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.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
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.**
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.**
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, December 14, 2007
incredibly awesome or incredibly stupid: You decide.
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.
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.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Welcome to today.
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.
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.
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