February 29?

2008-02-29T11:31:00.002-06:00

Every four years, actually. I suppose it is exciting, but, quite frankly, I am looking forward to March.

I know I have been lax in updating this b-log. I have been super busy with school, and, medically, there hasn't been much to report. One of the things my mom always brought up when we were discussing my blog was, "What is your purpose in writing?" I've been thinking about that: My purpose used to be to share what my life was like living with cancer. I wanted people to know that it is scary, but it isn't unmanageable. Drugs, more drugs, oh, I suppose there were some drugs, but finally the cancer was Destroyed! So now what do I have to talk about? I am still getting a bit of treatment but neither frequently nor with the same degree of toxicity as my old stuff. Now, I am more concerned with passing my classes than clearing my chemo (although the former is proving to be a wee bit trickier...) Here's the thing though. I have a whole bunch of upcoming cancer-related activities. Well, more survivor-related activities. Ever since the Globe article came out, and even dating back to the BU Today piece, I have been in touch with various people and groups about becoming more active as a young-adult survivor.

I don't want to stop writing, especially as I do have a ton of things to do in the near future. So I am revising my purpose in blogging. My purpose is no longer only to share what it's like to be 20 and living with cancer, although there will still be some of that. Now, I want to write about what it's like to be a vocal survivor as I share my experiences with different groups of people.

First example: One week from today, I will be spending the weekend at my high school Culver Girls Academy, in Indiana. A while ago, I was contacted by the Dean of Girls who asked me if I would like to be the keynote speaker at the girls' school annual Celebration of Women Convention (CWC). I will be speaking about my experiences both at Culver and post-Culver, and I am sure my cancer experiences will play into that somehow. I am nervous to be speaking to these girls, some of whom were freshmen when I was a senior in CGA. The strange thing is, I am so much older than when I graduated from high school almost three years ago. If not in age, then definitely in maturity. College, in general, matures people, and I have had one hell of a college career so far. A lot of the women I graduated with are amazing and are doing wonderful and noteworthy things with themselves. Compared to many of my classmates, I am pretty average, but I am sure I will be able to find something compelling and (hopefully) snarky to share with the girls. I know I wouldn't have been asked back to speak if I hadn't had cancer, especially if I hadn't responded so positively to cancer, but that's fine.

Much of what I will be doing over the next few months stems not from my having had cancer but from my blogging about it and being so open about what I've gone through. I want to share my insight with others. I don't want to have gone through so much and then just relegate cancer to a distant past. There are no more leukemic cells hanging out in my marrow, but cancer will always be a part of me. So I am writing about it here; I wrote a piece for a Dana-Farber patient publication (to be printed in April); I am participating in a fund-raiser for Dana-Farber and brain tumor research (check out their Website!); I somehow find myself continuously photographing events for either Dana-Farber or, this coming Sunday, the American Cancer Society. Like I said, cancer is still a huge part of my life, but now I am focusing my energies outward instead of wholly inward. I think it is a natural and good progression. So stay tuned, because there will be many more updates and events and scary public speaking engagements.

Again, thank you so much for everyone who has and may still be reading this. Be safe, be happy, and enjoy your extra day of February. Spring is so close! Peace.

Well hello there.

2008-02-08T07:06:00.000-06:00

Fear not, those few of you who may still occasionally check to find a new post, I have not gone away. I just haven't had terribly much to discuss, and I have had even less time in which to discuss it. Three weeks into this second semester of school and I have been nothing but crazy busy all the time. I am still getting chemo every four weeks, and I still have a nagging head cold (I've given up on that ever going away). The interesting thing, to me at least, is that I am also still learning how to maintain some balance in my life. I still struggle with how much is too much.

This past Monday, three major presidential candidates campaigned in Massachusetts. John McCain spoke in downtown Boston in the morning, and Barack Obama held a rally here that evening (Hillary Clinton was not in the city). I planned, ambitious photographer that I am, to photograph the McCain talk in the morning, do my day activities, and then find my way to the convention center to photograph Obama. Worth noting: the night before, the Patriots lost the Super Bowl. I wasn't particularly upset by the loss, but I did watch the game, and it was still a late night. So Monday morning, I was a bit frazzled, a bit late, and a lot tired. I grabbed my camera, a long lens, a spare battery, and headed out the door. I invested in a bagel and chai tea at my local bagel shop, desperately needing food and caffeine. I suppose it is also worth noting that I had received my monthly chemo the Wednesday prior, and I was definitely still feeling it, not to mention not sleeping. Anyway, so I hustled onto the train downtown with my bag, my camera, my tea, and my bagel. Then, disaster struck.

As if in slow motion, the train started to move, jolted into motion. Look down, camera between my feet. Between my knees, my tea. Shake; bounce, and forward falls the tea. Spills on the top of my camera. (#$@!) Spring into action: I grabbed my camera and immediately began to wipe it off, but the damage was done. My camera, my baby, my expensive piece of equipment that I take great care of, no longer worked.

I'll turn down the verbiage and just sum up the rest. Most likely, I short-circuited the electronics in the camera body. I sent it to Canon on Wednesday, and I pray they can fix it soon. I did end up shooting the McCain event because I happened to have an extra body at my apartment. I did not, however, photograph the Barack rally, and here's why: I would not have wrecked my camera if I hadn't been so emotionally all over the place. I was unnecessarily stressing myself, expecting way too much. I realized I needed to stop trying to do so many things. I wish it hadn't happened, but Monday was a wake-up call for me to calm down, right now.

As much as I wish I could, I can not do everything. Bad things happen when I try. So this whole week I have been consciously telling myself to slow down. It is so hard for me though, when I really want to put fatigue and sickness and everything behind me. It's funny that despite everything I have gone through so far, I haven't learned. You'd think getting cancer would be like, oh hey, yeah, maybe you should be a bit more receptive to the idea that it is okay to not do everything... But no. It took my camera short-circuiting, which, I suppose, says a lot about me. So that's what's going on in my world. Every day is an adventure. I have lots of updates about upcoming activities and ridiculousnesses, but you'll have to wait for those juicy details. Slow down; enjoy your day. Peace.

Let's talk about what's awesome.

2008-01-15T22:16:00.000-06:00

"As of now, I feel pretty much back to normal. As in, no pain, no nausea, appetite's normal, energy's high, strength is high, all that fantastic stuff that usually means you're healthy and most people just completely take for granted. Heck yes. Cancer: you can kiss my skinny butt. The only sad thing is that BU starts class tomorrow. I guess most people are sad because they have to go to class. I'm sad because I'm not. But, best not to think too much about it. I'll be back sooner than it seems."

I wrote that one year ago today. January 15, 2007, I was in Chicago, lamenting my presence in Chicago while my friends and classmates were lamenting their return to class. January 15, 2008, I am in Boston, overjoyed that tomorrow I have class along with every one else here at BU. I find it so interesting to look back at my old blog posts. I can see exactly where I was and what I was thinking one year ago and compare it to where I am and what I'm thinking now. My situation certainly has changed. I find it funny, too, that I wrote I felt "pretty much back to normal." I think, in reality, I was trying so hard to tell myself that I felt normal. I desperately wanted to be normal. I had just finished my first inpatient onslaught of chemo, the initial barrage that killed most, if not all, of the visible leukemic cells. I survived with flying colors, barely sick, and eager to get on with some semblance of a life. I never thought, oh, this isn't fair, why did this happen to me? I more thought, oh, this is stupid; there isn't anything wrong with me; stop treating me like a sick child. I think it's fair to say that for a very long time (months...) I was in my own form of denial about having cancer. Maybe that was a good thing. I am certainly irreverent when it comes to talking about it, or I was. Cracked jokes about my catheter, my hair, my pills, everything. It's how I got through it, I think. Well, that, and the prospect of returning to school.

Here I am, one year later, like a kid before Christmas. I am excited; I am nervous; I am not looking forward to the massive amounts of homework I just know are headed my way. Maybe I can pretend my homework doesn't exist either, and it will go away like my cancer. That would be freaking sweet. It's just so strange to me that I have been cancer-free for one year now, and yet I have just barely finished my initial infusions, and I still have one year of maintenance therapy. I am not done yet, but the cancer is so far gone. Yes, I am back at school, working, running, eating, whatever. A stranger would think I am that awful word, "Normal." But I am in-between cancer and not-cancer. I am a survivor, in remission, still receiving therapy, had cancer. What does "normal" mean, anyway? I wrote I had a "normal appetite." I can say for sure that now my appetite is hugenormous. I love me my foods. Is that normal? Seriously, I do not know what the word means anymore, and I do not want to know. I am me, and I am frequently absurd, mostly unexplainable. The best part is, by "normal" standards, I'm not even healthy right now! I have a raging cough and my nose hasn't stopped running in five months. For real. So yeah. I am here, in my apartment, in Boston, ready to start my spring semester at BU. I am me, whoever you think I am plus whoever I know I am: I am abnormal awesome. And although it took me longer than I expected to move forward to where I am, I did it. I did it, and so can you, if you need to. Anyway, that's all. Happy Tuesday, sad toad. Peace.

You know what's lame?

2008-01-09T22:34:00.000-06:00

Smoking is lame. It is even worse when it is happening in the back stairwell directly behind my bedroom door. My dear, darling apartment-neighbor was standing in the fire stairs, smoking a cigarette. I walked into my room and started freaking out a bit because I smelled something burning. I figured it might have been their food, but then I opened the door in my room that leads out the back, and there was the man, looking at his phone, nodding his head when I asked him if he was smoking. Super lame. I have since opened my window, and my bedroom seems to be airing out decently. This is my first apartment anywhere, much less in Boston, so I am pretty pumped to be here. I am, however, struggling between my love of my apartment's location and rent and my distaste with its sub-par cleanliness. I've killed two mice in the past week, although I think (hope?) that is the last of them, and the neighbors, blah blah, they'd better not burn down the building. Oh well. I just really don't want to have to move.

In other news, my first round of maintenance chemotherapy didn't go quite as I had expected. I was expecting a quick injection, a few pills, a nice chat with my doctor, and presto, I would be good to go, worry-free for four weeks. As I wrote last week, that is just about how things went down on injection day. What happened in the days between then and now has caused me some concern. Basically, the chemo, the one little injection and the few pills, took over my body. It made me lose my appetite and taste buds, it sapped my energy, and it allowed for my waning cold to regroup, strategize, and resurge. I tried to battle the effects by running (ten minutes straight! making progress, alright), but I think the exercise might have depleted my energy even more. Oh, and the best part are the steroids. I get to take them for five days every four weeks. These 'roids won't make me hit record numbers of home runs, but they will completely disrupt my sleeping patterns as well as give me crazy, lifelike dreams. Hooray! It has been a week now. My taste buds have come back, and my sleep is returning to normal, although I don't like thinking about the dreams I might have. They're not scary, just disgruntling. But anyway. I'm not sure if I will be thusly affected every time I get the chemo over the next year. I certainly hope not, but it is too soon to tell.

Otherwise, I've been working at the gym, reading some Salman Rushdie, and trying to mentally defeat my cold. Classes resume in one week, and I am ready for this semester to begin. I don't know what will happen, but I hope good things are in store. Enjoy the rest of the week, and find something to smile about tomorrow. Solid goal, I'd say. Pax.

**late addition! This is my first post of 2008. My adventures in the blog-world have officially spanned three years. Ridiculous.**

Back to the daily grind.

2008-01-02T13:42:00.000-06:00

January 2nd, and the holidays are all but behind us. Barely one day after the holiday that is New Year's Day, we are working and stressing and forgetting that last week was Christmas and the alarm was silent. I, for one, woke today at 5 am for my 6 am shift at the ProShop. It was fine though. I had my coffee, and there were only a few die-hard regulars during those early, dark hours. After that, I had my first session of maintenance therapy at Dana-Farber, only four months later than planned. Meh. As I've mentioned, I am not finished with treatment yet. I am just through with the heavy and frequent pills and infusions. Now I only have to go in every four weeks for a chemotherapy push, equivalent to a shot. I have to take a few more pills too: steroids every day for five days, low-grade chemo daily, a different chemo pill once a week, and, of course, the antibiotics. There is also a bone-marrow biopsy scheduled every six months. All in all, not that bad. My counts will probably remain below normal levels, but not so low that I won't be able to do anything. All this lasts until two years from my initial diagnosis, or December 8, 2008. Then I will be completely free of all chemo nuisances.

A refresher for new and old readers: this here b-log is meant to be both an account of what I'm going through (or went through), and information about ALL and certain chemo realities. I am mostly just relaying what I learn, see, hear, feel, think, wish, and anything else I deem appropriate. I sort of have this vision in my head that somewhere, some newly diagnosed someone has stumbled across my b-log and is grateful for the witty (?) commentary and frank explanations. So there.

Here's what I learned today: Cancer survivors in remission sort of tout the five-year mark as the "all clear" date for their disease. I talked to my doctor today about recurrence and its likelihood in me. He told me that ALL usually comes back during treatment or during the first two years following treatment. His ballpark was that usually we are "all clear" after four years. I think five is just a nice round number with the extra year as a little safety cushion. Which is fine with me. The point is that my cancer didn't come back during treatment. At last biopsy, my marrow was clean and sparkly and lacking any nasty cancerous cells. Now I've just got two or three more years of mild doubt or fear, supposedly. Really, the fear never quite goes away, but hopefully the cancer will for absolutely ever.

I also learned about fertility, rather, infertility. According to the professionals, I should not be infertile. My doc's information was that survivors of childhood cancers, especially ALL, carry the same risk of infertility as any other person out there. Radiation may cause it, as well as bone-marrow transplants, which apparently affect the pituitary (sp?) glands, which in turn affect the ovaries, but luckily I didn't need a transplant. So while I don't even really plan on having children, it is a valid question and good to know that I don't need to worry if I eventually change my mind.

Third fun factoid of the day: Human Papilloma Virus - a nasty little bugger that can potentially lead to... more cancer. More cancer is probably the last thing I want, anywhere, ever. Perhaps then, the HPV vaccine is something I should look into. Once again, according to my doctor, this is a smart inquiry. He is not, however, too sure about the efficacy of the vaccine while I am still immuno-compromised. Vaccines work because basically a dead or harmless virus is injected into your system. Your body is able to produce antibodies to the virus which would hopefully kick in if ever you were exposed to the actual virus. No studies have been done on female cancer patients to see whether they could make the antibodies to the virus, in part because the vaccine is so new. It is a good idea to get the vaccine as a precautionary measure, but my question now is, when? I will have more on this issue in the future after I've done some research and talked to my doctor more.

Finally: (sorry, this is a long post. I enjoy typing while listening to crazy flamenco, awesome guitar). Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has read the Globe article and responded to me, whether by e-mail or here on the b-log. I can't express my appreciation for your support and your stories. No one is alone in their fight against the beast that is cancer, so I thank you all for your kind words. Keep on fighting, whether you have, have had, or do not have cancer. Life is pretty amazing regardless, and we are all in it together. ALSO! I would love to hear from you personally. If you don't want to post comments on the internet, please feel free to e-mail me at cbridges86@gmail.com. If you want to say hey, share your story, tell me I'm really not as witty as I like to believe, whatever, it's all good. cbridges86@gmail.com. So thank you again, and enjoy the week! Peace.

I do believe this warrants a new post!

2007-12-30T17:02:00.000-06:00

In the past hour, the third most e-mailed article on the Boston Globe's website has been this one: "BU student's cancer blog," two ahead of the article covering the Patriots' win yesterday and following a top-ten list of places and a restaurant review. So, sweet! Yes, the Globe finally published the article about me and my exciting adventures in Boston as a college student-cancer survivor-allaroundawesome person. The story is wonderfully written, and I really like the photographs. The wait was most definitely worth while. Besides, it isn't particularly a time-sensitive story. The best/most exciting part about this is the people I have heard from already! The article only came out this morning, and I have received e-mails and messages and blog comments. Thank you to everyone who has read the story. You are all very kind.

I just noticed that already my story has been taken over by the Patriots' win in the most-e-mailed, i.e., my imaginary popularity contest that doesn't actually mean anything unless you're in my head, in which case it does a little bit. Such is the fickle world of the media and its public. I will grant you that the Patriots' beating the Giants and setting all kinds of new and crazy records is a big deal. Yesterday's game will remain important and notable for years to come. But its importance is on such a completely different level than my own dogged persistence in living that it almost isn't fair to compare the two. My story just happened to run the day after one of the bigger football games for New England this year. Oh well.

The point is that I am honored the Globe picked up my story. I know I've said this before, but I still don't think what I did is all that exciting. I got sick; I fought like hell; I got better. But cancer happens, and that's pretty much all we can do. Thank you to everyone, again, for reading my b-log. Writing it has helped me so much, and I hope reading it is just as beneficial. I don't think I am going to be able to drop this thing cold turkey. Every so often I find myself thinking, "Haha, that's funny, I should blog about that." So I probably will, although not as regularly as I used to. Everything is going so well here in Boston. I am so lucky and happy and excited for this upcoming semester. Hoo-rah, and Happy New Year! It's about time this past year ended. Good luck and happy tidings to all. Peace.

incredibly awesome or incredibly stupid: You decide.

2007-12-14T07:44:00.001-06:00

I'm going to go with incredibly awesome. As in, I am. It has been a sort of nutty week for me, by which I mean emotional. I had my one-year anniversary; I had a minor breakdown; I realized I needed to get over myself and move on. I have been upset at myself for not doing as well as I had wanted this past semester. I think I have pulled solid B's, which is not bad, but it isn't as well as I have done in the past. But after talking to my mom and a few of my professors, as well as having a conversation with myself, I realized I need to stop comparing who I am to who I was. It was a wholly unrealistic expectation to think I could just come back to school and pick right back up again. I have never gotten straight A's (except once, the highlight of my high school career). How could I have expected to have done it this semester, of all semesters? So I realized I am unhappy because I am being too hard on myself. I expect so much from myself that I am disappointed when it doesn't all happen, and I fail to see everything that I have accomplished.

I have been through the metaphoric ringer this past year. For one year, I have not had any break from anything. Cancer, cancer, school, school plus cancer, none of it has been easy. I think it is safe to say that it was, in fact, hard. Yet here I am.

So I have decided to let go of the person I was one year ago. I changed my appearance, and now I am changing my attitude. I am now a redhead. I am working on my confidence in myself - who I am right now, not who I wish I was. I can't wait for this coming winter break. It will be my first real vacation in one year, which I so badly need. I am getting pumped for next semester. 3/4 of my best friends are leaving Boston, but I know they will all be doing wonderful things in places like London, Beijing, Los Angeles, and beyond. I wish them only the best of luck and good times. As sad as I am that they are leaving, it will, hopefully, finally be the catalyst to get me out and about. I'm planning to start dancing again, I'm taking a tennis course, and who knows what else I'll find to do. It will be good.

Aside: why I'm awesome/stupid - I ran yesterday. Not incredibly exciting in and of itself, but the fun fact is that I had a bone-marrow biopsy the day before. Hoorah for pushing my body to its limit! Also cause for celebration, my marrow is still clean and cancer-free. Double hoorah. I really love being healthy.

This semester is finally over. I have an exam on Saturday and one more on Monday (corrected. Thanks Dave), and then I am finished. I rocked it, and you had better believe I will continue to rock. Thank you to everyone who had faith in me, even though I have struggled to have faith in myself. Keep on keeping on; I think of you all often. Peace.

Welcome to today.

2007-12-08T09:13:00.001-06:00

I want to run; I want to scream; I want to bike; I want to cry; I want to lose myself in the woods; I want to be with my best friends; I want to be completely alone; I want to throw up; I want to be everything and nothing. I want one year ago today to have never happened. I want today to not exist.

One year ago today I found out I had cancer. One year later and I no longer have cancer. My marrow is no longer full of leukemic cells. I am now making my own blood, and I am making lots of it. I have changed in so many ways, most of which I can not even explain. One year ago, I was sick, and now I am healthy. But I am so much more than that. I have been pushed to my limit physically, emotionally, mentally, socially. I wouldn't say I've looked death in the eye, and death looked away first, because I haven't. I have thought about death, though, and I know I have caused other people to think about death and the uncertainty of life. I think it is fair to say that I have gone through, and survived, maybe even prevailed, over more trials than I ever thought possible. Every day has been a challenge to think positively. Many days, strangely, many more now that I have finished chemo, I wake up not wanting to face the world. I haven't wanted to leave my room or my apartment, haven't wanted to see other people living their lives, oblivious to pain and certainly not noticing me.

I wish a year ago today had never happened. But it did happen, so now what? So now, I get to keep going. I get to go to school; perhaps I will even graduate. I get to live with the multitude of small scars on my chest and lower back. I get to understand others' pains because I have Been There. I get to live with the certainty that I can beat anything. Even if I forget sometimes, there is nothing that can keep me down. I know how important it is to listen to my body. If I am hungry, I eat (a lot). I sleep when I'm tired (usually). Possibly the most important thing I need to take from this is how important it is to listen to what my body is yelling at me. We are complicated machinery, and our bodies have a fantastic system of internal communication. When something is terribly not right, there will be messages. We all need to heed those messages. Not become paranoid, necessarily, but at least be aware of what we need to do for ourselves. Now, I just hope I remember what I've learned.

Also: I wouldn't have made it through these past twelve months without my family, friends, and everyone who has supported me or even thought about me or sent a prayer my way. Thank you all. I have realized just how important my friends are to me. We all need each other, every single day. I've needed a bit more, and thank you for giving it. And to every person who has told me I look good with short hair: Thank you so much for making my day all the time! I've lost a lot of confidence in my appearance, and it's nice to occasionally be reminded that I am just being silly.

I am having a party at my apartment tonight, "Holidazed." I worked this morning. I won't say I've had a great day, because there's this whole bit sort of hanging over it, but I have had a good day. I can't wait for my party, to actually be among my friends. I wish everyone I know could be here, enjoying my chicken chili and not-so-tasty gingerbread cookies (and beer...), but thank you for being with me these past months. I am not finished with this stupid disease yet, but the worst part is over, and now it's just wait and see what tomorrow brings. Peace, pax, however you say it. Enjoy life.

'Tis the season where very little goes right.

2007-11-27T05:46:00.001-06:00

It is nearing the end of the semester, which means final projects and final exams are imminent. I have papers, portfolios, and an overdue essay for English, all to be turned in sometime this week. Oh but wait, there's more. My computer has begun to have epileptic fits. Sometimes it turns on; sometimes it does not. Sometimes it freezes; other times, it goes to the Blue Screen. My dilemma is this, then: I replaced my hard drive exactly one year ago today. It is barely still under warranty. I could have my hard drive replaced for free right now, but then I would lose my software, especially MS Word, not to mention my camera stuff. I basically just need a brand, spanking new computer. Gah. I really do not want to deal with this right now, but I suppose I must.

The really awesome news is that I have been running, and I feel and look very healthy. I ran last night for fifteen minutes, which I broke up with walking. I was so excited though because I found a groove, and it just felt good. So while I am stressed out about school and such, all is generally well. Also, I found out I am going home for Christmas now. I wasn't planning on it. Last Christmas wasn't that great for me, and I hadn't particularly wanted to go home again. But I am hoping this year will be better, and I'll get to see my brothers. I would really, really love to go see the Bears play on December 23, but I don't think I'd be able to find tickets. I mean, holy poop, they are playing the Packers! How amazing would it be to actually be at the game? I remember watching Bears games in the hospital over Christmas and getting so excited and probably weirding out the nurses. Good times. So, maybe I'll get to the game, but most likely I'll be watching it from my living room. At least it won't be from a hospital bed. I am looking forward to going home now, though, although I had to think it over very hard. It will only be for about a week anyway.

So school/computer problems aside, life is pretty good. I think I am going to start phasing this out soon. I have a bone marrow biopsy tomorrow, and after that things calm down for a bit. So we'll see what happens with the b-log. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and enjoy the rest of this week! Peace.

Would it be cliche to write a Thanksgiving Post on Thanksgiving?

2007-11-22T20:11:00.001-06:00

Yes. Yes it would. Luckily, I will still do my best to write one. Thanksgiving honestly doesn't mean very much to me anymore. Consumerism, the driving force of America, has almost eradicated Thanksgiving as a holiday. After Halloween, stores went straight to putting up Christmas decorations. I suppose it makes sense from a commercial standpoint: Thanksgiving is not a money-making holiday. Halloween is; Christmas is. The point of Thanksgiving is to give thanks for what we have. It is difficult to find a way to commercialize that concept, although the food stores do a good job in marketing and selling the "Thanksgiving feast" foodings. And yet it is the point of this day that needs to be emphasized.

I have not spent a Thanksgiving with my family in three years. As I mentioned, it isn't very important to me. I am thankful every single day for what I have and for who I am. I don't need an excuse to eat turkey or nap for two hours after sleeping eleven hours last night. The point of Thanksgiving, to me at least, shouldn't be a day to indulge yourself without feeling guilty. For the past three years, I have spent today just enjoying being me. Last year I went to Starbucks and a movie by myself. This year I worked on a photo project, napped, and relaxed. The absolute best part of this is that I am on my own, in my own apartment, spending the day how I want. As much as I am stressed out or anxious about school, I am content with my life right now.

One year ago I was working myself ragged. I remember last Thanksgiving break: on Wednesday, I worked at the gym from 6-10 am, and then I went to Borders to work from 11-8. I was sick, I was exhausted, and my cancer had just kicked in for real. I couldn't walk up stairs without blacking out from the lack of oxygen to my brain. I was taking Nyquil to help me sleep because I was dead tired but not sleeping well. I looked terrible. Two weeks later, I was in a hospital. The funny thing is, if you had asked me, I would have said I was happy. I would have said I was thankful for being able to live my life how I wanted.

So much has changed, and yet not a whole lot has, really. I am thankful for the same things and more. I am healthy, ish. At least, I won't be dying any time soon. I am having a tough semester, but I am surviving, and I am Here. I am in this semester. I can't think of anything better than that. No, I am not with my family, but they have probably had enough of me for a bit. I don't need one day of gorging myself on stuffing to remind me that I have So much to be thankful for. We all have so much to be thankful for, regardless of what day it is or how much pie is on the table. So I hope everyone is having a good day. I hope everyone can realize they can eat turkey whenever they want because it is delicious. And I hope and pray everyone is healthy and thankful for it. Thank you all for being there for me for this past year. Pax.

It is snowing!

2007-11-20T11:40:00.000-06:00

November 20th, and it is snowing hardcore in Boston. I was so excited when I left work this morning and found myself surrounded by falling, white wetnesses.

I really haven't had that much to report since my last report, which is why I haven't reported anything. Last Wednesday I met with my doctor to discuss what comes next for me. He took me off most of my pills, so I am now only taking two types of pills in the morning, and I will be reducing it to one within the next few days. I love not having to take pills; they were one of the worst parts of treatment. So much to remember. I will, however, start taking more pills once I resume my follow-up treatment. I am finished with the main chemo, but I still have a year to go until I am finished with everything, officially. I am giving myself a two week break right now though. Next Wednesday, one week from tomorrow, I get another bone-marrrow biopsy, and then I start the remaining treatments. Those will include three types of low-grade chemo: mercaptopurine pills once a day, methotrexate pills once a week (17!), and an IV push of vincristine once a month. This means that my white blood counts will still be low for the next year, but they shouldn't be dangerously so. I will also probably be getting intermittent labs and a bone-marrow procedure every six months. This race isn't over yet, but the worst of it is behind me.

My hair is getting long; I think I may need a haircut. I have started running, although slowly and not frequently. I actually desperately need new running shoes. I am starting to have knee trouble, and I would rather not exacerbate that. Hopefully the Boston Globe will run my story this coming weekend. It has been delayed a few times, but we should be on schedule now. I am anxious to see how it goes, although I'm sure it will be great. It's funny because I wonder if people will recognize me or realize that they cut me off at the T or bumped into me on the street. I doubt it, as I don't think most people are that observant, but you never know.

Otherwise, I am just getting along. Final exams and final project deadlines are rapidly approaching, and I have no time to think about anything other than school. Thanksgiving will be nice because I have no chemo or blood counts or procedures to worry about. I am looking forward to relaxing a bit, just chilling out in my apartment. So hopefully I will be able to.

Enjoy Thanksgiving, and I hope everyone is safe and well-fed and warm. Peace.

Every so often, reality kicks in.

2007-11-15T21:56:00.000-06:00

Reality says that every living thing must die. I found out a few hours ago that one of the guys I know from group, back in Chicago, passed away yesterday. I don't remember what his primary cancer was, but it had spread to most of his internal organs, I think. He had been struggling for a while, but he was struggling hard. I am upset because Greg was a good man. He was kind; he was funny; he seemed to love life. And he gave his cancer a damn hard time. So while we all knew, deep down, that he would eventually die, it is still hard. Reality is still hard. I didn't know him well, but I still knew him. We still casually chatted, and we still knew about each others ups and downs. He didn't deserve to die; very few people do. I can only hope that he is in a good place now, that his pain is finally gone, that there are no more tubes coming out of his stomach. I am praying for his family, and I am praying for everyone I know, and everyone I will never know, who is just as brave as Greg. Life should be fought for, even to the very end. Thank you Greg; I am honored to have known you.

And so we find ourselves at November 8, 2007.

2007-11-08T12:36:00.000-06:00

It is cold and partly sunny today in Boston. Yesterday was cool and bright. Tomorrow will be more of the same. Life in the city has calmed down some since the World Series, and I have noticed fewer birds around. The mice in my apartment are gradually disappearing, and I covertly played the "C" card to my landlord in order to get a new stove and new tiling for our floor. Oh yeah, and yesterday was my last day of chemo.

Wait, what? That's right. Yesterday, November 7th, 2007, one day before the 11th month anniversary of my diagnosis with acute lymphocytic leukemia, I finally finished chemotherapy for this dastardly disease. Three months later than I would have liked, but it is finished. And boy, what a day was yesterday. I'll start with the good part: my hematocrit, the percentage of red blood cells in blood, was 40.5, with healthy being between 34.8 and 43.6. When I was diagnosed almost a year ago, I think it was 14 or 15. This is probably the highest that number has been in over a year and a half. So much red blood! So exciting! My white cell count was 2.1, and it should be above 3.5 to be in the normal range, but that will eventually come back. So my body is finally starting to work again.

Of course, however, there is always a bad part. Yesterday, there were a few bad parts. Part one: my left arm exploded. Kind of. Well, it blew up. By blew up, I mean it expanded. Let me explain: One of the drugs I received yesterday and have received before, methotrexate, infuses over three hours. I no longer have my catheter, so every time I need an infusion, I get to have an IV put in my arm. Now, I have bad veins in general. I have had a lot of trouble with getting IVs to work. So, I was stuck twice yesterday before my blood was flowing properly. Here's where it gets gross. At one point, about forty-five minutes to an hour into the infusion, somehow, the needle came out of my vein. It didn't come out of my arm, just found its way out of the vein. What this meant was that chemotherapy was infusing, not into my bloodstream, but directly into my arm tissue and such. Let's not ignore the fact that I decided it was necessary to take a nap, having not realized what was going on with the needle. I woke up thirty minutes later to a forearm about four times its normal size. My left hand felt like it was asleep, and I couldn't really feel my forearm. I think it is fair to say I freaked out. I mean, there was a whole lot of chemo where it shouldn't be. A nurse came, took out the needle, and gave me a hot pack to help the swelling go down. They assured me that this wasn't uncommon, and it wouldn't affect the levels or toxicity of the drug. The nurse then stuck me (again) in my right arm, and they finished the transfusion. My arm and hand are still slightly swollen, but nothing has turned a funky color yet, so I guess it will be okay. No gangrene so far. What an adventure.

That was part one. Part two was my spinal tap. It did not go so well. Last time, my spinal tap took around 15 minutes. This one took between 30 and 45. In that time, I was repeatedly numbed, stuck in the spine, and numbed and stuck again, to no avail. My spinal fluid was just not flowing. The idea is that the doctor sticks the needle between the vertebrae into your spinal fluid, and they withdraw 3 cc's of spinal fluid, which is replaced with 3 cc's of chemo. After much grimacing and joking that my spinal fluid was Gone!, the woman doing the procedure finally found a good spot, although not without hitting one of the main nerves that controls my right leg. That was a freaky feeling. It felt like a bunch of needles were poking my whole leg from the inside out. But it was over quickly. So that was the spinal tap. Good times. Good times with needles.

I am pretty sure my body was rejecting everything that the doctors and nurses were trying to put into it yesterday. It was saying to them, "Enough. I have had enough. No more." Sadly, that was not to be. But I made it! I still have to go back this evening to receive more fluids, as well as the flush for the chemo, so one more major IV poke. Hopefully this one will actually work. I am not that excited right now because I still have to be stuck tonight, and I don't feel all that great. I feel fine, actually, but next week, I will feel even better. Give me a few days for this to sink in and for my multiple holes to heal up. Then, call me, and we'll celebrate. Hokey doke, take care on this fine fall day, and enjoy the long weekend! Pax.

The "vicissitudes of fortune...

2007-11-04T20:27:00.000-06:00

...and other disappointments connected with worldly circumstances...are principally the effect either of gross imprudence, of ill-regulated desires, or of bad or imperfect social institutions" (John Stuart Mill Utilitarianism, 106). I interpret this sentence to mean that change in fortune, specifically regarding ill fortune, is dependent on human action. I could certainly be wrong here, but it seems Mill is saying that we control our own fortunes. He notes a few lines earlier that "even that most intractable of enemies, disease, may be indefinitely reduced in dimensions by good physical and moral education and proper control of noxious influences, while the progress of science holds out a promise for the future of still more direct conquests over this detestable foe."

Mill's phrase the "vicissitudes of fortune" has been nagging me all day. I wish I could believe if society pulled together and started actually caring about change, most, if not all, ill fortune and "other disappointments" would disappear. I know, however, that it won't. We can treat cancer; we can't cure it. I believe that no matter how pleasant we can make our circumstances and surroundings, there will always be an unspoken and indescribable unhappy feeling creeping around. There is something inherent in us that allows for us to not be happy all the time. But this something is not under our control, and social change, however good, will not take it away.

I have been struggling to push this darkness to the back of my mind. The honeymoon is over, and I have been reminded just how hard it is to be a college student, what with the late nights, studying, incomprehensible philosophers, or just trying to keep days straight. I have always had to work to keep my life organized, and now I have a whole new dimension to consider: chemo, my white blood cell counts, whether or not my temperature is rising. I am mostly successful in keeping cancer in the background. There are some days, however, when I just want to not think about anything. Yesterday, for example, I had work at the gym. I love working there in the mornings during the week, but the weekend is a different story. I worked from 8-2 yesterday, and by the end, I was exhausted. There had been too many people, too many children running around, too many customers projecting their angriness and unhappiness towards me. It was too much for me, when I have been going almost nonstop for over a month now. I broke down when I left the gym; I started crying so hard I couldn't breathe. And then I got on the train and came back to my apartment. I baked some cookies and got caught up on my Grey's Anatomy. And then I went to Barnes and Noble and bought a few new, beautiful books, and I felt better. I feel better.

Everything is different for me now. I can't handle the same type of stress or activity that I could a year ago. My tolerance has been adapted for hospitals and needles and pills. I am very slowly relearning how to be busy me. I am going through some tough times, but they are moderated by the good things that do keep happening and the good people I have around me. Today was better than yesterday. Tomorrow may or may not go well. I just have to wait and see what Fortune drops on my lap. Hopefully good things. Good luck to everyone else struggling this week. Life will necessarily get better. Peace.

I guess there was some sort of major sports-related debacle in Boston recently?

2007-10-30T16:24:00.000-05:00

Yes, the Boston Red Sox won, swept rather, this year's World Series. Yes, I go to school in Boston. I go to school directly across the street from Fenway Park. This does not, however, necessarily mean that I am a Red Sox fan or even that I participated in the extensive celebrations. I am fairly certain that I slept through the ALCS win, although I did have to photograph the goings-on at Fenway the next day. I was almost asleep two nights ago until someone nearby started pounding on a cowbell, and the mayhem began. These, however, are instances for which I will pull my "C card." I would love to have photographed the reaction to the ALCS win and the World Series win. Seriously, how many times will I be in Boston when the Red Sox win the World Series? Probably not too many. But I could not afford to stay up until 2 in the morning in the cold with hordes of riotous people, especially when I am more susceptible to sickness. My cold has come back either way, but it never really leaves. So I suppose this was one of those times when cancer interfered with being a normal student. I regret not photographing everything, but I know I made the right decision. There's always the Patriots?

In other news, today I was interviewed/spoke in front of the first-year Boston University medical students. I was nervous; I was hungry; I had no idea what to expect. The discussion went Awesomely. I didn't stutter too much, and I only lisped once. Seriously though, I am so happy with how receptive the students were. Apparently I was very "eloquent" and provided a necessary contrasting perspective for these students, usually so intent on the science of medicine. The focus of the conversation was my experience with doctors and my opinions on how to find a balance between treating illnesses with medicine and treating the patient as a Person. My view is that a doctor needs to be able to empathize with his or her patients. It is not fair to any person to be treated as an object of Science, when they really just want someone to treat them as equals. I have found this especially hard for medical students and interns to understand because they are trying so hard to maintain doctor/patient boundaries, in addition to the fact that they don't have much experience with patients. My case is special also because I was by no means a passive patient. I wanted to know what was going on with me, whether I understood it or not. It is insulting to me if you don't recognize my intelligence or the fact that I need to be active. The hospital was the worst place for me, which I think my doctors eventually understood, even though it took some time to get used to my nature.

I hope the medical students understand that the best thing they can do is treat someone with respect and some degree of empathy. Hopefully my sitting in front of them increases their understanding that while I am still a patient, and I need to be treated for my disease, I am also one of their peers and should be treated as such. They actually gave me a standing ovation at the end, which, while embarrassing for me, makes me hope that maybe some of what I said sank in. Maybe my experiences can be positively translated to help others. That's what I hope, anyway.

I have a midterm tomorrow that I am really not prepared for, but I think it will turn out okay. After that, I will be sleeping and sleeping some more. Happy Tuesday, sad toad. Things are looking up. Peace.

Gawsh, what a week.

2007-10-24T14:00:00.000-05:00

I am pretty sure that I have spent much of the past week studying. I had a midterm last Thursday, which I think went fairly well. Yesterday, I finally took my Human Infectious Diseases final exam. This was one of my classes from fall '06 in which I received an incomplete. Now it is completed, and only have one more incomplete to take care of. Whew. Sunday night, crazy girl that I am, I played flag football. I also decided it would be fine to cover the one girl who was actually good. She was running all over the place, and I got to tail her. I think I did a decent job, although I was exhausted by the end of the game. But I was running! And I didn't pass out! I am so happy that my body is finally coming back to life.

Speaking of my body pooping out on me, it has been two weeks since I last received chemo. Following protocol, today should have been my next - and last - encounter with the wicked drugs. But of course, it would be too easy for everything to go according to a set plan. I did not receive any chemo today. Once again, my white blood cell count was much too low to proceed. My neutrophil count (they are the first responders to infection) has actually plummeted from .97 to .18, and they need to be above 1.0 to continue. So next Wednesday I will go in for labs, but we aren't expecting my counts to be high enough until at least two weeks from today, if not longer. Of course I am disappointed, especially as this now means that I am neutropenic again. My immune system won't be able to combat any nasty little bacteria that decide to invade my system. Due to the nature of city-living, unfortunately, bacteria are nearly impossible to avoid. The trains and buses are crawling with germies, as are just about all public places. So while I am not going to restrict myself to my room for the next two weeks, I do need to be overly careful of crowds and such. Do not, however, believe that this will hinder me in any way from trying to find various Halloween parties this weekend; it will not. Regardless of my susceptibility to everything, the show must go on.

Today was good for one thing though: I met with a nutritionist at Dana-Farber, and I now know what I should be eating. She told me that cancer patients' protein needs increase, which I did not know, and she gave me an extensive list and explanation of foods high in protein. She also gave me a sheet that listed "Phytonutrient rich foods." I have since learned that phytonutrients essentially make up most plants' immune systems. The immune systems of plants have beneficial properties for humans as well, so I will be eating more of my leafy greens, red peppers, squash, apples, blueberries, apricots, papaya... The list goes on. I am definitely excited to go shopping now. Go Guava!

Generally, I am exhausted. It is not bad, because it means I am busy and getting things done, but I am still exhausted. I can not believe that November is in one week; this year is going by so quickly. Well, this school year. The rest of the year rather dragged. The important thing is that I am in a good place right now, even though I still have chemo looming, somewhere in the near or distant future. So even though I am super tired, this is the type of tired that can be solved by sleeping in one day, as opposed to the other type of tired that can only be solved by the transfusion of blood products. Life is definitely getting back to normal, whatever normal is anymore. Alright, enjoy the end of the week. Peace.

I was shot in the arm today.

2007-10-17T20:53:00.000-05:00

And by shot, I mean I was given a shot. Specifically, I was given a virus. Even more specifically, I was shot with the flu virus. Fortunately for me, the virus had been killed. As the flu season looms ominously in the distance, it recently occurred to me that perhaps this year I should get a flu shot. I asked my doctor who resoundingly said, "Yes. Get the shot." I suppose it makes sense: I have few white blood cells to combat any sort of viral infection that may decide to find its way into me. Since there is no prescription available to battle viruses, my best option was to receive the immunization. Now that the virus has been injected into my system, I will be able to create antibodies for it. That way, if I do happen to catch the actual flu virus, I will already have built up a resistance. So awesome. Best case scenario, I just don't catch the virus.

Today was sort of ridiculous, in the way that my days tend to be. I suppose I should preface this by explaining what is currently going on in my life. I noted a few posts ago that I was asked to be interviewed in front of the first-year medical students regarding my perspective on terminal illnesses and such. Okay, exciting, I can do that. But the plot thickens. This story was pitched to The Boston Globe, the main newspaper here in Boston. The story was picked up by the "Higher Education" department, and they decided to expand it beyond my talking to the med students. Basically, there will soon be an in-depth profile of me in The Globe involving interviews, photos, possibly multi-media, and excerpts from my blog. The reporter who is writing the story is going to be shadowing me a bit over the next week-ish to try and get a better sense of who I am and why I am who I am. It is pretty intense, and I wish her luck. The really ironic thing is that while she is profiling me and the photographer is taking pictures of me doing my thang, I am supposed to be coming up with an idea for a photo essay for my photojournalism class. And I have no clue what to do. I kind of want to do my photo essay on the photographer doing a photo essay about me, but I'm not sure if that would work so well.

Anyway. So today, I get to my Hinduism class, and my professor starts by saying, "Before we begin, Caroline, would you like to explain to everyone about the people from The Boston Globe who will be joining us in class next week?" Now, I knew that the reporter was planning on coming to a class at some point, but I hadn't expected her to have worked so fast in getting permission. (Perhaps that is why I wouldn't be a very good journalist...) So, I sort of muttered something about, "I am currently receiving chemo, and I'm talking to the med students in two weeks, and the Globe has decided to profile me, which involves their coming to my classes. So, um, dress nicely on Monday...?" I sounded like an idiot. My professor then said, "And you're writing a blog, as well? Why don't you give us the link." So, okay, I did. Wrote it on the board and everything. (Hello to anyone from class, if you actually copied the link and are visiting my b-log). I sort of doubt they will, just because I know how college students are, and I know that they don't tend to care tremendously about what their peers do in their free time. Regardless. My teacher's announcement was unexpected, and I was quite taken aback. The point is that a reporter and photographer will be joining me in class on Monday. We'll see how it goes.

Although the subject of much of the profile, I have essentially stopped worrying or thinking about how I have changed and how it is affecting my daily life. I don't really see the point anymore. I am who I am, regardless of disease or drugs, and that's cool with me. Finally, briefly: my blood counts have fallen since last week, which was to be expected. Hopefully they will come up again for next Wednesday when I am scheduled for my FINAL chemo treatment. Happy white blood cell thoughts, that is all I ask. Alright, thanks for sticking with me. More updates as life happens, which it inevitably will. Happy Hump Day. Pax.

Let us now all exhale a collective sigh of relief that another post has been written.

2007-10-14T20:00:00.000-05:00

I would say that I am not sure why I don't update more frequently, but this week I know exactly why. This week I received my second-to-last chemo treatment. No, it was not my last one, but we are almost there. After nearly eight weeks, my blood cells had finally regrown enough for me to be able to kill them all again. It's rather contradictory: just when I am finally starting to feel healthy and full of blood, I get to go and have lethal drugs injected into my system. I say lethal because they kill cells. I am pretty sure the drugs will not actually kill me. There are, however, no guarantees of this.

Wednesday morning I hopped on a bus, and twenty minutes later, I found myself at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute with a lump of dread weighing in my stomach. I was quickly admitted and given a chair. I was then moved to a bed because I needed to have a spinal tap later on in the day. Not only was this my first time getting chemo by myself, now I was in a solitary room. Oh well; it's better than the alternative. After that, my nurse poked a needle into my right arm vein. Unfortunately, this needle wasn't returning any blood, so we had to find another vein. Luckily, I had been saving up my good veins, and there was one on my other arm. Blood was drawn, hydration was given, and then the chemo began. It began with an injection into the IV, which was short and sweet. I was then hooked up to my bag of methotrexate, which was neither short nor sweet. In fact, it went in over three hours, and it was bright yellow. Time dripped away, and I finally found myself with nothing hooked up to me. Then it was the spinal tap's turn. This was to be my seventh spinal tap, a fact I am not necessarily proud of, but it's kind of hardcore. Anyway, so this spinal tap wasn't that bad, hardly any pain. The doctor (nurse? I'm not sure) went right in, drew the fluid, and replaced it with chemo straight away. She was quite speedy. I had to lie flat on my back for thirty minutes, and then I was free to go. So I went.

I went back to my apartment. I took a cab; I had gotten cab vouchers at Dana-Farber. I got back to my apartment, and within fifteen minutes, I was throwing up. I felt kind of bad for my roommate, but not really because I'm not sure he noticed. For about forty-five minutes I tried to vomit out my stomach. And then I ate some chips and slept for an hour. And then I slept twelve more.

That was Wednesday. Today is Sunday. In the meantime, I have been battling a cold, trying to study, and running around probably a bit too much. I feel fine, aside from this beastly cold. My energy isn't quite where it was, but it is pretty darn close. I am fairly sure that this is the best I have handled any chemo since I started. I actually played flag football today. We won. I scored a touchdown. It was awesome. So this is life now, I suppose. Get my drugs, and move on. I don't have time to mope around the apartment feeling ill. I have to get back to business and soon. I am excited for this week; it should be a good week. I hope everyone else has a good week as well. Good luck with life! Oh Also: Shout out to Amy who ran the Chicago Marathon a week ago. She finished, which is more than a lot of people could say last Sunday. She ran with Team in Training, who raise funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and I guess they raised a Ton of money. Thank you Amy!!! Good luck with your recovery. Anyway, that's all. Peace.

Dear blog,

2007-10-08T20:05:00.000-05:00

This weekend was a lot of fun. I went to my friend's house, and we watched a movie. The movie was really weird, but it was an old movie. The really cute boy in my class waved at me on Friday. I'm going to ask my friend to ask his friend if he has a girlfriend. Well, maybe. I stayed up past my bedtime on Sunday night to watch the Bears football game, and they won! It was super awesome. And we didn't have school today! The only bad thing is I got sick again. All my friends are sick. I guess they got me sick too.

Okay, enough of that. This weekend was probably my best one since I've been back, despite having re-caught my cold. I don't think I ever really got over the last one, and I'm still immuno-compromised, so it makes sense that it came back. I just realized, however, that I can't remember the details of my weekend, which is becoming more than a little disconcerting. Yesterday and today I mostly just relaxed, this I know. I so badly needed to just sit around and not think about anything. This past week has been so overwhelming. I can't believe it has only been one week since my birthday. It seems so long ago. I suppose part of the reason I can't remember what I did specifically on any one day is that I did so much and talked to so many new people this past week. I am starting to freak out a little bit though because of my newfound inability to remember recent events. We'll see what happens with it, especially after I get chemo this week.

An interesting tidbit I do remember, though, happened when I was working at the gym on Saturday. One of the regular dance teachers came in to get the keys to the studio, and she said to me, "Wow, your hair is really growing!" I laughed because it is hard for me to tell if it's getting any longer but she said something like she measures her progress every week by the length of my hair. It made more sense than that, but it was quite funny and very nice of her to say. So I guess my hair is getting closer to a decent length, although it's still one of the shortest female cuts on campus. I like it. Anyway, tomorrow's a long day, and Wednesday is chemo. We'll see what happens. I am rested and ready to go, but I still hope everything goes well. I need this to end, now. Alright, enjoy Tuesday and whatnot. Peace.

Back in the library.

2007-10-04T16:37:00.000-05:00

Waiting for something to print. I apologize for not updating more frequently. It's amazing how much more difficult it is to write daily when you actually have things to do. Life certainly is different now that I am not my sitting on a hospital bed with absolutely nothing to do.

An update is in order. A major update. The past two days have been... crazy. I don't know how else to put it. It all started when BU Today ran the profile of me the day before my birthday. I started getting e-mails and messages from completely random people wishing me happy birthday and also telling me how much they liked the interview. There were lots of, "I really admire your courage," quotes, which to me is amazing. I was thinking about this, and I came to the conclusion that anyone else in this situation would have done the same thing. I've just been more vocal with my experiences. Either way. I probably received over 100 e-mails on Monday and Tuesday, both well-wishes and birthday wishes. Two e-mails are worth noting:

The first was from a woman who was forwarded my story from a BU student. She told me she is writing a book about college-age cancer survivors. Specifically, she has interviewed and been in contact with about forty survivors. She has taken their firsthand accounts of their cancer experiences and put them together for a book. Anyway, so she e-mailed me and asked if I would like to be one of the survivors in the book, which is so far nameless. I of course said Yes. We've talked on the phone, and it sounds like such a fantastic idea. The book is not just of the survivors' stories, but it also contains letters and pictures and such. I am so flattered to be a part of this and so excited that she is writing it. There are no other books out there that highlight specifically young-adult survivors, that tell their stories in their own words. I mean, really, it would have been a huge help ten months ago to know about others who were going through the same thing. So I am excited, and it is going to be great.

Part Two: I was contacted by the dean of the medical school here at BU, and, long story short, I will be speaking to pretty much all of the first-year medical students at the end of October. I guess I'm pretty good at expressing myself, and people think that's cool? Anyway, I will be talking about what it was like when I was first diagnosed, how the doctors treated me, my reaction, etc. And did I mention it will be in front of masses of first-year med students? Yes, I think I did. Pretty sweet. I guess if I ever had any lingering fear of public speaking, I had better eliminate it quickly.

So here's the thing about all this attention I am receiving: It's not that I don't necessarily want it, but I don't want it just for the sake of getting attention. I want to be able to make a difference, whether by helping increase empathy for future doctors, or by helping another twenty year-old girl just diagnosed with cancer get through the hard parts. I don't want my fifteen minutes of cancer-fame; I want to try and do something lasting. I am not sure yet how to translate all this into a "cause" though. Maybe start something at BU for survivors; I have heard from a couple, which is amazing. Maybe start a Gilda's Club or a Boston young-adult group, or something. I'm not sure. I do know, however, that now it is up to me to take this ball and run with it. Anyway. So that's been my week. Like I said, it has been crazy. I hope your week was as awesome, and I hope the weekend goes well as well. Oh yeah, still no chemo. Next Wednesday, for sure. Alright, that's all (haha, even though there's always more.) Pax.

Guess What.....

2007-10-01T21:21:00.001-05:00

In ONE HOUR AND FORTY MINUTES I will be 21. I will be 21 in Boston! I think it's safe to say that I still don't fully believe it. I feel great. I've been walking all over the place, and my cold is mostly gone. Also, there was a super cool profile of me on BU Today today. There are pictures and sounds and words and everything. So if you've ever wondered what I sound like, or if you would like to hear my voice regurgitating, in shortened form, much of what I have said on the b-log, check THIS out! I am impressed; it is pretty cool. I am interested to see if more people recognize me on campus now. I'm sort of hard to miss, what with this whole Rocking haircut, but we'll see.

My day begins tomorrow at 5 am, when I wake up for my 6-10 shift at the Proshop. I am excited. It's going to be a good day. I hope your day is as good as mine. Happy thoughts all around. Peace. :)

Sunday is a day of eating.

2007-09-30T09:54:00.000-05:00

I usually have something like three breakfasts on Sunday and snack the rest of the day. I think it is because on the days I don't do much, I eat. (Worth noting is that my idea of a breakfast is a bagel or bowl of cereal.)

Another week has ended, another begun. Today is the last day of September, and tomorrow is the first day of October, which means that I have been in Boston for one month now. I still haven't started my chemo, but I am hoping I will this coming week. It has certainly been a crazy past four weeks. It seems that whenever my lifestyle changes, it does so drastically and with no forewarning. December 2006, I went, in one week, from being a sleep-deprived college student to an overwhelmed hospital patient with tubes sticking out of me. One month ago, in three days, I went from pretty much not doing anything at all, aside from going to clinics, to having to take a deep breath and dive back into the crazy, active world of college. There was no transition period, although I don't know how there could have been. Now, after a month, I feel like I'm finally getting settled. I made a few bad decisions the past four weeks (house parties are a bad idea for those of us who aren't used to 200 people stuffed together, oozing beer). I am still not fully confident in my role as a college student, but I am in a much better place than I was when I first got here. I also have lots of blood, which is, you know, awesome. Oh, and my hair is growing back like crazy. So life is pretty good, especially now that I've stopped worrying so much about what I should be doing. I should be doing my homework, but aside from that, I am mostly just relaxed.

I can't believe it's almost October. Two days and I will be 21. I will be spending the day with my friends, and who believed, even a few months ago, that that would happen? Well, I always knew I'd be back, but it's nice to be right. So, have a good week everyone, because I sure will. And even if I start chemo on Thursday, it will still be a good week because then I will be one week closer to being finished with treatment. Limbo isn't so much fun. Alright, Peace.

What good is a b-log if you can't use it to procrastinate?

2007-09-25T13:04:00.001-05:00

I don't have all that much school-work to do, but I most definitely have about three loads worth of laundry. Oh well, it will get done eventually, even if I have to do it myself. Which I do.

It occurred to me that in my last few blog posts I may have sounded either somewhat elitist or judgmental of pretty much anyone who isn't me. I would like to clarify that In No Way do I feel higher or more special than anyone else. I wish so badly that this hadn't happened to me and that I was just another college-age girl ready and able to drink and dance and party and stay up past 11:00 at night without starting to fall asleep. The thing is, I am not. According to Aristotle, one wishes for an end that is often impossible to achieve. So instead of wishing for the end, one needs to deliberate and make decisions that will provide the means to the end (see, I'm kind of studying...). Basically, wishing is no good because there is no action or effort towards achieving the end. You need to go out and do things to make yourself happy, which to Aristotle is the ultimate end, the highest good, which we all innately seek. So while I can wish all I want that I could do normal activities like stay up late and work out in the gym, the reality is that I can't, at least not now. And more power to everyone who can do those things. The thing for me now is to figure out with what means I can work to achieve my own sort of happiness. The first step is to stop sitting here thinking about what do I do now. I just do whatever I have to to get through each day.

And speaking of getting through each day, I am so out of shape, it is funny. I played flag-football last night (we almost won. sigh.), and it was a ton of fun. But I woke up this morning and was like, wow, sore legs, where did you come from? Sore abs? You too? I think sports like that will be the best way for me to get back into some sort of running shape. It's stop and go, so I can run a little bit and then stop and catch my breath. And football is awesome. Another reminder that I was inactive for almost nine months is that my neck and back are sore from hauling my bag everywhere. The good news is that even since I got here September 1st, I am already so much more active and strong. I lost probably about 30 pounds worth of strength in my legs and maybe 15 in my upper body. But it is coming back, which is freaking awesome. Aside from this whole "no blood" thing, I feel great and healthy and am looking forward to a good last week of being 20. (my birthday's next tuesday. coughcough.) Alright, Happy Tuesday, sad toad. Keep on trucking. Peace.

Hello new week.

2007-09-23T17:21:00.000-05:00

My apartment-mate and I finally have internet. We have actually had it for a few days now, but I haven't had too much to say in terms of anything that would be interesting to anyone else. Wednesday I went to Dana-Farber once more, and, once more, my blood counts were too low to begin the chemo. My platelets had actually fallen even more, but my white cells had begun to increase. My doctor estimated it would be roughly two weeks before we could continue, but I am going back this Wednesday to have labs drawn.

It occurs to me once again that this b-log serves a number of good purposes, not the least of which is that it helps me remember what happened so many months ago. I honestly can't remember any specifics just off the top of my head. Everything is sort of a blur of hospital-house-clinic imagery. One thing I re-learned just now is that I have unofficially been in complete remission for almost nine months. Apparently I had a biopsy/aspirate done a few weeks into treatment, way back in December, and everything was gone. This in and of itself was and is awesome; it meant I responded quickly and well to the initial induction chemotherapy. I can't help but wonder, however, if it wouldn't be possible to just stop treatment now. I mean, I only have two more separate days of chemotherapy left... Will they really make that big of a difference, considering I have been in and stayed in remission since December? I know the answer to my question is, "Of course you need to finish it." I am on a set protocol; I am a member of an extensive study. They wouldn't just let me stop. Nonetheless, I will continue to wish.

As for an update on my adapting to society, it isn't going tremendously well. I received an e-mail from a family friend who was able to verbalize what I couldn't: "you've just got more quickly -in the space of a few short months- to a point that most people only reach well after they graduate." I realized that I really do not know what to do right now because it all happened so quickly. Like I said, the past nine months were a blur, but now I am back and nothing is the same. So what happened to me, and how do I apply what I went through to everyday situations? Also, my emotions are all over the place, particularly because I am still dealing with treatment and the day-to-day uncertainty of my health. The good news is I think I am going to try and start seeing a counselor at Dana-Farber, someone who is trained and experienced in working with cancer survivors. I was at the grocery store today, and one of the headlines on the trashy magazines was, "Jessica sees a therapist!" or something similar. Jessica being Jessica Simpson. To me, that is not gossip. So many people see therapists now that it really isn't gasp-worthy anymore. Good for her for seeing a therapist. And we'll see how it goes for me. Also, I am going to get a massage because Dana offers alternative therapies in addition to the usual chemical ones. I am all over that. I hope this is a good week; I hope good things happen for everyone. That's all from me. Pax.

Hello again!!

2007-09-18T16:07:00.000-05:00

I am understandably quite upset that I still have no internet and therefore have very few opportunities to document my life for the masses. And, as is to be expected, I have volumes to document. Not really, but enough for at least a couple paragraphs.

Not much has happened medically since I last updated. In fact, nothing at all has happened medically since I last updated. I am still going strong with the blood I received last week, and I will find out tomorrow if my other counts have gone up. I am hoping they have. A whole lot has happened, however, in terms of my readjusting to society. I had been absent from a college environment for almost nine months. In those almost nine months, I went to two parties with people my own age (one was a disappointing Super Bowl party), I went to two concerts, and the only young adults I saw on a consistent basis were also cancer survivors. My experiences have been drastically different from most other people my age, although they were not necessarily any better or worse. Breaking up with your boyfriend is no less important than whatever I went through; it is just completely different.

The thing is, since my past nine months have been so abnormal, I have grown in a different direction than most people around me. I knew I would be changed when I got back to school, but it is difficult for me to objectively analyze the magnitude and the mental effects of having had cancer, since it happened to me and is still happening, really. Someone said to me the other day, "You're really weird." I was like, "What, I'm weird?" I don't think that person meant weird in the sense of being nutty and kind of out there (which I have always been), but more in the sense that I am somehow different now and that person couldn't really define why. I think basically what it comes down to is that I no longer have a tolerance for all the facades many people assume. Also, I have become much more blunt with what I say, which is both good and bad. I am doing a terrible job of explaining this, but again, it's because I can't verbalize what happened to me.

I got cancer; I left school; I survived (am surviving) chemotherapy; I have experienced really obscure types of pain; I have been more exhausted than I thought possible; I was in a hospital room for probably at least one-third to one-half of that time. Somehow, I found the strength to get through it all when I thought I had used up most of my reserves of strength when I survived high school (no, really. High school was so difficult for me). Now here I am, back in Boston, so happy to once again be living normally and with people. Clearly, I am changed, but I can't say exactly how. All I know is that I feel out of place at parties where cheap beer flows like water, drunk freshman girls are looking for attention, and drunk older guys are looking for the shortest skirt and the lowest shirt. That may be harsh, but that's the sort of thing I can not and will not deal with anymore. I have only been back in Boston just over two weeks, so it is going to be interesting to see how the rest of the semester progresses. Will I re-adapt to the college social norm? I sincerely hope not. But something's gotta give somewhere.

Oh, the other thing is that someone tells me at least once a day that they like my haircut and I look really good with short hair. To which I laugh and say thank you. But it's a pretty sweet boost. Anyway, take care, and feel free to e-mail me (cbridges86@gmail.com) or comment if you have any insight into the ridiculous life of Caroline. Enjoy Wednesday. Peace.

Wow, it's been a long week.

2007-09-14T10:31:00.000-05:00

I last updated my life's adventures on Monday, I believe. Well, now it is Friday, and a whole lot has happened in the days between. Tuesday wasn't that exciting. I worked; I didn't have class; I probably napped. Wednesday, however, was the day of my first appointment at Dana-Farber. I found my way to Dana-Farber with time to spare. (I took a train, but you can also bus it, or take a different train, or you can walk. I walked home.) So first off, I walked up to the New Patient side of the reception desk. The nurse asked me if I was a patient new to Dana-Farber; I replied affirmatively. She then asked my name, which I gave as "Caroline Bridges." To which she replied, "Oh, Caroline! You've finally made it. Well, it's good to meet you." I am pretty sure my shock was fairly visible, but I took the papers she handed me and headed over to Phlebotomy to have my blood drawn. (haha, phlebotomy.)

In brief, blood was drawn, time passed, and I was eventually led to one of the examining rooms in the back where I would meet my new doctor. Blah blah blah, I meet my doctor, he's really nice, very intelligent. He asks me some general background health questions -- no I don't smoke; no I don't drink (although I want to); yes I do drugs, oh wait, you mean like hardcore drugs; no I don't do those. All in all, I am in good general health. Oh but wait, there's one small snag. My white blood cell count is extremely low. Still?? Yes. Still. But this time, my red blood cell count has fallen, as well as my platelet count. Basically, all blood cell-related counts have dropped (plummeted?) since the last time I had labs drawn, Two Weeks Ago. At this point my doctor went to go perform a spinal tap and then call my doctor at U of C to see what she had to say about my counts. He left me sitting in the examining room, wondering why in the holy hell had my counts not come up in the four weeks since I last received chemotherapy. Again, in brief, he eventually came back and said that they would redraw my labs, but I was to come in the next day for a blood transfusion and a bone-marrow biopsy.

Enter Thursday. Well, before we enter Thursday, let me just say that Wednesday evening was one of the more stressful evenings I've ever muddled through. Pretty much the whole time I was thinking to myself, "It can't have come back. There's absolutely no way it could have come back!" After which I would either cry or punch my pillow. Because, although unlikely, it could have come back. Okay, so Thursday. I went in for my blood transfusion, which went very well. And then it was time for the biopsy/aspirate. As usual, it always sounds worse than it really is. This biopsy was definitely one of the fastest I've gone through, and it wasn't really that painful. Okay, so I go home. I nap. A few hours later, I get a phone call from my doctor. Turns out, the preliminary lab results showed Absolutely No Sign of Any leukemia cells Anywhere in my marrow. Hooray! He told me that my body must just be extremely sensitive to the chemo I had gotten, as well as these pills I was taking that are low-grade chemo. So he took me off the pills, and we're hoping that perhaps things will start to grow within the next week. I go back next Wednesday to find out.

And now it's Friday. I think I understand why doctors recommend not going to school while still undergoing chemotherapy. I couldn't concentrate on anything the past two days, I was so worried about what was wrong with me. It was a reality check that I am still not out of danger yet with this chemo business. I am still neutropenic, and everyone is still worried about the many things that can go wrong. But I will be healthy eventually, and for now, I am just so grateful that I continue to not have cancer. Anyway, thanks for reading this if you read all this. Enjoy the weekend. Peace.

"your lack of internets is seriously cramping this blog's style."

2007-09-10T15:03:00.000-05:00

For this I apologize. I hope some people are still reading this thing, because I am by no means finished writing it. I have just been dealing with a lack of "internets." Hopefully my apartment-mate and I should be getting wireless this week, after which I will be much more regular with my postings.

For now though, I will say what little I have to say from the computer lab at BU. I am waiting for my homework to print, and the wait is close to forty-five minutes, which means I have some time on my hands. My life has been awesome and busy and a total, happy mess these past few days, but not much of it has had to do with my having cancer. I am completely moved into my apartment, and yesterday I did my first bathroom/kitchen sweep and clean. I even fixed the toilet all by myself. Score one for the mechanically inept. I have returned to my job at the gym, working fourteen hours a week. And let me tell you, I love being back to work. I mostly don't remember where anything is in the gym, such as where the women's bathrooms are, but there are other people around for those things. It feels so great to be back around people, especially people my own age. I swear, I've been so deprived, every time a guy walks by I think, "You're cute. We should get coffee." Even if he's not cute and I've stopped drinking coffee. It's really the principle of the thing. Speaking of principles, my classes are pretty good. I haven't found it at all difficult to transition back into learning-mode. I suppose it helps that I only have ten hours of class a week and no papers, just reading and photography. My kind of assignments. But basically, that's what I've been doing: the same mundane things most other kids my age are mucking through.

But as we all know, I am still getting chemotherapy for acute lymphocytic leukemia. I haven't had chemo in a few weeks now, but that may all change come this Wednesday. My appointment at Dana-Farber was finally scheduled and confirmed for this Wednesday. I was under the impression that this was just to meet my new doctor and get labs drawn, but per an e-mail from my Chicago doctor, it looks like there's a possibility that I will be admitted on Wednesday. I mentioned before that Dana-Farber isn't following the protocol that I am on yet, but they said there would be no problem in treating me. I guess they still need to iron out a few of the details, such as my doing the treatment outpatient and beginning it on a Monday or Tuesday. I am sure it will work out for the best, although, honestly, I am willing to take whatever if it means I will finally be receiving treatment. Otherwise, that's about it for now. My paper still hasn't printed, but I'm feeling optimistic. Have a good week, and don't give up on the b-log! I will be back. Peace.

And now for yet another random location...

2007-09-04T15:20:00.000-05:00

I am sitting in the computer lab in the library at BU, typing away and chuckling at the people who came at a bad time and are now tiredly waiting for the next open computer. Anyway. I have returned. My apartment was a bit of a grease-ball, but my parents (Thank God!) took it upon themselves to clean everything. I called my landlord this morning, and he was like, "No. Your apartment was cleaned. I came and checked it myself." But we must have drastically different ideas of what "clean" is because my apartment was by no means "clean." I would go so far as to call it "filthy," if not at least "dirty." I don't have classes on Tuesday, so I've just been phone-calling and running around trying to put my new life together. I am super excited.

A few small issues have arisen regarding my transferral to Dana-Farber. Apparently it's much more complicated than just calling Dana-Farber and saying, "Hey, I'm on my way. Give me drugs!" Many people are involved, and many e-mails and faxes have been exchanged; many more will be so. But I think it will work out, and hopefully, one day, I will finish this treatment. I think the biggest delay is that Dana-Farber, while a member of the group of hospitals who are part of the study that I'm in, hasn't actually started following the protocol I am on. It shouldn't be a problem for my treatment, but it is a bit of a groan for the doctors involved. I know everyone will figure it out though, and my doctor called me and told me that the docs at Dana-Farber are still looking forward to meeting me and treating me. So awesome. Anyway, that's about it for now. Classes start tomorrow for me, and I can not wait. Also, I don't have internet at my apartment yet, so I will update the next time I get the chance. Take care and happy September! Hooray for back to being busy. Peace.

Betcha can't guess where I am.......

2007-08-31T21:29:00.001-05:00

I am in Buffalo, New York. No, really. I actually am. Specifically, I am in a room of a mildly skeazy hotel on the outskirts of Buffalo, New York. Why, you ask, am I in Buffalo, New York when I should be in my comfy bed at home, sleeping off my still nasty cold? Because I, with my parents, am on my way to Boston, Massachusetts! What?! you say? Yes, that's right. Yesterday, Thursday morning, I found out that once again my white counts are too low to continue with the chemo this coming Tuesday. So instead of waiting around another week and a half, moping and doing nothing, I thought, "Well, hell. Can't I just go to Boston, say, tomorrow?" I called my doctor and we agreed that it would be a good plan to drive to Boston, tomorrow (today). And here I am, about halfway there, with a Jeep more stuffed than a pimiento olive, and a nagging suspicion that I forgot something. I have all my pills... I have my neupogen... I have myself... I have a bed and mattress, rolled into the back of the car... I have way too many clothes. I guess that's it. We'll see anyway.

So come Tuesday, I will be starting classes along with the rest of my school. Except that I personally don't have any classes on Tuesday, but it's the idea of the thing. I guess I'll actually start class on Wednesday. I am excited, although granted, I am growing more concerned about my white cells. I am also not quite sure how the logistics of transferring all my medical records to Dana-Farber will work out, but I suppose I will deal with that when I need to. Otherwise, hoorah! I never thought the day would come, but I am finally on my way back to Boston. Enjoy the holiday weekend, and I'll update on the Beantown as soon as I can. Peace!

Photos always make me happy...

2007-08-29T21:54:00.000-05:00

I would like to share these photos from my most recent Adventure! in downtown Chicago. Hopefully they will make you happy too.

Here is something we all can relate to.

2007-08-28T23:34:00.001-05:00

I have a cold! A cold that is eating my soul. Given the staggering number of antiwhatevers that I am taking, I have no idea how I caught a cold. But catch one I did. The good news is that I must have enough white cells to fight it because I haven't gotten a fever, and I haven't died yet. What happens tomorrow, however, remains to be seen. I don't think this will delay my chemo though, which is also good news. I distinctly remember coming down with a cold once when I was in the hospital, and everyone just sort of ignored the fact that I sounded like a man and continued on with the administration of chemotherapeutic drugs. So, alright! Rock on.

Aside from the typical stuffiness and head-pounding associated with colds, I feel pretty good. I am beginning to pack up all my stuff for Boston. I should be in my apartment two weeks from today! Hoorah. I have, so far, plenty of kitchen utensils, a few plates, and some silverware. I do not, as of right now, actually have a bed. But I have received word that my mattress pad from last year is awaiting my return. So I might be sleeping on a foam pad under a blanket of forks in two weeks, but that's okay. I am still super excited (and apparently a strong supporter of sibilance). I just need next week's chemo to go swimmingly. And on that note, have a happy hump day and whatnot. I'm going to get me some sleeps. Peace.

I know what today is.....!

2007-08-25T22:24:00.000-05:00

Today, August 25, is the one-year anniversary of the last time I received a professional haircut. I had long, shiny, blondish-brown, wavy locks, and I chose to do something new and different: I got a really cute bob cut. But wait, there's more! I thought I would do a noble thing and get enough hair cut off so that I could donate it to... Locks of Love. That's right, one year ago today I had about eleven inches of hair cut off that was then donated to an organization that makes wigs for children under the age of 18 who have experienced hair loss due to various illnesses. One year ago today, I had no idea that it would be only four short months until my own hair started falling out. I was only thinking, vaguely, that Locks of Love was a good cause. I know I wasn't thinking about the kids without hair. Baldness was an inconceivable idea to me. Women and children who were bald were to be pitied because that must mean they had some terrible, unspeakable illness. Plus, I mean, they didn't have hair, and who wants that? Yet here I am, one year later, with such a completely different perspective, I almost can't believe it. I'm not bald anymore; I have essentially a buzz cut. Now when I walk around without a hat or scarf, which I have started doing, I become defensive. The absolute last thing I want is to be pitied for not having hair and its associated implications. I know I've talked about being bald on here quite a bit, but I think it's interesting to consider the person I was one year ago, unthinkingly donating my hair to Locks of Love. I have seen so many sick people in clinic, bald or otherwise. I no longer pity them with a blithe ignorance stemming from my false assumption that I was invincible. Now, it makes me so sad to see anyone who is clearly in pain or ill. I know what it feels like to be scared and sick, and I would not wish that feeling on my worst enemy.

I like to try and finish my introspections with some way for others to apply what I've learned. But I'm at a bit of a loss right now. If someone had said something similar to this to me one year ago, I would have felt sad, but I wouldn't have really understood. I wouldn't have understood that it is okay and often necessary to talk about disease. It is okay to feel sorry for people who are in a much worse physical state than me. But it is not okay to pity them. They are trying desperately hard to live a normal life, to live to see tomorrow, and that is admirable, not pitiable. Things like poverty and war are easy to understand because they can be seen, visited, fixed. Cancer and other terminal illnesses you pretty much have to experience yourself to fully understand their magnitudes. But I do have to end somehow, so I will. If you're getting your hair cut, consider donating it. Locks of Love really is a good cause, and children are helped to feel a little better about themselves, which is the most important thing. And forgive my ramblings. The end of treatment is drawing near for me, so I'm trying to figure out if I've learned anything over the past almost nine months. If nothing else, I hope anyone who reads this has learned something. Hokey doke, enjoy the rest of the weekend. Peace.

@$%&#!

2007-08-23T19:33:00.000-05:00

Pretty much, I don't even know what to say right now, but I am seething inside and need to say something. I had labs drawn earlier today, and I found out about an hour ago that my neutrophil count (one type of white blood cell) is too low to continue with the chemo on Monday. So once again, everything is pushed back a week. I don't even care about going back to Boston now, although I have some good news to share further down. I just really, really want this to be over. And everything keeps getting pushed back. I understand why. My body is worn down. It is taking longer to recover, and it would be too dangerous to administer chemo with low counts. But that doesn't mean I still can't be really frustrated and upset. This chemo thing turned out to be a whole lot more than I initially signed on for. Way back in December, I thought, so naively, that I would be finished by the end of June, possibly end of July. Here we are at the end of August, and I've still got another month, probably longer, to go.

But the good news, and there is good news. I will be able to finish my treatment in Boston, at Dana-Farber. This coming week, I will not be receiving chemo as planned, because of my counts. I will receive it the week after at U of C, right after Labor Day weekend. And after that week is finished, I will be driving to Boston. I'll have another week or two of waiting for my white counts to rebound, and then I will receive the last and Final! week of chemo at Dana-Farber. So it looks like I will be returning to classes while still having to deal with the drugs and their effects, but I am willing to deal with that. At least it will be in September and not too far in. Otherwise, I might not return to Boston until mid-October. So hopefully this works out.

I have reached the point where I really don't know what to do anymore. I guess just keep breathing. It's going to be a very busy next two weeks, jam-packed with packing and packing and planning and more chemo. And all I really want is for this to be over. But anyway. It will be eventually. I'm not my usual snarky self right now, but I'm sure the snark will return. I do hope the snark will return. Aight. Take care now. Pax.

I enjoy postcards.

2007-08-21T20:30:00.000-05:00

Both sending and receiving postcards, I find, results in much enjoyment. I say this because I am currently analyzing a postcard that my friend sent me from Hawaii, and I'm pretty certain the picture on the front has been retouched. Also, right around this time last year, this same friend and I went on an Adventure! to New York City. That's a story in and of itself, but the point is that I sent some people postcards while I was in the Big Apple.

In other news, one of my various resident bacteria was mentioned in the newspaper today. Refresher: a long time ago, during my first U of C stay, I tested positive for VRE, or vancomycin resistant enterococcus. It's a bacterium. It's resistant to a common antibiotic (vanco). That's about it. Anyway, I guess I'm a carrier. It chills out in my bladder, not doing anything special. However, I can transfer it to other people easily, who would then get infected and quite sick. VRE is the reason the hospital keeps me on contact isolation and everyone who comes in my room has to wear gloves and a gown. So anyway, there's been a whole big uproar in Chicago recently about the proliferation of another dangerous bacterium, MRSA, or methycyllin (sp?) resistant staph aureus. Mmm, staph. Basically, the governor of Illinois signed two laws yesterday that now require hospitals to test all incoming patients for MRSA, and to, I think, test for the other dangerous bacteria such as VRE. I'm not quite sure of the specifics of either law, but they are meant to decrease the number of hospital infections and resultant deaths. But I was mostly excited when I saw one of my friendly bacteria in the paper. (Worth noting, I also tested positive for Epstein-Barr virus a good while back, but that turned out to be a false alarm. I swear, every time I go to the hospital, they tell me I've got another obscure, potentially deadly virus or bacterium floating around in me.)

And finally. I went for a walk today, and in that walk, I ran a little bit more. Hooray for getting back to healthy! I also made myself dinner, and it was delicious. I am pleased. That's it. Tomorrow, Downtown Day! Peace.

Lazy day doodlings.

2007-08-18T17:24:00.000-05:00

Quick refresher: This past Monday, I began my seventh and Final! module of chemotherapy. I have gone through this module before, way back in March. This time, however, I am doing it all outpatient, as opposed to before, when I was in the hospital. This round is prophylactic, targeting the central nervous system, which is one of the main places leukemia recurs, if it comes back. There are no leukemic cells in my spine or CNS right now, and this chemo is just to ensure that none will show up there. Hopefully, my cancer is cured and I won't have to worry about recurrence. But erring on the side of caution, I receive a lumbar puncture and spinal tap every other week for six weeks, along with IV chemo and pill chemo. The specific drug is called methotrexate, and it can be toxic to the body if it stays in too long. So the doctors give the drug 48 hours to do its thing, and then I start taking more pills to flush it out. Last time I went through this, I had trouble clearing the chemo. My kidneys decided it would be super cool to stop functioning, and I was in the hospital for, I think, two weeks before I finally cleared the stuff.

The fantastic news is that, now, everything is going very smoothly. As of Thursday morning, my methotrexate levels had fallen below the dangerous threshold, and all of my bloodwork looks great. Even though I have to get three spinal taps, I'd say this module is one of the more bearable ones. My blood counts won't fall, my hair (fuzzy as ever) won't fall out again, and aside from a day or two of not wanting to move, I generally feel healthy. I have a ton of stuff to do over the next four or five weeks, so I suppose I lucked out that this module isn't too hard on me. When it's finally finished and I can head back to school, my body won't be utterly destroyed. In fact, I think it might even be starting to heal. My hair is proof of that. I just hope everything goes as planned over the next four weeks. I Really hope my blood counts don't fall. That would probably be the biggest setback. So, for just a little while longer, keep thinking happy white blood cell thoughts. And otherwise, I'm off to do some grubbing around for food. Pax.

Chemo drugs work surprisingly quickly.

2007-08-15T21:10:00.000-05:00

It has been just over two days since I received my chemo onslaught, and my taste buds have gone totally goofy on me. Plain tap water is awful, although I have no trouble with sparkling water, which is strange. I had some cereal for dinner, and I just felt like I was forcing myself to eat. It's always a sad time when I can no longer enjoy food. But, like they have every month for the past eight months, my taste buds will return, and food will be delicious again. Until then, I guess I'll subsist on bagels and toast and sparkling water. The really funny thing is that even though I haven't been eating that much, I've been trying to drink so much liquid that I'm pretty sure I've put on maybe five pounds in the past three days. It's all water weight, and it's all centered around my belly, but I still think it's amusing.

The other thing worth noting, although not directly related to this week, is that I guess I have wrecked one of the small veins in the top of my hand. I'm not sure how it happened, or if it's fixable (I need to talk to my doctor about that), but I guess I had a negative reaction to when one of the nurses put an IV in that vein. The vein hardened up, and it's actually quite painful if you poke it, which, of course, I do. So, I'm hoping it will eventually start working again. I don't even know, since it's hard, if blood can flow through it. It hasn't impaired my hand functioning at all, so I guess it's not a big deal. But I just thought I'd throw that out there: sometimes needles do bad things to veins. Also, there will be no more IVs in the top of my hand, if I can help it. That's about it. More blood draws tomorrow at clinic, and hopefully I'll have some good news regarding my chemo levels tomorrow evening. Right now, I'm just staying hydrated and playing the waiting game. Right on. Peace.

Eating toast.

2007-08-13T21:21:00.000-05:00

I like toast. Especially when there is peanut butter involved. I can't type too much or too well because there is an IV sticking out of the side of my left hand. It's in a vein at right about at the flexion point of my wrist near my thumb. Basically I can't move my left hand that much in any direction. But all told, today went quite well. The IV the nurse put in is working well, and it will be coming out tomorrow. The spinal tap/lumbar puncture was virtually painless; it took about ten minutes total. I've been feeling a bit woozy since All of the chemo was stuffed into me, but I think that's finally wearing off, and I haven't had any trouble keeping down food. The most interesting detail of the day is that my urine was fluorescent yellow. The chemo was bright yellow, and, well, you know, it passes through you. So for a while there, my urine, pee, "bathroom fluids," what have you, were practically glowing. But that is all finally getting diluted. The other interesting thing is that I have been going to the bathroom All the Time. Like, no, really. I have consumed or been injected with so many fluids today. Between the water I've been drinking (a lot.), the 1000 mL of chemo, the 2000 mL worth of hydration packs, the milk I've had with my cereal, and even more water, I actually slosh when I move. But that's good. It means my kidneys are processing the fluids and getting them out of me, which is what we want. Plus, I have to get up in three hours again anyway to take 27, no, 29 pills. Woo! (It's not as ridiculous as it sounds. They are tiny pills.) So that will be my night, and I don't have to go to clinic until 4 pm tomorrow. And I am finished with the chemo for two weeks. So, hoorah. That's what's good here. Happy Tuesday, sad toad. Peace.

cbridges86@gmail.com if you feel like saying hi. :)

Still plugging along.

2007-08-12T22:17:00.000-05:00

To be quite frank, I am not looking forward to tomorrow. It will be at least six hours of clinic time that will include at least two needles to two separate veins, a needle to the spine, two chemo drugs, one of which infuses for three hours, multiple anti-nausea pills, and my usual cocktail of daily pills plus a few new ones. And then there's the extreme likelihood of nausea anyway, not to mention the possibility of morphine-quality back pain. All in all, tomorrow is shaping up to be quite an eventful day. I might update tomorrow; I might not. That remains to be seen.

The funny (awful? funny?) thing about this is that even a few months ago, back in March, I thought I would be finished with my chemotherapy by now. And here I am, about to start the last module, which will last six more weeks. But at least it is finally beginning. I hope this goes by quickly. I need to get back to some sort of a normal life where photography figures prominently and my friends are nearby. That'd be nice. I guess the first step is getting through tomorrow. And....... Go!

Stupid... Mosquitoes....

2007-08-09T22:26:00.000-05:00

I swear, if I die of West Nile Virus, I will be seriously upset. West Nile is usually only fatal to the very old and the very young. And, oh yeah, those with poor immune systems. Fabulous. But I think I'm on enough anti-viral medications that I should survive. Malaria, on the other hand, might be a problem. Although, I'm not sure when Chicago last had an outbreak of malaria. I don't think there has been one in a while anyway.

BUT: Everyone's happy white blood cell thoughts, and I've received a lot of them, have done wonders in raising my platelet count. It has soared from around 60,000 one week ago to about 250,000 as of this morning. Hoorah! This means that I will be able to begin my Final! module of chemotherapy this coming Monday. And the even better news is that I will be doing it all outpatient. So, even though the temperature is hovering in the 90s, the humidity is so high you can almost swim through the air, and my house's air conditioner decided to die about 15 years ago, I am overjoyed to not have to spend any amount of time in the hospital. Hopefully I won't get an infection; that would cast a rather bleak shadow over my otherwise sunny outlook. All of the chemotherapy and the lumbar punctures can be done in clinic, which is great. I'm actually not quite sure why I am doing this outpatient. The last time I went through this module, I was in-patient. (That's when my kidneys decided it would be super cool to stop working. Good times.) But either way, I am not complaining. So that's my good news, which always makes for a good day. Plus, tomorrow's Friday, and I get to sleep in. Awesome. Peace.

The pros and cons of being bald.

2007-08-07T22:37:00.001-05:00

Con: Your head gets really hot, and, yes, I'll admit it, sweaty, when it's hot outside.
Pro: Your head is super easy to wipe down when it gets all sweaty.

Con: No sun-bleached locks.
Pro: No shampooing and conditioning.

Con: Your head gets really shiny when it is hot. sweaty. clean. cold. bored. tired. morning.
Pro: You can wear a hat.

Con: If you have never been bald before, you have a higher risk of sunburn on the top of your head.
Pro: Once your hair grows back, no one will be able to see the freckles and sunspots.

Con: Self-image is temporarily affected.
Pro: When being treated like dirt at a store or on the road, a swift removal of hat or scarf and an angry face serve to make everyone feel guilty and apologetic. Throw in a hacking cough and you're golden.

I think my hair might be starting to grow back. It might also be wishful thinking on my part. I guess I miss my hair; I certainly think about it a lot. But really, I wouldn't mind being bald for a little bit if there wasn't such a stigma attached to it. And yes, in the Midwest, in suburban Chicago, there is a stigma. At a barbeque I went to a while ago, a girl there was talking about her friend who got "a boy haircut." And trust me, the way she said it, her friend had made the worst decision in terms of her personal appearance. I think that if I was in a big city like New York, California, or maybe even downtown Chicago, it wouldn't be such a big deal. But out here in the suburbs, we don't tolerate that kind of crazy behavior. Shaving your head. My goodness, what is the world coming to. So my hair is coming back, although for now I'm still a rebel with or without a cause. Enjoy your tomorrows. Pax.

So, I should probably clarify.

2007-08-05T22:44:00.000-05:00

Just so no one thinks I'm sitting all alone in my bedroom, moping, and feeling sorry for myself. Friday was sort of the culmination of two months worth of unfortunate events for me. Friday itself I spent in an outpatient clinic receiving blood. I then came home to find an e-mail from my doctor telling me that my platelets were still too low to safely begin chemo, and she told me I would have to wait another week to be tested again. Hence, my final round of chemo was pushed back a week, and I lost it a little bit.

I am in a really weird emotional spot right now. I have been consistently in and out of the hospital for the past two months, and I realize now that I had set my expectations way too rigidly in terms of returning to school. For the past seven months, I have learned to live (mostly) day to day. The idea of going back to Boston helped keep me sane, and as my return was further solidified, I became fixated on returning on a certain date. And then when I learned my date had to be extended, I didn't know what to do, really. It's hard when something you look forward to so much is suddenly altered. But you'd think I would have learned by now that you can't put too much trust in the future when the present is so uncertain.

My doctor explained to me in another e-mail that my most recent infection really took a toll on my cells' ability to regenerate, platelets included. Obviously I am disappointed, still. But my despair of Friday has receded quite a bit. One of the main reasons for this, other than that I've had some time to let it sink in, is that over the past few days I have heard from some of my very good friends, as well as from people who don't know me too well. They reminded me that a better world exists outside of this dastardly cancer-infused one, and I absolutely have a place in it. Regardless of when I actually, finally, fly away from Chicago, I will definitely do so in the near future. And then the good times begin in earnest. The next six or seven or eight weeks are still going to be hell for me. You can not fathom how much I want, how much I need this chemotherapy to be finished. But I guess the most important thing I can do, and if anyone wants to help, please do, is to think happy white blood cell thoughts. And just accept that this will end when it ends. Thank you So much to everyone who is helping me get through this. I wouldn't be able to without you. Peace.

Dear Life: Enough of this nonsense.

2007-08-03T19:07:00.000-05:00

At one point during my adventures living in Boston, I was the greeter/bag check at a guitar store. Daddy's Junky Music. Right smack across Massachusetts Avenue from Berklee College of Music. The manager "let me go" about three months after I started working there. His excuse was that since it was summertime, no one was buying guitars, and they didn't need me. Okay, fine. I didn't really like the job, and the next week I found a much better one as a bartender. I did, however, meet some ridiculous people while I worked there. Berklee not only attracts great musicians, it also attracts a horde of not-so-great musicians who like to bask in the glory of a school they could never get in to. All of these people, at one point or another, wandered through Daddy's and played the $2000 Gibson Les Paul's and such. Daddy's also rented equipment, so we frequently had crazy deejays and musicians getting stuff for a gig. One evening, there were two guys renting speakers and something else, a mixer maybe? While the one guy was filling out the paperwork, the other guy came and talked to me. Hell if I remember what we talked about, but I know at one point he told me that life is all about "whoever's got the groove and the best attitude." That is a direct quote; I know because I wrote it down. Now, I never saw the man again, and I never will. But I do try to live up to what he said.

I fear that right now I am letting down this crazy, dancing, loud and happy man. My attitude, so fantastically good for the past Seven months, is crashing down around me. My final course of chemotherapy has gotten pushed back another week. I have tried so hard not to complain, and especially not to complain on here, but I am seriously upset now. The terrible thing is this is my fault, not my doctor's. It's my platelets that aren't growing, my white blood cells that are keeping me from doing Anything. So I guess this is the bad part of cancer: the end. Your body is so worn down it doesn't regenerate half as well as it used to. It's hard because the end is So Close! It just keeps getting farther away. I need some motivation to get me through this, and going back to school isn't doing it for me anymore, especially since I don't know when I'll be back. I've lost the groove, and I'm losing my attitude. But I'm going to go eat my Cheerios, which will cheer me up temporarily. Okay. Peace.

A number of important things have happened today.

2007-07-31T21:29:00.000-05:00

First off. So, Starbucks increased their prices. By Ten Cents. (nine if you use the average increase the media is tossing around). Honestly, I don't have any money as it is, and now they want me to cough up ten more cents? Dear Corn: I knew I never liked you. Now I really don't like you. Because, of course, this is all corn's fault. Basic economics: when the demand for one staple goes up, it affects the prices of basically everything else in the supermarket. Starbucks, my already overpriced ice cream shop (which is still delicious), and countless other fooderies, I'm sure, are jacking their prices because the price of dairy and wheat and vegetables and groceries in general have all gone up. Yes, ethanol is a good fuel source. But is it worth the tremendous increase in food prices?

Secondly: My financial aid for the upcoming school year was granted! Hoorah! Now I will definitely be able to return to school in the fall, and a major stressball has been eliminated. I have made huge progress with my two papers as well, so that will be another weight off my shoulders soon.

And finally, I went for a walk today. This is important for at least two reasons. One: I feel well enough and have enough energy to walk for half an hour (remember I haven't done much moving for the past three or four weeks). Two: I ran a little bit during the walk. Alright, it was more of a glorified jog, and it was probably less than 100 meters, but nonetheless, it was a solid attempt at running, twice in the thirty minutes. My legs were like, "Wow, yeah, this is awkward," and my lungs were like, "Are you joking?" But I did it, and I eventually cooled off, and at no point did I think I was going to pass out. It's going to be quite a long road to full recovery, but I am pumped for it. At this point, I'm just tired of being sick. Hoh well. Let's get through tomorrow. Happy Tuesday, sad toad.

(cbridges86@gmail.com e-mail me!)

Anybody want to start a band?

2007-07-30T22:06:00.000-05:00

Seriously. Anybody. If you have musical talent and want to show the world, call me and we'll get together. At some point in my life, I would like to tour in a band. Whether or not we're any good is unimportant. I just want to sing with people. Maybe bust out my guitar every once in a while. Anyway, that's one of the many things on my To Do Life list. Another one is bike through western Europe. Of course, running a marathon is on there as well, along with a vague rock climbing dream.

Anyway, the reason I mention this is because I am beginning to get my energy back. Which of course means I want to go do things. I will find out tomorrow if my white blood cells have grown back enough so that I can be around people again. It would be nice to have the rest of the week free to frolic... in the...field, um, what? But I also hope my counts are high enough that I can possibly start my chemo early, early being Wednesday as opposed to next Monday. We'll see.

The other good news is that the gears are all grinding away in the process of getting me back to school. I've been in touch with my professors for next semester, and so far there seems to be no major issues with my coming in a little late. I'm getting excited. Not that I haven't been excited about returning to school for the past almost eight months, but now everything is tightening up. My return is still so maddeningly far away, but at least now there are set details and not just a misty longing. Now, if only my hair would start to grow back.... One thing at a time, I guess. Pax.

What do you mean, the week is over?

2007-07-28T21:33:00.000-05:00

Where did it go? I suppose a better question would be, where did the summer go? I can't believe this is the last weekend of July. I have spent the past two months in and out of the hospital. In those two months, I don't think I have been out of the hospital any longer than maybe ten days. Maybe. I'm going for two weeks this time, but apparently I'm neutropenic again, so there are no guarantees. As long as my intestine doesn't decide to free any more e-coli into my bloodstream...

I have spent this past week sleeping, with a very few notable exceptions. One was my interview on Wednesday, which I am currently transcribing. Another is this morning. I've mentioned before that a family friend of ours is running the Chicago Marathon with Team in Training, helping raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Woo! Anyway, so she invited me to come and meet her running group this morning. I rolled myself out of bed at 6 am and headed to the lakefront to say some vaguely inspiring things to a group of people who had just run between 8 and 12 miles. I think I'm more inspired by them though. They pull themselves out of bed every Saturday morning to run extreme distances, not to mention the running they do during the week, while maintaining families and jobs, all for a very good cause. I mean, not too many people do that. I don't think I'll be here for the actual Marathon, but I sure will be cheering them all on.

Otherwise, there's not much. My arms are covered in large bruises and small cuts from peripheral IVs. My platelets are still pretty low, so none of the old bruises are going away, and new ones keep forming. I think I'll just admit I'm a junkie and get it over with. That's sure what it looks like anyway. I find the bruises somewhat amusing, but mostly they annoy me. Maybe one day I'll be normal again. I hope that day comes soon... I'm starting to get worried. Oh well. Peace out.

Man, am I pooped.

2007-07-25T20:52:00.000-05:00

It is not even 9:00 pm, and I am already planning out the best way to get to bed. Because, of course, there's a whole procedure I have to go through before I can actually plop down and sleep. But it varies depending on how tired I am. Tonight, I am tremendously tired, so it's going to be a short lead up to a long sleep.

Today was a busy day for me. It all started when I woke up. The details of my morning, however interesting, I won't write too much about. Suffice it to say that I did some stuff. My afternoon was somewhat more notable. Today I was finally able to do my interview for the profile I was supposed to have written last December. I was supposed to have done the interview last week, but unfortunate circumstances (coughecolicough) dictated otherwise. But I think it went very well. Now I just have to write the paper, which shouldn't be too hard. After that, there was some walking around, which I haven't done in a while, and then I went to group. This doesn't sound like a lot, and I am somewhat disappointed in myself for how tired I am. But I know this past infection seriously zapped my strength. It's super lame.

Finally, my brain isn't functioning too well, so it's possible this post doesn't make much sense. Essentially, I'm tired, so I'm going to sleep. If you are tired, you should sleep also. We can all have a big, happy sleep. And so, Goodnight.

cbridges86@gmail.com. E-mail me!!!