Mom Knows Best?

This morning, I had a revelation.

At 28 years old, I am not supposed to live with my mother.

Don't mistake this for ungratefulness. I can't adequately describe how grateful I am for the many, many sacrifices she has made for me. But when I started this blog, I promised honesty.

And honestly, Momma Bear is driving me nuts.

An hour doesn't go by where I'm not asked, "Are you drinking your juice?" And several times a day I'm reminded to take my supplements. "Am I eating enough food?" "Am I eating the right food?"

Even when I was a child, I was never grilled this much.

And this morning? Momma Bear barged into my bedroom and frantically asked if I was okay. I was in the bathroom. I can't even pee in peace.

Momma Bear has this insane amount of energy. And this child like excitement about the possibilities of the world (I now realize where I get that from...). She gets this glow, this high, from all the doors that have opened up because of my "situation." She's always had an interest in health and wellness and Little Hodgy has given her a new purpose. I'm glad getting cancer has helped her to focus on what she wants to do and how she spends her time.

But her energy can be exhausting.

She's like a shaken coke can that's ready to explode but no one will open the top. I wish I could open it for her, but right now my focus is much too narrow. My focus is on the present. My focus is on getting Little Hodgy the hell out of my body.

My focus is not on creating a documentary about alternative treatments. It is not on figuring out how to start a nonprofit to help people in similar situations. It is not on creating my own wellness center/yoga studio/raw foods cafe/magical healing center.

Right now, I have to be selfish. Right now, I can't focus on anything except my treatment.

Right now, I am stuck somewhere between being treated like a seven year old and this superwoman who is going to change the way we look at cancer treatment.

I am neither (although most parents probably view their children in the same way -- some days a little kid, other days, world conquerors).

I am one of many adults with an unfortunate diagnosis. An adult who made a decision, the best decision, for myself. I was not the first person to take this path nor will I be the last.

I am also an adult that has managed to both feed myself and stay hydrated on my own for a very long time. Imagine that -- maybe I am superwoman!

It really is amazing how much Momma Bear is gaining from this journey. She is learning more about who she is and realizing the possibilities of her passions -- passions that in the end will benefit me and my journey. I fully support and encourage this, even if I can't be on the same journey right now.

Right now, I'm on my own journey. A journey where I need Momma Bear's support but not her control. I need her to learn to let go. Momma Bear, I love you dearly, but it's time to cut the cord!

Please, keep pursuing your passions, but please, please let me pee in peace.

Chipotle - "Back to the Start"

Anyone who knows me, know I have a love, possibly even an addiction, to Chipotle burritos. Even though they are currently on my "do not eat" list, I still admire the company for their core message of bringing us real (and damn good) fast food.

Check it out:

A Love Letter To You

I never liked Valentine's Day. I was always the girl, without a boy, who was forced to witness others prove their "love" with chocolates and flowers.

I now realize I grew up watching one too many romantic comedies and deep down I always hoped some secret admirer would show up outside my window and express his love by holding a boom box over his head. So cliche, I know.

This never happened.

Valentine's Day always came and went and no declaration of love was ever made.

Now I could go on to tell you that eventually I met The ONE and, like so many others, my perception of Valentine's Day shifted. I could tell you vomit inducing stories of how I suddenly became loved and adored by this person and even though there was no boombox, this person did "boombox worthy" gestures on a regular basis. I could tell you how I now have so much love in my life, Valentine's Day is just another day I get to share with this person (where yes, I now get flowers).

But I won't.

While these things may be true (The Hubby will make you sick with his sweetness), that is not the point of this post.

The point of this Valentine's Day post is to not make you nausea of how spoiled I am on this hallmark holiday, but to take the opportunity to by express my own love and gratitude to all of you.

The point of this post is to say, Thank You.

My last post was a tough one for me. Even after publishing it and sending it out into the vast universe of the internet, I wondered if I made a mistake. What would people say? How would they react? I felt like I sent a love letter expressing my true feelings to a crush and out of fear of his reaction, suddenly wished I could take it back.

Part of me wanted to take the post back.

That fear of an unknown reaction can be paralyzing.

The reaction I got? One of undeniable love and support. Family, friends, coworkers, acquaintances, and even strangers, all reminded me just how blessed I am. Some people even thanked me. Imagine that -- being thanked for asking for help.

I was so caught up in my own fear of asking for help, I forgot how helpless people can feel in tough situations. I was so worried about being judged that I forgot that people want to help.

So again, Thank You.

Thank you to everyone who has sent love, prayers, blessings, good vibes, and of course, money. I feel both overwhelmed and grateful for the enormous amount of love in my life. I had no idea there were so many people out there wanting to steal the thunder back with their kindness.

But honestly, I feel undeserving. As grateful as I am, it still isn't easy to accept help from others. Being young and independent, the idea of needing help is still a daily struggle. And as The Hubby says in his own post, actually accepting help can be even harder than asking for it (I'm currently in therapy addressing this very issue, so expect more on that later).

But the point of this post isn't to address my issues. The point of this post is love. This is about the love that all of you have shown me over the last several months, and especially over the last week.

So thank you everyone for your outpouring of love and support.

I'll take that over flowers and chocolate any day.

An Unconventional Request

This is probably the most awkward post I'll write on this blog.

And maybe awkward is the wrong word. Uncomfortable is better.

This is probably the most uncomfortable post I'll write. So uncomfortable that I've been trying to write this since my first week here. That's three weeks of staring at a blank page.

Three weeks …. just trying to find the words.

How does someone who isn't good at asking for help, ask for help?

How does someone who isn't good at asking for help, ask for money?

When I chose to come to An Oasis of Healing for my treatment, I chose an "unconventional" path. I chose a path that was specific to my body and my lifestyle. I chose a path that doesn't just rid my body of disease, but teaches me how to prevent it from coming back. I chose a path where questions are encouraged. I chose an integrative, holistic path. I chose a path that allows me to be accountable for my treatment and my success. I chose a path that thrives on educating myself.

Like I said, I chose the unconventional path.

And because of that decision, my decision, THE DECISION, my insurance refuses to pay for my treatment.

It doesn't matter that it would cost them less money in both the short and long term. It doesn't matter that the exact same chemo drugs are used. It doesn't even matter that it's the right thing to do.

It's unconventional.

And because of that, I have been cast aside and am financially on my own.

So here I am, asking for help.

But I'm lucky because I don't have to ask alone. I have the most amazing Mother-in-Law who has offered to start a fundraiser on my behalf. It is because of her generosity that I finally got the courage to write this post. She has been a constant source of support, not just for me, but for The Hubby and Momma Bear as well. She is a truly admirable woman and when I'm having a bad day, she has the unique gift of being the greatest hugger on the planet (it's true -- anyone who knows her can attest to this). And unlike other people's in-laws, and all the negative stereotypes that come with that title, I am honored and lucky to call her family.

I also have Momma Bear, who has cashed out her retirement savings so that we can do what we undoubtedly believe to be the right thing. It is because of her knowledge and research and time that I was able to feel empowered to make the best decision for me, my body, and my life. When everyone else called me crazy for even thinking about going against convention, she was a rock of support. It’s because of her we are able to cover a lot of the costs now, but they keep rising, and I can’t on my good conscience let her blow away her retirement funds just for my treatments.

And of course, I have The Hubby, who is working 4 or 5 jobs at last count (granted, 3 unpaid ones – always trying to save the world!) and, a la Tim Gunn, has insisted that we’ll "make it work."  Make it work means stretching bills, bartering services for care of The Puppy, hustling for small consulting projects and calling in help and forbearance from the student loan folks at the US Government. Make it work means tightening our belts and asking family for help when we need to as well. Sometimes it's hard to Make it Work.

Perhaps all of this is a natural response to the love our family shares, but all of it is really unconventional too.

So, as hard as it is for me, I have to swallow the discomfort and ask for your help.

It can be small. It can be big. It can be for treatments or to offset that I had to leave my job temporarily. It could be to stick it to the man at the insurance company or to stay connected to some of the most important (albeit controversial) cancer therapies in the world. Therapies that could save my life and someone you know.

But, as hard as it is for me, I have to ask again: are you able to help?

If you can, I have no way to repay your generosity besides to say, I am eternally grateful. I will also continue to share my story, good and bad, in hopes that one day my experience helps someone else to make their own decision. And, just so you know, anything I raise in excess of my treatment costs, I promise to not spend on shoes, but instead donate it to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

If you are unable to support monetarily, please feel free to simply spread the word. Or feel free to just send your love my way. Love and positive vibes are helpful too.

But, if you can do more, if you can help me, please use the Paypal button on the right side of the blog (it's safe!) or send donations to:

Dana Frost (aka the Thunder Stealer)
200 River Place Drive, Apt. 47
Detroit, MI 48207

And for helping me heal and tackle my cancer in an unconventional way, allow me to say this:

Thank you.
 
UPDATE: Apparently Google Checkout has a maximum contribution of $50. I have added a new Paypal donation option for all you big spenders out there.

Less is More

Finally, in the midst of all this madness, some good news...

According to the results of my PET Scan, my tumor is shrinking! Take that Little Hodgy!

After only one week of treatments, all of the tumors have shrunk. In my original scan back in December, my largest tumor in my chest was 7.7 x 5.3cm with an SUV of 15.2 (healthy cells have an SUV around 1). It currently measures 6.0 x 3.8cm with an SUV of 11.7. My neck tumor went from 6.8 x 2.5cm with an SUV of 10.5 to now currently measuring 5.8 x 2.2cm with an SUV of 5.9.

That's a lot of numbers, I know. But the real take away? Cancer is losing this battle and that makes all this shit worth it.

Chaos

Ever have one of those weeks, where at the end of it, you think to yourself: I'm sure as hell glad that's over?

This was one of those weeks.

So much so that I really don't even want to write about it. But, alas, I'd hate to keep my fans waiting...

On Monday, I received a PET Scan to get a baseline view of my tumor so I can see how I respond to all my treatments over the next several weeks. PET Scans themselves aren't too bad. I get the radioactive glucose, lie down in the imaging machine, and 30 minutes later I'm good to go. The bad part? The waiting. The wondering. Wondering, did my tumor grow between my first scan in December and now? Did my tumor shrink after doing a week of therapies? Is it worse? Is it better? Somebody tell me something! Anything!

Yep, the waiting is the worst. And no, I still don't have my results. I'm still waiting...

On Tuesday, I got a PICC line. After being poked with needles about 25 times in the previous 10 days, I decided a PICC would be a worthwhile procedure. Actually, my veins decided. I wanted to tough it out to avoid another procedure, but my normally good veins decided to start disappearing whenever a needle was near. I guess being stabbed every day will do that. I was also told that if I decided against the procedure, I would be the only patient to ever successfully finish treatment without a PICC or a Port. My pride wanted that title. My veins did not. My veins won.

Putting in the PICC is supposed to be a very routine, easy procedure. Numb the arm, stick a tube like thing into the vein, all the way up your arm from your elbow to your shoulder, insert line and you're done. But as I'm starting to learn, my body tends to reject routine, easy procedures (please refer to my bone marrow post).

My first week at An Oasis, I was told repeatedly by several nurses how great my veins are  and how easy a PICC line would be. After three failed attempts to feed the line up my arm by an outside nurse, I was finally told to "cross my fingers and hope it's good enough." Great. I've never really settled for "good enough" before, but unless I wanted head to the hospital to have this done with all sorts of fancy machines (read: lots of money), then "good enough" had to be enough. So far, the PICC has done it's job but it looks like yoga is now out since I can't fully straighten my arm without the risk of pulling out the PICC. Hot tubs, pools, rainy day puddle jumps and comfortable showers are also out since I can't get the line wet.

As if Tuesday wasn't bad enough, Wednesday was even more traumatic. One of the other patients stopped breathing and after about 20 minutes of CPR, was taken away to the hospital. Unfortunately, she didn't make it. I could try and justify it and say things like it was her time or she lived longer than anyone said she would in her condition. The reality is, she had an advanced stage cancer and couldn't breathe without an oxygen tank, but it's hard to justify anything when you witness someone die in front of you. I'd watch her come in every day with her daughter, struggle through her treatments, and leave. She rarely talked to anyone. She couldn't. Seeing someone not only lose their life, but seeing a daughter lose her mother, is hard. I didn't even know her and it's hard. And as cliche as it sounds, it definitely puts things into perspective when it comes to my own health and life. Don't take life for granted. This whole process is hard, but someone always has it worse. Carpe fucking Diem.

Thursday was a breeze compared to the day before. Structural Integration and IPT and I was done. Shortest day since I started treatment. I was also on Day 9 of my juice fast, or as they call it, feast. But I was starting to feel pretty bad and decided my 14 day fast would become a 10 day fast. I don't think I'd ever gone 10 waking hours without food, so still a good run if you ask me.

By Friday, I was exhausted. I had a jam packed schedule of therapies and a migraine to top it off. The treatments were really starting to effect my energy level and found myself dreading them more and more. I had one more day of the fast, but could no longer drink the juice. Mentally and physically I was over it.

At the end of the day, I decided that the only thing that could pull me out of this rut was a little retail therapy. I headed to H&M, where my unemployed dollar stretched the farthest, in order to add some color into my life. Apparently the universe wanted me to save my money because I ended up fainting in the dressing room and being carried out on a stretcher and taken to the hospital in an ambulance. All sorts of tests were run and as I suspected, I was just dehydrated (I knew I should have listened to Momma Bear and had more juice). After a couple hours I was discharged and immediately went home to break my fast with pureed soup that resembled baby food.

Out of all my therapies, who knew retail therapy would be the one to put me in the hospital?

Here's hoping to a better, and less eventful, week!

"Namaste"

Welcome to my world. Shit.