Dear Lay's Sour Cream & Onion potato chips:

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?

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.

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.

"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?

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.

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!

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.