I guess it's Bob Dylan's birthday?

Or so my radio station tells me. On further research, however, Dylan's actual birthday is May 24th. I guess this is more of an early celebration. Regardless. Sometimes I am convinced I was born in the wrong era. I feel I would have fit in better in a smoky coffee shop on Bleeker Street, listening to the latest Ginsberg or a young Bob Dylan - before he became huge and inaccessible. I am too restless for the now, too unsettled to be wholly comfortable in my generation. But then again, I don't think I would have done well in the 70s and 80s. Living now, although I don't get to experience the fifties and sixties, I can at least read and listen and imagine what it would have been like. And realistically, I am probably idealizing the beat and the hippie generations. Oh well.

In other news, it always shocks me when I realize my body can't handle the stresses I once put upon it. Case in point: this past weekend. I ventured, once again, to Culver, Indiana, this time for my dad's 45th reunion. I pretty much didn't eat real food while I was there, as I am partial to the various ice creams offered by the restaurants in town. And then Saturday night, I didn't sleep at all. I stayed up too late in the first place, my cot was terribly uncomfortable, and I was kept awake by the various night-sounds that occur when you share a motel room with two other people. Basically, by the time I got home Sunday afternoon, I felt pretty awful. I had a low-grade fever, and I was exhausted. I think I napped for about three or four hours on Sunday, and then I slept twelve hours Sunday night. I felt great today, which is the good news. It was mostly just another reality check reminding me that I can't afford to neglect my body, even for one day. It's lame, but my health is in a precarious state that could easily take a turn for the worse. And I don't want to take that risk. So sleep and healthy food are in order. That's about it. I go for another biopsy and hospital stay beginning Wednesday, so the countdown is on for that. Should be a good time. Have a happy Tuesday and all that whatnot. Peace.

This is important!

I feel I should make this public: I feel great. Not like, oh man, I'm tired, but I have enough energy to move from my bed to the couch; not like, oh man, I think I could walk to the park down the street; and definitely not like, oh man, I feel like sitting in my backyard watching the robin attack the chipmunk (which he does. It's amusing.). But really, I feel just about normal. I think most people expect me to be somewhat weathered or ill-looking, and there is a small level of surprise when they see me and I look like anybody else. I know it must be difficult to visualize my life right now, despite my excellent descriptions of everything (haha). If you're reading this from halfway across the country and you haven't seen me since December or longer, you have probably formed a general mental picture of me right now. Whether I'm thinner or fatter or yellower or paler or possibly somewhat taller is up to you. Possibly I'm wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, just sort of lying around, trying not to freeze. That wouldn't be wholly inaccurate, although I can't remember the last time I wore sweatpants. For the most part though, I'm doing a bad job at playing the role of a sick kid. I am desperately trying to be Caroline-trendy, which is pretty different from trendy-trendy, but I like it, and I think I'm succeeding. I still do my push ups and crunches; gotta keep that six-pack. And, right now at least, I'm pretty sure my blood counts are all normal, so there is no extreme paleness going on. And like I said, I feel great. The fatigue of the past few weeks is all but gone. Tomorrow I am going back to my highschool again; it's my dad's reunion. So it's going to be a great weekend as well. And don't worry about me. If you saw me on the street, I know you would be thinking, "Oh man, who is that hot chick walking my way?" You wouldn't think, "Dude, that chick totally has cancer." That's what I imagine anyway. Next week when I go back in the hospital, we can all have a little sad-Caroline time, but for now, live in the present, and join me in enjoying it. That's all. Have a wonderful weekend. Pax.

mango juice + Caroline = happy.

I recommend its deliciousness to everyone who is looking for something a little different from your morning orange juice. I can't believe it's already Wednesday, almost Thursday. I honestly haven't had all that much to report, which is both a good and a bad thing. Good because it means there have been no terrible cancer-related complications, but bad because I fear I might be disappointing my loyal readers who check back daily for an update. But then again, summer is just about officially underway, and I'm not sure whether my readership will shrink or not now that most of my friends won't be sitting around trying to do anything except their homework... Gah. I am sitting here, trying to put coherent thoughts together in my head that I can then type out, but I am having some serious trouble with it. I'm not sure if I'm just tired or depressed or dumb or what, but something is blocking the smart part of my brain from working. Mostly I am succeeding in writing really long sentences, but that's about it. So before I go and type something grammatically horrendous (if I haven't already), I should probably stop. Oh but briefly, my hair is comb-able now. Well, close enough. I have hair, and it's exciting. Too bad I'll lose it again in about three weeks. Oh well. Alright, I'm going to go to bed. Have a splendid Thursday. Bulls game 6!! Go Bulls! Peace.

Another weekend over?

I haven't done much of anything these past few days, so I haven't had much of anything to write about. Most significantly, on Friday, I chose to stop the Campath. I figured that the benefits would not outweigh the killer side-effects. So I have spent Friday, Saturday, and today trying to get back whatever energy I had. It's slow going. This stupid drug has honestly worn me down more than anything else I've had so far. I suppose it could have affected me so strongly because I have already gone through three months of treatment, in which case the next three months won't be much better. But I think all this is the fault of the drug. So no more tri-weekly injections. I have to go to clinic tomorrow to get blood drawn, but then I don't have anything until the 23rd, when I have a bone-marrow biopsy. I'm just glad this is over.

On another note, I would like to send a shout-out to my mom. Today is Mother's Day, and while it is yet another highly commercialized and saccharified (totally a word!) holiday, the idea behind it is noble. Basically, despite all the strife and mother-daughter issues, I don't know what I would do without her, especially now. She moved me out of Boston. She is (along with my Dad - who is also indispensable) doing all the insurance stuff, which is grossly ridiculous. The other day, when I was too exhausted to really do anything, she helped me clean my room. Oh yeah, and she works a full-time job, and she occasionally does laundry. I know that tomorrow I will probably go back to my bitter and ungrateful self, wishing only that I could be anywhere but here. Right now, however, I acknowledge that I am indebted to my mother. There is nothing I could do to repay her. Except for possibly to do my own laundry sometimes. And the moral climax: thank your mom for putting up with you. I certainly thank mine. Enjoy the week. Hugs and spinal taps, Caroline.

I have reached a small crossroads.

Some people say that life is a road. Whether you live life with the destination in mind, or if you opt to live for the journey, is something that conflicts most people at one point or another. I'm not sure which dictum I subscribe to yet. I live in the present while thinking about where I'm headed. And I'm scared of what's ahead. I don't know what is going to happen to me tomorrow, much less five or fifty years from now.

But tomorrow. Tomorrow began yesterday. Yesterday, my white blood cell count was too low for me to receive my Campath injection. I received a hydration pack and the rG-CSF shot to help my counts come back up. I also saw my doctor. She told me that everyone is a little worried about me. Apparently, my reactions have gone above and beyond what is normal for this injection. My white cell count was not supposed to drop, especially into the neutropenia levels. So I was sent away from clinic with instructions to keep giving myself the growth-factor shot, drink lots of water, and come back on Friday. Today, Thursday, I grudgingly went to my volunteer job. Grudgingly because, basically, I felt like... well, I didn't feel well. Anywhoo, so I got home from work, ate some foodings, and settled down for my Thursday-night primetime. About 1/4 of the way into Grey's Anatomy, my doctor called. And she posed to me this option: I can choose to stop the Campath injections. The doctors are worried about how badly this is wearing me down, and they don't want me to get sick (haha). So she said I can stop it. No more tri-weekly chills and fever, no rashes, no unwelcome fatigue. But stopping it means I am stopping one more means of killing the cancer cells. What my doctor told me is that Campath, they think, works on the microscopic level. It kills any cells that may be invisible and hanging on, the ones that come back in five years, recurring in my spinal cord or brain. So do I think in the now, or do I consider the long-term consequences? The other thing is too, in terms of long-term, is if I do get sick or infected, that will delay my treatment. And, depending on which infection I get, I could just up and die now. Or option B may leave me with cancer cells floating through me, hiding behind bigger cells. So that's my dilemma. I'm leaning towards stopping the drug. I still have three more months of treatment, so there are plenty more opportunities to kill the cancer, hopefully. And right now, aside from getting an infection, my biggest concern is getting back to school in September, healthily. Anyway, so that's one of the many issues I've been tossing around lately. Hopefully everyone else's week has gone a bit more smoothly than mine. We'll see what tomorrow brings. Strength would be nice... Alright, peace.

And now for a little Perspective.

I have been in a relationship with cancer longer than I have with any guy. None of my previous so-called "relationships" have lasted much longer than three months. And now here I am, stuck with this most unwelcome suitor. It's five months today. It's not really a big deal in terms of tracking relationships. Usually it's the six-month anniversary that calls for a card or a chocolate rose or something. But for me, every month is significant because it is one more month that I have knowingly lived with cancer.

Lately, I have been thinking too much about relationships. Obviously, I am single. And I know there's nothing wrong with not being with one person for longer than three months. I mean, I am still only 20. In ten years, I'll be worried. But this current relationship I'm in is seriously hindering my ability to forge other relationships. As a 20-year old, I'm supposed to be getting wasted on the weekends, hooking up with some random guy, shaking off regrets and laughing at it the next day. Or my romantic ideal: reading in a coffee shop when someone approaches me who turns out to be not random or regret-worthy at all. Not that either of those have ever happened to me (coughcough), but we all maintain foolish ideals. Basically, I fear I'm missing out on a crazy, fun life where I can make mistakes but not be held accountable for them. I know I'll be back to school eventually, but it will be different even then. I am forever marked by cancer. The mark is invisible, and most people won't know unless I tell them, but I know it's always there. Meh. This Campath is messing with my head. I'm being overly self-pitying because pretty much all I've done the past few days is lie in bed; I've felt like crap. Once I get out and moving again, these silly musings will pass, and all will be well again. Until then, another shot tomorrow! Woo! I'm interested to see how the reactions will be. Look for an update. Peace.

Wazzzzup.

Remember those old TV commercials where the guys all called each other and said that? I think (maybe?) it was a beer commercial. It's funny how some things become big in pop culture, and others are just forgotten. I finally, last night, saw the "More Cowbell" sketch from SNL that was so huge almost ten years ago. They did it in either '98 or '99. That seems like such a long time ago, and yet, I still see people with t-shirts that say "more cowbell." I don't understand how a certain demographic of people can be so strongly influenced by what they see on TV. Which, I suppose, is why I didn't go into advertising.

Now that that is out of my system, I got my Campath injection today. The good news is that I didn't get the chills. I did, however, still get a fever. Also, my white blood cell counts are low enough that I am, once again, considered neutropenic. So it's back to the no fresh fruits and vegetables and stay away from people lifestyle. And my doctor is pretty upset: Apparently, if you're neutropenic, you're not supposed to get the injection. My nurse knew my counts were low, but she went ahead with the shot anyway. I know the biggest risk for me right now is infection, but I'm not exactly sure why that would stop them from giving me Campath. When I go back on Wednesday though, if my counts are still too low, they're withholding the drug. And really, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. I have no problem foregoing all of these stupid reactions. At least today my rash didn't pop back up. Otherwise, that's about it. I sat around, got my shot, sat around some more, came home and slept all afternoon, and now I'm going to bed. I feel terribly lazy, but I'm going to blame that on the drugs. Because I can. Hopefully tomorrow will be another good day. Cookies to anyone who knows what day tomorrow is... Alright, Peace.