Jeff Tomczek is spot on in his article, The Things I Wish I Were Told When I Was Diagnosed With Cancer. When I read this article, I felt like Jeff went in my head and stole my thoughts. Nice work, Jeff.
Read the article here.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Why Worry When You Can Panic?
Here we go again. The researching, the questioning, the attempt to make a decision.
I feel like I am back at square one. Back at the beginning.
But I feel a surprising calm. A lack of panic. This is how I know this is not square one. I've been through this already. I've already tasted success.
The Hubby once read a profound quote on a bathroom stall of a bar: "Why worry when you can panic?"
He immediately thought of me. I am a worrier. I always have been.
Right now, I have every reason to not only worry, but to panic.
What if I make the wrong decision? What if people judge me? What if I lose my hair and am ugly? What if I get so sick I can't get out of bed? What if I never get rid of the Cancer? What if I die?
But I am calm. I've already worried about all of those things.
Right now, I want options.
Last week I met with my oncologist in Detroit to hear his options. I rejected his option in the past and was nervous to hear what he had to say.
Yes, I worried.
What if he hates me for seeing someone else? What if he refuses to treat me? What if he judges me and yells at me?
After going over my scans (which is much better off than my original scan from November - no major tumor, just infected lymph nodes), he gave me two options:
1) Radiation only. The cancer hasn't spread and is in the identical spot so there is a small chance (10%) that radiation alone will cure me. It's unlikely, but if it works, I will have "hit the jackpot" (his words, not mine). I would receive radiation every day for 2-3 weeks and hope for the best.
2) High Dose Chemotherapy followed by a Bone Marrow Transplant. This process involves using regular chemo to put me in remission, take out healthy bone marrow, freeze it and then give my chemo at such high doses that it kills EVERYTHING. It does so much destruction that my body can't recover on it's own. After this process, they put back my healthy marrow and hope it regrows in my body, creating a "healthy" environment. This is about a 5 month process requiring a 1-2 month stay in the hospital. This has a 60% chance of working.
These options are not ideal. The best case he is giving me leaves me with a 60% cure rate.
But oddly enough, I still don't panic.
These statistics don't apply to me. These statistics are for people who did conventional chemo and it failed to work. These statistics are for people who never responded to the drugs. These statistics are for people whose cancer is so powerful not even blasting their body with drugs could get rid of it.
There are no statistics for my situation. Most don't toe the line between alternative and conventional medicine - truly open to both and just wanting to find the best cure. Most people heavily lean in one direction or the other. The passion people feel about medicine is similar to the passion felt for politics. You pick your side and stick with it. Being stubbornly liberal, I understand that sentiment.
But with medicine, I toe the line. Classic middle child syndrome, I guess. Indecisive and noncommittal.
I'm not sure which treatment path I'll choose, but I do know that I'm not thrilled with the options presented to me. 60% cure rate plus a host of terrible side effects just doesn't seem good enough.
My plan? Head to DC for a couple weeks to meet with everyone from chinese medicine doctors to oncologists at John Hopkins in hopes of finding a treatment plan I can get on board with.
And in the meantime? I'll try not to panic.
I feel like I am back at square one. Back at the beginning.
But I feel a surprising calm. A lack of panic. This is how I know this is not square one. I've been through this already. I've already tasted success.
The Hubby once read a profound quote on a bathroom stall of a bar: "Why worry when you can panic?"
He immediately thought of me. I am a worrier. I always have been.
Right now, I have every reason to not only worry, but to panic.
What if I make the wrong decision? What if people judge me? What if I lose my hair and am ugly? What if I get so sick I can't get out of bed? What if I never get rid of the Cancer? What if I die?
But I am calm. I've already worried about all of those things.
Right now, I want options.
Last week I met with my oncologist in Detroit to hear his options. I rejected his option in the past and was nervous to hear what he had to say.
Yes, I worried.
What if he hates me for seeing someone else? What if he refuses to treat me? What if he judges me and yells at me?
After going over my scans (which is much better off than my original scan from November - no major tumor, just infected lymph nodes), he gave me two options:
1) Radiation only. The cancer hasn't spread and is in the identical spot so there is a small chance (10%) that radiation alone will cure me. It's unlikely, but if it works, I will have "hit the jackpot" (his words, not mine). I would receive radiation every day for 2-3 weeks and hope for the best.
2) High Dose Chemotherapy followed by a Bone Marrow Transplant. This process involves using regular chemo to put me in remission, take out healthy bone marrow, freeze it and then give my chemo at such high doses that it kills EVERYTHING. It does so much destruction that my body can't recover on it's own. After this process, they put back my healthy marrow and hope it regrows in my body, creating a "healthy" environment. This is about a 5 month process requiring a 1-2 month stay in the hospital. This has a 60% chance of working.
These options are not ideal. The best case he is giving me leaves me with a 60% cure rate.
But oddly enough, I still don't panic.
These statistics don't apply to me. These statistics are for people who did conventional chemo and it failed to work. These statistics are for people who never responded to the drugs. These statistics are for people whose cancer is so powerful not even blasting their body with drugs could get rid of it.
There are no statistics for my situation. Most don't toe the line between alternative and conventional medicine - truly open to both and just wanting to find the best cure. Most people heavily lean in one direction or the other. The passion people feel about medicine is similar to the passion felt for politics. You pick your side and stick with it. Being stubbornly liberal, I understand that sentiment.
But with medicine, I toe the line. Classic middle child syndrome, I guess. Indecisive and noncommittal.
I'm not sure which treatment path I'll choose, but I do know that I'm not thrilled with the options presented to me. 60% cure rate plus a host of terrible side effects just doesn't seem good enough.
My plan? Head to DC for a couple weeks to meet with everyone from chinese medicine doctors to oncologists at John Hopkins in hopes of finding a treatment plan I can get on board with.
And in the meantime? I'll try not to panic.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Recurring Thunder Stealer
Well, it looks like the universe has decided the Thunder Stealer is not quite ready for retirement.
A couple weeks ago I found another lump in my neck. After several doctors’ appointments and a PET Scan, my suspicions were confirmed that Little Hodgy is in fact back.
This, to put it mildly, is not what I had in mind for my summer time activities.
So, because of the unique path I took in the first place, there is no specific protocol on how to proceed. I'll be spending the next couple week's meeting with different doctors and oncologists to decide on the best treatment plan for me.
I could wax all poetic, but rest assured friends, I made Little Hodgy my bitch once before, I have no doubt I'll do it again.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right??
A couple weeks ago I found another lump in my neck. After several doctors’ appointments and a PET Scan, my suspicions were confirmed that Little Hodgy is in fact back.
This, to put it mildly, is not what I had in mind for my summer time activities.
So, because of the unique path I took in the first place, there is no specific protocol on how to proceed. I'll be spending the next couple week's meeting with different doctors and oncologists to decide on the best treatment plan for me.
I could wax all poetic, but rest assured friends, I made Little Hodgy my bitch once before, I have no doubt I'll do it again.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right??
Cue cheesy, pop empowerment song...
Monday, May 7, 2012
Bills, Bills, Bills
Today's mail: In addition to my usual J. Crew catalog and fashion magazines, I received a stack of medical bills. 28 to be exact. I stopped opening them after the third bill when I realized I was already in the quadruple digits.
I knew some bills would continue to trickle in over the next several months, but I didn't expect 28. And I certainly didn't expect them all on the same day.
Talk about ruining your Monday.
While in Arizona, we were charged somewhere in the vicinity of $70,000 for my treatments. I just kind of expected that to cover everything. But as they say, and I am constantly learning, expectations are a bitch.
Cancer is a bitch.
Days like today, I feel stuck, like my life is at a standstill. I try so hard to put cancer behind me, but it's impossible. Evidence of it is literally showing up in piles in my mailbox.
How can I move forward when I am constantly dealing with my past? How can I move forward when I am constantly fearful that my past will once again become my present?
Like most of my peers, I should be saving to buy a house or planning a vacation or discussing whether or not I want kids. But how can I do that with mountains of debt and a medical history that refuses to be "history?"
I've thought about selling my eggs to make money, but once you have to start checking the "cancer" box on medical history forms, your eggs are no longer attractive options. I've also thought about trying to win thousands of dollars on the nickel slots at the casino, but I've never really been lucky win it comes to gambling. The lottery? I'm 35,000 times more likely to be hit by an asteroid than win it.
So how do you move forward and escape a cancerous past when a steady flow of bills constantly show up on your doorstep? As the Hubby's best friend said, "Move."
That would certainly be easier than winning the lottery.
Update: The Hubby finished opening and adding up all 28 bills. The total? $8,563.47. Seriously, after spending $70,000 on treatments, how am still getting $8,563.47 dollars worth of bills…in a single day?
Perhaps we should move after all. Or, just wait for that asteroid.
I knew some bills would continue to trickle in over the next several months, but I didn't expect 28. And I certainly didn't expect them all on the same day.
Talk about ruining your Monday.
While in Arizona, we were charged somewhere in the vicinity of $70,000 for my treatments. I just kind of expected that to cover everything. But as they say, and I am constantly learning, expectations are a bitch.
Cancer is a bitch.
Days like today, I feel stuck, like my life is at a standstill. I try so hard to put cancer behind me, but it's impossible. Evidence of it is literally showing up in piles in my mailbox.
How can I move forward when I am constantly dealing with my past? How can I move forward when I am constantly fearful that my past will once again become my present?
Like most of my peers, I should be saving to buy a house or planning a vacation or discussing whether or not I want kids. But how can I do that with mountains of debt and a medical history that refuses to be "history?"
I've thought about selling my eggs to make money, but once you have to start checking the "cancer" box on medical history forms, your eggs are no longer attractive options. I've also thought about trying to win thousands of dollars on the nickel slots at the casino, but I've never really been lucky win it comes to gambling. The lottery? I'm 35,000 times more likely to be hit by an asteroid than win it.
So how do you move forward and escape a cancerous past when a steady flow of bills constantly show up on your doorstep? As the Hubby's best friend said, "Move."
That would certainly be easier than winning the lottery.
Update: The Hubby finished opening and adding up all 28 bills. The total? $8,563.47. Seriously, after spending $70,000 on treatments, how am still getting $8,563.47 dollars worth of bills…in a single day?
Perhaps we should move after all. Or, just wait for that asteroid.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
So You Have Cancer: 10 Things to Do Now, Even if You're Not Warren Buffett
The Huffington Post gets sassy in this article on what to do if you are diagnosed with Cancer.
Number 1: Blame Canada.
Read the full article here.
Number 1: Blame Canada.
Read the full article here.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Great Expectations
One month. That's how long I've been home.
Turns out the process of returning home -- returning to "normal" -- isn't so easy.
A big part of me thought I'd come home and things would be simple. I'd be done with the chemo. No more full days of therapy. I'd be home with The Hubby, sleeping in my own bed. Being home would be a breeze.
Oh, the power of expectations.
Being home is definitely not a breeze.
Part of me thought I'd get a clean scan, come home, and Cancer would just kind of fade into the background.
Honestly, over the last couple weeks, I haven't even wanted to write about cancer. Actually, I didn't even want to think about cancer. But a clean scan doesn't mean the cancer actually goes away, certainly not mentally and oftentimes, not physically.
Not a day, no, an hour, goes by where I don't think about cancer. When I prepare my meals, when I try and convince my too lazy self to work out, when I think about my future, when I feel a cold coming on, when I'm having a completely unrelated conversation with a friend - Cancer is there for all of it.
Not a day goes by where I don't feel my neck, just to make sure I don't have any swollen lymph nodes.
I spent my first month home trying to forget about the cancer and just live my life. I celebrated my return with friends, watched a lot of bad daytime television, pretty much did what I could to get cancer to fade away. I still took my supplements, stuck to a vegan diet, got regular Vitamin C IV treatments and massages.
It's not that I got home and fell off the "health" wagon, but I certainly didn't embrace it.
I was pissed that I had to work out (so some days, I didn't). I was pissed that I had to juice in the morning (so I slacked on that too). I was pissed that Momma Bear would tell me she was having a tough time with the new lifestyle, but the reality is, she didn't have to live it (so I stopped returning her calls).
Generally, I was just pissed. I felt like my life was no longer my choice.
So I spent the last month on a roller coaster of emotions. I celebrated the results of my scan. I mourned the loss of my old life, the freedom of a worry free existence. I made poor decisions, which some days I could justify away and other days resulted in me wallowing in my own guilt of not being strong enough to make all the right choices. And some days, I was a bitch for no reason at all.
I put in a lot of effort trying to live in denial of what I was going through. But cancer would inevitably sneak its way back into my thoughts, jerking me out of my blissful pause.
Basically, I got home and put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to be perfect. I was going to make all the right decisions. Not only would I live a healthier life, but I was going to figure out how my experience would make me a better -- no, the best -- person!
But now, not only did I have to make all of these lifestyle changes, I also had all of these unreal expectations to "figure it out."
Life is short. Live life to the fullest. Carpe Fucking Diem. Every cliche you can think of added pressure to my every day.
When I didn't come up with answers, I felt like a failure.
Even on days when I made all the right decisions (I juiced, exercised, took supplements, got 8 hours of sleep, ate a strictly raw/vegan diet), I still didn't have answers to the bigger questions: What should I do with my life? How has this experience changed me? What am I doing to pay it forward? What are my passions?
So even on my best days, I still felt inadequate. I still felt like a failure.
You hear about people who go through a traumatic experience or get a glimpse of death and they are immediately changed. Just like that. Their past no longer matters because they have now seen the light! They now realize the fickleness of life and wouldn't dare waste a moment of it! So they just move forward and start making all the right choices. These people make change seem so easy. These people would be extremely disappointed in my daytime television habit. Why watch TV when you could be out bettering yourself and those around you?? (I have since come to the conclusion that these people are either a) fictional people in romantic comedies or b) liars).
Because of these crazy expectations, I spent the last month trying to look forward and had a hard time not looking back. Actually, I felt like I was being dragged forward, kicking and screaming, as I watched my past life slip further and further away.
My life had changed and I didn't have time to decide if I was ready for, or even wanted, that change. And that loss of control was infuriating.
Until it wasn't.
I'd like to say that I had some huge life altering realization, that I became one of those people. But honestly, I was just sick of wallowing and feeling bad over ridiculous things like missing BBQ and cheap beer.
I also realized that being pissed about what I was going through wasn't making my life any better. Actually, it was making me miserable (and although he probably wouldn't admit it, The Hubby too).
I had a clean scan, my life was supposed to be better, not worse.
I finally got to a point where I decided to make the right decisions, not because I'm in remission from cancer and have to, but because I want to live a better, fuller, healthier life (feel free to roll your eyes at my over-the-top, cliched optimism -- maybe I am becoming one of those people).
I'd like to think that I would have ultimately come to the same conclusions about my life whether I got cancer or not, simply because it's the smart way to live. We all should be more aware of what we put in our bodies, try to stay in shape, and appreciate what we have in our lives.
I'd like to think I'm smart enough that I would have gotten there on my own.
But if nothing else, I will give cancer the credit for getting me there faster, even if I did start out kicking and screaming. As for the other big questions, I just have to be more patient with myself.
For now, let’s stick to taking one giant life-altering leap at a time.
Turns out the process of returning home -- returning to "normal" -- isn't so easy.
A big part of me thought I'd come home and things would be simple. I'd be done with the chemo. No more full days of therapy. I'd be home with The Hubby, sleeping in my own bed. Being home would be a breeze.
Oh, the power of expectations.
Being home is definitely not a breeze.
Part of me thought I'd get a clean scan, come home, and Cancer would just kind of fade into the background.
Honestly, over the last couple weeks, I haven't even wanted to write about cancer. Actually, I didn't even want to think about cancer. But a clean scan doesn't mean the cancer actually goes away, certainly not mentally and oftentimes, not physically.
Not a day, no, an hour, goes by where I don't think about cancer. When I prepare my meals, when I try and convince my too lazy self to work out, when I think about my future, when I feel a cold coming on, when I'm having a completely unrelated conversation with a friend - Cancer is there for all of it.
Not a day goes by where I don't feel my neck, just to make sure I don't have any swollen lymph nodes.
I spent my first month home trying to forget about the cancer and just live my life. I celebrated my return with friends, watched a lot of bad daytime television, pretty much did what I could to get cancer to fade away. I still took my supplements, stuck to a vegan diet, got regular Vitamin C IV treatments and massages.
It's not that I got home and fell off the "health" wagon, but I certainly didn't embrace it.
I was pissed that I had to work out (so some days, I didn't). I was pissed that I had to juice in the morning (so I slacked on that too). I was pissed that Momma Bear would tell me she was having a tough time with the new lifestyle, but the reality is, she didn't have to live it (so I stopped returning her calls).
Generally, I was just pissed. I felt like my life was no longer my choice.
So I spent the last month on a roller coaster of emotions. I celebrated the results of my scan. I mourned the loss of my old life, the freedom of a worry free existence. I made poor decisions, which some days I could justify away and other days resulted in me wallowing in my own guilt of not being strong enough to make all the right choices. And some days, I was a bitch for no reason at all.
I put in a lot of effort trying to live in denial of what I was going through. But cancer would inevitably sneak its way back into my thoughts, jerking me out of my blissful pause.
Basically, I got home and put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to be perfect. I was going to make all the right decisions. Not only would I live a healthier life, but I was going to figure out how my experience would make me a better -- no, the best -- person!
But now, not only did I have to make all of these lifestyle changes, I also had all of these unreal expectations to "figure it out."
Life is short. Live life to the fullest. Carpe Fucking Diem. Every cliche you can think of added pressure to my every day.
 |
| via |
When I didn't come up with answers, I felt like a failure.
Even on days when I made all the right decisions (I juiced, exercised, took supplements, got 8 hours of sleep, ate a strictly raw/vegan diet), I still didn't have answers to the bigger questions: What should I do with my life? How has this experience changed me? What am I doing to pay it forward? What are my passions?
So even on my best days, I still felt inadequate. I still felt like a failure.
You hear about people who go through a traumatic experience or get a glimpse of death and they are immediately changed. Just like that. Their past no longer matters because they have now seen the light! They now realize the fickleness of life and wouldn't dare waste a moment of it! So they just move forward and start making all the right choices. These people make change seem so easy. These people would be extremely disappointed in my daytime television habit. Why watch TV when you could be out bettering yourself and those around you?? (I have since come to the conclusion that these people are either a) fictional people in romantic comedies or b) liars).
Because of these crazy expectations, I spent the last month trying to look forward and had a hard time not looking back. Actually, I felt like I was being dragged forward, kicking and screaming, as I watched my past life slip further and further away.
 |
| via |
My life had changed and I didn't have time to decide if I was ready for, or even wanted, that change. And that loss of control was infuriating.
Until it wasn't.
I'd like to say that I had some huge life altering realization, that I became one of those people. But honestly, I was just sick of wallowing and feeling bad over ridiculous things like missing BBQ and cheap beer.
I also realized that being pissed about what I was going through wasn't making my life any better. Actually, it was making me miserable (and although he probably wouldn't admit it, The Hubby too).
I had a clean scan, my life was supposed to be better, not worse.
I finally got to a point where I decided to make the right decisions, not because I'm in remission from cancer and have to, but because I want to live a better, fuller, healthier life (feel free to roll your eyes at my over-the-top, cliched optimism -- maybe I am becoming one of those people).
I'd like to think that I would have ultimately come to the same conclusions about my life whether I got cancer or not, simply because it's the smart way to live. We all should be more aware of what we put in our bodies, try to stay in shape, and appreciate what we have in our lives.
I'd like to think I'm smart enough that I would have gotten there on my own.
But if nothing else, I will give cancer the credit for getting me there faster, even if I did start out kicking and screaming. As for the other big questions, I just have to be more patient with myself.
For now, let’s stick to taking one giant life-altering leap at a time.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
L-I-V-I-N
Today is my 29th birthday.
Exactly 4 months ago, I was supposed to start my conventional chemotherapy treatment. I would receive 8 doses of the drugs and end my last chemo treatment today, on my birthday.
Poetic, huh?
As we all know, I didn't go the conventional route.
In half the time and a tenth of the drugs, I had a clean scan.
Now that's a reason to celebrate.
So today, instead of being hooked up to IVs and feeling sick, I'm going to go out and shoot some guns, get a massage with The Hubby, and celebrate life.
Today, I'm living.
Or as Matthew McConaughey says - L-I-V-I-N.
Exactly 4 months ago, I was supposed to start my conventional chemotherapy treatment. I would receive 8 doses of the drugs and end my last chemo treatment today, on my birthday.
Poetic, huh?
As we all know, I didn't go the conventional route.
In half the time and a tenth of the drugs, I had a clean scan.
Now that's a reason to celebrate.
So today, instead of being hooked up to IVs and feeling sick, I'm going to go out and shoot some guns, get a massage with The Hubby, and celebrate life.
Today, I'm living.
Or as Matthew McConaughey says - L-I-V-I-N.
(Don't worry Momma Bear, I'm not gonna celebrate by banging chicks and smoking pot)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)