Tag: young adult cancer

The Bad Month(s)

7 Comments

October and November 2016 need to be voted off the island.  

October 6th marked one year since my liver resection and the day I sent walking papers to some terrible side effects of cancer. Therefore, October 6th should’ve been a day of celebration, but instead, I found myself doubled over in the ER where a CT scan revealed a small bowel obstruction. Apparently, the body doesn’t like open spaces and the absence of a liver in the upper right quadrant of my abdomen caused my small intestine to tangle up in that open space. Is it a little messed up that we were excited it wasn’t cancer related even though I would still need surgery to correct the obstruction? Yes, it is.

A week in the hospital, without any food and an uncomfortable tube up my nose, doctors finally got me on the schedule for surgery. Maybe it was the hunger or the morphine, but the days before and after surgery are blurry. A long 16 days later, I was discharged from the hospital. Home never felt so good.

Days later, my 12-year-old German Shepherd, Bear, could not walk. As if we didn’t have enough cancer in our life, Bear was diagnosed with lymphoma a couple months earlier. We took him to the emergency vet for them to tell us there was nothing more they could do. Not ready to make a quick decision, we took him home with pain meds to see if he would improve. He didn’t and the next day, he was put to sleep. It was heartbreaking.

And then there was the election. It’s no secret, I strongly supported Hillary Clinton. I know we’re all sick of election talk, but let me speak from the perspective of someone who deals with chronic illness.  I am concerned about two programs.  First, the Affordable Care Act (ACA/Obamacare).  I am so fortunate to have excellent health insurance through my husband’s employer. But, the repealing of ACA could mean the reinstatement of policy lifetime maximums, which wouldn’t be an issue for me at the moment, but most definitely would during my lifetime, when you add up the $18,000 injection I receive each month. And while I don’t expect my husband to lose or change jobs anytime soon, the thought of being denying coverage based on pre-existing condition, well, that would be a terrifying scenario. And second, I’m concerned about the Cancer Moonshot initiative. If you’re not familiar, Joe Biden is leading the charge on the use of government funds to make leaps and bounds in cancer research, treatment and cures. Will that funding go away to build some stupid wall or give tax breaks to billionaires? Ok, stepping off the soap box. 

BUT, as usual, I stay positive. I decided a long time ago that I am unbreakable and these hiccups and hurdles are certainly not enough to change that.  The last couple months are yet another reminder of life’s impermanence and that we should be immeasurably grateful for when things are going our way. 

As for writing, I’m back at it and have some upcoming pieces I’m really excited about and will be sharing soon.

As always, thank you for your support, prayers, good vibes and for reading.


img_2104

Bear (2004 – 2016)


One Year of Hair After Cancer

2 Comments
87WSyMSm

As featured on curetoday.com

August marked one year since I shaved my head just two weeks after my first round of chemotherapy. I knew the hair loss was coming and decided ahead of time to shave at the first signs of clumps on my pillow. As I wrote in Waiting for Hair: The Toll of Chemotherapy, “Losing my hair wasn’t hard – waiting for it to grow back has been the most challenging.” I still stand by this statement.

When treatment ended, I became obsessed with taking a daily photo so I could see the progress. A watched pot never boils; this saying applies to hair growth, too. It seemed the day I stopped taking regular photos, it started growing like a weed.

Another daily task was scouring Pinterest for secret solutions. I put castor and peppermint oils in my shampoo. I massaged my head to wake up the hair growth follicles. I took biotin. The result: a freakish amount of blond hair on my earlobes that was never there before. Once a friend commented on my unusual amount of ear hair, I stopped and deleted this Pinterest board.

I’m happy to be past the point where unusually short hair prompts a conversation. I loved when other survivors approached me with their words of wisdom and encouragement, but there were also those who opened their mouths without thinking. For instance, there was the TSA official who asked, “What did you cut your hair for?”

With a sarcastic smile, I replied, “It wasn’t voluntary.”

I’m not sure he ever got it, but I questioned his intelligence for commenting on a woman’s hair in the first place.

I shared this story with a fellow survivor who advised me to respond to this question by saying, “I survived cancer!” This prompts celebration and not pity or surprise or embarrassment for asking. Great advice.

After about two months of growth, I looked in the mirror and saw a mullet staring back at me. Initially, I planned to tough it out as I grew it out. My philosophy was, why would I cut off perfectly good hair? However, the mullet lead to a change in strategy. If my hair was going to be short, it might as well be cute and short. Now I go for haircuts every month and only during the last week do I look like Joe Dirt.

For a while, I threatened my husband to dye it purple or pink or that wonderful grey that is so in style. I was in the, “I just survived cancer and I’ll do as I darn well please,” phase. But the reality is, I’m too chicken, which I find funny considering a year ago I was walking around with a bald head and couldn’t care less. Oh, how cancer changes perspectives constantly.

Whenever I’m frustrated with the current status of my hair, I stop myself and say a prayer of gratitude that I have any hair at all, because not so long ago I didn’t. I also think about those in the place where I was a year ago. Like everything in life and in cancer, it is a journey. And as the saying goes, it’s the journey and not the destination.

However, my next destination might be extensions. Stay tuned.

Read this on curetoday.com: One Year of Hair After Cancer

Read all my articles with Cure.

And here’s a photo summary of my hair re-growth:

Lessons in Friendship During Cancer

1 Comment
87WSyMSm

As featured on curetoday.com

A cancer diagnosis is a life changing moment. Your body, mind, perspective, spirituality, quality of life, the amount of free time, work, finances, habits and relationships are all about to be shaken up. Change in any one of these categories is bound to bring discomfort to your existence, but all of them at once is beyond overwhelming. What keeps us from drowning in the sea of change is the people in our lives who come to the rescue – our friends and family.

If you’re a survivor reading this, I hope your experience was like mine. During treatment, I had droves of caring friends and family members who swooped in to bless my husband and me with meals; care packages; rides to appointments; and calls and messages to check in. Some of these angels were people I wasn’t even close to before cancer. Nothing is more touching than a person coming out of the woodwork to support you.

However, you might have also had the unfortunate experience of friends who dropped off the face of the Earth the moment cancer entered the picture. To these friends, I admit that it hurt when you didn’t reach out with a message, phone call or visit when I was having a hard time. It still hurts. I get it though. Cancer is so awkward. I’ve come to realize talking about cancer can make people very uncomfortable. Before my diagnosis, and even sometimes now, I don’t know how to respond when someone tells me they have or had cancer. It’s shocking and can throw even the most quick-thinking, eloquent person off their game. However, I’ve also come to realize that the silence was not about me, but about their discomfort.

And then there are the unexpected, new, bonus friendships built because of cancer, mainly consisting of other survivors, caregivers and medical staff. It’s a rare and special occurrence to know someone for a short period of time and be able to understand what they’re going through and have deep discussions about what really matters in life.

Every person who crosses our paths has something to teach us. From the friends who showed up to offer support, I learned to be grateful for their compassion and giving for when they will inevitably need help (hopefully minus cancer). From the silent friends, I learned how to forgive and to not be silent when others need our support. And, from the bonus friends, I learned that there are unexpected, wonderful gifts of cancer.

Read all of my articles with Cure here.