Tuesday, August 30, 2016

The good with the bad

I have been absolutely blown away by the good things that have shown up at my proverbial door lately. I am in awe, deeply moved, flattered, and touched by the fact that women from around the world have reached out to me to let me know that I've inspired them. I've given them hope. I've let them know that they can get through whatever challenges may lie ahead for them. 

It's ironic that so much good has come out of such a crappy situation. I say that because when I was first diagnosed, I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want anyone's pity or sadness or grief. I told close family members of the diagnosis, and a handful of good friends, and I asked them all to keep my secret. They obliged, but with one or two of them insisting that it might be good for me to open up about it. In hindsight, I wish I had started publicly documenting my experience right from the get-go, but I just wasn't ready to face it. There was so much on my plate - doctor's appointments, consultations, biopsies, blood draws, mammograms... It took all of my energy to just solely focus on those appointments and surgeries. 

It was during my second chemo that I was sitting in my chair, thinking long and hard about what an ex-boyfriend had said to me when I told him of the diagnosis. Looking back, I don't remember the entire conversation, I just remember that he thought it would be good for me to get it off my chest. Because burying that pain so deep inside of me was surely only going to cause more damage. I would hear cancer commercials on the radio, or see them on the TV, or in casual conversation someone would start talking about someone they knew who'd died of cancer, and every time one of these things happened, I would cringe. I couldn't escape cancer. It's like it was hunting me down, trying to remind me daily of its presence in my world. Cancer was my new normal at the time, whether I liked it or not. So, as my mom and I waited for my nurse to show up with my first meds and before putting my cold caps on, I made the decision to go public, posting a picture on Instagram and Facebook, detailing how my life had drastically changed. And to my surprise, I didn't receive pity. If anyone thought of me differently, it was in a positive way. I was told how brave I was. How strong. How fearless. How positive. People offered prayers and well wishes. I leaned on other people for support who have also gone through cancer because I needed to know that I would come out on the other side. Because I didn't actually feel brave, or strong, or fearless. The only thing I desperately clung to was my positive outlook. I had to in order to survive everyday. 

So with that first public picture came this realization that I needed to go public about my experience with breast cancer. Not only so I could help other young women, but to give breast cancer a face. A name. To let people know that I'm a real person, and yes, it happens to women under 40. I wanted to be honest and open about every single struggle I was going through, but also taking time to celebrate the small victories. Being vulnerable is incredibly difficult, especially in the judgmental society we live in, but I needed people to hear my story. Letting go of the fear of being judged or labeled as weak or incapable was the best decision I've made. Being public about my cancer has helped me heal in a way that I don't think anything else ever could have. 

It has also opened several doors for me. Learning about Barbells for Boobs and fundraising to help young women and men get access to screenings. Traveling to the Young Survival Coalition Symposium and meeting Z from BFB and getting to train with her. Having my pictures be used in national campaigns for the YSC and BCO to spread awareness about breast cancer in young women. A video of mine being used for the YSC to offer advice to young breast cancer patients. Writing an incredibly raw and heartbreaking account of my experience with IVF and cancer and having it be published. Advocating for Barbells for Boobs and raising awareness. Possibly getting featured for an amazing cancer organization within the CrossFit community.. 

But the most amazing thing that has happened has been receiving messages like the ones below. It has reminded me that what I say makes an impact. My small voice is being heard. And if I can change even just one person's life, then that makes it all worth it.


Saturday, August 27, 2016

So this is 29...

Most people fear getting older. After 25, the subsequent birthdays are just a countdown towards gray hair, wrinkles, and death.

But not for me. Today is my birthday, and I'm 29. It's my last year in my 20's, and I'm actually really looking forward to it. For me, life has only gotten better after 25. Yes, you read that right. Life has only gotten better.

Don't get me wrong, I've definitely struggled. I've agonized over the "why me?" of getting breast cancer at 27. I've had my heart broken several times over. I've gone back and forth with my decision to quit grad school. Life hasn't always been easy or kind to me, but I'm at this place now where I am immensely happy. I know I've typed this before, but I wake up every single day with a smile on my face, grateful to be alive. Every single day is something new and amazing, and I'm so incredibly thankful to be able to experience whatever life has in store for me.

27 was supposed to be my golden year. I thought everything was falling into place. I had several interviews lined up for the job I wanted in a tough field. I was madly in love with someone who I thought I was going to have a future with. I was making every effort to live a positive lifestyle, and be grateful. Then I found a lump, and got diagnosed. I feel like life dealt me the shittiest card, and from there it was a domino effect. I held onto that positive outlook for as long as I could throughout treatment, but it was hard. My doctors and nurses were all impressed with me, because I was determined that this was only one chapter of my story. I refused to let it define me. I refused to think that my life was over, even though, some days, that thought admittedly did slip through the cracks. I lost that person I loved. Or rather, he abandoned me. In a time where I needed someone to step up to the plate, he threw in the towel. I did eventually get the job I had worked so hard towards, but it was incredibly difficult working and going through treatment.

28 got better. It started with me joining CrossFit WIT and getting my health back on track. I got my ass handed to me for that first workout, and then I kept showing up for more. I lost 10 pounds of my chemo weight, I finished radiation, I finished my herceptin infusions, and got my portacath removed. I started to use my story to advocate for young women with breast cancer. I won a contest with the Young Survival Coalition and a video of mine was highlighted. I won a local essay contest for Bay Area Cancer Connections in which the essay I wrote was published in their newsletter. A picture of mine has been highlighted on breastcancer.org, and also by Barbells for Boobs. Breast cancer helped me find my voice. It has helped me try to do some good in this shitty situation, and I've had people from all over the world reach out to me about my experience.

This year, I've also had the opportunity to travel more than I ever have before. I went to Atlanta in March for the YSC conference, then Disneyland in April, then Maui for a cancer retreat. I'm heading back to Atlanta this weekend, and then the biggest trip of the year is Costa Rica in September!

I look back at all this and I realize that without my struggles, I wouldn't have stumbled across my strengths. I am so proud of the person I've become. I look in the mirror and I'm happy with the reflection. Every single day is a gift, and I plan on savoring and appreciating each moment. 29 is going to be the best year yet. I can feel it.



Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Not invincible

Sometimes you get bad news and it makes everything else seem so obsolete. 

All of a sudden I realize I've been living in this happy, healthy post cancer bubble, but forgetting the fact that cancer is a thief. It robs people of what is rightfully theirs, often with no warning. It takes and takes and takes, until the victim is completely drained and has absolutely nothing left to give. Until it leaves them with nothing but a black abyss in its wake. 

It doesn't matter who it touches, it is so greedy it will take whatever it can from whomever. 

This realization hurts me deep into my core, proving that cancer is unforgiving. It has robbed me off my peace of mind. It has once again reminded me that I am not invincible. And even when I think I have absolutely nothing left, there will still always more pieces of me for cancer to take. 
.... 


But the thing is. I am resilient. I can be broken and unbroken several times over and be born again. Cancer cannot take that away from me. I will not let it. 


"if you were born with the weakness to fall you were born with the strength to rise." - rupi kaur

 

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Lesson learned

I made a mistake this past Tuesday. I used way too many of my 'spoons' and exerted myself to the point where now, two days later, I'm still not fully recovered. I'm agitated and anxious and extremely tired. Right now all I want to do is curl up in bed and cry, and when I leave work in an hour and a half, I may just go do that. This "new normal" is something I'm still trying to figure out on a daily basis.

If you haven't read the spoon theory, you can find it Here. Alicia sent it to me last year and it is the absolute best description of what it's like to live with an illness, all while you look completely healthy and normal. Basically, you get a certain number of spoons in a day and any activity you choose to do costs you a spoon. Some days you can borrow spoons from a different day, but with the realization that you'll be able to do less on that day you borrowed from.

Well, on Tuesday I went to my normal CrossFit class at 8am. I worked up to a heavy weight for my push press, and got sweaty during the 4 rounds for time. After that, I ate a hearty breakfast and went off for a short hike with my friend Kim. I don't think the trail we walked was more than 4 miles, and it's relatively flat. Then I got back home and ate a decent lunch. At 2:30, my friend Rachel came over and we went for another hike. This hike was less forgiving, and had some steep hills. My glutes were tired and achy from the squats I'd done the day before, but again, the hike itself was pretty manageable. We had shade and a good view, and it's always nice to catch up with Rachel. After we left there, I packed my gym bag and headed back to my box for an Olympic lifting class. We practiced cleans and I attempted squat cleans for the first time, managing to get up to a decent weight at 105 lbs. I had steak for dinner, and then my mom came over to help me pick up some patio furniture I had bought. We got back to my apartment, and unloaded the set, hauling it up my flight of stairs. The chairs were light, but I could tell my body was exhausted.

I was hoping for a really good night of sleep just based on how tired I was, but as my luck would have it, I barely slept. I woke up the next morning with a really bad Charlie horse in my right calf. I was also exhausted and knew I needed to listen to my body and rest a little. I skipped my morning workout, opting only to go to the power lifting class at night. I got to the gym, and during my warmup I was getting scolded by another gym member about not clapping my hands together on my jumping jacks. In addition to that, he gave me shit for not doing the regular WOD. I tried to explain that I had done a lot of activities the day before and was tired, but instead of compassion, I got teased by him and the coach. "Are you complaining to me about being tired from a workout? Really?" I know they were joking, and usually I can take it, but I was getting cranky and told them to just drop it, and they stopped.

I ended up hitting a decent new record for my front squat last night, 20 lbs heavier than my last attempt, and 5 lbs over my current body weight. It felt good and I'm enjoying the process of getting stronger. But, again, I probably used too many spoons for the second day in a row. Fast forward to now, where I am extremely tired and irritable. There are other things going on in my life at the moment that are currently contributing to my anxiety, but upon reflection of how much I've exerted myself over the last few days, I know I need to take it down a little and rest. I learned my lesson and won't be doing two hikes and two workouts and moving patio furniture all in the same day. I'm not superman (as much as I'd sometimes like to think I am.) I need to remember to still take care of myself.

Monday, August 15, 2016

Moments of hesitation: when you break

Sometimes, I think I'm capable of being a lot stronger mentally than I actually am. I wish I could say that I no longer think about cancer on a daily basis, but that's absolutely not true. What I can say is that I think about my life much differently after having had cancer. I am happy and alive and breathing, and every day that I wake up is a gift that I don't plan on wasting. That counts for a whole hell of a lot in my book. So, yeah, I still think about cancer daily, but it's in a much more positive way than it previously has been. I will never be one of those people who says that cancer was the best thing that ever happened to them, because I wouldn't wish that hell on anyone. But it's made me stronger. Happier. More open to new opportunities. My whole life has been reshaped in an incredibly positive way because of the experiences I've had. I used to be incredibly angry at cancer. Now, I'm at peace with it. It happened. It's part of my story. But it's definitely not the entire book.

Yesterday morning as I was typing away about my bowel movements, I had my tv on, which is a rare occasion these days. I don't watch it much, preferring to read or be outside or at the gym in my spare time. But, I've been waking up a lot earlier before work lately, so as I typed, I decided to put on a movie. And I'm not entirely sure why, but I settled on "50/50". If you've never watched that movie, it stars Joseph Gordon Levitt and Seth Rogen (IMDB page here). It's about a 27 year old who gets diagnosed with a sarcoma on his spine. He goes through the awkwardness of counseling, the chemotherapy, the relentless side effects, the pain of someone he cares about walking away from him in the middle of his treatment, his best friend doing what he could to hold it together, and his family struggling with how to deal. Literally all things that I experienced, including the heartbreak. Especially the heartbreak. Honestly, I thought that the heartbreak aspect of it was going to be what stood out most to me and would tug at my heartstrings, but it actually didn't bother me.

I've watched this movie before and enjoyed it, but that was before my own cancer experience. I literally only put it on for background noise as I clicked away on my keyboard, but after I posted the last blog post, I went downstairs, made myself breakfast, and then came back upstairs to finish the movie before having to get ready for work. And then, a scene came up that caused one of the most intense flashbacks I've had regarding my cancer. There are spoilers below, so if you haven't seen the movie, I don't recommend continuing to read on.


Near the end of the movie, Levitt's character goes in for surgery. He's in a hospital gown, laying on the gurney, and has an IV hooked up to a portacath in his chest, and at one point signs a waiver for being an organ donor. All things that I remember incredibly vividly. I was looking at the tv, and I knew it was Levitt's character that was on the screen, but all I was seeing was my face. All over again, it was me on that gurney. Me in the hospital gown. Me with an IV hooked up to fluids. Me signing the medical releases. A nurse and an anesthesiologist come up to him and start to administer the anesthesia, explaining that they were going to be wheeling him into surgery. And Levitt breaks down. He starts to panic, asking how long it's going to take, whether they're giving him enough anesthesia to keep him asleep, what would happen if he woke up during the procedure... All while his mom is by his side and trying to reassure him the best she could that things were going to be okay. That she would see him in a few hours. That it would all be over soon. They embrace in a hug and start crying, and I just lost my shit. I started bawling, unable to control my tears, and the feelings of fear rushing back practically knocked the wind out of me. I couldn't stop crying or gasping for air.

It was like I was back in that hospital. The four walls of my room transformed into the one wall and three privacy curtains of the hospital where I waited for my table time for surgery. I easily remembered my mom and I sitting there, waiting and waiting, and me trying not to move because I was in pain. I had a wire sticking out of my left breast, and an IV in my right hand. I knew my blood pressure was over the roof. I had brought a book to read, but I couldn't focus on anything, so I turned on the small tv at my bedside table while my mom and I made small talk. I had started crying in the car on the drive over, telling her I was afraid. She put on her brave face, and told me everything would be okay. That we were in it together. So, while we waited in that room for the surgeon to come up, I held back the tears, and reminded myself that everything would be okay. It had to be. I was strong enough to make it through this. I didn't exactly believe it, but I had to keep repeating it. Eventually, my surgeon came into my little "room" and marked my left breast with his initials, a precaution to make sure they operated on the correct side. How they could possibly get it wrong since I had a wire sticking out of the breast, I had no idea. But better safe than sorry. Not too long later, my nurse came by asking if I needed to use the bathroom before I went in. I said yes, so she and my mom helped me unplug my monitor that had me hooked up to the IV, and the nurse followed me to the bathroom and waited outside the door. I was still trying not to move too much because of the IV and my grave dislike for needles, so it was difficult getting my underwear down. It took me longer than it should have to go pee, but I was taking my time, still trying to stay calm. When I came out of the room, the nurse informed me it was time to go. I went back to the area my mom was sitting, and sat back down on the gurney. My mom took my belongings, and followed us partway down the hall. It was when the nurse told my mom that she had to stay behind that I absolutely broke down and started crying hysterically. I didn't want my mom to see me cry like that. I didn't want her to see me so broken. I wanted to be strong for her. She had been so strong for me in the month of doctor's appointments and biopsies and consultations prior to that moment. But, at that moment, I couldn't help myself. I needed her at that moment more than I ever have. Just like in the movie, my mom hugged me tight as I cried, no longer holding back the fear and panic I was feeling. She told me she loved me and that she'd see me soon. Eventually, we separated, either because she pulled away, or the nurse told her we had to go, I'm not really sure. I cried the rest of the way into the operating room, and had to choke back the tears as the anesthesiologist administered my drugs and the surgeon did the walk-through, asking me my name, date of birth, what surgery I was in for... And all I could think about was my mom sitting alone in the waiting room. Other family members had wanted to come to sit there with her and be there for me, but I asked them not to. Not just because I didn't want anyone else there, but because my mom was the only one I needed.

My mom and I have had our differences, but I can say she has been the most amazing support system through all of this. I remember her sitting on my bed after I casually told her about my diagnosis, telling me we would figure it out. I can only imagine how devastating it was hearing that her daughter had cancer. I know that she would've happily taken my place if possible, but I would never have let her. Despite being in school and working a full time job that had her traveling on an almost weekly basis, my mom was there for every single doctor's appointment that I wanted her there for. Every test result she wanted to know about. She was there as I agonized over whether or not I should save eggs through IVF, telling me in the most heartbreaking way that she didn't need to be a grandmother and that the choice was mine alone to make. She came to every single chemotherapy appointment, and helped me carry in the 100 lb cooler of dry ice and cold caps, which was quite a feat for my small framed mother. She helped me change the bandages on my wounds when I practically passed out in the shower from pain. And on one of the days where I had a huge panic attack regarding the IVF, she injected me with hormones when I couldn't bring myself to do it.

So, this less than 5 minute scene of this movie had this effect on me. It opened the floodgates of memories, and I couldn't shake it for a few hours. It wasn't the best start to my day. In the midst of my tears, I texted my mom to tell her I loved her. Not only because she needs to hear it more often, but because I just really needed to say it. And, as moms do, she asked if everything was okay. My mom always knows when something is wrong, which is something I love about her. The fear and anxiety that had built up regarding these memories lasted for a few hours, causing me to randomly break out in tears while getting ready for work, and while at work. Eventually, my day got busy enough to where the feeling passed. But it served as a reminder that at any given moment, the walls I've built up to protect myself from these memories could come crashing down. Most often when I least expect it. Granted, I should've known better than to watch a movie about cancer, but I honestly didn't think it would have any effect on me. I thought that I was far enough removed from my cancer that I could hold those memories at arm's length. Today, I learned that's definitely not the case. Just as I wrote a few days ago, I'm always going to be living in these moments of hesitation. Of being wary of living too much for fear that something might knock me back down.

I refuse to live in fear. I let the feelings come, because they deserved space and recognition. I couldn't stop them, so there was no point in trying to push them back into the recesses of my heart. I allowed myself to feel my feelings, and then, slowly as the day passed, I was able to move forward. It didn't ruin the rest of my day. It just made me realize that much more how much life I have left to live.
My text to my mom.

Joseph Gordon Levitt as Adam in 50/50 - the scene that made me lose it.


Sunday, August 14, 2016

Oh Kale no (Disclaimer: this is about poop)

Okay, so if you've been reading my blog from the beginning, you know that I talk about poop. A lot. Much to the dismay of many of my past boyfriends and also family members, it's a pretty common topic of conversation with me. I am definitely not one of those girls that pretends she doesn't poop or fart, or that everything that comes out of my body is all glitter, sunshine, and rainbows. That's definitely not the case. I've seen the evidence, y'all. (I never say "y'all", but it seemed appropriate there.) I'm human, I poop.

When you go in for your first chemotherapy, one of the nurses gives you a "teach" about what to expect while on chemo. My nurse, DJ, was awesome. Super patient and friendly, and apologetic that my first chemo was a complete shitshow (not because I was actually shitting everywhere, it just took them forever to release my meds, so what should've only been about a 6 hour day ended up being closer to 9.) She gave me a bunch of packets of information as far as possible side effects, phone numbers to call if I had any problems, and what to look out for if I had an allergic reaction to the drugs. It was way too much to read, and luckily she summarized it for me, knowing I'd probably never look at those pages again. I don't know about you, but before I was diagnosed with cancer myself, I was pretty naive about the whole experience. I had seen my grandma go through it when I was 16, but all I knew was that she was making frequent trips to the hospital, she was tired all the time and had no energy, and eventually she was put into hospice care. I was in the hospital room when she died. So, my picture of cancer was that. You go to chemo, you get sick, you might lose your hair, and then you may or may not live. But, in reality, there's so much more to it than that. This time around, I'll spare you any philosophical or insightful comparisons of what the cancer experience is like. I'm actually intending for this to be much more lighthearted. Cancer took a lot of things from me, but my sense of humor wasn't one of them.

Two of the listed side effects in the packet that DJ gave me were diarrhea and constipation, and it was pretty much a crap-shoot, literally, as to which lovely side effect your body might grace you with. I tried to prepare for anything that might come at me by heading to the store with my mom and stocking up on things I thought might help. So, I bought both a probiotic to help me poop if I ended up constipated (which I'd been told for years by doctors that I already was), and also Imodium for if I just couldn't stop going. It took about 21-25 days for the side effects to start showing up. My hair started falling out, despite the cold caps, coffee suddenly tasted disgusting, I broke out into a horrible rash from an allergic reaction to the chemo, and I had nose bleeds every day. I was also starting to gain weight, which was incredibly disheartening. When I started chemo, I was at my lowest weight (123 lbs) in my adult life, and I was super proud of what my body looked like. I had decided I wanted to put my best effort into maintaining that weight, despite knowing I'd probably continue to gain because of being on steroids, by eating healthy. I would eat yogurt and salads and laid off the sweets. I'm not entirely sure when my body decided to start boycotting that effort, but eventually I couldn't digest any sort of leafy greens. Or corn. Or tomatoes. Basically I was shitting salad. It got to the point where I would eat a salad, and within less than twenty minutes, my stomach would be hurting, and I'd be running for a toilet. So I got the lucky side effect of diarrhea. Imodium was my best friend last summer. It was at that point, that I just gave up trying to eat healthy. I figured, if my body was boycotting the healthy stuff I was trying to feed it, I might as well enjoy what I was putting into my mouth. I ate a lot of double stuf oreos last summer. Every once in a while, I would attempt to eat a salad again, and I would end up with the same result.

Fast forward a year later, and I've been done with treatment since February of this year. I eat healthy and I workout 4-6 days a week. I lost 10 pounds of the twenty I gained during chemo, and then I gained some of it back in the form of muscle. I am happy and healthy, and I wake up grateful for the life I'm leading on a daily basis. And because of my new, healthy eating and workout habits, I finally poop on a daily basis. Okay, TMI, I know, but if you've gotten this far into this post, the whole thing has been pretty TMI, and I really don't have much shame. For the first time in 28 years, I finally poop everyday and I completely understand my doctors concerns when I was a sophomore in high school and an X-ray of my abdomen showed so much cloudiness she gave me nutrition advice. Back then, a bowel movement every two to three days was my normal. Now, if I go more than 24 hours without pooping, I feel bloated and incredibly uncomfortable. I actually notice a difference in the way my body feels and how it effects my day, which is a little weird, but also nice in the sense that I feel like I have a much better understanding of my body and what it needs.

But here's where the problem lies. I've had a few lingering chemo side effects, like chemo brain, horrible heartburn, and the nose bleeds that didn't stop until I had a vein in my left nostril cauterized. At some point, I was finally able to eat salads again without running to the bathroom. But, apparently, I still can't digest certain foods. Corn is one of them. I know, you're going to say, but everyone poops corn. But, do they poop out every last kernel that they put in their mouth? Because I'm fairly certain that's not normal.. And, as of the last few days, I've come to learn that my body is still not a fan of dense leafy greens.

In the past 4 months or so, I've put on about 7 lbs of the 10 I lost. Some of it muscle, some of it fat. In an effort to get my body fat percentage down, I've been experimenting with my diet, and trying to push myself harder in workouts. So for the last four days, I've been tracking my macros again (proteins, carbs, and fats). During that time at breakfast, I've had kale with my eggs. Great source of fiber, right? Well, my body certainly thinks so. Rather than immediately running to the bathroom in 20 minutes of eating it, my body has been taking it's sweet ass time, attempting to digest it, but then in the morning I've been .... you guessed it, pooping kale! It seems as though this is one lingering chemo side effect that I'm just going to have to constantly be wary of. I guess part of my "new normal" is just that I'm going to have to be aware of where the nearest toilets are at all times....


Oh Kale no (Disclaimer: this is about poop)

Okay, so if you've been reading my blog from the beginning, you know that I talk about poop. A lot. Much to the dismay of many of my past boyfriends and also family members, it's a pretty common topic of conversation with me. I am definitely not one of those girls that pretends she doesn't poop or fart, or that everything that comes out of my body is all glitter, sunshine, and rainbows. That's definitely not the case. I've seen the evidence, y'all. (I never say "y'all", but it seemed appropriate there.) I'm human, I poop.

When you go in for your first chemotherapy, one of the nurses gives you a "teach" about what to expect while on chemo. My nurse, DJ, was awesome. Super patient and friendly, and apologetic that my first chemo was a complete shitshow (not because I was actually shitting everywhere, it just took them forever to release my meds, so what should've only been about a 6 hour day ended up being closer to 9.) She gave me a bunch of packets of information as far as possible side effects, phone numbers to call if I had any problems, and what to look out for if I had an allergic reaction to the drugs. It was way too much to read, and luckily she summarized it for me, knowing I'd probably never look at those pages again. I don't know about you, but before I was diagnosed with cancer myself, I was pretty naive about the whole experience. I had seen my grandma go through it when I was 16, but all I knew was that she was making frequent trips to the hospital, she was tired all the time and had no energy, and eventually she was put into hospice care. I was in the hospital room when she died. So, my picture of cancer was that. You go to chemo, you get sick, you might lose your hair, and then you may or may not live. But, in reality, there's so much more to it than that. This time around, I'll spare you any philosophical or insightful comparisons of what the cancer experience is like. I'm actually intending for this to be much more lighthearted. Cancer took a lot of things from me, but my sense of humor wasn't one of them.

Two of the listed side effects in the packet that DJ gave me were diarrhea and constipation, and it was pretty much a crap-shoot, literally, as to which lovely side effect your body might grace you with. I tried to prepare for anything that might come at me by heading to the store with my mom and stocking up on things I thought might help. So, I bought both a probiotic to help me poop if I ended up constipated (which I'd been told for years by doctors that I already was), and also Imodium for if I just couldn't stop going. It took about 21-25 days for the side effects to start showing up. My hair started falling out, despite the cold caps, coffee suddenly tasted disgusting, I broke out into a horrible rash from an allergic reaction to the chemo, and I had nose bleeds every day. I was also starting to gain weight, which was incredibly disheartening. When I started chemo, I was at my lowest weight (123 lbs) in my adult life, and I was super proud of what my body looked like. I had decided I wanted to put my best effort into maintaining that weight, despite knowing I'd probably continue to gain because of being on steroids, by eating healthy. I would eat yogurt and salads and laid off the sweets. I'm not entirely sure when my body decided to start boycotting that effort, but eventually I couldn't digest any sort of leafy greens. Or corn. Or tomatoes. Basically I was shitting salad. It got to the point where I would eat a salad, and within less than twenty minutes, my stomach would be hurting, and I'd be running for a toilet. So I got the lucky side effect of diarrhea. Imodium was my best friend last summer. It was at that point, that I just gave up trying to eat healthy. I figured, if my body was boycotting the healthy stuff I was trying to feed it, I might as well enjoy what I was putting into my mouth. I ate a lot of double stuf oreos last summer. Every once in a while, I would attempt to eat a salad again, and I would end up with the same result. One of the mottos of my March 2015 chemo group from BCO is "never trust a fart", and damn, that still holds true.

Fast forward a year later, and I've been done with treatment since February of this year. I eat healthy and I workout 4-6 days a week. I lost 10 pounds of the twenty I gained during chemo, and then I gained some of it back in the form of muscle. I am happy and healthy, and I wake up grateful for the life I'm leading on a daily basis. And because of my new, healthy eating and workout habits, I finally poop on a daily basis. Okay, TMI, I know, but if you've gotten this far into this post, the whole thing has been pretty TMI, and I really don't have much shame. For the first time in 28 years, I finally poop everyday and I completely understand my doctors concerns when I was a sophomore in high school and an X-ray of my abdomen showed so much cloudiness she gave me nutrition advice. Back then, a bowel movement every two to three days was my normal. Now, if I go more than 24 hours without pooping, I feel bloated and incredibly uncomfortable. I actually notice a difference in the way my body feels and how it effects my day, which is a little weird, but also nice in the sense that I feel like I have a much better understanding of my body and what it needs.

But here's where the problem lies. I've had a few lingering chemo side effects, like chemo brain, horrible heartburn, and the nose bleeds that didn't stop until I had a vein in my left nostril cauterized. At some point, I was finally able to eat salads again without running to the bathroom. But, apparently, I still can't digest certain foods. Corn is one of them. I know, you're going to say, but everyone poops corn. But, do they poop out every last kernel that they put in their mouth? Because I'm fairly certain that's not normal.. And, as of the last few days, I've come to learn that my body is still not a fan of dense leafy greens.

In the past 4 months or so, I've put on about 7 lbs of the 10 I lost. Some of it muscle, some of it fat. In an effort to get my body fat percentage down, I've been experimenting with my diet, and trying to push myself harder in workouts. So for the last four days, I've been tracking my macros again (proteins, carbs, and fats). During that time at breakfast, I've had kale with my eggs. Great source of fiber, right? Well, my body certainly thinks so. Rather than immediately running to the bathroom in 20 minutes of eating it, my body has been taking it's sweet ass time, attempting to digest it, but then in the morning I've been .... you guessed it, pooping kale! It seems as though this is one lingering chemo side effect that I'm just going to have to constantly be wary of. I guess I'm always just going to have to be aware of where the nearest toilets are....


Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Bittersweet

One of the most common things you hear after cancer treatment is people trying to find their "new normal". It's a kick in the ass, really. I remember all through chemo I was desperately wishing for things to go back to normal, but only with the vague realization that the normal I was imagining was no longer going to be within my grasp. My old life that I had cultivated was out of reach. But here I am, two years later, after thinking my life was perfect. I'm standing. I'm breathing. I would argue that I'm the happiest and most content and most comfortable I've ever been. I see beauty in the small things, like waking up to the sun shining and feeling the warm air on my skin. And it's not that I didn't see or appreciate those things before, it's that now they carry new meaning. Each and every day I'm grateful to be alive. And even if I'm having a bad day, I know that tomorrow is a chance to start over. Occasionally struggling is part of the process of life, and that in itself holds beauty.

But then the reality of what my "new normal" is sets in, and I remember that some things can't, or won't, come as easy as they used to. Such as..

I'm finalizing my trip to Costa Rica in September, and it dawned on me the other day that I should contact my oncologist to make sure all of my vaccinations were up to date and make sure it's safe for me to travel out of the country. So, cue me sending off an email to good ol' Dr. Shek, following his instructions, and setting up an appointment with a travel nurse to make sure my vaccinations are up to date (dear god, I really hope they are. Nearly two years closely associated with needles has not gotten me over my grave fear and dislike of them).

I've been having this pretty significant chest pain for almost four months. After a month of it persisting, I finally conceded to seeing my oncologist. We agreed on a chest X-ray, me taking Prilosec, and an EKG. It wasn't until the results came back clear that we discussed a CT scan. My doctor has been adamant that my screenings won't include scans because he doesn't want to expose me to any more radiation. So for him to suggest the CT scan, I knew where he was headed, but I didn't believe it until the words came out of his mouth. "We have to rule out the possibility of recurrence." And my thought was, "Holy fuck. What if it's back? What if they didn't get it all the first time? What if I have to go through this all over again even though it just ended?" What if, what if, what if... I went to the hospital the next day for the scan, and of course I had to go to the same department where I went for my lumpectomy. Anxiety and fear set in as I waited. I tried to stay calm, but that rarely works when it comes to me and hospitals. I got an IV put in, and then the CT was relatively quick and painless. The results came in the next day - everything looked normal. No recurrence. No heart abnormality. Just some scar tissue buildup. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. But only for a moment. Because it's still happening. I've now seen my general practitioner, and she doesn't believe anything is wrong - just scar tissue breaking down, and inflammation from my workouts. I'm not convinced, so I'm keeping a close eye on it.

My memory isn't what it used to be. Now, I know that people say as you get older, your memory doesn't hold up to the test of time. But, let's be realistic here, I'm only 28 (at least for three more weeks). I shouldn't be struggling to remember simple things, like a conversation I had two days before. Or a word that I've used in everyday jargon for years, but suddenly forgetting what that word was. I can't tell you how many conversations I've just given up on because I've gotten so frustrated at myself for not being able to spit out a simple sentence. Luckily, this has improved since chemo has ended, but it still happens occasionally.

I'm more fatigued than I used to be. I'm always tired since I pretty much don't sleep, but it's a general lingering exhaustion that holds steady through most days. It's incredibly frustrating, because when I actually attempt to sleep, I don't. This one, I can't entirely blame on after effects of chemo, because the poor sleep has been an ongoing issue for years.

I know that healing and recovery aren't linear. There are going to be highs and lows, and I'm doing my best to accept that and deal with each new issue as it comes. At least it's making life a little more interesting....