chemo whitney

I'm in a huge funk right now. I know it's most likely due to the fact that I have to go to the infusion center tomorrow for my 5th chemo, and I'm dreading it. I go through the motions - set my alarm, re-pack my chemo bag, make sure I take the necessary medications when I'm supposed to - but I hate it every single time. Even though I've known it was coming, I don't want to go. I never want to go. It's a long day, made even longer by the cold capping process, and it's just draining. This last round of chemo has been the hardest emotionally for me so far. I feel so close to being done, but still so far. I think I've had a harder time this round because more of the physical changes are manifesting and are harder to ignore. I barely have half of my normal eyebrows left, and the hardest part of my day is trying to make sure I fill them in evenly. My clothes don't fit the same because I've gained upwards of 13 pounds over the last few months due to the steroids. I try hard to eat healthy, but most of it just comes out the other end within a few hours, so it seems pointless. I'm having bad acne, probably because of all the different medications. Last night, I looked at pictures of myself from a few months ago, and I cried myself to sleep because I don't look the same. I know that whenever I bring up these concerns to other people, they don't notice the weight gain, or want to be encouraging and try to give me positive feedback, but it's hard to accept it. I see something different in the mirror. I see the puffy cheeks, the lack of muscle that I had gained months ago, the fact that it's hard to pull up my jeans every morning.

I'm sure I could find more things that are making me unhappy, but the list could get pretty long, and I know it wouldn't help me any. I realized earlier today that it's incredibly hard to go through all of these physical changes in a society that places so much emphasis on outward beauty.

This is "Chemo Whitney". I really can't wait for when I can get "Normal Whitney" back. But, I know that's not possible. Because from here on out, whoever I am after this experience, is going to be a combination of both of those versions of me.

I look forward to the day when I don't hate looking in the mirror anymore.

Giving myself permission to not be okay..

..is one of the hardest things for me. In a way, I feel like I need to put on a happy face a lot of the time, and then that just adds to my stress level. After thinking about the nurse from Monday's comment that I have a great attitude and how it bugged me a little, I think I realized this is the reason why I have a great attitude. I don't want people to know how much I'm suffering. Chemo number 4 hasn't been too bad as far as physical side effects. The fatigue is definitely a lot worse and so is the mental fogginess. But I think I'm struggling the most this time around with mental and emotional problems. I can tell that I'm a lot more down in the dumps than chemo's past. And I know no one will blame me for that - this sucks. Chemo is definitely the most difficult and tiring thing I've done so far in my life. I just feel like I shouldn't show how much I'm struggling with it to people.

Today, I plan on changing that. I am going to try to allow myself to be patient with the process, and understanding of my struggles and emotions when things just really aren't okay. I am incredibly hard on myself, and that needs to stop. I'm not helping my situation by beating myself up constantly and trying to be "on" for other people. I'm sad that I spend most of my days in bed, but if that's what my body wants and needs, that's what I'll give it. I have always worried too much about the future, and right now I need to just focus on the here and now, and take everything one day, one moment at a time. I know I've said this before, but I think I need to keep repeating it to myself until it really sinks in.

It hit me earlier that my next chemo is on Tuesday, and I'm not ready for it. But really, who would be? I know the optimistic people out there would try to get me to see the positive side - it's one step closer to being done. And I know that. I do. But it doesn't make it any less crappy. It's a long day at the hospital, surrounded by sick people when I'm supposed to stay away from germs, where I get poison pushed into my body, and then I have no idea what side effects will pop up afterwards. It's not only physically exhausting, it's also mentally and emotionally exhausting. I'm just tired of the whole process. June 15 can't come fast enough.

I'm really tired of crying. My eyelids are constantly swollen from the outpouring of tears that escape on a daily basis. But, I'm giving myself permission to let the tears flow. If that's what I need in order to let out some frustration when words fail, then so be it.

Sooner or later, I'll be okay. But for now, it's okay that I'm not.

Am I doing cancer wrong?

On Monday, I had to go to the hospital to get an injection. The nurse that helped me was incredibly nice. I was told that I didn't need an appointment, but it turns out I did, but she fit me in anyway. Clearly, anyone accessing my chart can see my medical record, and I'm sure the first thing they notice is my cancer diagnosis. It's like the scarlet 'C' of the medical world. So, the nurse asked me about how  they found the cancer, and I told her I found the lump myself, and then went on to describe what happened next as far as confirming the cancer diagnosis. I pretty much have this speech memorized because of how often I've told the story. I should've kept a running tally. The nurse was impressed with me. She praised me for being aggressive in demanding an appointment with my OB despite the advice nurses suggestion to just ignore the lump. She said it was probably just a cyst that developed because I was about to start my period. I'm a little paranoid, so I asked her to schedule the appointment anyway. I needed to hear it from my doctor. And I'm incredibly happy and grateful that I listened to my gut feeling and insisted on scheduling the appointment. If I'd waited another month, my situation could've been a lot worse with how aggressive and fast my tumor was growing. So, I finished telling the nurse on Monday (I feel bad for not remembering her name) my story, and she gave me my shot in the middle of it, and then asked how far along in treatment I was. When I told her that I've had 4 chemotherapy infusions, and I'm due for my fifth next week, she looked shocked and said, "Wow, you look great!" I think what she really wanted to say was, "Wow, you still have hair!" but she was too polite. I almost told her about the cold caps, but I decided not to. Then, as I opened the door to leave, she said "You have such a great attitude about this. I'm impressed." I said thank you, and left. And for some reason, that comment really stuck with me. I texted Alicia about it and said "Am I doing cancer wrong? Like, should I be depressed and look like shit all the time?" She assured me that no, I'm not doing cancer wrong, I'm doing it the best way I know how to.

Here's the thing, and I'm pretty sure I've said this before, I do have my bad days. As a matter of fact, I've been having more bad days than good days lately. I cry on a daily basis about things that frustrate me, make me angry, that aren't fair, etc. It's all stuff that I can't really control, and it's almost all because of cancer. But, when I explain my situation and my story to someone, I do it in a way that's much more matter of fact than woe is me. I don't want people's pity. That's the biggest reason I kept my cancer a secret for as long as I did. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. It sucks. It's super shitty. There's no denying that. But, this won't be my entire life. Sure, it's going to be a big part of my life for the next few months, and slowly it'll become something that's less at the forefront of my day to day, until finally the things that I have to do relating to cancer just become routing (like mammograms and taking the Tamoxifen daily for 10 years). I'm doing the best I can to make it through each and every day. It's becoming a lot harder as time goes on. I haven't had the energy to do much after this last chemo. I've spent most of my days in bed, and for the last week I've been sleeping 10+hours, which is actually making me more depressed. So many people have encouraged me to listen to my body, and if sleep is what I feel I need, I should sleep. But it makes me feel guilty and lazy. I know that I shouldn't because this is an incredibly difficult thing to go through, but I've always had a hard time giving myself permission to do what I need to do for me.

I'm trying to fix that. To put myself first. Because as everyone has told me, this is the perfect time to do that. I should be focusing on my health and recovering. I'm in a really difficult position with work because I started a new job in January. I'm still in training and on probation, so I'm not able to use any sick leave, and I don't qualify for FMLA leave. The added stress of trying to work through treatment has been leaving me even more mentally exhausted. My mental clarity is waning - it's hard for me to focus and to retain information because I'm so tired all the time. And while I try to focus on work while I'm there, it's easier said than done. It's hard to leave the stress of what's going on with my medical situation at the door. I made the decision to meet with HR on Monday, and luckily I have a really awesome rep who's going to try to work with me to find a solution for taking time off to finish treatment and hopefully save my job. I told myself months ago that if the side effects became too unmanageable, then I'd address my medical situation with them. That time has come. It's incredibly hard, though, for me to figure out what's best for me. I have a lot of other people's opinions in my ear. My mom thinks work is a good distraction, but I don't feel like I'm putting my best self forward because of my medical situation. I also don't even know if I like the job. I'm grateful for the job because it's provided me with medical coverage and the income has helped me pay down debt and save money, but I don't know if it's something that I want to stay with. I feel like I'm a failure. I'm 27 years old, living at home, and I still don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm afraid to leave this job because it would leave a gap in my resume and then I'm also afraid of not having enough skills to find another job that pays well and offers the same benefits. I feel like it's a pipe dream to want a job that I like and that I don't dread going to every day. Before I found out I had cancer, I thought that my life was finally on track. I was happy, and I felt like I was finally making strides to becoming the person I wanted to be. It's amazing how quickly things can turn.

My whole life feels like it's a snow globe and someone is holding it upside down to get the little glitter flakes to float around, but they haven't turned me right side up yet.

To others, it may seem like I'm doing well, but in reality, I feel like I'm barely holding it together. 

Tea time

This is becoming a little comical.

When I was researching side effects and what might help ease them, tea came up a lot. I was worried about being constantly nauseous, since I had read that was a side effect a lot of women struggled with. I stocked up on anti-nausea gum, bought saltine crackers to take with me wherever I went, and made sure I always had a water bottle with me. I bought a box of lemon ginger tea, since ginger is supposed to help with nausea. I felt prepared to tackle whatever side effects might come up during the course of treatment, or as prepared as I could be.

I guess other people had the same thing in mind as far as tea helping mitigate nausea. It started slowly - my mom's friend Kim who has also had breast cancer, sent me fresh lavender and mint to help with nausea and to help me sleep. My friend's Kim and Jeff gave me some tea (and wine, which I can't wait to drink when chemo is over) for christmas. Then I "came out" on Facebook, and I've gotten even more tea. I don't know where the concept came from, but it seems to be a trend, "oh, you're sick. here, have some tea!" All of my teas are stacked on my bookcase, and the stack keeps growing. The funniest part is that I haven't really had any nausea, so I haven't used any of the tea yet. And I'm a little afraid to, because I don't know if I like ginger. I'm supposed to drink at least 2 quarts (64 oz) of fluids a day, and it's really hard to do. I work really weird hours, and I don't sleep well, so I have to monitor when I stop drinking fluids so I don't wake up seven times a night to pee (that happens pretty often). So, I have been trying to drink tea in the mornings, especially since the weather has been gloomy, so tea seems like a good fit. I guess I should start opening up and trying some of these teas!

my tea collection:

it goes really well with my expanding mug collection (I think I might have a problem):

Thank you everyone for the tea! I hope it has cancer-ass-kicking powers. 

Countdown: 4 weeks - 29 days - until my last chemo! 

I was naïve.

I've heard the term "cancer" from an early age. And while I didn't necessarily understand what it meant, I did understand that it meant that someone who was fighting the disease was sick and had to undergo treatment. The first time it touched my life, I was about 15. My paternal grandmother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I remember being incredibly frustrated because my family didn't tell me until after my birthday that year. My grandma didn't want me to be too worried about her - she wanted me to focus on celebrating my birthday. But I had been getting closer to my grandma that summer, so I was incredibly mad that my family kept something so important from me, even though I know they were trying to protect me. Over the next few months, I slowly watched my grandma's health deteriorate. One day, my mom came home early from work and told my brother and I to pack a bag of clothes. I kept asking why, and she said because we needed to go see my grandma - she was admitted to the hospital. I was in denial and kept refusing. My dad was flying in from Virginia a few days later and we were supposed to go visit her that weekend, she was supposed to be fine. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. We drove to Sacramento and met my uncles at the hospital, while my dad was frantically trying to get an earlier flight back to California. It was so hard to see my once lively, vivacious, spirited grandmother laying on a hospital bed, practically lifeless. The next day, my dad finally made it to California, and a few hours later when we were all in the room talking, we noticed that my grandma had stopped breathing. The doctor pronounced her dead a few minutes later.  I remember sitting in the hallway crying, and a nurse came up to me, and started talking about how death is a part of life. I just remember being angry with her for interrupting my grief, but I know she was just trying to help.

So, I've always known that cancer meant sickness and that the treatment usually meant chemotherapy, but I never really knew how many different varying aspects there were to a diagnosis until I was diagnosed myself. When you tell people that you have cancer, they're usually most concerned about what stage it is. But, as I've learned, that's not the only aspect to a diagnosis. Especially with breast cancer. Here is my full diagnosis:

Tumor was 1.3cm, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC), Stage 1, Grade 3, ER/PR/HER2 neu+, with no lymph node involvement.

My tumor was small enough that a lumpectomy was okay to pursue. Stage 1 means that there was no lymph node involvement - my cancer hadn't spread outside of the original tumor, or spread to other parts of my body. IDC (the most common type of breast cancer) means that the cancer originated in the milk ducts but spread to surrounding breast tissue. Grade 3 means that the cancer cells were rapidly dividing, so my tumor was growing rapidly, which explains why I didn't feel the tumor one week, and the next it was there. ER/PR/HER2 neu+ means that my tumor over expressed estrogen and progesterone hormones, as well as a protein called HER2 neu. 

My treatment is as follows:

Ultrasound, Biopsy of tumor, Mammogram (both sides), Biopsy of lymph node, Lumpectomy and Axillary Lymph Node dissection, Port-a-cath placement, 6 rounds of TCHP chemotherapy - one infusion every 3 weeks (Taxotere, Carboplatin, Herceptin, Perjeta), followed by Herceptin once every 3 weeks for a year, Radiation (amount to be determined), and 10 year on a hormone blocking pill called Tamoxifen.

So, "breast cancer" isn't just breast cancer. And the treatment plan is different for everyone. Chemotherapy isn't just chemotherapy - there are SO MANY different types of drugs to treat not only different types of cancer, but even different types of the SAME cancer, based on diagnosis. I had no idea. I also didn't really know what chemotherapy was, or what it meant, until my mom and I met with my oncologist to go over my treatment plan and how the chemo would affect me. All I really knew was that cancer + chemo = I would lose my hair. And that made me cry more than anything. I made a lot of phone calls and sent a lot of emails to my doctor's office asking questions, and did a lot of research on my own to try to really understand what my diagnosis meant. My friend Alicia sent me an email with a list of things she thought I should do, and the best advice she gave was "be your own advocate". So, I called whenever I had a question, I wrote down questions when they came up, and I constantly called the doctor's office to set up a consultation with a surgeon and then get a surgery date. I wanted the thing that was trying to kill me OUT, ASAP. That was my top priority. For two weeks, I was constantly on the phone, on the internet, and I slowly started to tell the people in my life that were most important to me my news. It took a lot out of me, and I could only tell about one or two people a day. 

I found out about my cancer on Monday, December 1. Two weeks later, on Monday, December 15, I was in surgery for my lumpectomy and lymph node dissection. 

A few friends of mine are nurses, and when I told them my full diagnosis, they assured me that even though my situation is shitty, my prognosis is pretty good. However, I remember asking my doctor the survival rate, and he didn't give a straight answer. I don't remember his exact words, but it was something along the lines of, "You're going to live a long time." I remember feeling defeated and terrified. I don't know if my treatment plan will work, and I will now be hyper-aware of any changes in my breasts and be paranoid for a while. Eventually, I hope, it will taper off, and one day down the road, I won't think about cancer every day of my life, but for now - it's constantly at the forefront of my mind.

When my treatment is over, I'd like to become an advocate for young women dealing with cancer. I feel like people need to be more aware that cancer can touch someone's life, even at a young age. I want to help people come to terms with their diagnosis, fight for their right to health care, to a second opinion, to get answers, to find support. Cancer can touch someone's life at any age, but young women dealing with cancer in their 20's brings to light a lot of other psychological and emotional problems that someone diagnosed later in life don't necessarily deal with. I'm much more aware of my mortality and the fact that I might not live an incredibly long life because of my cancer, I'm scared about finding a partner that will be brave enough to love me despite my cancer, I'm struggling with body image issues with my scars and the fact that my left breast is no longer shaped the same as it used to be and now also sits higher up than my right breast, dealing with trying to find a career (or in my case, keep my job) while undergoing treatment... There are unique issues that arise for every age group that deals with a cancer diagnosis, and these are just some of the ones that have arisen for me, and seem to be an issue with other women I've talked to dealing with a cancer diagnosis in their 20s-30s.

I've learned a lot through this experience. Stuff that I really wish I'd never had to learn about, but life rarely goes as planned. At least now that I have a better understanding of cancer, I can educate other people, and be much more empathetic to other people that are diagnosed or undergoing treatment. 

Look Good, Feel Better

Months ago, I heard about a program called "Look Good, Feel Better". It's a class that's put on through the American Cancer Society for women who are going through cancer treatment where they teach you how to apply your makeup and give tips and advice on how to survive chemo. The biggest perk is that they give attendees a free makeup kit that's worth about $300 or more that includes full sized, brand name products. I've been trying to sign up for a class for a few months, but it seemed every local class fell on a day that I either had work or had a scheduled doctor appointment or infusion. I almost decided not to go at all, especially since I'm so far along in this phase of treatment, but let's be honest, what girl would turn down free makeup? (Okay, I know that some would, but I figured it was a good perk). So I scheduled the class, and after changing out of my yoga clothes on Monday, I headed to Pleasanton where the class was being held. And then, ironically enough, one of my worst side effects hit me right before I walked in the door - diarrhea. So I had to run to the bathroom. I laughed to myself and thought about how comical it was that I was going to be late to a cancer event, because of a side effect of treating my cancer. After I felt it was safe to pull my pants back up, I headed to the conference room where the class was being held. Aside from the girl who was there to play makeup artist, I was the youngest person there. I wasn't surprised by this, but it always sucks when attending things like this, because I feel like people don't believe that I'm a cancer patient. After all, I've heard time and time again, "but you're so young." And my most recent response has been, "clearly cancer doesn't discriminate based on age." Just because a certain type of cancer is more common in older women doesn't mean that it doesn't affect the younger generation, as well. Back to my night. I was greeted by three older women, and one gave me this really awkward hug. I picked up my name tag, found a seat, and sat quietly until we got started. The host of the event was an older guy named Mark who owns a wig shop. Some of the other ladies involved were "survivors" (I hate that word, by the way, so please don't ever use it on me), and then I'm not really sure how the girl who did the makeup demonstration came into play. So the survivor ladies came up to talk about how they make these chemo care bags for women going through chemo. I was put off immediately when they pulled out a prayer devotional and said repeatedly "These bags get prayed over, from beginning to end." I'm all for religion, don't get me wrong, but this is one of those instances where religion really shouldn't be involved. Everyone's beliefs are so vastly different, and we weren't there to get prayed to or preached upon - we were there to learn how to look halfway normal during treatment. Needless to say, I didn't fill out the request card for one of those bags. Mostly because I already had a lot of stuff that came in it - either because people have given them to me (journals) or I've bought the items myself (soft toothbrush, mouth wash, nail clippers, lotion, sunscreen, tissue....).

So then Mark the wig guy starts talking about his business, and leads with "All of you are going to lose your hair." Way to be gentle, Mark. Even my doctor was more delicate when addressing the hair loss side effect when he first addressed my treatment plan. I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't, and cried like a baby. He let me cry for as long as I needed while I tried to hide behind the curtain of my hair so he couldn't see the grief on my face and hope that maybe I'd be lucky and I'd keep all of my hair. That didn't work, he clearly saw my pain, and I had to look at him again to keep talking about the other side effects I might encounter. So Mark didn't even try to clean the wound before dousing rubbing alcohol into it - he just went right in with it, advocating that you should just shave your hair off before it falls out on its own. I had already mentioned when we introduced ourselves that I just finished round 4 of chemo, and he definitely seemed surprised by the hair on my head. So when he goes into his spiel about shaving your head and buying a good wig (of course, his business card was at every place mat), he looked at me and asked about how my hair was doing. I said, "Well, I'm actually using cold caps. I've lost some hair, maybe about 20% or more, but for the most part, it's all there. So they're working." He gives kind of a disgusted look in response and says, "Oh. Well, there's pros and cons to cold caps, I guess." And while I know that in writing, this doesn't sound like much of a response, but in person, when he said it and the expression on his face, I wanted to slap him and yell at him and basically tell him to fuck off for being such a judgmental asshole. A lot of people are skeptical about cold caps due to the thought process that the chemo might not reach the brain and therefore that some traces of cancer could be missed due to cold capping. However, I based my decision on my diagnosis. My cancer hadn't spread past the tumor, so it's highly unlikely that I have any metastasizing. I'm pretty sure that's where his thought process was going. And also probably that he lost a potential customer since I have no intention of shaving my head and buying a wig. Although, if I did go that route, I already have a great wig picked out at a different salon. This was only about 30 minutes or so into the 2 hour class. I so badly wanted to leave after that because of how rude and unprofessional I thought he was, but I stayed and endured it. Again, for the free makeup.

I don't really know what I was expecting for that part of the class, but what it was definitely wasn't it. They chose one woman to come up and be the model, and the makeup artist used what was in her kit to give her a little makeover. So, out of the 5 women that were there, one of them benefited. She looked great when they were done, and during that time, the rest of us talked. I guess the nice part about me being so far into treatment was that I was able to give advice of my own, talk about what I've experienced so far, and answer a few questions. After the makeup demonstration, Mark got out one of his wigs and put it on Maria, the lady who was volun-told to be the model. She looked so uncomfortable. I don't even think he asked her if it was okay before he did it. She looked great, and I loved seeing the smile on her face as she looked in the mirror and saw someone different looking back at her. After that, she asked for advice on how to tie scarves, so they showed us a few examples of that.

When I scheduled the class over the phone, the customer service rep convinced me to go with a bag that was labeled "medium". He made the "light" sound like it was more for really, really fair people. I should've just listened to my gut and gone with the light. They gave me the medium bag, and you'd think that maybe even the reps that were at the class would've questioned it, but they didn't, and they opened the bag before I could say anything. When we were going through the bags to see what products we got, the concealer and foundation in my bag were way too dark. At the end, I gave them to the lady sitting next to me. The young makeup artist told me to ask for another bag, so I did. But they wouldn't give me one because they'd already opened the bag, even though I didn't open any of the products. I understand that, but it just left an even worse taste in my mouth about the whole experience. So my main reason for going - the free makeup - wasn't even much of a perk anymore. I felt like I'd wasted two hours of precious time where I could've been sleeping. I know other women have really benefited from this program - they host them at various hospitals all over, so each one is different - but for me, as I assumed it would be, it was a waste of time. Like I said, the only take away was that I was able to offer advice and suggestions. One of the women there I talked to afterwards told me I looked great and asked how I could stay so positive. I told her, "Don't get me wrong, I have bad days. A lot of them. I cry all the time. But your cancer experience is what you make of it." You can either play the 'why me?' game and dig yourself an even deeper hole of depression than the illness will leave you with, or you can do what you can to accept it, welcome the good days and the bad days, and try to just survive it.

It's taking me a lot longer to bounce back from my last round of chemo. I've been told that that's pretty normal, but it really sucks. Because even though I sort of know what to expect, I don't really, because it gets a little worse, a little more unbearable, each time. I'm exhausted. I slept over at a friends house last night because I was too exhausted to drive back home, I usually sleep better at places other than my house, but last night it was just the same routine as it is at home. It took me over an hour to fall asleep, and then I woke up at least 4 times to use the bathroom, until I finally gave up around 5:30 and just stayed awake. I came home and tried to go back to sleep, and I started to fall asleep, but .. then had to pee. I'm exhausted. I'm actually crying because I'm so tired and frustrated. I also went to the hospital yesterday to get IV fluids because I've been having a hard time drinking my 2 quarts of water a day, and I was hoping it'd help me recover from chemo a little bit. So far I feel just as crappy.


Side Note: I'm not knocking religion in any way. Like I said, people have different beliefs, and I respect that. I, myself, am not really sure what I believe in. I went to a Catholic school from K-8 grades, and although I'm baptized Catholic, I'm not practicing. I don't consider myself religious. However, I've had many people, of many different faiths, tell me that they're praying for me, and I welcome and appreciate those prayers. I just didn't feel like a public even that's supposed to be focused on makeup and appearance and surviving through chemo should have any religious undertones. That's not the time or the place for that.


Side, Side note: I just read this on Facebook. And I think it perfectly sums up a lot of my feelings:

 “I enjoy controlled loneliness. I like wandering around the city alone. I’m not afraid of coming back to an empty flat and lying down in an empty bed. I’m afraid of having no one to miss, of having no one to love.” — Kuba Wojewodzki

I miss having someone to love, and being loved. And I'm thoroughly terrified that I won't ever have someone to love again because of my cancer. And now that I'm crying again, this seems like the perfect place to end this entry and cuddle with Maggie until I have to go to work. 

Yoga

Yesterday was a pretty cancer focused day. I try to avoid those as much as possible, since my infusion days are completely focused on cancer, and it's a topic that's never far from my mind for obvious reasons, but alas, some days it's more present than others.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine shared with me that her yoga studio hosts various classes that are specifically for cancer patients (http://yogasourcelosgatos2.reachlocal.net/cancer-care-program). Since the beginning of treatment, I've been told to stay active because it'll make me feel better. To be honest, I've had a really hard time with that, as I've mentioned before. Between the doctor's appointments, the side effects, and the depression and anxiety, working out became less and less of a priority, even though I know I should've at least made the attempt to stick with it for some normalcy. I have no one to blame but myself for not going. But even then, I'm not going to let myself feel guilty about it, either. I did what I felt I needed to do, and most of the time that was (and still is) to cry and to sleep as much as possible. Two weeks ago, I finally managed to drag myself to a yoga class at my gym. They're honestly not the best classes out there, but it's close by and it works. Since then I've also lifted weights three times, and have gone on a hike. It's not much, but it's a start. One of the days I was lifting weights, I had to go into a bathroom stall to cry. I was so angry that I couldn't lift the same amount of weight that was so easy for me 6 months ago. I felt fat, flabby, and weak. I texted a few people telling them of my frustration, and I got a lot of encouragement in return. I don't remember his exact verbiage, but my friend Jeff gently reminded me that of course I couldn't lift the same weight - it had been 6 months since I'd made any effort. He also told me that he was proud of me for even going to the gym, and that I needed to stop playing the victim. Cancer can only take things away from me if I let it. My other friend Nathalie reminded me that the goal, no matter what stage of fitness a person might be in, is to strive for progress, not perfection. It's hard for me to remember that because I'm starting a few steps backwards of where I once was. My friend Mike also reminded me that I got strong and developed muscle relatively fast last summer, and that was even with working out inconsistently.

So, I'm now doing what's within my power to try to take my life back. To get a small portion of my former self back. And that includes exercise. I didn't wake up yesterday with the plan to go to this yoga studio. Honestly, I wasn't sure I'd ever make it since it's in Los Gatos. I know that's not THAT far away from Hayward (it was about a 45 minute drive), but I haven't energy to do much. I just randomly decided to look up the schedule of classes yesterday and saw that there was a 2pm class for "gentle yoga and meditation," so I decided to put on some (pink!) yoga pants and go. On the way there, I started to have doubts about going. I shared those doubts with Alicia, and she told me she was proud of me for going. It was also the fact that I read their cancellation policy and didn't want to feel like an asshole for not showing up that kept me driving to the class. I'm really happy I went. It was nice to have a safe place to practice yoga, to talk a little about cancer and how it affects the body and also the practice, and to also not give two shits that Penny (my port), along with a few scars, were visible. The teacher came up to me and introduced herself since she saw that I was new, and then told me about what the class would involve - gentle, slow movements at your own pace, with a really deep concentration on quieting the mind and focusing on deep belly breathing. My biggest struggle with yoga is those last two - my mind is always racing, and I always lose track of my breathing with because I get too focused on the movements, rather than using my breathing to guide the movements. So I really tried my best to focus on my deep belly breathing and timing them with the transition of poses. And in doing that, I cleared my mind and focused solely on the practice. There was a CD of rainforest noises playing, and during all of the meditation poses, I kept thinking about sloths. Many people know that I have a stuffed animal sloth named George that I've had since about second or third grade that my dad got me from the Natural History Museum (now the Academy of Sciences). He sits happily on top of one my nightstands dressed in a lobster t-shirt from Maine. For whatever reason, the music reminded me of sloths, and George, and I suddenly decided that the celebratory vacation I go on next year when my treatment is over will have to include holding a sloth. Other than thinking of sloths, I was able to clear my mind for the majority of the class. It wasn't until the end of class when we were in Savasana that I started to think about my cancer and cry. I was mostly thinking about my recent lab work and my elevated liver enzymes and how the doctor told me, yet again, that it's just one of those things that there's nothing they can do about and that we'll just have to monitor it for the next few treatments. I'm mostly just frustrated from continuing to hear that phrase - "there's nothing we can do about it." I let a few tears roll, and then brushed the frustration away, bringing myself back to the thought of holding a baby sloth in the middle of the rainforest. (A very quick google search after class has taught me that most sloth sanctuaries won't let you touch, pet, or cuddle the sloths, so that sucks. But I'm determined, so I'll keep looking). Class came to an end, and the teacher came up to me telling me that I did a great job and seem to be doing well. For the most part, I'm fairly flexible, but I have a lot of tension in my legs, which is the main reason I started going to yoga. I'm also assuming that because I still have most of my hair thanks to cold capping, I don't look like I'm in the middle of chemo, which is probably why she said I look like I'm doing well. I appreciated her encouragement, nonetheless.


I also attended a "Look Good Feel Better" class last night, but I'll post on that later. I only slept 3 hours last night, and the sleeping pill I took at 5:15am is finally hitting me.  They really weren't kidding when they said the side effects are cumulative. It's taking me longer to recover from my infusion than it has in the past. Which means I'm not looking forward to the insomnia and fatigue that infusions 5 & 6 will bring.

wait, what was i saying?

This week the fatigue from chemo has hit me really hard. Yet again, I found myself dreading Monday's infusion. But let's be realistic, who'd be excited to go to the hospital to get pumped full of poison? I know that it's for a good reason, but it doesn't change it from sucking. Every time I say, "I don't want to do it" or "I don't want to go," my mom reminds me that I have a choice - I don't have to do it. I could stop at any time. But deep down, I know that's not true. I don't really have a choice. Because not going through chemo would be putting myself at risk for recurrence. It's this battle of knowing it's the right thing to do, and not wanting to endure the shit storm that follows. You'd think that it'd get easier with time - that you start to know what to expect, but that's not really the case. Because each infusion brings new side effects that may not have been there before. There's no real way to know what my body might feel like after a chemo day (or a "spa day" as the members of discussion board I'm on have dubbed them).

I was exhausted on Monday for my infusion. I felt great the day before - I even went on a hike with my friend, Kim. But then I started to get tired and decided to go home and take a nap. Sadly, that plan got hijacked by the jitters from the steroids I have to take before my infusion. I didn't sleep well that night, either. Every night since has been full of hot flashes, tossing and turning, and waking up a few times a night to go pee, despite my best efforts of watching my water intake and stopping all fluids about 2-3 hours before bed. It's kind of ridiculous the things that I have to think of now that never used to cross my mind. In addition to being hit by the fatigue truck big time this week, I've noticed that the joint/bone pain is back. My ribcage feels sore, which is a weird feeling. And sadly there's nothing I can really do to mitigate that pain, I can only just deal with it. That seems to be the answer to many of the side effects I experience. I tell my doctor about it, and the answer is "sorry, there's not really anything we can do about that." Like the nose bleeds. And this time around, my elevated liver enzymes. I've avoided Dr. Google since I know that will only bring me anxiety, but I got frustrated that my doctor brushed off my concern about it. It's apparently a really common side effect of one of my chemo drugs, but still, it's a little scary.

Okay.. this post is a garbled mess of mumbo jumbo, which seems to be an accurate portrayal of how my brain is working as of late. So, back to vegging out before work.

Later this week, maybe I'll detail my experience with having to learn to paint on my eyebrows... Thank goodness for YouTube videos.

Smiling through the pain.

Last Friday I had dinner with a family I used to babysit for. I've known them for over 10 years, and we consider each other family. I've known their girls since they were 2 and 4, and now they're 11 and 13. I can't believe what amazing young girls they're growing into.

I only told Deb and Richard about my diagnosis maybe less than two months ago. I knew I could've told them sooner, but as I've said before, I didn't want that many people knowing in the beginning. It was a heavy secret to keep from so many people I love, but I needed more time to process the reality of it. Finally, when I told Deb and Richard, I was greeted with nothing but love and support. Deb said Richard cried. I'm sure it was hard for him because his sister has gone through this. At first, they didn't want to tell the girls, which I respected. However, when I had dinner with them on Friday it was apparent that they'd told the girls the news. They didn't want to hide the reality of the situation from them - they need to know that these things happen unexpectedly in life. And they weren't sure what I'd look like, and didn't want the girls to be alarmed. Luckily, since I don't see them often, they probably wouldn't have been able to tell much of a difference, but I'm glad they know. I think it's important for them to see me and learn at an early age how imperative self breast exams are. Jade, the youngest, was super sweet and kept wanting to give me gentle hugs, which I welcomed with open arms. Ruby is in her teenage years, so of course didn't talk too much, so I'm not sure her thoughts on the subject. Maybe when I visit with them again I'll ask if they have any specific questions for me.

In addition to the girls, one of Debs long time friends came to dinner, and eventually my cancer came up. He was incredibly surprised to hear of my diagnosis simply based on my appearance. I guess I really don't look like a cancer patient, even though I can see all of the effects it's had on my body. He told me I looked robust and healthy. Later on in the evening, he commented that he'd never seen anyone on chemo so happy and smiley as I was. Deb and Richard told him about my strength and determination, and how I've never backed down from anything. Which made my heart melt a little to hear how much they've bekieved in me over the last 10 years. It was a good feeling. Eventually Deb had to kick me out and tell me to stop being polite by staying when she could clearly see I was exhausted. I always feel bad leaving places early. But, that's me, trying to please others, as usual.

This post wasn't just supposed to be about that dinner, though. A recurring question that people ask me is how my parents are handling this, more specifically my mom since I still live at home with her and she's watching me go through this. My dad has continuously told me that I'm his hero. I haven't talked with him too frequently on the subject because it always makes me cry, and he feels like my tears are his fault, and he also has his own health stuff going on right now. I really don't know how my mom is handling this. She's trying to be strong for me, and I'm trying to be strong for her, but also opening up about my feelings when I'm struggling, and she doesn't like it when I cry, either. So I often cry in my room behind closed doors, or at the grocery store, on a walk, last week at the gym, and with incredible frequency in my car. I guess I feel like this is hard enough for her as it is than to watch me constantly struggling. And she's often said, "please don't cry." And I know it's not because she doesn't want me to express my feelings, in fact she might welcome it since we haven't always been close. I think it's more so because she can't really do anything about the tears. She can't take my pain away, as much as I know she'd much rather be going through this than me. I wouldn't want that. I'm much happier taking on this burden than anyone else in my family, but a mother shouldn't have to see her daughter go through this. So I do the best to find the balance in expressing my emotions to her, but also being mindful of how it effects her to see me hurting and struggling. I know I said I'd stop being strong for everyone else, but my parents are an exception to the rule. I want them to be proud of me for making it through this. I don't want them to feel even more helpless than they probably already do by watching me struggle through the daily frustrations that this journey has brought on.

Today is infusion #4. After this afternoon, I'll be 2/3 of the way done with chemo. I don't want to go sit in that chair today. It's such a bittersweet experience. Especially because I finally start to feel normal, and then it's time to go back and deal with the side effects all over again, and worry about the possibility of new ones. But all I can do is take it one day at a time and hope for the best.

I went to the beach last Thursday. I'll write about that later. Off to go pack my chemo bag and get ready for today's hospital visit. The only upside to starting early today is getting to end early.