I Kicked Cancer's Ass

Yup, that's right. I. Am. Done. I finally had my last chemo treatment this morning. Now I just have one more appointment with my oncologist and I can receive a clean bill of health.

I know I should be excited, so forgive me if I don't sound like it at all. Believe me, I am celebrating on the inside. The me on the inside is doing a cute little happy dance as I type this. Right now though, I just feel tired. Of course, I have chemo-induced fatigue to thank for that.

Prior to today, I had thought that this last session would end in excitement. I had hoped to leave the infusion room with a huge smile on my face and plans to celebrate with a huge pizza and a beer. (After all, I haven't had any alcohol since Thanksgiving.) The reality was, I was still way too tired to do anything but stay in bed - not to mention the fact that I'm still not allowed to drink any alcohol for another six weeks.

As for the chemo session itself, I slept right though it, like I had done the last few times. Both my mom and Lucas were there with me the whole time, and I can imagine how boring it must have been for them to just sit there and watch me sleep. My nurse, Joy, only woke me up when it was time to remove my PICC line. It didn't hurt when I had my last one removed, but I had been afraid that it would hurt this time because my arm was more swollen and scabby. But nope, I didn't feel a thing. One, because she pulled it out faster than I could notice, and two, I was way too groggy to care.

I remember when I wrote my last LWC post, Even the Small Victories Count, how positive I was. I remember writing that getting through each week was a victory, how enjoying my weeks off was a victory, and how being able to eat a pulled pork sandwich without throwing up was a victory. Looking back now, I realize my ideas of "victory" were a little - I don't want to say selfish - but maybe superficial is the right word. After all, I am extremely lucky. Hodgkin's Lymphoma has over a 90% survival rate...and here I am, perfectly healthy apart from fatigue. Some people aren't so lucky. There are some people, younger than I am, who have had to deal with much worse things. And sadly, not everyone is as lucky as I am. Three days ago, I attended the memorial service of a classmate I've known since fifth grade, who was diagnosed with another type of cancer. He passed away at the age of 21. I know that people even younger than that die everyday, but frankly, 21 is still way too young.

If you had asked me several months ago what I expected to learn from this experience once I finished chemo, I regrettably would have focused on my appearance. I probably would have said something like, "I want to show people that I can look fabulous even while going through chemo." And I'll admit it, I was proud to run into people - new friends and old - who would tell me that I have perfect hair and that I must spend forever making the strands fall into place. Let's face it though, kicking cancer's ass is about so much more than deceiving people, making them believe you're healthy when you're really not. If you had asked me in the beginning what I expected to learn from this experience, I probably would have said something bitter like, "Having cancer sucks. And I could have learned that without getting it myself." Fortunately, I have a lot more insight about it now. As cliché as this may sound, what I learned is that the most important thing is to have hope and surround yourself with people who love and care about you. Whether you're religious or not, hope truly is a powerful thing. To anyone who is reading this who might still be going through treatment, remember, you are more beautiful than you realize. Hope is more beautiful than any vintage dress or wig you can put on.

[image source: printfection.com]

What Staying Strong Really Means

I've already known for a quite a while that life has its ups and downs. That couldn't have been more true about the past few days. As I've mentioned, I had a great 22nd birthday lunch with my mom, dad, grandma, and brother. And later that night, I went over to Lucas' house to celebrate my birthday and an early Valentine's Day.

Now fast forward to yesterday, the end of Cycle 3.2. I am honestly not exaggerating; yesterday was the worst day of my life. Not only did I manage to embarrass myself by throwing up in the infusion center, I also spent about two hours throwing up at home until there was literally nothing left in my stomach. I'm a little better now, but I'm still nauseated and way too tired to do anything.

My point in posting this is not to complain or to try to solicit pity. What I'm actually trying to do is share what I think staying strong really means. I have two friends in my Monday night class who've told me that I have sprezzatura - that somehow, I have a kind of grace that makes living with cancer seem easier than it actually is. Now I wonder, as flattering as that is, is that actually a good thing? Am I doing anyone any favors by pretending that this is easy? Am I really just lying to myself and faking it every single day?

I've thought about these questions, and here's what I came up with: No, I don't think I'm doing any harm in "pretending" this is easy. Frankly, I don't see how I'm pretending or faking at all. This is my life and it is pretty amazing, with its ups and its downs. Besides, let's be honest: What good would it do for me to just mope and complain all the time? I think it's far more inspiring for me stay positive and continue to sparkle, no matter what.

That's what I intend to do.

[image source: we♥it]

Even the Small Victories Count

Do you consider Sunday to be the end of the week or the beginning? According to the calendar, it's the beginning. For me though, having gone to school for most of my life, I always thought of Sunday as the end of the week. I had a fixed schedule in my head, really: Friday afternoons signaled the start of relaxation time and leisure. Saturdays were the days for spending time with friends or (just like yesterday) attending family parties. Sundays were different. Because I knew I had school the next morning, Sundays always lacked the carefree vibe that I loved so much about Saturdays. But I'm still on winter break. So why does it matter to me if Sundays are the beginning or the end of each week? Shouldn't I not even care what day it is? 

It matters because as a chemo patient, you really do have to know what day it is and stick to the schedule that the doctors and nurses give you. I'm in the middle of my second cycle, and I've already figured out my internal schedule - almost like clockwork. 

I receive treatments on Tuesday mornings, usually around 8:30 or 9:00. Then at 5:00 on the dot, I start feeling nauseous and dizzy. Too bad I can't take Zofran until 6:00. Damn. Come Wednesday morning, I feel even worse than before. Wednesdays are toast-and-apple days. I'm too sick to do anything, so the whole day just drags on and on. Thursday afternoon eventually rolls around and I'm feeling a little bit better. Thank God, because I'm starting to get sick of drinking Ensure. Before I know it, it's Friday and I'm more or less back to normal. And I want some real food.

This coming week though, I'm off. Tomorrow is just another Monday and I don't have to sit in traffic for half an hour just to get a blood test. I can sleep in on Tuesday morning and all I have to do is drive to the hospital to get my PICC line dressing changed. And the best part? I can eat whatever I want (within reason, of course). If I want to go to Red Robin with my BestFriend and eat a big fat burger with bottomless fries, I can. During my off-week, I don't have to think, "Oh wait. I just had treatment two days ago. Is it okay if I eat this amazing burger now, or am I just going to end up throwing it up anyway?" Guess what? I just ate a BBQ pulled pork sandwich for dinner. And do you want to know how I felt after eating that sandwich? Full. Satisfied. Enthralled, really.

I know this week is going to go by fast. Before I know it, it'll all be over and I'll be sitting in the infusion room again, counting down the hours - no, the minutes until it's toast-and-apples time again. So I'm going to enjoy this week. Lucas and I are planning to go to either Disneyland or Mt. Baldy on Wednesday. Wherever we choose to go, I know we'll have tons of fun. And maybe this week, I can finally see Faustina. (I haven't seen her since my party!) Maybe this week, we can finally go to Red Robin like we've been wanting to. I know it'll go by like a blur, but like I said, this week will be amazing. 

So yeah, it does still suck to have to count down the days until I'm FINALLY done with treatments. And yes, I am still too sad to think of how long it'll be until I can finally eat sushi. (Gosh, you're all going to think all I think about is food! Haha.) But getting through the treatment weeks and learning to really enjoy my off-weeks - those are small victories. Maybe kicking cancer's ass is about winning small victories too. 

After all, even the small victories count.

Cycle 2.1

I'm not going to try to sugarcoat or glamorize this (not that I would even know how to): Having cancer sucks. Going through chemotherapy sucks even more. As the title implies, I just started Cycle 2 today, meaning that this was my third session. Sitting there in the freezing cold infusion center for a couple of hours is never really that bad. It's boring and uncomfortable, but not something that I can really complain about.

Afterward is a different story.

After my very first session, I made the mistake of thinking, "Hey, this isn't so bad! I feel fine!" and I went to my 4:00-6:45 class that night. I realized what a bad idea that was as soon as the ten pills I took wore off - around 5:00 pm.

My second error in judgment was assuming (hoping, really) that I only felt so terrible because it was only my first treatment. "I'll get used to it," I told myself. "The next time will be better."

Wrong again.

After Cycle 2.1, I feel nauseated and tired - more so than after my first treatment. You know that feeling you get after a long road trip, when you're carsick and dizzy and sooooo tired even though you did absolutely nothing? That's how I feel right now, only about ten times worse. Ondansetron and Prochlorperazine seem to help a little with the nausea, but nothing takes away the feeling that I've had my life force drained out of me.

So while I'm still complaining, what else should I mention?

• I don't know why, but the idea of getting blood drawn from my PICC line freaks me out. Maybe it's the idea of getting stuff taken out from an open wound. ::shudder:: So far, I've been getting my blood drawn from my other arm, which hasn't been a big deal until yesterday. I had problems with getting the vein to stop bleeding, even after applying pressure. I guess from now on I'll have to suck it up and just use the PICC line for its other intended purpose.
• [WARNING: This is gross.] Speaking of the PICC line, I seem to be having a pretty bad allergic reaction to the adhesive on the dressing. I have all these bright pink bumps along my upper arm and one of the rashes was leaking some kind of questionable, yellow, pus-like fluid. Be thankful I didn't post pictures. :D 
• On a completely different note, I'm hungry but the smell of food makes me want to gag. I guess I'll be living on apples, peanut butter, and white toast for the next two to three days.
• Water tastes like metal - ick. 

Despite everything that's wrong with me right now, I'm still trying to look on the bright side of things. I've had two readers and a handful of friends and family members who've told me that I seem to have a positive attitude about all this. I guess it's because I'm trying not to complain too much (read: as much). I try to keep that old proverb in mind: "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional."

Besides, believe it or not there has been at least one good thing to come out of this whole experience: Some of my friends whom I haven't seen in months (or years!) decided to come visit me both in and out of the infusion center. That was really what my After Christmas Party was all about this past holiday season - spending time with people who really love and support me. For anyone else who is experiencing this roadblock (and certainly anyone who is worse off than I am), try to remember this: Sure, having cancer sucks. More often than not, chemotherapy is going to make the experience suck more. But try to see the big picture - you ARE getting better. Maybe a year or two from now when I'm completely better, I won't remember the cold infusion room or how much my arm itched or how tortuous it was to not be able to eat sushi for MONTHS. Instead, I hope I will remember that I was strong enough to get through this.

That is, strong enough both physically and mentally.

A Different Kind of Inspiration

I'll be honest with you.

When I first decided that I wanted to start a blog, I wanted it to be all about the pretty things in life: my fashion sense, trend spotting, makeup tips, how my friends and I glam up for parties and the clubbing scene - normal things that any carefree young woman in her early twenties would want to share. I never thought I'd ever have to deal with something as ugly as cancer...at least not during what I considered the prime of my life.

This was my thought process when I had that first appointment with my oncologist, back in mid-November:

Dr. Aziz: "Based on all these test results...Stage 2...very treatable form of cancer...After six to eight rounds of chemotherapy...back to normal..."

Me: (thinking) "What the f*ck?! I'm 21 years old! The worst thing I should be getting sick with is the flu or something! Why me?!" 

(speaking) "...Oh...okay..."

Don't get me wrong. I don't think I'm vain or shallow at all, but I will admit that the very first thing I thought of (that is, as soon as my doctor assured me that I wasn't dying) was how chemotherapy would affect my appearance. I haven't even started my second cycle yet, but my face is already swollen from fluid retention, my skin has already taken on a grayish tone, the base of my nails are starting to turn blue, and not to mention that my PICC line ruins just about every cute outfit I wear. But those weren't even the worst.

My hair started falling out on Christmas Eve. "Great," I thought.  "Merry Christmas to me." Again, I fear that I'm sounding more and more vain and shallow as I write this, but I always thought my hair was one of my best physical features. I had long, beautiful black hair all throughout high school and my first two years of college. During summer 2009, I took the plunge and chopped most of it off - into the most amazing pixie cut ever, à la Alice Cullen. That is the hairstyle I've had ever since. These days, I still have a lot of hair, but it's so thin and weak that I can barely comb it without having clumps fall out. So flat ironing it in the adorable pixie style is pretty much out of the question. So what will I do once I lose so much hair that I have to shave it all off? Wear a wig? A beanie? A turban? A scarf? I haven't decided yet.

As women, I know we're all pretty attached to our hair. We spend hours in front of the mirror, obsessing over every strand that's out of place, arranging and rearranging until everything looks perfect. Who knows? Maybe once I shave my head, I'll feel liberated from not having to worry about all that anymore.

But regardless of how much I complain about how drastically cancer is changing my appearance, I know that real beauty is not something that can be achieved with hair and makeup alone. I was inspired by Bekah of true beauty, never hurries, a wonderful blog that chronicles the ups and downs of living with Hodgkins Lymphoma. The title of her blog really says it all: the true beauty of an individual - both inside and out - takes time to shine. So that is what I'm going to do. I'm going to wait to get better, wait for my face and hair to get back to normal, and still enjoy every day. Despite being sick, this STILL is the prime of my life. And I think I'm still beautiful. There. I said it. And it feels amazing.

So...is it possible to maintain a fashion and beauty blog while fighting cancer?

Why the heck not?