water works

I think I've cried every day this week. I don't know how I have any tears left. Maybe the 2 quarts of fluid I'm drinking daily is just finding its way out through my tear ducts. I feel like an emotional wreck for so many reasons. Over my weight gain, my hair thinning and looking ridiculous, my eyelashes falling out, my puffy face.... all of the things I've been complaining about. I'm mentally and physically exhausted from this experience, and what I've opened up about on this blog is really only the half of it. I've experienced so many other emotions over the last few months, I'm not even sure I'd be able to accurately recall all of them. Like I've said before, I sometimes wish I'd started this blog sooner so as to capture all of those emotions, but in a way, I'm also glad I didn't. Because the less evidence of those trials and emotions, maybe the less they'll stick with me, and the quicker I can recover from them.

I've had a few people tell me that they're proud of me for how I'm handling myself during this experience, and while I know they mean well, sometimes it makes me angry. Because I don't even want to be going through this shit at all. I didn't have a choice in getting cancer, and I'm just going through the motions the best that I can. I'm trying really hard not to pity myself, but there are days when I need that. In the beginning, I didn't want people to know for that very reason - I didn't want people pitying me or feeling sorry for me. I'm pretty sure there were a few people I told that acted like I was dying, and I quickly had to tell them to stop because that's not the case. I have to tell myself that's not the case so that I can stay as positive as possible. That doesn't mean I'm not afraid that I might die, because I am afraid of that, but I can't let that thought take over. If I do, cancer wins. And I refuse to let that happen.

Monday is my next chemo, and I'm not looking forward to it. But who the hell would? I hate that chair with a passion, but I know that one more day in the chair means one more day to being closer to the end of this part of treatment. The plan is for me to have radiation after chemo is over, but I'm trying to deal with one phase of treatment at a time so as not to get too overwhelmed. This whole experience is just a giant shit sandwich, and today I have to agree with everyone that's told me that this isn't fair. It's not. No one should have to go through this, ever.

I really want my life back.

Lonely

Today I'm feeling lonely.

Not that I don't have people to talk to - so many people have offered to lend an ear if I need to talk or vent or even just cry. People that I never would've expected. For that, I'm beyond grateful. It's reminding me how generous and selfless people can be when you're experiencing a tough time.

I'm lonely in the relationship sense of being lonely. I miss having someone there to always comfort me. I really, really miss being held. Maggie is only a good cuddle buddy on occasion, but she doesn't cuddle back. I love to be touched - holding hands, having an arm around my shoulder, a hand on my thigh while watching a movie, and being little spoon. There's nothing like being enveloped in the arms of someone that loves you, and I haven't had that in a long time. I crave being touched. I miss being physically comforted by someone when I'm having a tough time. Just being held and letting the tears flow when I can't find any words to express my emotions. I miss having someone there to kiss the tears off my cheeks and let me know that they're going to be there for me, no matter what.

Honestly, I'm scared that I'll never find that kind of love again. Because who is going to take the risk of loving someone with cancer? People keep telling me that the "right" person won't think that way. And logically, I know that. But in my heart, I feel like I'm damaged goods. I can barely look at my new body in the mirror, so why would anyone else think my scars are beautiful? I'm struggling to accept this new body of mine, and I'm hesitant to open up to anyone new. How am I supposed to tell someone new that I date that I've had cancer? What if they cut and run? Again, I know that any decent human being wouldn't do that, but there are people out there that can't handle this level of seriousness. Besides - when do you tell someone that you've had cancer? Before the main course gets served? "How's your steak? Oh, by the way, I had breast cancer." Do you get it off your chest immediately to try to weed out the people who wouldn't be able to handle the news? Or do you wait to get close to someone to see if they're relationship material, and then drop the bomb? But in that scenario, what if they are in the category of people that can't handle the news, and they leave, and then my heart gets broken? I feel like I'd be scared to tell anyone again. Like, maybe I'm just better off being alone for the rest of my life rather than risk any of the potential heartbreak.

And.. how is anyone supposed to love me if I'm struggling to love myself? I know that this version of myself - Chemo Whitney as a friend called it - is only temporary. Eventually I'll have control over my life again and this will all shape who I am. But I'm scared of opening up to someone new. I know that no matter who we date, no matter what situation they may be in, we all take a risk when we decide to enter a relationship with that person. There's inherent risk with any type of relationship, be it dating or otherwise, that the person might leave. Or, to take it a step further, that the person might die and we might lose them. I know that it's not likely that my cancer will kill me - but it is possible. I went for a walk one day a few months ago and had a break down. I remember texting a friend, "I don't want to die." I know that I can't think that way, and I'm trying not to, but the thought is still occasionally there.

I hope that one day, I'll be able to accept this new body, and that when I share it with someone, they'll be able to tell me how beautiful I am, not in spite of my scars, but because of them, and what they represent. Because I know that the "right" person, or any decent person, really, will see them, will hear their story, and will see me as that much more beautiful for tackling cancer. I'm trying really hard to accept them, to love myself in spite of them, but it's hard. I hope that one day I'll be proud of them and tell anyone who's scared of them to just fuck off.

When the time is right, love will find me again. Most likely when I least expect it. I've had my heart broken before, and I've broken hearts along the way, and I will make it through whatever comes my way in the future. I think of a quote by Maya Angelou often, "Have enough courage to trust love one more time, and always one more time." There's no right answer for when or how to tell someone about my disease (I fucking hate that word, by the way). For now, though, I'm focusing on making it through chemo, because that's really all I have energy for. In a way, I'm grateful to be alone during this time. I wouldn't want to be an emotional burden for a boyfriend, especially because it's in my nature to protect other people's feelings when I'm struggling (as evidenced in my last post, and even here in that sentence. I really do need to start worrying about my own feelings and putting myself first).

Maybe I should just buy a boyfriend pillow for now. Ha.

Getting back in the gym

Last summer, I finally took initiative regarding my health, and started working out about 3 times a week. (okay, I'll admit, it was probably more like maybe 2x/wk most weeks, but better than not going at all) I started to eat healthier, too. Then, because I wanted to challenge myself in new ways, I decided I wanted to work with a trainer and sign up for a bikini competition for this year.

Well, after I found the lump in my breast in early November, that all came to a halt. I stopped working out completely. My life became consumed with doctor's appointments while I tried to wait patiently for the results of my biopsies and ultrasounds, and so being conscious of my physical health fell by the wayside. That's the opposite of what I should've done -  I should've kept going to the gym and tried to stay active, but my mind was too preoccupied with worry. Everyone I told about the lump tried to console me. They said, "it's probably just a cyst," But when the NP called me in to her office after looking at my ultrasound and recommending a biopsy, I had a gut feeling that it wasn't going to be good. My answer to everyone was "Just because cancer isn't probable, doesn't mean it's not still possible." I appreciated people trying to think positive, but I was being realistic. If I told myself it wasn't cancer, I would've been that much more disappointed when I got the news. 

Anyway, that's beside the point of this post. I met with my oncologist in early December, and asked about exercise. He asked about my routine, and felt that it was more than likely I'd be able to continue it while in treatment, and in fact, encouraged it. The goal is to try to live life as normally as possible during treatment, but to also listen to your body. In reality, I probably just made excuses. I know that no one will blame me for taking time off from the gym given all that I've been through over the past few months. And my crazy self also started a new job in mid January, which added not only to my stress, but was time consuming. I know that people say "You have the same 24 hours in a day that everyone else does," but I chose to sleep and try to relax whenever I could between dragging myself to doctor's appointments.

Well, the worst of doctor's appointments are over. December and January were the hardest, and things finally slowed down a little around February. Now that my treatment has become more routine, I'm able to time manage a little bit better. So, I decided to take control. I realized I needed to take my life back from my cancer, and not let my cancer dictate how I live. So, this week, I went to one yoga class, and then lifted weights two other days. The first day I lifted weights, I started to get pissed off because weights that used to be so incredibly easy for me were hard, and I had to adjust. I quickly let that frustration go, and reminded myself to be gentle - my body has been through a lot over the last few months (two biopsies, three surgeries, a round of IVF, and multiple blood draws) and is still healing. The simple fact that I was at the gym was good enough, regardless of how much weight I was lifting. So instead I replaced frustration with pride - I'm in the gym! Working out! My body might be sore as all hell right now, but it's a good feeling. It may take a long time to get back to the weight I was lifting back in November, and to regain my baby abs back, but slow and steady wins the race. The fitness competition may be off the table right now, but it's my plan to revisit that goal in July when my chemo and radiation are over, and hopefully compete sometime next year after treatment is completely done and my chest port comes out.

It's a little weird to be grateful for sore muscles, but right now, I am. It's a reminder of what I'm still capable of. My body might not be what it used to be, but it's still mine, and I'm still proud of what it's capable of. And I'm pretty sure all of the oreos I've been eating have gone straight to my butt, which is not a bad thing... 

Beauty in the break down

Yesterday I had a breakdown. It started early in the day. There was no trigger, I just was in a funk. I cried on my way to the class I've been in for work, and cried the first few minutes of class. I had to get up and leave the room to compose myself. I texted a friend, complaining about a few things on my mind, and she did her best to console me. I managed to regain composure, and made it through the rest of my work day.

It didn't end there, though. As soon as I got in my car, I started crying again. And not just a few tears here and there, I let loose and it was just shy of an ugly cry. There was snot, gasping for breath, and desperately searching for tissues. Before driving away, I texted Danielle to vent about my breakdown, and how hard this is. Then I just wanted to get home, so I drove off. I hid behind my sunglasses so no other drivers could see me - it was my shield while I drove home to safety. Eventually I remembered one of my other new years resolutions - to ask for help when I needed it. So, I put in my headset and just started calling people. I tried about five people, and no one answered. By the time I reached number five, I left a sobbing voicemail. Not my shining moment. I was almost home, so I gave up trying to find someone to talk to. But about five minutes from home, Alicia called me back and my tears just kept flowing. She asked what was wrong and I let it all flow out. Some of the things that came out...

I've gained 10 pounds since starting chemo.
My eyelashes are falling out.
My eyebrows are thinning.
There are lines across all of my nails, basically a tally mark of how many chemo sessions I've had.
I can barely look at myself in the mirror because I'm so unhappy with what I see.

And these are only a few of the things that hit me. I have scars left on my neck from when I had a bad allergic reaction after my first chemo - so more marks to remind me of what I'm going through. I can't blow-dry or straighten what's left of my hair, because the treatment I'm doing to try to preserve it advises against that in order to protect the remaining hair from falling out. My scalp is dry and itchy, and causing dandruff, which I can't stand. I gave myself a nose bleed the other day simply from scratching my nose too hard (the chemo has made me anemic, and nose bleeds happen at least once or twice a week).

Alicia and I talked for about 10 minutes, and I allowed myself to just be with my feelings and cry with reckless abandon and embrace the shit storm that was engulfing me. I put on my pajamas, picked up Maggie to cuddle with, and watched Sex and the City while eating double stuf oreos for dinner. Later in the evening, one of the other friends I tried calling returned my call, and we talked it out. What Alicia, Chris, and Danielle had in common was that they all reminded me that it's okay to not be okay. I'm trying so hard to live life as normally as possible, without interruption, but the truth of the matter is that life isn't normal right now. I'm adjusting to what life with cancer is like, and embracing the constant changes and struggles that come with chemo. It's not an easy task, since each day brings new burdens to try to overcome, and yesterday the walls that I've tried to build up to protect myself, but mostly everyone else, came crumbling down on top of me. Because the mistake I've been making is worrying too much about everyone else, and trying to protect them from my pain and struggles. I'm trying so hard to be strong for everyone else, when in reality, I have people that are here to be strong for me when I need it. It's always been my way - to worry about everyone else more than myself. I put other's needs before my own, and right now that's only hurting me more. I know that no one really knows what to say when you tell them you have cancer, but simply having people there to remind me I don't need to be strong all the time, and to put myself first, and do what I need to do for me made all the difference in making me realize the reality of how much I'm hurting myself by not taking care of myself emotionally. Doctors all tell you to make sure to stay active during treatment, to at least take walks, but I think the mental health aspect isn't quite as emphasized, but it's equally as important.

I woke up this morning with swollen eyelids, and still a little down, but nowhere near the level that I was yesterday. I needed that good cry. This situation sucks, A LOT, there's no denying that. So, I'm warranted a few breakdowns and not being strong 100% of the time. I think that's a big part of the strength people keep telling me they see in me - I'm going to have moments where I falter and fall, but I refuse to stay on the ground. Every single time this happens, because it's happened before and it will happen again, I'll embrace it, accept it, let the tears flow freely, but then I'll eventually get back up. I remember when I decided to try to be more positive, I posted something on Facebook along the lines of "It's okay to have bad days, so long as I don't unpack and live there." and that still holds true. The bad days are just going to be a little different, and possibly a little more difficult than anything I've experienced before, and I'm learning how to deal with these emotions effectively as they come. This is the hardest thing I've experienced this far in my life, and I am not indestructible. I'm only human.

I keep telling people that I can't wait for this to be over so I can have my life back. But there's no way to speed time. It will keep moving forward as it has been, and when infusion #6 comes, I'll be ecstatic. For now, though, I just have to be patient and keep taking everything one day at a time. I will continue to drink 2-4 quarts of fluids a day, get my blood drawn, try to be diligent about washing my hands and using hand sanitizer, and making my way to all of my doctor's appointments and blood draws. I've already endured and overcome so many things that I never would've thought I could - biopsies, surgeries, and giving myself injections, among other things. Making it through chemo will be added to that list in due time. Eventually, I'll be able to look back at all of these things that I've gone through and I will be proud of them and who I've become during this journey.

Only 3 more infusions (9 weeks, or 52 days) left to go. But, who's counting? :)

Me and Maggie during last nights sob fest/cuddle session.

Strength

A common response to me telling people what my life has been like over the last few months is, "You're so strong." or "You inspire me.", or a combination of the two. The most deeply profound response that has stuck with me came from a close friend in the form of a christmas card. He said, "I've been able to learn so much by watching you walk through fire and to see you coming out more radiant on the other side." That line has stuck with me over the last four months. It's gotten me through many tough days and nights. Especially because I don't feel radiant. I definitely still feel like I'm in the throes of fire, but I don't feel like I've reached the other side of it. I thought I had, but then my diagnosis came. It interrupted the life that I had been trying to create for myself.

I've almost always been a negative person. Cynical, unhappy, a worry-wort... I had a hard time seeing the positives in situations. I'm not sure when or why that started, but there came a point last year when I knew I had to change. A friend of mine didn't necessarily verbalize that she had an issue with my negativity, but we stopped hanging out as much, and it was easy for me to figure out why. She didn't want to be around someone who was constantly angry about things, and I didn't blame her. Who would? I also realized that I didn't want to live my life that way anymore. It took a lot of effort, and there were still bad days, but I started slowly changing my mindset. I had to force myself to see the silver lining in every bad situation to remind myself that things could be a lot worse. Eventually, I didn't have to force myself - it just became natural after time. I was proud of myself for trying to change my life in a good way. It not only affected me - it also started to affect the people around me. I enjoyed work a little more just because I was in a better mood by letting things roll off my shoulders and being thankful that I at least had a job. I would make it an effort to smile at least three people a day, and it always gave me the warm fuzzies when they'd smile back!

Well, I admittedly haven't been doing a good job of keeping up this positive attitude since December. I know that everyone reading this would excuse me from that due to everything I've gone through since then, but I feel like that's me settling. It would be me letting my cancer take over my life - which is something I refuse to do. I'm doing my best to allow myself to have bad days and not feel guilty for them, but I also am trying to remain hopeful that this will only be something I endure once. If I let myself think anything other than that, then I'd just be living out my days chalking them up on a wall, waiting for my time card to be punched - and that's no way to live. Even when I was first diagnosed, all of the doctor's I met were impressed by my positivity. I was determined to stay on this positive track, despite cancer coming and trying to disrupt things. I don't know if I was actually positive, or if I was putting on a brave face for everyone else. I cried a lot when I was alone, I still cry a lot - hell, I'm crying now typing this, just remembering what I felt all those months ago (man... has it really been four months already?) because I didn't want people to see me as weak. Which is ironic, because every single time someone tells me how strong I am - I kind of scoff. Me? Strong? They must be talking about someone else. Because I feel anything but strong. I was thinking today, I wish I had started this blog when I first got diagnosed, because then maybe I would've been able to be more open and honest about the bad days I had. But all I can do is write about what I remember of my experiences over the last few months, and try to hold on to the lessons I've learned while still moving forward. I don't want to fall back into my rut of negativity. I have too much life left to live for me to give up here. So, I make an effort to see friends, to have routines, and to be grateful for my life. I am oddly grateful that this happened to me at 27, because older women have a much harder time during chemo. My treatment has been fairly easy. I feel like my age is a blessing - my body is more resilient, and I will heal and move on from this.

I don't always feel strong, and I almost never believe it when people tell me that they think I'm strong, but looking back, I can at the very least say I'm proud of what I've overcome thus far. There's still a long road ahead of me, and there will be weak days, but I need to stay positive. Not for anyone else, but for me. Because I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let my cancer take away that goal I was working towards. I think I forgot that over the last few months, but the reminder came back today for whatever reason, and I need to remember to smile and keep finding the silver linings. Because they're always there... sometimes you just need to look a littler harder. I can think of quite a few that my diagnosis has provided me with.

Insomnia.

I'm exhausted. I seriously can't remember the last time I slept through the night or had a good night's sleep. Lately, not even any prescription medication has given me the rest my body craves. Insomnia is one of the biggest side effects of chemotherapy - I'm pretty sure every person who's had chemo or is currently in chemo treatments has had problems with sleep. And while I knew that from the start - one of my friend's mom's warned me that it was the worst side effect she had during her treatment for breast cancer- I still don't think I really knew what people meant. I haven't reached a point of tears from lack of sleep level of frustration - but I'm sure that moment will come. Right now, I put myself to bed with ear plugs in, hoping to block out noise (like Maggie, my cat, knocking over all of my DVD's), and then I drift off to sleep. But, every night, without fail, about two hours later, I wake up to go to the bathroom. And then that's how the rest of my night goes. I'm constantly up going to the bathroom, or tossing and turning because some part of my body hurts or is uncomfortable. Or if it's not trying to get comfortable, it's that I'm too hot one minute, and too cold the next.

I used to be a champ at taking naps - I'd be able to lay down and sleep for two hours and feel rested afterwards. Not anymore. Now I lay down, and just toss and turn until I give up completely on my attempt. That's usually how the mornings go, too. I'll wake up to go to the bathroom for the fifth time in the night, and then look at the clock, and can't fall back asleep since I have to be up in 20 minutes anyway.

It's my hope that these next two months pass quickly, and that I'll finally find some peace and get a restful night's sleep. I can't really blame the chemo, too much, though because I had this problem of not being able to sleep well even before I started treatment. I think now it's just amplified due to the stress in my life. I need to find more ways of relieving my tension and calming my mind.

A pill for every side effect: the vicious cycle

Most people that know me well know that I'm pretty stubborn when it comes to taking pills. I usually hate taking any type of pain medications, cold medications, etc. It probably stems from a long history of my mom telling me and my brother to just tough it out when we were kids, which isn't a bad thing. But now, during my treatment, it appears that there's a pill to be had for every side effect, and it seriously frustrates me. Especially after being "healthy" for so long. Now it's like my liver and kidneys are under attack, and it's going to take a long time after treatment to try to repair them. I email my doctor with every new side effect to see what can be done, and the answer is usually some form of pill. Diarrhea? Take Imodium. Joint or bone pain? Extra strength Tylenol. Nausea? Compazine and zofran. Neuropathy? Vitamin B6. Heart burn? Zantac or Prilosec. Broke out in a rash? Doxycycline. Can't sleep? I've gone between Norco, Advil PM, Ativan, and now trying Tramadol. In addition, I've also had chest pain which I can't quite figure out what to chalk up to. It's probably a combination of my chest port, stress, and sleep deprivation. And can't forget the random nosebleeds, which I try to prevent by putting Vaseline up my nose. Sigh.

I mostly just hate not feeling like I have control over my own body. What comes out, what goes in, what symptoms I'm feeling and what the cause might be. It's like a big guessing game. More often than not I'm just shooting in the dark, hoping that whatever pill I take gets rid of the side effect. It usually doesn't. Today I'm sitting here with body aches pretty much all over, I'm exhausted from hardly sleeping, and I also threw up water and lucky charms this morning, which has me afraid to eat or drink anything else for the rest of the day. And that happened at 9:15 am.

I know that this is only temporary. That in a few months, hopefully my body will bounce back and I won't have to take so many pills on a daily basis. But for now it makes me angry that my body isn't my own. It's my cancer's. At least for now.