Getting in the Christmas stomach

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

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!

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.